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alexandralyman · 1 year

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New Fic: Not Another Hallmark Movie

Hi Everyone! Coming off my long fic hiatus with a Captain Swan holiday story. I hope everyone has a very safe and happy Christmas after everything that’s happened in the past few years.

Not Another Hallmark Movie

The little fishing village of Storybrooke Maine was just like those quirky small towns you'd see in one of the Hallmark Channel's never-ending lineup of Christmas movies, so it was no surprise when it was chosen as the filming location for one of them to the delight of everyone in town.

Almost everyone.

Deputy Sheriff Emma Swan was less than thrilled to have Christmas come early in the form of a cast and crew that it was her responsibility to wrangle all over town, the prickly Scottish location manager Merida, seven surly Teamsters, the pretentious assistant director Arthur, and the two leads, former teen star Christina Bell and her love interest, up and coming English actor Killian Jones.

Well, maybe Killian wasn't so bad.

With Storybrooke fully decked out for the holidays several months early, a star-struck son, a totally not jealous brother, and Christmas music blasting everywhere she went, all Emma wanted was for the movie to finish and life in town to go back to normal.

(though a bit of flirting with the handsome lead actor certainly helped to fill the time until then)

AO3 Link / FF.net Link

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma gave a nonplussed stare to the teenage barista on the other side of the counter, who was holding out the coffee she’d ordered in a festive red and green paper up instead of the normal white one.

“Seriously?” she replied, one eyebrow raised.

The barista gave a cheery smile that it was far, far, too early for.

“We’re getting into the spirit! We should be getting a delivery later today with gingerbread syrup and pumpkin spice to make holiday lattes.”

“Great,” Emma muttered, taking the coffee and taking in the silver and gold tinsel strung up along the menu boards and the snowman cookies in the pastry case that she hadn’t noticed at uncaffeinated first glance. When she went outside the Storybrooke Bean & Brew it was more of the same, wreaths on doors, snowflake decorations in the storefronts, lights and bells and it was clear the whole damn town had gone completely Christmas crazy practically overnight. Which would be fine...if it was December, or even November.

It wasn’t.

It was August.

August, the middle of summer, when the chalkboard sidewalk sign in front of the Bean & Brew should have a sun and a beach umbrella drawn on it to advertise iced coffee, not a candy cane stuck in a mug of hot chocolate. The temperature was supposed to hit the high eighties today, for fuck’s sake.

No, Storybrooke hadn’t succumbed to the phenomenon known as “Christmas creep” when stores put out their holiday merch earlier and earlier each year so that artificial trees were on sale next to barbecues and gingerbread men shared shelves with Halloween candy. The little heritage town in Maine that looked like it had been designed by Currier & Ives themselves had been chosen by the Hallmark channel as the filming location for one of their insipid Christmas movies, where toothy, pretty people met, fell in love, and had their happy ending in an hour and a half against a picture perfect backdrop of evergreen trees and twinkling lights. A Holiday Romance, Jingle Bell Ball, New Love for Noel, Tis the Season, they aired them non-stop over the holidays and Emma never really gave much thought to where all those movies actually came from, until a fleet of trucks full of expensive-looking equipment had arrived a week ago.

They’d transformed Main Street into a faux winter wonderland within hours of unloading, and it seemed the townspeople were just as eager to get into character as well. Granny’s Diner was serving a turkey dinner special with stuffing and cranberry sauce, the local radio station had switched over from their usual playlist of songs that had been hits sometime in the 80s to nothing but Christmas music 24/7, and the coffee shop closest to the sheriff’s station was apparently now serving Emma’s morning caffeine fix in the cups printed with holly and ivy they normally didn’t pull out until it was closer to Thanksgiving than the Fourth of July.

It. Was. August.

And on top of having to listen to Bing Crosby dreaming of a white Christmas or Josh Groban calling to all ye faithful every time she got into her cruiser, Emma, in her capacity as Storybrooke’s deputy sheriff, had been tasked by the mayor herself, Regina Mills, to be the official town liaison to the movie people. Madame Mayor was adamant that they feel as welcome as possible, hoping to market Storybrooke as a filming locale to any Hollywood production that wanted small town charm and little red tape. All the permits they applied for had been approved without question, so Emma spent her days dealing with road closures and directing traffic around the sets, working long hours with the location manager, a no nonsense Scot named Merida, or with the assistant director, a jackass named Arthur who clearly viewed Storybrooke as nothing more than a backwater hick town that was stuck in time.

Which it was, but still. Rude.

As unenthused as Emma was having to deal with a woman whose accent she barely understood at times and a wannabe Martin Scorsese, her son Henry was just as excited about the movie coming to town. While not exactly in the Hallmark channel’s target demographic, Henry loved Christmas, loved movies, and loved the chance to actually see one being filmed in his own backyard. The fact that it was a cheesy TV movie aimed at women aged twenty-five to forty who drank wine and dreamed of their own hunky yet tender lumberjack love interest and not ten year old boys who were obsessed with Marvel and Star Wars didn’t matter, Henry had proclaimed to anyone who’d listen that it was the best thing to happen to Storybrooke in the history of ever. Since the last major event that Storybrooke had seen was a bad storm that washed a full container of live lobsters off one of the ships down at the docks and scattered them halfway to the town line, he did have a point.

Storybrooke was a fishing village in Maine. There were a lot of lobsters in that container.

A lot.

Emma had listened with half an ear while Henry spouted off every bit of information he could find online about A Midnight Clear, the title of the movie, scouring IMDB, Wikipedia, and the Hallmark channel’s social media accounts. Since Emma didn’t let him have his own Twitter or Instagram account yet, he’d followed anything remotely relevant from hers so he could keep tabs on them all. He was even more excited when he discovered the male lead in the movie was British actor Killian Jones. While he wasn’t exactly world-famous, with one of those fancy BBC costume dramas and some London theater work under his belt, Jones had guest-starred in a two-part episode of Doctor Who, making him, in Henry’s opinion, hands down the coolest person to have ever set foot in Storybrooke. An opinion he freely shared with everyone from Granny Lucas during lunch at the diner to the mailman when he dropped off the water bill.

David was visibly annoyed by it, which amused both Emma and his wife Mary Margaret to no end.

“I’m cool,” he’d protested, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair with a pout.

“Yes dear,” Mary Margaret deadpanned, patting him on the shoulder.

“I taught Henry how to ride a horse. Could Killian Jones do that?”

“I dunno, maybe,” Emma said with a shrug. “He’s English, isn’t riding a big thing there? Besides, he’s been inside the TARDIS, and sorry David, but that’s pretty hard for any of us to top.”

David threw his hands in the air. “It’s a TV show! The TARDIS is a prop, it’s not like the guy has actually been to space or traveled in time.”

Henry had come back in from the yard with dog and immediately started in again on the movie and how cool it was that someone like Killian Jones was visiting their town, brightly asking, “isn’t it the coolest thing ever, Uncle David?” and making David grumble to himself all through Sunday dinner while Emma and Mary Margaret trader knowing looks across the table at his sulking and Henry’s obliviousness to it. Emma and Henry had moved to Storybrooke because of David, her adoptive brother, and lived with him and Mary Margaret and their golden retriever Fandral on their farm at first until Emma got them their own place. Small town life had been a huge adjustment, at least for Emma. Henry had the ability to fit in wherever he went.

Big city girl with a cute, precocious kid moves to a picturesque small town and falls in love with a rugged lumberjack who looks like he stepped out of a paper towel commercial and proposes under the mistletoe before the credits rolled. Wasn’t that the plot of most of those made for TV Christmas movies? Although in Storybrooke it would probably be a lobster fisherman instead, and Emma’s life wasn’t a movie.

Plus, after the whole lobster incident, she really, really, didn’t want to see one ever again even if it was brought to her on a silver platter by Chris Evans in nothing but his Knives Out sweater.

Emma parked her Bug in the station lot after her stop at the Bean & Brew and went inside to both check in with Graham Humbert, town sheriff, and grab a bear claw from the ever present box of donuts he kept on his desk. More for the bear claw. Normally, she’d eat it at her own desk while going over the morning paperwork and seeing if there’d been any breaks in her one and only open case, the ongoing crank calls to Mr. Gold, pawnbroker and shoo-in favorite if Storybrooke ever needed to vote in an official town Scrooge. Not exactly something they needed to call in the FBI to consult on. But with the movie scheduled to spend all day filming at not one, but two different locations, Emma had to head out again immediately in one of the cruisers, so she brought the bear claw with her and slid behind the wheel, putting her coffee in the cupholder and turning the key in the ignition with one hand while she took a bite with the other.

Mariah Carey came blasting out of the stereo and Emma nearly choked, coughing and sputtering around her mouthful of pastry.

“Oh come on, it’s August,” she muttered, fumbling for the volume control. “Ugh!”

Once she got it down to a level that wouldn’t make her ears bleed, she pulled out and headed towards Storybrooke Town Hall. The trucks were already there when she arrived, cables snaking up and down the street and a sign with the name of the movie’s fictional town in place on the building’s facade. Several locals were watching eagerly from behind the barricades that Emma bypassed, badge on her hip and tossing back the last of her coffee as she went.

“How’s it going?”

She directed the question to Merida, whose cloud of red hair made her easy to find among the mostly male crew. The location manager had a clipboard in one hand, a walkie talkie in the other, a headset perched messily in her curls, and an expression that was the opposite of holly jolly.

“How’s it going? Well, I’ve got seven Teamsters who are all on their union mandated break at the same bloody time, the call sheet had the locations for today backwards so my two lead actors are currently at the wrong sets, which is absolutely grand, and to top it off the snow machine is on the fritz again so we’ve got no snow for our fecking Christmas movie. So that’s how it’s going.”

Emma understood about half of that, and it wasn’t just because Merida’s accent got as thick as oatmeal the more she talked. Henry was the movie expert, not her. Still, she made a sympathetic face, since it was clear things weren’t going particularly well.

“Bummer,” she offered, which made Merida let out a very Scottish sounding harrumph.

“You can say that again.”

The walkie talkie in her hand crackled to life in a burst of static and she started talking to whoever was on the other end.

“You got an ETA on Bell yet? Well, why not? I don’t care what the call sheet says, she’s supposed to be at the town hall, not the park!”

Emma assumed she was referring to the lead actress in the movie, Christina Bell. She’d met her briefly on the first day of filming, a tiny blonde pixie of a woman who Emma vaguely remembered from some soapy teen drama show that had been popular when Henry was a toddler. She hadn’t had much time for TV back then, and her own teenage drama was still too fresh for her to really be into the fictional kind, so she wasn’t nearly as starstruck as Mary Margaret and Ruby Lucas were when they came by to watch some of the shoot.

“Merida love, If you’d just give me the keys to one of the cars I can drive myself.”

“No,” Merida answered without looking up from her clipboard at the man who’d come over to join them. In contrast to the members of the crew in their jeans and black T-shirts, he was dressed in a three-piece suit that he had to be absolutely sweltering in, his dark hair was slicked back from his face and he had an accent that was tea and crumpets to Merida’s malt whiskey.

It was Killian Jones, the male lead and officially the coolest person to have ever set foot in Storybrooke. According to Henry, that is.

“But-“

“I said no, Jones. You’re not covered by the insurance and Arthur will have my arse in a sling if I let you. Or he’ll try to, at least, and I don’t fancy having to explain to the network exactly how their AD got a black eye. You just have to wait until Leroy finishes his break and then he’ll drive you over.”

Regina Mills had been adamant that Emma was to make everything as smooth as possible for the movie people, and if she’d learned one thing about Storybrooke, it was Regina’s town and the rest of them were just living in it. Normally it was beyond annoying, but, what Madame Mayor wanted, she would get in this case.

“I could drive you if it’s that urgent,” Emma offered. “Emma Swan, deputy sheriff. You’ll be safe with me.”

Both of them turned to look at her and she saw Killian’s blue eyes dart down to where she was oh so casually resting a hand next to her badge and then back up to her face.

“A police escort? Well, I suddenly feel very important,” he joked, with an easy smile that could only be described as movie-star handsome. Not that Emma planned on describing his smile to anyone. “Killian Jones, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Officer Swan. Oh, sorry, Deputy Sheriff Swan.”

“Emma is fine. Nice to meet you.”

She shook the hand he held out and smiled back. A few weeks ago she would have scoffed at the idea of playing chauffeur for some spoiled actor, she hadn’t gone back to college to get her criminal justice degree when Henry was old enough for kindergarten just to end up a glorified Uber, but the guy was cute and it beat standing around pretending to watch the crew fiddle with lights and cables in case Regina was in her office and decided to pop out and check that Emma was doing her civic duty.

“Brilliant,” Merida said, scribbling something on her clipboard. “He needs to be at the park, they’re filming at that bench we scouted last Wednesday. Thanks so much, Emma, you’re a lifesaver, in that you just saved Arthur’s life, since this was his cock-up and I was going to kill him.”

Emma knew the bench Merida was talking about, it was a favorite place of hers when she needed a quiet place to think. She nodded and pulled out her car keys, gesturing towards where she’d left the cruiser. “The Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department is always happy to assist. This way.”

Michael Buble informed them that it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas when she turned the key and the radio came to life again. Emma swore under her breath, the volume control was obviously broken.

“You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

He said it with an amused laugh and she felt her cheeks flush hotter than the eighty degree forecast. “Yeah, well, it’s the local station. We always keep the radio on them in case someone calls them instead of us, and they’ve been playing Christmas music in honor of you guys filming here even though it’s August.”

She glanced over at his not very seasonal attire and turned the air conditioning up, letting a rush of cold air wash over them both. At least that was working fine.

“You have a very charming little town here, Sheriff Swan. I grew up in a village by the sea like Storybrooke back in England before I moved to London, it reminds me of home.”

Emma had spent nearly an hour the other day listening to Arthur, assistant director and grade A asshole, bitch about the lack of a Starbucks and a decent place to get Thai food in Storybrooke when she’d had to work with him on the logistics of shutting down Main Street in the middle of the day so they could film a scene, as he oh so condescendingly put it, “before the light changes, Emma, you see, we have this thing in filmmaking called continuity.” At least Killian Jones had some freaking manners to go along with his good looks and sexy accent.

Nope. Don’t go there, Emma, don’t even think about it. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

“Uh, thanks,” she mumbled. Lame, Emma.

The park wasn’t that far away, but she couldn’t take the fastest route thanks to the trucks blocking the streets around Town Hall and had to go the long way instead. With the volume turned down on the radio it was quiet in the car and she could sense him watching her from the passenger seat while she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road. She was the deputy sheriff, she had to set a good example to visitors about safe driving habits.

Or something.

The long way involved driving past Henry’s school, it was closed for the summer, of course, since it was freaking August, but the message on the signboard out front had been changed from, “See You in September!” to “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!” because of course someone had done that. Still, she smiled to herself at the reminder of her son. Henry went to day camp during the week with his friend Paige, coming home every night eager to hear everything that was going on with the movie shoot and Emma had definitely earned some cool points in Henry’s eyes for getting to work with the cast and crew. He was going to freak when she told him she’d finally met Killian Jones.

“Did you grow up here?”

It took Emma a second to realize Killian had asked her a question. “What? Oh, no, I didn’t, actually. We only moved to Storybrooke about two years ago.”

“Ah,” he said, voice seeming to go a bit flat. “Well, I can see why you and your husband decided to relocate. It’s lovely.”

She snorted, trying to imagine Neal in Storybrooke. He’d think it was ridiculous, twee and old-fashioned, and he’d probably also complain that there was no Starbucks or Thai food within an hour’s drive of the town.

Not for the first time, she wondered if part of the appeal of Storybrooke was just how much her ex would hate it.

“Nope, no husband. My son and I moved here from Boston, my brother David and his wife have a farm just outside of town. He heard about the job opening in the sheriff’s department and told me about it, and the rest is history.”

Her long overdue breakup with Neal had come on the heels of finally finishing her degree thanks to night school and loans she wouldn’t pay off before Henry went to college, after dropping out on the first go round when she’d had a baby at twenty. Emma knew their relationship only lasted as long as it did because of their son and even though they kept half-heartedly planning to get married, it never did happen. David also wasn’t her actual brother, his mother, Ruth Nolan, had been Emma’s final foster parent before she aged out of the system and the Nolans became the closest thing she had to family.

Not that she was going to share her entire life story with a complete stranger, of course. Even a handsome one with bright blue eyes the color of the ocean just beyond Storybrooke’s harbor.

“You have a son?” he asked, “How old is he?”

He was a good enough actor that he actually sounded interested, even though most guys noped right out of the conversation when they found out she had a kid.

“Henry’s ten, and according to him the movie is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to this town.” she said, and glanced over at him to add, “He’s also a huge Doctor Who fan, by the way.”

Killian’s whole face lit up at that, clearly pleased. “I’ve been a Doctor Who fan since I was ten, so getting that part was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. You should bring Henry to the set next time, I’d be happy to give him a look at what goes on behind the scenes.”

“You would really do that?”

Emma realized with a start that they were parked and she was twisted in her seat to fully face him. When had they arrived at their destination and why hadn’t she noticed anything except the fact that, up close, Killian Jones had just about the bluest eyes she’d ever seen?

And not only that, he was looking right back at her.

“Of course I would.”

He said it like there was no question that he’d want to entertain an overly excited ten year old boy he didn’t know when he could be…practicing his lines or taking selfies for Instagram or whatever it was actors did when they had downtime on set.

It was a knock at the window that made them both look up and Emma had a very vivid flashback to being sixteen and getting caught parked in a car with a cute boy after sneaking out past curfew. That little stunt had gotten her kicked out of the group home she’d been living in at the time (safe haven for all, her ass) and even though she’d ended up at the Nolans as her next placement and been welcomed with open arms by Ruth, the memory still left a sour taste in the back of her throat. She turned away from Killian and got out of the cruiser with a cough, wishing she hadn’t forgotten her sunglasses.

“Mr. Jones, I’m sorry for interrupting, but we’re way behind schedule today and-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said, exiting on the other side of the car and waving off the apology from the harried looking crew member with a lanyard around his neck and another of the ubiquitous walkie talkies they all seemed to carry. “Thank you very much for the official escort, Sheriff Swan.”

She didn’t bother to correct him again that she was only the deputy sheriff, giving him what she hoped was an official looking nod in response. “I’ll be sure to send Merida the bill for using so much of my valuable police time. And you’re welcome, Mr. Jones.”

“Killian,” he offered, before the crew member whisked him away, shepherding him through the maze of trucks and RVs while letting whoever was on the other end of the walkie talkie know that “Mr. Jones was now on set.” Emma thought that he might have hesitated for a bit, lingering for a moment longer with a glance back before disappearing around the side of an Airstream trailer with the crew member and she lost sight of him.

Or maybe she was imagining it.

She needed another coffee.

With their leading man safely delivered, Emma’s next task was to check that everything was running smoothly at this location and if A Midnight Clear needed any further assistance from the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department.

“Another last minute permit…shut down traffic on Main Street again…close the library so you can film in it and have to listen to old Mrs. Hubbard bitch about not being able to read the latest National Enquirer for half an hour…give the ridiculously handsome star a blowjob-”

Emma halted dead in her tracks. Had she actually said that out loud? Shit, she did. Luckily, she’d only been muttering under her breath and it didn’t look like anyone was around to overhear. Her fingers found the badge on her belt, running over the metal star. She wasn’t some teenager crushing on a cute boy she’d talked to for all of five minutes, she was thirty years old, for fuck’s sake. An adult, with a college degree and a savings account. A law enforcement officer, come to…enforce the law.

God, that even sounded lame in her own head.

She really, really needed another coffee.

“Enforcing the law” in this case meant moving an orange pylon the crew had left that was too close to the accessible entrance to the park’s footpath. She’d make sure to note that stellar bit of police work in her daily log back at the station.

Signs had been posted to point the crew towards the set, not that Emma needed them. The bench was set in a clearing halfway down the path, not visible from where she was standing because of the trees. She followed along until it came into view, feeling her breath catch in her throat at the sight.

Henry had called it magic, and she supposed it was. Movie magic.

It was like an invisible snow globe had sprouted around the clearing. The green summer grass had been covered in a blanket of white that glittered in the sunlight the way actual snow would, while several faux evergreen trees had been strategically placed around the bench with more snow dusting their branches and dangling icicles that looked so real it was hard to believe they were probably made of plastic. A loud whirring noise suddenly rent the air, sounding like a motorcycle gang was about to come racing through. But this was Storybrooke, the closest thing they had to a motorcycle gang was when Marco gave Granny Lucas a ride to the diner on the back of his Vespa. A minute or so later, large white flakes started falling from the sky and the noise died down to a quieter hum as Merida’s malfunctioning snow machine had obviously been fixed. It all looked pretty damn realistic, Emma would give them that.

Killian appeared on the other side of the clearing, now sporting a black scarf and a pair of gloves with his suit. He was talking to Arthur, Emma was too far away to hear what they were saying but it didn’t take long before the actual filming started. She’d seen enough by now to know that it was a lot less exciting than it sounded. After watching the lead actress, Christina, film the same five second shot of her character walking into the library umpteen times, she really hadn’t paid much attention to what they were actually shooting whenever she had to babysit the crew on location around town. Regina called it “liasoning with the production” because Regina was, quite frankly, a bit of a snob, but really, it was babysitting.

She hadn’t seen Killian film before, and it was a lot more interesting. Yes, Emma could admit that partially it was because he was really, really good looking and it had been a while since her last date, and even longer since her last good date, but it wasn’t just that though. Something about him just changed when Arthur yelled action, the way he walked, his expression when he pretended to answer his cell phone, he wasn’t Killian Jones anymore, he was his character. Emma had only ever played the pity role of a tree in a school play once, she knew jack about acting. It was cool to watch an actual professional do it, especially when that professional looked like he did. They ran through the scene several times and during one of the breaks Killian waved at her. Emma waved back, telling herself the warm feeling in her chest was from the sun.

It was August, after all.

Henry was very excited to hear that she’d finally met the “coolest person ever to have set foot in Storybrooke” when Emma picked him and Paige up from camp that afternoon. They climbed into the Bug and showed her the popsicle stick snowflake ornaments they’d made in arts and crafts, since the Christmas fever had clearly infected Camp Arrowhead. After dropping Paige off at home and eating dinner Henry asked if they could watch Home Alone on Disney Plus, begging, “Please Mom? Please?”

Emma sighed to herself, putting the leftover potato salad back in the fridge. Whenever Henry was interested in something, he threw his whole heart and soul into it, and right now he was all about Christmas movies. She loved that about her son, while privately wondering where the heck it had come from. Not from her or Neal, that was for damn sure. Emma didn’t actually have a middle name, but if she did it might as well have been Cynical, and Neal, well, Neal never took anything seriously enough to care the way Henry did.

A part of her still loved Neal, even after everything that had happened between them.

She really didn’t want Henry to follow in some of his father’s footsteps, though.

Or hers.

“Home Alone it is then,” she agreed.

Henry settled happily on the living room floor, lying on his stomach with his chin propped in his hands to watch Kevin McAllister get left behind while his family rushed off to Paris. Emma curled up on the couch, feet tucked under an afghan Ruth had made for her when she’d been dropped at the Nolans’ door late one night with a duct-taped backpack and a chip the size of the McAllister’s ginormous house on her shoulder. She’d never really liked this movie, even when she was Henry’s age. Sure, the slapstick humor was still funny even as an adult, but…

But…

That huge mansion, filled to the brim with family on Christmas.

The desperate mother, fighting tooth and nail to return to her abandoned child.

The tearful reunion at the end.

Emma didn’t need a session with town psychiatrist Dr. Hopper to figure out that she had some issues with Christmas. Growing up in the system it was far from the most wonderful time of the year.

It was usually the worst.

Donated clothes that never fit quite right and generic gifts bought for “Girl Age 9-11”, no mother or father out there fighting their way back to her, no house full of family and Emma knew far too young that Santa wasn’t real, magic didn’t exist, and she was alone in the world, left behind to fend for herself not just for a few days, but for the rest of her life. She was the CPS equivalent of a misfit toy, a foster kid who got too old to be wanted. Even after Ruth took her in and David became the big brother she’d secretly always longed for, the damage had already been done. Even now, Christmas movies just reminded her of her shitty childhood.

