#captain swan fanfic

[jrob64]

Pet for Rent, Chapter 1/4 (The Meet Cute) A CS Modern AU Story

For those of you who read "Sowing Seeds of Trust", you might remember that my dog Zeke had a starring role in it. To my great heartbreak, he died of cancer last June. When we rescued him, the shelter had named him Ernie, and he will be referenced with that name in this story.

Life without a dog proved to be very lonely, so at the end of August, we rescued another dog. The sad story of the dog in this story is what really happened to our new dog. He was named Norman and we renamed him Winston, just like in the story. That's actually him in the pic set with his 'ducky'.

This was supposed to be a short, sweet story, but somehow turned into 4 chapters. Updates will be once a week.

Special thanks to my beta @hookedmom and also to @beckettj and @zaharadessert for helping me understand the football (soccer) system in England.

SUMMARY: Emma Swan tries to cheer up her heartbroken son by 'renting' a dog from the local animal shelter. When she attempts to do it a second time, she makes a mistake, and realizes the dog has been rented by someone else the same day - a very handsome man named Killian Jones.

RATING: M (for smut in the last chapter, which can easily be skipped if that's not your thing)

WORDS: 7754

ALSO POSTED TO A03 & FFN

Story begins under the cut

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Emma Swan flopped down onto her sofa with a sigh. Since their beloved dog Ernie died three weeks ago, she had come to dread her eight-year-old son Henry’s bedtime. Every night when he said his prayers, he ended with, “God, please tell Ernie I love him and miss him, and please send me another dog. Amen.”

Her son knew the chances of getting a dog were slim to none because of his soccer practices and games, and Emma’s schedule for her new job at the sheriff’s station. They had no time to train a puppy.

Understanding why he couldn’t have a dog didn’t make his heart hurt any less. Her heart was just as broken, knowing the sadness and loneliness Henry was experiencing.

After decompressing for a few minutes, Emma’s searching hand located her phone on the end table. She unlocked it and opened her Discord app, selecting the icon representing the parents’ group of Henry’s second grade class. Sitting up a little straighter, she typed a message: Does anyone have ideas of how to help Henry get over the loss of his dog? He keeps praying for a new one, but it wouldn’t be fair to the dog to get one with our busy schedule.

She watched the screen intently for a couple of minutes, but when no names appeared to show that someone was answering, she tossed the phone onto the couch and went into the kitchen to load the dishwasher.

Forty minutes later, after cleaning up the kitchen, going through her nightly routine and changing into her pajamas, she went back into the living room. Television held no interest for her, and realizing she finished her last library book the previous evening, she picked up her phone to mindlessly play a game. Upon unlocking it, her screen opened to the Discord page and she saw three replies to her question.

The first two simply expressed sympathy for the loss of Ernie, but the third one offered a helpful suggestion. Have you thought about ‘renting’ a dog for a day? The animal shelter just outside of town offers that option. We did it for my mother when her Maltese died. The post ended with the web address for the shelter.

Emma immediately pulled up the site and, after searching the homepage, clicked on the tab for ‘services’. Scrolling down the list, she saw ‘Rent-a-Pet’ and selected it. As she read the description of how the program worked, she idly twisted strands of blonde hair around her index finger.

It sounded like a great compromise for their situation. For a donation to the shelter in the form of money, bags of pet food, treats or toys, one of the available animals could come home with them for several hours. The dogs and cats were guaranteed to be docile and house-trained, and could be adopted by the ‘renter’, if desired.

Clicking on the link taking her to the bios of the pets currently housed at the shelter, she filtered it to include only canines. Pictures of nearly two dozen dogs filled the screen, each more adorable and aww-worthy than the last.

Quickly ruling out any that were guaranteed to shed fur all over her house or were bigger than her son, her search was narrowed to nine prospects. She knew her rambunctious son would be keen to play outside with the dog and walk him or her to Storybrooke’s dog park, so a tiny fru-fru pup was out of the question, too. That left six.

She selected one at a time, reading about their breed and temperament. When she brought up the picture of the fourth candidate, the big, chocolate brown eyes and happy expression nearly made her heart melt.

‘Norman’ was a mixed breed and very little was known about him, because he was found tied to a stop sign in the middle of Portland, Maine. He was guessed to be a cocker spaniel mix and was approximately 1-2 years old. His black fur looked sleek and Emma knew he probably wouldn’t shed. A short video showed him romping and playing with another dog in the fenced play yard of the shelter.

Saving the page, she brought up the calendar on her phone and checked their schedule for the rest of the week. Henry had an early soccer game on Saturday, which would be over by 10:30, leaving the rest of the morning and afternoon free. Switching back to the shelter website, she hit the ‘Rent-a-Pet’ button again and began filling in the information, selecting ‘Norman’ when it gave her the choice of animals.

She decided not to tell Henry about the plan, opting to surprise him with it instead.

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“Great game, kid,” Emma complimented her son, ruffling his sweaty hair. “Your pass to Avery was a nice assist. That goal turned out to be the game winner.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Henry grinned around his mouthful of granola bar. “That’s the first time all season we beat the orange team.”

“I know, and I think that calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Emma fished her car keys out of her jeans pocket, before picking up her lawn chair and water bottle.

“Are we gonna get ice cream?” he asked, before cramming the rest of his snack into his mouth.

“You just ate a granola bar and a banana, and lunch will be in just an hour or so,” she laughed. “I have something else in mind.”

“Whaisit?” he queried, the unswallowed food muffling his voice.

“Well, I know how much you miss Ernie, and Violet’s mom told me about a program at the animal shelter that lets you rent a pet for a few hours,” she answered slowly, watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye. “So, I signed up to get a dog for you to play with until three o’clock this afternoon.”

Henry stopped in his tracks, swallowing down the rest of his snack as his eyes grew wide. “Really? You can do that?”

“Yeah, we’re scheduled to pick him up at eleven. What do you think about that?”

His exuberant shout of joy and sprint to the car was all the answer she needed.

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Emma couldn’t keep up with her son once he unstrapped his safety belt, exited the car and bounded toward the front door of the shelter. He was already ringing the little bell on the counter for service before she made it inside and chided him lightly for not waiting for her.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with sandy hair and light blue eyes entered through a door, the barking of dogs stifled when it clicked shut behind him. He gave them a dazzling smile and greeted them warmly with a hearty ‘good morning’.

Emma reached forward to shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Emma Swan and this is my son, Henry.”

“David Nolan,” he responded, shaking her hand, then doing the same with Henry.

“My teacher’s name is Mrs. Nolan, the same as yours,” the boy told him.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in second grade at Storybrooke Elementary, would you?” David asked.

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed.

“Ah, well, that means your teacher is my wife!”

“Wow, cool!” Henry exclaimed. “She’s the best teacher I ever had!”

David’s grin grew even wider. “That’s good to hear. She tells me all about her students every evening and she thinks yours is the best class she’s ever had!”

“It’s quite a coincidence, meeting you here,” Emma commented with a smile.

“I’ll be sure to tell Mary Margaret I met the two of you. Now, what can I do for you today?”

Emma pulled her phone out of her purse, unlocked it, and tapped on the screen a few times. Then she laid it on the counter and turned it to show David. “I signed up for the Rent-a-Pet program. Here’s the email with my confirmation.”

David peered down at the screen and used his finger to scroll down a bit. “I see you chose Norman,” he commented, looking up at her.

“Um, yeah. Is he a good dog? I don’t want any messes in my house or car.”

“He’s a great dog,” he assured her, reaching back to the wall behind him to lift a leash off of a hook. “Gets along well with other dogs, seems to love kids, and is generally a very happy little guy.”

Henry bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Can we take him to the dog park? Ernie always loved going to the dog park.” His countenance dropped, a small cloud of sadness passing across his features.

David shared an understanding look with Emma. “Of course you can take him. I’m sure he will love it! Would you like to come back with me to get him?”

The boy turned to look at his mother. “Can I?”

“Sure, kid. I think I’ll come back, too, if Mr. Nolan doesn’t mind.”

“The more, the merrier,” David said cheerfully.

He waited until they joined him on the other side of the counter, then opened the door to the large room full of animal cages. Immediately, the sound of barking, howling and meows filled their ears.

“They get very excited when they know someone is coming back here. I think the animals closest to the door are spies and tell the others,” David joked, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

Emma walked behind Henry, watching him turn his head left and right to peer at the occupants of all of the pens.

“Aw, Mom, look at that little puppy! He’s so cute! Aw, that dog seems sad. I bet he doesn’t like being in a cage. Look Mom, they have cats here, too.” His litany was continuous as they slowly walked down the aisle between the enclosures.

Finally, David stopped in front of a pen and turned to them, gesturing toward the dog inside. “This is Norman. He has a sad story, but he’s kept his sweet temperament, haven’t you, boy?”

As if in answer, the black dog stood up, his tail starting to wag as he realized the man was talking about him. Henry dropped to his knees in front of the cage, placing his hands against the wire. “Hi, Norman! My name is Henry. Would you like to come home with us for a little while?” The dog’s tail was wagging so fast, his entire body wiggled. “I think he understands me, Mom!” Henry said excitedly.

As David slipped inside the pen to clip the leash to Norman’s collar, Emma asked, “Has he ever been rented before?”

“Several times,” David answered, straightening up once he had the leash attached. “He’s always done really well.” Opening the door of the kennel again, he allowed the dog to go ahead of him, out to where the boy still knelt.

“Hi, boy,” Henry crooned, running his hands over the dog’s head.

Emma bent down and stroked the sleek fur on Norman’s back and sides. “He’s so soft,” she commented.

“He appears to have the coat of a cocker spaniel,” David said, “but he’s definitely a mixed breed.” He watched the boy and dog interact for a few seconds before holding out the looped end of the leash. “Would you like to lead him out to the lobby, Henry?”

He looked up at Emma with hopeful eyes. “Is that okay, Mom?”

“How is he on a leash?” she asked David. “He won’t pull my kid’s arm out of the socket, will he?”

David laughed. “He does fairly well, but if he gets excited, he can get pretty rambunctious. He’ll be fine just going to the lobby, but you might have to walk him out to your car instead of Henry.”

“Sounds like a deal, kid,” she said, giving him a nod of approval.

Henry eagerly accepted the leash and started off down the aisle. “Come on, Norman. Come on, boy. You’re gonna like it at our house. We still have some of Ernie’s toys and balls.”

Emma and David trailed behind. “How long ago did you lose your dog?” he asked.

“Almost a month and Henry is really struggling with it. He and Ernie were best buds.”

“I’m sorry. That’s rough, especially for a kid.”

“And his mom,” Emma added. “I never realized how much I loved that dog, until he got sick and I knew we were going to lose him.”

“Hopefully, Norman will give you both a few hours of enjoyment and help ease the heartache a bit,” David said, before hurrying forward to pull the door open for Henry and the dog.

While David printed off the paperwork, Norman sniffed around Henry, who sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling when the dog licked his ears. “Ernie used to do that too, remember, Mom?”

Emma smiled down at him. “Yeah, you must have very tasty ears. Maybe you should start washing them better.”

“I won’t need to, after Norman washes them!”

She turned back to finish signing the papers. “It’s nice to hear him laughing again. He hasn’t done much of that lately,” she confided to David.

“I think this will be good for both of you and Norman. He really likes being around people. I’m very surprised he hasn’t been adopted yet.”

“Do you think there’s a reason for that?”

David shrugged. “This tends to be a slow time of the year for adoptions. Summer is over and school is back in session, so people don’t have as much time to welcome a new dog into their house.”

“That’s the boat we’re in right now,” Emma commented.

“Once it gets closer to Christmas, people will come in looking for pets to give as gifts. That’s good, but also bad, because about a quarter of them are brought back when they realize a pet is more work than they anticipated.”

“We got Ernie from the shelter when Henry was two. He was already five years old, house-trained and had all of the annoying puppy behaviors out of his system.”

“Most people want puppies instead of adult dogs, but there are a lot of advantages to getting an older dog.”

“Norman doesn’t seem to be very old.”

“I’d say at least two, but he’s pretty chill. Once he runs out of energy, he becomes a couch potato.” David collected the paperwork and tapped it on the counter to straighten it. “Well, that’s all I need from you. Norman is yours until three o’clock.”

“Yay!” Henry shouted, causing the dog to start barking.

Emma reached down to take the leash. “Don’t get him all riled up right before we put him in the car, kid.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Henry apologized. “I just can’t wait to get him home! Can he sit in the back with me?”

“Sure, but first you need to thank Mr. Nolan.”

Henry popped up from the floor and looked back at David. “Thanks, Mr. Nolan! I’ll take good care of Norman, I promise!”

“My pleasure, Henry. Have fun!” David grinned.

Mother and son exited the building, with Norman leading the way, tugging excitedly on the leash. “Slow down, pup,” Emma laughed.

Henry ran ahead to open the door of the yellow Volkswagen Beetle, sliding the front seat forward and clambering into the back. As soon as Norman reached the car, he hopped in and sat on the seat beside Henry like he’d done it every day of his life.

“Well, that was easy,” Emma commented, removing the loop of the leash from her wrist and tossing it beside the dog. After closing the door, she circled around behind the car to get into the driver’s seat. She looked into the rearview mirror and choked up at the sight meeting her eyes. Henry had his arms wrapped around Norman’s neck with his eyes closed and his head resting against the dog’s.

Emma was sure the time with Norman was going to be good for both boy and dog, but she couldn’t help but worry about what would happen when it came time to bring him back to the shelter.

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Emma was barely able to get Henry to eat when they got home, and had to reprimand him for sneaking Norman bits of his sandwich. The dog, for his part, sat politely while they ate, not begging or whining. She was impressed with his behavior, remembering how she had to break Ernie from begging at the table when they first adopted him.

Henry and Norman bonded quickly as they chased each other around the small backyard, playing with a tennis ball and squeaky toys from Ernie’s toy basket. Emma sat on their small patio, thoroughly enjoying the sounds of happy barking and her son’s laughter. She pulled out her phone and took a picture, posting it to the Discord group and tagging Violet’s mom to thank her for the idea of renting a pet.

  Just after two o’clock, Emma suggested taking Norman to the dog park before going back to the shelter. They played there for forty minutes, then the three of them returned home and piled back into the car. Once again, she caught sight in the mirror of her son hugging the dog and sighed, but instead of dreading Norman’s return, she decided to enjoy every minute of happiness it was bringing to Henry…and herself.

Their time with the dog was over all too soon. After Emma parked the car at the shelter, Henry got out of the car and trudged to the door with the leash gripped tightly in his hand. Norman seemed to sense the boy’s mood and walked slowly beside him, his head hanging low.

David was at the desk to greet them again, an understanding look at his face at the dejected look of all three of them. “Was he good for you?” he asked.

“He was great,” Emma answered, rubbing her hand soothingly over her son’s back. “Wasn’t he, kid?”

“Yeah,” Henry quietly agreed, his eyes trained on the floor.

“You know, you’re welcome to rent Norman, or any of our other dogs, anytime you want,” David said.

Henry looked up. “But what if someone adopts him?”

“Well, that would be a good thing for Norman,” Emma reminded him.

“I guess,” Henry sighed. He knelt down beside the dog, wrapping him up in another hug. “I’ll miss you, boy, but maybe I’ll see you again.” The dog licked his cheek, eliciting a small giggle. Then Henry stood and held the leash out to David. “Thank you, Mr. Nolan. I had a lot of fun with Norman.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” David said, accepting the leash and moving around the counter. Patting the dog on the head, he added, “I hope we’ll see you again, soon.”

Henry turned pleading eyes to his mother. “Can we do it again next weekend, Mom?”

“You have Avery’s birthday party next Saturday, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Henry nodded, then bit his lip in contemplation. “The next weekend, then?”

Emma laughed. “We’ll see.” She leaned down to pet the dog’s head. “Be a good boy, Norman. You’re welcome at our house anytime.”

After saying their goodbyes, they watched David take the dog toward the door leading to the back. Norman turned and gave them a sad look before following the shelter worker through it, tearing at Emma’s heart even more.

She swallowed hard and said, “Come on, kid. Let’s go home.”

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The sadness soon wore off and for the next several days, Henry talked almost incessantly about all of the fun he had with Norman. Emma checked their schedule and saw that Henry had another early game three weeks later, which would be the last game of the soccer season. She relayed that news to Henry, asking him if he wanted to rent Norman again that day, and was answered with a very enthusiastic ‘YES!’

She nearly forgot to make the reservation, only remembering three days before, while waiting to pick Henry up from practice. Quickly, she pulled up the website and filled out the form, glancing up often to see if Henry was coming off the field because she always liked to meet him as soon as he did, instead of waiting for him in the car.

Emma was especially glad they decided to rent Norman Saturday, since Henry’s soccer team lost their final game by one goal. His downcast look was soon replaced with excitement when she reminded him that they would be going to the shelter.

When they arrived, he bounded out of the car and waited impatiently for his mom to join him, before practically sprinting to the door. It took a couple of minutes before David emerged from the back, beaming a smile when he saw them waiting at the counter.

“Henry! Emma! I’m very happy to see you again!”

“We’re here to get Norman,” Henry said excitedly.

A puzzled look crossed David’s face. “I’m sorry, but Norman is already being rented by somebody else today,” he informed them.

“What?” Henry asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Then he turned to Emma. “But Mom, you said we would be getting Norman.”

Emma was already pulling the email up on her phone. “There must be some mistake, Mr. Nolan. I reserved Norman when I filled out the form. See?”

She turned her phone for the worker to see it. David looked at it carefully, then pointed to the screen. “It looks like you didn’t ask for a specific dog.”

“I didn’t?” she questioned, then looked at her phone more closely, her heart dropping when she saw the blank space beside the ‘requested animal’ inquiry. “Oh, Henry. I’m so sorry. I was in a hurry when I filled it out and I must have missed that question.”

“We have several other dogs,” David consoled. “I’m sure you’ll have just as much fun with one of them.”

“No I won’t,” Henry pouted. “I only want Norman.”

“Henry…” Emma started, but was interrupted when the door behind her opened.

“Good morning, Dave,” said a deep voice with a distinctive British accent.

Emma turned to see the newcomer and nearly swallowed her tongue. The man standing before her had to be a mirage, because surely someone that handsome didn’t really exist. He had a lean physique clad in dark jeans and a maroon henley, with a tantalizing view of chest hair peeking out of the unbuttoned neckline. A black leather jacket completed his ensemble. His chiseled jawline was covered with a pleasing amount of scruff and his dark, windblown hair was falling over his forehead. He sported a wide grin and, between that and his deep blue eyes, Emma was mesmerized.

She was suddenly very aware of her own appearance. Henry’s early game meant she had thrown on a pair of sweatpants, donned an old hoodie and stuffed a beanie over her barely brushed hair that morning. Her face was free of makeup, unless you counted a few stray flecks of mascara that stubbornly refused to come off when she washed her face the previous evening.

“Hey, Killian,” David greeted.

The man’s - Killian’s - eyes had settled on Emma, a glint of curiosity evident in them.

“Oh, um, come on Henry,” she said, after several moments of silence. “Let’s get out of this man’s way.”

“But Mommmm…” he whined.

Emma put her hand on his shoulder and guided him away from the counter. “We’ll figure something out, kid.”

“I’m in no hurry, Miss,” Killian began.

“No, it’s okay,” she hurried to assure him. “I’m afraid I created a problem that might take a while to straighten out, so please, go ahead.”

“In that case, thank you very much,” he smiled. Turning his eyes to David, he asked, “Is Winston ready?”

Emma was surprised to see the genial shelter worker furrow his brow at the other man. “Why do you insist on calling him that?”

Killian shrugged. “He looks like a Winston to me, and he answers to that name when he’s at my house.”

David glanced at Emma and Henry and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently changed his mind. Grabbing a leash off of a hook, he said, “Give me a minute,” then he pushed the door open and disappeared into the back.

“Are you adopting a dog today?” Henry asked Killian.

“Alas, no. I just moved into a small apartment here three months ago and am still trying to get everything organized and put away. Being in a new town has been a bit lonely at times, so I’ve been coming here now and then to borrow a dog for a few hours.”

“That’s why we’re here, but somebody is taking the dog I want,” Henry grumbled.

“Henry, that’s enough,” Emma reprimanded. “You haven’t even looked at any of the other dogs.”

“None of them will be as good as Norman.”

Killian’s brows raised. “Did you say Nor-”

Just then, the door behind the counter opened and David came through, trying to control a very excited dog.

“Norman!” Henry cheered, dropping to his knees. The dog started jumping toward him, wildly licking his face as soon as he reached the boy.

“I thought you said he was already rented today,” Emma questioned David.

“He is,” he replied, looking pointedly at Killian.

Emma followed his gaze and saw the other man watching the interaction between Henry and the dog with a sheepish look on his face. The pieces began to click together and she asked, “Wait a minute - is Norman the dog you’re renting today?”

“Aye,” Killian confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like we’re here for the same dog.”

“But you called him by another name,” Emma continued.

“He’s the dog I’ve rented every time and he just doesn’t seem like a Norman to me, so I started calling him Winston,” Killian explained.

All three adults stood looking at the whirlwind of fur jumping all over Henry, who was giggling so much, he could hardly catch his breath.

Finally, Killian spoke. “It seems as though Win-, I mean, Norman, has made his choice. Please let Henry and…his mother have the dog today, Dave.”

“Emma,” she informed him. “My name is Emma Swan, and you don’t have to do that. You had him reserved first. Besides, Henry needs to learn he can’t always have his way.”

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my time with the dog, knowing how sad it would make Henry,” Killian responded. He took a step forward and offered Emma his hand to shake. “I’m Killian Jones, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”

As they shook hands, David cleared his throat. “Um, I have an idea of how to work this out. It’s a nice day, so why don’t all of you take Norman to the dog park together?”

Emma and Killian both whipped their heads around to stare at him. He seemed to shrink back a bit before stammering, “I mean, that way you could all spend time with him and get to know each other at the same time. You’ve been saying you’d like to meet more people in Storybrooke, Killian, and that’s where Henry and Emma live.” Looking at Emma, he added, “I’ve gotten to know Killian pretty well because he sings in the church choir with me and Mary Margaret. He’s a good guy.”

Emma slowly turned her eyes back to the very handsome man whose hand she suddenly realized she was still holding. She dropped it quickly, as she felt a blush heating her cheeks. Then she looked at Henry, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Norman sprawled across his lap. He was looking up at her with hope in his eyes.

Meeting Killian’s gaze once again, she asked, “What do you think?”

“I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, Emma.”

“You wouldn’t have to go all the way back into Storybrooke,” David said. “There’s a small dog park at the end of the walking path, where a lot of people take dogs they’re thinking of adopting.”

“Please, Mom?” Henry pleaded. “Norman would like that, wouldn’t you, boy?”

Emma took a look at the pair and groaned, “It’s bad enough when you use the puppy dog eyes on me, kid. Now you’ve got the dog doing it, too.”

Killian chuckled lowly, the sound of it making Emma’s stomach flip in a very pleasant way. “I would hate to disappoint the two of them, so I’m game if you are, lass.”

Emma chewed her lip in contemplation for a few seconds, before saying, “Okay, but on one condition - you let me pay half of the rental fee.”

“I already paid the fee online,” Killian said.

“So did I, so I guess that takes care of that.”

“Not really,” David said. “You both paid, but you’re only renting one dog. I should reimburse each of you half of the fee.”

“Keep it,” Emma and Killian answered at the same time, then both laughed.

“The shelter can always use a little extra money, can’t it, Mr. Nolan?” Emma asked.

“Please call me David. And of course we can, if you’re both sure you don’t mind.”

As soon as they affirmed their answer, David walked around the counter and picked up the end of the leash. Handing it to Emma, he said, “In that case, Norman-slash-Winston is yours for the next four hours. You can bring him back sooner, if you like, but I’m sure he’s going to love getting out for a while. Oh, and if you get hungry, there’s usually a couple of food trucks near the dog park on Saturdays. Have fun!”

Emma and Killian thanked him, then went out the door with Norman straining at the leash, and Henry skipping along beside him. They quickly found the sign marking the path and started walking it.

After several paces, Killian turned to Emma and asked, “Is it me, or do you feel like David just set us up?”

“One hundred percent,” Emma laughed.

“How long have you known him?”

“David?” she questioned. At his hum of affirmation, she said, “Henry and I rented Norman three weeks ago and that was the first time I met him. David, I mean, not Norman. Well, it was the first time we met Norman, too. His wife is Henry’s teacher. Again, I mean she’s David’s wife, not Norman’s.” She knew she was rambling, but the thought of spending several hours with the gorgeous stranger was making her nervous.

Killian laughed. “That’s a relief. I borrowed Win-, uh, Norman three times and he never once mentioned being married.”

It was Emma’s turn to laugh - mostly because what he said was funny, but also in relief that he responded to her embarrassing prattling with humor, instead of judgment.

“So, if Dave just met you, he probably doesn’t even know if you’re married or dating anyone. That was a little presumptuous of him.”

“Are you fishing for information, Mr. Jones?” Emma teased.

“Killian will do,” he grinned. “And…perhaps?”

Before she could answer, Henry ran back to join them. “Can I take Norman, Mom? He’s walking really well on the leash, so I don’t think he’ll yank my arm out of the socket.”

She looked at Killian, who raised an eyebrow with a bemused look on his face.

“That’s something I said when we picked Norman up the last time,” she explained. Handing the loop of the leash to Henry, she said, “Don’t get too far ahead of us, kid.”

“We won’t,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Emma turned her attention back to the man beside her. “To answer your non-question Killian, no, I am not married or dating anyone. It’s just Henry and me, and always has been. When I told his father I thought I might be pregnant, he didn’t even stick around long enough to find out if I was or not.”

Killian absorbed this news for a few moments before responding, “If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds as if the two of you might be better off without someone like that, anyway.”

“Oh, definitely. Henry is more mature at eight than his sperm donor was as an adult. I was young and foolish, but I had to grow up fast once I became a single mother.” She watched her son trying to get Norman to walk beside him, then turned to look at Killian. “Sorry, that is a lot more information than I’m sure you wanted to know.”

“No need to apologize, Emma. I did ask, in a roundabout way.”

“So what’s your story? Did you move here from England, or am I misreading your accent?”

“You got it right,” he chuckled, then took a deep breath. “There was nothing left for me in England. My brother moved here soon after our mother died two years ago, and once I found out my girlfriend was actually a married woman, I needed a fresh start.”

“Ouch,” Emma commented.

“Aye, and now I’ve probably shared more than you wanted to know.”

“We’ll call it even, and promise to talk about much lighter subjects for the rest of the day,” Emma said.

“Deal.”

“You said your brother moved here. Does that mean he lives in Storybrooke?”

“Aye, he followed his heart and it led him straight to this quaint little town.”

“Who does he date, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s engaged to the town librarian, Belle French.”

“Liam is your brother? I guess I should have figured that out since your last name is Jones.”

“It’s a very common name, lass. Yes, Liam is my brother. I gather you know him?”

“Belle is one of my best friends, so I know him through her. She used to babysit for Henry quite often, when I was a waitress at Granny’s.”

“Ah, the famous Granny’s Diner!” Killian exclaimed. “I visit that establishment frequently. She makes the best lasagna.”

“I think you meant to say the best grilled cheese and onion rings,” Emma grinned mischieviously.

“I’ve yet to try those particular delicacies,” he smirked.

“Try them,” she advised. “I guarantee you’ll love them.”

Looking ahead, they saw they were nearing the dog park and picked up their pace. They caught up with Henry and Norman just before reaching the entrance. There were about a half-dozen dogs running around the park, some loose and others on leashes.

“I think it would be a good idea for Mr. Jones to take Norman before we go in,” Emma told Henry. “He’ll be able to control him better if he gets too excited.”

“Okay,” Henry said, willingly handing over the leash.

“Thanks, lad,” Killian smiled.

Henry went through the first gate, holding it open for his mom, followed by Killian and Norman. When they were all in the buffer zone, Henry opened the next gate leading into the main part of the park.

“You’re raising quite the gentleman, Emma,” Killian commented, after he entered with the dog.

“He has his moments.”

They all watched Norman as he began sniffing around excitedly, then pulling on the leash when he noticed the other canines sharing his space. He nearly yanked Killian off of his feet with his enthusiasm to meet new friends.

The next twenty minutes were spent chasing the dog and trying to settle him down. After a few of the other owners left with their animals, Henry found a tennis ball and engaged Norman in a game of fetch. The adults sat on a bench to observe the pair, laughing at the clumsiness of the dog.

Emma noticed Killian rubbing his shoulder. “Alright there, Jones?”

“I think he might have pulled my arm out of the socket, Swan,” he quipped.

“Very funny, smart guy,” she said, making him laugh again. They watched for a few more minutes before Emma asked, “Do you have a job in Storybrooke? I started working at the sheriff’s station three months ago and I don’t remember seeing you around town.”

“I’m an architect. I was able to keep my job with the firm in England by working online and attending meetings with clients and my colleagues via Zoom. All of my time is spent in my office at home. It’s not ideal, but I appreciate my boss being willing to make concessions for me.”

“Do you plan to get a job here eventually?”

“Aye, if I decide to stay.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I’m used to the hustle and bustle of a big city. Living in Storybrooke has been quite an adjustment.”

“I get that. We moved here from Boston when Henry was two. Granny’s granddaughter, Ruby, was our neighbor there, and when she decided to move back, she talked me into coming with her. At first, I had a hard time getting used to the peace and quiet. That was one reason why I adopted Ernie - just to have a little more noise in the house.”

“Ernie?” Killian questioned.

“Oh, he was our dog. We had him for six years, but he died a couple of months ago.” She pulled her phone out of the pouch of her hoodie and swiped to reveal her lock screen. “This is a picture of Henry with him.”

“Beautiful animal,” Killian commented sincerely, taking in the photo of the brown and white spaniel. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” Emma sighed, locking her phone and returning it to the pocket. “Henry grew up with him and he’s had a really hard time with it. Someone suggested renting a pet from the shelter to help him work through it, and that’s how we ended up renting Norman.”

“They seem to really like each other.”

“Yeah, they got along great the first time. That’s why I signed up to get him again, but I was in a hurry when I filled out the form and forgot to ask for a specific dog.”

“Ah, that explains the mix-up,” Killian remarked.

Another half hour passed while they chatted easily, until Henry came over and flopped down on the ground, quickly joined by Norman. “I’m hungry, Mom. Can we get something to eat?”

“Sure, kid. Put Norman back on his leash and we’ll go find those food trucks Mr. Nolan mentioned.”

They soon located the food trucks just down the sidewalk from the park. After discussing their options, they decided to get pulled pork sandwiches from the barbeque place. It was obvious that people who took their pets to the dog park frequented the food trucks, because each one had bowls of water set out in front of them and containers of dog biscuits on their condiment tables.

While they waited for their food, Henry tried to teach Norman to sit, rewarding him with pieces of the biscuits when he obeyed.

“He’s very good with him,” Killian noted.

“He prays for another dog every night, but our schedule is so busy right now. Plus, it’s such a big responsibility and I’m not sure Henry is ready for it. I might be wrong about that though, seeing how he is with Norman.”

After eating, they followed the sidewalk a little further and spotted a playground. Emma and Killian sat on a bench, with Norman sitting between them as they watched Henry play on the equipment.

“You know, we’ve lived in Storybrooke for six years and I never knew this playground existed,” Emma commented. “We don’t come this way very often, because whenever we go out of town, we take the road going south.”

“It appears to be fairly new,” Killian observed. “Perhaps they constructed it when they built those apartments over there, because they don’t look like they’ve been there very long.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I remember when they were being constructed a couple of years after we moved here, which means they’re less than five years old.”