“That was awesome!” Henry said once Kevin had been reunited with his family and the credits started to roll. Emma exited out of the Disney app and dropped the remote back onto the couch.

“You’ve already seen it about a million times,” she reminded him.

“If burglars tried to break in here, I’d set up booby traps to catch them too.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “No, you’d call 911 and do exactly what they told you to do. This is real life, kid, not a movie.”

“Movies are way cooler,” Henry proclaimed, flopping onto his back as dramatically as any actor with his arms spread wide as he announced it to the ceiling. She stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, they are,” she agreed, standing over him and holding out her hands to pull him to his feet. “Too bad you’re stuck here in the real world with me, huh?”

After Henry went to bed and she’d mindlessly scrolled through Netflix for a while —ignoring the algorithm’s suggestion to watch The Holiday and lingering for a bit on the thumbnail for Doctor Who before putting on a random episode of Nailed It instead—Emma found herself standing just outside Henry’s room. The door was ajar and she watched him sleep under the superhero posters that were dark shadows on the walls, with the Lego Star Wars x-wing fighter that David and Mary Margaret had given him last Christmas in place of pride on his dresser. Their little two-bedroom house in Storybrooke could charitably be called shabby chic, with its mismatched thrift-store furniture and and oddly-shaped rooms, it was a far cry from the McAllister’s giant McMansion and there was no luxury trips to Paris in Emma’s single mom budget, but she’d worked her ass off to make a home for her son and she was pretty damn proud of it

Her phone vibrated and she gently pulled Henry’s door closed before fishing it out of her pocket to check the notification. She expected to see a text from David or that Mary Margaret had tagged her in another Facebook post, instead it was from Instagram, letting her know that she had a new follower on her thatswangirl account, officialkillianjones. Sure enough, when she tapped the screen it took her right to his profile, the picture was definitely him and there was a blue check mark next to his name. The most recent post was a selfie where he had the black scarf he’d been wearing on set wrapped around his face and fake snow dusting his dark hair, one eyebrow quizzically raised while he stared into the camera. It was captioned, “Just walking in a winter wonderland, it’s still August, right?”

Having had similar thoughts multiple times a day over the last week, Emma snorted in agreement. She leaned against the wall, looking down at the screen. Killian Jones was now following her on Instagram, that was unexpected, to say the least. She followed him, or rather, Henry had followed him on her account, but she’d never expected him to follow her back. Had he actually gone looking for her profile or had Instagram just recommended her the way Netflix had recommended a Christmas movie even though it was August? Her finger was hovering over his latest post while she mused on it and the next thing she knew, she’d liked the photo. Seemed like the polite thing to do.

Henry was going to freak out again when she told him Killian followed her. Being “mutuals” on social media was apparently a Big Deal for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

She’d tell him in the morning, just like she’d told him that she’d met Killian on set, had answered all the questions he’d eagerly peppered her with during dinner, yes, he was very nice, yes, he liked Storybrooke, no, he hadn’t heard about the rain of lobsters (she hadn’t actually asked him if he did, to be honest), and yes, she told him Henry was a Doctor Who fan and he was happy to hear it.

She hadn’t told him about Killian’s offer to show him around the set and give him a behind the scenes look at the movie.

Her son wasn’t like her. Henry was cheerful, exuberant, and believed the best of everyone he

met. He would absolutely, one hundred percent believe that an actor in the middle of filming a movie would carve time out of his busy schedule to play tour guide to a random ten year old.

Emma knew better. It wasn’t worth getting his hopes up when the odds were that Killian had already forgotten all about it.

She closed Instagram. It was late, it had been a long day and she was ready for bed. Her own bedroom wasn’t that much larger than Henry’s and there was a serious lack of closet space, but it did have original hardwood floors that David had helped her refinish and a little wrought-iron Juliet balcony off the window. The house was an old sailor’s cottage, and Emma supposed the balcony had been for the sailor’s wife to lean on and look out to sea, waiting for her husband to return to her once more. She could hear the faint sound of the waves crashing on the beach when she opened the window to let in some air, the original features definitely didn’t include AC. It was a far cry from their old apartment in Boston, where there had been no chance of hearing anything except the drone of traffic or a drunken bar fight out of the window. Storybrooke had been a hell of an adjustment, but it was worth it to have a house with a backyard where Henry could play, a steady job with health insurance, family close by in the form of David and Mary Margaret, everything she’d ever wanted.

Well, almost everything, she thought, looking at the empty space on the side of the bed that used to be Neal’s.

Some dreams just didn’t come true.

************

“Seriously, you too?”

The turkey special was one thing, but now Granny’s Diner was fully decked out with little fake Christmas trees sitting on each table, snowflake banners strung up everywhere, red and green napkins in the dispensers and instead of the usual 80s music that was usually playing from the jukebox, it was Michael Buble again, currently informing them in his 40s throwback style that Santa Claus was coming to town. In August.

Granny Lucas looked down over the rim of her glasses. “Oh come on, Sheriff, it’s the most exciting thing to happen to this town since-”

“-since it rained lobsters on Main Street, I know, I know,” Emma finished with a sigh. “But it’s August.”

“It’s good for business,” Granny said. “The lobster bisque is still a top seller, you know.”

Emma hadn’t been able to stomach even the thought of lobster since that fateful day. She ordered her usual grilled cheese and onion rings, not bothering to look at the menu.

“Mom, can I get the turkey special?” Henry asked.

“Knock yourself out, kid.”

Henry wanted turkey instead of a burger and fries, and the woman whose picture could appear in the dictionary under “crotchety” was humming along to Christmas music in the middle of summer while she poured coffee. Everyone in Storybrooke had lost their damn minds. Or almost everyone. Mr. Gold was the lone holdout who’d refused to allow any filming on the properties he owned, his creepy little pawn shop was the only one left on Main Street without any decorations in the windows and Regina was utterly furious with him. Not that he cared, and the standoff between the mayor and the richest man in town didn’t look like it would end before the filming did.

Granny disappeared back into the kitchen and Emma listened while Henry chatted away about camp and whatever was considered new and cool among his fellow ten year olds, which seemed to change on a daily basis and she was barely thirty but god did she feel like she was about a hundred when her son started in on TikTock trends.

“Mom, look!”

Henry’s sudden gasp and grab at her arm came a split second after the bell over the door chimed, announcing that someone had just walked in. Her back was to whoever it was, but Henry’s eyes were as big as saucers and even before she turned around in the booth Emma knew exactly who had just walked into the diner.

Killian Jones was standing just inside the door, looking around with interest. Strangers in Storybrooke always stood out, something Emma remembered well from their first few months in town, and when said stranger was a handsome man who everyone knew was the star of the biggest thing to happen to the town since the lobsters, well, all eyes were on him.

He caught sight of her, and his face lit up with a smile. All eyes were on him, and he was looking only at her while he walked over to the booth.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi!”

It was Henry who replied to his greeting first, practically bouncing in his seat in excitement.

“Sorry to bother you, Sheriff Swan, but I was told this was the best place in town to get real American food and I was wondering if there was anything in particular I should order?”

Again it was Henry who answered, grabbing one of the menus from behind the napkin dispenser and opening it up on the table. “Oh, you have to try a milkshake. And a cheeseburger. I always get it with fries, but Mom prefers onion rings, and-”

“Whoa, slow down there,” Emma interrupted him, while Killian looked like he was stifling a laugh at Henry’s rapid-fire enthusiasm. “Mr. Jones isn’t going to order everything on the menu.”

“Call me Killian, please. And you must be Henry.”

His attention was all on her son now as he held out his hand for Henry to shake and uttered the magic words. “I heard you like Doctor Who.”

By the time Ruby came over to take his order he was sitting in the booth with them, showing a completely enthralled Henry pictures on his phone of the Doctor Who set. Ruby gave Killian a wide smile, her signature crimson lipstick perfect and one hip cocked in his direction when she pulled out her order pad and pen from her apron. Most men (and more than a few women) in Storybrooke were unable to resist Ruby’s bare midriff and wolfish grin. Killian only gave her a polite nod before looking back down at the menu and ordering a milkshake after conferring with Henry on which flavor was the best (chocolate, was Henry’s answer) and a cheeseburger with fries, Henry’s normal go-to meal. Ruby went back into the kitchen with a disappointed pout and Killian went back to telling Henry what he said were top TARDIS secrets until the food was dropped off on plates roughly the size of frisbees.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, looking a little stunned.

“There’s your real American food,” Emma smirked, picking up an onion ring from her plate and biting into it with relish.

“If I eat all this I don’t think I’ll fit back into my costume.”

Henry decided to be helpful. “Mom’ll steal some of your fries when you’re not looking.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks kid.”

“Steal?” Killian repeated, putting a theatrical emphasis on the word. “A fine upstanding officer would never steal, unless…why, Sheriff Swan, are you secretly a pirate?”

Henry was giggling alongside him and Emma played along with the joke, corny as it was.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she shot back.

“Perhaps I would.”

They were interrupted by two teenage girls, sharing nervous giggles as they came over to ask for Killian’s autograph and a selfie. He turned to them with that movie-star smile, signing and posing for several pictures with each. When he turned back Emma was holding one of the fries off his plate, the end already dipped in ketchup.

“Oops, how’d that get there?” she mused with faux innocence.

His smile turned to something less suitable for the Hallmark channel’s family friendly reputation as he leaned back in the booth and gave her an appraising look that she met head on while she ate the pilfered fry. She was still pretty good at nicking food when no one was looking, it was a lot more fun now than it had been when she was sixteen.

When Ruby dropped off the bill it seemed like no time had passed, but Emma noticed with a start that the diner was practically deserted, the lunch rush was clearly long over. Killian’s plate was empty, after he’d taken a few pictures to post “real American food” on his Instagram he’d dug in and eaten everything except the fries Emma had filched every time someone else had come over to ask for his autograph or a photo. It had turned into a game they all played until there was none left.

Killian got her back by taking the last onion ring from her plate, aided by her son distracting her, the little traitor. Now she knew how David felt.

“Bye Killian!” Henry said. “See you on Monday!”

During lunch he’d invited both Henry and Paige to visit the movie set on Monday after camp. Emma knew Henry was going to talk about nothing else until then. David was going to be just thrilled to hear all about it during Sunday dinner.

They all slid out of the booth and she went to grab the bill so she could take it up to the cash register at the front, only to see that it had disappeared off the table. Emma frowned, wondering if it had fallen on the floor.

“Ah,” Killian said, and he was even better at sleight of hand than she was because when she looked up she saw he had it, having lifted it without her even noticing. “Let me get this.”

Her initial reaction was to protest, it wasn’t like they’d been on a date or anything, plus it wasn’t just her grilled cheese, it was Henry’s turkey special too on the bill. He must have seen her reluctance on her face because he added, “Consider it thanks for keeping me company, I was just going to get takeaway for one and this was much more fun than eating by myself.”

“Okay,” she found herself agreeing. “Thanks.”

Granny came bustling over from behind the counter. “Hang on, Sheriff, you almost forgot these.”

She handed over two oversized candy canes, Henry snatched one and immediately unwrapped a cellophaned end, sticking it in his mouth like an old man with a cigar.

“Thanks Granny!” he beamed around his mouthful of peppermint before bounding towards the door. “See you on Monday, Killian! Don’t forget!”

“They come with the turkey special,” Granny explained in response to Emma’s questioning look. “And here’s one for our visitor, too, on the house. Come back anytime, Mr. Jones. You were very good for business today. Try the lobster bisque next.”

She handed another candy cane to Killian, looking very pleased with herself. The diner had been more crowded than usual during lunch, now that Emma thought about it, and there had definitely been a higher than average amount of teenage girls. Emma watched through narrowed eyes while Granny went back to the counter and waited until she was out of earshot.

“Take my advice,” she said to Killian, leaning in to murmur it low in his ear, “don’t try the bisque.”

“I heard that, Sheriff!”

Okay, so maybe Granny wasn’t quite out of earshot.

“I think you just made the naughty list, Swan,” Killian chuckled.

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

She smirked at his stunned look, feeling something that she hadn’t felt in a long time when she turned and headed for the door, something that made her put a little bit more of a swing in her hips than was strictly necessary and unwrapping her own candy cane as she went. Maybe it wasn’t very professional of her to flirt with him like that, especially when Granny Lucas apparently had the hearing of a woman half her age, but hey, she was off duty and he was only going to be in town for a short while. What was the harm?

The candy cane was pretty good, Emma had to admit to herself.

Hey, candy was candy, no matter what month it was.

***********

David, predictably, was less than pleased at Sunday dinner to hear about Killian’s invitation, and was even grumpier the following week when Henry was still on cloud nine after visiting a real live movie set. He got to hear all about how cool Killian was, and how Henry and Paige got to watch him film a scene while sitting in real director’s chairs, and then they got to be extras in the background and were actually going to be in the movie and wasn’t that the coolest thing ever? Everyone at camp had been so jealous.

“They’re not the only ones,” Emma said with a knowing smile, glancing over at her brother.

“I am not jealous!” David protested. His crossed arms and childish pout told a different story. “Why would I be jealous? Pass me the potatoes.”

Emma handed him the bowl and he started spooning them onto his plate with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Hey Mom?” Henry asked, oblivious to his uncle’s black mood as he took a roll from the basket Mary Margaret was offering to him, “Can I be Prince Charles for Halloween?”

“Prince Charles?” Mary Margaret repeated, putting the basket of rolls down and looking completely baffled.

“Not Prince Charles, Prince Charles,” Emma tried to explain, which only made her look even more confused. “Not the real Prince Charles, I mean. The character Killian played on Doctor Who was named Prince Charles, it was this running gag because he was from a different planet and didn’t know there was a Prince Charles here too so everyone thought he was joking when he said that was his name. Especially since he’s a lot more hand-“

She caught herself before she finished the thought and covered it up with a cough, trying to divert attention away from the fact that she’d almost just called him handsome in front of both her brother and her son. Judging by David’s rolled eyes and Mary Margaret’s raised eyebrows she wasn’t entirely successful, although thankfully Henry didn’t appear to have noticed.

“But, kid,” she continued, “Halloween costumes already? It’s only August. You’ll change your mind ten times before October.”

He shook his head. “No, I won’t, I promise! Please Mom? Please?”

“You said that last year about Iron Man, but then you wanted to be Boba Fett instead, remember?”

“This is different!”

Henry had that stubborn look on his face, the same one he had whenever he’d made his mind up about something, like which was the best Star Wars movie after Empire, (it was Rogue One) or that peas were gross (she agreed with him there), the look that Neal claimed he got from her and boy did that never fail to piss her off. But Neal was back in Boston (with Tamara, that little voice in her head oh so helpfully reminded her, the woman he said she didn’t have to worry about) and while he may have been right about where their son got that particular trait, she didn’t feel like arguing with Henry tonight, especially not so close to Christmas…

…fuck. It was August. She blamed the constant stream of Christmas music and the decorations Mary Margaret had put up already. Her Bug could only pick up the local station and it was too old (or vintage, as she preferred to call it) to have Bluetooth, so they'd arrived at the farm before dinner with the Little Drummer Boy rum-pa-pum-pumming away from the radio to find enough wireframe reindeer set up in the yard to pull Santa’s sleigh and a wreath on the door, while inside the stockings Ruth had made were hanging up on the fireplace mantle and even Fandral the golden retriever was jauntily dressed in a festive red plaid collar instead of his normal black one.

“They won’t make a costume for that,” Emma said instead of saying no outright, trying to let Henry down easy, “he’s not a big enough character.”

He frowned, looking down at his plate and chewing on his lip. She knew she was right, Target wasn’t going to have a Prince Charles costume alongside the umpteen Spidermans and Elsas.

“I could make it,” Mary Margaret offered.

Henry looked up, hope flaring bright on his face. “You could?”

“I’ve been meaning to get Ruth’s old sewing machine down from the attic to make a few, um, projects anyway, it’ll be good practice. Do you have a picture of it?

“Mom?”

He swiveled to face Emma with big, excited eyes. She had her phone sitting on the dinner table in case there was an emergency back at the station, like Mr. Gold getting another call asking if his refrigerator was running or Regina making an urgent report after catching someone littering. With a few taps she opened Instagram, going to Killian’s profile and scrolling back until she found a photo he’d posted of himself dressed in the Prince Charles costume of a long brown coat worn over a white shirt and black vest.

“It doesn’t look easy to make,” she warned, turning the screen towards Mary Margaret. Emma wasn’t the crafty type, not like her “I saw it on Pinterest!” spouting sister-in-law, but that coat seemed pretty complicated. Mary Margaret took the phone to have a closer look and squinted down at the photo, chewing her lip just like Henry.

“I’ll have to look for a pattern that I can adapt into the coat, and it’ll take a decent amount of fabric, but I should be able to copy it.”

“Yes!” Henry was bouncing in his seat, “See Mom? Aunt Mary can make it for me!”

Emma wondered if she’d ever stop getting caught by surprise every time David showed up at her house with his toolbox whenever she complained about the water pressure in the shower or the window that refused to open, or when Mary Margaret made social media-worthy cupcakes for Emma to take to the PTA meeting after she had a late shift at the station the night before and had no time (or skill) to bake herself. Her knee-jerk reaction was usually to protest, to say she could handle it herself, except she had to admit she wouldn’t be able to make anywhere near as good of a costume as Mary Margaret could make no matter which online tutorial she tried to follow.

“Okay,” she agreed, knowing she was powerless against the both of them now that they’d teamed up against her, “but, Mary Margaret, if it turns out it’s too much work for you-”

“Bah,” she interrupted. “What’s family for? Henry’s going to be the best Prince Charles in Storybrooke when I’m done.”

“He’s going to be the only Prince Charles in Storybrooke,” David pointed out. “Sure you don’t want to be Han Solo this year? I can be Chewbacca.”

“Nope!” Henry said, his ten year old mind clearly made up. Which meant he’d probably change it tomorrow, just like he’d gone from insisting that he had to be Iron Man one day to Boba Fett the next last year, but for now, her son was going to be a two-episode character that no one except die hard Doctor Who fans would recognize for Halloween.

David continued to sulk in his chair and stab at his food while Mary Margaret handed the phone back to Emma. It was still open on the photo from Killian’s Instagram and when she looked down she saw the heart was now filled in, meaning Mary Margaret had liked the months-old post.

Crap.

She narrowed her eyes at her sister-in-law, who was calmly serving herself from a snowflake patterned bowl that normally didn’t appear until December. For someone who dressed and acted like a 1950s schoolteacher with her pastel sweater sets and sunny, glass-is-half-full optimism, she had a suspiciously satisfied look on her face.

“Pass the salt, please,” she asked mildly, meeting Emma’s gaze over Henry’s head. “It’s certainly a nice…costume, isn’t it, Emma?”

Yeah, liking Killan’s post was no accident.

************

If there was one place in town that Emma would have bet actual cash on not giving in to the red-and-green wave that had spread through Storybrooke like a zombie apocalypse, only with a horde of gingerbread men instead of the walking dead, it was The Rabbit Hole.

Nope.

The shitty dive bar atmosphere of mismatched glassware and pool tables with faded felt was somehow even shittier with one of those white artificial trees set up in the corner and old-school multicolored lights strung haphazardly around the walls. At least there wasn’t any Christmas music playing—Emma may or may not have looked up flights to Canada one afternoon at the station while plotting how to murder Michael Buble and make it look like a tragic accident—classic rock thumped in the background instead when she walked in the door.

Henry was spending his monthly weekend in Boston with Neal and Ruby had dragged Emma out of her empty house to hit the town. In Storybrooke the pickings were slim, it wasn’t like there were any wine bars or clubs, so they went down to The Rabbit Hold alongside everyone else who wanted to blow off some steam on a Saturday night. Which included a bunch of the movie people, Emma saw the seven Teamsters pounding back beers together at a table and Merida throwing back shots as if they were water, while Arthur was hitting on anything in a skirt. Including Emma herself when they first arrived, which…no. Even though he was a good looking guy and would be far from the first asshole she ever slept with, she did not need to get laid that badly.

“You know it’s August, right?” she said to Ruby, pointing at the headband she was wearing. It had reindeer antlers. She was also wearing a short, sparkly red dress that would fit in perfectly at a Christmas party, but then again she wore red year round anyway.

“So? Lighten up, Emma, you’re giving off serious Grinch vibes, you know.”

She stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at Ruby, which probably proved her point. Emma had to admit she was in a grinchy mood, with Henry gone and the house so much quieter without him there.

“You need a drink, and a dick, and not necessarily in that order.”

One thing about Ruby Lucas that anyone who spent more than five minutes with her learned was that while she may live in a storybook town that looked like the very definition of family friendly, she talked like she was starring in her own show on HBO.

“Let’s start with the drink,” Emma said, steering Ruby towards the bar and not having much hope of finishing with a dick.

The thing about small towns where everyone knew each other was that...it was a small town and everyone knew each other. One night stands were super awkward when you had to pull them over for speeding a week later after they never called you back, and she didn’t need Mary Margaret to start wedding planning after hearing from Ashley at the grocery store that her boyfriend Sean had been told by his friend Philip that Emma had left the bar the night before with someone they’d all known all their lives. So she nursed her Sam Adams (you could take the girl out of Boston, but you couldn’t take Boston out of the girl) for as long as possible and watched Ruby work her mojo instead of looking for someone to give her the “D” - as Ruby so unsubtly put it. Not that Ruby herself was leaning that way either, since she ended up doing shots with Merida and from the way they were looking at each other, leaning in close to speak in the other’s ear even though it wasn’t that loud, “friendly” touches to hands and arms and shoulders that lasted a little too long...yeah. Ruby wasn’t going home alone.

Well, she did like red. That extended to redheads, apparently.

“So...looks like your friend is having a Highland fling tonight.”

Emma looked over as Killian Jones sat down next to her in the seat Ruby had abandoned to go visit Scotland instead. He tipped his glass towards the pair, Ruby was now sitting on Merida’s lap with her dress riding dangerously high up her thighs and Emma really hoped she wouldn’t have to arrest her best friend for indecent exposure.

Again.

“I guess so,” she drawled, waiting to see if he was going to leer and make some gross comment about how hot two girls were together. He didn’t though, he just finished his drink and waved at the bartender.

“Another rum, neat, and one of whatever the lady is having.”

He looked good, that knife’s edge jaw covered with dark scruff several hours past a five o’clock shadow, his blue eyes bright even in the dimly lit room. Blue eyes that were fixed firmly on her, making Emma warmer than the liquor or the balmy summer night.

Ruby and Merida disappeared together at some point, Emma wasn’t really sure when. She drank the beer Killian bought her, and then bought him a drink, because she was an adult with a job and her own credit card and he didn’t know Philip or Sean or Ashley.

Especially because he didn’t know Philip or Sean or Ashley.

“Need a police escort home?” she asked, when his glass was empty and she knew the burn between her thighs wouldn’t be satisfied with her own hand tonight. Technically she was off the clock, but it was her sworn duty to protect and serve the people of the town, and that included handsome visiting actors with accents more delicious than candy canes or pumpkin spice lattes. It was just hitting midnight when they left The Rabbit Hole into a clear night of sea breeze coming in off the ocean and the stars above guiding their way like the sailors coming home to the lovers left behind on land. There was heat in the air, heat between them in the heavy-lidded glances they shared that were thick with anticipation, heat in the rum Emma wanted to taste directly from his mouth instead of a glass. She pulled him to her by his necklace, fingers wrapping in the cool metal of the chain and her back hitting the wall behind them.

The music from the bar was still faintly audible when their lips met, bass notes echoing like the beat of her pulse as she felt the kiss all the way to her toes. He caged her in place, hand sliding to the back of her neck and she met him more than halfway, her hips pressing against the bulge she could feel in his tight jeans and sliding her tongue along his reddened bottom lip. She relished his shiver when she grazed it with her teeth.

Killian pulled back, his eyes a glittering line through dark lashes and his voice a rasp of liquor and lust.

“Swan, are you sure?”

Emma really, really shouldn’t be doing this for a number of really, really good reasons, she had a kid, she had to oversee the rest of the movie shoot, Regina would probably kill her if she found out, literally, not figuratively, but, fuck it.

“Yes.”

He was staying in a house that the production company had arranged for him, he explained, a giant Victorian affair with gingerbread trim and one of those wide wrap-around porches that was made for a swing. Killian seemed slightly embarrassed when she couldn’t stop herself from gaping at it, although who could blame her, the house had a damn turret, for fuck’s sake. He fumbled with the lock and muttered that it was far too big for one person but it had been on the market for ages with no takers so they got a good deal on a short term rental. She followed him in when he finally got the door open, catching a glimpse of a kitchen that would have Mary Margaret squeeing over the vintage appliances and a giant bay window before he was on her, mouth latching onto her neck and all thoughts of her sister-in-law and architectural details flew out of her head. Strong hands reached under her thighs, lifting her up so that her legs wrapped around his hips. The line of his erection pressed against the damp lace under her dress with the movement, making them both shudder.

Killian carried, actually carried, her up the stairs, like she was a heroine from Bridgerton or something and not just a blonde he picked up at a bar, and damn if that wasn’t even more of a turn on. They tumbled through a door and onto a bed, her ankles crossing behind his back while he continued to grind between her thighs, his tongue in her mouth and his hands now planted rather firmly on her ass. She didn’t mind that at all and was eager to get her hands on him too, grabbing the hem of his T-shirt to find bare skin that was scorching to the touch when she dragged it up his sides. He had to go up on his knees on the bed to get it off completely, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side as soon as his arms were free. His chest was dusted with a generous amount of dark hair, it turned into a line that went down his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans with a tantalizing hint of the treasure that lay at the end of the trail. There was something so delightfully male about it, and the noise he made when she raked her nails through the fine mat was even better.

Her dress was next to go, and while she hadn’t gone out with the expectation of getting laid she had worn something underneath that definitely meant she wasn’t opposed to the idea, lace-trimmed and sheer in all the right places and would look damn good on Killian’s bedroom floor. He pulled a bra strap down with his teeth and swirled his tongue around her nipple, bringing it to a tight pebble in his mouth while his fingers worked at the button of his jeans.

“You have condoms, right?” she asked, voice more than a little breathless and her back arching to give him better access.

“Yes,” he answered, flicking his tongue one more time over the tight peak before his dark head came up and he winked at her. “But we’ve got time before we need them.”

He leaned forward then and kissed her, far more softly this time. The hookups she’d had after her breakup with Neal had been more about scratching the itch, getting off and getting out as soon as possible. She’d almost forgotten it could be like this instead. Killian kept his word and took his time, kissing a line down her neck and back to her breasts, lavishing each one in turn with licks and sucks that had her flushed right down to her navel. When he hooked his thumbs in the lace clinging to her hips and dragged it down she was more than ready, slick with arousal under his fingers while he braced himself on one arm to reach between her legs. He slid up and down in a friction that had her gripping his shoulders and holding on against the wave that was poised to drag her under. When he slid two fingers inside and crooked them just right she met his eyes for a moment, the blue swallowed in a dark storm of desire, before her head tipped back helplessly into his pillow and she fell over the edge with a gasp.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. Another kiss was pressed to her lips while she lay panting for air and then he reached over to the bedside table and pulled open a drawer, rummaging around blindly inside until he found the box of condoms. Emma saw that it was unopened, which made her wonder if she was the first woman he’d slept with since he arrived in town. Not that it really mattered, this was just a one time thing, but still.

His boxer briefs were tented with his erection. She sat up and slid her palm over it while he was tearing a condom off the string and his hips jerked into her hand. A smirk played at her lips as she did it again, before toying with the waistband and tracing the lines of his abs with the tip of her nail.

“You said we had time, right?”

His accent was thicker, rougher, when he answered. “I did, didn’t I?”

Emma peeled the cotton down his thighs and pushed him onto his back, plucking the condom from his unresisting hand for later and laying it on the sheets next to his hips. As late as it already was, she wasn’t ready for the night to end just yet. They had time, time for her to lick a teasing stripe up the length of him and watch the muscles in his stomach contract at the sensation, time to take him in her mouth and continue the tease with her tongue. Each gasp and groan that followed made her feel sexy, gorgeous, desired, all the things she didn’t usually have time for in her daily life. When she finally released him her was rock hard and the second the condom was rolled on he dragged her onto his lap, a wrecked look on his face. It was just the right side of rough when he thrust up, hands tight on her hips and breath hot on her neck. His beard rasped against her skin while the thick drag of his erection rocked inside her, she was going to feel it in the morning and she relished the thought.

They found a rhythm, Emma riding him to the tempo only they could hear, rolling her hips and squeezing around him. The bed creaked with the movement and his deep groans mixed with her own higher-pitched cries. He filled her on each stroke, it felt amazing and yet it wasn’t quite enough to bring her off again. Killian seemed to sense it when she started to falter, chasing the high that stayed just out of reach. He tightened his arms around her back and rolled them, settling on top of her and giving a heavy thrust that made her toes curl and her back arch. Her eyes squeezed shut and one of his hands found hers, lacing their fingers together against the mattress and holding tight. The other lifted her knee and changed the angle just enough to give her that last little push she needed to come a second time.

Killian followed her a few moments later, burying his face in her neck and his back slick with sweat as he shuddered through his climax.

“That was,” he breathed, clearly too blissed out to even finish the thought.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

It had been the best sex she’d had in a long time, blowing every other one-night stand completely out of the water. She had no illusions that it was more, he was only in town for a short time and it was all she wanted, anyway.

“Does Granny’s serve breakfast?”

The sudden question from the pleasant weight pinning her to the bed caught her off guard. “What, like right now?”

Killian chuffed quietly into her shoulder. “No, it’s just that I’ve got nought but some tea and toast to offer you in the morning, and I think I’ve finally finished digesting that cheeseburger by now.”

That made her snort, remembering the look on his face when he’d first encountered Granny’s idea of a portion size. It took her another second to realize that he expected her to not only stay the night, but to stay for breakfast. It was sweet, but-

There was always a but.

But if she went to Granny’s Diner with him in the morning, wearing the same dress she’d worn to The Rabbit Hole the night before, the whole town would know they’d slept together before the lunch rush. She should make an excuse to leave, find her underwear, and go home.

Killian kissed her neck and got out of bed, disappearing into an ensuite bathroom. She’d tell him she had the early morning shift at the station, she’d tell him Henry was coming home and she had to go, she’d tell him something, anything, and leave…

The combination of alcohol and incredible sex was making her limbs heavy and the prospect of having to put her bra back on was about as appealing at the moment as a budget meeting with Mayor Mills. Plus his bed was so comfy, king-sized and covered in pillows that she wanted to bury herself in.

Emma was almost asleep when Killian climbed back into bed, one arm snaking around her waist and pulling her so that she was spooned against him with her back to his front. Lips brushed against her ear and he whispered, “Goodnight, love.”

Just before she drifted off completely she felt a pang of regret, that she couldn’t go out for breakfast with him in the morning or go home with him again at night no matter how good looking he was or how good he was in bed.

Or how good he was with her son.

It was just a one time thing.

********

“A grilled cheese and onion rings, right Emma?”

“Yes, thank you Ruby.”

Ruby jotted the order down on her pad and turned to Henry. “And for you, kiddo?”

“No turkey special?”

She rested a hand on her hip and shook her head. “Fraid not. Back to the old menu now, I can do a burger, or the lobster bisque.”

Emma suppressed a shudder. Luckily Henry wasn’t much interested in lobster unless they were raining down from the sky, and he ordered a cheeseburger with fries instead. In addition to the old menu Granny’s Diner was back to the regular decor, the napkins were white, the mini trees were gone, and the jukebox was playing Top 40 hits from the Reagan administration instead of Christmas music. No more Michael Buble, no one was wearing Santa hats, or wishing each other happy holidays, the Bean & Brew was back to promoting iced coffees instead of pumpkin spice lattes and everything was back to normal in Storybrooke.

Just what Emma had been waiting for.

Henry started chattering away about whatever was currently going viral, something that was of vital importance to any self-respecting ten year old. Emma listened with half an ear, waiting for their order. Ruby brought over Henry’s milkshake and her hot chocolate with cinnamon. It was slightly cooler now than it had been a few weeks ago, but it was still almost seventy degrees out. She’d just been in the mood for one.

“Crap, I forgot to add the cinnamon. Sorry Emma, I’ll go grab it.”

Before she left the bell over the door rang, announcing a new arrival to the diner. Emma’s back was to it so she couldn’t see who it was at first, it was Ruby who looked over first and a smile broke over her face.

“Hey, look who just came back to town.”

Emms felt her heartbeat quicken and a flush rise in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat coming from her drink. Henry was grinning and waving like a maniac and she took a breath, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When she opened them and turned around she immediately locked eyes with the man who’d just walked in.

“Oh,” she said, slumping down in her seat and unable to stop the wave of disappointment washing over her. “It’s August.”

*********

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma smiled and took the festive red cup from the barista, a young man wearing an elf hat with his green apron.

“Thanks. Merry Christmas to you too.”

She stepped outside of the packed Starbucks after adding an extra dash of cinnamon from the condiment bar to her gingerbread hot chocolate, beanie pulled down over her ears and her jacket zipped up to her chin. The cold still nipped at her cheeks and her breath immediately fogged the air, it was December, after all.

Fortifying herself against the chill with a sip of her drink, she joined the throng packing the sidewalk. The skyscrapers above, the massive crowds, the Starbucks and takeout places on every corner, New York City was a far cry from Storybrooke.

Henry’s list of exciting things to happen in their sleepy little town now included the day when the FBI had arrived without warning to arrest Mr. Gold. It turned out that the pawn shop owner and richest man in Storybrooke had made his money years prior by defrauding investors in a scheme where he claimed to be able to create gold from inexpensive materials, like lab-created diamonds, that was indistinguishable from the real thing. In truth, it was all a scam and the supposed gold was fake. By the time his investors found out they’d been fleeced, he’d taken the money and run. “Gold” wasn’t even his real name, he’d chosen that as his alias and from Emma’s acquaintance with him she was sure he was probably feeling very smug and satisfied with himself over his not so clever little joke. Storybrooke had been his hiding spot with his young trophy wife and stolen cash, the townspeople none the wiser until a literal SWAT team showed up.

Emma had caught him before he crossed the town line, trying to flee in a car that had just been reported stolen to the local radio station instead of the sheriff’s department. She’d been completely unaware of the special task force that was raiding his house at the same time, a group of highly trained agents who didn’t look too happy that it was a small town cop who’d actually apprehended the man who was fifth on their top ten most wanted list when she brought him in.

Gold had stolen a lot of money. A lot.

As the arresting officer she’d had to come to New York City, the scene of Gold’s crime, to give a formal statement in person at the FBI’s field office, answer the same questions over and over again about a hundred times, sign more paperwork than the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department generated in six months, and accept her share of the reward money.

Yes Virginia, there was reward money.

Enough to pay off her student loans, put a sizable chunk into Henry’s college fund, splurge on a killer leather jacket that she’d been eyeing online forever and looked damn good in, if she did say so herself, and buy some very nice Christmas presents for the people in her life. She had several things already stashed back in her hotel room for Mary Margaret and David, although her idiot brother was still in the doghouse with her for the little stunt he’d pulled. Bound and determined to prove he was Henry’s cool uncle (never mind the fact that he was Henry’s only uncle) he’d let her ten year old son drive his truck.

Right into a town mailbox.

She should have bought him a lump of coal instead of AirPods. Luckily Regina was too busy gloating over Gold’s arrest and the defeat of her longtime nemesis to notice the wilful destruction of town property before Graham had it removed. Emma, on the other hand, had threatened both David and Henry with a weekend in side by side cells at the station with nothing but bread and water if they ever did it again. Technically that was a misuse of police authority, but considering she had a citation from the FBI with a fancy seal and everything now posted above her desk she felt she could get away with it.

David’s gift was done, Mary Margaret’s was done (along with a few gifts for the new addition to the family that had been tearfully announced at Thanksgiving, Baby Boy or Girl Nolan would be making his or her appearance right around Easter) and while she’d picked up several things for Henry, there was one item on his list she was still trying to snag.

Gingerbread hot chocolate in hand, she crossed 34th street and walked into Macy’s to hit up the special Lego pop-up holiday store inside. It carried several sets that weren’t available anywhere else, not even online, including a limited edition Star Wars themed one that Henry had declared to be the coolest Lego set ever. He wasn’t the only one, it was such a hot ticket item among Lego enthusiasts that the store only put out a few at completely random times of the day to discourage scalpers and they always sold out immediately. There were even Twitter accounts solely devoted to posting when they were available, Emma had followed them all in desperation but had no luck so far. Now she was down to her last night in New York before heading back to Storybrooke and she was going to give it one more try even though she had little hope of finding one.

But for Henry, it was worth a shot.

Like every other store Macy’s was completely done up for the holidays, with garlands of tinsel and greenery draped everywhere, giant stars hanging from the ceiling, and Paul McCartney simply having a wonderful Christmastime over the loudspeakers. The entrance to the pop-up itself was flanked by two six-foot tall nutcrackers made of Lego, and inside there was a Lego Christmas tree that everyone stopped at to take photos. As impressive as it was, Emma was on a mission and she bypassed all the tourists taking selfies to make her way straight to the Star Wars section, feeling a bit like Princess Leia when she knelt down by the life-sized Lego R2-D2 to check the lowest shelf just in case one had been shoved back there.

Hey only hope was dashed when all she found was a line of Baby Yodas.

“Excuse me,” she straightened up and snagged one of the employees walking by in his “Merry and Br(icks)ight” T-shirt, “are there any of those limited edition May The Force Be With You sets out right now?”

He shook his head, juggling an armful of Imperial tie fighters. “No, sorry, we’re already sold out of those for the day. You can try again tomorrow.”

She couldn’t, but she didn’t say it. “Okay, thanks.”

It had always been a longshot, but she couldn’t help the stab of dejection. Some part of her had thought that maybe, just maybe, she’d miraculously be able to find one for her son and make his Christmas dream come true. The employee walked off and she gave one final, resigned look at the display of Millenium Falcons before she left the store too, just in case.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Emma turned around at the voice to find another employee standing behind her, and older man with white hair and glasses. He looked a bit familiar, but before she could figure out how her gaze dropped to the box he was holding. She recognized it on sight even though she could hardly believe what she was seeing, it was the limited edition, impossible to find even on eBay, May The Force Be With You Lego set, number one on Henry’s Christmas list.

“I couldn’t help but overhear, is this what you were looking for?”

She took it from him, almost too stunned to speak. “Yes,” she managed to squeak out, sounding like a little kid, “yes, this is the one my son wants. But I thought it was sold out?”

“Ah,” he smiled. “There was just this one left in the back, I’m glad I was able to grab it for you. Merry Christmas to you and your son.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas to you too.”

She turned the box over carefully in a bit of a daze, double and triple checking to make sure it was really the right one and she wasn’t seeing things. When she looked up to thank the employee again, he was already gone.

Huh. Weird.

On her way to the checkout she got stopped three separate times by people offering to buy the set off her, it was that hot. It was also ridiculously expensive, like holy shit, how much kind of expensive, but she didn’t even flinch at the total when she swiped her credit card. It was for Henry, and that was all that mattered.

The temperature had dropped some more by the time she left Macy’s and she wanted nothing more than to go back to her hotel and order some room service, since she was on official business all her expenses were paid for and an overpriced grilled cheese and a glass of wine from the mini-bar followed by a hot bath were calling to her, but she had one final thing to do in New York before she left.

When Henry had found out about her trip he’d been incredibly excited, which surprised her because she’d been expecting him to be disappointed that she had to leave so close to Christmas and would miss out on both the Town Hall carol sing and David and Mary Margaret’s annual ugly Christmas sweater party. It turned out he was so thrilled because the nonstop holiday movie marathon that had been going on in their house all month thanks to Disney Plus had included numerous viewings of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. Henry had all these grand plans for her trip, that she was going to stay in a lavish suite at the Plaza Hotel, visit Duncan’s Toy Chest, and be driven around in a limousine, just like Kevin McCallister did when he got separated from his family, again.

Right.

She was staying at a nondescript Hilton in midtown, was taking cabs instead of limos, and had to break the news to Henry that the toy store in the movie was fictional.

There was one key location though that wasn’t either insanely expensive or non-existent and she hailed a cab, keeping a tight hold on her shopping bag as she slid into the backseat and told the driver where she wanted to go. He pulled away from the curb and Emma watched the streets go by from the window, storefronts all decorated and a kaleidoscope of lights reflecting on the glass.

“The WYNC-FM weather forecast is brought to you by the Hallmark Channel, where every night is Christmas Eve! Tune in tonight for Mistletoe and Memories, a brand new movie about a secret, second-chance romance at the holidays! ”The latest weather forecast has changed again and most of the Eastern seaboard can expect to see a white Christmas this year, with snow expected on the twenty-fourth through the twenty-sixth. Maine in particular will receive several inches spread over the holidays, especially in the coastal parts of the state. And to celebrate, here’s the time-honored classic itself.”

The radio station started playing White Christmas, Bing Crosby’s gravelly voice drifting out of the speakers. Henry would be happy to hear there was going to be snow on Christmas, while it had definitely been cold and blustery in Storybrooke, there hadn’t been any snow yet. He’d asked if the town could get one of those machines they used to make the movie and have Christmas all year round.

Emma didn’t find the idea nearly as unappealing as she might have a few months ago.

“We’re here, miss.”

After paying the fare she stepped out and was immediately looked up. The famous Christmas tree at Rockefeller Centre was a lot taller in person than it was on screen in Home Alone 2, she had to crane her neck to see all the way up to the star on top. It was covered in lights and shone bright against the night sky, presiding over the open plaza below. At the foot of it was a skating rink, and despite the near freezing temperatures it was still full of people gliding back and forth on the ice. There were tourists come to sightsee milling about, couples bundled up against the cold walking arm-in-arm, hot dog carts and souvenir stands and the whole scene was all very quintessentially New York.

Back home in Storybrooke they had their own tree-lighting ceremony on a much smaller scale at the Town Hall a few weeks prior to kickoff the season, followed by the “Gala Premiere,” as Regina called it, of Storybrooke’s very own Christmas movie. The gala premiere consisted of a screen and a projector set up in the high school auditorium, hot drinks catered by the Bean & Brew, and a rented popcorn machine. David and Mary Margaret came, and Ashley and Sean, and Paige and her dad, and a very, very excited Henry with Emma in tow, all to watch the bookish small-town girl played by Christina Bell fall for the visiting, mysterious Englishman played by Killian Jones, against a backdrop of fake snow and careful editing to hide the fact that it had been filmed in August. They’d renamed the movie, instead of A Midnight Clear it was now A Count for Christmas, because the big reveal was that Killian’s character was actually a count.

Henry was already planning next year’s Halloween costume based on it. As David had predicted, no one had known who he was supposed to be in the Prince Charles costume Mary Margaret had painstakingly made when he went out trick-or-treating with Paige in her much more recognizable Scarlet Witch outfit from Target. But Henry hadn’t cared, not when the official Doctor Who Instagram account itself had reposted the picture Emma had taken of him all dressed up.

She was pretty sure she had Killian to thank for that.

So next year her son was going to be a count instead of a prince. The scene where he and Paige were extras in the background had lasted less than a minute, and only the back of his head was briefly visible on screen, but in true Mike Wazowski fashion none of that had mattered to him and he’d proclaimed to anyone who’d listen, Ruby, the mailman, his dentist, Pongo the Dalmatian, that he’d actually been in a movie!

It was cheesy, and sappy, and sentimental, and all the things Emma swore up and down she wasn’t into.

Maybe she was, a little bit.

A clip from it even went viral, of a rather smoldering look Killian had shot to Christina that was very un-Hallmark like and more suited to something on HBO. It blew up on TikTok, to the point where Killian had even been interviewed by several media outlets and gained over a hundred thousand Instagram followers. Emma was happy for his success (and maybe, just maybe a tiny bit jealous that the look hadn’t been directed at her), although she wasn’t as thrilled as Regina, who actually put out a press release about Storybrooke’s role in the clip.

The selfie Emma took with the Rockefeller Christmas tree behind her wasn’t going to go viral when she posted it on Instagram, adding the caption “not so lost in New York”. That was okay,

it was for Henry and his love of Christmas movies, belief in superheroes and magic and all the good things in the world that she might have forgotten about without him in her life.

There was a busker in the plaza in fingerless gloves and a Santa hat, playing the guitar. Naturally, it was a Christmas song. Even though she’d only planned to grab the photo with the tree and then head back to her hotel, she found herself staying to listen.

Emma recognized the irony of it, after all her complaining back in August about the non-stop Christmas music that drove her to secretly plot how to take out the three worst offenders, Josh Groban, Mariah Carey, and Michael Buble (he was Canadian, so it involved a hockey stick and maple syrup) she’d come around and actually didn’t mind the acoustic version of All I Want For Christmas Is You the busker was strumming. A small group had gathered around to listen and when he finished, she clapped along with them. His guitar case was open on the ground by his feet for donations and a few people tossed in some coins and small bills.

She dropped in a fifty, with the reward money safely deposited in her bank account she could afford to spread some extra Christmas cheer to a stranger. His eyes absolutely lit up when he saw it and she smiled to herself.

“Thank you everyone, I hope you’re all having a lovely evening tonight,” he said to the crowd. “Are there any requests?”

The question was directed at her and there was one song, in particular, that immediately sprang to mind.

“Do you know It Came Upon a Midnight Clear?”

He thought to himself for a moment, plucking a few experimental chords on his guitar. Then he found it, and music filled the air again. As far as Christmas songs went it was softer than a lot of the other, more popular ones, it was wistful, with just a hint of melancholy but ending on a hopeful note. Even though the title of the Hallmark movie had been changed, they kept a scene where Christina and Killian’s characters had to meet up at midnight to break into the library and find the stolen deed to Killian’s ancestral estate that proved he was the rightful heir so he could claim his title. The song had played while snow fell around them as they opened the book of fairytales where the deed had been hidden and found it at last.

Emma had heard Merida cursing at the snow machine with insults that got increasingly more Scottish when it kept malfunctioning the day they filmed the scene, even the seven Teamsters were shocked by how colorful some of them were, and that asshole Arthur had been in a giant snit by the delay and was even more insufferable than usual. But it all came together in the end and watching the final result in the darkened Storybrooke High gym with Henry beside her staring in slack-jawed awe at the screen like it was Avengers Endgame, she had to admit it was worth it.

Movie magic, as Henry called it.

“Emma? Emma, are you here? SWAN!”

The voice cut through the music and the crowd, rising above them all and she felt herself frown, turning in a circle to look for whoever the hell it was who was calling her name. She was alone in the middle of New York City, hundreds of miles away from home.

A man pushed his way through a knot of tourists clustered around one of the hot dog carts and came to a halt several feet away as he caught sight of her. Emma froze on the spot, too shocked by the unexpected sight in front of her to do anything except stare as the music and the crowd and everything else faded away.

It was Killian Jones.

She blinked.

He was still there.

Dressed in a black puffer coat with a scarf around his neck but his head bare against the winter chill. His dark hair was longer than it was the last time she saw him back in Storybrooke the day after filming wrapped, a lock almost fell into his eyes and it curled around the tips of his ears in the winter breeze. He looked good and he looked happy, smiling bright as he crossed the last bit of distance between them.

“Fancy meeting you here, Deputy Sheriff Swan.”

“What? How?” she sputtered, not quite believing he was real. “Killian?”

“I saw your Instagram post.”

She saw now that he had his phone in one gloved hand and when he held it up, the photo she’d just posted was displayed on the screen. Her own phone suddenly vibrated inside her jacket and when she pulled it out, she saw a notification that officialkillianjones had liked her new post.

“I came to see if I could find you,” he explained, which didn’t exactly clear up her confusion.

“You came to find me…from London? Did you Apparate here, or something?”

“No,” he chuckled, “alas, I’m only a Muggle. No, I’ve been in New York for a few days now, I’ve been auditioning for a new TV series and I just got out of a meeting at the production office over there when your post popped up on my phone.”