They lost sight of Henry for a few seconds when he climbed a ladder up into a tower. Suddenly they heard him shout, “Hey, Mom! Look what I found!” and saw him coming down a twisting slide with his arms over his head, clutching a tattered looking soccer ball.

He landed at the bottom and came running over to them. “Someone must have forgotten this at the top of the tower. Wanna kick it around with me?”

“Sure, kid,” Emma answered, hopping up from the bench. “It looks a bit deflated. Are you sure it’s even going to roll?”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. Placing it on the ground, he gave it a kick and watched it roll across the grass. “See?”

A black streak flew past him, with Killian following close behind shouting, “Wins-, I mean, Norman! Come back here!”

The dog ignored him, but stopped when he got to the soccer ball. He was trying to pick it up in his mouth when the three humans reached him. Killian was able to kick it away from him, directly to Emma, who stopped it with her foot, then booted it over to Henry. Norman ran from one to the other, in hot pursuit of the elusive ball.

The ‘keep away’ game kept them entertained for a long time. They ran, shouting instructions to each other and laughing until all of them were completely out of breath. Norman was able to intercept some of their passes, but they always managed to get it away from him before he was able to pick it up and run off.

Finally, Emma declared that she had to take a break. Picking up Norman’s leash, she said, “I think we should take him back to the food trucks to get a drink and buy a couple of bottles of water.”

“Aww, Mom,” Henry complained. “I’m not ready to go yet. Can’t I stay here? Killian will stay with me, won’t you, Killian?”

“First of all, you should call him Mr. Jones, and secondly, you’re putting him on the spot, which isn’t cool,” Emma admonished.

Henry looked appropriately chagrined. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones.”

“Thank you, Henry, but if I may be so bold, I don’t mind you calling me Killian. That is, if it’s okay with your mother.”

Henry looked to his mom, who considered for a few seconds, then gave him a nod of approval.

Killian put his arm across Henry’s shoulders and walked him the short distance to where Emma was standing. “I’d be happy to go get the water, Emma.” He took the end of Norman’s leash from her. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

While he was gone, Emma sat on the bench watching Henry continue to kick the soccer ball around. Killian and Norman returned a few minutes later, handed her a bottle of water and sat down beside her.

“Do I owe you anything for this?” Emma asked, unscrewing the lid.

“Not at all. I think I can afford to buy a lovely lass a bottle of water.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes at his use of the adjective, still rueing the fact she met such a handsome man while looking like she just rolled out of bed. As she was getting ready to take a drink, Henry kicked the ball and sent it sailing over their head, causing Emma to duck and spill some of the water in her lap.

Henry ran over, stopping in front of her. “Oops. Sorry, Mom. I was trying to kick it at the teeter-totter.”

Emma brushed at the water droplets, looking around to locate the teeter-totter, which was at least twenty feet away from the bench. “Not even close, kid.”

Killian stood up. “Perhaps I could give you some pointers, lad. I was a rather good football player when I was younger .”

Henry’s forehead creased in confusion. “I play soccer, not football.”

Killian chuckled as Emma explained, “Killian grew up in England and over there, soccer is called football. They call what we play ‘American football’, don’t they, Killian?”

“Aye, lass. Sorry to confuse you, Henry.”

“Oh, I never knew that. So, how good were you?”

Killian rubbed a finger behind his ear, ducking his head a bit. “I played in a semi-professional league for a couple of years and actually tried out for a professional club, before I decided to go to Uni and become an architect instead.”

“Wow! Cool!” Henry exclaimed. “You probably know even more about soccer than my coach!”

Emma laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he knows a bit more than a volunteer coach for a youth league team.” She took the dog’s leash back from Killian. “Norman and I will sit this lesson out.”

Killian attempted to wink at her. “As you wish, Milady. Come on, lad. We’ve got work to do.”

She smiled fondly, watching the two of them passing the ball back and forth for a while, before pulling out her phone to catch up on her social media apps.

When she looked up a few minutes later, she saw Killian giving Henry instructions for controlling the ball as he dribbled it down the field. Apparently, they were using two trees as the goal and Henry was moving toward them quickly, while trying rather unsuccessfully to keep the ball under control. When he kicked it from quite a distance away, the ball hit one of the trees and ricocheted away.

Killian went to retrieve the ball and took it back to where Henry was waiting. He squatted down in front of the boy and began talking to him, gesturing now and then to different parts of the field.

Henry listened intently, nodding once in a while. When Killian finished speaking, he stood up and did a short demonstration of how to move the ball back and forth from foot to foot. Then he patted the boy’s shoulder, walked the ball further away from the trees and set it down.

Henry lined himself up behind the ball and looked up at Killian. After getting a reassuring smile from him, Henry started dribbling the ball across the ground with shorter, more controlled kicks, while Killian jogged beside him, shouting encouragement. This time, he got the ball much closer to the trees, before giving it a powerful kick that sent it shooting right between them.

Killian whooped as Henry raised his arms in victory, giving a triumphant cheer. What Emma saw happen next put a lump in her throat. Henry flung his arms around Killian’s waist, hugging him tightly, and Killian returned the hug, rubbing his hand over her son’s head as he looked down at him with a proud smile on his face.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

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#pet for rent #jrob64 #csff #CS fluff #CS smut #CS modern AU #captain swan fanfic #art by jrob64 #ouat Captain Swan fanfic #Captain cobra

[donteattheappleshook]

(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.” 

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great. 

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers. 

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement. 

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic. 

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside. 

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him. 

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.” 

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -” 

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open. 

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?” 

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong… 

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” 

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door. 

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum. 

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.” 

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’ 

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch. 

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her. 

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.” 

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end. 

He’s missed her so bloody much. 

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally. 

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.” 

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.” 

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out. 

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.” 

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions. 

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’ 

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.” 

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning. 

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all. 

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’. 

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist. 

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height. 

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.” 

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’ 

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything. 

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.” 

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try. 

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’ 

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.” 

“Thank you.” 

“It’ll never hold up in court.” 

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.” 

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.” 

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’ 

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart. 

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea. 

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?” 

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most. 

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.” 

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again. 

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm. 

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.” 

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.” 

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand. 

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.” 

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers. 

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.” 

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade. 

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.” 

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time. 

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner. 

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar. 

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away. 

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?” 

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.” 

She walks away. Beyond repair then. 

***

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else.”

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard. 

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.” 

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did. 

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.” 

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.” 

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station. 

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment. 

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.” 

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss. 

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves. 

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack  ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories. 

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window. 

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her. 

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To - 

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.” 

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up. 

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation. 

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.” 

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.” 

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?” 

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.” 

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her. 

“How much of last night do you actually remember?” 

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.” 

“I know.” 

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen. 

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.” 

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much. 

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.” 

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him. 

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear. 

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.” 

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.” 

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.” 

“What rules?” 

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now. 

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were. 

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them. 

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him. 

“Milah?” 

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion. 

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.” 

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.” 

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times. 

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned. 

“You’re right.” 

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure. 

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to. 

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough. 

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before. 

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch. 

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.” 

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust. 

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.” 

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away. 

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’  

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult. 

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.” 

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.” 

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off. 

“Here.” 

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.” 

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -” 

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -” 

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his. 

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.  

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that. 

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.” 

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.” 

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone. 

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck. 

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader. 

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.” 

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer. 

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.” 

“My arm’s asleep.” 

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.” 

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him. 

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -” 

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.” 

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him. 

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt. 

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.” 

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck. 

*******

Tagging the usual people but let me know if you want to be removed or added!

@kmomof4​​ @elizabeethan​​ @the-darkdragonfly​  @undercaffinatednightmare​ @jennjenn615​ @dramioneswan​ @gingerchangeling​ @gingerpolyglot​ @kazoo5480​ @lfh1226-linda​ @csalltheway​ @xsajx​ @xarandomdreamx​ @onceratheart18​ @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook​ @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway​ @zaharadessert​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @spartanguard​ @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche​ @jrob64​ @klynn-stormz​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @tiganasummertree​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian @snowbellewells​ @xellewoods​ @sals86​ @karlyfr13s​  @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru​ @lonelyspectator12​   @anmylica​   @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust​ @marcella2727 @paradiselady19​​ @koryandr​ @killiansprincss​ @goforlaunchcee​​ @motherkatereloyshipper

#captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs angst #but also just a lot of funny drunk Killian #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan #this thing is ferral guys #I don't even know what this is but I hope you like it #silver hook #silver killian

[laianely]

This is the idea that I've been putting off for so long. And this is some kind of trailer for my fanfic - "Hooked Swan"! Finally made it!

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #captain hook #ouat #once upon a time #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #laianely's edits #laianely’s fanfics

[searchingwardrobes]

I'm back!!! After months and months of creative exhaustion and writer's block, this story came to me one night when I couldn't sleep. It's just a little one shot of pillow talk in Camelot that's a little fluffy, a tiny bit angsty, and a whole lot of tenderness. I hope you all enjoy it!

Rated T

               Killian wished for the first time for those garish artificial lights of Storybrooke. As Emma said, he was becoming a 21st century man, and he had come to enjoy the ability to see his beloved in all her glory, even after the sun went down. Here in Camelot, however, he had to rely on his sense of touch alone to map the marks on Emma he had come to know so well.

            “You and I, we understand each other,” Emma had said once, and the longer they were together, the more they saw it to be true. Though many a woman had warmed his bed, he still felt self-conscious the first time Emma saw the scars that riddled his body, yet she had smiled in that knowing way she had, and had cheekily said, “let me show you mine.”

            His thumb now grazed the puckered one on her shoulder, a form of punishment by a foster father using the tip of his cigar. He nudged her hair aside with his nose, then lightly brushed his lips across the faint white line behind her right ear, caused by a broken beer bottle.

            “I thought I ducked in time,” Emma had chuckled when she told him the story, “until I felt the trickle of blood dripping down my neck.”

            He knew what it was to make light of a person’s past, as if childhood slavery was just one of those things that happens sometimes. There was nothing normal about it, however, just as there was nothing normal about Emma living in an alleyway at the age of ten ducking from beer brawls.

            Emma shifted in his arms with a contented sigh. He wished she could sleep, but since the darkness wouldn’t allow herself that reprieve, at least she could find solace in his embrace. “You silence the voices in my head,” she had told him, pressing her nose to his collarbone. If that was the case, he would not leave her side, though the sleeping arrangements hadn’t made her father very happy at first.

            Killian’s fingers danced along the jagged scars along her upper back, the newest ones, from when a skip she was chasing pushed her into a plate glass window. That story elicited a shrug and bragging rights that she only missed a few days of work. Bravado – he understood that defense mechanism as well.

            They really did understand one another.

            Emma reached around for his arm and pulled his hand down to lace his fingers with hers. She pressed their joined hands to her chest, and he noticed the slightest change in her bearing. An almost imperceptible stiffening, and did her pulse just kick up a notch? She shifted again, this time as if she were uncomfortable.

            “Are you alright, love?”

            Emma released his hand, and using her magic, she lit the candles in the room. Then she rolled over to face him, her hands fluttering, as if she didn’t know whether to touch him or not. She finally balled them up in the sheet that covered her, pulling it up to her chin.

            “Do you know the song ‘Brandy’?”

            Killian chuckled. “You know my only knowledge of this realm’s music is you and Henry. Right now your lad is educating me on something called punk? Apparently, it was a favorite of his father’s.”

            Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, Neal loved that stuff. I prefer the classics.”

            “Like those beetle people?”

            “The Beatles, Killian, and yes. Also Motown, Elvis, Creedence Clearwater Revival. I don’t know why, I just always liked the old stuff.”

            “And this song? ‘Brandy’? Is by one of these singing groups?”

            “Uh, no, but it's kind of the same genre, I guess. I don’t know even know who sings it, actually. I thought maybe you’d heard it at Granny’s or something. It’s about this girl and a sailor, so . . . “

            “Ah.” He nodded, encouraging her to go on. He was glad she’d lit the candles, though he still couldn’t see her well. Well enough, however, to see the furrow of her brow and the way her lips turned down. This was obviously about more than a song. “Most sailors I know prefer rum, though. Brandy is a little high brow for our modest tastes.”

            Emma rolled her eyes, which was precisely what he’d been going for. “Brandy is a woman. She lives by the sea and serves drinks to sailors. In a tavern, I guess.”

            “Aptly named.”

            Emma adjusted her pillow beneath her head and rolled over. She continued the story gazing up at the ceiling instead of looking at him.

            “The song tells the story about her and the man she falls in love with. He’s a sailor, and he loves her, but always leaves her.”

            Killian is beginning to see where this is going. He shifts closer to her, propping his head up on his blunted arm so he can look down at her as she speaks. With his hand, he strokes her arm gently.

            “The chorus,” Emma continues, “is what the man always says to her: Brandy, you’re a fine girl. What a good wife you would be, but my life, my love, my lady is the sea.”

            There are many things Killian could say. The first thought that comes to his mind is that the man in the song is either an idiot or a complete cad who most likely has a girl in every port. He’s known the type. People probably assume he’s the type, but he was always careful that his one-night stands had the same expectations he did. He actively avoided women who would be a “good wife.” Not every sailor had good form, however. He could explain all of that to Emma; tell her that the song is unfortunately a common tale, but it’s never been his.

            He knows, however, that none of those things are what Emma needs right now. So he waits, without moving, his hand still caressing her arm. Emma releases a puff of angry breath before speaking again.

            “I’ve always hated that song.”

            “Emma, love,” Killian says gently, shifting onto his back and reaching for her, “come here.”

            She comes to him a bit shyly, and he smiles at her gently as he cups her face with his hand. In her gaze, he can see hesitation. Fear. He doesn’t know if it’s the darkness whispering doubts, or if it’s her same old insecurities, but this is one battle he knows how to help her fight.

            “My life,” he says, kissing her cheek, “my love,” he kisses her nose, “my lady,” he kisses her forehead, then pulls back so he can gaze into her eyes, “is you, Emma.”

            Her eyes well up with tears, and a hesitant smile teases the corners of her mouth. “The Jolly Roger was your home for so long. You had nothing holding you back. Nothing tying you down.”

            Killian shakes his head. “Emma, you said once that you and I understand one another. You, like me, were an orphan. What is the one thing all orphans want more than anything else?”

            “A home,” Emma breathes without hesitation.

            Killian nods, then kisses her fiercely, pulling her to himself, his hand tangling in her hair, pouring into his kiss all his hopes and dreams for their future. When they part, breathless, Emma presses her forehead to his, her smile finally full and joyous.

            “So I didn’t freak you out when I mentioned that white picket fence?”

            Killian tucks her against him, wrapping his arms fully around her. As he kisses the top of her head, he thinks of the real estate ads he and Henry have been looking at, one house in particular that looks fit for a princess, with a view of the sea.

            “Not at all, love. I want that too.”

            Emma snuggles further into his embrace, her hand splayed on his chest, right over his heart.

            “Good,” she says, with that edge of smugness he’s always found so endearing.

            He tries to stay awake, for her sake, but the warm, flickering light of the candles, combined with the softness of her in his arms, lulls him more than the ocean waves. Just as sleep pulls him under, he murmurs against her hair.

            “You’re my home now, Emma. My life, my love, my lady.”

Tagging: @snowbellewells @jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @spartanguard @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thislassishooked @thisonesatellite @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateherokillian @jonesfandomfanatic @linda8084

I don't even know who is around anymore, so let me know if you want to be added or removed from my tag list!!

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #fluff #sweetness #intimacy #pillow talk #canon compliant

[piinfeathers]

the scars we bare

it's a mid-january miracle, i actually wrote something. after threatening to finally start writing captain swan fics, i actually did it. thank you to all my beautiful friends on discord who encouraged me and to @dykelilypage i'm so glad you liked your gift <333 this is chapter 1 of 2, second one should be up tomorrow probably maybe who knows? :)))

summary: emma swan came to the underworld with one purpose; to rescue the man she loved from hades' grip. and she would do anything, sacrifice everything in order to that happen. when hades offers her a deal, a test of their true love, she takes it. in the end though, the bargain might just take more for them than they have to give. S5B canon divergence

tw: minor moments of gore and torture, also pregnancy and child birth

✨ ao3 link ✨

***

Emma had made plenty of bad decisions in her life. Big, catastrophic decisions, she could admit that. If she were to rank them though, willingly letting herself fall under a sleeping curse to rescue the man she loved from hell, probably would have ended up pretty high on the list.

She stared at him, across the wide airy field of middlemist flowers that wasn’t actually there, but felt nearly as real as she remembered, and wondered if he would feel the same.

“Swan.” Her name sounded like a prayer, rasped from his too-dry throat.

She was running then, or maybe she had started running before, she wasn’t sure. Her arms circled him when they met, his own grip nearly crushing as he lifted her off her feet. Frantic kisses and searching hands probed each other as incomplete pleas stuttered out of each of them. 

“You alright?”

“-m fine. You can’t be here-”

“-made a deal. Hades, he had a deal.”

“-have to go back. Please, you have to go back.”

“I can’t.” 

The last two words dropped like a stone between them and Killian jerked back. His face was the same as it had been when she’d last seen him alive. It was no longer the swollen mess of throbbing bruises Hades had left it in, when he’d shown Emma her lover’s broken body that was being torn and burnt and flayed apart until she had screamed to make it stop. Killian’s hand, the fingers still intact and no longer snapped and broken, cupped her face. He was trembling. Or maybe that was her. It was hard to tell at this point.

“Emma,” her name came out as a whisper. “Emma, where are we?”

She smiled as something huge and terrifying in her chest threatened to burst open.

“Somewhere... Somewhere in my mind. I think? Maybe,” she glanced around again, trying to focus. “A memory. He kept saying something about memories. Our memories.”

“Love, you aren’t making any sense.”

She laughed and it sounded like a watery hiccup. “Hades. Hades and I made a deal.”

The hand on her face tensed as she watched his expression grow brittle. “Emma-” his throat bobbed. “Emma. What kind of deal? What did you promise him?”

She held up her right hand, her index finger raised. A small droplet of blood welled up in the sensitive pad of flesh at the tip where she had pricked it only moments earlier.

“Sleeping curse,” she tried to keep her voice calm as she risked another glance at him. His face was ghost white, completely drained of colour. “I think he thought he was being funny. Something about “the old Charming family tradition.””

Killian’s head was shaking, his eyes darting away from her as he scanned the edges of the tree line behind them, looking for a way out. “We have to wake you up. Emma you don’t understand, Hades he-”

She watched his gaze go unfocused, the nerve in his jaw popping.

“Hey,” she said quickly, her hand curling around his neck, pulling him back to her. “He can’t get you, not here. Not unless he feels like breaking our deal.”

His eyes were still nervy, and she could feel his pulse jumping beneath her palm, but he focused on her again. God she had missed him. Missed the way he smelled, the way his scruffed jaw felt when she held it. It suddenly seemed so hysterically unfair that they’d only had a few months together. They deserved a lifetime. 

“This deal,” he rasped after a moment. “Tell me exactly what he asked of you.”

“He wanted…” she trailed off, trying to remember what he had said. “He said he wanted to test us. To see if what we shared was true love or not. That we needed to really see every part of each other before we made our decision.”

Killian was holding very, very still, his expression unreadable. “And for us to do this test, you needed to be cursed, is that right? Am I cursed as well? Is that how I’m standing here with you?” His voice sounded calm, almost reasonable, as if they were discussing the rules to a complicated board game. But Emma could still feel his panic, could see it starting to edge into the corners of his eyes, turning them glassy. Another one of her huge, catastrophically bad decisions alright. 

“No. No you aren’t under a sleeping curse,” she tried to make her voice comforting, but doubted it had much effect. “He said that souls without a living body don’t need curses to be moved to the dream realm, as long as they’re tethered to someone alive they just sort of- “hitch a ride,” or something.”

A smile started to spread across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “So I’m tethered to you then?”

“Seems that way,” she said, her heart feeling like a dead weight in her chest. “I’m not exactly sure about the next parts, he was talking about memory magic, about old wounds needing to be opened up. He said the dream realm made the magic more…” she waved her hand. “Potent or something. Made it easier to find old memories.”

Killian’s hand dropped to her shoulder, his hook resting against her hip. “Why does he want us to explore old memories? Which memories? What does he gain from that?”

“I have no idea, I’m pretty sure he was just talking to hear himself speak at some point.”

“I don’t like this. Hades wouldn’t make a deal unless it was to punish or to trap you here. Emma, please,” his tone was growing frantic and it was making her own nerves start to fray. “Try and remember exactly what he said. Every word. If he’s trapped you here-”

“I don’t remember all the specifics! I was a little distracted watching you get tortured. Hades didn’t exactly have my undivided attention.”

Killian’s eyes shuttered and Emma could feel the slight tremor in his hand as it fell from her shoulder. She wished she hadn’t mentioned the torture. The second she had, she’d seen his face go blank. When this was over, she would kill Hades. She wasn’t sure how exactly, but she would get creative. Somehow she would figure out a way to make the god of death hurt in the same way he had made Killian hurt. 

“Look,” she said, her voice thick. “All you need to know is that he can’t hurt us. I made him swear it. He can’t touch you here, and he can’t kill me. Everything that happens now is up to us.”

He looked up, staring at something far away from them, like he was remembering something he’d rather forget. “And if we fail? What then? Does he get both of us to torture for eternity?”

“We won’t fail,” she told him. They wouldn’t. She couldn’t let that happen. Even if it killed her, she would never let Hades touch Killian Jones again. “I got down here didn’t I? And I found you. The hard part’s already done.”

He huffed out a laugh that sounded wrong to her ears. “Your confidence is admirable, Swan. But you don’t know what Hades is capable of. What he does to you once he has you.”

She could feel him slipping from her, could feel the despair coming off him in waves, and it killed her. “There’s a fail safe,” she told him quickly. “I can call off the deal at any time.” 

He jerked his attention back to her, suddenly alert. 

“But Killian, if I call it off, if I choose to end this, you go right back where I found you. Back to Hades,” she said, a world of meaning in her words. 

“But you’ll be safe?”

She looked at him. She should tell him. Tell him the entire truth. Tell him exactly what she had promised to keep him safe, to bring him back home. What she had signed away. But if she told him, if he knew everything, he would never agree to it. He would refuse and send her back and all this would be for nothing. He would go back to the endless, screaming pain that Hades had cleaved into him until there was nothing of him left. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be fine. But you won’t. Please Killian. Please just let us try this first. We have to.”

He blew a breath out of his nose, looking down when she grabbed his hand in both of hers and squeezed. “Alright,” he said. “Alright, we'll try.”

She grinned as she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him, holding him. His hand moved up to her hair, cradling her head, his forehead coming to rest against hers. 

“So. How exactly does this trial work? What do we have to do?”

There was a quick burst of magic to the left of them, and a door twisted into existence a few feet away. The carved wood groaned slightly as it seemed to sway towards them, rocking on its frame, before coming to a stop. They both stared at it. 

“Well. Guess that answers that,” she said.

“Indeed,” he sighed, turning back to look at her. She saw a question, huge and all consuming in his stare that went unasked. Right, this was her deal. Her curse. He would follow her lead. Like he always did. Whatever happened, no matter how much it took from her, she would do whatever it took to make sure he got out of this. 

“C’mon,” she nodded towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

He grimaced as they walked towards it, reaching down to grip the brass handle and opening it for her. “Any idea what’s awaiting us on the other side?”

She squeezed his hand, raising her brows. “Nope.” 

They walked through. And the ground beneath their feet vanished.

***

She was falling. Her hair was whipping around her head while the wind rushed up and made her eyes water. Images and noise strobed past like flickering television screens as she plummeted down towards a huge, white nothingness. If she focused she thought she could make out faces, blurred and half formed, but they streaked past her, faster than her eyes could follow. She tried to reach out, tried to find something to grab a hold of, something to slow her fall, but it was like falling through light and sound and a great vast emptiness eager to swallow her whole.

Was this it? Was this what Hades had planned all along? No harm to her physical body sure, but trapping them in some fucked liminal space for eternity? Well. That was a different story.

She tried to look up, or whatever passed for up in this space and suddenly felt something grab her arm. Killian, his grip tight on her, was falling beside her. His mouth was open, mouthing something she couldn’t hear over the roar of noise and wind and her own frantic heartbeat. She tried to reach for him, her fingers outstretched-

When everything slammed to a sudden stop.

Her mind lurched, feeling like the contents of a car with its brakes hit too hard. The tunnel of noise, whatever it had been, was gone, and a blindingly blue sky stretched out in front of her. She tried to blink and turn her head, but her body was locked in place, no longer listening to her.

Only…only it wasn’t her body. 

She heard someone call for her, but it wasn’t her name she heard, it was Killian’s. She twisted and when her mouth opened it wasn’t her voice that boomed forth, but a man’s, low and accented, and oh-so familiar to her. 

She’d dealt with memory magic before, had stayed up long, magic-drunk nights as the dark one weaving dream catchers together in order to snare memories. She’d been expecting something closer to that, where memories played like snippets of old tv reruns. This was something completely different. She wasn’t just watching Killian's memories, she was living them. In his head.

“What news do you bring me then?” he called.

He sounded happy, and Emma could feel it then, he was excited about something. Somehow, inside his head, she could feel thoughts, could almost reach out and touch them.

He stood on the top deck, near the massive helm. Below him, near the rigging of the sails, a woman with dark hair and seafoam eyes grinned at him. Even before Emma felt the sudden rush of love and recognition, she knew exactly who she was looking at. Milah. 

“No news that can safely be shared among mixed company, captain ,” Milah called with a wink. She had Henry’s smile, Emma realized distantly.

The crew around Milah laughed uproariously, and her wide grin was a twin to the one stretching across Killian’s as he swung round the deck to go meet her.

Just as Emma was greedily drinking in the image of the image of the woman who had her son’s grin and Killian's heart, the world suddenly melted and shifted around her. It was as if the memory smeared, all the unimportant bits forgotten and discarded. She moved through short, foggy glimpses of old points in time. Moments alone with Milah, the sound of her laugh, the feeling of her eyes watching him, her laugh lines fanning out from the corners. At the core of it, his love for her was like a warm, even glow in his chest. Emma was suddenly sad that she would never get to meet this woman. This woman with the sharp wit and an easy laugh. She thought she would have liked her.

She kept floating through memories until they solidified all at once into sharp focus. Killian was back on the deck. Only he couldn’t move, something tight twisted around his chest and pinned him down. In front of him, Milah was on her knees. A man stood before her. His hand was buried into her chest. 

Emma recognized Rumpelstiltskin as blind, frantic panic tore through Killian, choking her. Killian had never told her explicitly how Milah had died, only that Gold had killed her. But she knew this moment. She knew what happened next. 

Rumpelstiltskin's hand tore free, Milah’s beating heart in his grip. He stared at it almost hungrily. Emma heard Killian shout, felt him pull himself free from the ropes binding him and dive for Milah as she slumped back. He caught her, begging, pleading words stumbling from his lips. She felt so light in his arms, a hollow empty shell. They shared a look, Milah’s gaze full of an unspoken farewell. 

She heard, rather than saw the crunch of the heart as Rumpelstiltskin crushed it. Milah gasped, dead even before the ashes crumbled and fell to the deck. 

Rage built in Killian, blinding and useless. It pushed him to his feet, surged him forward. He cursed Rumpelstiltskin, his hands in fists, desperate to drive them into the scaled skin and rotting teeth of the man who took his love. Rumpelstiltskin's grin was sharp. A blade flashed. Men shouted. A horrible, exquisite pain erupted from Killian’s left wrist and drove him to his knees. Emma wanted to scream.

Everything started moving too fast. The memory grew blurry again, every part of it dulled by the all consuming pain and rage boiling in Killian. He was screaming, driving a hook into Rumpelstiltskin's chest, mocking laughter meeting his ears. Then hands were grabbing him, pulling him back. Pain. Oh god there was just so much pain. Emma felt herself being dragged down with it, Killian’s vision growing black. But even in the darkness she felt the agony, unable to escape it. All alone in his head, she ached. 

The memories came and went. Bright flashes of faces crowding into his vision, frantic voices and bloody rags. Blood. There was so much blood. She could smell it, the sharp, copper tang of it. It felt like it coated his tongue, filled his nostrils and tried to drown him. He was being moved, every bump and bounce he felt sending jolts of pain through his system and forcing him back into blank unconsciousness.

Then heat. It was so sudden and sharp it brought him back to bleeding, screaming life. The world around him was thrown into abrupt focus as molten heat was pressed against the agonizing, throbbing stump of his wrist. He looked at the white hot blade being forced against his skin, watched as it melted his flesh and made it bubble around the edges, cauterizing it. He was screaming. It filled his head, an endless bellow of animalistic pain that crashed into Emma like a blow. 

When the darkness came for him again, Emma welcomed it with a sob.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when he started to wake again. She didn’t care. Every part of his body was one, long, endless agony. She couldn’t breathe from the force of it. Above him, it grew dark, then light, then dark again. Time moving on with or without him.

A noise woke him at some point. She blinked the grit from his burning eyes, trying to look at where Killian's hand had been severed. His wrist was an angry, mottled thing, the skin around it too pink, too tight. Thick blisters, fat and stretched taunt, seemed too shiny in the pale light below the deck of the ship where they had left him.

Her head lolled, their shared vision turning syrupy around the edges as the pain rose up again and smothered her in burning heat. 

She could hear voices, pitched low, all whispering with a panicked edge.

“Fever.”  

“ Infection…”

“The amount of blood he lost-” 

“No one could survive that.”

Emma writhed inside the shell of the memory. Killian , she sobbed, unsure if he could hear her. Was he in here with her? Was he reliving this too and she just couldn’t feel him? Or had Hades taken him away from her again? It was so quiet now. Killian. Killian. She repeated it again and again, his fever touching her own mind, choking the air from her lungs. How could he bear this? How could anyone bear this?

Fresh pain shot from his wrist and Emma threw her head back and screamed. Tears rolled down her cheeks when it was Killian’s voice, Killian’s pain she heard echoing endlessly in her head as she was pitched sidewise into another memory.

He was vomiting, heat and misery burning him, leaving him feeling feverish and delirious. He was fading in and out of consciousness, through the days, maybe weeks, he could no longer tell. Food and water had to be forcibly shoved into his mouth until he swallowed it, all the while he cursed at them for daring to try and keep him alive in his grief.

Emma watched it all, helpless inside his head. Killian had been right. Hades had found a way to torture them after all. Because this? Watching Killian break apart, unable to help, was agony. She wanted to fight, wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. But she could do neither. She could only sit and witness it all.

More memories faded in and out. In his rare moments of lucidity, the image of Milah, her heart torn from her chest, burned across his brain. His heart felt empty, like a hollow burden, sinking his body down deeper. His love for her burned itself away, twisted and malformed from grief. In its place, only one thought remained. Revenge. 

The word repeated itself, over and over, until it became a mantra. As his body healed, as the scar tissue on both his wrist and his heart thickened, he swore it to himself, again and again. He would have his revenge. No matter the cost. 

Trapped inside his tortured mind, Emma mourned for him.

***

Killian woke in agony. Pain snaked around his spine and sank into his bones, leaving him too weary to move. For one, terrifying moment, he thought he was back in the underworld. That all this had been a ruse. Emma had never come for him, Hades had simply split open his head and planted the idea of her, giving him hope and then taking it. Yet again.

But this place didn’t feel like his hell. There were voices around him, low murmuring, distinctly human voices.

He tried to open his eyes, but they stayed stubbornly shut. Another wave of pain twisted inside him, washing over him as his back arched and a low, sobbing moan filled his head. Emma. That was Emma’s voice.

“You’re doing great Emma, just a little longer now,” a strange voice near his feet comforted.