He pointed across the plaza at one of the office buildings that surrounded it and she followed the motion, registering what he’d just said.

“You’re auditioning for a new TV show? That’s great!”

Was that a bit of a blush on his cheeks when he ducked his head or was it just red from the cold?

“Yeah, the meeting was actually to tell me I got the part. It was this whole last minute thing, they’ve been trying to full the role for months but couldn’t find anyone they liked, and then when that scene from A Count for Christmas went viral they contacted my agent to see if I was interested. So, I guess I have your lovely town to thank for helping me land it.”

“Oh, wow. Really?”

Henry was going to flip when she told him. He loved all that behind the scenes stuff and would be so proud that it was Storybrooke’s very own movie that was responsible for Killian getting the part.

Heck, she was kinda proud too.

“Really,” he winked. “I’ll have to thank everyone else in person, when we start filming.”

He couldn’t possibly mean…? She met his blue gaze and saw how intently he was looking at her, as if gauging her reaction.

“Start filming?” she asked, “In Storybrooke?”

He turned a bit sheepish, reaching up to scratch behind one ear. “Yeah, they also told me in the last meeting that they just settled on the filming location and signed the contract. Apparently your mayor put together a very impressive and persuasive proposal last week. Frankly, I think they were too intimidated by her to say no.”

Regina had been in a suspiciously good mood lately, but Emma had chalked that up to Gold’s arrest and to winning the town gingerbread house competition for a record-breaking fifth year in a row. Legitimately, too, even she had to admit Regina’s gingerbread castle was pretty dang impressive.

“So, you’re coming back to town,” she said, slowly, and quickly added, “for your TV show.”

“Looks like,” he agreed. “For at least six months of filming. Maybe longer.”

Killian was going to be staying in Storybrooke for at least six months. The official coolest person ever to set foot in it, according to Henry, and the man she hadn’t been able to get out of her head was coming back.

“Good.”

The single word that fell from her lips grew between them in the air with the promise of something more, something new and unexpected and exciting. Emma didn’t know where it was going to lead, but she was willing to find out.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been nattering on all about myself and I haven’t even asked, what are you doing in New York? Is Henry here with you? His Halloween costume was incredible, by the way.”

She shook her head with a laugh, “No, Henry’s back in Storybrooke with my brother and sister-in-law. As for why I’m here, that’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he said. “Tell you what, why don’t I buy you a drink and you can tell me all about it. There’s a lovely little bar in the lobby of my hotel that does a great hot buttered rum. What do you say, Swan?”

She would say that hot buttered rum and a hot as fuck guy who was about to move to her small little town both sounded like Christmas had just come early.

“Lead the way.”

He offered her his arm like the count he’d played in the movie. She looped her hand through it and they started over to a waiting line of taxis on the other side of the square.

“What hotel are you staying at?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s the Plaza.”

Emma halted mid-step. He was staying at the Plaza?

“Seriously?”

Killian looked down at her, brows knitting together in a frown at her reaction. “Yes? The network put me up there, I understand it’s rather famous?

“Yeah, it is, it’s just, um, have you seen Home Alone 2?”

He made a face. “Once or twice when I was a child, I think. Now don’t go telling the Hallmark people this, but, truth be told, my deepest, darkest secret is that I don’t really like Christmas movies.”

Her shoulders silently shook with mirth, thinking of that interview he did post TikTok blowup where he’d absolutely gushed about them. He really was a damn good actor.

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. Although, really, they’re not so bad.”

The star on top of the Rockefeller Centre Christmas tree winked in the rearview mirror when they climbed into the backseat of a cab and started to drive away, Killian’s arm wrapping around her shoulder like it was meant to be there.

Yeah, Emma decided, Christmas movies were alright.

**********

Henry was thrilled when she came home for Christmas with both the most coveted Lego set on the planet and Killian Jones. He couldn’t leave the country while his work permit for the new TV show was being processed, and she wasn’t going to leave him all alone on Christmas.

David was less than pleased when she brought Killian over for Christmas Day dinner at the farm, although he hid it behind a smile and a handshake while Mary Margaret immediately fussed over their last-minute guest and Fandral the golden retriever ran circles around them.

Emma just hugged her brother and whispered in his ear, “This is payback for letting my ten year old son drive. Merry Christmas.”

#captain swan #captain swan fic #cs ff #cs fic #my fic #(yes there's smut in this)#merry christmas ya filthy animals #and a happy new year

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motherkatereloyshipper · 5 months

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Saturday the 2nd of December 2023 we will be having an episode on pining.

Volunteer your fic to be read on the stream at:

Listen to Saturday's episode at 20:00GMT at twitch.tv/motherkat_Reads

And find annotated episodes at

#captain swan fic #reylo fanfic #ereloy #sansan #dramione #spuffy #clydephelia

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nocaptainonthisship · 9 months

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First Star On The Right

A Captain Swan fic in support of @fandomstrikesback

(You can donate to the strikers here.)

#captain swan au #captain swan fic #captain swan #fandom strikes back #fandom goes on strike #wga strike #sag aftra strike #strike solidarity

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iverna · 2 years

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Given The Choice (32/?)

... in which Emma adapts to life among smugglers, Regina struggles with life among outlaws, and Killian shares a bit more of his past.

~ 10,100 words | read on ao3

Post-Neverland AU where Pan did not escape Pandora’s Box and Emma tries to come to grips with her strange new life featuring pirates, parents, and flying monkeys. Catch up here, or on ao3!

Note: due to recent Jason-related events in the fandom, I’ve changed the quartermaster’s name to Wesley Carswell - same guy, different name!

Blackbeard’s attack has had one positive side effect: Killian has proven himself to Ria and the crew, and the lingering tension on the ship has dissipated. Wesley Carswell no longer looks uncomfortable when Emma wanders up on deck, in fact he always has a smile and a teasing comment for her now, and Killian is no longer doing grunt work. He’s often in the company of one or more of the crew or conferring with Ria, sharing experiences. Emma wonders whether he realises how easily he slips into the role of advisor. He did the same in Neverland.

The only problem is that with the new camaraderie come questions. Such as how a lady from the royal court knows so much about sailing.

Lynch is the one who asks, when some of the crew shares a late lunch on deck the day after the attack. From his smile, his interest is entirely benign, but the question catches Emma off-guard. “It’s hardly part of a lady’s education, is it?”

“I—well,” she says, trying not to look flustered, “you know, I actually had a pretty good education…”

Killian laughs. “I don’t think you can count that as education, milady.” All eyes turn to him, and he goes on, “Her husband was an officer in the Royal Navy.”

Emma breathes a small sigh of relief. That sounds good. She vaguely remembers watching a Jane Austen movie once where the guy was a naval officer. An officer and a lady-in-waiting, that makes sense… right?

Janssen’s wife, a tall, no-nonsense woman named Inga, raises her brows. “A Navy man? How’d you end up here?”

With Hook and a band of outlaws, is what she means. Emma shrugs with a smile, back on balance now. “Long story.”

“Was an officer?” Carswell asks.

“Yeah, he, uh, retired,” Emma said. “After he married me. He didn’t want to be away at sea all the time.”

Inga smiles. “And now, here you are. You must miss him.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, smiling back and carefully not looking at Killian. “Yeah, I miss my whole family.”

“We’ll get you back there soon enough,” Lynch assures her.

“And I hope your husband appreciates it,” Carswell puts in, mock-stern. “And doesn’t send the Navy after us.”

Emma laughs, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t.”

“He’s far too besotted,” Killian puts in. “All he’ll care about is having his beloved wife back.”

She just about manages to hold back the dirty look she wants to throw at him. He’s enjoying this far too much. They need to get off this subject, not keep going on about the non-existent feelings of her non-existent husband.

It doesn’t help that he never looks better than when his eyes are sparkling like that, and she’s been thinking about him far too much lately, instead of thinking of something useful. Like her non-existent husband.

“What was his name again?” Inga asks.

Emma feels her heart trip, and casts around for a name while she says, “Sorry, what?”

“Your husband,” Inga repeats. “What did you say his name was?”

Emma didn’t give a name. She really should have thought of one. She has pretended to be married more than once in her career, but her usual go-to name is Justin. That doesn’t seem very… fairytale.

“Oh. Uh, William. Will.” She almost winces as she says it. This is Henry’s fault, with his talk about Keira Knightley and Pirates of the Caribbean. And she’s blaming Killian, too, for throwing her off her game.

“What’s he like?”

“Oh.” This should be easier; her fake husband is a fairly solid person in her mind. Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, devoted or distant depending on the situation, likes dogs and hiking and cuddles on the sofa. The kind of man you marry.

General “you”. Not Emma specifically. Emma specifically finds him a bit boring, which is exactly the point, because it makes him versatile and relatable.

“He’s great,” she says, trying to get into the mindset of a married woman who loves her husband, and struggling for words. “Kind, and… dependable.”

She makes the mistake of glancing over at Ria, then, to find the other woman watching her with a thoughtful look in her eyes. Emma doesn’t let her own gaze linger, but keeps looking around as if unconcerned even as she fights back her chagrin. She isn’t selling this. How the hell do people describe their partner?

“He’s a good man. A good father. Like I said, he retired so he could be there for us.”

“If that isn’t love,” Killian puts in lightly, jokingly. “Giving up the sea in favour of a life at court.”

He says the last word with a dramatic grimace. There’s a round of rueful chuckles, most of the crew shaking their heads as if they would never do such a thing. Emma thinks of the Jolly Roger, and swallows hard.

God, she needs to get them off this subject. “Yeah,” she says, looking at Inga and Janssen again. “Speaking of which, how about you two? How’d you meet?”

It’s the right question to ask. It turns out to be quite the story, which Inga and Janssen are happy to tell, amid the heckling and joking of the crew.

Emma breathes a very careful sigh of relief, and settles in to listen.

* * *

Killian, naturally, doesn’t let it go. When the others are back at work, he wanders over to her, purposely casual. “So, tell me,” he asks in a low voice, a glint in his eye. “Who is William?”

Emma narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t start. You enjoyed that way too much.”

He doesn’t look the least bit contrite. “Guilty as charged. I’m just curious why you chose that name.”

“A character in a movie,” she says, giving in. “Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s—anyway, one of the characters is called William. Will.”

“A movie… a story about pirates?”

“Yeah. Sort of.” She can feel herself getting defensive—she doesn’t usually rely on movies for her cover stories, and it definitely won’t do for Killian to start thinking she just has pirates on the brain. “Henry loves it, and he’s been quoting it, and it was the first name that came to mind.”

“Ah.” He gives another short chuckle. “It was my brother’s name, too.”

She feels her eyes widen. “What?”

“Liam,” he says. “Short for William.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t quite know what to say. “I didn’t know that.”

“Aye.” He looks at her more closely then, and seems to note the sudden loss for words, the odd tension. He grins, just a little too brightly. “A good thing you didn’t marry him.”

She thinks she knows the answer, but she asks anyway. “Why?”

But he doesn’t say anything about wanting her for himself. “Because he was stubborn and overbearing. You’d have thrown him out inside a week.”

A surprised laugh escapes her. “Yeah? Was he that bad?

He makes a face, but his expression has lost that exaggerated brightness, more comfortable again. “Aye. The worst. Though I suppose it served him well, to keep me in line.”

She lets her eyes widen in exaggerated astonishment. “You needed keeping in line?”

“All right,” he grumbles, giving her the gentlest little shove. “No need to oversell the amazement, Swan. I was a terror, I fully admit it.”

“Was?”

“Was, am…” One eyebrow pops up. “Will be.”

She bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I bet he had his hands full.”

Killian nods ruefully. “That he did.”

She can see the fondness behind all the irreverence, and she gets it. She never had a brother, but she often wished for one. Or a sister. Just… someone. Family. Someone on her side. From the sounds of it, that’s what Liam was for Killian.

“He sounds like a good guy,” she says softly.

“The best. Liam is the reason why I ended up in the Navy. He got me a commission, helped me with my studies… I owe him everything.” He clears his throat, then flashes another grin. “In fact, now I think about it, you could do worse.”

She wants to know more, but it’s clear that he’s done talking about Liam—and the grin is more genuine this time. The fact that he’s making jokes rather than rebuffing her feels like a victory.

So she goes with it, lightly slapping the back of her hand against his chest. “Stop trying to set me up with your brother. I’m married.”

He laughs, and it’s that genuine laughter that she so rarely gets to see, the laughter that makes his head tilt back and his eyes crinkle. “To poor old Will, aye. My apologies. I seem to keep forgetting.”

She makes a face at the reminder of her performance earlier. “Be honest, how bad was it? I really should’ve—I thought I had it figured out, but—I don’t know. They put me on the spot.”

“It was fine,” he assures her. “Though you might want to work on describing him. That did not sound like a woman in love.”

“I know. I just couldn’t think of anything.”

“Well, not to worry,” he says lightly. “Perhaps you two are simply going through a rough patch.”

She shoots him a narrow-eyed look, making him laugh again. “I’m being quite serious, love. It’s probably what they’ll assume, if you keep calling your husband ‘kind’ and ‘dependable’.”

“What’s wrong with kind and reliable?” she asks, even though she already knows he’s right.

“Because love means passion,” he says, “and caring, and knowing the other person. It’s not kind or perfect, sometimes you want to strangle them, but—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “I’m merely pointing out that there’s no passion in dependable. No romance.”

Emma manages a nod, trying desperately not to let on how winded she suddenly feels. Her knees are a little weak. Killian Jones getting passionate about the topic of love and romance might be more than she can handle.

She casts about for a way to get them off the subject, realises that they were originally on a different subject, and reaches for that. “I don’t even know anything about Navy officers. What do they do after they retire?”

“They marry a beautiful woman, apparently.” Killian winks. “Lucky bastard.”

It’s her turn to give him a shove. “You saying that being married to me is a full-time job? Thanks.”

“It might be,” Killian mutters, and she shoves him again, and he laughs. “All right, all right.” He considers it. “Let’s say he made his fortune at sea, and bought a small estate to raise a family.”

“How do you make a fortune at sea?” she asks. “I mean, other than, y’know.”

“My way?” He grins, then sobers. “Much the same way, really. You take it. From pirates, or smugglers, or someone else’s navy.” His voice takes on a cynical note. “It isn’t robbery if it’s endorsed by the king, you know.”

“That’s—” She’s about to say that’s not fair, but then she thinks about it. About her own experience with the justice system, and the foster system, and all kinds of other perfectly legal systems. The bribes she’s witnessed, the deals, the shakedowns. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

He looks surprised at her agreement. “I don’t think a princess—” that last word is so quiet that he’s barely more than mouthing it “—is supposed take that kind of view, love.”

She makes a face. “Think there’s a lot of things I’m not supposed to be doing.”

He grins again, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “I won’t tell anyone.”

She should probably roll her eyes, or shove him away again. But she can’t bring herself to do it, not when she’s just learned a bit more about him.

Liam. His brother’s name was Liam, and he was stubborn and loyal and rode herd on his troublemaking little brother.

So she smiles at him, and hopefully he knows everything she means by it when she says, “Good.”

* * *

Regina doesn’t like the castle. For one thing, it isn’t hers; for another, it’s in ruins, and though she’s done a bit to help fix it up, there’s only so much she can do if she doesn’t want to spend all her energy on repairs. Which she doesn’t. Because it’s not hers.

And because without access to her vault and her books, magic is frustratingly difficult. She can summon a fireball no problem, but it’s not like she memorised spells for fixing walls or plumbing. Much as she hates to admit it, she’s never been very good at working without instructions.

Besides, Zelena is out there, and it would be monumentally stupid to spend all her magic on repairing the castle when warding and protecting it is more important.

As she has explained to Grumpy at least twice now, not that it has stopped his snide comments.

Her room is fine, now that she has fixed most of the holes and restored the window panes and cleaned the whole thing, but it’s just that: a room. Everything else is shared, and she doesn’t care for that at all. She can’t just go down to the kitchen when she feels like baking. She can’t seem to go anywhere without running into one of the dwarves or Granny or a Merry Man.

She still doesn’t know why they’re called that. None of them seem very merry to her.

And for all of Snow’s talk about being in this together, Regina is alone more often than not.

It doesn’t bother her. It’s not like she wants to hang out with the dwarves, or Snow and Charming and the sappy looks they give each other, or Blue and her sanctimonious looks, or Robin and his snarky comments and not-so-merry men.

But when she walks in on a group of them sitting around the big table in the hall, playing dice and drinking and laughing, she feels a pang somewhere deep inside.

Because of course they didn’t invite her.

Snow looks up, and Regina can’t tell if she’s feeling guilty or if her smile is always that bright. “Regina! Come join us?”

“Oh, no.” Regina is already backing away. She can see Grumpy glowering at her, Robin frowning, one of his men—John, she thinks—giving her a calm, assessing look. She’s not going to inflict her company on them. She’s not going to sit there awkwardly while they all chat and laugh, at a loss of what to say. She never knows what to say. And she doesn’t want to talk to them anyway. “No, thank you.”

She’s sick of the castle, and everyone in it. She needs to get out—away from the looks and the chatter and the constant reminders that she doesn’t belong. She never belongs. Snow is somehow already fast friends with Robin and his people, just like she’s always friends with everyone. It’s like a kind of magic that Regina can’t access.

She’d blame the villain thing, but Hook managed to befriend them all to the point where Snow and Charming miss him, at least a little. And it’s not that she’s never been invited, either.

No, it’s something about her, specifically. The thought makes her gut twist.

She shakes the feeling off as she strides down the hallway towards the castle entrance. It doesn’t matter. She’s not here to make friends. She doesn’t need friends. What she needs is to get the hell out of this castle.

Her instinct is to head for the stables, but she doesn’t have a horse here. She doesn’t have a horse at all anymore. Her gut twists again as she thinks of Rocinante. Another death—another murder—and for what?

She shakes that thought off, too. So she can’t go for a ride, fine. She can walk. Out in the forest, where it’s quiet, where she can be alone.

She has reached the yard when there are footsteps behind her, and a man calls, “Hey! Your Majesty! Regina!”

She turns. It’s Robin, of course, and he’s frowning at her again. ”Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she snaps.

He raises his eyebrows. “Clearly.”

“Since when do you care?” she challenges.

He stares at her. Then he sighs. “Frankly, I don’t know why I bother. Where are you going?”

“That’s my business,” Regina informs him.

As usual, her unfriendly tone has no noticeable effect on him. “It’s not safe to wander off alone.”

“Thanks for the concern,” she says acidly, “but I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re leaving the castle, at least take someone with you,” Robin insists.

“That would defeat the purpose,” she mutters.

“Why? What are you up to?”

The suspicion makes her hackles rise. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She hasn’t done anything except help, in fact. Not that anyone seems to notice. “Nothing. I just want two minutes without someone accusing me of being up to something, or… Look, it’s not like anyone’s even going to miss me, so if you’ll excuse me…” She sweeps past him.

At least, that’s the idea. The effect is ruined when he pivots on his heel and falls into step beside her, and his longer legs mean that she can’t shake him off without breaking into a run. Damn him.

“Maybe they would if you gave them a chance,” Robin says. “Why do you push everyone away all the time?”

“I don’t,” she snarls. “I don’t need to. They stay away all on their own.”

“And you’ve never wondered why that might be?” he asks mildly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands.

He shrugs. “It means that if you don’t like being alone, you could try being nice.”

She bites back the diatribe about all the times that she tried and it bit her in the ass. “I’m plenty nice,” she bites out, glaring at him.

“Yeah, I can you’re just overflowing with warmth and friendliness,” Robin says drily. “Why wouldn’t anyone want you around?”

To her utter horror, she can feel tears pricking at her eyes. To cover it, she hisses, “Exactly. So I won’t make you endure it.”

And then she calls up her magic—the magic she can access, the magic she has mastered—and whisks herself away into the forest. Long legs or not, he can’t follow that.

Somehow, it doesn’t make her feel any better.

* * *

As the Serena Hawk sails on, Emma finds herself at loose ends once again. Killian is all but an honourary crew member now, and Henry has learned that there are cats aboard the ship, so between trying to befriend them and hanging out with Jim, he has plenty to keep him busy. Which leaves Emma as the only person aboard with nothing to do—other than tidy the cabin and work out, neither of which are activities that take up much of her day.

But she’s the wife of a Navy officer. She can have a little ship expertise. And she did okay helping Lynch during their escape from Blackbeard.

With that in mind, she goes to talk to Carswell.

She finds him hunkered on the deck, discussing something with Janssen who, she has learned, is the ship’s carpenter. Killian is standing nearby, offering the occasional opinion in between his own work.

“Mr. Carswell?” she asks, and the quartermaster turns and looks up at her.

“No, no, none of that. Call me Wes.” He flashes a smile. “Please.”

It’s hard not to glance over at Killian then, given the flirtatious tone of the request, but Emma just smiles back. “All right. Wes. I wanted to ask you something—”

He sits back on his haunches, lifting a hand to shade his eyes against the sunlight. “Ask away, milady.”

“Is there anything I can do? To help? I just feel useless sitting around all day.”

“I thought that’s what fine ladies do.”

She scoffs. “I’m not a lady.” It’s out before she can think better of it, before she can remember who she’s supposed to be. “I’m a lady-in-waiting,” she goes on, recovering. “I’m used to—chores.”

She really hopes he doesn’t ask her what they are.

“Fair enough.” He raises his eyebrows. “Actually, you might be able to give Lynch a hand. Literally. Not a lot he can do at the moment, with the arm and all, but he knows what to do.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Just…” He leans forward a little, dramatically conspiratorial. “Don’t mind him if he tries to put on the charm. Don’t believe a word of it.”

Janssen bursts out laughing. “Yeah, ‘cause she should take advice about that from you.”

“Aye, she should,” Wes says with a grin and a wink aimed at Emma. Beside him, Janssen is shaking his head at her with a grimace.

Emma laughs. “I’ll be careful.”

Lynch, to her slight relief, does not put on the charm. He’s perhaps a few years older than her, a stout, bearded, slightly hawk-nosed man with a straightforward, easy-going manner. He’s the ship’s cook—as well as an expert sailor, as he assures her, but it’s his cooking skills that he’s most concerned about.

“If we don’t do it,” he says mock-grimly, “Aileen or Janssen might, and then we’ll be in for it.”

So Emma once again finds herself fishing off the side of the boat, and gutting fish under Lynch’s direction. It’s nice to have a job to do, even if she’s not the biggest fan of fish. For the first time since she came aboard the Hawk, she doesn’t feel like she’s in the way as she sits on deck while everyone goes about their own tasks.

Killian is nearby, working in the rigging with Janssen. Emma is busy trying to keep her eyes away from him, so she’s staring out at the sea when the ship dips and she catches sight of something out there. A dark, triangular shape is breaking through the surface of the water, not very far from the ship. Even as Emma watches, another two show up nearby.

“Lynch,” she says, trying not to betray the way her heart is suddenly pounding. “Is that—sharks?”

“Hmm?” He looks over, thoroughly unconcerned. “Oh, no. Dolphins.”

“Dolphins?” Emma all but scrambles over to the railing. Another dark fin cuts through the water, then another, but Lynch is right: they aren’t the sharp triangle she remembers from Jaws. Moments later, she catches sight of a sleek grey body emerging from the waves, a fine mist of water as the dolphin exhales. There are at least five of them, moving smoothly through the water as if they’re part of the waves.

“Hey, kid!” she calls over to where Henry is crouched with Jim. “Look! Dolphins!”

Henry scrambles to his feet and takes one hurried step before he seems to remember the “no running” rule, and walks as fast as he can to the railing.

The dolphins have come closer by the time Henry reaches her. One breaks through the water and leaps, and Henry lets out a yelp. “Look!”

Emma feels a smile stretch across her own face. She has never seen dolphins in person before. “I didn’t think they came so close.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lynch says, his tone far less impressed. “They’ll do that. They like the waves we make—and the company.”

As if to illustrate his words, another dolphin leaps out of the water, half-turning as it does to splash back into the waves. “Mom!” Henry exclaims. “Did you see that?”

“I saw it, kid,” she assures him.