He felt her then, Emma. She was scared and exhausted and so, so heartbreakingly sad that it nearly swallowed her. 

He wasn’t here, he realized as her emotions buffeted him and surrounded him from all sides. This was Emma’s body. Her memory.

Her eyes opened and Killian looked across the room through tear blurred eyes. She was on her back, doctors and nurses standing around her, their faces hidden with masks and hair coverings. Blinding, overhead lights seemed to beat down on her, making her even more uncomfortable. She tried to move and Killian felt something tug on her wrist.

She let out a small sob of annoyance and pain, looking down at the silver cuff that chained her to the bed. They’d restrained her. She was in pain, she needed help, and they’d restrained her.

Fury raced through him, though he couldn’t tell if it was his or hers he felt, or a combination of the two. She felt so small in the bed, and so completely alone.

Another rush of pain, this one stronger than the first two, sent stars across their shared vision and Emma fell back.

“Okay Emma, you’re ready. It’s time to push, alright?”

She was shaking her head, and Killian felt her panic and his own bleed together. She was giving birth. He was about to witness her giving birth inside her own mind. For some reason the complete invasion of it flooded his brain, made him want to climb out of her head and simply hold her. This was her memory. Hers. He had no right to witness this and Hades certainly had no right to take that choice from her.

But he was here. There was no taking back what had been started. So he sat in the mind of the woman he loved and felt her body tear itself apart.

She was screaming, her body bearing down, the act of giving birth overwhelming her rational brain and simply taking over, trying to push. Sweat poured down her face as she strained, her pain now just a constant steady stream of misery. She wanted it to end. She needed it to end. She just wanted to lay back and sleep and never wake up. She’d fought so hard her whole life and now she had no fight left. She was done.

“You've got this Emma,” a nurse soothed from her left side, her gloved hand rubbing circles on her back. Emma liked her, Killian could feel it. This was a kind person, the only person who treated her like a patient and not a prisoner. A good person, a decent person. Someone who would make an amazing parent. Unlike her.

“Emma, I need you to work with us,” the doctor positioned between her legs called. “You need to keep pushing, your baby is ready to come out.”

Her baby. Killian felt a spark of something light inside her. Emma was too scared to give the feeling a name, but Killian recognized it instantly. Love.

Oh how she loved this little baby. She adored it. She sang it songs in her head and read to it in the bed of her prison cell when everyone else was asleep. She would give anything to her baby if it asked.

So she pushed. She pushed even as she felt like she was tearing in half, when the pain grew knife-sharp and carved her open. Voices blurred around her, all speaking over each other, telling her to take deep breaths, that she was almost there, that it was almost over. She gripped the sides of the bed, shoving forward and pushed until she thought her bones would crack and she would break apart until there was nothing of her left.

“Big push now Emma! Big push!”

She screamed and it was like the ozone in the room ignited, the lights in the room glowing white hot and shattering. Killian felt a punch of raw, primal magic explode from within her and then-

A baby’s cry, small but strong, broke through the silence. Henry. He was here. Killian wanted to look at him, wanted to see the boy's face, the feeling nearly overwhelming him. But Emma didn’t turn to look. She squeezed her eyes shut, and sank into the mattress.

“It’s a boy Emma,” the doctor said, a smile in his voice.

A boy. She had a son. A beautiful, perfect son. He cried out, and Killian felt it drive into Emma's heart like a knife. Every part of her wanted to turn, wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, to soothe his cries and protect him from every bad scary thing in this world like it was her only job in this life.

But…she couldn’t. She loved him more than anything. She would give him anything to make him happy, to keep him safe. And because of that she knew that meant he had to go away. As far away from her as possible. He deserved so much, he deserved the whole world. And she couldn’t afford to give it to him. All she had to give him was a chance. A chance at a better start. Without her. She couldn’t be a mother, couldn’t be his mother. She would ruin him. Taint him somehow. She wouldn’t do that to him.

Killian felt the decision form in her mind, felt her shake her head and grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as tears spilled down her face. He heard the doctor tell her that she could change her mind, that it wasn’t too late. But he knew. He knew what happened next. He wanted to beg her to change her mind, to see that she already was a mother, he wanted to be there and tell her over and over until she believed it. But he couldn’t change the past. He could only watch it.

“No. I can't be a mother,” her voice was so small, it broke him.

He felt her heart tear itself in two. When the doctors carried her baby away from her, when Henry’s small, searching cries faded down the hall into silence, Killian felt as a piece of Emma’s heart went with him. Heartbreak didn’t come close to describing this feeling. It was as if a huge, yawning emptiness split open in her chest where her heart had once sat and consumed her.

***

Killian woke with a start, jerking up and dragging air desperately into his lungs. Beside him, Emma shot up, panting, eyes darting until she saw him. Her face was pale, her hair damp from sweat and sticking to her face. She opened her mouth, her eyes rapidly moving over his face, before flinching away from him and vomiting into the tall grass. He shot forward.

“Emma, breathe. It’s alright, it’s over. What did you-?”

“Probably a good idea to give her a minute,” a taunting voice called from behind them. “She had a hell of a ride in there.”

Killian’s head spun, white hot rage spilling into his blood. Behind them, Hades sat back in a plastic lawn chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, grinning.

“You bloody bastard,” Killian was on his feet, his hand clenched. The overwhelming urge to stomp the heel of his boot into Hades’ cold, dead smile, nearly blinded him.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Hades warned, a single finger raising in the air. “We wouldn’t want to do anything rash now, would we Emma?” He leaned over, calling to her. From her kneeling position, she shoved her middle finger over her shoulder without turning and spat in the grass.

“Hades if you’ve hurt her-”

“Me? Oh no, I didn’t do anything,” he said with mock innocence. “All I did was show her your memory.”

Killian felt his blood run cold. What memory could he have shown her for her to react like that? He knelt back down when Emma moaned, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. 

“Ignore him,” she rasped. “I’m alright. It was-it was just intense.”

“Emma love, call off the deal. I won’t have you in pain like this, I can’t-”

“No!” her eyes burned as she reached up to grip him. “Killian, no, I can handle it. Please. I promise.”

Killian blew a sharp breath from his nose, trying to keep his composure. “Emma,” he tried to make his voice gentle but it still carried an edge. “Love, what memory did he show you?”

Her eyes went distant for a moment, and Killian felt his stomach tighten. He had lived centuries, had done countless brutal things. Any of them were enough to have her react like this. The question was, which one had Hades chosen?

“It was Milah,” she said after a pause. “The moment Rumpelstiltskin killed her, and took your hand.”

Killian went still, staring at her. Hades had shown her that moment? Milah’s face, frozen in fear, floated in front of his eyes, there and gone in seconds. A phantom twinge of pain jolted from his wrist reflexively.

“How much-” he swallowed. “How much did he show you?”

“Oh, I showed her everything, don't worry!” Hades's cheery voice called. “No gory detail left out. Gave her the full surround sound experience, didn’t I Emma?”

Beside him, Emma's face turned pale, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. Killian remembered the pain he had felt trapped inside her memory of Henry’s birth, the agony she had gone through, and felt dread turn his skin cold. She had experienced him losing his hand. Even in his most lucid recollections of that day, Killian had never managed to remember that pain in anything other than hazy, blurred-over recollections. He had pushed it so far from his mind to protect himself from reliving that brutal torment.

And Hades had just made her experience it in full, merciless detail.

“You bastard Hades, there was no bloody need to show her-”

“Show her what? The moment you decided to dedicate your life to avenging your one true love?” Hades asked, his eyes growing wide with mock innocence. He turned to Emma and grinned. “No offense of course. No shame in being the runner up.”

Killian surged to his feet, blood pumping, hook raised. He would bloody end him. Here and now.

“Don’t let him get to you.” Emma said, pushing herself up on shaky legs, to grip his arm. “He's not worth it.”

Killian spared her a glance. “He doesn't have the bloody right. He doesn’t have the right to reach into our heads and pull out our pain just to torture us with it.”

“Oh I’m pretty sure I do though. After all,” Hades steepled his hands together, his gaze locking on Emma. “We made a deal.”

“The deal was to test our true love, not whatever twisted game you’re playing at Hades,” Killian snapped.

“And that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Hades said, his tone taking on an edge of false sincerity. “True love isn’t just some cheap card trick, it’s the most powerful magic that exists. To have it you need to love so fully and completely that it’s like second nature. And you can’t have love like that when you don’t really know a person, now can you?”

The god of death gestured with both hands, like a demented talk show host. “Seriously this is a once in a lifetime opportunity here! I really wouldn’t pass this up if I were you. You,” he pointed to Killian. “Get to finally see inside the head of the saviour, finally learn what makes her tick. And you,” his hand swung to Emma. “Get to learn what kind of man Killian Jones really is.”

His words felt ominous. A promise and a curse all at once. 

“Ignore him,” Emma said. “I already tried to tell him earlier that this whole test was pointless.” She turned to look at him, her mouth turning up at the corners as a fire lit behind her eyes. “I already know exactly what type of man you are.”

“Mmmm, do ya though?” Hades asked with a hiss of breath, tilting his head to the side. “See, I'm not so sure about that. I mean you two have known each other, what, a few months at most? He’s got a whole three centuries worth of history before meeting you. Entire lifetimes lived before you were even born.”

His gaze sharpened, the edge of his smile growing pointed. “Are you really sure he’s even worth it?”

“Yes.” 

Killian sucked in a sharp breath at her sudden certainty. She turned and looked at him, her eyes holding promise. “Yes, I know he’s worth it.”

“Touching,” Hades said dryly. “Really. And for your sake, I hope you’re right. We’ve got a hell of show left to get through.”

Killian could feel the magic starting again, could feel the rush of it start to build, and shook his head. He still didn’t trust this, any of this. He knew how Hades made deals, and he knew there was no way he would give either of them up so easily.

“Emma said you agreed on a fail safe, a way out for her if she needs it. How do we know you’ll honor that?” He asked, stopping the god from conjuring another door.

Hades turned to give them a bored look, as if the question was barely worth his time. “Emma isn’t dead, not yet anyway. I don’t have any way of keeping her bound in the underworld with me. She has the ability to leave whenever she wants.”

“Yeah sure…one small problem though,” Emma glanced between the two of them. “I can’t exactly get up and walk out while I’m stuck in a sleeping curse, can I?”

Hades’s smile turned wolffish, his eyes lighting as if she’d finally said something interesting. “Well now, how funny you bring that up. I was wondering when you would.” 

When they both only stared at him, the god’s face fell. 

“Hello? Sleeping curse?” he said, gesturing to Emma with a flicking hand. “True love’s kiss? Big flashy light show? Thought this was all sort of obvious? Gods you two really are slow. Here.” he jumped to his feet, hands tucking into the pockets of his pants, and stalked towards them. 

“Let me break this down for you. You have two options, one; you see my test through to the end and test the strength of your love, or two;” he held up two fingers on his left hand. “If at any point you want the trial to end, all you have to do is kiss her. She goes back home, no hard feelings, thanks for playing, and you,” he turned to Killian, his grin predatory. “Stay here with me. And we go back to our fun little games.”

They were still for a moment, Emma hand in his squeezing tight. They could. They could just end this now. He could end this now, and save her. He turned to her, caught her tortured gaze. Her head gave one, barely noticeable shake, no.

“Unless, of course,” Hades continued, taking a step towards them. “You’re worried it won’t work?”

Killian blinked. An old, nearly buried dread rising in him like ocean water in a sinking ship. That old fear that Hades was right. That it wasn’t true love at all. 

Oh he loved her of course. He had never loved anyone the way he loved Emma Swan. Even the way he had loved Milah had been different. Not any worse or any less but…different. Loving Emma Swan was like loving the sun. It came as natural to him as breathing.

But in his weakest, most torturous moments of doubt he wondered. He wondered if she ever felt the same. She loved him, of course, in her own quiet way. And he had taken that love and cherished it, held it closely to his heart and lived off it, satisfied with all she gave him.

But. True love? In the depths of her heart was it really true love? The uncertainty of it killed him. And he knew that Hades was perfectly aware of that fact. He had practically split Killian’s head open, torn out chunks of him. Every fear, every doubt, every agonizing thought that Killian had ever felt, Hades knew. And now he planned to torture both of them with it.

“We’ll keep going with the trial.” Emma said, breaking Killian’s thoughts apart and scattering them.  “But we need real memories this time, not whatever sadistic thing you find in our pasts that you feel like torturing us with.”

“Ugh. Fine then, since you two want to be boring, we’ll do this your way! Let’s start at the beginning.” He flicked a hand through the air and another door appeared before them. “No more skipping to all the fun bits first. Off you go!”

They stared at it for a moment. It seemed to pulse with magic, threatening and inviting all at once. In his hand, her fingers were cold, the knuckles white where they gripped him tightly. He shifted, lifting his hook and brushing a lock of hair from her shoulder. Her eyes found his and locked on, a question in her eyes. He waited.

“What memory did he show you?” Emma asked finally, glancing up at him. “I’m guessing it was one of mine. Which one?” 

Killian debated not telling her. Did she really need to know how Hades had stolen that moment from her? But her face was resolute, her gaze steady. There was no point withholding this from her.

“You were in the hospital,” he said, watching her face. “Giving birth to Henry.”

“Oh.” she said, so quietly he barely caught it. Pain flashed across her face, fast and sharp, before her walls went up again and her expression grew blank. 

They both turned to look at the door as it swung open, the hinges squeaking slightly. He gripped her hand tighter, felt her hesitation before she squeezed back. Side by side, they walked through together. 

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #there is probably a lot of spelling mistakes in this #i wrote all of this on my phone 💀 not a joke #steph writes #cs fics #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic

[statustemporary]

and we'll put on a show

SUMMARY: “I get everyone else doesn’t want to go back, I get it. It’s nice being together and having the comfortable mattress and soft pillows and literal palace. But, actually, no, you know what unsettles me the most about being here?” she rants one day while she paces her bed chambers. Hook casually lays on the chaise lounge under the window, spearing grapes with his hook before sliding them off with his mouth, a sight that becomes more and more dangerous the more she sees it. His shirt is unbuttoned to a staggering degree and his chest hair is more of a distraction than she ever thought such a thing could be.

“Ogres? Flying monkeys? Genies?” Hook offers without any real thought.

|| Emma didn't mean to alter Pan's curse. She just wanted to keep her family together. The Enchanted Forest is interesting and all, but it would've been great if her alterations kept them together in Storybrooke where there's hot showers and a McDonalds just past the town line.

RATING: Teen

WORD COUNT: 6,572 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, Fluff, Humor

AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was going to be a quick, fun, ridiculous kind of one-shot and here we are 6k+ later. also, apparently i have 187 different writing styles so i call this one "no backstory necessary".

sorry not sorry for what you're about to read.

heh :)

***

When Pan’s curse was coming and Emma tapped into her deep well of highly untrained, incredibly powerful, and equally chaotic magic, she didn’t know what to expect. All that had been on her mind was staying together – her, Henry, her parents, Regina, Neal, Hook… She didn’t care how it happened or where they were, all she focused on was not being left alone again.

Wish magic, Mother Superior had told her when the smoke dissipated and they were all in the Enchanted Forest. Wish magic is already powerful but paired with your magic, and the wish magic in your heart, it is something I’ve never seen before.

The prospect was daunting. As if being the Savior wasn’t enough, every time she turned around, she had more power than before and even less of a mind on how to use it.

It would’ve been nice if her magic worked well enough to keep them in Storybrooke with hot showers and cars and food already meal prepped. Instead she’s back to chomping on chimera when she’d kill for a bear claw or some Pringles.

“I get everyone else doesn’t want to go back, I get it. It’s nice being together and having the comfortable mattress and soft pillows and literal palace. But, actually, no, you know what unsettles me the most about being here?” she rants one day while she paces her bed chambers. Hook casually lays on the chaise lounge under the window, spearing grapes with his hook before sliding them off with his mouth, a sight that becomes more and more dangerous the more she sees it. His shirt is unbuttoned to a staggering degree and his chest hair is more of a distraction than she ever thought such a thing could be.

“Ogres? Flying monkeys? Genies?” Hook offers without any real thought.

“Wait. Genies are real too?!”

“Is there anything about this realm that doesn’t surprise you, Swan?”

Emma groans and stomps over to her bed, falling back onto it and letting her legs dangle off the side. Her trousers ride up her backside in the most uncomfortable way but she’s too focused on her frustration to bother fixing it. The clothes in the Enchanted Forest are surprisingly soft and durable with even more flexibility than she’s used to. But she misses jeans and sometimes she wants to wear a nice heel that makes her ass look great and gives her an extra two inches of height. The ball gowns are definitely not her thing, at least not the first fifteen dresses that resembled more puff balls than evening wear. The red dress that her mother pulled out for her though – that is an exception.

“Ugh, what really pisses me off is I’ll never know if the last Game of Thrones book ever gets finished and I’ll never know if Derek dies and I won’t get to watch the new Star Wars trilogy with Henry.”

Hook sits up, eyebrows raised high. “Who is Derek?”

Emma groans again and covers her face with her hands. “I can’t even complain to you because you don’t know.”

“It would be helpful if you explained it to me, love.”

His words are soft and gentle and the verbal equivalent of him offering a hand to stand up. It makes her shiver in a way that reminds her of when she was in middle school and Zackary Theed kissed her behind the bleachers when they should’ve been running the mile. The excitement of something so innocent and sweet.

Leaning up on her elbows, she catches the quick glance of Hook’s eyes on the sliver of stomach her shirt exposes with her movements. When his eyes meet hers a moment later, he smirks but holds back the usual heat, giving her his undivided attention.

The dynamic between herself and Hook has been… interesting, to say the least. Especially with the entirety of Storybrooke’s impromptu return to the Enchanted Forest. Her parents, as much as she loves them – because she is accepting that she’s starting to love them – are overwhelming. They’re trying to be comforting and supportive but they’re so excited to finally live this life with her that they’ve always imagined. They’ve talked of balls and suitors and learning to rule when all Emma wants is a nap and some alcohol.

Henry is taking everything in stride, happier than he’s ever been in all the time she’s known him. Not only does he have both moms in the same palace but he also has his dad, a whole stable of horses to choose from, and archery and sword fighting lessons are part of his curriculum now. All in all, it’s every kid’s fantasy come to life and he hasn’t thought once about Storybrooke.

Emma wishes she could say the same but she didn’t grow up here. This isn’t who she is and finding a happy medium to settle at gets more and more exhausting by the day.

She spent her first week in the castle putting her feelers out and trying to gauge the reaction to the town’s sudden relocation. While some townspeople missed the conveniences of Storybrooke, many of them were happy to be home.

Hook kept himself sparce during that first week. Not only did he want to give Emma time with her family and to begin to acclimate but he also needed to find his ship. She wasn’t sure if he’d come back once he got it. His confession in the Echo Caves and their exchange at the town line laid heavy on her mind and played in circles when she tried to sleep the first few nights. He had been honest from the start and never pushed her to reciprocate his feelings. Feelings which, though he might not believe it, are there.

But the pirate spent centuries on the sea and she doesn’t know, when it comes down to the sea or her, who the more satisfying temptress is.

It was during Hook’s absence that stretched from one week to three that Emma accepted her feelings for him ran deeper than pure attraction. She’d find herself in meetings with the council, looking around for his face only to not find it. A comment would slip just under her breath and his resulting chuckle was nowhere to be found. Loneliness crept over her shoulders like a rolling fog.

Everyone else here had… someone. And once again, Emma did not. Henry bounced around between all his parents and was doted on endlessly by everyone, and her parents divided their time with her and their many duties. Even the friends she made in Storybrooke didn’t feel like they were still hers as they fell back into the roles of councilors and advisors for the crown.

Then Hook came back after three weeks with his ship in the harbor and a bottle of spiced rum from a far-off land for them to share in secret and she felt the loneliness ebb away bit by bit. Rum wasn’t the only thing he returned with. No, he had bundles of fabrics and clothes from the far reaches of the realm and trinkets like seashells for her and Henry to use to replace their cell phones.

He promised her at the town line with a curse coming for them that a day wouldn’t go by that he didn’t think of her. The curse never came but the promise stayed true, his acquisitions showed.

Even now, as they lounge in her bed chambers in the high tower of the castle, his attention remains solely on her. The thought makes her cheeks warm and his gaze, when she meets it, churns a longing low in her stomach.

“Derek is from a television show called Grey’s Anatomy and it’s been rumored he might die this season but I’ve been so far behind that I don’t even know if he did and now I never will!” she groans. The lid has been lifted and now she can’t stop even as she watches Killian’s eyebrows rise higher and higher. “The new Star Wars movie coming out this year was supposed to be a special thing for me and Henry to do together and now we can’t even do that! We used to watch Brooklyn 99 and Law & Order: SVU and reruns of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air together because those were our things but now we don’t have a thing! How do I compete with sword fighting and horses and freaking Robin Hood?!”

“You can always bring the lad to the beanstalk.”

She bites back the urge to say the beanstalk is theirs and instead shakes her head. “I want something we can do where one of the potential risks isn’t plummeting to our deaths.”

Killian smirks and stabs another grape. “I did prevent your fall, love.”

Not quite, she thinks to herself before the thought immediately overwhelms her and she feels her walls reinforcing themselves. She likes Killian, like-likes him and all that grade school crush stuff. But she doesn’t love the guy. Their friendship is still on new ground having only become allies in Neverland. And that kiss…

That kiss is as indescribable now as it was then and her hand twitches in an ache to touch her lips at the memory.

Attraction and chemistry burning red hot is what exists between them. But love? No way.

Emma sits up as straight as the walls she’s reassembled around her heart. “You also hit me in the head with your hook.”

“You survived, didn’t you?”

I might not.

“The point is, while this move to the Enchanted Forest is great and all, we all get to be a…” she struggles to find the right word. Family should be easy to say but she’s still struggling on that front. Mary Margaret and David still don’t quite understand but they’re trying. She’s just not there yet. Emma swallows. “A unit. But this wasn’t my life and I just miss some of that stuff from the real world.”

Killian pauses in his grape escapade and eyes her carefully. “The world is just as real here as it was in your realm.”

Emma sighs and rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Would you have stayed?” he asks after a moment of silence. “If you had the choice between Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest – would you have stayed in Storybrooke?”

“What does it matter?” she says. “I didn’t have a choice.”

His tone edges on sad but he tries to keep it neutral, interested. “Humor an old pirate.”

“I don’t know, okay? There’s a lot that answer depends on.”

Hook eyes her. “What does it depend on?”

“A lot of things!” she fights back. He presses the question again and Emma erupts from her spot on the bed, angry that he won’t let this go, and starts to pace. “Things like where Henry would be, where my parents would be, where you –”

She cuts herself off fast, eyes wide and heart pounding through her chest. Hook stands slowly from his spot on the chaise and licks his lips in anticipation.

“Emma –”

“Mom!”

Henry comes barreling in the open door of her bedroom like a force of nature. Hair windswept and toothy grin on his face, Emma’s always glad to see her son so joyful but especially now when his appearance offers her an escape. “Hey, kid. What’s got you so happy?” She smiles softly at him while ignoring the holes Hook burns into the side of her head.

“I want to show you what Grandma taught me during archery today. It’s so cool, you have no idea.” It’s easy to agree to her son’s request and she moves to follow him out the door when he stops and turns to her companion. “Hook, do you want to check it out too? I bet you probably haven’t seen this in the last 300 years.”

The pirate in question must read the panic on Emma’s face and smiles sadly at Henry, coming close enough to drop his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Unfortunately I have some business to attend to but if you don’t mind, I’d like to watch another day.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n!” Henry grins, salute and all, before he tugs Emma’s hand out the door. “Come on, we’re losing daylight and you won’t be able to see it in the dark!”

She feels the ghost of Hook’s fingers brushing her arm but she doesn’t look back.

*

Emma skillfully avoids Hook for just over two weeks. In all honesty, he might even be avoiding her with how little she’s seen him around the palace. Then again, she’s thrown herself wholeheartedly into learning her parents’ duties for the kingdom.

But then his ship is gone from the harbor and David has suddenly taken up Mary Margaret’s pastime of sending birds with notes so all evidence points to him leaving. Not that she blames him, no, after all, everyone leaves her eventually. Their relationship is confusing enough for her, she can only imagine he’s gotten fed up with her walls stacking themselves higher with every step forward.

Still, she thought his words before the curse would’ve lasted a little longer than this.

Loneliness sneaks up on her quick but this time she welcomes it with open arms. She has no right to Hook’s heart, not when she keeps pushing him away and hurting him. No sane man would stick around for more of that torture. No sane man has that kind of patience.

Then again, he did stay alive for over 300 years to exact vengeance on his enemy.

Nevertheless, the chaise in her bedchambers stays empty and all she has to rely on is the memories of his mouth fitting perfectly against hers in Neverland and how his breath puffed against her cheek and the absolute fuckstruck expression on his face as he was ready to dive in for more before she put a stop to it. His innuendos and never-ending confidence in her abilities echo inside her mind in the silence of her room and his presence haunts the halls as she leaves enough space to her left for where he would’ve walked.

The first time she lays eyes on him after she ran out of her room is nearly four weeks later and she only catches a glimpse of him from afar.

His ship isn’t in the harbor, that much she knows. Her bedchambers have the perfect set of windows to overlook the water and she’d lie if anyone asked but her morning routine has consisted of checking each ship docked below.

That doesn’t have to mean much, she rationalizes. His ship could be out in the water and he took a dingy to shore so he could make an easy getaway. Afterall, he did leave on the Jolly Roger four weeks ago without a single farewell to her.

Whatever the reason for his probable short stint back in Misthaven, David greets him far from spying eyes and listening ears. Even the roll of her wrist and warmth of magic bubbling in her palm does nothing to reveal the secret conversation between the two men as they travel far from the castle.

They don’t return for hours, which piques her interest. One thing she’s learnt about David, especially since coming to the Enchanted Forest, is that dinner is a requirement for all. To miss dinner means you better be sick or dying. So for the man of the hour to miss the meal completely and for Mary Margaret to not raise a single eyebrow at his absence has her mind whirling.

Emma corners David later that night when he sneaks to the kitchens for a midnight snack. Her nerves have been unsettled all evening and she falls back into her typical stakeout habits which includes eating terrible food while lying in wait for her prey. Of course it’s the Enchanted Forest though and junk food consists of a few sweets and maybe bread.

God, she misses McDonalds.

David jumps in fright when he spots her at the prep island in the main kitchen. He smiles tiredly a few moments later, steals some bread, swipes her butter knife, and closes his eyes contently as he eats.

“Are the ogres angry? Are they going to start another war?” she finally blurts out when the wait gets too long and the silence eats at her center. “Did you send Hook to prepare the troops?”

Silence answers her at first. David looks at her in confusion before a deep understanding settles so serenely on his face that Emma’s instinct is to run. Instead, she swallows it down and focuses on the part of her being nagged by Hook’s abrupt absence and silent return recently.

Shaking his head in amusement, David says, “Everything is peaceful here. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“So where did you send Killian?”

“Killian?” David replies, eyebrows raised but his amusement not flagging in the slightest. He looks like he wants to talk, or maybe just tease her about her slip-up, but Emma rolls her eyes in return and speaks before he gets a chance.

“So where did you send Hook?”

“I didn’t send him anywhere.”

She presses, barely able to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Then where did he go?”

The air in the kitchen shifts. There’s a prickling starting on the back of Emma’s neck and her senses go on alert as David gives her his full and undivided attention.

“Since when have you started caring where Killian goes in his free time?”

She fumbles. Her mouth refuses to function and her brain can barely think of a coherent response. “I – I don’t.”

“Mhmm…”

David’s stare bores holes into the side of her head as she darts her gaze elsewhere. She feels like she just got caught lying by her father which… she guesses is accurate on all accounts. Even if the admission is only to herself, her stomach clenches uncomfortably and her throat dries.

When did she start to see Killian – Hook – as someone to care about? Was it when he turned his ship around and brought them to the one place he swore he’d never return to just to help her save her kid? Was it their kiss, hot and heavy under the humid jungle leaves, a magnetic connection that called to each other so strongly it took a herculean effort for her to walk away?

Or maybe it was when they were at the town line and he told her he’d think of her every day and, when her magic decided to do its own thing, he stuck by her side. He never asked for more than what she was willing to give, every day learning more and more about her limits, her likes and dislikes. Instead, they found refuge in one another. For as much time as he spent around royals, first under their command then stealing from their stores, he felt as uncomfortable as she did within the palace walls and the pomp and circumstance surrounding it all.

He suddenly became one of the most important people in her life without her even realizing it and the thought takes her breath away.

David gives her a soft smile before stepping up to her frozen frame, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and pulling her close to press a firm kiss to the top of her head. She allows him without a fight, subconsciously leaning into his warmth and fatherly comfort, closing her eyes briefly. His whispers act as a soothing balm to her broken soul. So many breaks, so much pain. Yet his presence begins to fill the cracks.

“It’ll be fine, Emma. Just talk to him.”

She listens to his words, soaking in her father at her side. For once, it’s not overwhelming or uncomfortable. It almost starts to feel like coming home.

*

Of course, because she’s Emma, she doesn’t actually make an effort to talk to Killian the next day. Or the day after that. The conversation that’ll ensue requires courage she’s struggling to find.

Instead, she watches from windows and around corners as he is friendly with Henry and Neal, strikes up long conversations with Granny and Ruby, and even shares in a secret joke with Leroy, clapping the dwarf on his back as they chuckle and grin at each other.

Everyone but her.

He doesn’t even attempt to look for her, doesn’t make an effort to come by her side even after their eyes connect across the courtyard. He merely turns back to his conversation with Marco while Emma pulls Henry closer to her side and continues their walk along the palace grounds.

She refuses to say that jealousy kicks her in the ass to actually do something but when she sees him four days later with that stupidly attractive smirk on his face being directed at Tinkerbelle before Regina joins their secret meeting, she’s had enough. Since he’s clearly too cowardly to approach her, she’ll pull up her big girl panties and do it herself.

It’s not as if she didn’t already know that she’s been running from her own feelings the entire time. Reality only sets in, however, that she’s just as cowardly when she’s strolling down one of the palace hallways and stops short at the sight of him at the other end.

He looks good.

The black leather duster shines from the sunlight streaming through the palace’s stained-glass windows. His dark hair gleams and looks softer than it felt between her fingers in Neverland. Glowing skin, straight back, confident set of his shoulders. The pirate looks like a model at ease in the middle of a clothing commercial, all carefree and beautiful. She bets that if he grins, big and wide and all his pearly whites showing, a fucking sparkle will appear with a quiet DING! to accompany it like a fucking toothpaste ad.

Un-fucking-fair.

Air leaves her lungs at the sight of him and that causes her a delay in retreating. Too substantial a delay, it seems, as Hook chooses that moment to turn on his Emma Radar and look straight at her. His face lights up and he calls out her last name, looking as if the heavens are personally highlighting him with a pitch perfect song.

Seriously?!

She turns on her heel and makes a hasty retreat. She is so not ready for this conversation. If she can even keep it together enough to not pull on that stupid vest – a deep red color that looks to be made of velvet and probably soft to the touch – to drag the pirate into a nearby closet to kiss or kill him. The jury is still out on that decision.

“Swan!” he calls again, rushing to reach her. The cool metal of his hook encircles her elbow and turns her his way. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” he exclaims, relief in his voice and clear in the way his forehead relaxes.

“Really?” She snorts so unladylike she’s sure both Mary Margaret and Regina would be annoyed if they heard. “Because it seems like you’ve been avoiding me since you came back from who knows where.”

“I –” he starts before sighing. “Not exactly.”

Hmph. So he was avoiding her. The truth tugs at her chest in such a painful way that Emma only barely resists the urge to rub at the area over her silk shirt.

“Whatever, Hook.” Anger wraps around his moniker like a hot iron. He can hear it, the slight drop of his head and the glow fading from his features when it’s said, but he doesn’t allow her to run like she so desperately tries. “What?!” she hisses.

“Just come with me, love. I promise, you can be angry and hate me again after but… just let me show you something.”

Hook has only ever looked so earnest once before and her mouth drops open at seeing the sight again. Blue eyes plead with her as his eyebrows raise in encouragement. Emma feels herself nodding before she realizes what she’s doing and suddenly he’s ushering her down the hallway and towards the wide garden space behind the castle.

“I – I don’t hate you,” she says when the silence gets too much for her. Even when they fought on opposite sides and he annoyed her to hell, she never hated him. The thought he could believe such a thing unsettles her to the core. “Just because I’m upset with you doesn’t mean I hate you.”

“Your anger is well deserved. My apologies, love.” He shakes his head, pulling them to a stop before they enter the gardens. Ocean blue eyes stare into her meadow green and her breath hitches as he comes closer. The torches that line the hallway dim as her focus zeroes in on Hook. It’s been a struggle in the past keeping her eyes off of his mouth whenever he deemed personal space to be a nonentity. But this time his gaze keeps her locked in and she doesn’t even dare to blink. “Consider this part of my apology,” he whispers. “Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want.”

He steps away before she even comprehends the enormity of his statement and pulls her into the gardens.

The wide expanse of grass is freshly trimmed, the smell filling her nostrils and reminding her of summers at foster homes wishing for a family to laze around a backyard with. The flowers and plants that border the gardens are in full bloom offering an array of colors. Red roses, yellow shrubbery, pink Middlemist flowers. She’s been in the gardens a number of times since their latest return to the Enchanted Forest but now the colors seem brighter and more vibrant.

Hook gently presses his namesake to the middle of her back. Emma’s gaze shifts forward at the touch and she chokes out a gasp.

Down the center of the gardens sits a newly built wooden stage. Wide and made of a dark mahogany that sheens under the sunlight, it takes up nearly the entire width of the flat grassy area. Deep red curtains are pulled across the front of it, hiding whatever stands on the stage. They rustle slightly from movement behind it and Emma lets out a soft giggle at the sound of Hook cursing under his breath beside her.

Six rows of chairs divided down the middle face the stage and she recognizes many of the occupants to be folks working within the castle, or the Misthaven townspeople she used to see in passing around Storybrooke. They all greet her with a smile and nod as Emma is guided to a chair in the first row with a nearly center view of the stage.

“What is going on?” she asks Hook as he stands beside her seat. Her head turns on a swivel looking for a hint of what kind of performance they’re about to see.

“Patience is a virtue, love.”

“Seriously?!” she nearly whines, earning a chuckle in response. She huffs, eyeing him with a small upward tilt of her lips before she looks away.

Chatter is quiet behind her but there’s an excitement thrumming in the air. Voices whisper from the stage but they’re too soft for her to listen for any familiar inflections. Instead, she examines the corners of the stage and the gaps in the curtain that appear every few moments.

Her eyes are still soaking in everything around her when Hook drops his duster on the chair beside hers and grins mischievously at her. “Back in a moment.” He winks at her, slow and smooth and so unlike his terrible attempt when they climbed the beanstalk. She bites her lip to keep the grin from exploding on her face.

Hook stands on the wings of the stage with her father as they whisper in a tight huddle. The two of them duck behind the curtain for a moment before Hook exits and strolls back to her side, taking the seat he reserved for himself. Before Emma can fire off her questions, David emerges from between the curtains.

She watches in awe at how her father captures the attention of the crowd, how he spreads his thanks to Marco and Pinocchio for the stage and scenery, to Jaq, Gus, and Blue for the costuming. He leads into enthusiastic applause with each announcement and she finds herself just as enthralled as the rest of the crowd.

“Finally,” David says and Hook tenses beside her. “You all may know him as Captain Hook but I know him as a friend. None of this would be possible without him.” Her father looks at Emma for a long moment before he looks to Hook and she looks on in confusion as tears build in his gaze. “Killian Jones,” he says through heavy emotion and her companion shifts uncomfortably beside her. “I thank you.”

David steps aside and the curtains pull away to show the stage. It looks like a replica of Storybrooke General Hospital but a large banner hung centerstage says Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. The entire set reminds her of Grey’s Anatomy.

And that’s when it hits her. David’s words finally sink in and Emma turns to Hook – Killian – in shock. He avoids her eyes, raising his hook to gently scratch behind his ear as he looks up at the stage from a lowered gaze.

Leroy stomps on stage talking about an urgent medical case and Granny joins him a few moments later. The two of them bicker back and forth in a way that borders on flirty, their voices sounding far away and drifting into her ear, leaving Emma confused for all of a few moments before it’s revealed that they play Derek and Meredith respectively. She probably would’ve laughed at the casting – she never would’ve pegged Leroy for McDreamy but he’s honestly incredible on stage – but her focus is set on the man beside her who organized a fucking theatre troupe so she wouldn’t be left wondering about one of her favorite shows.

“Don’t make all my hard work go to waste, love,” he mumbles, cheeks red as he glances at her before quickly averting his gaze again. He nudges at her thigh with his hook and nods towards the stage. Emma doesn’t even realize her mouth is still hanging open until she tries to swallow and finds her throat dry.

With little else to do, she turns her attention to the stage and is immediately wrapped up in the story they’re telling. It’s clear that someone within the troupe is a hardcore Grey’s Anatomy fan and was clearly all caught up on the show while she fell behind due to Neverland. The mannerisms, the dramatics, the dialogue – all of it makes her feel like she’s actually watching it.

The forty-five-minute performance goes by in a flash and she’s amongst the loudest cheers when the troupe takes their bows. Her grin is wide and it’s nearly impossible to take her attention away from the stage.

Until Killian sticks his fingers in his mouth to give a loud whistle and Emma can look at nothing but him.

The ruthless pirate who has continually proved her wrong. The scoundrel who came back to help her get Henry even if it meant returning to Neverland. The lost soul who promised to think of her every day they were apart, even if that meant forever. The man who listened to her frivolous whining and delivered her all she had wanted for and more.

Killian tries to stay behind to speak with the troupe about some matter or another but Emma grabs him by the hook and pulls him to an alcove in the garden hidden by prying eyes.

“Swan, what’s – ”

She backs herself into the alcove, pulls on his vest, and crashes her lips against his, effectively stopping his sentence. Emma feels his sharp intake of breath before he sighs into the kiss, hand coming up to cradle her head against the stone of the palace. Their mouths move over each other slowly, stroking the heat in their stomachs to a blazing inferno.

When Emma pulls away, they breathe heavily in each other’s space, swaying closer together as their eyes remain shut.

“Thank you,” she whispers, biting on her swollen lip when she finally opens her eyes. His are still shut, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I quite like the way we show gratitude.” He cracks an eye open and grins, her own smile widening to match his.

*

Suddenly they’re courting.

Instead of Netflix & Chill, they have Storybrooke Storytellers & Garden Make-outs. A date night at the movies is equivalent to sitting in the garden as her family reenacts the original Star Wars trilogy, her parents as Han and Leia, Henry proudly swinging a lightsaber as Luke, and Neal fittingly as Darth Vader.

Killian whispers tidbits in her ear during each performance, like how Leroy and Granny fought over who was correct regarding one of their Grey’s Anatomy performances, Leroy winning at the end. “He’s got the bloody show memorized, love. Knows the whole thing front and back. Absolutely obsessed.”

Or how Henry assigned everyone’s roles for Star Wars and how it was unanimously decided that Whale would be the dead victim for their recent rendition of Law & Order: SVU, or even how Killian’s curious about the romantic comedies that Belle has brought to his attention. “The lad wants to do everyone’s fairytales as well,” he says, grin pressed against the back of her neck one afternoon. She laughs at the ridiculous image her son’s aspirations create for her, her soul feeling lighter with every moment.

It’s a little bit of the home she created in Storybrooke, right here in the Enchanted Forest. For a girl who’s searched for that all her life, it makes Emma’s heart race ahead of every performance they watch. No one has ever done something like that for her before and she tells him as much through tears one evening as they look at the stars from her balcony. He holds her close, murmuring sweet nothings into her hair and Emma realizes she wants to give him everything.

“Let’s go to the Jolly,” she says. Her head rests on his chest from their stargazing and she feels him tense under her. Eyebrows pinched together in uncertainty, she tilts her head up to look at him. “If that’s okay with you?”

He shifts uncomfortably, not at all in the way she wants him to be, and her confusion mounts. “There’s no need to go to the Jolly,” he answers with a tight grin.

She rolls her eyes, sitting up from her spot and steadies her focus on him. She says point blank, “I am not having sex with you under the same roof as my parents.” Killian sputters and Emma enjoys rendering him speechless for all of two seconds before doubt creeps in. “Do you not want to?”

At her hesitancy, he surges up to capture her mouth in a kiss that takes her breath away and leaves her dizzy. “There’s nothing more I would like to do right now than take you as you are, wherever you desire.” A growl comes from low in her throat as she threads her fingers in his hair and nips at his bottom lip. She whispers again for him to take her to the Jolly Roger only for Killian to halt everything and pull away with a grimace.

“Killian, what’s going on with you?”

Her pirate ducks his head low to his chest before he gathers the courage to meet her gaze.

“The Jolly Roger is no longer in my possession,” he confesses. A low swoop in her stomach causes her to fumble forward in her haste to press against his side. There’s pain in his eyes, the telltale sign of loss and grief that she knows so well. But it’s small and non-consuming, like a detail of life he just lives with now.

“Did someone destroy her?” she asks after a moment, her touch cautious and her gaze searching. Killian shakes his head.

“No, I – I traded her away.”

Her body is suddenly made of concrete, refusing to move despite her mind screaming at her legs to stop Killian’s restless motions. “Wh-what? Why would you do that?!”

Killian smiles softly then. The pain is miniscule but present even as his gaze softens and he reaches his hand out to cup her cheek. “Your heart’s desire, love. That’s all I want.”

*

Despite the late hour, the moon shines high in the sky and lights their way. Her fingers clutch tightly to his metal appendage, the weight of his admission weighing heavily on her, and she stumbles after him as he leads her to the old farm fields.

The area was abandoned before the Dark Curse, her father told her one time. It suffered from barren soil after years of overuse and needed time to recover. More time than thirty years’ worth offered and yet, as Killian leads them through a gate, the fields are sprawling with greenery. Vines trail along the ground and large leaves the size of their heads sprout so intensely that it’s difficult to see the soil beneath.

“What is all this?” she asks in wonder.

Killian grins and reaches down to pull up the end of one vine, a sparkling, translucent item hanging from it. “Look familiar, love?”

A magic bean glimmers under the moonlight, ripe for the taking. It is just one of what could probably be hundreds if not thousands of beans growing on the vast vines before them.

Amazed, she asks, “How is this even possible?”

She loves this man. Before he even starts to explain everything that’s been happening – taking his ship after their conversation in her bedchambers to trade it with Blackbeard for a magic bean, organizing the troupe to give her what she was missing while they waited for the beans to grow and mature, crafting a way to make the near impossible travel between realms into something as easy as tossing a coin into a fountain – she knows deep in her soul that she loves him.

All consuming, heart racing, fingers thrumming, glowing kind of love.

“Perhaps you can finally show me that Red Lobster you rave about?” he offers cheekily.

Emma huffs out a watery laugh, words abandoning her as she looks around. When her eyes lock on his, she swears he outshines the stars.

“You gave up your ship for me?” she asks quietly, hoping to convey everything she can’t verbalize in the way her hand reaches for his and grips it tight.

You gave up your home for me?

“Aye,” he says, just as simple but just as deeply meaningful, squeezing her hand in return.

You are my home now, Swan.

They come together slowly but the passion igniting between them is stronger than it’s ever been before. Her heart is bursting with so much joy that she could cry and it takes her all to keep the tears at bay, wishing to sink into the kiss forever. Her smile, however, is another story and so is his, as they grin against each other’s mouths more than they kiss.

She loves him and he loves her.

Theirs is the kind of love they write movies and shows about.

Theirs is the kind of love they write fairytales about.

#my writing #captain swan #temporarystatus #cs fanfic #my fics #captain swan fanfic #captain swan au #season 3 au #cs au #cs ff #and we'll put on a show

[pirateswhore]

Stay for me - 4x02 missing scene

as promised, I reworked the old scrap I found in my notes. Set right after the end of the episode - no one can convince me that Killian DIDN'T stay with Emma that night. This is how I imagine it went.

words - 1.4k

feedback is always welcome !

"Stay for me."

Her voice was low and weak as she whispered, cautiously, nervously, as if she was going to scare him away with the statement (question? request?). Or maybe even scare herself - she'd never openly asked a man to stay. They never did follow through with any of their promises, so why bother?

"He is different." a little voice in her head told her. "He won't go back on his promise, you can trust him."

She lifted her head up to look at him, chin resting on his chest. He's deep in thought, eyes fixated on the floor. Having noticed her staring at him, he turned to her and smiled.

"Did you say something, love?"

"Stay for me," she said it louder that time, squeezing his hand and holding her breath.

His smile widened as he kissed the top of her head. "Aye love, as you wish. I wasn't planning on going anywhere."

Emma calls out for Snow to prepare an extra pillow and one of her father's pyjamas for Killian, before turning back to him. She leaned into his embrace, nuzzling her head in the crook of his neck, letting the warmth of his presence wash over her. The leather of his vest was soft and she could smell rum and sea salt on him. It felt so good, being held by him, and she'd never felt safer in her life.

That scared her.

She never did let herself get comfortable with anyone. Never let herself put her armour down, never let herself be content and vulnerable around anyone, men especially. It scared her just how open and raw she was with him, how easy it was to open up, to talk and to get closer to him. He could see through her, reading her like an open book, he said. They understood each other and that came with a certain level of intimacy - that was something she had a hard time coming to terms with.

They stayed like that for a while, happy to simply be close to one another. Slowly, the rest of the apartment retired for the night - Henry had gone upstairs to his bed a while ago and David helped Elsa pull the couch down for the night before joining his wife in their bed. Emma reached out with her hand, cupping Killian's cheek, bringing his head down. Their foreheads touch for a moment and then her lips brushed against his jawline as she murmured "I'm sleepy, take me upstairs."

He pulled back, looking down at her. It took him a few seconds to read her expression and all he could see was complete adoration, she was looking at him as if he hung the stars in the sky every night for her. But he also sensed something else - fear, uncertainty, anxiety. She wanted him to reassure her, to show her that he did mean what he had said - that he won't leave, that he won't ever hurt her.

He scooped her up bridal style, blankets and all, his hand holding her by the shoulder, the other arm hooked under her knees, and did just as she asked. Her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled herself closer to him. His only response was to squeeze her tighter, pressing her body to him as much as possible.

She's surprised at how skillfully and quietly he manoeuvred around the apartment and up the stairs. He laid her down on the bed effortlessly, starting to pull away when she tightened her arms around him. His head turned to her, a perplexed look on his face.

"You said you weren't going anywhere," she whispered. He nudged her cheek with his nose, pressing a peck on it.

"I'm not, just wanted to give you privacy to change, love."

"Can you help me?"

His mouth opened slightly as he blinked.

"I trust you. And I'm really tired. Please?" Her hand stroked down his cheek, trailing his scruff.

He nodded, moving to undress her. Boots were first, he settled them next to the railing. He looked back at her for confirmation before unzipping her pants. She smiled, lifting her hips up and he removed those too. He pushed the jacket off her shoulders and pulled her shirt off, folding them all neatly on a nearby chair. His breath hitched in bis throat a little when he saw her almost nude before him, only in plain cotton undies and some mini corset. She sat up and motioned for the orange plaid pyjamas thrown carelessly on the same chair, which he handed to her promptly. It took him only a minute to strip himself too, his clothes and boots joining hers on the chair and by the banister. He slipped into the pyjamas lady Snow prepared for him - they were slightly big on him, the pants hanging low on his hips, and he couldn't be bothered with all of the buttons.

He turned to see already under the bedsheets, one side pulled back for him. He crawled in, his arms wrapping around her waist instinctively, pulling her close to him. She sighed, scooting herself closer, melting into his embrace, arms wrapped around his waist as well, their legs tangled together.

"You scared me, Swan," he kissed her forehead, hand stroking the ends of her hair. His voice was barely above a whisper, partly because Henry was sound asleep just mere meters away, partly because the thought hurt him too much. He couldn't lose her, not now, not after everything he'd done to be next to her.

Her only response was to push herself deeper into him.

"I can't... I'm not losing you, Emma. But you can't run into danger head first like that. There are people who care about you now, who love you, who would despair if you ever left our lives," his voice cracked at the last sentence as he tried to push the memories of Milah and her death back. He loved her and it broke him when she was killed, but his feelings for Emma were so. Much. More. Her death wouldn't break him, it would destroy him.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to." She craned her neck back, meeting his glassy blue eyes, offering a small smile. "But you saved me," she continued, "you and my dad. I'm safe because of you."

"Aye, and I'll make bloody well sure it remains that way." His face was buried in her hair, nose pressing against the side of her cheek. Her breaths, slow and steady, washed warmly over the skin of his neck and he shuddered.

They laid there in silence, holding onto each other, before he spoke again.

"Warming up?"

"Mhm," she murmured in response, "I have my own pirate heater with me." He chuckled, the rumble in his chest vibrating through her whole body. He was so incredibly warm and she loved it, his flushed skin felt good against her. She readjusted herself in his hold, the top od her pyjamas must have ridden up bc she suddenly felt something cold and hard press into the skin of her midriff and she yelped.

"I'm sorry love, I forgot my hook does not share the same warmth as the rest of me."

"You can take it off, you know. I won't mind," she stroked his upper arm, "plus it'll be more comfortable for both of us."

He pondered for about a moment before pulling back and undoing the straps on his brace. She didn't linger too much at the sight of his scarred arm - she knew it was a conversation for another day. He lowered himself back down onto the bed, more on his back this time, and she climbed over so she was laying half on top of him, head resting on his chest. She threw one leg over his hips, arm under his head, fingers tangling in his hair. The other rested on his chest where lazily she drew circles into his exposed chest hair. His left arm was wrapped around her, holding her close, while the hand of his other arm rested on her thigh thown over him.

"Comfy?"

"Mhm... very comfy, she replied, kissing his neck.

She was very comfy indeed, never before having felt so warm and safe. She could hear him murmuring sweet nonsense into her hair - "My princess, so sweet, so beautiful, I'll take care of you, I'm not going anywhere" - but it barely registered, her mind slowly drifting to dreamland.

It was probably the best sleep she'd ever had, and waking up next to her pirate the following morning was even better.

#captain swan fanfic #emma swan #killian jones #ouat #captain swan #chantecler writing #emma x killian

[captainswanfluffyfebruary]

There's No Harm in Repeating

Killian Jones has lived in apartment 204 for a year and has never exchanged more than ‘hellos’ with Emma Swan in apartment 205. That is until a run-in with her son, Henry, results in the boy doing some unintentional matchmaking. For how else do you find out what a woman thinks of you, if not through her four-year-old son? A Captain Swan as neighbors au featuring Captain Cobra moments.

Read on A03 and send some fluffy love to @beckettj

#captain swan #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fic rec #captain swan fluff #captain swan fluffy february #csff

[killiansprincss]

A Court of Vines and Shadow - for @cssns ‘23

SUMMARY: When Dark One Killian Jones makes Faerie Princess Emma of Misthaven spend 3 moon cycles a year with him to break a curse, Emma never expected to fall in love with him. Now she was walking down the aisle, meant to marry a man she doesn't love because she can never be with the one her heart wants. Or can she?

An ACOTAR Inspired fic written for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 23. Also on A03

Also it’s July 9th and Speak Now Taylor’s Version just came out I feel like Speak Now is the perfect song to accompany this fic!!

Huge thanks to @cssns for this amazing event which allowed me to bring this to life! And special shoutouts to @hollyethecurious for the amazing art and also to my awesome beta @blonde-of-sherwood 💙💜

White dress. The Spring fallen gardens filled with flowers upon flowers, petals scattered all the way down the aisle and vines spiralling the chairs and arch. Flowers Emma had grown herself with her magic, snowbells and lilies, her mothers favourite flowers, the ones she first learnt how to grow using her magic when it first manifested all those years ago.

Her mother was who she was doing this for. Marrying someone she doesn’t love. Her mother worked so hard to arrange the various meetings with suitors, all noble Fae men, only the best for the Princess of Misthaven. Her mother never got to have a big wedding, she met Emma’s father and fell in love almost as quickly as she fell pregnant. As newly appointed King of Misthaven, they had to elope quickly so the Kingdom would be more accepting of their new Queen, who also happened to be a demi-fae. Her mother, who Emma dearly loved, so much so that she was marrying someone she had had just 3 conversations with all to appease the Kingdom and not go to Civil War because of the man she does love.

Killian. That’s who her mind wandered to. The Prince of Darkness as the rest of the Kingdom saw him. It had taken a while to see past his shadows and darkness, which she now understands was built from the loss of his family and the only people he had ever loved. But she loved him fiercely, anytime they were apart it broke her. Having to say goodbye for the final time was the closest Emma had felt to heartbreak. 

So here she was, standing in her white dress, flowers in her hair and bouquet in her hands, where she would meet her father, take his arm and walk down the aisle to marry Lord Walsh. Pushing thoughts of Killian to the back of her mind as she walked towards the aisle to all the smiling faces of her Kingdom. She had to do this, she loved Killlian but they both knew they would never be together in the way they wanted. She just wished she had allowed herself to see past his darkness sooner and they could have had more time together. 

“Emma.” An all too familiar voice calls her name from behind the aisle. He uses his power to bind the shadows to him, making him appear in a sort of smoke of darkness as he steps towards his lover. One of his other talents includes stopping time, just for a few minutes, but those few minutes were all he needed.

“Killian. What are you doing here?” As much as she loved him, it pained her to see him here. They had said their goodbyes a few nights prior. Seeing him here, in a white dress about to marry someone else, it wasn’t right.

“I have tried, Emma, truly I have tried to stay away. If it made you happy I would stand by and let you marry someone else, but I can feel your pain all the way in Neverland. It’s causing me pain too, and I think I understand now, it’s why I was so drawn to you the very first time we met, why, even when you hated me you could never really stay away.”

“Killan, you’re not making any sense, what are you saying?” It was painful seeing him, she was hurting, thinking of their time together and how fate was so cruel to not allow them more time.

“You’re my mate.” 

His mate. Mates in this world were rare, her parents were never granted that luxury. She hadn’t known of anyone in the last 200 years who found their Mate. So why her? Why now?

Mates were equal in power and status, perfectly matched by the universe. A one true love, a soulmate. She never denied she loved Killian, but being his Mate was a whole other experience. It made sense in a way, they were drawn together at the ball when they first met. He could sense she was powerful, he recognised her untapped powers, something even her parents were unable to do. And she was never scared of him either, she had heard the rumours of course, and knew what he was capable of, but that didn't scare her. 

_______________

Emma had been to hundreds of balls in her lifetime, even when she was a little girl, she would sneak into the ones at her palace, and watch everyone dance. They all shared a unique beauty about them, from the way the light reflected on the dresses worn or the chandeliers making rainbows across the walls, they were a thing of otherworldly beauty. But this ball in particular was nothing like those she was used to. It was hosted just outside Misthavens borders, an old castle known to be taken up residence by a Fae many years ago known as “The Dark One”. Rumours began to spiral that the Dark One was back. It had been years since he had been seen and random killings had stopped, but who knew. The invitations went to all the noble folk in Misthaven and surrounding kingdoms and the signature was empty, leaving more curious minds. There were many debates surrounding whether they should go or not, but the Royal Family of Misthaven had to attend to keep peace.

As she grew older the balls became a chance for her parents to find her a suitor to marry, she was now 21 and it was considered uncouth for the Crown Princess to be unmarried, even by Fae standards. So in an effort to avoid dancing with a Duke, she would practise her magic. Every Fae was gifted a power linked to the four elements, and Emma had inherited Earth from her mother. At times she thought it was a boring element to have, her younger brother Leo had water, which was useful for everyday life as well as pulling pranks (to which she was victim of lately). But as she got older she learnt to appreciate it, she enjoyed seeing what she could make grow, especially in situations like right now. 

There would always be potted plants, pretty flowers surrounding the tables, she breathed into her powers and with a single touch could double the petals or even change their colours. Sometimes she would paint the pink flowers blue, or the white ones black just to test what she could do. Of course, her mother didn’t approve of using it for this. She was also gifted with the power of earth, but she preferred to make things grow or inject life back into a sunken plant, rather than mess with existing life.

“Not enjoying the festivities I see?” A voice from behind Emma startles her, she didn’t recognise him, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Dressed in an all black leather suit, not the typical style the men wore. His pointed ears stick out from his dark hair, Emma had always felt self conscious of her ears, so made an effort to hide them, but this man, whoever he was, was the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on.

“I come for the faerie wine and food only I’m afraid.” She tells him with a playful smile.

“Well if you’re here for the wine why aren’t you dancing? Most people get drunk off a few sips then don’t leave the dance floor all night.”

She leans in close, “I’m not like most women.” What was the harm in flirting, he was gorgeous and her parents would never approve which made him all the more exciting.

He holds out his hand to her, “Dance with me, I insist.” 

Dancing with a handsome stranger was not how Emma expected the night to go, but he was a great partner, unlike some of the suitors her mother had forced upon her in the past. He led her around the room with grace and it was as though they flew through the dancefloor together, no stepping on toes and he even spun her around a couple times, feeling the wine go to her head a little more. “You’re really good at this.”

“There’s just one rule, pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” He whispers into her ear as he dips her. “You’re very powerful, you know Emma.” He tells her as she comes up.

“How do you know my name?” Sure she was the Princess, and most people recognise her at these things, but it was strange the way he said it so casually.

“I know a lot of things Emma.” He whispers, his breath close to her neck, making Emma feel a sense of arousal. A moment later the mystery man turned into shadow and darkness, disappearing from her hold and reappearing out of shadows at the top of the staircase.

“Welcome to my lovely guests. I guess it’s time I introduce myself?”

All eyes were on the mystery man now, they all saw his shadow power. That wasn’t one of the four elements, this was some other worldly magic. Then, for Emma at least, it clicks. The charming lustful energy coming from him, his ability to know things he shouldn’t, and his shadow and darkness powers. He was the Dark One.

That should have made her terrified, but for some reason, it didn’t scare her. Who was he?

“My name is Killian Jones. But I believe your people have a few different names for me, Dark One, Wronged Fae, Prince of Darkness is a personal favourite-though I bore no royal blood or status.”

_____________

And that’s where it began, he said he held this ball because he was supposedly cursed and needed someone with light magic to resolve it. Not just any light magic though, a very specific kind. And of all the Fae in the land, he decided Emma, after one conversation and dance that she was the Fae he was looking for, only she could break the curse. 

“All I request are 3 moon cycles with her every year until I decide otherwise, or my curse is broken, whichever comes first.” This was his deal, his bargain. As the Dark One, you would be a fool to refuse or dispute a bargain. 

Her parents were outraged, and tried everything in their power to stop them. They were a royal family, if he were anyone else maybe that would have been enough, but as the Dark One, he bore no allegiance to royalty. So for 3 moon cycles, she was to live with him, in his castle, doing who knows what.

____

The first moon cycle was absurd, The Dark One didn’t mention a single thing about his supposed curse. He made her practise her magic every single day. Barely spoke to her. Her main source of contact was with one of the servants, Belle. She would show her to her room, which wasn’t a prison or a dungeon like she was expecting, but it had lush carpets. velvet curtains and the most gorgeous and comfortable king size bed in the centre of the room. She would also take her down to the grand dining room where she was to eat all meals. The food was exquisite, the spices used were unlike anything she’d eaten before, it made Misthavens cooks look like a child in the kitchen. 

There was no sign of him for the first couple of days, he left Belle with a page of  instructions for Emma to get on with while she was here. The only thing on the list:

Read: The Complete Earth Elemental Magic Volume I

Read about her magic. That was the only thing she would do all day. For the first two moon cycles this is all she does, she sees him in passing, at mealtimes mainly. He is pleasant and they make small talk. 

When she arrives home, her parents pounce on her, needing to know everything. What she witnessed, who she spoke to and if he hurt her in any way. They were terrified, and it made Emma realise she wasn’t afraid of him the way others were.

“We have suitors lined up.” Her mother would tell her, desperate to get her married off in the strange fear the Dark One would whisk Emma away to be his bride before she could marry a noble born. She would play along and speak to the princes and lords her parents picked out for her. She tried, really tried to find something good in any of them, but her mind would wander back to the blue eyes and dark haired villain she would be seeing again very soon.

The next moon cycle comes along and her task is to again, read the magic book which she was now on volume III of. Enough was enough, she needed to know her place and what exactly he intended to do with her.

“I have read these volumes cover to cover. If I have to learn about the different ways a flower can be grown I think I will die of boredom. You mentioned a curse that first night. Tell me everything and I can look in those stupid books for something that might actually help.”

He smiles at her as she rambles on about being a useful Fae and powerful if he lets her see. He admired her courage and her passion. “Very well Emma.” The way he says her name makes Emma feel something inside her that she’s not sure is good or bad.

“Contrary to popular belief about the Dark One, I did not choose this power willingly. It was forced upon me by a former Dark One. You see, only one can exist at a moment in time, and the only way to steal the power is to steal the life that holds such power.” He then goes on to explain how many years ago, his brother’s wife had fallen sick from her pregnancy and they were not sure if the baby would survive, the three of them searched for a cure around different lands, different royal families, they had to find something to save her but had no such luck. “One night, we had grown tired and stopped to find shelter for the night, when Elsa, my brother's wife began to bleed, she was losing the baby. Liam cried out and an old man came to our aid, asked if we would do anything to help to which I naively responded yes to. He kills them both using a type of magic I didn’t know existed.’ He can barely get through his story without stopping every few moments, and it's clear he still has a heart. “He then tells me if I take the dagger and stab him in the heart, they will be revived and the baby safe.”

“He forced you to kill him so he would be free of his curse, and in turn it then cursed you?”

“Aye love. That night has haunted me for nearly 200 years, I was desperate and if I could go back and change things I would. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to free myself that doesn’t involve trickery. I also do not wish to burden another innocent life with this curse.” He then takes Emma’s hand and looks into her eyes, “That is where you come in, Emma Darling.  I saw a seer and she shared with me a vision. A golden haired demi-fae with an earth element bearing an unyielding amount of light magic has the power to free me without hurting either party.”

“And of all the demi-fae with an earth element, you believe it's me because?”

“That’s why I held the ball. I wanted to see who I was drawn to, and as soon as I met you Emma, it was clear you were the one. You are special” The way he looked at her as she said this, made her feel warm inside. For a split second Emma also thought he was going to kiss her, and that if he did, she would let him.

That was the changing point. The more time they spent together going over her magic the more confident she felt. She learnt more things about her magic that she had known were possible. She could end life as quickly as she could revive it, well, the life of a flower anyway. She could drain the life from a lily and then when it was wilting, press life back into it. Emma guessed the more she practised this, maybe she would drain the darkness from Killian.

“Have you ever experimented with other elements, Emma Darling?” He asks one day, it was the last day of the moon cycle and she was to return home. She hadn’t realised how much she would miss his company.

“I was only gifted with the earth element, my mother shares it too. My brother inherited water from my father.” She explains, “I haven’t heard of any Fae who were gifted more than one element, wouldn’t that disrupt the power balance?” 

She would also miss the way he would sit there and smile at her when she rambled, he really wasn't as bad as people said he was. They didn’t know him the way she did. “Emma, you’re special. You hold the element of earth, well all elements are connected to the earth, are they not? Why don’t you try to conjure fire?”