“They’re saying hello,” comes Killian’s voice from beside her as he joins them. He’s breathing hard from working, his eyes bright, and somehow he seems larger than life in that moment. He has left his coat in the cabin, and while his shirt is so loose that it shouldn’t show off his physique, the way the fabric drapes over his arms is very distracting. Not to mention the way he never buttons the damn thing properly, and the glint of the necklace he wars keeps drawing her eye down to his chest.

He goes on, “And probably hoping you’ll share your catch.”

He’s looking at Emma as he says that last, but she’s lost. Is he calling himself a catch? But he doesn’t look like he normally does when he spouts innuendo at her. “What?”

“The fish,” he clarifies.

“Oh.” That’s right, she’s been fishing. “Yeah, well,” she rallies. “I don’t share.”

He grins at her. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“But what if they’re hungry?” Henry asks.

“They can catch their own fish, trust me,” Lynch assures him. “This lot just wants to play and show off.”

Killian gets back to work, and Emma reluctantly turns her attention back to hers, but Henry stays at the railing, cheering when a dolphin leaps from the water and shouting reports about their antics. When they fall behind, he’s disappointed, but sits down nearby and starts peppering them with questions about dolphins. Emma is almost no help, but for once, she’s almost glad of it, because Killian is. And when he’s answering her kid’s questions, she’s got the perfect excuse to look over at him.

It’s all kinds of appealing, too, him going on about dolphin behaviour while hauling on ropes, muscles flexing under that shirt of his.

Not that she’ll ever, ever, admit that.

“Why’s it called a school?” Henry asks.

Killian lifts his eyebrows. “Where else would they learn how to be dolphins?”

Emma tries her best not to laugh; Henry groans, though he’s smiling. “No, really.”

“I’ve no idea,” Killian says. “It’s simply the term people use. Like a murder of crows, or a gaggle of geese.”

“Oh.” Henry makes a face, presumably at the idiosyncracies of the English language, and falls silent. For a while, the only sound is the wind and the ocean, the creaks of the ship and the now-familiar crackling sound that the ropes make as they stretch, and the occasional comment from Lynch.

After a while, Henry says, “Hey, Killian.”

Killian twists around to look at him. “Hmm?”

Henry is barely holding back a smirk. “Why did everyone forgive the dolphin when he did something wrong?”

Killian looks confused for the briefest moment, before catching on. “Enlighten me.”

Henry’s smirk becomes a full-blown grin. “’Cause he didn’t do it on porpoise!”

Killian rolls his eyes with a good-natured groan as Henry bursts into delighted laughter. Lynch and Emma chuckle, and Henry looks around at them all, so proud of himself for his dumb joke. Emma exchanges a look with Killian, sharing a moment of amused pride.

The silent understanding flares between them, that connection that seems to keep happening where they’re somehow on the same wavelength.

It’s the kind of moment she would—and arguably should—have with Neal. Except Neal would say something, some wisecrack about how Henry gets his terrible sense of humour from her, or how they need to work on his jokes.

Killian just shakes his head, chuckling, and says, “Well played, lad.”

Henry beams with pride. Killian turns back to his work, and so does Emma, silently berating herself. She shouldn’t be comparing him to Neal at all. And she’s not, not really.

It’s just making it clearer to her why those moments with Neal always made her want to pull back, to break that connection before it could break her. The impulse is there with Killian too—it’s there with everyone—but it feels different. It’s habit, not instinct.

Maybe the problem isn’t just with her after all.

Mentally shaking her head at herself, Emma pushes the thoughts away and stabs her knife into a fish.

Gutting the fish they caught is a gross job, but she doesn’t mind. Life at sea, she has found, requires you to change or leave behind any ideas of “gross”. There’s no shower, no mirror, and very little privacy. Her hair is a lost cause; she has braided it back to keep it out of the way and under control in the wind, and she’s doing her best not to think about it. Or how she probably looks in general.

She spent enough time living rough that it doesn’t bother her—or at least, it shouldn’t. It’s familiar. It doesn’t matter.

But she can’t help feeling a little self-conscious at times, especially when Killian’s around.

Which is ridiculous.

If a little grime puts a guy off, she reminds herself firmly, he isn’t worth it anyway.

Besides, since when does she care whether Killian is put off or not?

Since Neverland, a little honest voice at the back of her mind answers.

She scowls at it.

Across the deck, Wes breaks into song. The crew does that on occasion, singing to keep the rhythm as they work on the sails, or simply because they want to. It’s something Emma never thought about; without radios or mp3 players, the only way to have music is to make it yourself.

The one Wes is now belting out is a rowdy song about a young man and his drunken adventures. Various other crew members join in the chorus—and this time, for the first time, that includes Killian.

Emma does her best to take it in stride. He certainly does, still focused on his work as he sings along almost off-handedly. She had no idea he could sing, but he carries the tune well.

He’s got a nice voice for it, too.

For the first time in a long time, Emma wishes that her mother were here. No, not her mother; Mary Margaret, her friend. The first woman Emma met who she could actually talk about boys with—not that she herself did much talking, about anything, but she could have.

Because she would really like to talk to someone about this. This man who explains things to her kid and makes dumb dad jokes and gives up his ship for her and sings drinking songs with a voice like that.

She probably still wouldn’t talk to Snow about it if she were here. But she can’t help wishing that she could.

Wes is still singing; the young man in the song has made his way to the bedroom window of a nobleman’s daughter, and there’s a punchline about her father wondering about the size of his daughter’s boots. Henry wrinkles his nose as Lynch whistles and some of the others laugh. “Why did she get bigger boots?”

“Ah.” Killian abandons the chorus and smirks conspiratorially. “Because they aren’t her boots, they’re the young man’s. But her father is blissfully unaware that he’s in the room with her, you see.”

Emma’s first thought is that things like this are surely lost on a kid Henry’s age; her second is that she should probably have stopped Killian from explaining it.

But Henry’s eyebrows rise, and he says “oh” in a way that makes her realise it’s too late to try and preserve his innocence. He might not know exactly what the young man in the song is up to, but he clearly knows it’s more than just a sleepover.

Regina is not going to be happy. Learning about dolphins is well and good, but learning about this… oh, boy.

Then again, maybe Henry simply recognises the insinuations from everyone’s comments and looks back in Storybrooke. It’s not like Regina herself is exactly blameless in that regard. Maybe she shouldn’t have made so many damn comments about Emma and Killian.

Serves her right.

Wes finishes the song with a flourish, catching Emma’s eye as he does. He grins, winks—and begins another song, which prompts Lynch to bark out a laugh as he recognises it. The cheerful tune belies the words, which tell the story of the prettiest girl in the village who stole and then broke the singer’s heart.

And Wes is singing it to her. That much is obvious, from the way he keeps grinning at her in between pining looks. Emma tries and fails to fight back a blush. Of all the dumb, ridiculous…

Lynch takes the cue—or maybe the challenge—and throws a little drama into his performance as well, batting his eyelashes at her. Even Inga, keeping the rhythm by tapping her foot on the deck, sends her a few dramatically lovelorn looks in between bouts of laughter.

Once Killian realises what’s happening, he gives an amused little laugh—and joins in.

It’s embarrassing. It’s like being in a damn Disney movie. But they’re joking, and having fun with it, and it’s… nice. Even with Killian, there’s none of the lingering heaviness she might have expected during a song about unrequited love. No, he seems to be treating the whole thing as a joke, playing up the drama, and enjoying himself.

And that makes it easier for Emma to give in to the part of herself that isn’t embarrassed, the part of herself that likes having a bunch of people sing to her. Maybe it’s the fairytale part, the one she usually tries to suppress or ignore, idealistic and even romantic and everything life has taught her not to be.

But she’s in fairytale land now, quite literally. And she’s not Emma Swan. She’s a lady from the royal court, who is probably used to this kind of thing.

So she laughs, and shoots Wes and Killian wry looks that make them grin, and blows Inga a kiss that has everyone cheering, and enjoys the moment.

* * *

She has to go belowdecks a little while later to help Lynch cook the fish they caught. It tastes better than she expected, and she takes her own lunch back up on deck, along with portions for Henry and Killian.

Henry takes his food and wanders back over to Jim, who begins telling him a wild story about the time he and the others escaped from the Navy.

“Don’t take it personally, love,” Killian says with an amused smile, glancing over at the two boys. “I gather the lad has always loved fairytales.”

Emma laughs. “Smugglers escaping from the Navy? You’ve got a weird idea of fairytales.”

“It’s close enough,” Killian assures her. “It seems that Jim has yet to learn the difference between embellishment and lie.”

“Oh, there’s a difference?” Emma asks, smirking.

He levels a look at her that says that he knows she knows. Chuckling, she asks, “You think he’s making it up?”

“Of course he’s making it up,” Killian says. “A group of smugglers, taking out a Navy boarding party and then running? Impossible. What he could get away with is a story about a bumbling lieutenant who failed to find their hidden compartments, and was persuaded to let them go. What likely happened...” It’s his turn to smirk. “I’d wager that a bribe blinded the lieutenant to said compartments, and both parties went on their way satisfied.”

Emma has to laugh. It sounds about right, and she’s spent enough time around Neal and others like him that she knows that’s exactly how these things go. “Doesn’t sound nearly as impressive, though.”

“No, indeed. One of many reasons not to become a smuggler.” He winks.

“Might have to tell that to Henry,” Emma says wryly. “He sure seems impressed.”

Killian grimaces theatrically. “Well, if he considers it as a career, we might have to set him straight. If he comes out of this with the ambition to become a smuggler, Regina might murder me.”

“Or me,” Emma says. Then she considers it. “Or both of us.”

“I thought she might be inclined to blame me, but thinking about it, you might be right,” Killian agrees. “Best to avoid it. Perhaps I ought to tell him some stories of my Navy days, chasing down foolish smugglers.”

She smiles at that. “Is that what you did?”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “Not often, but I can spin a better tale than our young friend.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Emma bites back a request for a real story from his Navy days. He rarely even mentions that part of his past, and asking him about it feels personal in a way she should probably avoid. Yes, she’s asked him before, but that was when she didn’t know him as well. Back when they were simply tentative allies. Now…

She’s been trying not to think about it. About him. But it’s hard not to when she’s lying in her hammock and can hear him breathing a few feet away. It’s a little pathetic, actually, just how much of her thoughts he takes up. They aren’t even spending all that much time together at the moment. It just feels like she’s constantly seeing new sides to him.

Or rather, frustrating little glimpses of those sides that have her curious for more.

“I think he’s a bad influence,” she says wryly, trying to get her own thoughts off that track and back to the conversation. “Henry can’t wait to get back to the others so he can tell them all about our dramatic escape from pirates.”

Killian makes a face. “Dramatic indeed. Some stories need no embellishment, I suppose.”

“I think I prefer it when the stories are made-up,” she says. “That whole based on real events thing isn’t so great when the real events are happening to you.”

“Aye.” Killian gives a rueful shake of his head. “It isn’t nearly as fun from this side, I must say.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

It’s not until he smiles back at her that she realises he did it on purpose this time, bringing up his past. Not his Navy past—that, he’s still close-mouthed about—but his past as a pirate. That’s something he’s been doing more and more, and she has wondered why. She can’t help thinking that it’s a test, to see how she reacts. To make sure that she knows who he is.

No trickery.

She swallows. But she can’t help seizing the opportunity. “So that’s what you did, huh?”

“Aye.” He makes a face as he reconsiders. “Well. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I was better at it.”

She rolls her eyes at the ego display, but smiles. “Right. Of course.”

He shoots her a smug grin. “I have the gold to prove it, love.”

“Uh-huh.” She returns the smirk and settles back against the railing. “So, tell me how to be a better pirate than Blackbeard.”

“I never went after smugglers, for starters,” he says. “Bloody stupid, trying to run down vessels made for outrunning the Navy.”

“Makes sense. So who did you go after?”

“Merchant ships, mostly,” he says. “Those flying Navy colours.”

She arches her eyebrows. “Isn’t that riskier, attacking ships that are under Navy protection?”

“Oh, aye.” His grin widens as he warms to the topic. “But that was the point. To hit the king where it hurts—his royal coffers. Riskier, aye, but also far more rewarding.”

Emma can just imagine him in a tavern somewhere, impressing some girl with tales of his exploits. She isn’t that girl—she refuses—but she can’t resist asking, “And what about the Navy?”

“Oh, we tangled with them a few times, too.” He says it with a defiant sort of pride. “And sent them running.”

She smiles. “And how much of that is... embellishment?”

He shakes his head. “Embellishing is for when you’re trying to impress someone, love, and I know better than to try and impress you.”

“Really,” she says, with a tone and expression that should tell him exactly how much she believes that.

He grins again. “Well, perhaps not. But I know better than to try and do it with lies.”

Because she’d see through them. And, she suspects, because it would be dishonourable, but he isn’t big on admitting that. “Good,” she says, refusing to dwell on why exactly it’s good. “So… how many?”

He looks startled. “What?”

“How many ships?” she asks. There’s a challenge in her voice, and she knows it. But she feels like he challenged her first, by bringing up his past. So she meets his gaze, calm and curious, and waits to see if he’ll answer.

He does. “Thirty-four in all,” he says evenly. “Three of them Navy ships.”

Emma has no point of reference, but thirty-four ships sounds like a lot. And she doesn’t want to ask, but the question comes out anyway. “Did you sink them all?”

He shakes his head. “We sank two of the Navy ships and left the other derelict. I don’t know what became of her.”

There’s no apology or regret as he says it, but it inches onto his face afterwards, much as he tries to stay stoic. Emma has no point of reference for this either, but the numbers seem odd. “What happened?” she asks, playing a hunch. “After the second one?”

She catches the surprise flashing across his face at that; a rueful smile follows. “I realised that the men on those ships were men like me—men who thought they were serving a noble cause. Men who had no real choice but to be there.” He shrugs casually. “They hardly deserved to die for that.”

“Ah.” Emma has no idea what to say; he’s right, of course, but now her mind has snagged on no real choice. Together with other comments he’s let slip, it makes her wonder how exactly he wound up in the Navy in the first place.

She’s starting to understand why he rarely talks about his past in detail. She thought it was out of shame or a reluctance to admit to or revisit his crimes, but that’s not it. He doesn’t shy away from that. But there’s a lot of pain hidden behind those easy words, that determined smile.

He’s so open about everything else that it’s a bit puzzling. He’s not a man who’s scared of how he feels, nor of admitting it, but this… this is different somehow.

She understands all too well that the past can be painful; her own is hardly a picnic. It’s just never stopped her from talking about it.

She’s not really sure, now she thinks of it, why that is.

“I was hell-bent on vengeance, for my brother,” Killian goes on. “It’s not an excuse, of course, but that’s what drove me at first. I lost sight of things for a while. Or rather, I simply didn’t think it all through.”

Emma nods. That much, she understands. Killian is smart as a whip, but she knows how aggressively single-minded he gets when he’s riled up.

“And as I said before,” he goes on, in a light tone that tells her he’s determined not to let this conversation get too heavy, “a pirate crew demands treasure. So all things considered… we focused on taking merchant ships. I won’t pretend no one ever got hurt, but it was never the object. We took their cargo, not their lives. Of course,” he grins, and it’s only a little too bright and determined, “that had the added bonus that they were alive to talk about me.”

“Which I’m guessing they did,” she says, smiling back.

He gives a thoroughly unconvincing humble shrug. “They did indeed.”

“So you get a reputation,” Emma says, nodding, “which makes the next time easier, because if people are scared of you, it’s easier to convince them to surrender?”

“That’s about it, aye.” His grin is more genuine now. “You were right about having it in you. You’d make a good pirate captain.”

“Thanks,” she says drily, “but I think I’ll leave that to you.”

* * *

As the crew settles in to the new routine after the attack, Emma finds that Wes has discovered a new hobby: flirting with her. Mostly, it takes the form of teasing and elaborate courtly compliments—or at least, his idea of courtly compliments. Emma has a suspicion that the gentlemen at court aren’t supposed to be this forward, and from the way Wes smirks, he knows it too.

Thankfully, Emma has plenty of experience with keeping guys like him at a distance, and she’s never shy of an answer. Spending so much time with Killian has really helped to hone her wits, and it’s fun, shutting Wes down and getting laughs from the rest of the crew while she does it.

And to her mild surprise, Killian shows no sign of jealousy.

A few days into the voyage, Emma is ambling along the deck when she catches sight of Killian and Wes, standing on a clear few metres of the deck. Both have their cutlasses out, and as Emma watches, they clash into a bind, but their movements are slow and telegraphed.

“No,” she hears Killian say as she approaches, “you use the short edge, turn it into the—” He breaks off and looks at Emma. “Emma! Just the woman we need.”

She eyes him warily. “Oh, yeah?”

“Aye, you remember the trick for levering your opponent’s sword from his hand?”

She nods, still wary. “Is that what you guys are doing?”

“Trying to do,” Wes says ruefully. “I can’t get my head around it.”

“If you have a moment,” Killian says, “would you mind helping me demonstrate?”

Emma agrees, feeling unaccountably proud of herself at being good enough at this to show it to someone else. Killian runs through the move with her a couple of times, before pairing her off with Wes and having him do it, with Killian watching and correcting his stance.

“Thanks,” Wes says when he’s finally got the hang of the move, sending Emma’s blade skittering across the deck. He winks at her when she has retrieved it. “If you want me to show you a few moves, you know, return the favour...”

Emma winks back. “How about you show Hook, and I’ll watch you guys and make sure you’re doing it right?”

Killian bursts out laughing. So does Wes, shaking his head dramatically, and that’s the end of that.

“You’re hell on the ego, milady,” he says, still chuckling.

Killian pats him on the shoulder in feigned commiseration. “You get used to it.”

As Wes heads off to talk to the captain, Emma hands Killian back the blade. He takes it, and then he grins and nudges her shoulder with his arm. “It appears you have another admirer, love.”

She makes a face; Wes is a charmer, and she knows exactly what he means by all his little grins and comments. “I wouldn’t call it that—and what do you mean another one?”

He frowns as if it should be obvious. “In addition to me.”

Her heart gives a frankly stupid little flutter at that, and she laughs to try and cover the equally stupid smile that wants to spread across her face. “Oh come on, that’s—”

But she cuts herself off, because what is it? Different?

It is, and she knows it—Killian can be every bit as charming as Wes, but it’s not a fling he’s after, and there’s a hell of a lot more depth to the way his eyes linger on her. But knowing that and saying it are two very different things.

“Ridiculous,” she finishes. “He’s just—that’s just how he is, I think.”

“Oh, aye,” Killian agrees, and it occurs to her that she kind of just said exactly what she didn’t mean to say. “You’ll find that with sailors. Perhaps I should have warned you.”

Emma laughs again. “You’ll find that with men. Trust me, I don’t need to be warned.”

He inclines his head, still looking amused. “A fair point.”

She notices movement at the corner of her eye, and looks over to catch Ria looking right back. The captain is still talking to Wes, and she makes no acknowledgement, simply keeps talking to her quartermaster like she didn’t see anything.

But it makes guilt flare inside Emma. Guilt, and the heavy, hot feeling of being caught that she’s all too familiar with.

Ridiculous. She wasn’t doing anything. They were just talking. That’s allowed.

She ignores the little voice pointing out that she’s been telling herself that awful lot lately.

* * *

The forest isn’t as comforting as Regina hoped. It’s the best she can get, given the circumstances, and it’s good to get away from the castle. She was right about that.

And she was right about nobody missing her, too. Nobody asks her where she went when she makes her way back.

She goes again the next day, and she can already see it becoming a new habit, her daily—or almost-daily--escape.

The problem is that it leaves her with nothing but her own thoughts for company. And she keeps coming across things that make her think of Henry. A deer running across a clearing in the distance. A rabbit burrow. A cave. A fallen tree that looks perfect for climbing.

Henry would love it here, and her heart aches with the thought. She’d give anything to have him here. She’d even let him explore that gross-looking cave if he wanted.

She’s sitting on the fallen tree, staring at the endless leaves and branches and undergrowth, when she hears a twig snap. One, then another, and another. Something, or someone, is approaching, and not being very careful to avoid notice.

Regina gets to her feet, gathering magic to her.

Moments later, she lets it go again, because there’s more rustling and a figure comes into view. A small figure, movements clumsy, eyes wide under a mop of dark curls.

“Roland,” she says, and the boy starts and almost falls as he comes to a stop.

There’s no more noise. So he’s alone. That can’t be good.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks, keeping her voice as light and friendly as she can, and flashing a smile for good measure.

Roland just stares at her, and she knows she has to be careful. She’s never really interacted with the boy before, so he barely knows her. The look he’s giving her is a mixture of fear and irrepressible curiosity.

“Did you come all the way out here by yourself?” she asks. “Are you running away?”

Roland shakes his head, sending his curls flying. “There’s a rabbit,” he says. “I wanna see the rabbits.”

The ‘r’ sound gives him a little trouble. It’s kind of adorable. In fact, he’s adorable all around, with those curls and big dark eyes and the dimples that flash when he smiles.

He got those from his father.

Regina pushes away the thoughts of Robin’s dimples and feigns thought. There’s no way Roland is out here alone with Robin’s blessing, or indeed his knowledge. She needs to get him back home. “I see. You know, I’m pretty sure I saw a rabbit’s burrow earlier. Do you want me to show you?”

Roland’s eyes grow wider.

“Come on,” she says, holding out a hand as she takes a step towards him. “I’ll show you.”

Roland still looks unsure. “Papa says I can’t go with strangers.”

“And your papa is right,” she says. “But you know me, don’t you? I’m a friend of your papa’s.”

She’s stretching the definition of “friend” to breaking point with that; she’s pretty sure that Robin doesn’t like her, and their relationship is more like “mutual tolerance for the sake of the cause”. But Roland is all of five. There’s no way he’s noticed that.

“And you know my name, right?”

“Regina,” Roland says, with a nod and another one of those half-mangled r’s.

“That’s right.” She gives him another encouraging smile. “So we’re friends, too. Come on, I’ll show you where the rabbits live.”

She can’t help noticing as she says it that this is exactly the kind of thing she’s warned Henry about. Stranger danger. Don’t ever go with anyone unless you know them. It’s the kind of thing an Evil Queen would do, lure children to come with her under false pretences. It’s the kind of thing she has done, come to think of it.

But Roland really shouldn’t be out here alone, and there’s no one else around. Her only other option is to just grab him and return him to his father, and that would terrify him.

Luckily, Roland nods. “Okay.”

He takes her hand as she reaches him, and she begins leading him back towards the castle, keeping up a steady stream of talk as she does. She tells him about the rabbits, asks him what other animals he likes, and whether he’s seen the birds nesting in the stables. Within moments, Roland is chattering away happily, and she has a moment of pity for Robin. His son is clearly the kind of kid who will just forget all the warnings as soon as he sees something interesting, or gets an idea in his head.

They haven’t quite made it to the road yet when she hears a voice. A familiar voice: loud, male, and strained with worry. “Roland!”

Roland comes to a stop, eyes widening again. “Uh oh.”

Regina tightens her hold on his hand a bit, just in case. “That’s your papa, isn’t it? I think we’d better tell him where we are.”

Roland looks reluctant, but Regina says, “We don’t want him getting lost, right?”

That clearly hasn’t occurred to him. He nods.

Regina draws breath, and shouts. “Robin? Over here!”

Robin is rather louder than his son as he comes crashing through the undergrowth, breathless and pale, eyes wide. “Roland--bloody hell.”

He falls to his knees before his son and snatches him into a hug. “Where the hell were you?”

“Papa!” Roland complains, little arms pushing at Robin’s shoulders. “Let go.”

“Not bloody likely,” Robin says, letting out a deep breath. Then he looks up at Regina. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She’s immediately on the defensive, casting around for the right words to justify herself, to explain. She feels like that a lot around him. She doesn’t know how he does it, but she hates it. “I was just out—for a walk. And Roland showed up. Alone. I figured he probably wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Definitely not.” Robin gets to his feet, still holding onto Roland.

“Papa!” Roland squirms. “Let me down!”

“What did I tell you about going into the forest alone?” Robin asks, his voice taking on a stern tone that Regina knows well.

Roland shakes his head, lips pressed together. “Down!”