All Fae were granted one element, fire, air, earth or water, it was unheard of for someone to hold a double or even triple elemental magic, every scripture and teacher would tell you too much power would disrupt the power balance of the universe, and everyone would suffer. But then again if she were truly the Fae in his prophecy, she was already disrupting the power of the universe.

“I wouldn’t know where to start, I don’t know anyone with that power and even if I did I-.” He was already moving towards her before she could finish her train of thought.

“All power lives inside you Emma.” He stands behind her and places his hand on her shoulders, moving down to her abdomen, “you can feel it inside you, reach deep inside and find that extra source of power.” Emma had to focus on keeping her breathing normal, he was touching her and she was feeling very strange things at the moment. Still, she does as he instructs, she feels where she knows her earth power lies, she taps into it daily. But then she tries to focus on where that power was, and if she could feel anything else. At first she could only feel her earth, but then she felt something different, she wasn’t sure what it was but it was similar to the way her earth felt. 

“That's it, love.” Killian says, hand still resting on her abdomen, “hone in on that. And think of something that makes you angry, feel the fire before you conjure it.”

Pushing the way his husky breath felt on her neck aside, she thought of her mother and how she orchestrated all these suitors that were supposedly so ‘perfect’ for her, how she never listened to what she wanted and how angry she felt when she would come home from her studies to see a Prince or a Duke in her sitting room.

“Open your eyes Emma.”

Fire. A small flame coming from her palm was the sight Emma was greeted with when she opened her eyes. It didn’t burn for very long once she realised what she had done and couldn’t figure out how to control it. But she did that.

“I conjured fire.” She says with a mix of shock and excitement plastering her face. 

“I told you you were powerful Emma.”

 He was still standing behind her, so she turns to see him grinning at her and his gaze fixed on her, in awe of her. They’re both silent for a moment, clearly having the same internal battle inside their head. Their heads moved closer and closer until their lips finally met and Emma felt her magic on fire. Every sense was heightened with this kiss, a merge of power and lust building up from their shared time together. Killian deepens the kiss as his hand settles on her cheek while Emma’s hands find his hair. She’s being pushed up against the wall after a while, and Emma leans her head back and moans as Killian pressees kisses onto her neck and then back to her lips. 

Their time together was never the same after that. Being apart from one another became harder. Every time Emma would practise her newfound powers, her thoughts would wander back to Killian and how he made her feel. 

When they were together, they were rarely apart. She possessed all four elements, and took the time to learn and explore what she could do with them. Of course she had to keep this quiet when she was away from Neverland and from Killian. Her family and her court would be wary of her newfound powers, likely brand her as dark as her ‘captor’ as they referred to Killian.

“I wish you would stop calling him that, he has a name.” She finally snaps back at her mother upon her return after listening to her rattling her newest ideas on how to get out of the contract. 

“He forces you to be away from your family for a whole moon cycle. He is darkening your mind with his power if you do not see what is wrong with that my sweet child.” 

That taught her to keep her mouth shut. They didn’t understand. Yes, as part of a bargain she was to spend time with him, but she looked forward to those moon cycles, he understood her, listened to her, she felt he was the only person she could be herself around. Worst of it was, she was falling in love with him. No, she was in love with him. And she had an inkling that he felt the same.

The next time she comes home, yet again there is a suitor sitting in her living room. She didn’t know who this one was and frankly, she didn’t care.

“Emma. I’m glad to see you’re home in one piece.” Her mother says, and Emma rolls her eyes, pretending she wasn’t practically seething that comment. She would never understand Killian or how she felt safe with him.

“Hello mother. Who is our guest?” She asks with a fake smile, knowing full well this was another suitor she was not interested in.

The suitor offers out his hand and bows, “Lord Walsh of Oz. it is a pleasure to finally meet you, your highness.” 

He was an older man, older than she was, which was not uncommon for suitors as they had to be to have a title. He was average height, nothing particularly interesting about him was jumping out at her. Her mother clearly chose this one from the same place as all the others, he was polite and overly grateful to the Queen for inviting him. They would all sip on their tea whilst Emma made polite conversation with them and they would express their interest for children and make an awful comment about being the more powerful Fae and Emma would thank them for their time as she busied herself with something else to get away. She wondered how long this one would take to get rid of. 

“Lord Walsh is to be your husband. We have been setting arrangements whilst you were being held hostage.” She rolls her eyes at the hostage comment and was about to argue, until it hits what she just said.

“I’m sorry, we’re to be married when?” This was a new low, even for her mother. “Mother, may I speak with you in private?”

“Excuse us.” Snow tells Walsh as she guides her daughter into the drawing room.

“I can’t believe this. I’m away for one moon cycle and you have me married off already? I keep telling you, I want to marry for love.” She didn’t know what to feel right now, angry yes, upset yes, and also confused, why now, when the topic of suitors had never felt imminent. 

“Emma, every day you spend with the Dark One is a day closer to us never seeing you again.” She tells her as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

“If this is still about him corrupting my mind, you have to know I’m still the same person as I was before the bargain.” As the Crown Princess, Emma didn’t have many choices in terms of clothing, free speech or political opinion, but she deserved the freedom to choose and to marry whoever she liked. 

Her mother touched her cheek, a way she did when Emma was younger. “Emma, the fact you don’t see it worries me. This is for the best. If we send a message you’re getting married, you can convince him to call off the bargain. This is a good thing Emma, things will go back to the way they were.”

She may have spent more moon cycles with the Dark One than planned, but she sure as hell was not dark herself, Killian couldn’t corrupt her when he was only trying to heal. She was different, she admits that, but it was a good different. She was powerful, confident in her abilities and her magic. Something that only came from being with Killian.

But she was the princess. Her parents, the King and Queen. She could fight with them about many things, but this was orchestrated by them. She could try to refuse this marriage, but she would need a valid reason, another prince or duke to replace Lord Walsh. It was a horrifying thought, but she didn’t have a choice. She was going to have to marry him.

What she wanted was to run away with Killian. She wanted to free him of his curse, help him heal. She did not want to be bound to him for a moon cycle at a time, she wished to spend as much time as she wished. But if she did that then her parents would come looking, they would send armies to search for her, it would cost the kingdom more money than they have. Running away would cause a civil war. 

All because she fell in love with the wrong Fae.

________________________________________

“I know you feel it too. Please Emma, don’t deny it.” He pleads, keeping the shadows clouding around them for a little while longer.

“I don’t deny it. I’m just in shock.” She admits. Having a mate in this world was rare, but those who were lucky enough to be granted one would be damned for all eternity if they chose to reject their mate. She had grown up with a legend of a male who loved another for years before meeting his mate, they chose to be apart and he died of heartache. She isn’t sure how much of that was true, but there was a reason they were chosen to be mates by the universe. She couldn’t marry Lord Walsh, no matter how hard her mother worked, marrying someone she had no love for knowing her mate, her true love was just out of reach would be too painful a life to lead. “Killlian, if we’re doing this, it has to be right, we have to follow the rules. If I run away now, it will only start a war.”

Killian nods in understanding, “We do this the right way. I claim you in front of everyone, and if you claim me back there is nothing they can do to stop.” He gives her a quick kiss before disbanding the shadows around them and hides from onlookers until it's time.

The crowd are unaware anything happened as she begins her descent down the flowery aisle. She spies her family in the crowd, her mother looking so happy, her brother next to her smiling brightly and her father trying not to cry as she takes his arm. He was meant to be giving her away to Walsh, but he was indirectly handing his daughter over to the Dark One. This was going to break their hearts, but she hoped they would see that Killian made her happy, the life she was choosing for herself was far better than the one her family were choosing for her. 

Walsh stands at the end of the aisle by the arch, his family were noble and would prosper from this union, more land and a grander estate. All of that was meaningless though, he didn’t love Emma either, it was his family pushing this marriage as much as it was her own. She was leaving a lot behind, her brother would become Crown Prince, and her mother would likely push a marriage for him too, likely to Princess Alexandra of the Western Kingdom to save the Kingdom from too much heartbreak of a runaway Princess. But it was worth it, the time spent with Killian made her feel alive for the first time in her life, she discovered things about her she didn’t know she could do.

“We are gathered today to witness the marital union between these two people. Lord Walsh of Oz, and Princess Emma of Misthaven.”

Emma spies Killians shadows from just beyond the arch, waiting for the right time.

“If there is any reason why these two should not be married, Speak Now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence from the crowd. Until shadows grow and at the other end of the aisle, Killian transfigures. “I object.”

The crowd begins to stir, chatter arises, some people even scream. “Under what grounds?”

“I have come to claim Emma. As my Mate.”

Shock horror from the crowd once again, she hears her parents cries and pleads not to go through with this, but she had no choice, this was for her own happiness, she was putting herself first for once.

“Do you claim me as I claim you?” He asks, knowing her answer.

“I claim you, Killian Jones, as my mate.”

Neither were sure exactly what would happen when they said those words, legend said mates had to claim one another in words, whether that be in public or in private. Considering mates were rare and neither had met or heard of anyone that had a mate, they were unaware if anything were meant to happen after they had claimed one another, whether it be lighting from the sky or if they would feel it in their hearts.

Neither were prepared for their right arms to suddenly have ink appear and spiral into a tattoo, matching with one another. Confirming their mateship and that they were now bound to one another, there was nothing anyone could do about it.

With a last look of pity and sorrow at her family, she runs into her new mates arms, and they disappear in a cloud of shadow.

 Emma was going home.

#captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs fic rec #my writing #cssns23 #captain swan supernatural summer

[aksannyi]

Left Behind (1/1) - Captain Swan

Emma and Killian are urban explorers, taking camera crews and checking out abandoned spots to get footage of these liminal spaces for their docuseries - Emma's on YouTube, and Killian's on Netflix, when they converge on one location by complete coincidence. They argue over who has the rights to film this location when they find themselves trapped, and they come to realize that they’re more alike than not.

(I have been more than a bit obsessed with watching explorations of abandoned locations and learning their history and I just needed to put Killian and Emma in one of them.)

--

“Whoa, look at this place! This is so creepy!” Mary Margaret lowered the camera she’d been holding to take in their surroundings, her jaw dropping as it came into view.

The building loomed before them, its dark, brick exterior peeking out from behind the thick overgrowth of trees and vines. It was massive, so massive that they couldn’t see the full length of it from where they stood, and its dark, partially broken windows gave only the suggestion as to what the interiors once held.

Emma Swan, of YouTube fame, along with her friends (and camera crew) David and Mary Margaret, had always had a fascination with abandoned locations. There was something so unsettling about these liminal spaces, as though she could step within and be transported to a different time. Perhaps even be someone else for a while.

“How long has it sat here?” David was always amazed by just how much a space could decay in a short period of time, particularly with no upkeep.

“2005, I think?” Emma chimed in, taking her phone out to do a quick search of the location. “Yeah, 2005.”

“There’s no way this building is only 20 years old, Emma, look at it.” Mary Margaret said it with a wave of her hands, as if to punctuate her statement.

“No, that’s just how long it’s been abandoned. It was built like, a hundred years ago. But it’s only been left to rot since 2005.”

They walked toward the building, taking care not to trip over the cracks in the pavement. They’d parked Emma’s car a bit further away, so as to not arouse suspicion. It was best not to draw anyone’s attention to their excursions. “A hundred years old,” David mused. “That makes more sense. They were probably doing a bit of maintenance when it shut down, but couldn’t keep up with all the problems such an old place would have.”

“Okay, Bob Vila,” Emma teased. She always joked that David must have been a carpenter in his past life ‘or something,’ because he was always talking about the structure and maintenance of these places.

“I’m just saying. If this building was only twenty years old, it wouldn’t look like that. Even if no one so much as picked up a broom.”

“All right, all right,” Mary Margaret intervened. “Let’s hurry up and get inside before someone sees us.”

“You see anyone?” Emma had been keeping an eye on their surroundings as they approached, but it was always a good idea to make use of everyone’s senses.

“No,” David said, taking another glance around.

“Not a soul,” Mary Margaret confirmed.  

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54187552

They didn’t approach the front entrance of the building – that was almost certainly closed off, boarded up tight. Anyone wanting to keep someone out would have closed off the front door as their first line of defense, and it was probably the most heavily watched. Emma didn’t see any cameras, but if there were any, they’d be toward the main entrance of this dilapidated former hospital.

Instead, they headed toward an entrance to the side, which sat hidden under an awning of sorts, almost like it had been a hotel. She could see cars driving through here, picking up and dropping off patients, or perhaps ambulances. She shivered at the thought. Hospitals were not exactly her favorite place to be, even when they weren’t abandoned.

“Can you get it?” Mary Margaret was saying, watching over David’s shoulder as he used a crowbar to pry the doors apart. They had clearly been glass doors once. The glass was long gone, of course, but the doors were firmly boarded against trespassers.

Such as themselves. “Almost…” he grunted. “There!” The crowbar clanged to the ground loudly, startling all three of them as it echoed through the quiet space.

“Come on,” Emma beckoned, prying the doors a bit further apart and stepping carefully inside. They would have to try to close them when they left, so it would be best if they didn’t break anything.

“Oh my god,” Mary Margaret breathed as she took in the space.

It was a mostly empty room, save for a few thick support pillars, all of which had peeling paint and graffiti. “I FUCKED UR MOM” one of them proudly proclaimed, while others were considerably less coherent. There were a good number of swastikas and racial slurs throughout, and Emma rolled her eyes at the amount of blurring they’d have to do so that kind of crap would get minimal exposure. There were already enough assholes on the internet, no need to stoke those flames. She continued looking around, noting that the walls looked much the same, although there had clearly been a two-toned paint pattern, with some peeling wallpaper in a few spots.

A handful of chairs were scattered about, two of which were joined together, as waiting room chairs often were. One was turned on its side, and papers were scattered all around the floor – almost none of them containing anything legible, though a poster reminding patients about skin cancer still warned against the dangers of UV rays, even from its crinkled spot on the floor.

Some ceiling tiles were missing from the space, and stripped wires hung down, unimpeded. Some of the tiles lay broken on the ground, while a few others leaned against a wall. All of the fluorescent bulbs had been taken out, leaving only the shell of what was undoubtedly a bright, buzzing interior. A few boxes sat in the corner, their age apparent by the way they sagged beneath their own weight, and a lamp sat overturned, its lightbulb and shade both long gone.

“Wow,” Emma breathed, impressed. The first sight of any of these places was always the most breathtaking, and this was no exception. She knew that David had gotten her reaction, while Mary Margaret was busy filming the scenery.

“Smells kinda…musty,” Mary Margaret said, crinkling her nose at the smell.

“That’s an understatement.”

David was sure to keep Emma firmly in the frame, the light from his camera casting unnatural shadows in the darkened space.

“You’d think, with all the broken windows…” she trailed off. Would it really air out that much, with such a small amount of exposure to the outside air? Sure, there were plenty of broken windows, but many of them had been boarded up, and the ones that weren’t were quite a way off the ground.

“Well there’s a lot of dust,” David said, kicking at the dirt on the ground. The building seemed to hear them, as one of the ceiling tiles that had been leaning against the wall fell over, kicking up a cloud of dust that caused all three of them to start coughing. Sometimes, Emma wondered if it wouldn’t be a good idea for them to wear protective masks or something.

Emma cleared her throat, reaching into her backpack for a bottle of water. “You’re getting all of this, right?” She took a swig, then tossed it over to David, who caught it deftly, even with the massive camera on his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he confirmed.

“Good.”

Emma continued to walk around the space slowly, taking in everything. This was only the first room, a waiting area of sorts, and she knew there would be plenty of other spaces to explore. This type of abandoned building was a gold mine for decay junkies like her viewers. (And herself, obviously.)

“Look, some of the furniture is still here. Ugh, look at all that mold on the cushions. It amazes me how they just leave these places. It’s like one day they just…stopped coming here. Like they just locked the doors one day and never came back. Everything just left here.”

“That’s actually true though. This part of the building was never used as anything after the hospital closed.” 

“Yeah, I think they wanted to use it but couldn’t find a tenant.”  

“Hard to imagine why,” Emma murmured dryly. The building was in horrible condition, that much was clear.

“Well, it looks like looters did pretty well for themselves,” David commented, noting the obvious lack of furniture, fixtures, and even coverings for the electrical outlets.

A shrill, quick beep sounded from down a hallway, and all three of the occupants jumped in surprise.

“Oh Jesus! Was that a fire alarm? Low battery?” Emma would never admit it to a single soul, but the mournful chirping of a dying smoke detector was probably one of the most unsettling sounds in the universe. She hated that sound. She always changed the batteries in her smoke detector well before they could ever hope to get to the point of alerting her that they were barely clinging to life.

“I think so, yeah,” David confirmed.

Emma was unnerved. “How long has that thing just been beeping every few minutes?”

“Probably as long as the building has been vacant.”

“That’s so creepy,” Mary Margaret breathed, and Emma nodded in agreement. Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.

The alarm chirped again insistently, and all three of them startled again, despite knowing to expect it.

“Case and point,” Mary Margaret added unnecessarily.

“Like they just up and left! Those things have battery backup, but they’re mostly electric, right David?” He nodded. “But the electricity has been off for years, and that thing has been beeping pitifully ever since?”

“There’s no way,” David supplied. “No batteries are that good. I wonder if they just keep a few smoke detectors rigged up in case of fire?”

“Ooh, yeah. Arson is a problem at some of these places.” Mary Margaret began to rattle off a list of other abandoned places, some of which had been burned to the ground by vandals looking to get a cheap thrill.

“But why would they care? The building is condemned. What difference does it make if it gets torched? They could rebuild something better.” Emma kicked at the ground, scoffing. “It isn’t like this place can be repaired.”  

David shrugged under the camera. “Beats me.”

“Maybe it’s an insurance thing.” They would have to have smoke detectors on the premises to get an insurance settlement, right? That had to be it. The alarm chirped again, and Mary Margaret took a deep breath. “So how long would this one have been here before its battery dies?”

Emma set her backpack down on the ground and reached into her pocket for her phone. She clicked on a few things, then rattled off the answer: “This site says anywhere from a year to like, five years. Depends what batteries they used?”

“Really?” David seemed intrigued, and Emma knew that he would do some more research into this topic when they made it back to their hotel.  

“Yeah, today I learned that smoke detectors work better with specific batteries.”

“Huh,” he responded, confirming that he, too, had learned this very thing today.

Beep

“That’s gonna get old,” Emma said, heaving a deep sigh.

David shrugged again. “Well, do you have a nine-volt battery?”

“Of course I don’t, David! Who the hell ever has a nine-volt battery?”

“Well then let’s just try to ignore it and keep going.”

Mary Margaret changed the subject. “Oh my god, look at this. That’s the reception desk.” She had walked across what had to have been the waiting area to a curved counter, faded turquoise, the formica cracked – and in some places, gone entirely. Above the counter, the outline of the letters RGEN Y were still visible, although many had been painted over by vandals, obscuring their original verbiage. “Look, you can still see the outline where the letters were. Wow, this was the ER.”

“Well, the ER waiting room. Or like, triage,” Emma corrected. The actual emergency rooms would be down the hallway a bit. She wondered if any of the beds or curtains were still there. Probably not.

“Wonder how many people died here?”

David coughed. “Good lord, MM, why are you so macabre?”  

“Like seriously! I’m just saying! This place has got to be haunted.”

“We’re not Ghost Adventures,” Emma reminded her. While it would be cool to have a show on the Travel Channel alongside big name shows like Ghost Adventures, she wasn’t sure that their particular brand of entering – which often involved the “breaking” part of “breaking and entering” – would be palatable for TV, even for cable television.

“Oh, come on, Emma, they’d love this!” Mary Margaret’s eyes were shining. She loved the show, and even Emma had to admit that it was fun to watch late at night with the lights off. Even if Zak Bagans and his team were overdramatic as all get-out.

“All right, all right, now can you stop fangirling and get over here with the damn camera?”

She picked up the pace with a huff. “Coming.”

Emma was standing behind the reception desk, poking around. There had once been drawers, but they were long gone. A small piece of corroded wire stuck out from inside one of the recesses where the drawers used to be, and some broken glass sat atop the desk, covered in dust. “Look, there’s some files.”

Mary Margaret zoomed in on the small pile of paperwork. It was a stack less than a centimeter high, the file folders warped with moisture damage and mold. “Do they have anything important?”

“They’re all stuck together. But I’d really doubt that they were personal medical files just…left here.”

“That’d be one hell of a HIPAA violation. Did HIPAA even exist when this place was still operating?”

“Nice pun. And I think at the end? Maybe?” Emma shrugged. She didn’t really feel like looking it up this time, and the signal here was weak anyway. “These were probably like protocol files or something.”

“I guess we’ll never know,” David replied with an exaggerated inflection. “One of the great mysteries of this place.”

“Oh, not you too with the dramatic haunted house crap,” Emma grumbled. “You guys-“

Suddenly, there was a loud banging noise coming from somewhere else in the building, followed by a shuffling sound and a couple of thumps. All three of the explorers jumped before freezing, their eyes wide with fear.

“What the fuck was that?” Emma whispered, her voice wavering slightly.

“I told you this place was haunted.”

“Mary Margaret, I swear to-“

“A rat?” she supplied, keeping Emma from finishing whatever threat she’d been about to level.  

“Would a rat have been that loud?” David asked, and they all knew the answer.

“No, but at least a rat wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve encountered.” A few years ago, they’d come across an angry, terrified raccoon. They had no intention of harming it, but the wild animal certainly hadn’t known that, and it looked like it wanted their blood. Instead of exploring further, they’d turned around and explored other parts of the building, hoping it’d leave them alone.

It had.

Emma, David, and Mary Margaret still stood in place, not moving. Just as Emma was about to shake it off and get them back into the exploration, another series of noises wafted toward them.

It was voices, and they were muffled. Emma could only make out every few words or so. “We’re on…Haven … Hospital … 2005. … 1987 … was built, and it … the years, but nothing … building, who had hoped … hotel, … to rot …fell through.” Whoever it was had quite a monologue going, Emma mused.

Mary Margaret sighed. “There are other explorers in here?”  

“Who the hell?” David asked.

“I think I know who that is,” Emma said, and she hoped she was wrong. “Hello?” she called out, alerting the others to their presence.

From the distance, she could vaguely hear another voice saying something about reshooting.  

Emma wasn’t amused. She knew they had heard her, so why were they ignoring her? “Who’s there?”  

“The last thing we need…” they heard, as the voices inched closer, “…some amateurs out here causing trouble.”

The voices were nearing, and there was one she definitely recognized. Damn it, not this guy. “Yeah, we need to get these trespassers out of here. They’re a liability.”

Emma heard the word trespasser and her blood ran cold. Shit. She couldn’t afford to get another trespassing charge. While she and her crew were always careful, that didn’t stop curious, concerned citizens calling in on them, which resulted in their getting citations more often than not.

But another group of urban explorers wouldn’t rat them out, would they?

Suddenly, an entire entourage came around a corner, three men and a short woman. Emma knew all of them. Killian Jones, the star of a Netflix documentary series about abandoned places, and his crew, Robin, Will, and Belle.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she groaned as she spotted him, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms around her chest.

“Emma Swan,” Killian Jones said, looking as though he had just discovered buried treasure. Emma was far less amused at the sight of him, but then she realized that he’d said her name.

“You know me?”

“Of course I know you. We seem to explore quite a few of the same places. Killian Jones, at your service.” He stepped forward, offering his hand.

Emma didn’t take it. Instead, she stared him down. “I know who you are.”

He lowered his hand, wiping it on his jeans. “So then you understand why we’re here, exploring this place,” he said, as if that made the fact that he’d encroached on their shoot any less obnoxious.

“It’s a cool location that I’m sure will be extremely popular with my viewers.” Behind her, David coughed again, and she could practically hear Mary Margaret thinking, but neither said anything. They both knew about Emma’s dislike of Killian Jones and had listened to the way she’d rant about him after hate-watching his show. Neither David nor Mary Margaret understood Emma’s vitriol toward the man – or his series – but they were her friends, and friends let friends rant about Netflix docuseries and the smarmy British narrators who made them.

Or so Emma had said, once upon a time.

“I would say the same, which is why I’m here.”

Emma wasn’t budging. “Well I heard you talking about kicking us out of here. You don’t own the building, so you have no right.”

He stepped forward, and Emma steeled in her resolve not to move. She wouldn’t let this guy push her around. “Given how nervous you were when we came around that corner, it seems that you felt as though you were caught. Breaking and entering, Swan? Is that how you get to all these places the other YouTubers don’t ever seem to hit?”

“It appears that way, doesn’t it,” she said, leaving the last word to hang between them for a few minutes.

He shook his head. Behind him, she watched his crew stand silently, though a look passed between Belle and Will. “Tsk. Do your viewers approve?”

“I’m not stupid! I would never put anything incriminating on film. Which reminds me – you’re going to need to delete that footage.”

“Well this certainly got a bit more interesting,” he mused, and there was that look passing between his crew members again. Emma felt her hackles raising.

“Listen, we’re just here exploring. How we got in here is irrelevant, isn’t it?” David chimed in from behind Emma, sensing Emma’s growing annoyance. She turned her head and looked back over her shoulder, shaking it slightly. Let me handle this, was the message.

Killian was already replying. “I wouldn’t say that it’s irrelevant-“

“Isn’t it? We’re here now.” She shrugged slightly, scuffing her boot on the dusty floor. “But it also appears that you’re doing the same exact thing, so I don’t get why-”

“Not quite. You’re going to have to leave.”

“Hold on a minute, we were here first! And if you’re breaking in, too, I don’t see how you have the right to tell us we’re wrong. A bit hypocritical,” she pointed out. Killian rolled his eyes, but didn’t address the accusation.

“Ahh, but you see, I’m filming a professional production,” he supplied.

“What the hell do you think we’re doing?”

He shrugged. “Being amateurs,” was his response.

“Asshole,” she spat.

“An honest asshole.” Emma’s YouTube channel was very popular, and her videos got hundreds of thousands of views, but they weren’t, strictly speaking, professionals as far as the industry was concerned. It was one of the pitfalls of content creation platforms – it was a job, but at the same time, it wasn’t. And it pissed her off that Killian was right. They were amateur filmmakers. Talented amateur filmmakers, but amateurs nonetheless. That still didn’t give him the right to be a dick, though.

“Honest my ass! You don’t get to come in here and kick us out when you’ve just done the exact same thing you’ve accused us of doing. “

“I-“

She put her hand up to stop him, gesturing with her finger as she spoke. “So just turn around, walk your ass the other way, and get the hell out. We were here first.”

It was clear that she wasn’t going to listen to his explanation, so he decided he’d try to be diplomatic. This space was enormous, surely they could get enough unique footage to satisfy both of their audiences.

“Look, we’re both here now, why don’t we just do this together? You don’t have to get me in any shots, and I’ll keep you out of mine. We can agree to be silent while the other team is talking, aye?”

“Why would I do that? You’ll get all the same footage as us.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “While I might get some of the same footage as you, you may have noticed that this building is massive. And besides, why are you so worried about overlapping footage when your video will be posted before my film is edited and released?”

“Are you saying we don’t edit our footage?” Emma was rarely this easily angered, but he’d managed to strike every nerve he possibly could in the short time they’d been speaking to each other.

Killian drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Emma waited silently, giving him the opening to answer her question. She could tell that he was getting aggravated with her. Good, she thought. Maybe she’d piss him off enough that he’d get tired of arguing and just leave so they could get back to filming.

“I’m saying you’re not professionals. We are. And professional productions take time.”

“Fuck you. “

“Perhaps later, you may wish to clean yourself up first.”

She balked, resisting the urge to repeat her previous statement, lest he take it even further. “Listen, just because you’re some bigshot Netflix star doesn’t mean you get to treat everyone else around you like shit. My channel has been steadily growing for the past ten years, I have a solid viewership, and I know what I’m doing. So why don’t you take your big, expensive camera crew back around that corner and go fuck off to somewhere else.”

He shook his head. “After all the work I’ve done on this location? You’re mad.“

“All that work and yet, we still got here first.”

“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way then.” He nodded his head to one side, indicating that his crew should follow him. Robin had set his camera down, and he picked it back up, following Killian’s lead. “We’re on the site of the Mist Haven Memorial Hospital, which closed in 1987. It saw a few ownership changes in the time since, but fully closed – and was left abandoned – in 2005. When the-“

Emma started speaking over him. “We’re going to head down the hallway-“

He raised his voice, continuing, “they thought they could transform the building-“

“remnants they’ve left behind-“

Killian stopped, rolling his head back and interrupting her. “You’re polluting my footage.”

“You’re polluting my footage.”

They were in a standoff, staring each other down. Behind them, both crews stood quietly, watching but unwilling to interrupt. Emma narrowed her eyes, then Killian narrowed his. They both took twin deep breaths, and Killian tilted his head slightly with a saucy wink, knowing it would irritate her.

“Ugh!” This was going to cost so much extra time in editing, to remove all traces of Killian fucking Jones and his stupid fucking documentary voice. She turned around, motioning for Mary Margaret and David to follow her.

“Come around this way, look down this hallway! One of these rooms is where a nurse was stabbed.”

“Guess it’s a good thing they were already in the ER,” David supplied, and Emma let out a slight puff of air, amused. She was still annoyed, and she couldn’t seem to get a natural flow back knowing that Killian Jones was there, probably overhearing everything she said. She kept speaking, but despite her best efforts she couldn’t shake the feeling of being observed. She hoped that their footage past this point wouldn’t look forced or unnatural.

“This hallway is creepy,” Belle spoke up behind her, after having been instructed to also continue observing the space as though the other team was not there.

Killian continued into a nearby room, continuing his history lesson. “Back in this room, the founder of the hospital died, which was the first death knell in the lifespan of this hospital. A series-“

“Look at how this handrail is falling off!” Emma exclaimed, much louder than she’d have normally pointed out a feature of a location. Her team was still in the hallway, but she knew that her voice would carry and the other team would have to reshoot. She gloated inwardly. “David, zoom in on that.”

“Oh gross, it’s moldy,” Mary Margaret added, getting a different angle.

“Christ, that stinks,“ Emma continued, wrinkling her nose and stepping back.

“Opened back in 1927, this hospital saw the worst parts of the Great Depression, as people suffered from easily curable diseases they simply had no money to pay to eradicate. Suicides were at an all-time high, and many of the nurses sat right here on watch, trying to ensure-“

“This room is freezing,” Emma interrupted again, and Killian glared at her.

“Reshoot,” he said with a sigh, the obnoxious chirp of the dying smoke detector punctuating his statement. “You know, we could take turns-“

She interrupted, pretending to ignore him completely. “All these patients, all these rooms, now empty. Left to rot, like-“

“Water damage,” Killian pointed out, stepping in front of Emma’s crew and crouching near the baseboard to get a closer look at the line that indicated that there had been some type of flood.

“Really?!”

“What? You interrupted me, I feel it only right that I should do the same.”

“You’re the most aggravating-“

He stood back up, turning to face her, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “Hey now, I offered to share the space. You wanted to do this the hard way. So by all means, keep going. I’m going to do my job. My editors are going to charge me double for this.”

“Then get the hell out of my shots.”

“My shots.”

They stared each other down, but neither of them wanted to concede even an inch. “I’m wasting time,” Killian said to his crew, turning and continuing to talk about the location. “It’s eerie, isn’t it, the way this bedframe is just situated at an angle? It certainly wasn’t like that while the hospital was operable-“

“Oh my god, look at the writing in here! What the fuck does that even say?” She ran her fingers along the letters, faded from years of wear and tear, and unintelligible.

“Swan, you can’t curse on my footage,” he growled.