Robin is unmoved. “I’ll let you down, but you hold onto my hand, and not one word out of you.”

“But I wanna see the rabbits!”

“Then you should have asked someone to go with you,” Robin says. “No wandering off alone, you know that. Come on.”

Roland’s lips quiver, but he seems to know that tone, because he doesn’t try to argue any more. He lags slightly behind his father as they walk, steps dragging, but Robin says nothing, just keeps a tight hold of the boy’s hand.

“Thank you,” Robin says, turning back to Regina. “I swear he was right there, and I turned my back and he was gone. I don’t know how he does it.”

“I’m pretty sure kids have some kind of magic like that,” Regina says, a wry smile coming to her face before she can stop it. “It gets better when they get older.”

Robin raises his eyebrows. “You have a son, don’t you? Snow mentioned as much.”

“Snow needs to learn to mind her own business.” She snaps the words as the mention of Henry brings pain boiling back up.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Robin says, a note of impatience in his voice, “she mentioned it to try and explain your behaviour.”

Regina feels her eyebrows rise. “My behaviour?”

“This,” Robin says, gesturing at her. “The rudeness. The way you snap at everyone all the time. The things they all make allowances for, not that you seem to notice.”

“I am not—” But she is, and she knows it. She’s being rude to him right now, snapping at him for asking a simple question.

What does he mean, making allowances? No one ever makes allowances for her. They just make demands.

“No?” Robin says, still sounding a little impatient. “You reckon they all treat you the way you treat them?”

That gives her pause, and she hates it. Because he’s got a point, and that’s even worse.

“Of course not,” Regina says, doing her best to sound disdainful. “They’re far too good for that.”

As clapbacks go, it’s pathetic, and she knows it. Good isn’t an insult, in fact if anything she’s just called herself out for not being good.

Well, big newsflash there.

For a moment, they walk in silence, Regina trying to think of a better retort, Robin giving nothing away.

Then he says, “I don’t know what happened, but I gather it’s a painful subject. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

He apologises like it’s nothing, like it costs him nothing. After all the times they’ve butted heads, all the glares, that comes as a real surprise. She’s so surprised that she almost forgets that it really is a painful subject.

She doesn’t know how to respond, so she just keeps walking in silence. Robin is silent, too. After a minute or two, she can’t take it anymore.

“He’s in another realm.” She swallows, and shrugs. “I’m his adoptive mother. He wasn’t born here. He’s—when the curse brought us all back here, it left him behind. He’s with his birth mother now. Emma.”

“Snow and David’s daughter,” Robin says, nodding as the pieces fall together. “I didn’t know—that sounds complicated.”

She smiles again, like her heart isn’t broken. It’s a well-practiced smile, and she hates it. “We were figuring it out.”

“Right.” He hesitates for longer this time. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” It’s not all right, but the last thing she wants is this man’s sympathy. Or anyone’s, for that matter.

She hopes he’ll drop the subject, but he doesn’t seem to be done yet. “What’s his name?”

She smiles despite herself. “Henry.”

“A good name,” Robin says, nodding.

“He ran away a lot,” she says, to get them back on track. And then, more quietly, “From me.”

She has no idea why she says it. She doesn’t know why she’s talking about this at all, except that he’s asking, and listening, and it’s not like she can say anything to lower his opinion of her. It’s weirdly freeing.

“Ah.” Robin doesn’t look like he understands, exactly, but there’s no judgment in his eyes either. “Roland doesn’t run away, really. He just gets these ideas in his head, and it’s so exciting that he forgets about the danger. And the situation being what it is...” He trails off.

“You have to be a little stricter,” she says, nodding. She can’t judge anyone for being strict with their kids. She was, with Henry—too much so, probably. Or at least for the wrong reasons. “Sometimes it’s hard to keep them safe.”

“Yeah.” Robin smiles at her—an actual smile, not one of the sarcastic smirks she usually gets. “I’m very glad you found him. Thank you.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, she manages something halfway between a nod and a shrug. “Of course.”

He’s still looking at her, so she arches an eyebrow. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. You’re just something of an enigma, that’s all.”

She doesn’t like the sound of that. Enigmas are things to be figured out, and she does not want this man to try and figure her out. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just having a hard time reconciling this woman with the Evil Queen,” he says. A hint of a smirk tugs at his mouth. “Or with the woman who yells at me every time I make a suggestion.”

“I don’t yell at you.”

He laughs. “No? What do you call it?”

She huffs. “You started it last time.”

“I don’t think I did,” he says with a smug grin.

“See, that right there,” she says, pointing, “that’s what I mean by starting it. You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re haughty and conceited,” he shoots back. He’s still grinning.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks acidly.

“Yes, actually,” he admits, and he doesn’t look abashed or the least bit sorry. “It isn’t often I get to tell a member of the aristocracy exactly what I think of them.”

“You could tell Snow. She’s a lot more forgiving than I am.”

“Yes, she’s very gracious. I like her a lot. And I have in fact told her so.”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed and at the same time feeling strangely… light. “Of course you did.”

They bicker until they get back to the castle, because Robin has an answer for everything and Regina can’t let that stand, and it takes her until they get there to figure out what the odd feeling in her chest is.

When she does, she scowls harder than ever, especially when Robin leaves with a cheery wave that’s not quite insouciant enough to prove.

She’s stuck in Misthaven, without Henry, without her things, with Snow and Charming and a whole host of do-gooders.

She is not enjoying herself.

* * *

Tag list - I think this is everyone who’s actually interested in this fic and asked to be tagged, but let me know if you want to be added or taken off! @optomisticgirl @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @spartanguard @winterbaby89 @kday426 @sals86 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @scientificapricot

#cs ff #cs au #ouat ff #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fic #fic: given the choice #oh boy it's been a while huh #is this thing on??#hi!

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scripted-downfall · 3 months

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Find the Words Tag Game

tagged by: @typicalopposite

rules: find your given words in your WIPs and post a snippet containing the words, then tag others with their own sets of words :)

my words: hurt, try, and leave

hurt: Running 'Cross That Stage - Stranger Things, Steddie

“I thought I was dreaming, at first. Hallucinating or some shit.” He looked at Steve, and it hurt slightly to see the wide mistiness in his eyes. (And yet it healed something too because at least they were his again, and not dull, glassy, and empty.) “Or, uh, going crazy, maybe. Wouldn’t have far to go on that front.” Barely a pause before moving on. “Then, by the time I realised you weren’t a hallucination… you were already too far gone. And, uh. It wasn’t exactly easy to catch up.” He half-gestured, the hand at his side lifting enough to show his horribly mauled and only half-assedly bandaged body, and Steve immediately felt like a piece of shit for his earlier feeling of betrayal. Eddie didn’t seem to notice; if he had, he moved on without comment. “You, uh… you wouldn’t happen to have any water on you, would you? O– or food?”

try: Life Is a Storm - Once Upon a Time, Captain Swan

“Nope!” It was bad practice, Will couldn’t help but think, to have a cheeky answer be so quiet and subdued, but not even his desire to irk the man paying his bills — okay, maybe that wasn’t so intelligent, but it was damned fun — could overcome his fear of the fact that one of Rumplestiltskin’s guards might happen across them, which meant that quiet was a necessity. “I generally try to avoid learning lessons. It ruins the fun.”

leave:

The bad news was that, just as Jiang Cheng was about to extricate himself from the entire situation and leave before anything threatened his peaceful — well… relatively, at any rate — mental state, Nie HuaiSang decided to call out a merry, “Wei-xiong!” and wave frantically enough that, even sleep-dulled, Wei WuXian looked over immediately.

These really aren't that angsty, my friend!! But here ya go and thanks for the ask :)

And I'll tag @witchy-writer-lady, @exhaustedpirate, and anyone else who wants to participate with the words: smile, cold, hunt! No pressure, but it'd be cool to see what y'all have :)

#tag game #find the word tag #stranger things fic #steddie fic #ouat fic #captain swan fic #untamed fic #mdzs fic #wangxian fic

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heart-of-darkness-writer · 1 year

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Accept Me Ch 1.

Summary:

After a drunk driver hits his car, Killian Jones' life changes forever. Confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, he struggles to accept the life he now has to live. Until Emma Swan enters the picture, that is.

Words: 3.2k

Rating: M

Read on: AO3 or FF.net

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #emma x killian #cs fanfic #ouat #ouat ff #once upon a time #modern au #disability #captain swan fic #cs fic

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middlemistcs13 · 1 year

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“The Strep Situation”

Another CS one-shot! This was not based off of a prompt but instead based on myself and strep and the unfortunate location of my steroid shot. (Yes, I am Emma. Yes, I have strep even though my roommate told me that 3 days ago before I went to the doctor).

On AO3 if that’s your thing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45559738

I appreciate any and all feedback! Words: 1.2K

*WARNING: some curse words; story beneath the cut!

“Stop laughing- this is not funny.”

“Actually, it’s quite humorous love.”

“Getting two shots in the ass is not funny! They hurt like hell.” Emma said, frustration and discomfort in her actual butt cheeks lingering around her.

“Swan, I told you to go to the doctor several days ago.” Killian pointed out.

“Getting checked out three days ago would still have ended with two shots in my ass. Not my arms, like a normal place for a shot- but in my ass.” Emma grumbled.

“I suppose you’re right. Did you at least get any medications to help your ailments?” Killian questioned his wife.

“I have to go pick them up from the pharmacy in a little bit, but I have an antibiotic and something else I can’t remember. I just hope it helps my ears and the awful earaches. Plus one shot was a steroid shot, and one was an antibiotic. The guy said something about the shots helping to heal me quicker, so we’ll see” Emma explained, finally making her way into their house past the foyer.

“What did they call your illness again? Is it quite common here?” Killian asked, still trying to hide his amusement as his wife was walking towards the kitchen with a strange gait to attempt to ease her discomfort.

“It’s strep throat, The bacteria that causes it is called strepto-something another. They just shorten it to strep. It’s pretty common, and I’ve had it a few times before. A few times I had it as a kid, and a few times I’ve had it as an adult. If kids get it a lot then they usually remove the kid’s tonsils, but there was no money for a foster kid like me to get my tonsils removed.” Emma explained, grabbing two soft ice packs out of the freezer and waddling to the couch in the living room. She plopped herself on her stomach on the couch and arranged the ice packs over each injection site. Killian came over and sat down on the floor next to her head.

“I am sorry your arse is sore, love. But, I am glad you got some medications so you can feel more like yourself soon.”

“Have I been making you miserable the last few days, Captain?” Emma smirked.

“Of course not, you couldn’t do anything to make me miserable. But you’ve been plenty miserable yourself due to this strep throat.” Killian said.

“I’ve been fine!” Emma argued.

“The sore throat? The swollen tonsil- touching your uvula!? The earaches in both ears? The cough? The lightheadedness earlier while eating a small orange?” Killian said, with a raised eyebrow. At that point, Emma knew his argument had won out.

“Alright alright, I guess, I have been pretty miserable, and they are clementines, not ‘small oranges’. Henry has already been over this with you,” Emma commented while running her fingers through Killian’s hair. He smiled softly at her before turning his head and kissing Emma’s wrist. “I can’t believe you actually looked up throat and mouth anatomy to convince me to go to the doctor,” Emma said, secretly very impressed with her pirate.

“Anything to convince you that your ailment was quite real,” Killian commented.

“I have head colds like this all the time, the earaches are the only thing really bothering me, and apparently my ears are ‘very clean’ so they aren’t even infected. They just hurt from the strep and I guess swelling and just lingering infection? I don’t know how ears work.” Emma rambled.

“Your cough has also been keeping you up at night,” Killian added.

“Wait a minute- you said that you had been sleeping fine and hadn’t heard me!” Emma said, catching her husband in his lie.

“I was being polite my love, I’m sure Henry woke up from you coughing the last few nights. I could have heard you if I was on the Jolly!” Killian joked with her. He earned himself a smack across the shoulder and a bewildered look from his wife. Just as Emma smacked Killian’s shoulder, the side door in the mudroom opened and Henry came into the house.

“Hey Killian, hey Mom. Are you feeling any better?” Henry greeted his parents.

“Killian tricked me into going to the doctor’s office,” Emma grumbled.

“It wasn’t a trick Mom, you’ve been sick for like a week!” Henry said, exasperated with his mother’s antics.

“It has not been that long!” Emma argued.

“Lad, have you heard your mother coughing at all the last few evenings?” Killian asked, interrupting Emma with an amused smile on his face.

“Oh yeah. One time I came to your door because I thought you were choking.” Henry said, coming into the living room and situating himself in the recliner facing Emma and Killian.

“Okay that is being a bit dramatic mister,” Emma said with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Maybe just a bit.” Henry laughed. “Why are there ice packs on your backside?”

“It’s my ass Henry, you can just say it. And I had to get two shots when I was forced into going to the doctor’s office.” Emma explained, with a pointed look at her husband.

“Mom, the only curse word I’m allowed to say is ‘hell’, and that is only over here. I can’t say that at my Mom’s house, she would flip out.” Henry said.

“Regina needs to chill. You’ve been to actual hell and back, kidnapped by your evil great-grandfather, saved us all from self-imploding in the author’s twisted world, and single-handedly made a group of New York citizens believe in magic to get literally half of our family back from The Land of Untold Stories. I think you’re mature enough to say a few cuss words.” Emma sighed.

“We’ve had a hell of a last few years,” Henry said with a smirk, causing Killian to bark out a laugh and Emma to chuckle so hard the ice packs moved from where she placed them.

“That was an excellent use of your single curse word, Lad!” Killian finally choked out through laughs. Emma nodded her head in agreement and smiled proudly at her son.

“Proud of you kid,” Emma said, fixing her icepacks because her ass was still sore. Numb, but still sore. “We sure have been through the wringer, huh?”

“Yeah, but I’m glad we are where we are. I like our family and everything crazy about Storybrooke.” Henry said with a smile.

“Me too kid”. Emma added with a soft smile at her boys.

“Henry, have you ever had this ‘strep throat’ your mother has?” Killian asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Yeah, I had it a bunch when I was little, so eventually Mom had Whale take out my tonsils so I don’t get it anymore,” Henry explained.

“What do we want to bet Killian gets strep in a few days?” Emma asked Henry.

“I bet a week’s worth of trash duty that Killian doesn’t get strep. He is literally never sick. It must be from his extensive history,” Henry joked with his stepdad.

“It’s called experience lad, and as I must remind your mother often, I have still retained my youthful glow,” Killian defended himself.

“You’re on kid.” Emma agreed, ignoring her husband. “If Killian gets strep in the next week, then you have to do your regular trash duty and do the dishes for the week.”

“Deal!” Henry exclaimed, before picking up his book on the coffee table and starting to read where he left off.

------------- cs -------------

Henry was not so happy four days later when Killian had switched spots with Emma on the couch, ice packs on his ass, and antibiotics on the table to treat a diagnosis of strep throat.

“Don’t worry babe, at least I can sympathize with your pain and discomfort and we can be on the same antibiotic schedule!” Emma commented in an effort to console a very grumpy- and sore- Killian Jones.

----------------------

Thanks for reading! Hope you all enjoyed!

#captain swan #captain swan fic #cs fanfic #domesticcs #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #henry mills #middlemistcs13fic

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seriouslyhooked · 2 years

Text

The Best Bad Idea (Part 3)

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Part One Here. Part Two Here. Story available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Well… it took more than a year, but at last I am back with an update to this story. I have to be honest, there were times in the last year when I doubted I would ever write a fic again. I felt that I had written the stories I wanted, and with my graduation and a new demanding job, I couldn’t find time to sustain the hobby. But with summer fast approaching, I have had a little time to look back and to search for inspiration. I knew I needed to finish this short story. I HATE that I have left it this long, but I hope, if you’ve liked it so far, you’ll reengage and revel in the conclusion of this sweet little fic. Re-reading the first two chapters, I remembered the mix of humor and pure fluff I was going for. It made me smile so big, and if part three does that for any of you, I will be more than pleased. Thank you so much for continuing on, and I hope you enjoy!

Six months later

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, Thump. Unsteady, loud, and reminding him at every quiet moment of how much he was missing his Swan. This was the state of his heart since rising this morning, leaving the bed he shared with the woman he loved and clutching at cold sheets.

The action of waking up alone, while regrettable, hadn’t been the issue that set his cardiac system into full blown assault. Much as he hated to be parted from Emma, it was a somewhat natural occurrence. They weren’t always blessed with aligning shifts. Still, she had the day off today, and he’d imagined the morning going rather differently…

Facing the start of a new dawn with Emma in his arms made the hours to come more than bearable, and though it may mean fatigue down the line, he always began the day just as he ended it, reminding her of how remarkable she was. He’d start with soft touches, taking her in and tracing the lines of her lithe figure. His eyes swept over every part of her, from her golden hair to sun kissed skin and the freckles on her arms that became more prominent with warmer weather. At first, he’d always forget that this was now normal. He had to remind himself that she was real, and his process of remembering meant using all his senses, brushing kisses on her skin as she slowly came awake.

Every time Emma woke up smiling, the goodness in her heart radiating as she did. To see her happy was the best part of his life, and the only other thing that came close was the feeling he had of worthiness when she finally met his gaze. Her love was open and true, never shy and never guarded. Despite the pain of all she’d known as a child and beyond, in spite of scars he’d borne for years and tried to hide from others, they found new meaning together and the world felt as it should. Love would turn to lust, and lust to soulful fire. Soon touch was not enough to sustain either of them. To convince himself this was more than a night’s blessed dreaming, he’d go further: tasting her, marking her, claiming her.

Memories of what had been many times, but what alluded him today merged with the beating of his heart, pulling him out of the delicious remembrance and grounding him in longing once again.

I can’t wait anymore. I simply won’t survive it.

His eyes moved instinctively to his watch, and again he was downcast at the time displayed. The hours were creeping far too slowly. It felt like the shift would never end, and he was barely halfway through. To add insult to injury, he’d been plenty occupied the past few hours. Killian and his team had worked rounds this morning, seen numerous patients, and performed a number of consults. He’d helped David in the ER with one demanding emergency already, and started a complicated surgery of his own while waiting for Locksley to take over on the pediatric case. This would normally give the sensation of the day flying by. But not today. Not when he was so fixated on something he had to wait for.

Of course, while he was actively working, Killian was mostly fine. Maybe Killian wasn’t fully himself, but routine came easy to him, and he remained alert in the ways the job demanded. Medicine required him to be clear headed, task oriented, and to consider all outcomes no matter what plagued him. Lives were on the line, and he took that responsibility seriously. It was an honor to serve others as he did, and he had a legacy of loss to thank for that. Saving others in ways his own family and dear friends couldn’t be saved had always been his drive. But now, the beating of his heart drummed for different reasons.

I’ve got to ask her. I know that she loves me, but what if she’s not ready? What if I push too soon? What if…

“Let me guess, woman withdrawal.”

The assertion came from beside him, and though it took him by surprise, Killian didn’t flinch. Years of active duty and trauma fieldwork had steeled his senses. Thankfully the particular damages of war were behind him, but chaos was his calling. Or rather, seeing people through the chaos. Trauma surgery filled the gaps and made something from nothing. It was about stemming the tides of terror and giving people a fighting shot when time was of the essence. Some days it felt futile, fighting against a world that took just as much as it gave. But most of the time it grounded him. Every life he saved touched countless others and, he hoped, made up for some that he’d had to take over the years.

The voice that deemed it necessary to tease him was also deeply familiar, and it prompted no fear or agitation. At least nothing more than mild annoyance. Will Scarlet stepped into Killian’s peripheral view. They’d known each other since first enlisting years ago, had served together and trained with the naval medicine unit for a substantial block of time. When Killian came to America months back, it made sense that his best mate would join him. They neither of them had anything tying them to the land that once was home. Family connections had long since passed, and loss bonded the two men well before warfare. Now though, they were moving beyond that, retired with honors and on to new chapters. Killian was running his unit and putting down roots, and Will was doing the same as Mist Haven’s new head of ICU.

When he finally acknowledged his friend with a look, Killian had to bite back an audible scoff at the sight before him. Will’s white coat was thrown on him haphazardly and slightly askew, rumpled and creased, and baring the feint outlines of a few dirty footprints varying in size. In some ways it wasn’t surprising. There was just something about Will. He was a brilliant doctor, a fierce and loyal friend, but he tended to look like he’d just been caught in a windstorm. If he were a betting man, however, Killian would give his last dollar to the cause of the current disarray – one Belle French, a friend of Emma’s, and Will’s… well, that remained to be defined at last recount.

“I’m not that bad,” Killian replied, but his heart wasn’t in it. His irritability wasn’t helped by the responding laugh from his friend.

“Right. Let’s just pretend you haven’t made that ridiculous claim, which can only be called a blatant and reprehensible falsehood.”

“Blatant and reprehensible?” Killian asked. “What is this a court martial?”

“Hardly. It’s a friendly intervention. Seems reasonable since you’re scowling and staring into space in the middle of the hallway. Honestly, you need to stop sulking, mate. Whatever’s wrong with Emma -,”

“Nothing is wrong with Emma,” Killian quipped. “She’s perfect.”

“Of course she is,” Will said, this time smiling in a sign of true affection for Killian’s choice of love. “Let me rephrase. Whatever you’ve mucked up, you’ve got to get a handle on it. Find it, fix it, and let it go.”

The phrase would be seen as benign to many, but spoke to their time in the navy. In that world, speed was essential, and so was definitive response. From their earliest moments in uniform, they’d been trained to find the problem, treat the issue and ship it off to others. It was a stop and go kind of life, never fully engaging, designed to disconnect. But the motto still worked with other things, like self-doubt and overthinking. He appreciated Will’s efforts, but it still felt all for naught.

“It’s not about what I’ve done. It’s what I want to do.”

“Should I sit down for this? Seriously, mate, I’ve never seen you in such a state. What could possibly be that bad?”

Wordlessly, Killian pulled a small black box from his scrubs pocket. His eyes stayed glued to the tiny parcel as he handed it to Will. His friend opened the clasp and let out a low whistle. Killian knew what he was seeing: a large cut diamond in a delicate shade of yellow sitting on a white gold band. Like sun turned to stone, and flanked with smaller diamonds, it was the one ring Killian found that he knew was most like Emma. He couldn’t look at it without envisioning it on her finger and the need to obtain her acceptance was all he could think about.

“You know I love you, Jones, but I just don’t see myself settling for your cranky arse long term.”

The jest prompted its intended reaction. Killian laughed as he shoved his friend, stealing back the box. The ring had been close at hand for a few weeks now, despite the risk. It had cost more than many would ever dream of paying, and deserved proper protection, but he couldn’t run the risk of missing the right moment. He dreamed of the life he and Emma would have together, and as soon as he was able, he intended to propose.

“I hate to make light of your clear distress, but as far as an explanation, this is still rather lacking. I fail to see the problem.”

“It’s fast. Some would say too fast.”

“Rubbish.” Will shook his head, completely rejecting that logic. “Who gives a damn what anyone else has to say. What do you say?”

“She’s it,” Killian admitted. “She’s everything.”

“Aye. That’s clear to anyone with eyes and half a lick of sense. Meanwhile, it’s just as clear that Emma is in this with you, mate. The hearts and roses and general bliss are a shared experience. So again, I ask you, what’s the hold up?”

“I can’t lose her, Will!” Killian didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he caught himself and remembered where they were, close enough to others walking up and down the corridor to be overheard. He straightened his stance and tried to reign it in, lowering his tone. “If I’m wrong – if I push too soon -,’

“Paging Dr. Jones for a code 20 – 12. Dr. Jones for a 20 – 12.”

“Was that…?” Will trailed off, looking to the speaker for clarity.

“Emma,” Killian replied. Before her name had passed his lips, his head pivoted towards the nurse’s station. There was no denying it was his Swan, and the pages always came from the nurses. Had she heard him? Was she here? He was panicked and elated all at once.

The Trauma wing’s nurse manager on shift, Anna, smiled sweetly. It was clear as day she’d anticipated his frantic search, but to his dismay she shook her head. At the same moment his phone buzzed. His hands shook as he reached for the device. Blast it all, he was a schoolboy at the prospect of his Swan. But damn if he cared. The grin on his face, despite the unknown, was undeniable, and his heart continued its staccato symphony as he read a text from the woman he loved.