“I’m not on your footage.”

“Unfortunately, you are.”

“Emma-“ Mary Margaret began, but Emma ignored her, focusing solely on getting Killian Jones out of this damn abandoned hospital.

“Could you just go away?”

“No can do, Swan. I’ve a deadline to meet.”

“Killian-“ Robin spoke up, but he was also ignored.

They were standing at a doorway, and Emma turned to enter the room at the same time as Killian did. The doorway was not narrow, but they jostled for position all the same, Emma bracing her hand on the doorframe and standing with her legs far apart, raising her elbows to shove him when he tried to pass. “I was here first!”

He elbowed her back. “You keep saying that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got a film to make.”

David spoke up again, sighing. “Come on, Emma, we can go to the other side of the building.”

“Why should I? We got here first. They can go shoot over there and come back here later.” She stepped on Killian’s foot, and he kneed the back of her thigh. He was now bracing himself on the other side of the door frame, refusing to give an inch. It was childish, and they both knew it, but neither wished to be the one to forfeit.

“When there’s less light? Hardly.”

“Jones…” Will tried, as unsuccessfully as the other crew members, to get them to stop.

“Bugger off,” was Killian’s response as he took an elbow to the back.  

“Let me in the goddamn room!”

“Watch your elbow,” he grunted out after she hit him with it a third time.  

“Well, if you’d let me in the room I wouldn’t have hit you!”

“Listen, I offered for us to share-“ They were both bracing on the doorframe still, and he heard a slight cracking sound, as though the wooden frame was faltering. They both stopped, their limbs still half-entangled from their battle.

“What the fuck was that?” There was another crack, and Killian released the doorframe.

“We should probably-“

It was as if everything happened all at once: the building was creaking and groaning and the next minute, the foundation above the doorway was falling away, causing the beams from the ceiling to fall. He didn’t even think, just jumped toward her, pushing her toward the ground and out of the way of the falling beam. He landed on top of her with a grunt, but they seemed to have avoided the biggest pieces of debris.

A few more rumbles and they heard more of the building crashing down around them. He could hear Emma beneath him, screaming, and he couldn’t exactly blame her.

The dust settled. A small bit of light peeked through a crevice in the debris, and he could see that the space they were in was pretty tight – they’d narrowly missed being crushed to death.

They both spoke at the same time.

“Ahh, shit!”

“Bloody hell.”

“You can get off me whenever.”

He shuffled away carefully, trying to make sure he didn’t disturb anything that had fallen around them, in case the building wasn’t done yet “Sorry,” he apologized awkwardly.

“No… thank you.” He could tell what a supreme effort it took for her to thank him, but even Emma Swan couldn’t be so crude as to refuse to thank someone for saving her life.

“I do suppose gratitude is in order.”

“Yeah that’s why I thanked you. And I don’t think this is something you can flirt your way out of, hotshot. Unless those pouty lips can lift this door frame.”

He chose not to comment on the descriptor she’d chosen for his lips. “Unfortunately, my lips lack the skills to lift heavy wooden beams out of the way. They do, however, have other skills…”

“Ugh! Stop!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop,” he said, laughing slightly. “You do realize that I’m just trying to get a rise out of you?”

“You succeeded. Now we need to find a way to get out of here.” She looked around, surveying the damage. The space they were in was just barely big enough for the two of them to sit up, and neither dared to lean on anything. “How the fuck did this happen?”

“We’ve both been exploring for years. These buildings are all falling apart. It’s a wonder it hadn’t happened sooner.”

“Well that’s comforting,” she muttered. “Don’t you have people who come out to check these places first? Like, for safety? For your big, professional productions?”

“Of course I do, and I’m given specific instructions on places I should avoid for this very reason. This part of the building was determined by the insurance adjuster to be sound.”

“Well, someone fucked up.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Us.”

She was immediately on the defensive. “You think that our argument caused this?”

He looked at her, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Perhaps it was your yelling, it disturbed the delicate foundations of this place.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Perhaps it was your gigantic ego being incapable of fitting through the door.”

“Perhaps- “

She sighed. “Perhaps arguing isn’t fucking getting us out of here. Come on, if we reach up here we can probably-“

He shook his head, taking another long look around the space. He couldn’t be sure that they weren’t under several layers of debris down here. If they moved one thing, everything else could come crashing down. “Love, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She glared at him. “You got a better one?”

He took his phone out of his pocket, clicking the home button and seeing that he had no service. Emma mirrored his action, seeing her phone screen was cracked.. She groaned as she attempted – unsuccessfully – to turn it on. Calling for help was out of the question.

“Wait for rescue?” He asked, and even he knew it sounded pathetic. She let out an incredulous huff.

“From who?”

“The crew?”

Oh God, the crew! In their current predicament, she’d forgotten that she’d brought two other people in here with her, and that Killian had brought his team, as well. “Do you hear them? What if they- oh god, what if they’re all… it’d be my fault, I dragged them here…”

“Shit.” It was quiet. He thought they’d have heard some yelling by now. What if he’d been responsible for killing his entire crew?

“If they’re… and we’re stuck here… how long…?” She found it hard to speak the word. If they were dead. Dead. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. These were her best friends. She would never live with herself if she survived and they hadn’t.

“I don’t know.” He let out a long breath. Emma could tell that he, too, felt the weight of responsibility for the people he’d brought with him.

“Would anyone nearby be able to hear the crash? Would they think to look for people?”

“My truck is parked outside, so I’d hope so,” he replied. Sure, they hadn’t parked directly in front of this exact location, but eventually someone would find it odd that there was a car parked in front of an abandoned hospital.

“Mine, too.“

“That ridiculous yellow contraption?”

She felt her irritation rising again at his tone. “I like it” The Bug was old, but it was hers – one of the first things that she’d ever bought for herself.

“It fits you, I guess,” he said, and she snapped her head to look at him.

“And what does that mean?”

“That thing looks like it’s held together by duct tape and dreams. Kind of like-“

“Do not finish that statement,” she warned. She didn’t know what he’d been about to say, but it couldn’t have been anything kind, judging by their conversation so far. She sighed. For a moment, it had seemed like they were starting to get along, but now he was antagonizing her again.

“Fine,” he snapped.

“Fine,” she snapped back.

The silence enveloped them, and Emma realized at that moment just how little space they had. She could see that there were some small openings in the debris – she could barely see the light from one of the windows – so it wasn’t like they would run out of air, but the space was not a comfortable one by anyone’s definition. She wondered what would happen if they had to sleep here – if they had to spend the night, waiting for rescue, in a tiny space where perhaps one errant move could send the rest of the building upon them.

It was only when Killian spoke again that she realized she’d started breathing a bit more rapidly. “Your breathing is disrupting my thinking.”

“Oh, I’m sure your thoughts are exhilarating,” was her reply. As much as she’d tried to sound sarcastic, she was secretly glad that he’d drawn her out of her headspace.

“They are, actually. Not that I can hear myself think over the sound of you hyperventilating.”

“Well excuse me for panicking! We could die in here, and you’re hellbent on antagonizing me!” He recoiled, realizing that his attempts to lighten the mood with teasing had not been taken in jest. “This is your fault!”

It was his turn to be defensive. “How in the hell is this my fault?”

“If you hadn’t come around that corner and bothered us while we were filming…” she waved her hand, seemingly showing the result of him walking into the hospital.

“Oh, so I was supposed to just know you were here?”

“You could have just seen us and turned around. Let us do our thing. It isn’t like the building is going anywhere.”

He turned his head toward her slowly, giving her a pointed, incredulous look.

She swallowed. “Okay, so the building was going somewhere. How were we supposed to know that?”

“Exactly, love,” he nodded. “How were we supposed to know that?”

Emma huffed, a short breath pushing a few errant strands of hair away from her face, and she reached up to brush her hair back behind her ear. As much as she wanted to blame Killian Jones for all of her current woes, she knew as well as he did that they were both responsible for their predicament. Had they not been shoving each other like a couple of five-year-olds, the building probably would still be mostly intact.

He was still talking, she realized. “And we could have collaborated, if you’d been amenable to it.”

“Could you cut out the proper British guy act? This isn’t fucking National Geographic.” Who the hell uses words like amenable?

“I hate to break it to you, love, but this is my natural accent.”

“I mean your stupid vocabulary,” she amended, and he snorted, trying to keep from laughing.

“The mere fact that I have a vocabulary indicates that it is not stupid.” And damn it, she hated that he was right. Again.

She sighed. “This sucks.”

“On that, I am in agreement with you.”

“Fuck, I don’t even have my backpack on me.” Killian raised an eyebrow, silently asking her to elaborate as to why that mattered. “My backpack has water. Some snacks.”

“Planning on getting trapped?”

“No. But you so eloquently pointed out my ‘yellow contraption,’ which is kind of old. I like to be prepared. Plus, I like to snack. We spend hours in these places. You mean to tell me you don’t bring snacks? You don’t have anything to drink?”

“We keep a cooler of water in the truck, but snacks, no. Not on location,” he mused. He’d never thought to bring snacks into one of these places; they would shoot different parts of the documentary at different times, and they could always grab something to eat while outside the venue.

“On location,” she mimicked, her horrible rendition of his accent making him snort with laughter. “You sound so pretentious.”

“I’m a filmmaker, love. That’s what it’s called.”

“Totally pretentious.” He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, snickering softly under his breath.

Emma was less amused. “What’s funny about this?”

“I’m laughing at you,” he replied with another shake of his shoulders, though he at least managed to contain his grin.

“Yeah, sure, laugh at me, kick me while I’m down! We’re both in here, we’re both gonna die! Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“I am!”

“No you’re not!”

“Okay, well, first of all, we’re not going to die, and I was just trying to make you feel a bit better,” he said with a shrug, his tone apologetic. He realized that his approach with Emma had been wrong. She was far too guarded to find the humor in a situation such as this, and he should have contained himself, at least more than he had.

“Why should I?” She asked, throwing her hands up. “Feel better, I mean?”

“What’s the use in panicking? You’ll use more energy,” was his response.

“Why should that matter? We’re not going to be pushing our way out of here, we’ve already established that.”

He reached to push her hands down, keeping a grip on her wrist. He was surprised when she didn’t push his hand away. “When a crew comes to let us out, you might need some strength.”

“When. You seem awfully confident,” she retorted, her eyes betraying the worry she’d been trying to conceal. Despite her tough exterior, he could tell that Emma was more afraid than she’d let on.

“People know I’m here,” he said, hoping to provide an extra bit of reassurance. “They will be expecting to hear from me.”

“People other than your crew?” She swallowed again, trying not to think too hard about what might have happened to their friends.

“Yes, believe it or not,” he replied. “People actually care about me. People who aren’t on my payroll.”

At that, she cracked a smile, but decided to keep playing the role. “Like who?” she asked, as if she didn’t believe him.

“Like my brother, who will no doubt gloat about my idiocy in getting trapped in here, and who will be sure to tell me to stop my ‘foolish dangerous hobby,’ as he calls it.” Emma dropped the façade immediately, becoming indignant on Killian’s behalf.

“It’s not a hobby if you get paid for it.”

“Exactly. I told him that. This is my job. A job I quite enjoy.” As an afterthought, he added, “most of the time.”

“This is mine, too.”

He was surprised by that. It wasn’t easy to be able to support oneself with a career in content creation. “Really?”

“It’s almost impossible to produce good, quality YouTube content like this without committing to it. I worked for the first few years while I ran my channel, and you can tell by the quality of my videos, because I didn’t have the time to devote to the locations, or the time for editing them the way we do now Then I…I lost my mother,” she took a shaky breath and felt him squeeze her arm, “my adoptive mom, I never knew my real mother – and I decided then that I’d pursue this for real. She left me a bit of money, so I could comfortably quit and try to make this happen. If it didn’t work out, I’d at least know I tried. If it did – well, I’d be where I am right now.”

“Trapped in a collapsed building with me.”

“Maybe I should have kept my job,” she joked, but there was no bite behind it.

“Am I all that bad?”

No, she wanted to say, but somehow couldn’t form the word. It had been hard for her to let people in, to trust people, and she was already trusting him a lot more than she’d ever intended upon. True, she hadn’t expected to meet him and then become trapped in a tight space under a partially collapsed building, but she still wasn’t ready to be completely open.

He could see her warring with herself, so he continued. “I think we’ve got quite a bit in common, love. You say you never knew your birth mother, I’m assuming that extends to your birth father, as well?” He paused, and she nodded in response. “My mother died when I was four, then my father abandoned my brother and I when I was five. Liam was fifteen. One of his friends’ mums took us in so we wouldn’t get separated from each other. She kind of became my second mum.”

“What happened to her?” Emma asked, though she sensed there was no happy ending to this story.

“She died,” he said, swallowing hard. “Last year. Cancer.”

“It’s a bitch,” she said softly.

He chuckled darkly in response. “Indeed.”

Emma didn’t know how to respond, other than the usual platitudes and sympathy, and she had a feeling that he wasn’t one for wallowing. She was the same way. Hearing people offer sympathy to her forced her to think about it, and she didn’t want to think about it.  

“Let me ask you something, Swan,” he said softly, and she lifted her head up.

“Hmm?”

“Is that why your series is named ‘Left Behind’?”

“Um. Yeah, actually.” She was surprised. There were so few people who understood the double meaning of her series title, and in mere hours he’d picked up on it.

He nodded sadly. “I knew I saw it in you. The look of someone who had been abandoned. You put so much love and care into these explorations. You’re fascinated by things left behind, but you recognize the tragedy in it all..” She was too stunned to reply. “We’re more alike than you think.”

That shook her out of it. “I suppose. And what about your series? ‘Desolate and Deserted’?” She watched him reach to scratch behind his ear, a nervous gesture that made him seem oddly endearing.

“Aye, I was in a kind of rough patch when I came about the name. My girlfriend had just left me to go be with one of my mates, and I felt pretty much desolate and deserted.” He stopped for a moment, then continued. “Looking back, it never would have worked out, so I guess I should thank her for it, but the name is rather unfortunate, at that.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry. Cheaters are the worst. No one should have to go through that. It’s a shitty feeling.” Feeling like you’re unwanted, she didn’t add, but she didn’t have to. He understood.

“I told you. We’re more alike than you think.”

“I suppose we are.” It was weird, realizing that she may have been wrong about him, and that for all his bravado as portrayed on TV, he was just as flawed and broken as she was. “Look, I’m sorry for all of that, back there. Being the first to explore a location, that’s kind of my whole thing. Audiences are fickle, and I’m terrified of losing everything I’ve built.”

“I understand, Swan. More than you think. When you come from nothing-“

“Do you hear something?” They both sat silently, listening for something out of the ordinary. Then he heard it – some faint yelling. Were people here already, looking for them? Should they begin yelling?

The yelling was getting closer, though they couldn’t make out what the person was saying. Whoever it was didn’t seem to know where they were. “Is that-“

Mary Margaret interrupted him, her voice calling loudly from what must have just been outside the room they were in. “Emma! Killian! You guys in there?”

“Jones!” Robin’s voice called, and he heard Belle and Will calling further off in the distance.

“They’re alive,” he breathed.

“Oh thank God,” Emma replied, heaving a huge sigh. Not only were the people she loved alive – and probably fine, but they were actively looking for them.

“We’re here!” She yelled as loud as she could. Killian flinched and tried not to cover his ears, despite the volume of her voice. “We’re both fine! A few scratches!”

“Killian?” Will shouted, apparently needing to hear him.

“I’m fine! What took you lot so long?”

Even through a thick brick wall and a mountain of debris, Killian could hear Will’s biting tone: “We were trying to get out, you wanker!”

“We thought you were dead!” Mary Margaret yelled. “You weren’t calling for us, so we assumed…”

“We thought you were dead!” Emma shouted, and wiped a tear that had started rolling down her cheek. When they got out of here, she was going to give Mary Margaret and David the biggest hug imaginable.

“We’re calling 911! Don’t kill each other!”

“WHAT!?” Emma bellowed, her face turning to panic. The group outside didn’t respond, so she assumed that they were already in the process of calling.

“How else do you think they’re going to get us out of here? Divine intervention?” Killian asked.

She rolled her eyes. “The cops will come.”

“So?”

“We’re trespassing. Why are you not freaking out? We’re trapped under all this shit, the foundation is probably not that sturdy given… everything… and we’re going to get arrested once they pull our stupid asses out of here. How can you be so calm?”

“I have a permit, along with liability insurance,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You do?” Now it all made sense, the way he’d reacted to her crew breaking into the location.

“You mean to tell me you don’t?”

“Would I be freaking out if I did?”

“Fair point,” he conceded. He had been teasing her earlier, but now it seemed that their explorations were a lot more amateur than he’d thought. When they got out of here, he’d try to convince her that she should start doing things the legal way. That wasn’t a conversation to be had at this particular moment. “But anyway, my insurance specifies ‘Killian Jones and his crew.’ None of their names are listed on the document.”

What did that have to do with anything? she wondered. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you could pretend to be a part of my crew – you and your own crew – and you can avoid the charges associated with trespassing.”

It was a generous offer, one Emma couldn’t believe he would make. “Why would you do that? After all the shit I’ve given you today?”

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

She didn’t respond, because she realized that everything she’d said about him earlier had been borne of assumptions, almost all of which were wrong.

He continued. “An asshole?”

“Listen, I didn’t mean…I mean…” she pursed her lips together. She knew she had to apologize, but Emma wasn’t always the greatest at admitting when she was wrong.

“No, no, I’m your competition, after all. That’s why you were so upset that we were here. You don’t want to lose half your viewers to my episode.”

“I mean, you’re not really my competition.” His eyebrows shot to the sky, and she quickly amended, “You’re not a YouTuber. Our audiences are not the same, and people expect different things on YouTube than they do on Netflix.”

“So then you really shouldn’t have been so upset about us being here,” he pointed out, and she shrugged. He was right.

“But to be fair, we are often covering the same locations, a fact that you have mentioned more than a few times in your videos.”

Emma was shocked. “You’ve watched my videos?” It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, given that he’d recognized her on sight, but she still felt flustered at the knowledge that someone as prominent as Killian Jones, a renowned documentary filmmaker who had a non-zero amount of Emmy nominations throughout his career, sat down to watch her videos.

Suddenly, she wanted to know more. Did he subscribe to her channel? Was he familiar with her posting schedule? Had he ever commented on one of her videos before?

“I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I? They’ll get us out of here, I’ll give them my insurance information, I’ll say we were all here filming together, and we can go our separate ways. Nothing to worry about, Swan.”

No one had ever called her by her last name before, and she kind of liked it, loathe as she was to admit it to herself. “Thank you.” She waited for him to make a snarky comment, or to make another flirtatious remark about how she could properly show her gratitude. When he didn’t, she turned to look at him, noting the way his eyes had softened.

“And when the firemen finally get us out of here, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“Can’t just let a favor go for free, can we?” she snarked, immediately regretting her words when she saw him flinch slightly. She let out an apologetic breath, giving him the space to continue.

“Well you see,. I quite fancy you, when you’re not yelling at me.”

If someone had told her this morning that not only would she meet Killian Jones, but she’d be sitting next to him under a pile of rubble while he confessed to liking her, she’d have called that person a dumbass. And yet…

And yet.

He watched the surprise play across her face before continuing. “I’ve watched your videos for years, Swan. Not to copy your locations – we have similar tastes, is all. I actually enjoy your content. You have a fresh enthusiasm that my documentaries lack. A – youthfulness, a feeling of whimsy.”

“Yours are kind of clinical,” she agreed, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “How old are you anyway? Fifty?” Emma Swan was not one for sincerity, but teasing? That, she could do.

He ignored the age comment, pointing playfully. “I knew you watched them!” His wide grin was perhaps the most endearing thing Emma had ever seen.

“Sometimes there’s nothing else on Netflix,” she shrugged. He narrowed his eyes at her, letting her know that he didn’t believe her for a second.

“Okay, okay! I’ve watched them! The history you dig up is really interesting. I sometimes wish I went through all the trouble before getting to these places. I mean, we do get a little bit of background, but you’re like an abandoned building archaeologist. The stuff you find out about these places is fascinating.”

“It does give the exploration more depth,” he agreed. It was a lot of work, the research that went into each of his videos, not to mention the interviews and location shots. He was glad to hear that someone he admired as much as Emma appreciated it.

“Tell me the history of this place.”

“Now, now, Swan, no spoilers.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I know how this episode ends already,” she joked, and he had no response to that.

“All right, so, George Mills made a fortune in the steel industry at the turn of the century. He was one of the first to open a steel mill just outside Pittsburgh, which – as you know – is well-known for steel production. He met his wife there, a woman half his age by the name of Regina Barnes. She was, according to many accounts, a tyrant, and just prior to the first World War, she forced him to sell the mill and move their family – they had three kids at this point – and settle in this area.”

“Why here?” Northern Maine wasn’t particularly close to Pittsburgh, so it seemed an odd choice.

“She had ‘a feeling about this place.’ A small, unincorporated area of the country, well off the beaten path, and she wanted to live there. She packed up her family, ‘convinced’ dozens of families to leave Pittsburgh with them, and they all settled down and incorporated the town of Storybrooke, which holds its name to this day.”

Killian’s use of air quotes had not gone unnoticed. She imitated the motion, asking, “Convinced?”

“Coerced. Allegedly.” Emma gave him a pointed look, urging him to continue. “She was apparently great at getting dirt on people, which was an excellent means for her to get her way. So she basically brought a small town’s worth of people with her to settle down, got them all to build her a mansion which, sadly, burned down about ten years ago, and appointed herself mayor of the town.”

“Her husband wasn’t bothered by this?”

“He was very enamored of her, it seems.”

“Or she had something on him, too,” Emma suggested, and he nodded slightly.

“We’ll never know, I suppose. Anyway, that’s how this hospital came to be. One of their children developed a chronic illness, and rather than travel to another city for healthcare, she blackmailed a doctor out of Boston and had the hospital built. They began construction in 1920, and the first wing of the hospital opened that year. This whole massive building was built and operational by 1927, funded in part by the number of disabled war veterans needing continuous care. Storybrooke was a thriving small town at that point, and the hospital was the largest for miles for over thirty years.

“It saw the tail end of the depression, had a major boom during the Second World War, as did the town. George Mills died shortly after the war, and Regina inherited his fortune. She ran the town, and the hospital was part of the town. She wasn’t mayor anymore, but every subsequent mayor answered to her. She had the money, and with it, the power. There is a lot of scandal surrounding Regina Barnes-Mills, so much that I can’t possibly put it all in the episode. I could do an entire documentary on her alone.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I don’t have time, for one. Perhaps I will revisit her story someday.” He paused, heaving a slight sigh. “Anyway, she died in 1983. She was 102 years old then, and held onto control right up until the end. Following her death, her children had a huge battle with each other over inheritance. Our lovely Mayor hadn’t been too clear about her intentions. Some local historians say that she didn’t intend to die.” He paused, giving Emma a chance to giggle. “The familial in-fighting and lack of leadership at the hospital was essentially its death warrant, though there were many other factors. Newer, more state-of-the-art facilities, people leaving the town, and the questionable decision to convert the hospital – well, a wing of it, at least – to a mental health facility. Problem was, there weren’t enough patients locally, so they kind of… outsourced.”

“I take it that didn’t go well?”

“Not as such, no. There were some lawsuits over the mistreatment of patients, and the hospital closed in 1987. A wealthy investor bought this place hoping to turn it into a hotel, and some parts of the building were converted into rooms. That lasted a couple years. It’s not like this area is a tourist hotspot. Except, you know, for people like us who want to explore decrepit, abandoned places,” he joked.

“I know the rest, I think. They couldn’t find anyone else to buy it and there was a huge fire all the way on the other side of the building. People wrote it off, right?”

“That’s essentially it, yes. And here it sits.”

“And here we sit,” she grumbled, heaving a deep sigh. He responded with a sigh of his own. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Emma pretended to be supremely interested in her cuticles.

Killian broke the silence. “So, have I made this place more interesting to you?

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head and trying to hide her smile from him.

“I beg your-“ He grabbed her wrist, causing her to look at him. “You were hanging onto my every word!”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh. He was so offended at her feigned disinterest. “Perhaps I was merely appreciative of the messenger.”

“And not the message?”

She huffed out a breath, pushing an errant strand of hair away from her face. “I was trying to compliment you.”

“You were?” He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he cleared his throat slightly. “All right then. Thank you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance. “You guys all right in there?” Robin’s voice carried over the rubble.

“Fine!” Emma called, trying not to be too annoyed at the interruption from outside. They were just trying to help, after all.

Killian seemed to sense her frustration. “But you could get us out, yeah?

“The firemen are on their way. Try not to kill each other,” Robin advised. Killian made a mental note to remind Robin later that he didn’t need a second over-protective older brother.

“No promises,” Killian shouted back, winking at Emma as he did so.

Right then, she seemed to make a decision about something. “Okay,” she said, agreeing to an unknown prompt.

“Okay what?”

“Okay I’ll go to dinner with you,” she replied, her eyes glinting with amusement at the way his face lit up.

“Really Swan, what changed your mind?”

“I quite ‘fancy you’ as well,” she replied, in a poor imitation of his accent.

“Emma Swan, were you watching my documentaries to admire the locations, or just to admire me?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows in an animated fashion.

“You really are such a dick sometimes.” The insult was spoken, but it had no bite.

He shrugged casually. “It’s part of my charm.”

“I suppose.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” he pressed, and she looked down at her fingers again, picking at one of her nails.  

“Both,” she muttered.

“Both?” He repeated, wanting to be sure he’d heard her.

She threw her hands up exasperatedly. “Both the locations, and you. All right?”

“Was that so hard?”

“Admitting that I’ve been a bitch to you all this time because I didn’t want you to know that I liked you?”

And there it was, out in the open. Sure, there had been the worry about him getting all of the prime bits of footage before she could manage it, but the real reason she was being so prickly was that she hadn’t wanted to admit to him – or to herself, for that matter – that she liked him. Kind of a lot.

“I wasn’t going to say it.” He knew better than to use that particular word in reference to a woman. She smiled then, surprisingly relieved that it was out in the open now.  

“So what do you say, Swan, care to plan a collab? Starting here?”

What did she have to lose? “Okay,” she said. “But I still get to release my video on my schedule.”

“I wouldn’t dream of trying to manage how you run your channel, love.”

“Good.”

Inwardly, she wondered how it would all work – would they have contracts? As much as Killian said he wouldn’t want to meddle in her production, she knew that the folks over at Netflix would probably have a few more stipulations.

As if reading her thoughts, he continued. “I can’t promise that my agents will appreciate me bringing another personality onto the team. Especially one as volatile as you,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t make me find something to throw at you.”

He grinned. It really was too easy to get a rise out of her. “But. If we were to collaborate with each other, even if it’s only on this location - I think we could really have something. Your videos are good. And I daresay my documentaries are good. But together…”

“We could be great,” she finished, letting her mind wander beyond just their filmmaking endeavors. They could be great. What would it be like to get to know Killian Jones on a personal level? How much of his narrative charm was genuine? The more she got to know about him, the more she wanted to learn.

She startled when he spoke again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re quite fetching in that tank top.”

“I’m sweaty,” she protested, her face beginning to flush. “And covered in dust. And I probably smell terrible.”

He was close enough to dispute that assertion. “You smell nice, actually.” His voice was lower, huskier. He reached to brush a strand of her hair away from her face, and she shuddered at the gentleness of his touch.

She turned her head then, meeting his intense gaze. She leaned ever-slightly toward him, noting that he did the same. A pang of longing shot through her, and she parted her lips in anticipation of what was to come.

They closed the distance slowly, their lips barely grazing when a loud cracking noise pulled them from their reverie. “Y’all just sit tight in there, we’ll have you out in a few,” came the reassuring voice of what could only have been one of the firemen over what must have been a megaphone.

“All right,” Emma yelled weakly, barely trusting her voice. A loud motor roared to life outside, and the moment was effectively broken. The faint sound of rhythmic beeping, signaling that a vehicle was backing up, seemed to draw closer. She wondered how much work the rescue crews would have to do to pull them out of there. Exactly how much of the building was piled on top of them?

“We’ll finish that later,” Killian promised, grazing her cheek with the back of his hand. How he desperately wanted to pull her into him and claim her, but the background noise of the rescue effort was especially jarring. They may as well have doused him in freezing water.

He and Emma hunched over, keeping their eyes shielded in an effort to avoid any falling debris. There was a constant din – between the motors of vehicles, the yelling of workers, the beeping, and the sound of the building being lifted, Emma would be surprised if she left without a headache.  

Be grateful that’s all you’ll have, she reminded herself. She grasped Killian’s hand, and he squeezed it reassuringly. “Bit loud,” he commented, and if she hadn’t just been thinking the same thing, she’d have made some sarcastic comment about him being Captain Obvious.

The fireman had said, “a few,” but they had no frame of reference for that statement. A few minutes? A few hours?

The noise was such that they couldn’t really converse, so they sat beside each other waiting for their eventual release, trying to be patient. Periodically, one of them would look up to check the progress, but that didn’t really give them any indication as to how much longer it would be, and the rescuers weren’t stopping to give them any updates. Eventually, though, the firefighters were pulling them out – Emma first, followed shortly thereafter by Killian. The sky was slightly darker, but night hadn’t quite fallen.

There was a flurry of activity as everyone rushed to hug each other and express their overall relief that this ordeal was over. The police had already questioned both crews, and they gathered statements from both Killian and Emma.

Emma must have seemed worried, because the officer reassured her that the questioning was merely for insurance purposes. The firefighters left first, and before long, the police officers were leaving, as well, leaving behind a construction crew, who had been tasked with ensuring that they got everything cleared from the site. They were all given strict instructions not to reenter the building by both the police and the construction workers.

“Good thing we got all of the cameras then,” Will grumbled, though Emma suspected that Will – not unlike herself – would have had very few qualms about disobeying the police.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Mary Margaret fussed over Emma, and Emma could only respond with a pointed look. A few meters away, Killian was subjected to similar treatment from Belle, and he met Emma’s gaze as he repeated – much like she had – that he was fine.

“I’m fine, Mary Margaret,” she said again, not even looking at her friend as she did so. In the waning daylight, Killian’s slightly mussed form seemed even more enticing, if that was even possible, and she caught his eye, noting how his gaze darkened with lust. “I’m fine,” she breathed, hardly aware of anyone – or anything – other than Killian Jones.

He raised an eyebrow at her and that was it. She stalked over to him, grabbed the collar of his still-dusty leather jacket, and practically crashed their lips together. Within seconds his hands were tangling in her hair, pulling her possessively closer and groaning deeply into the embrace. She felt her knees go weak as he kissed her passionately, his toned frame seemingly the only thing keeping her upright.

They breathed each other in, their hands clinging, groping, desperate, their breaths hot against each other when Emma finally – reluctantly – pulled away slightly, her lips trembling and a shudder shooting through her. She had never been kissed like that.

“Would you like to have that dinner date now?” Killian asked softly, his words low and gravely. For as long as she lived, Emma was certain she would never, ever forget how absolutely fucking sexy he sounded in that moment.

She giggled against him, pressing her lips to his in another short, quick, kiss, giggling again when he chased her lips with his own. “Maybe we should just skip the dinner part for now,” she suggested.  

“I like the way you think,” he murmured against her, “But I do still want to take you out on a proper date,” he added, closing the distance between them again as she nodded her agreement. 

“Mate, you gonna keep snogging her there all night?” Robin teased, and they stepped back from each other, noting the various states of amusement on the faces of their spectators.

“Right,” Killian said. He wasn’t going to stand here so his mates could give him the third degree, not when Emma Swan wanted him to take her somewhere more private. “Shall we, love?” he asked Emma, nodding slightly toward where his truck was parked. The crew could take care of the equipment and get the van back to their hotel.

Emma reached into her pocket and grabbed her keys, tossing them toward her friends. “M&Ms, take the Bug, would you?” Mary Margaret caught the keys, just barely, jingling them a few times with a pointed look, one that very clearly told Emma that they were going to have a long talk about this, and Emma felt Killian put his arm around her waist, leading her away from the stunned onlookers.

“Told you,” they heard Mary Margaret whisper loudly as they began to walk away, and Emma could only smile as she let Killian lead her to his car.

A few years later

“For Deserted and Left Behind, I’m Killian Jones,” he began the sign-off.

“And I’m Emma Swan,” she continued.

“And we’ll see you in the next exploration,” they finished together, holding their final pose until the camera crew gave them the all-clear. They’d probably reshoot that a few more times, but Emma personally felt that it was satisfactory.

It was one thing she’d had trouble adjusting to when she’d agreed to these periodic special collaborations with Killian – Netflix’s need to have them constantly reshoot everything. It was for camera angles, or lighting, or just a different tone of voice. She’d never known how exhausting it all could be.

“Hey, don’t go anywhere,” he said as she turned to leave, grabbing her elbow before turning to one of the cameramen.. “Can we get some more footage real quick?”

“Killian, I’m hungry,” she protested. “Can’t it wait?”

“This won’t take long, love.” He nodded to the cameraman, who started recording again before nodding back, indicating they were rolling.

“Three years ago, I ran into this lovely yet infuriating lass when we both stumbled upon the same location-”

“They know all this-“ she began to interrupt, but he silenced her with a finger on her lips.

“Like I said, infuriating.” She tilted her head to the side, giving him that affectionate-but-annoyed look she’d perfected since they’d begun dating. “Little did I know, however, that I would find not just a partner in exploration, but one in life.”

He took her hand, dropping to one knee. “And I’d like to ask her to continue to be my partner, for the rest of our lives.” Her mouth hung open, tears welling up in her eyes as he took out a small ring box, opening it to reveal a perfect, beautiful ring.. “Emma, will you marry me?”

“Infuriating?” she teased as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Takes one to know one.”

“Emma…” he warned with a groan, squeezing her hand. Only Emma Swan could take a proposal and make it sarcastic.

“Yes, Killian. I’ll be an infuriating wife to an infuriating husband,” she agreed with a huge smile, and he slid the ring on her finger before standing up and pulling her in to a searing kiss, oblivious to the cheers – and tears – around them.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” he asked against her lips, and she shook her head slightly before diving back in.

“God, I hope not,” she replied, and kissed him again.

#ouat #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #emma swan #killian jones #my fanfiction #also hi hello this is my first published captain swan fic

[deckerstarblanche]

It’s my first WIP Wednesday!

I thought it would be nice to show anyone who likes “An Offer She Can’t Refuse” that I’m actually working on it!

Here’s a little taste from the FINAL CHAPTER:

Killian considered his dilemma: Was he in love with Emma, or was his intense urge to possess her just his Alpha helping her Omega through a heat?

He wasn’t sure, and suddenly he felt grateful that their time together hadn’t sent him straight into a spontaneous rut. If that happened, he would have been a slave to his most primal urges, tearing across campus hotheaded and snarling until he found his Omega safe and sound.

Emma wasn’t the submissive type, and if he showed any possessive behavior that she didn’t like, she would tear his head off like a praying mantis, he thought to himself, suppressing a shiver as the image crossed his mind.

He recovered quickly though, his lust for the fiery Omega igniting at the thought of them belonging to each other.

They were way too young for an official bonding ceremony, but there were plenty of other body parts for them to mark. The sensitive glands on her inner thighs came to mind, and just the thought of biting into her soft flesh in such an intimate place sent blood rushing straight to his groin.

Great, now he had a raging erection to deal with, too.

He couldn’t very well reenter the world in his current state, so Killian rose and trudged over to the shower. Even though it pained his soul to do so, he scrubbed shower gel over every trace of the last three days from his body. The hot spray soothed his sore muscles, and as he watched the evidence from their time together swirl down the drain, he found himself unable to regret a single moment.

Whatever the risks of pursuing her wound up being, Emma Swan was worth it.

He dressed and packed quickly. Before leaving the Safe House, Killian took a last look at the space he and Emma shared for the last three days. He hadn’t anticipated leaving without her by his side, but when he thought about it, he wasn’t really surprised.

Emma left out of fear that he’d leave first. That stung more than he wanted to admit, but deep down he knew it would end up that way. He’d heard all of her stories from the past, of being abandoned since she could even remember.

Now, all he had to do was convince her that he could be more than a friend, and certainly more than her new go-to Alpha.

Killian scrubbed a hand down his face with a rueful chuckle, scratching his fingers through his overgrown beard.

He was confident that he could win her over, but he’d have to plan his strategy exactly right.

If you’d like to be on the tag list, just let me know! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

TAGGING: @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @undercaffinatednightmare @jonesfandomfanatic @stahlop @booksteaandtoomuchtv

#cs ff #cs au #csedit #best friends to lovers #captain swan fanfic #captain swan smut #cs smut #alpha beta omega #omegaverse

[jrob64]

Long Overdue Conversations - Part 4 (Emma & Killian) A OUAT missing scene

Here is another conversation I feel should have taken place in Once Upon a Time. This one occurs immediately after the 'You traded your ship for me' scene at the end of season 3.

THIS PART IS RATED M!

Previous installments can be found on Tumblr: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

All parts can also be found on Ao3 & FFN

Special thanks to @hookedmom who always makes my stories better with her beta skills and suggestions for making this scene better (and hotter!)

*********

“You traded your ship for me?” Emma asked, amazement evident in her voice.

Killian gave a slight nod. “Aye.”

Then she was kissing him. Not a bruising and frantic kiss like the one in Neverland, but a tender, passionate one that took his breath away all the same. At one point, he had to draw back to look at her, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. When she smiled at him and rested her forehead against his, he caressed her cheek, running her silky hair through his fingers, before capturing her willing lips once again.

Their moment was interrupted when Leroy and one of his brothers came bursting through the door of Granny’s, drunkenly singing. It was all Killian could do to keep himself from throttling the dwarfs, but Emma simply squeezed his hand and gave him a soft smile.

“If you don’t have your ship anymore, where are you staying?” she asked.

“The widow Lucas granted me a room at her bed and breakfast.”

“Hmm…” Emma hummed in thought.

Killian tilted his head, waiting for her to continue. After a moment of silence, he asked, “What’s on your mind, Swan?”

Leaning in, she brushed her lips across his cheek. “Give me a minute to say goodbye to my family. I’ll be right back.”

He watched her rise from her seat and ascend the steps into the diner. Before disappearing inside, she turned and smiled at him reassuringly.

While he waited, he touched his fingers to his lips, just as he had after their first kiss. He loved the feeling of Emma Swan’s lips on his and wanted it to linger. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to wait nearly as long to feel them again.

Sooner than he expected, Emma was back out the door. When she reached him, she took him by the hand, encouraging him to get to his feet. “Come on, pirate.”

“Where are we going, Love?”

She gave him a secretive smile. “To your room.”

In a near state of shock, he followed behind her as she led the way, still gripping his hand tightly. When they entered the lobby, Emma asked, “What’s your room number?”

“Um…four,” he stammered.

“Seriously? That’s the room I had when I first came to town.”

“Aye, the widow Lucas did mention that fact when she gave me the key.”

He trailed closely behind her up the stairs, his hand on the small of her back. He was hesitant to break physical contact with her, for fear she would suddenly disappear. It was Storybrooke, after all.

When they reached his door, he fumbled for the key. Finally withdrawing it from the inside pocket of his leather duster, it slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor.

Emma bent down and picked it up, smirking as she held it between her fingers. “Nervous, Captain?” she asked, before inserting it into the lock and turning it. The door swung open and they quickly crossed the threshold.

“I’m still trying to determine if this is indeed real, or simply my imagination,” he said. He closed the door and leaned back against it, gripping his belt buckle as he looked up at her through his dark lashes.

“Have you imagined this?” she asked, batting her own lashes at him.

He poked his tongue into his cheek, then ran it over his bottom teeth before answering. “Perhaps.”

Stepping closer, she leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Move away from the door.”

Quirking a curious brow at her, he did as instructed. She held her hands up with her palms flat and facing the door. Closing her eyes, she concentrated until a soft glow emanated from them. Then she moved them slowly to trace around the entire frame of the door.

When she finished, she dropped her hands and turned to face him. Seeing the slight confusion on his face, she explained, “Silencing spell. Granny has supernatural hearing, remember?”

“You’re bloody brilliant, Swan.” He closed the distance between them, reaching up to sift her blonde locks through his fingers, his deep blue eyes boring into hers. “Now that we’re alone…”

Emma shrugged out of her leather jacket and let it drop to the floor, then ran her hands up the front of his vest and under the shoulders of his heavy, leather coat. Understanding her intention, he pulled his arms free when she pushed it off of him.

“Just how much does that thing weigh?” she asked. “And how the hell do you wear it around all the time?”

He grinned at her. “Is that really what you want to think about right now, Love?”

“You have a point. Besides,” she said mischievously, “I’m sure you’ve carried rum barrels heavier than that, right?”

His brows furrowed. “Come again?”

“Just something your former self said when he was carrying me onto his…your…ship.”

“Bloody wanker,” he grumbled. “I should have hit him harder.”

She began undoing the fasteners on his vest. “Is that really what you want to think about right now?” she asked, echoing his words.

“Too right, Love.”

Once the vest joined his coat on the floor, he removed his hook and placed it on the dresser. Then Emma slid his suspenders off his shoulders and started working on the tiny buttons of his billowy, black shirt. “How do you manage these things with one hand? I can’t unbutton them with two.”

“I don’t mess with the buttons. I simply slide it on over my head.”

“That explains why it’s always open practically to your waist.”

“You’ve noticed that, have you?” he asked with a knowing smirk.

“Kinda hard to miss it, with your whole chest on display.” Lifting her eyes to meet his, she abandoned the buttons and slowly ran her fingers through the hair on his chest that had been teasing her ever since she met him in the Enchanted Forest. Hearing him gasp at the contact, she added, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a very long time.”

As her fingertips continued to explore, he dipped his head to capture her lips, his own calloused fingers finding their way under the hem of her turtleneck. He caressed the soft skin he found there, and she moaned into the kiss, “Killian…”

The breathy sound of his name from her sweet lips had him growing hard in an instant. “Swan,” he mumbled, “are you…are you quite sure about this, Love?”

She pulled back to look at him, her pupils dilated with desire. “I told my parents I wouldn’t be home tonight, brought you up to your room, and used magic to make sure no one would hear us. Does that sound like someone who isn’t sure?”

“You told your parents you were going to be with me tonight?”

“Yes. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about them anymore.”

“Agreed,” he chuckled. “Where were we?”

“Right about here,” she said, crossing her arms to grab the bottom of her sweater, then pulling it over her head.

Killian could feel his heartbeat increase as his eyes roamed over her newly bared skin. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t longed for this scenario, but never could he have imagined the absolute perfection of Emma Swan.

“Your turn,” she said, grasping the hem of his shirt to tug it over his head. He tried to stand still as her hands explored the expanse of his chest, moved over his shoulders and down his arms.

He was so busy enjoying her touch and taking in her beautiful form, he had forgotten about his battered, leather brace. When her fingers found it, he involuntarily took a step backwards, pulling his arm away from her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said soothingly. “It doesn’t bother me.”

His hand rubbed absentmindedly over the brace. “It…it’s ugly, Swan. It’s been a very long time since I’ve allowed anyone to see it.”

“You don’t have to hide it from me, Killian. It’s part of you and I…well, nothing about you could make me…care for you any less.”

Slowly, he stepped back into her space, his eyes never leaving hers. With practiced fingers, he deftly undid the buckles. After hesitating a few moments, he grasped the brace and twisted it off of his arm. Emma took it from him and laid it on the dresser beside his hook, as he removed the protective cloth covering his stump.

She locked eyes with him again, before dropping her gaze to his arm. Placing one hand under his elbow, she lifted it up while the fingers of her other hand gently traced the raised, jagged scars. “It must have been so painful,” she said quietly.

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching at the memory. “I…I don’t remember feeling pain when he…when he cut it off. I’d just witnessed him murder Milah and that pain overshadowed everything else. It wasn’t until later, when a crew member cauterized it, that I finally realized how much it hurt. By that time, my grief and anger had taken over and all I wanted to focus on was plotting my revenge.”

Emma bent to press a kiss to the end of his wrist. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Killian.”

“It’s long in the past, Love. I would much rather look toward the future.” Using his finger to lift her chin, he gave her a smile. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. “A future that includes you, I hope.”

In answer, she fused her lips to his, her hands beginning to roam freely over his body. When she slid her hands down inside the back of his trousers and squeezed his ass, he sucked in a ragged breath. “Bloody hell, Swan,” he growled.

“What’s the matter, Captain? Can’t you handle it?”

Before she could utter another word, he skillfully flicked open the button on her jeans and unzipped them. “Let’s see who can’t handle it, shall we?” Then his hand was inside her panties, cupping her mound.

  Her surprised gasp turned to a moan of pleasure as his long fingers slid through her slick folds. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet?” he asked, his voice low and husky in her ear.

“I…I’ve wanted this ever since…” She stopped talking and bit her lip.

“Since when, Swan?” he queried.

“Since…Neverland,” she admitted.

Hearing her finally confess her feelings made his own surge through him in a hot rush. He withdrew his hand and lifted her off the floor. Carrying her across the room, he deposited her on the bed. “Take off your boots,” he commanded, beginning to toe off his own.

She happily complied, then began pushing her jeans down her legs. When they reached her knees, she looked up and felt like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Killian was standing in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, dressed in nothing but his leather pants. They were straining against the huge bulge that was right at her eye level. Without conscious thought, her hands reached for him, rubbing his rigid member through the leather.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, exhaling the words, “I’ve wanted this for a very long time, too, Emma.”

“Then let’s not wait any longer.”

Her fingers set to work unfastening his pants to free his cock, which she promptly began to stroke. At the same time, he reached behind her and worked at the hooks of her bra. When they were undone, his hand and wrist tugged on the straps and her hands left his shaft long enough to wiggle out of it.

While she resumed her exploration of his sizable cock, he fondled her breasts - squeezing, pinching, rubbing and caressing them, murmuring words of praise for their perfection.

Killian suddenly realized how quickly they were working each other up, and put his hand over Emma’s to stop her stroking. “Can we…can we slow down just a bit, Love? I don’t want this to be over too soon.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said breathlessly. “Why don’t we finish getting undressed?”

“Aye,” he agreed.

Both of them removed their remaining clothes and as Emma laid down in the middle of the bed, she pulled Killian down beside her. He pushed himself up to lean on his left elbow, his fingers dancing along the skin of her belly. “Gods, Love. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman than you. You’re absolutely stunning.”

Her hand moved up his forearm and bicep, tracing the hard muscles. “So are you, Killian.”

They explored each other’s body with their hands and mouths, whispered words spoken against skin, between kisses, licks and nips. When Killian’s fingers found their way once again to Emma’s most intimate place, she bucked into his hand, clearly craving more.

He nudged her legs further apart with his knee, then slowly slid one finger into her warm, wet channel. “Tell me how that feels, Love,” he implored.

“Feels…amazing,” she complied, her eyes closing of their own accord and her breath coming out in short gasps.

After gliding in and out of her a few times, he pulled his eyes away from the sight to look up at her. “Are you ready for more?”

She nodded her head, biting her lip in anticipation.

On the next pass, he added a second digit. “So bloody perfect, taking me like that, Swan.”

“Killian, I’m going to…you’re going to make me…” she muttered, trying to speak a coherent sentence.

“Don’t hold back. Just let it happen and enjoy it, Love.”

She took his advice and soon she was clenching tightly around his fingers, the evidence of her orgasm further slickening his fingers. As she throbbed around them, he sought friction by rubbing his hard erection against her thigh, then sucked one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Killiannn…” she moaned throatily.

He withdrew his fingers and chuckled lowly against her breast over her huff of annoyance. “Patience, Love. I have something much more…fulfilling…for that greedy quim.”

Instantly, she shifted onto her side and reached down to grasp his cock. “I’m ready when you are,” she breathed hotly into his ear.

With a growl, he flipped her onto her back, causing her to let out a little yelp of surprise. Then he swung himself over her body, hovering over her. Nuzzling into her neck, he murmured, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I was quite taken with that dress we pilfered during our adventure.”

“You mean the one…that made me look like…a bar wench?” she gasped, enjoying what his mouth was doing to her collarbone.

“Mmm, aye,” he hummed. “It certainly made you quite…distracting. And very enticing. I wanted to bury my face right here.” He licked up between her breasts, chuckling again when she uttered a curse.

Emma’s hands slid between them and wrapped around his girth. Widening her legs, she dragged the tip through her soaked folds. At his groan, she whispered, “You did promise to fulfill me, so fill me, Captain.”

He lifted his head to look into her face, giving her a grin. “As you wish.”

Her hand guided him to where she was aching for him and he slowly pushed into her, inch by glorious inch. Her legs wrapped around his hips, hands moving to scratch along his back, which added to the pleasure he was already experiencing from being buried inside the woman for whom he’d been yearning for months. He dropped his head to her chest, giving her a moment to adjust to him, while getting himself under control so he wouldn’t be on the verge too soon.

When he finally began to move, it was at a slow, steady pace. Experimenting with different angles, he took note of what brought the most response from her.

After several blissful minutes, she murmured, “Killian…”

“Yes, Love?”

“Make me see stars,” she requested breathlessly, reaching behind him to squeeze his buttocks almost painfully.

He kissed her and grinned slyly, determined to meet her challenge. Dropping to his elbows on either side of her, he began thrusting faster and deeper, until he was plunging into her with abandon, eliciting a loud exclamation from her each time he filled her.

He was getting close to his peak, but didn’t want to reach it before she did, so he caught her nipple in his mouth again, alternating flicking it with his tongue and sucking hard. His actions had the desired effect and soon she was screaming through her release, her head thrashing on the pillow, while her throbbing cunt rippled along his engorged cock.

“Bloody…fucking…hell,” he grunted, thrusting eratically, until he exploded, filling her with streams of his hot release. Not wanting to crush her, he rolled them over, sprawling her sweat-slicked body over his own.

Neither knew how long they laid there, trying to get their breathing and heart rates under control. He heard her mumble something into his chest, but couldn’t make out the words. Raising his leaden arm, he brushed her hair away from her face. “What did you say, Love?”

She lifted her face to peer into his. “You did it.”

“Did what?” he asked, thoroughly puzzled.

  “Made me see stars…and several planets.”

He laughed, then pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’m glad to hear it, because you definitely did the same for me.”

“Good thing I soundproofed the room, huh?”

“Aye, Love. I don’t think I would be able to meet Granny’s eyes tomorrow morning if you hadn’t.”

It was her turn to laugh. As they lay in silence, she skimmed her fingers through the hair on his chest, enjoying the sighs of pleasure from him.

After several peaceful minutes, Emma said, “Killian?”

“Hmm?”

“I would have chosen you.”

He opened his eyes to see her looking at him earnestly. “Chosen me for what?”

“Remember back in Neverland when you told me I would have to choose between you and Neal?”

“Aye.”

“Even if Neal hadn’t…died, I still would have chosen you.”

He lifted his head from the pillow to peer at her more closely. “Truly?”

“Yeah. Well, to be honest, it wasn’t ever a contest between the two of you.” She watched him studying her closely, before adding, “Is that difficult for you to believe?”

“I saw how much his death impacted you and thought perhaps, given the chance, the two of you might have rekindled your relationship.”

“We actually had a really nice conversation just before I realized he was sharing a body with his father, and I felt like we were in a good place with each other at the end. Neal will always be my first love and Henry’s father, so he has a special spot in my heart; but…after what he did to me, I would have never been able to completely trust him. You, on the other hand, have never given me any reason not to trust you. You’ve proven time and time again that you’re in my corner, that you believe in me…”

“Of course I do, Emma. You’re the most determined and assiduous woman I’ve ever met. I trust you with my life…and my heart.”

She tilted her head and smiled softly. “I trust you with mine, too. I think you know me well enough to know I didn’t come to that decision lightly.”

He reached up to twist a lock of her hair around his finger. “Aye, that I do. I feel incredibly honored to hold your trust, Love, especially when not so very long ago, you chained me at the top of a beanstalk because you didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not why I chained you there.”

“No?” he questioned.

She shook her head. “If you recall, I told you I couldn’t take the chance of being wrong about you. Even then, I sensed I could trust you, and that scared the shit out of me.”

“That’s because you thought I was nothing but a pirate, as did the rest of your family. Your father used those exact words in Neverland.”

“Yeah, well, you proved us all wrong.” She cupped his face in the palm of her hand. “You’re a good man, Killian Jones.”

He smiled. “During our adventure back in the Enchanted Forest, when Dave didn’t know who I was, he told me your parents would be crazy not to approve of me as your suitor. I told him I hoped he would remember that.”

“He’s coming around. Give him time and you’ll probably end up being his best friend.”

He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, taking advantage of having her naked form pressed against him. She laid her head on his chest, humming happily.

Later, when they were cleaned up and she was asleep in his arms, wearing nothing but one of his thin black shirts, their conversation ran through his mind again. When Neal died, he saw how grief-stricken Emma was, and assumed she would have chosen the other man, had he lived. He was Henry’s father, after all, and Killian thought that connection between Emma and Neal would be enough for her to try to make their relationship work.

Hearing her say she would have chosen Killian made him happier than he had been for centuries. He fell asleep with his nose buried in her hair and a smile on his face. Tomorrow, they would probably face some sort of crisis, but tonight, Emma Swan was his and hopefully would remain his for the long haul.

*********

I hope you agree that this is a scene we all needed!

TAG LIST:

@qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @cs-rylie @wyntereyez @kmomof4 @hookedmom @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling @andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @zaharadessert @lyssapup27 @undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @xsajx @jackieorioncat @teamhook @soniccat @jarienn972 @softkilly @kymbersmith-90 @apiratewhopines

#long overdue conversations #part 4 #emma & killian #jrob64 #art by jrob 64 #cs missing scene #captain swan fanfic #cs smut #set at the end of season 3

[killianxswan]

part I of my III part camelot what-i-think-happened fic!

all mentioned in the notes, but thank you so much to my amazing betas and friends @caught-in-the-filter, @kmomof4 & @veryverynotgood (can't recommend all of their fics enough)

shameless smut with feelings ahead <33

#cs smut #captain swan #captain swan smut #captain swan fanfic #all roads lead to camelot #ouat season 5 #emma swan #killian jones #emma swan x killian jones #i'm gonna be your wound #the word of your body #worked really hard #but my betas work harder phew #love and appreciate any sort of feedback ! #<333 #begpleadandwhine

[laianely]

Hooked Swan, Chapter 12

I signed up for CSSNS event, but I feel I should give respect to my current works before plunging into something new. So we have new chapter of "Hooked Swan".

Tag people who may be interested: @killianxswan @teamhook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlords @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd

#captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #once upon a time #ouat #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #cs ff #laianely’s fanfics #hooked swan

[sotangledupinit]

Writing Patterns

I was tagged for this game by @jrob64 and it seems interesting! :D

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern. (With links to the stories on Ao3. All are also found on my writing tumblr @statustemporary)

Woooo!

Freed to Love (Collab fic with @jrob64 & @snowbellewells and the first sentence is actually my own haha!)

Early morning dew soaks through Emma’s boots to her stockings.

a work of art

“I always have to clean up your messes,” she mutters to herself angrily, eyes glaring down at the red liquid on the floor.

and we'll put on a show

When Pan’s curse was coming and Emma tapped into her deep well of highly untrained, incredibly powerful, and equally chaotic magic, she didn’t know what to expect.

running home to your sweet nothings

The castle walls suffocate her. 

a little bundle of icing

“And this Santa Claus… your world doesn’t consider him to be flagrant?”

run, run rogers

Hot water seared the skin on her hands.

Once Upon a Mamma Mia

“What if we did a joint party?”

free fallin'

“Are you absolutely certain you’re okay with this?” David asks one more time. 

just like a ghost whisperer

Packing tape smells horrendous. 

close your eyes, take a breath, and you're home

For being hell, the underworld, purgatory, or whatever his family wants to call it, the place is cold.

I feel like I either start a story with dialogue or a very short establishing sentence hahah. oh well, that's just my style!

Tagging @nachocheese-itsmycheese & @cosette141 & @exhaustedpirate

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time #cs fanfic #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #this was fun #maybe one day i'll finally finish all my WIPs

[piinfeathers]

the scars we bare ch2

aaaaand here's part two. if you saw me promise this would be done on tuesday no you didn't <333 thank you to everyone who took the time to read this. it nearly killed me and i loved it

summary: emma swan came to the underworld with one purpose; to rescue the man she loved from hades' grip. and she would do anything, sacrifice everything in order to that happen. when hades offers her a deal, a test of their true love, she takes it. in the end though, the bargain might just take more for them than they have to give. S5B canon divergence

tw: minor moments of gore and torture, also brief mentions of abuse

✨ ch1 | Ao3 link ✨

Hades hadn’t lied about starting from the beginning. The memories they witnessed were, quite literally, some of the earliest moments of their lives. From infancy to childhood, the memories seemed to blur together. At times they watched together, both occupying the same head, witnessing old, long forgotten moments. Other times they were separated, both of them lost in the long, endless tunnel of sound and noise that led to yet another moment in time.

As the memories blurred together, one into the next, it occurred to Killian how similar their childhoods were. Aside from the time and setting, they could almost be confused for the same, miserable adolescence. The same empty bellies, the same too-cold nights, the same edgy fear of the too-large hands that reached out to slap or to hit. And sometimes, in the worst memories, the hands that would reach out and grab. The hands that would pet and coax, almost comforting. But even in the minds of the young children they knew not to trust them. So they ran. And when they couldn’t run, they fought. They bit and screamed and clawed until the large hands learned not to touch so easily.

Through it all, one key difference made itself apparent. The loneliness. Killian had felt small as a child, had felt fear and isolation, but never truly lonely, not when he had Liam. Liam who fought for him, who protected him, who held him through the worst of it. Emma had no one. She floated through her hopeless childhood completely and totally alone. 

At times people would drift in, foster parents who promised to love her, friends who tried to get closer. But in the end, they left. They always left.

Memories of Ingrid and Lily seemed to blur together. The bright hopeful spark that this person, this bond, would be different. That they would choose her and mean it. And when their betrayals hit her, blindsided her defenses, it hardened her. She built walls around her heart so high no one would ever scale them again. Killian ached for her. 

Through the bond he felt her, felt her presence, and tried to reach for her. He felt her hesitation, and imagined himself wrapping his arms around her. The feeling of her stilled, then softened, curling into him.

He’d spent nearly three centuries alone like that. It ate at a person. He couldn’t imagine a life that had known only that aching, hollow loneliness from the very beginning. 

Eventually the memories slowed. They became mundane and repetitive. It felt as if they were watching days pass just for the sake of wasting time. Hades was toying with them, drawing out the memory spell to keep them there longer. Killian pushed against it. 

That’s enough, he thought loudly inside his head. Do you hear me hades? I said that’s enough.

The memories broke apart, dropping them back into the middlemist field. Killian staggered, glaring at the god lounging in the chair. He had a drink now, a bright blue cocktail with a miniature umbrella sticking out from it. He toasted them with it and grinned.

“Enjoying the show?”

“You’ve made your point,” Killian snapped. “We don't need to drag this out.”

Hades' eyes grew sharp, focusing on something behind Killian. “Oh I don't know about that,” he said quietly.

Killian turned and stopped. Emma swayed behind him, her eyes unfocused, her face white. He rushed to her, his hand moving to her face, his hooked arm snaking around her when she faltered and nearly fell. 

“Emma! Emma, look at me.” 

Refusing to take his eyes off her, he snarled back at Hades. “What the hell did you do to her?”

“Just following the rules of our deal. Isn’t that right Emma?” 

Emma groaned, trying to push herself free from Killian's hold, but his arms didn’t move. 

“Killian, it’s ok,” she said with a croak in her voice. “I just need a minute.”

“What is he talking about? What does he mean ‘the rules of your deal?’”

Emma took a long shuddering breath and pulled herself upright, standing taller. Some colour returned to her cheeks and Killian cautiously let his grip on her relax. 

“He told me that in order for him to trust me, to make sure that I would see this through and mean it, I'd have to put some of my magic into it.”

Killian felt dawning horror bleed from his chest and into his lungs. 

“What does that mean?” he asked quietly.

She looked at him. “The memory spell he's using, it’s mine. I’m the one who cast it.”

There was a ringing in Killian’s ears, a shrill, staticky whine that made the world fade away for a moment. Her magic. They were standing inside her spell. He tried to think of how much power a spell of this size would take to keep going, and couldn’t conceive of it. Every moment that passed, ever second they stayed there, she was expending magic at an alarming rate. He could see it now, from the way her hands shook to how her skin looked thin enough to see through. It was devouring her. The magic was drinking her dry, hungry and unstoppable. 

Hades let out a gleeful giggle and clapped his hands. “And there it is! I was wondering when you’d tell him.” 

Killian heard the god of death move, and turned to watch him as he strutted closer. “A bit different when you’re not the dark one hmm? You’ll notice the magic hits just a liiiittle bit harder using light magic instead of all that infinite dark one mojo.”

“Go to hell,” Emma muttered, glancing back at Killian. “I'm ok. I swear I'm ok.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked, not quite able to keep the betrayal from his voice.

She looked at him for a long, heartbreaking moment. Something tragic flashed in her gaze, there and gone in seconds. “Would you have agreed if you knew?”

“No,” he said reflexively. The truth. He wouldn’t have. “But that was my choice to make Emma.”

She nodded “I know.” 

"Can you end it? Call off the magic?"

Her head shook. "Not while I'm under the sleeping curse. As long as I'm asleep the magic keeps going until this is over."

Her words struck him in the chest, robbing the air from his lungs. Of course. This had been Hades' plan all along. To force her to burn herself out. The cruelty of reliving memories was just a bonus.

“Why?” he asked, “just tell me why.”

She frowned, looking up at him. “I wouldn't leave you here. I can't.” 

She was going to kill herself for him. He knew it even before she answered. She’d die down here and he didn’t know how to stop her. 

“You have to go back Emma. You need to figure out a way to call off this spell and you have to go home.”

“I can do this. Killian please-” her voice broke and Killian felt his resolve crumble. “Do you trust me?” she asked after a moment

He smiled even as his heart split in half. “With my life.”

Her answering smile could have lit the entire night sky. “Ok then. See this through with me. We can do this. Together.” 

He wanted to say no. He needed to make her see. Did she even know? Couldn't she feel how much this spell was taking from her? But when she looked at him, when her chin raised and a light started to ignite behind her steady gaze, he knew he couldn’t stop her. Not yet, not now. But soon. Somehow, he would figure out a way to save her from herself.

As if caught in her current, he nodded at her mutely, and another door sprang into being beside them, swinging open and inviting them in. She took his hand again.

“It’ll be ok,” she said, a promise he knew she couldn’t keep. 

When she stepped through he followed her, powerless to do anything but let himself fall down after her.

***

Emma was tired. And pissed. And sore. And so filled with guilt it nearly choked the life out of her. She’d lied to him. Again. He probably wouldn’t forgive her this time. 

She’d live with it. Somehow, even if he walked away from her after this, if she managed to save him? It would be worth it.

They were falling again, she was holding his hand as the magic flowed around them. What he said earlier stuck with her. Hades was playing them. He wanted to drain her and let her die inside the sleeping curse. She realized that much. She needed to figure out a way to move this along. They needed a way out, and fast.