‘You know where to find me, xo’

“Scarlet -,”

“I’ll hold down the fort, mate.” Will offered the assist preemptively, failing to hide his mirth at the prospect. “You’ve got a woman to propose to.”

“Did he say propose?” one of the aids on the floor asked, but Killian didn’t bother with a reply. He was speeding down the hallway, pushing through the doors and into the depths of the hospital.

He made record time winding through the maze that was this building. Past the ORs and offices, other specialties and more, he made it to the great hall. He still had a ways to go, crossing through the sea of people and taking stairs two at a time. Eventually he was at the nursery, but he only spared the newborn babes a glance before soldiering on. His destination was familiar at this point, but it was also a strange suggestion. Their little oasis would no doubt be crowded at this hour with children and their families making use of the day’s soft light. No matter. Killian was hell bent on seeing his Emma, no matter the audience.

Rounding the corner to the final stretch, Killian noticed the lack of people in the hallway. Curious. Definitely curious. The closer he got the stranger it became. There was no one here, and only the quiet hum of machines and monitors. No children laughing, no babies crying. It made him stop and think. Was there an issue? An alarm of some kind?

When the windows came into view, the door that would lead to Emma bore a paper sign. The closer he got, the clearer it read. ‘Temporarily Closed.’ Beneath it, in a child’s handwriting was something unrelated. ‘Magical moment happening. Do Not Disturb!!’ The bright color crayon and questionable spelling only stopped him for a moment, then he looked outside and his heart stop. For there was Emma. And she was… simply a marvel.

Time seemed suspended as he slipped outside, the feint clicking of the door echoed out behind him. The sounds of the city came through at once, but all he saw was Emma. Wearing a red dress, with her hair down and curled, she was a vision, the same vision she’d made for on their first date. It nearly stole his breath, and certainly stole his sanity to see her like this. In seconds he was on her, taking her hand, holding her close.

“Emma,” he said, the pain of the morning released as he held her close. “God how I’ve missed you.”

Her laughter filled his entire being with warmth, the subtle gravel of the tone washing over him. It swirled in time with the light in her eyes and the humor at her lips, giving him hope in ways only she could.

“I missed you too, but I kind of had a lot to do.”

His brow furrowed, and only when she gestured at the space around them did he take it in. Hundreds of paper flowers were positively everywhere. Some were hanging from tasteful strings, fluttering in the breeze. Others wound up the benches and swings and slides. Most looked familiar. They were gifts he’d given her every day they’d been together. Some days he made only one, some days many more, but he always found a way to bring her flowers, knowing how much she loved them. Unbelievably, for each of the hundreds he’d made for Emma these past six months, there was one perfectly matching pair, and no flower stood alone. He knew in that moment she had made them, and they were all for him.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s a kind of crazy story,” she murmured, drawing his eyes back to her beautiful face. “Once upon a time there was a girl. She’d been… let’s say disappointed by life and by love.”

Instinctively his hold on Emma tightened. He hated the burdens of her past. Growing up alone as she did, having to fight so hard to survive. She was a miracle made real, and she’d become that way despite the odds. If he could take away everything that had ever hurt her he would. God above, he would. But she always reminded him that things happened for a reason, and the roads they’d traveled, both rocky and hard, had led to this, the two of them, together. He continued to listen to her heartfelt plea.

“In fact, her missing those things set the girl on a very particular path, fixing the hearts of people in need, with a lot science and a little love. She was alone a long time, and even when she found friends and success, she often wondered if her heart would really beat in time with someone else.” She brought his hand above her chest and she brought hers to his. Sure enough, the rhythm was identical. “And then one day, she saw him and the whole world stopped. Her heartbeat skipped and on that day, she knew. She knew she would love him forever. She knew she’d found what she’d been looking for.”

“I knew too, Emma,” he promised, running his hand along her cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft curve of her lips. “From the first moments, I knew you were the most precious jewel the world over.”

Emma smiled, radiating the joy that he felt. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but this was not the product of heartache. Instead it was possibility and promise that couldn’t be contained.

“Some people might call it a bad idea, these two hearts choosing each other. They may think the story not so smart. It might get messy. They worked together after all, and there’s always risk when letting someone in.” Killian let out a displeased grunt and his mouth hardened a bit. Unwilling to let that linger, Emma kissed him again, bringing in goodness, and calming the storm. “Those people would be wrong, Killian. So totally and completely wrong. We’re not a bad idea. We’re good and we’re certain, and the thing is, this story? It’s only just begun.

“The past six months have been the best of my life, and every day I fall deeper and deeper in love with you,” she said, pulling back slightly to reach for one flower in particular. The petals were a delicate cream, etched in his favorite shade of gold. It matched the shine of her hair and the flecks of gold in her jade eyes, and there, in her delicate script was the question he’d been desperate to ask her: Will you marry me?

“I know it’s fast. I know it’s crazy. But sometimes, when you know you know, and I have never known something to be more true. We’re two imperfect people, but our world combined is perfect. You make it perfect. You and your thoughtful, caring, sinfully sexy tendencies. So, Killian Jones, would you-,”

Before she could finish the statement, he took back some control, tasting her and taking her in a way that completely abandoned the setting of this moment. He wanted to show her just how proud he was to claim her heart, to leave no room for questions. For as she loved him, so too did he love her. For always and so much more beyond that.

“That wasn’t exactly a yes,” Emma said minutes later when they pulled back, her eyes dazed with a look of passion, and her lips tender from his expression of love. He chuckled, taking one more small taste before stepping back.

“Forgive me, love. My answer should be plain enough to see, but I find I can’t speak those words without being slightly selfish first. You see, I’ve been waiting an awful long time to ask you that very question, and I’d be remiss to miss the moment.”

With one swift motion he dropped down to one knee and pulled out the ring he carried with him. The shock in her eyes was clear, and then the tears at long last fell. He barely had his proposal out before she said those perfect words: ‘Yes, Killian. Yes, I will marry you.”

“Thank God for that.” In a moment the ring was on her finger and his woman was back in his arms. This time though, their kiss was cut short by the sounds of an opened door, the shuffle of many feet, and some unexpected commentary.

“Nurse Ruby, is that the handsome prince? Mommy said there would be a prince,” a little girl asked. Killian looked over to the glass doors and felt when Emma did the same. Her gasp gave away his feelings. For it turned out they had an audience and there were dozens of people filtering in. Many of the faces belonged to their friends, but there were also a half a dozen little ones from this floor sharing the magic as well.

“It sure is, honey. And you know what happens next?”

“They live happily ever after?” the girl asked.

“Aye,” Killian said, loud enough for all to hear, but with only eyes for Emma. “They live happily ever after.”

Post-Note: So there we have it! I know it is a bit shorter than the other two chapters, but I just wanted to wrap this up with the cuteness and love I thought this story deserved. The world is a crazy place, and life has been hectic, but it meant the world to me to find this peace again even for a few short hours. Writing this fic this afternoon and returning to this pairing was like coming home in many ways. This has always been an outlet for me to be hopeful and grateful and in touch with the joy that does exist in my life and beyond. It has also reminded me that I have many friends who made my time writing for CS so beautiful. I miss you all. I hope you’re well. I’ll try to stay a bit more present this summer, but just remember you are appreciated and wonderful and epic. Thanks to all of you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day! xE

Just tagging a few people I know were reading this story and always showed such support: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs ff #cs fluff #cs au #cs doctor au #emma swan #killian jones #ouat ff #ouat fluff #bad idea au #the best bad idea

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jrob64 · 1 year

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Blow Me Away (A CS Modern AU One-shot)

Happy birthday @apiratewhopines! It’s a week late, but I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you to all of you who have already shown interest in this story.

After having a discussion with Beth about what it would be like to see Killian Jones as a glassblower in a hot shop, I was determined to write a story about it for her. It includes a short guest appearance by one of her favorite characters, Marco, and something else at the end that she always loves for me to write. Oh, and see if you can recognize the quotes from my favorite CS scene ever!

Please forgive any errors in describing the glassblowing tools and process. Like Emma, all I know about it comes from YouTube videos and the Netflix competition show Blown Away. If you have an interest in glassblowing, I highly recommend watching that show!

Special thanks to @cs-rylie for her encouragement and help with plotting, and to the lovely @hookedmom, who cleaned up my messes as usual.

Story Summary: For her birthday, Emma Swan's friends give her lessons for glassblowing, something she has always wanted to do. Once she meets her instructor, Killian Jones, both of them feel the heat from more than just the furnaces in the hot shop.

Rating: M (for smut)

Words: 12,929

Also accessible on ffn and Ao3

*********

“Happy birthday, Emma!” Elsa, Ruby and Ashley shouted, then broke into the birthday song as Mary Margaret brought the cake in from the kitchen.

Emma Swan smiled broadly at her small group of friends, trying to convey her appreciation to each one of them. Growing up, she rarely had friends. Being in the foster care system meant she lived a transient life, not giving her many opportunities to develop close relationships. Now, at twenty-eight, she was finally putting down roots in the scenic little town of Storybrooke, Maine.

Her best friend Mary Margaret Blanchard brought Emma to her hometown after they both graduated from a culinary academy in Boston. Soon after settling there, Emma and Mary Margaret made their dream of owning a bakery together a reality, naming it Fairytale Confections. Emma handled the duties of working the counter, custom designing the cakes and decorating them, while Mary Margaret took the orders and did the baking. Since neither of them were interested in taking care of the accounting, they hired Mary Margaret’s friend, Elsa Arendelle, who also did the finances for her aunt’s ice cream shop, Any Given Sundae, located beside the bakery.

Mary Margaret introduced Emma to her other childhood friends, Ashley Boyd and Ruby Lucas, too. The group of friends welcomed Emma into their circle with open arms. Ashley was the housekeeper for the only hotel in Storybrooke, owned by Ruby’s grandmother. Granny also owned the town diner where Ruby worked as a waitress. When the bakery opened, she convinced Granny to buy baked goods for the diner from her friends.

It took Emma a while to get used to being part of a close-knit group, but after more than five years, she was very comfortable in their midst. The surprise birthday party was at Elsa’s house and it warmed Emma’s heart to see how much planning they put into it. A large, hand painted banner that stretched across the archway between the kitchen and living room announced ‘Happy 28th Birthday, Emma!’, streamers and balloons hung from the ceiling, and Emma’s favorite Rocky Road ice cream, bought from the ice cream shop, waited in the freezer. The birthday cake had been secretly baked by Mary Margaret and resembled Emma’s beloved yellow Volkswagen.

“You guys didn’t have to do all of this,” Emma declared, as she had done every year they gave her a party, though secretly she loved each one. The only other birthday party she’d ever had before coming to Storybrooke was at one of her foster homes when the mother’s birthday was two days after Emma’s, so they had a party for both of them at the same time.

“Of course we did!” Mary Margaret chirped as Ruby lit the candles on the cake. “You deserve special treatment on your birthday. Now, make a wish and blow out the candles.”

Emma swept her eyes around her group of friends, lingering on each of them for a few moments. She could feel herself getting a little emotional and was relieved when they all started inciting her to hurry.

“We’re not getting any younger here,” Ashley teased.

“Blow them out already!” Ruby chimed in, while Mary Margaret encouraged, “Close your eyes and make a wish.”

Emma smiled so hard, her face began to ache. “I don’t think I need to wish for anything,” she said.

“Sure you do,” Ruby grinned. “You need a big, hunky, stud of a man in your life!”

Emma folded her arms and fixed her with a glare. “I do NOT need a man. I’m perfectly happy without one.”

“Happy, but unsatisfied,” Ruby remarked, her grin growing even wider.

“You two can argue later,” Elsa interjected. “The candles are going to melt all over the cake if you don’t blow them out soon.”

Emma nodded, closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and extinguished all but three of the twenty-eight candles with one blow. Her friends clapped and cheered as she blew out the remaining candles and straightened up, beaming at them.

Ashley retrieved the ice cream from the freezer and began scooping it out onto the Autumn themed cake plates, while Mary Margaret cut the cake into generous pieces and added them to the plates. The tight circle of friends talked and laughed, enjoying the cake and ice cream at the small dining room table. They expounded on Ruby’s suggestion to wish for a hunky man by naming off the list of single men in Storybrooke.

Emma accepted it all good-naturedly until Mary Margaret mentioned Leroy, the grumpy town handyman. “Really? How desperate do you think I am?” she groaned.

“He seems gruff, but he’s just a big, old softy,” Mary Margaret said.

“Not gonna happen,” Emma assured her emphatically, while her friends laughed.

When they finished eating, Emma sat back in her chair, rubbing her belly and licking the last of the yellow icing off of her lips. “That was delicious, Marg,” she praised, using her favorite nickname for her friend. “And Sarah’s Rocky Road is always the best, Els.”

“I know,” Elsa sighed. “Having easy access to ice cream is nice, but it’s also very fattening.” She patted her jean clad thighs for emphasis.

“Oh, like you need to worry about that,” Ashley scoffed. “I’m still trying to get the last ten pounds of baby weight off and Alexandra is almost four months old.”

“You look great. We can’t even tell you had a baby,” Elsa said, while Emma, Mary Margaret and Ruby nodded their agreement.

“Tell my stretch marks that,” Ashley groaned.

“Time for presents!” Mary Margaret redirected, rising from her seat.

“Actually, it’s just a present,” Ruby corrected. “We all went together and got you one big gift.”

Mary Margaret set a small box wrapped in orange paper with a yellow bow in front of Emma, then sat back down and clasped her hands in anticipation. “Oh, I really hope you like it!”

Emma picked it up, surprised at how light it felt, and pulled the bow off the top. “I’m sure I will.” Carefully removing the shiny, foil paper, she found a white box that looked like it could contain a necktie. Upon lifting the lid, she discovered a plain white envelope. “Did you guys give me a million dollars?” she joked, taking the envelope out of the box and beginning to lift the flap.

“In your dreams,” Ruby smirked.

Emma laughed as she finished opening the envelope and drew out the gift certificate tucked inside. Reading it, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

“Do you like it?” Elsa asked anxiously.

“You…you bought me glassblowing lessons?” Emma managed to ask through her shock and surprise.

“Yeah, Marg went online and found a guy in Portland who offers them at his glass shop,” Ashley explained.

“I know you’ve always been interested in it,” Mary Margaret added.

“And you’re like, obsessed with that Blown Away show on Netflix,” Ruby threw in.

“So, do you like it?” Elsa asked again.

“Are you kidding? I LOVE it!” Emma exclaimed.

Ruby pointed to the corner of the certificate. “We paid for ten lessons. By that time, you should be an expert and will be making glass sculptures like Dale Chihuly!”

Emma gaped at her. “I didn’t even realize you knew who he is or the name of the show!”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ll start giving me credit for paying attention to my friend’s interests now,” Ruby snarked.

Giving her the side-eye, Emma said, “I thought you only paid attention to my interest in men.”

“Now you know I’m not one-dimensional,” Ruby shot back good-naturedly.

“All you have to do,” Elsa broke in, “is call the number on the certificate to set up the lessons. The instructor’s name is Killian Jones.”

“Killian? That’s an unusual name,” Emma commented.

“I know, right?” Ashley said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with that name.”

“He sounds hot,” Ruby smirked.

“Of course he’s hot. He blows glass in a hot shop around furnaces all day,” Emma snickered.

Ruby clicked her tongue. “You know what I mean, Emma Swan. He’ll probably be shirtless and glistening with sweat…”

“Please don’t turn this gift into one of your perverted fantasies,” Mary Margaret chastised.

“The man named his shop ‘Blow Me Away’. It literally has blow me in the name. Besides, it’s not my fantasy, it’s Emma’s,” Ruby pointed out.

Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s definitely not mine. I don’t care what the instructor looks like, I’m just really excited to get started with these lessons!”

*********

Bright and early Monday morning, Emma put a call through to Killian Jones. She was prepared to set up her first lesson, but was not prepared for the deep, accented voice on the other end of the phone.

“Blow Me Away, Killian Jones at your service.”

Emma gulped. “E-excuse me?” she stuttered, then facepalmed as she remembered ‘Blow Me Away’ was the name of the glass shop. “Uh…I mean…hi. My name is Emma Swan and um, my…my friends gave me glassblowing lessons for my birthday and I just called to, um…I wanted to…”

“To schedule those lessons, lass?” Killian asked, his voice tinged with humor.

She blew out a frustrated breath. “Yeah. Sorry about that, I just…I wasn’t expecting you to be British.”

He chuckled. “I do hope that isn’t a problem.”

“Oh, no. Not at all,” she assured him.

“That’s good to know, Ms. Swan.”

“Miss,” she spat out quickly, then amended herself, “I mean, Emma. You can call me Emma.”

“Very well, Emma. Now, when were you thinking about beginning your lessons?”

The way her name sounded rolling off his tongue rendered her momentarily tongue-tied again. “Uh…wh-when is a good time for you?”

“I’m here every day, so it’s really your schedule we should work around. Do you live in Portland?”

“No, I live in a little town called Storybrooke. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“On the contrary, I’ve sailed into the harbor there a few times. It’s a lovely place.”

“It really is. I love it. My friend Mary Margaret and I own a bakery here. She’s the one who found your shop online and ordered the gift certificate for lessons.”

“The next time I go to Storybrooke, I shall have to find your bakery to appease my sweet tooth,” Killian said.

Emma smiled at his vocabulary. The man sounded like he just stepped out of the 1800’s. “You should. It’s called Fairytale Confections and it’s right beside the ice cream shop.”

He groaned, the sound of which caused her stomach to do a little flip. “Ice cream and cake. That’s truly not fair.”

“Sorry,” she laughed. “Anyway, I sort of sidetracked the conversation, Mr. Jones”

“If I’m to call you Emma, please call me Killian.”

“Okay, Killian. As far as the time, I’m free most evenings and all day Sunday when the bakery is closed, but you’re probably not open then.”

“Lesson times are flexible, so I would be more than happy to give them on Sundays, if that works for you.”

“Okay, great!”

“How many lessons were you given?”

“Ten.”

“In that case, would you be amenable to having two lessons a week? Otherwise, they’ll run into the holidays when I’ll be in England for a few weeks to visit my brother and his family.”

“Sure. The bakery closes at two on Wednesdays, so maybe later in the afternoon?”

“Would four o’clock work for you?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “What time on Sunday?”

“You call it, Swan,” he said.

“How about one o’clock, Jones?” she replied cheekily.

There was a pause on the other end before he spoke again. “My apologies, Emma. I’m used to calling my assistants by their last name since three of the four are named Joe, including one who is a woman.”

She laughed lightly. “I was just teasing. I really don’t mind at all.”

“To answer your question, one o’clock on Sunday would be fine. Is this Wednesday too soon to start?”

“No, that’s perfect. I’m very excited to learn the art of glassblowing. It has always intrigued me.”

“Very good. Do you have the address of my shop?”

Emma looked at the paper in front of her again. “Yeah, it’s on the gift certificate. So I guess I’ll see you Wednesday at four.”

“Aye, see you then, lass.”

Emma ended the call and sat looking at her phone with a dreamy smile on her face. She would never admit it, but if his voice was anything to go by, she might have to agree with Ruby’s assessment that he was hot, in more ways than one.

*********

As she drove to Portland Wednesday afternoon, Emma worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She was excited but also nervous, not only about learning something new, but also about meeting the man behind the sexy voice. She had actually dreamed about him the night after their conversation on the phone, as if her subconscious was trying to put a face with the voice that was still echoing in her ears.

Parking her bug in front of the warehouse her GPS declared was her destination, she drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Then she grabbed the gift certificate off the seat, flung her car door open and stepped out.

She approached the building and pulled open the creaky metal door, looking around as she entered, but not seeing Killian Jones. Smiling at the glassblowing equipment spread around the large space, she mentally named things she recognized from watching the Netflix show and numerous YouTube videos.

Turning her attention to several blown glass pieces sitting on a table beside the door, she carefully picked them up one-by-one to study them.

“You must be Emma Swan.”

The words spoken close behind her startled her so much, she almost dropped the beautiful aqua colored bowl she was holding. Letting out a gasp, she quickly set it back on the table and turned around, saying, “Oh, I didn’t know you were…”

Her words trailed off as she got a look at her instructor. Her first thought was that her dream of him didn’t do him justice, and her second was that his looks certainly equaled the sexiness of his voice. He appeared to be about her age, was a few inches taller than her, with dark, disheveled hair, a strong, scruff-covered jaw, piercing blue eyes and a gleaming white smile. His hands grasped both ends of a towel slung around his neck, making his biceps bulge under the sleeves of his tight, white T-shirt, the V-neck allowing her to see dark hair peeking out.

While he waited for her to speak again, he used the end of the towel to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. A few strands of hair flopped down over it once he finished and her hand inadvertently reached forward, intending to brush them away. Suddenly realizing what she was doing, she jerked her hand back and ran it through her own long, blonde hair instead.

He looked at her with his head cocked and a raised eyebrow, his roguish grin convincing her he knew the effect he was having on her. She cleared her throat and said, “Uh, yeah. I’m Emma.” Holding out her hand, she added, “It’s nice to meet you, Killian.”

He took her hand, squeezing it lightly as he shook it. “Likewise. Have you been waiting long?”

“Not at all. I just got here and was admiring your work,” she said, sweeping her arm toward the glass works on the table. “They’re very good.”

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile. “Hopefully, by the end of your lessons, you’ll be able to make some nice pieces, too.”

“That would be great!” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Shall we get started?” he asked.

“Oh, do you need this?” She held out the crumpled gift certificate.

“Aye,” he said, taking the paper, folding it and sticking it in his back pocket. Then he gestured for her to go ahead of him.

“You didn’t check it. Are you just gonna take my word for it that it’s worth ten lessons?” she asked teasingly.

“Well, you haven’t lied to me thus far.”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder and saw the smirk on his face. She was enjoying the banter with him and already felt at ease.

Touching her on the shoulder, he stopped her in front of a large furnace. “How much do you already know about the art of glassblowing, Emma?”

“Well…I’ve watched every season of Blown Away on Netflix and quite a few YouTube videos. Does that count?” she asked, with a hint of embarrassment.

“Of course it does. I’ve watched them myself. Let’s see if you can identify some of the tools of the trade.”

As he led her around the shop, she was able to name many things he pointed out, such as the furnace containing the molten glass, the glory hole, where glass in the process of being blown was reheated, and the annealer, in which glass projects were placed to cool slowly.

He also asked her questions about the process of glassblowing to get an idea of what she knew and didn’t know. She impressed him again when she talked about gathering the glass with a blowpipe, rolling it on the steel marver table and rolling it in ground glass called frit to give it color. In addition, she correctly identified the majority of the tools he had laid out on the bench.

“You obviously know most of the important terms and equipment already, Swan,” he praised when they finished the tour. “Now you just have to actually do some glassblowing yourself. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely!” she answered.

Killian handed her a pair of safety goggles, then he demonstrated the procedure, calling on her to help him from time to time.

“That’s the basic process,” he said when he finished. “How would you like to try it for yourself?”

“Really? You think I could do that already?” She was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet with anticipation.

“Of course, and I’ll be here to guide you. First, choose a color of frit and then I’ll help you do your first gather.”

She went over to the table to look over the color selection and chose green.

“Excellent choice. Go ahead and pick up your blowpipe.”

She did as directed and went to stand beside him in front of the furnace.

“Now, I’m going to open the door and then I’ll help you, okay?” he asked.

Emma nodded and held the pipe the same way he held it during his demonstration. He slid the door to the left a few inches then stood behind her to guide her hands. “Place it on the bottom edge of the door and start turning it clockwise,” he directed. When she did, he put his right hand behind hers on the pipe, helping her slide it into the molten glass. “Keep turning. That’s good. Start pulling it back, but don’t stop turning.”

With him standing so close, she felt heat that she knew was from more than the furnace. Between his looks, his voice, the way he listened to her, and how he made her feel important, he had an unmistakable effect on her.

When she had the blowpipe clear of the furnace, she was excited to see the blob of orange at the end of it. “I did it!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, you did,” he agreed, closing the furnace door. “Now, roll it on the marver and then in the frit.” Reaching around her, he adjusted her hands on the pipe, surrounding her with his presence, though she could tell he was being careful to leave space between their bodies.