She tried to think, tried to feel for the edges of the magic. It was her spell damn it. If anyone knew a way out it would be her. But how-

She was thrown, full force into another memory before she had a chance to finish her thought.

In this one, Killian was back on the Jolly, in the captain’s quarters. A man with dark blonde curls stood behind the desk, his grin infectious. Emma felt the rush of love and relief at the sight of the man’s face. Liam. This must be Liam. She should’ve known from the smile. It was almost a twin to Killian’s.

“What now brother?” Killian asked.

“We reveal our king’s cowardice,” Liam announced, marching around the desk, grabbing his jacket.

Emma felt Killian's trust, his complete and total belief in his brother’s ability, and her heart hurt horribly. 

They kept talking, making plans and speaking about the future. Overhead someone called to brace for landing and the ship shook beneath their feet. They grinned at each other and Killian moved to the window, glancing out at the waves, a sense of new found purpose lighting inside him. They were going to expose the king, become heroes. No one else had to die because of his treachery.

“What do you say Liam? Want some company when you report to the admiralty?” Killian grinned as he turned to Liam. Liam who was doubled over in pain. Liam whose face was turning ashen and grey. 

Killian ran to him, grabbing for his brother, trying to pull him up. “No! Liam! Liam please!” he was begging, pleading to anyone who would listen for help

In his arms Liam gurgled, thin veins of inky black creeping across his face like curling spider limbs. Emma held on as Killian’s panic and grief crashed into her all at once, watching the life drain from his brother’s face. Killian’s voice sounded so tragically young when he begged for help, it nearly pulled her under. 

How could one person bear it? she thought again. All this loss. How did he keep moving forward, carrying it all?

She wondered how much more there would be. Who else had he lost? What else had he sacrificed and bartered away? How much more would Hades force her to witness?

None of this was new to her. None of these memories revealed “the man Killian Jones really was.” She already knew damn well who he was, and her heart broke for him. For who he had been and who he was now.

She was done. This was over. This pointless test was ending. Now.

She flared out her power in her mind. She could feel the borders of the spell that trapped them, felt the solid walls of it. She imagined herself reaching out both hands and pushed. Hard.

She felt the bars of her cage start to give and pushed again, harder this time, imagining herself balling her hands into fists and slamming them against the wall again and again. Cracks started to form. The memory she was in faded away, Liam's body and Killian's mind floating back into the past where they belonged. Here, in the present, Emma Swan wrapped herself in her power like armour and pictured the face of the man she loved. 

And punched her fist straight through the spell, shattering it.

***

Killian let the memory pull him where it wanted. He hoped it would be over quickly. He still needed to figure out a way to save Emma from herself. The answer, of course, came to him almost instantly. There was one way to show Emma the man he was. The man he hid from her. He had to show her the truth of his past. She would be horrified, she would leave and it would break whatever was left of the heart she had put back together. But she would be safe. She would go back to her life and she would love again. She would move on.

The thought of it. Of Emma Swan moving on without him, of her loving someone new almost destroyed him. But he knew deep in his bones that he would tear himself apart for her happiness. He had done it before and would do it again.

The memory formed around him as his decision was made. He glanced around. Emma stood alone in a dark back alley. Nervous excitement, and youthful joy crowded her mind. She was happy, so dizzyingly happy it made her head spin.

She was looking at a gold wrist watch, two sizes too big on her wrist and frowned, nerves started to edge their way into her excitement. She reached into her pocket and grabbed her phone. Baelfire- No, Neal’s face, filled her mind. He was late. He was supposed to be there and he was late.

She dialed the phone and held it to her ear, frowning when the automated voice told her the number had been disconnected. The hell? Had he forgotten to pay the damn phone bill again? 

“Damn right there’s an error,” she muttered, starting to dial again.

“Unless he set you up,” a loud voice called from behind her.

She turned and froze at the sight of the gun pointed at her. Icy, numb panic flooded through her, made her heart stop. When the cop told her to put her hands on her head she obeyed robotically, not understanding. Neal? Where was Neal? 

The cop was talking but Emma could barely hear him over the rush in her ears. He was full of shit, she was thinking. He didn’t have anything on her, and she told him as much.

“Possession of stolen goods,” he said, gesturing to the watch with the butt of his gun. “Your boy set you up.”

Emma could only stare. Neal . she thought. Just Neal , over and over. 

“He called in a tip, told us to take a look at the surveillance footage at the train station.” 

The words hit her like a physical blow. He’d betrayed her. She’d loved him, gave him everything she had, and he’d betrayed her. Cold, aching misery filled her head. Killian felt it, letting it wash over him. She was alone again and all he could do was watch.

When the cop turned her, snapped the cuffs of her wrists, a numb fury filled her, clouded her mind and settled deep in her bones until walls made of steel formed around her heart. Never again. She would never let herself believe in love. Love made you stupid. It used you up and softened you until you were helpless. Never again.

Killian let the memories move around him, too tired to fight them. So much hurt filled his head, both his and hers, like old scar tissue, hard and calloused. Had love ever come into her life without strings? Without hurt? The unfairness of it made his blood boil.

When the memory finally stilled, she was in a police station. The officer across from her asked her her age. In a quiet, barely there voice she answered; “Seventeen.”

“Got a kid your age,” the cop said flatly and Emma didn’t know how to respond.

Killian tried to focus on the memory, but everything felt blurry. Time seemed to move too fast and too slow all at once, sliding around him.

“Killian.” 

Inside Emma's mind, he froze. The memory around him came to a grinding halt, nothing moving.

“Killian, we need to go.” 

He turned, no longer in Emma's head, but in his own body, sitting inside her frozen memory. Emma, his Emma, stood in front of him, her hand extended.

“C’mon,” she said, “This way, we need to go before Hades finds us.”

He was on his feet, hand in hers and moving before he could ask any questions. She led him to a door with an exit sign above it and pushed through. Instead of the back street he’d been expecting, Granny’s dinner sat before him.

“Emma what-?"

“Just keep moving,” she snapped, breaking into a run.

They ran together through another door, this one leading them to Mary Margret and David’s loft. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing but Emma was pulling him forward still. They headed through another door into the cabin of the Jolly Roger. Then through another into their bed chambers from Camelot. She led him through door after door, all places he recognized, places they had shared together, until finally they crashed through back into the middlemist field.

It was exactly the same as the field they had started in, only it was night time now. They were dressed as they had been in Camelot, she in her white gown and him in his black coat.

She gasped when they came to a halt, stumbling and nearly falling. He caught her, cradling her head as he brought them both to the grass.

“Emma!” her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged. “Emma, what did you do?”

“Bought-” she took a shaking breath. “Bought us more time.”

She was still for a moment before opening her eyes. “You were right, Hades is toying with us and I'm tired of it.”

She moved to sit up and Killian saw her arms were trembling even as her shoulders straightened and her jaw set with determination.

“I’m done screwing around. We’re going to finish his stupid test, and then we’re going home.”

“Emma,” he dropped his forehead against hers. Cold sweat dampened her skin. “Emma, this has to end. You can’t keep going like this.”

He felt her nod. “Agreed. That’s why we’re only going to important memories, ones that-”

“No more bloody memories!” he bellowed, whipping his head up and gripping her shoulder. “This ends now. Call hades, call whoever. But tell them it’s over before you kill yourself.”

“No.” 

Her one word answer made his teeth grit, fear and anger nearly blinding him. “I won’t sit here and let you die for me Emma.”

She was still for a moment, studying him. “You’ve already died for me three times, Killian. I'm not stopping.”

He reared back as if she’d hit him. “So what? This is payback? Retribution? I die so you have to as well?”

“No!" the colour was back in her face now, her eyes alive and burning. “No this is me doing what I have to to save the man I love. And I will.”

He shook his head, raising to his feet. “No. Emma, no. I'm not worth this. I'm not worth losing your life over.”

She stood, the fine tremor in her limbs gone now, a halo of light magic behind her. “I’m the one who gets to decide that. Killian-” she broke off, then tried again. “Killian, I'm sorry I didn't tell you the whole truth. I should have and I'm sorry. But I am telling you now. I'm seeing this through. Because you’re worth it.”

“Enough!” his shout echoed across the field, shook the grass around their feet. “You want to see what kind of man you’re trying to save? The man you want to die for? Here.”

He thought of it, the worst things he had ever done, every unspeakable act he had ever committed and formed them into one solid, writhing mass in his mind. Inside the heart of the memory spell, the magic grabbed hold of him, greedily drinking in his shame. A door sprang into life between them. 

“Here, walk through here and see.”

She looked at him. One long, horrible silent moment passed as time held its breath. Then, she turned, opened the door and walked through.

***

There was no tunnel of light, no waiting, no falling. The memories started all at once. Killian with a sword in his hand, laughing, blood spraying on his face as he drove the blade through another man. Killian, with his hand wrapped around an insubordinate crew member's throat. The man was begging for mercy but Killian only squeezed tighter, his rage cold and unforgiving. Another man on his knees, pleading with Killian, telling him of the family who needed him, before Killian ran him through.

The memories felt sharp, pointed. They bit into her skin and tore at her, shredding her clothes and ripping her hair. All of it ruthless, unforgiving. At the heart of them, Killian stood with his heart completely black and hardened, a vicious grin on his face. The deadliest pirate of the seas. Revenge and blood and pain all muddied together in a blinding red haze around her.

He wore rings on his fingers, of the men he killed. He remembered all of their faces. In the darkness of his cabin he tortured himself with their memories. Of the feeling of ending their lives. He'd felt nothing while he did it, and yet in the quiet of his own mind he sliced himself open again and again at the sight of the rings. 

A bastard. A miserable, cruel bastard. He loved it. And he hated it. 

Emma sat in the corners of his mind and watched as the centuries moved in a blur. The heart inside Killian's chest turned hard as stone. Slowly, the killings grew less vicious. They became methodical. Practiced. 

Faces blurred past, cursing him, and he welcomed it. He was cursed.

Every part of him grew colder, harder, crueler. He no longer felt any sense of justice from the death around him. He felt nothing, only a bleak, yawning emptiness that he let fester and rot until there was nothing of him left. A living corpse that bayed to the sky for revenge. A man made of decay. 

***

In the field, cradling her body, Killian waited for Emma to awaken. When her eyes slowly fluttered, he braced himself, waiting for the hatred in her eyes, the revulsion. She blinked and stared up at him for a long moment. Then the most horrifically beautiful sight passed through her eyes; forgiveness.

“Killian,” she murmured, her hand reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He found it hard to breathe. A lump had formed in his chest, growing hard and sharp. 

Emma pushed herself up and wrapped her arms around him. “It's ok,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He pulled away from her and just stared. “No. Emma no-you can’t-”

“Just shut up,” she said, her eyes closing as she rose to her feet. He followed her, his arms ready to catch her. She sounded so tired and it terrified him. 

“Was that it? Was that supposed to prove something to me?” her eyes opened and the green depths were so clear and understanding it completely shattered him. “It was a good try, pretty rough stuff. But Killian? Did you think I didn't know about your past?”

“I-”

“I know who you are. I know who you were then and I know who you are now.”

“Emma please, don’t do this.”

“I love you Killian. I love the man you are right now. And that’s the man I'm going to save.”

Laughter formed in his chest, rough and malformed, it thrust out of his throat in a harsh burst. 

“You can’t Emma, it’s too late, don’t you see that? Please. You need to let me go,” he looked down at the field of flowers beneath their feet then back up at her. In her white gown, lit by moonlight, she seemed to glow. “This is where it should have ended the first time love. Where it was always meant to end. Please just listen to me. You can’t stay here and die for me. I’m telling you now, I’m not worth your salvation. I’m not worth your life.”

She shook her head in short, frustrated jerks. “And I’m telling you, that you’re wrong.” Her hands lifted, framing his face. Hot, angry tears forming in her eyes, shining like burning stars. “I’m not offering you salvation Killian. You already earned that all on your own. I’m offering you a life, a home. With me.”

He smiled, trying to trace every line of her face, trying to memorize the curve of her cheek and the way her eyes lit with emerald flames. He wanted to burn her memory into his mind, how she looked at this exact moment, full of righteous purpose. His Swan.

“I know you love me Emma. And I know you feel you need to save me. But you can’t. Whatever misplaced guilt that’s keeping you here, please just forget about it. It’s alright,” his hand reached up to touch the ends of her hair, running the strands of them through his fingertips. “It will be alright.”

“Is that what you think?” she jerked free of his hold, took a step back. Whatever exhaustion had clouded her expression before was burned away, replaced with something hot and furious. “That I came all the way down here, let myself get cursed, put myself through all this, because I feel guilty?”

“Emma-”

“Well guess what? I do! I do feel guilty. I got you killed in Camelot and then I brought you back and cursed us all. And you know what? I'd do it again. I’d do this a hundred times over and then a hundred more times because when it comes to you Killian Jones? I'm selfish. Because. You. Are. Mine.”

She punctuated each word in short, clipped bursts that hit him like cannon fire to the chest.

“You’re mine,” she repeated, taking a step towards him, invading his space. “And I’m yours. And I'm not leaving you down here. I'm not leaving you with Hades. Because I love you. I love you so much and I'm bringing you home. We. Are going. Home.”

She was swaying, magic seemed to frame her like a halo. He couldn’t look away. “You told me, back in Storybrooke when I was the dark one, that it didn’t matter what I had done, that you still loved me. Well guess what? It's a two way street. Whatever you��ve done Killian? It doesn’t matter. I love you. I love you as the man you are now. The man who did those things and who still changed. They’re a part of you. And I love every single part.”

Her eyes were burning. He stared at them, transfixed. She had always been like golden sunlight to him. Now she was like a supernova, lighting him on fire. 

“We are going to get through this together. And then you’re going to kiss me, break this stupid sleeping curse, and we’re going to go home.” 

She sounded so certain, he didn’t know what to say. His mouth moved to speak, but nothing seemed to come out. What could he even say? That this wouldn’t work? That if he was right then this whole endeavor was doomed? That while they loved each other, it might not be true love?

“What?” she asked, searching his face. Slowly, a dawning look of realization came over her face. “You don’t think it will work. The kiss.”

“It isn’t just that, Emma-” he swallowed around a lump in throat. “Emma I love you, and I know you love me. But true love is the rarest magic there is. What if we’re wrong?”

“We’re not. I know it. I know what we have, I know it’s true love.”

Her confidence crashed over him like a wave. He wanted to drown in it. He wanted her belief, needed it so badly at that moment. But he just couldn’t.

“You still don’t believe me,” she said, studying him. “Ok then. Here. I’ll show you”

He saw her raise her hand, and dread filled him, knowing what she was about to do. Calling another door now would drain what was left of her magic and probably kill her.

“Emma don't! You can’t-”

Her hand flicked once, a surge of power snaking out like a ribbon of smoke, forming another door. She stood for a beat, then staggered. He cursed as he caught her, his arm circling her as her legs gave out and she fell into him. 

“There,” her voice was barely audible as she jerked her chin toward the newly formed door. “Let's go. You’ll see what I mean.”

Annoyance, terror, and misery surged through him all at once. Her face was too pale, her fingertips cold where they touched his arm. They didn’t have time for this. But as he looked into her face, saw the determination in her eyes even under half closed lids, he knew. There was only one way forward.

“When this is over,” he said carefully, bending down to pick her up even as she huffed a protest. “If by some miracle we make it out, you’re going to bed for two weeks. I'm locking the door and throwing the phones away. Understood?” 

She grumbled even as her head lolled against his chest. “If we get out of this, I'm sleeping for a month.” she muttered.

“Deal.”

Her face brightened with the ghost of a smile as the door opened and he carried her across.

***

The memories started so gently, inviting him now, rather than dragging him. Inside them, he could feel Emma beside him, her presence like a steady heartbeat, guiding him. He held onto her, felt her grip him back, and let them both fall into the past together. 

They were alone, in his cabin below the deck of the Jolly. He was stretched out beside her, asleep on the too small bunk. Through Emma’s eyes, he watched her reach out and brush the fringe of his hair away from his face. Love, a constant, drumming, beating force inside her heart, bloomed up and spilled over her. In the privacy of his room, where no one could see, she let the tears sneak into the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t known it could feel like this. That love could be simple sometimes, that it could be peaceful. Killian made loving him so easy that it had almost blindsided her a few weeks ago when she realized what she had been feeling. She loved him. Of course she loved him.

There were times it nearly overwhelmed her. Even thoughts of him were enough to have the feeling flood though her, washing her in the blinding glow of it. She hadn’t felt love like this, not once in her life. She’d thought she had, thought she knew everything love had to offer and decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. But god. For Killian? She would do anything, give anything for this feeling. She would have loved him for free. She didn’t know how not to.

In the memory, past-Killian’s eyes fluttered. He groaned something in his sleep, turning to her, reaching for her. He was always doing that. She wondered if he knew. She moved her head to rest it on his chest, felt the steady beat of his heart and grounded herself with it. And when she drifted off to sleep, she couldn’t help the smile that grew on her lips.

The memory blurred, winding around them. Killian felt helpless to stop it. They were at Granny’s, sitting together at a booth. He was making her laugh about something, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. The bright glow of her love for him was like a banking fire, strong and steady. When he turned to look at her, when she saw in his eyes the love he felt for her like an answer to her own, it took her breath away, the love inside her chest growing into an inferno. She knew he loved her. She could feel it in every moment he spent with her. Killian Jones loved her so much it practically shone out from him and bathed her in the warmth of it.

It scared her at times, being loved so strongly. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever loved her this much. She didn’t think anyone ever would again. 

More memories formed, all blurring over one another. They were in the car, Killian had brought her coffee and remembered to include extra sugar packets. She’d kissed him like they were teenagers making out in the backseat. Then they were at the station together, going through paperwork. Emma had shivered and Killian had thrown his coat over her shoulders without looking up, the act almost second nature to him. She thought her heart might have burst open in that moment.

Killian wanted to stay in these moments, wanted to live in them as long as he could. But they were moving him, gently guiding him, and he let himself be pulled along. 

They were on her bed in the loft. She was on top of him, dizzy, joyful relief making her giddy. He was alive. She had watched him die in another realm and here he was. Alive. 

She loved him so much at that moment and it nearly paralyzed her. She had almost lost him without telling him, almost lost her chance to say it out loud, to make it real. And the idea of that terrified her even more. She should say it, now while they were alone, while they had this time. In his eyes she could see he knew, he knew the words she wanted to say, could feel his anticipation. 

He loved her, but he hadn’t told her. He hadn’t needed to of course, she already knew. But still he had held off, waiting for her to make the first move. He knew her better than anyone else, and he knew she would run if he moved too fast. So he waited for her. He was waiting now.

The words were there, ready, waiting to come out. And she couldn’t say them. 

If she told him, it would become something else. It would be out there, in the open, for anyone else to see. In this moment, her love, this perfect, precious feeling, was only theirs. It belonged to only them. And she wanted to protect it, keep it safe. At least for a little while longer.

She would tell him. Soon. She would sit him down and tell him the words and make everything real. But for now? For now all she wanted to do was hold him. To feel the weight and the warmth of him beneath her. To sit in the feeling of his unspoken love for her, just a minute more.

Killian’s heart clenched, hard. Inside the frozen moment he felt Emma, his Emma, press a kiss to his face. Sorry, she thought, and he heard it inside his head. I’m sorry Killian. 

There was nothing for her to be sorry about. She loved him. He adored every bloody inch of her and in return? She loved him back so fiercely he was nearly blown down from the force of it. 

He tried to imagine himself holding her, pulling her close. Was there more? More quiet memories like this? Full of love and endless happiness? He thought he’d like to see them.

But slowly, the memories started to fade, the colours running, the sound quieting. All around them, the light dimmed, and the magic ended.

***

Emma, he thought. Emma. 

She had been right all along. It was true love. How could it not be? How could this feeling be anything less than true love? He woke in the field, his heart full, turning to reach out for her. 

She lay in the grass beside him, unmoving.

For one awful, terrible second, Killian could only stare. Her face was too white, the skin of her eyelids a pale purple, her lips blue. She wasn’t breathing.

“No.” The word came out as a whisper. “Emma no.”

He moved mechanically, his arms jerky, his breathing shallow. No she couldn’t be. He had just been with her, in the memory. She’d been alive and had kissed him, she was-

Her whispered words came to him, unbidden. I’m sorry Killian. What had she been apologizing for? 

“No.” He repeated the word. “No, no, NO, NO!”

He touched her cheek and nearly flinched back. Her skin was frozen. Terror built up in him in a frenzy, a dull whine building in his head. She couldn’t be. She couldn’t.

He pulled her to him, his movements gentle, like she might shatter in his hold. Her head lolled to the side, her arms heavy and dragging, a dead weight at her sides. Something primal beat through his veins, a screaming, gnawing terror that bordered on hysteria. She was not dead. They had not done all this, come this far, for her to die. 

He pressed his ear to her chest and nearly sobbed when he heard a heartbeat. It was sluggish, but it was there. 

“Emma please, you need to wake up.” He cupped her face, rubbing his thumb across the icy chill of her skin, trying to press some colour into it. “I need you to wake up. Please-” his last word broke on a strangled plea, tears filling his vision.

A crack of magic snaked through the air and a door exploded into life several feet away from him. Hades burst through, his face a mask of pure rage. 

“You little-” he hissed. He came to a halt at the edge of the field, his snarl freezing at the sight of Emma in Killian’s arms.

“Well now. Isn’t this something?” A cruel, vicious grin split his face. “This looks almost  familiar doesn’t it? Killian Jones, holding the body of the woman he couldn’t save.”

His words bounced off Killian, unheard. He was too deep inside his own churning panic. She was fading, every second they spent here, she was slipping away. There was only one thing left he could think to do.

“Emma,” he murmured, brushing the hair from her face. “If you can hear me, please. Come back to me.”

He cupped her face and lifted it gently. From behind him he heard Hades shout.

“NO! DON’T YOU DARE-”

Killian pressed his lips to Emma’s. 

And the world exploded.

***

Emma had seen true love magic before. She’d felt it herself when Henry had nearly died in her arms. The raw power of it had taken her breath away. But it was a different feeling altogether to be the one receiving it. To be kissed by her true love. It felt like coming home. It felt like love. It felt like everything. 

Every moment together, every lingering thought, every second she had loved and been loved by Killian Jones crystallized into one perfect, all consuming force of magic that flowed all at once into her body. It ran down her boneless arms, flowing into struggling lungs, and filled her with a warmth and a light so full and strong it felt like being lit from within. And when she started to wake, when the sleeping curse snapped apart and her eyes flew open, she swore she could taste rum and sea salt in the air.

Killian’s face floated in the space above her, his wide eyes shining as his mouth hung open in an expression Emma could only describe as awe.

“Told you,” she said with a smile, her tired eyes still half drooping. “True love’s kiss. Works every time.”

He let out a watery laugh, dropping his forehead to hers. “Aye that you did. Should have known you’d be right.”

She hummed a weary sound of pleasure, even as her exhausted body throbbed like a bad toothache. Her fingers moved up to thread their way through his hair. “Wanna see if we can do it again?”

His breath fanned across her cheek as he huffed out a laugh. “May have delay that love. First,” he glanced up. “I believe we should figure out where exactly we are.” 

Emma frowned as things slowly started to come back into focus. White, glowing light seemed to surround them from everywhere, and when she tried to slowly pull herself up, the floor beneath her felt smooth and warm to the touch. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said as she looked around. It almost resembled a hallway. The widest and most expensive hallway she’d ever been in. It had golden marble floors and walls, and impossibly tall, carved column pillars that held up a domed ceiling. It rose so high above them that they had to crane their heads all the way back to see it.

“Another memory?” she asked him.

“Not one of mine.”

“Well it’s not mine, I think I would’ve remembered this place.” she said, trying to squint up at the airy, arched ceiling.

“If you’re both done laying around,” a voice called from behind them. “The way out is over there.”

Emma nearly jumped as Killian's arms tightened around her, both of them quickly turning to look at the woman seated at the far end of the hall who hadn’t been there a moment ago. She sat, half sprawled on a stone bench draped with spotted furs, a massive bow between her bent knees that she was trying to restring. Her copper skin seemed to glow faintly as she pulled the string taught and glanced up at them, clearly annoyed. Emma tried not to tense when she noticed the intense yellow of her eyes, or the way her pupil seemed to lock onto them like a hawk. 

“Well?” she asked again, jerking her chin towards the other end of the hall. “Go on, you can’t stay here forever.”

“Ah, where exactly?” Emma stuttered as Killian helped her to her feet.

The strange woman with the bird eyes waved her hand, dismissing them. “Just ask one of the others, I'm busy here.”

“One of the others…?” Killian murmured, trailing off as they both turned. 

Dozens of bodies suddenly moved around them, all of them with deep skin that held the same faint glow as the woman, and all draped in loose, airy fabrics cinched at the waists. Some slowed to stare at them, their smiles warm but puzzled. Others ignored them completely, pushing past with somewhere else to be.

“So I guess we just,” Emma gestured forward. “Find the exit.” 

“It would appear that way,” Killian said with a frown as his hand found hers, pulling her closer.

“Are they..? I mean do you think we’re in-?”

“I don't think it would be wise to ask that question,” Killian said in a hushed tone, keeping his eyes lowered. “I have a distinct impression that we aren't allowed to stay here very long.”

Emma tried not to stare as they moved past the impossibly beautiful masses, even when she felt the force of their power brushing against her senses. The sudden, overwhelming urge to not draw attention to themselves, took over her, and she tried to shrink. 

“Up there,” she whispered to Killian as she pointed to a spot where the hallway opened up and forked off in two different directions. “Let’s just pick one and hope the way out is somewhere along there.”

He nodded, gripping her hand tighter. As they got closer, they veered left, away from the crowd of people, and down another hallway. This was once smaller than the first, and quieter, but still managed to tower over them. 

“If we get lost here…” Emma said after a moment.

“Let’s hope very hard it doesn’t come to that.” Killian said tightly, pulling her through an arched passageway. “I imagine this isn’t a place they allow you to overstay your welcome.”

They moved into a massive room, the floor curving down towards an enormous raised platform that held a throne made of pulsing, molten gold. On it, a bearded man, nearly three times their size, towered over them. His fingers drummed against the arms of the chair, sending sparks of lightning shooting and dissipating into the air.

“Welcome heroes,” he said, his voice echoing and deep. “I was wondering when you would arrive.”

Killian and Emma stood frozen, awestruck. His eyes were a burning gold and so bright they felt hot on her face. Emma's own eyes watered with the effort of looking directly at them. He smiled at them, his teeth blinding white against the dark bronze of his glowing skin. 

“You have faced your trial with great bravery I see.”

“I-ah thank you. We appreciate that,” she murmured, at a loss for what else to say. “Are you-? I mean is this-?”

He leaned forward, his attention on them scalding, like the heat of the sun beating down on them. Emma nearly felt herself take a step back, but stopped when Killian’s arm curved around her waist, holding her up.

“What Emma means is,” Killian glanced at her, his smile tight, his eyes slightly too wide. “What might we call you?”

The man reached a massive hand up, his fingers stroking the thick, dark curls around his chin. “I have many names, given to me by many people. Although, I believe the one you may know me as, is Zeus.”

“Oh.” Emma said in a whisper, unable to stop herself. Zeus. Of course. He was certainly… bigger than the other gods they’d seen.

“I’ve been watching you two as you embarked on my brother’s trials. That was quite the clever loophole to his test, little Swan,” he said, inclining his head towards her.

“Your brother?” she blinked, glancing at the crackling electricity arcing across his knuckles, then back at his sun lit face. “I can uh- see the resemblance.”

His laughter was a boom of sound that made Emma’s ears ring.

“Hades spends too long below ground,” Zeus said. “I keep telling him he should get out more, put some life back into his cheeks.”

Emma smiled and nodded, suddenly wondering if she was still caught in the dream realm. Was this really happening? Was she making small talk with the king of the literal gods? Beside her, she could feel how tense Killian stood, every line of his body pulled tight.

“You look distressed Killan Jones,” Zeus said. “I would think meeting a god would not affect you so, having met two of my brothers so far.”

Two? When the hell had he met another one? If they made it out of this without being melted into puddles, she would have to ask him about that.

“It’s not that,” Killian said, his voice deceptively calm, a charming smile on his face. “I just worry about overstaying our welcome here, as honoured as we are to be here.”

Zeus leaned back on his throne. He was enjoying this. For the time being at least. 

“You two have fought well today. True heroes, both of you are welcome in my halls.”

“Thank you, that is a great honour indeed,” Killian said, his voice growing slightly sharp. 

Emma could feel panic start to rise in her. They could stay here forever if they weren’t careful, talking in circles with a god who seemed in no hurry to let them leave.

“Is that why we’re here? Because we passed the trial?” she looked at Killian, held his gaze. “Did we win?”

“Well that depends,” Zeus said, his voice like heavy stones rolling down a mountain.

“Depends on what?” she asked cautiously, her tone holding none of the tremors she felt in her limbs.

“Depends on you, hero born of love and magic. Do you believe you have passed the trial? Do you believe you know now what kind of man Killian Jones really is?” 

Emma felt like time held its breath. This was it. This was the sort of thing they wrote legends about wasn’t it? Trials set by the literal gods to test heroes? Everything that happened now rested on her shoulders. No pressure. 

“Like I already told Hades earlier, there wasn’t any need for a test,” she said after a beat. “I already know what kind of man he is. And I was right.”

She turned to look at him and saw he was already facing her, his face filled with love and awe at the sight of her. “Well it’s true,” she said, low enough that only he could hear.

Zeus's laugh was booming. Emma tried not to wince as her ears throbbed. She glanced back at the king of the gods, her eyes going about as high as they dared without looking directly into his molten stare, and landing somewhere on his chin.

“WELL SPOKEN LITTLE SWAN!”

Emma swore her knees almost buckled beneath his praise, but still managed to nod her thanks

“I bear witness to you both. Emma Swan;” his enormous hand swept towards her. “Saviour of magic and of her people. And you Killian Jones; Hero of the Saviour.”

Emma thought she heard all the air shoot out of Killian at once, the title landing squarely on his shoulders and nearly taking him out at the knees. She gave his hand a reassuring pat. It was a good name. She would remember that.

“Thank you Zeus,” she said finally, nodding her head to him. “We’re ah- We’re both honoured.” 

Killian stood still beside her, and she turned to look at him. As if drawn by her attention, he turned away from the king of gods, and leaned into her. His arms rose, circling her waist, pulling her closer. 

“I will tell my brother the trial is over; you’ve both passed.” Emma could hear the grin in his voice. “I’m sure Hades will be most pleased.”

Emma doubted that. She just hoped they were both far the hell away when he heard the news. 

“Are we…I mean. Are we free to go?” she looked up at him, trying not to squint as she met his stare, even when tears started to form in her eyes. “Can we go home now?”

Zeus smiled and it was like watching the sun rising between mountain peaks, the light of it so brilliant and overpowering it left spots in her vision. 

“Of course,” he murmured. Behind him, a passageway opened, forming between the towering columns. White, brilliant light spilled from it, as warm and welcoming as a homecoming. “You have my blessing. Well met heroes.”

They both nodded, moving towards the door with the warmth of his stare on their backs. When they walked to the passage, hands held, Killian turned to her, his face shining. “You did it Swan.”

She gripped him, pulling him to her. “We did it. Now,” she smiled, a heavy mass buried deep in her chest finally releasing its grip on her and falling away.  “Let’s go home.” 

As they stepped into the light together and the magic curled around them, their heads tilted together, their lips meeting. A bright light, shining and radiant, erupted from inside them. The power of it shimmered, colour and magic spiraling together like jeweled starlight, holding a world of promise and the faint scent of middlemist blooms.

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