He patiently walked her through the entire procedure until she created a perfectly round orb and placed it in the annealer.

“Unfortunately, it takes about four hours for it to cool down completely, so you won’t be able to take it with you today,” he informed her.

“That’s okay. I’ll get it on Sunday when I come back for my next lesson.”

“I’m very happy to hear you’ll be back. I was hoping you would enjoy it enough to want to continue all of your lessons.”

She beamed at him. “It was incredible! I can hardly wait until next time. What will we make on Sunday?”

He grinned at her enthusiasm. “Perhaps you’d like to try making a paperweight or a Christmas tree ornament?”

“Either one sounds good to me!”

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she remarked, “I didn’t realize what time it was. I probably stayed past my allotted lesson time, didn’t I?”

“I don’t set a length of time for my lessons,” he assured her. “I’d rather just go with the flow of it, than to cut it off when we reach a certain point in time. I’ve really enjoyed working with you today, Emma. You catch on very quickly and appear to be a natural.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re a great teacher.”

He rewarded her with one of his smiles that made her feel a bit weak in the knees. “Perhaps it’s both.”

“Well, thank you again, Killian. I’ll see you Sunday.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

She started to walk toward the door, but suddenly thought of something. Turning to face him again she said, “Hey, if you wouldn’t mind, could you take a picture of my project and send it to me once it’s out of the annealer? I want to show my friends that I actually made something today and I’d like to have proof.”

“Of course,” he replied. “Could you put your number into my phone? The one you called to set up the lessons was for the phone in the office.”

He pulled his device out of his back pocket, unlocked it, pulled up his contacts and handed it to her. Once she finished, and handed it back to him, he took a look at it. “Swan, huh?” he smirked.

“I told you I didn’t mind you calling me by my last name. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to confuse me with another Emma.”

He nodded as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Drive safely, Swan.”

Throwing him one more smile, she turned and walked out of the building.

*********

Killian stared at the exit long after Emma left, not really seeing the metal door with the chipped paint, but remembering the lovely woman who just walked through it. After hearing her voice on the phone, he had spent more time than he would like to admit trying to imagine what she looked like, but no image that flitted through his mind the past few days could compare to her actual beauty.

He was glad it took her a while to gather her thoughts when she first laid eyes on him, because his first glimpse of her left him a bit speechless, too. Spending nearly two hours with her only made her more attractive to him. She was witty, easy to talk to, and a fast learner. When he stood close to help guide her, it was very tempting to move even closer, but he restrained himself. He didn’t want to offend her or make her uncomfortable in any way. For all he knew, she could have a boyfriend.

That possibility didn’t keep him from admiring her, though. After she chose the color of frit for her project, he couldn’t help thinking how it would perfectly match her beautiful eyes. He almost told her so, but decided to keep the comment to himself, unsure of how she would accept it. The memory of those eyes sparkling with excitement was going to remain with him in the coming days.

Taking out his phone again, he looked down at her contact info with a smile, thinking about her last statement. He didn’t think there was a chance he would confuse her with any other Emma. She was definitely one-of-a-kind.

He traced his finger over her name on the screen, then locked the phone and stuck it in his pocket, before turning to go back into the shop. He could hardly wait until Sunday.

*********

“How was your first lesson?” Mary Margaret eagerly asked as soon as Emma answered her phone. She had just walked through the door of her small loft apartment and marveled at the innate sense of timing her friend seemed to possess.

“It was great! I loved it, and already learned a lot. I made something, but I had to leave it in the cooling oven, so Killian said he would send a picture of it to me when it comes out. I’ll send it to you once I get it.”

“Okay. Tell me about Killian! He must be a good teacher if you already learned a lot. How old is he? Is he nice? What does he look like? ”

There was a brief silence after she finished asking her questions. “Are you done?” Emma laughed.

“I’m sure I’ll think of more later, but that’s all I have for now,” Mary Margaret replied, humor coloring her voice.

“Okay, let me see. Yes, he’s a very good teacher. He explained everything while he demonstrated the process and then guided me through it when I did it myself. I’m not sure how old he is, but I would estimate him to be around my age. And he is very nice. He put me at ease right away.”

“And…” Mary Margaret prodded.

“And what?” Emma asked innocently.

“Answer the last question.”

“What question was that?”

Mary Margaret heaved a sigh. “Seriously, Emma?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Emma snickered. “He…he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, Marg. Dark hair, scruff, dimples and the bluest eyes you can imagine.”

“So Ruby was right! He is hot!”

“Hot and sexy,” Emma confirmed. “But I really don’t look forward to Ruby finding that out.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “I don’t blame you! She more than likely won’t let you alone until the two of you are married!”

“Oh, god,” Emma groaned. “Maybe she’ll forget I had my first lesson today.”

“Fat chance,” Mary Margaret giggled.

As if to prove her point, Emma’s phone buzzed with a text. Glancing at the screen, she groaned even louder. “Just got a text from her that says ‘How was your lesson with Mr. Hottie?’ How long do you suppose I can ignore it before I answer?”

“If you don’t answer, she’ll be pounding on your door very soon.”

“Ugh, fine. I’ve gotta go. I’ll send you the picture as soon as I get it.”

“Good luck. I’ll be listening for her scream when she finds out Killian is good looking.”

“I think I’ll just tell her he’s old and ugly.”

“You really think that will work?”

“Of course not. She should have been a police detective with her knack for interrogating people and making them confess,” Emma sighed. “Talk to you later, Marg.”

As soon as she ended the call, she responded to Ruby’s text.

E: The lesson was great.

R: Details.

E: I made a green glass ball.

R: More details.

E: It was fun!

R: You’re testing my patience.

E: I learned how to use the glory hole.

R: Glory hole? Now we’re talking. Were you horizontal or vertical at the time?

E: It’s a glassblowing term - an oven where you reheat the glass.

R: Whatever you say. Tell me about Killian.

E: He’s a good teacher.

R: What did he teach you? The Horizontal Mambo?

E: Ruby!

R: Ugh, fine! Is he hot?

E: Well, the furnaces are close to 2000 degrees, so it’s hard not to be hot.

R: If you don’t give me a direct answer Emma Swan, I’m coming over there to drag it out of you!

E: He’s very handsome.

R: I knew it! Did you ask him out?

E: Of course not!

R: But you are seeing him again, right?

E: Did you forget you gave me 10 lessons? I’ll see him at least 9 more times.

R: When is the next one?

E: Sunday afternoon.

R: Then you have a few days to plan how to ask him out.

E: You’re impossible.

R: And you love me for it. (smiley emoji)

E: I don’t know about that, but I do love you, Rubes.

R: I know. I’m adorable.

E: (rolling eyes emoji) I’ll send you a pic of what I made today when Killian sends it to me. It had to cool down so I wasn’t able to bring it home with me.

R: Ooh! He has your phone number and you have his! Finally, a step in the right direction! You now have the ability to send him sexy photos!

E: Ugh! I’ve gotta go, Ruby. Talk to you later.

R: Alright. Go daydream about your man.

*********

When Emma entered the glass shop on Sunday afternoon, she saw Killian sitting on one of the benches, speaking to an older man with a fringe of white hair around his otherwise bald head. Curious, she quickly strode across the concrete floor to where the two men were sitting.

Killian looked up as she approached and stood to greet her. “Hello, Emma. How are you today?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she replied, her eyes flicking over to the other gentleman, who was looking at her with a broad smile and twinkling eyes.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Killian said, leading her over to where the man was now standing. “This is Marco Pinetti. He taught me everything I know about glassblowing. Marco, this is my newest student, Emma Swan.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Swan. Killian has told me about you and your potential to be an excellent glassblower,” Marco said, taking Emma’s hand warmly between both of his.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pinetti,” Emma said sincerely.

“Mr. Pinetti makes me sound like an old man! Please call me Marco.”

She chuckled. “Okay, but only if you call me Emma.”

“Marco stopped in to visit and I asked him to stay to watch your lesson, if you don’t mind,” Killian said.

“That’s fine,” she replied, then turned toward Marco again. “Please just remember this is only my second one.”

Marco patted her on the shoulder. “We all have to begin somewhere, my dear, but from what Killian has told me, you catch on very quickly.”

She glanced at Killian and saw the proud smile on his face. Her face heating from the blush creeping into it, she said, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

As the lesson went along, Killian was just as attentive and helpful as he was the first time. Marco ended up staying for the entire two hours, and by the end, she had a multicolor paperweight and a Christmas ornament cooling in the annealer.

“Do you have any advice for her, Marco?” Killian asked.

The older man scratched at his beard in thought. “Follow your instincts and don’t be afraid of making a mistake. Glass is fragile, yes, but pieces can always be remade. Experiment with it and have fun.”

Killian was nodding his agreement, while Emma soaked in the master glassblower’s words.

“Killian was right - you are a quick study,” Marco went on. “You have a knack for the art and I’m very happy you’re pursuing it.”

“Thank you, Marco,” Emma beamed, while Killian looked at her with pride.

*********

The next month passed in a blur and far too soon, Emma was having her final lesson with Killian. She not only learned a great deal about the techniques of glassblowing, but had gotten to know her instructor much better, too. She really liked him, and was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

It was all she could do to keep her hands off of him during their lessons. There was just something so enticing about watching him manipulate the glass, the muscles of his arms flexing with a light sheen of perspiration covering them. His knowledge, expertise and the easy way he explained things were also attractive qualities to her.

They texted one another daily. At first, it was just about the lessons, but eventually, they began sharing personal information with each other, discovering that they had many common interests.

When her final project, a plate with swirls of color, was put into the annealer, Killian turned to face Emma. “You have been a pleasure to teach, Swan. I’ve never taught anyone with more natural ability.”

Emma dragged the back of her wrist across her forehead to wipe away the sweat, but also to hide her blush at his praise. “Thank you, Killian, but I think it was because of your teaching that I learned so quickly.”

Killian scratched at a spot behind his ear, dropping his eyes to the floor. “It’s also been very nice getting to know you. I’m going to miss our time together.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “but just because my lessons are over, doesn’t mean we can’t still text each other.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” he grinned. “I, uh, I was wondering if you might like to go get something to eat while you’re waiting for the plate to cool. That way, you won’t have to make another trip into Portland to pick it up.”

She answered with a smile. “I’d really like that.”

They spent the next three hours enjoying each other’s company at Killian’s favorite diner on the outskirts of Portland. When Emma finally checked her phone, she couldn’t believe how much time had passed. She usually had trouble carrying on long conversations with most people, but it was easy with Killian.

“I guess we should go back to the shop so I can pick up my project and get on the road,” she said reluctantly.

He drained the last of the water in his glass. “I suppose it is about that time.”

He paid the bill, after insisting it was his treat, and they both got into his SUV. Emma found a radio station playing Christmas music and sang one song after another all the way back to the shop, Killian joining her after the first song. Once they arrived, she collected her project and carefully set it on the floor of the passenger side in her car, tucking a blanket around it, before turning back to him.

“Well, this is it,” she said with a sigh.

“It, uh, it doesn’t have to be,” he said, stepping closer to her. “You’re welcome to come blow glass with me anytime, Swan.”

Emma grinned, thinking about how Ruby would twist his words to become something dirty if she was here. “You’re right. I can always buy more lessons.”

He reached out to take her hands. “You wouldn’t have to buy them. I thoroughly enjoy working with you and I’m telling you the truth when I say you show a lot of talent. Please consider this an open invitation to come here any chance you get.”

“Thanks, I would really like that,” she assured him.

They stood with their hands still linked for several moments, until Killian broke the brief silence. “Emma, I…I would like to see you again…I mean, besides you coming to the shop. Would you be interested in going out with me?”

She answered without hesitation, “Yes, Killian. I would be very interested!”

His grin stretched across his face. “Fantastic! Will Wednesday still work for you?”

“Absolutely! I’ve been sure not to schedule anything on Wednesday evenings, so that will work just fine.”

“Wednesday it is, then,” he said, giving her hands a squeeze. “I know of a place just outside of town that has a drive-through Christmas light display. Perhaps we can take it in after we have dinner together?”

“That sounds perfect. Do you want me to drive over here?”

“No, lass. It would be bad form to make you drive here and back by yourself. Please allow me to pick you up at your place.”

“That’s very gentlemanly of you.”

“I’m always a gentleman.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said softly. “I’ll text you my address.” Pulling her hands out of his, she ran them up his arms to rest on his shoulders. Gazing into his eyes, she saw the same desire she was feeling herself and pushed herself up to her toes to meet his lips with her own.

She felt his quick intake of breath and nearly pulled away, thinking she was being too forward, but in the next second, he responded by sliding his lips against hers. As her arms wrapped around his neck, his encircled her waist and pulled her closer.

Emma didn’t make a habit of kissing men. In her experience, she found most of them to be forceful and controlling with their kisses, not caring if it was enjoyable for her. Killian’s kiss shattered all of her qualms as he let her set the pace, gently caressing her lips instead of crushing them.

He lightly teased the seam of her lips with his tongue and she allowed him entrance. His hands spread across her back, holding her firmly but tenderly, and she sighed with contentment.

Resting her forehead against his when they separated, she licked her lips and smiled. “I hope you didn’t mind me doing that.”

His chuckle rumbled in his throat. “In case you didn’t notice, Love, I most assuredly did not mind. I've wanted to kiss you since the first day we met.”

She pulled away and looked at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

He nodded slowly without breaking eye contact. “Aye.”

“In that case…” she said, before initiating another leisurely kiss, enjoying the feel of his hands moving up her back and into her hair. Using them to tilt her head, he deepened the kiss, but kept it soft and undemanding.

This time when the kiss ended, she forced herself to step back. “I, um, I guess I should go.”

“I…” he started, his voice a bit shaky. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I suppose so. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Emma said smiling, before turning to move to the other side of her car.

Killian hurried around to open her door, responding to her appreciative smile with a flirtatious smirk. After she settled into her seat and fastened her seatbelt, he leaned in to brush his lips across hers one more time, then closed the door and tapped his knuckles against the window. She started the engine, shifted into gear and gave him a little wave.

Before she pulled out onto the street, she looked in her rearview mirror to see him rubbing his fingers over his lips with a slightly dazed look on his face.

*********

After Emma’s yellow bug disappeared, Killian stood in the parking lot for several minutes, lost in thought. He had been truthful when he told her he wanted to kiss her since that first day she walked into his shop, but to have her initiate it was a very welcome surprise.

He rubbed his fingers against his lips, wanting to hold onto the feeling of kissing Emma Swan for as long as possible. He’d had many first kisses, but he was hoping this would be his last first kiss. He was completely under her spell, and found he didn’t mind at all.

*********

Their date on Wednesday lacked all of the usual first date awkwardness as they shared easy conversation and genuine laughter throughout the evening. At the end of the date, after another languid kiss at Emma’s door, neither of them wanted to say goodnight. He finally tore himself away once they decided to go out again on Saturday.

They enjoyed four more dates before Killian went to England to visit his brother, promising to stay in touch with her during the weeks he was gone. Emma was disappointed they couldn’t spend the holidays together, but saw how much he was looking forward to being with his family after months of being separated, and was happy for him. The night before he left, she kissed him sweetly and told him to have a wonderful time, determined not to be one of those girlfriends who got weepy over saying goodbye. Just thinking of herself as Killian’s girlfriend made her smile and she knew no matter how long he was gone, she would be there waiting for him when he returned.

*********

“I found her,” Killian told his brother Liam when he picked him up at the airport.

“Found who?” Liam questioned, looking over his shoulder before changing lanes.

“Her. The one. The woman I want to be with for the rest of my life.”

Liam glanced over at his brother. “Are you being serious?”

“Aye, very much so,” Killian said. “Her name is Emma Swan and I met her when she was given glassblowing lessons with me for her birthday. She’s…a bloody goddess, Liam. I think I’m in love with her.”

“When did you meet?”

“Six weeks ago.”

“And you’re already saying you’re in love and want to spend the rest of your life with her?” Liam asked skeptically.

“You of all people should understand, brother. I remember you coming home after seeing Belle at Uni, telling me you met the woman of your dreams.”

“That’s true, and I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

“No, she’s the love of your life, and I think Emma may be mine.”

A smile spread over Liam’s face. “I’m very happy to hear it, Killian, and I’m sure Belle will be, too.”

Killian grinned and settled back into his seat for the rest of the ride to Liam’s house.

*********

“It’s your turn to open a present,” Emma declared, handing one to Ashley. “I had your name this year.”

The friends were gathered at the house Mary Margaret shared with her boyfriend, David, on the Sunday before Christmas. They had a tradition of drawing names for gifts, then exchanging them after making dozens of Christmas cookies. Now, the pizza they ordered was eaten and they were all a little tipsy on the margaritas Mary Margaret kept mixing up.

Ashley tore the paper off the box, lifted the lid and let out a squeal of excitement over the scented bath beads, bottles of her favorite lotion and a gift certificate for three massages. “I love it! Thank you, Em!”

“I figured you could use some pampering - being a wife and mother, and working full time.”

“Definitely. The closest I get to pampering these days is putting a new Pampers diaper on Alexandra!”

Her friends burst into laughter over her statement, then Ruby stood up to collect her gift from under the tree. Emma looked up when she stopped in front of her and held it out. “I got your name, you lucky dog.”

Emma bit her lip. “Am I going to like it?” She knew her friend had a penchant for giving slightly outrageous gifts. The year before, she had given Mary Margaret some racy lingerie that made her blush madly when she opened it, along with a very nice electric tea kettle.

“Of course you are! I mean, I couldn’t wrap Mr. Hottie and give him to you, which was my original plan, but I’m sure you’ll still like it,” she said, with a toothy grin.

Taking a deep breath, Emma removed the wrapping paper from the large box. When she opened the flaps, she found a body pillow with a photo of Killian on it. Her jaw dropped and she could feel her cheeks growing warm.

“Now you can sleep with him every night, at least until he gets back home. Then you can sleep with the real thing!” Ruby crowed.

“Where…how…how did you even get a picture of him?” Emma asked, still a bit stunned. “This looks like the one I took at the airport before he left.”

“It is! You should know better than to leave your phone unattended around me,” Ruby cackled. “So…do you like it?”

Emma stood and held the pillow up in front of her to get a better look at it. She had to admit it was a thoughtful gift, and having a tangible reminder of her boyfriend in her bed every night was quite appealing. Looking over at her friend, she said sincerely, “Yeah, I do, Rubes. It’s really great! Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, there’s something else in the box.”

Emma sat back down and looked in the box, then covered her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“What is it?” Elsa questioned. All of her friends stood up to get a better look.

Ruby reached into the box and held the box of thirty-six condoms aloft. “I thought I would get you a week’s supply!” she laughed.

*********

Killian was really enjoying the time with Liam, Belle and their children, Adrian and Elizabeth, but he was also missing Emma more every day. They called, texted or FaceTimed regularly and it got harder and harder to say goodbye at the end of their conversations.

Three days after Christmas, once everyone else was in bed, the brothers were sitting in the lounge, sipping rum in front of a crackling fire. Liam observed his brother staring into the flames and could tell his mind was far away. “You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” he asked.

Killian startled a bit, then sheepishly grinned before raising his glass to his lips. “Aye, is it that obvious?”

“I can always tell when you get that dreamy look on your face. You look like a love sick puppy.”

“Just how many love sick puppies have you ever seen in your life, Liam?” Killian deflected.

“Enough to know you look like one,” Liam snarked. “You’ve got it bad, brother.”

Killian threw back the rest of his rum and set the tumbler on the coffee table. Rubbing his hands on his jeans, he took a moment before answering, “Being away from her this long has proven I love her. I can hardly wait to see her again.”

Liam nodded and stared into the amber liquid he was swirling around in his glass. After several moments, he said softly, “Then don’t.”

Looking up at him, Killian asked, “What do you mean?”

“You have an open-ended ticket to fly back, so you can return any time. I heard you tell her the other night that you wished you could be with her for New Year’s Eve. Why don’t you fly home and surprise her?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Killian chuckled.

“Of course not, you git. We love having you here, but Belle and I both go back to work January 2nd and you weren’t planning to stay once we do that anyway. Why not go back a couple of days early and spend the first day of the new year with the woman you so very clearly love?”

Killian sat forward in his chair, rubbing his scruffy chin in thought. “You truly wouldn’t mind?”

Liam stood and strode over to him, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We love you, Killian, and we will happily have you with us for as long as you choose to stay. But if you decide to go back and can catch a flight, we will understand. After all, you’ve already done an excellent job of thoroughly spoiling your niece and nephew.”

Grinning, Killian pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up his internet browser to check for available flights back to the States.

*********

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us tonight, Emma?” Mary Margaret asked for at least the fourth time that day.

“I am not going to be a fifth wheel at a New Year’s Eve party where everyone will have a date,” Emma replied. “I’m looking forward to being in my pajamas all evening, eating popcorn, drinking hot chocolate and watching Netflix. I’m sure Killian will call to wish me a happy New Year, probably around seven, when it’s midnight in England, and I don’t want to miss it.”

Mary Margaret gave her a smile and pulled her into a hug. “Okay, but if you change your mind…”

“I won’t. Go have a good time and don’t worry about me. Even if Killian’s not here, it’s my first New Year’s with a boyfriend and I’m happy.”

*********

Emma checked her phone for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. When Killian hadn’t called at seven o’clock, she thought maybe he was just celebrating the New Year with his family, but now it was ten and she was beginning to think he had forgotten all about calling her. She tried to tell herself he might be waiting until midnight in her time zone, but that was unlikely since it would be five AM in England.

She pulled up his contact info on her phone numerous times, but kept herself from clicking on it since she was sure he had to be in bed and didn’t want to wake him.

As she was trying to concentrate on the third episode of The Devil in Ohio, cuddling up to her body pillow, there was a knock on her door. Sighing, she grabbed the remote to pause the show, and crossed the room, mumbling, “I told you not to worry about me, Marg.”

Pulling the door open, her legs nearly gave out when she saw her boyfriend standing in front of her. “K-Killian?” she squeaked.

“Happy New Year, Love.”

“Killian!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. “How…oh, how are you here?”

“Liam convinced me to come back home to you,” he explained, letting out a joyous laugh when Emma started peppering kisses all over his face.

She stopped her onslaught to ask, “I mean, what?”

“You know, Liam, my older brother, he sent me…”

His words were cut off when she tugged him to her and kissed him soundly, only pulling away to say, “I don’t care. I don’t care how you’re here, I’m just glad you are.”

“So am I,” he grinned, hugging her tightly and swaying their bodies back and forth.

Once they finally ended their embrace and moved inside her apartment, she looked down at herself, her cheeks flooding with color. “Here I am in my pajamas, no makeup, my hair a mess. I look terrible.”

“You look stunning, Swan,” Killian assured her. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.”

“Charmer,” she giggled, running her hands up his chest to loop her arms around his neck.

“Just telling the truth, Love.”

Emma brushed her lips over his. “I missed you.”

He wound a loose tendril of her hair around his finger, gazing into her eyes. “I missed you, too. So much so that my brother called me a ‘love sick puppy’ and suggested flying back to be with you for New Year’s.”

“Love sick puppy?” Emma questioned. Her heart began to hammer in her chest, wondering if she was reading too much into the phrase.

Killian dropped his gaze and scratched behind his ear, before looking back up at her with a warm gleam in his eyes. “Aye, love sick…because I’ve fallen in love with you, Emma.”

Her responding kiss was an acceptance of his declaration, and when it ended, she breathed, “I love you, too.”

More kisses followed, both of them trying to convey their newfound feelings to the other. After a while, Emma became aware of Killian putting some space between their bodies. She tried to pull him against her again, but he resisted and the reason suddenly dawned on her.

“If what we’re doing is…affecting you, you don’t have to try to hide it, you know. It doesn’t make you any less of a gentleman,” she whispered. “And besides, you’re not the only one affected.”

His desire-filled eyes met hers. “I…I don’t want you to…think I’m pressuring you into anything…”

“It’s not pressuring if I want the same thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“See, this is how I know you’re different from most other guys. The second they hear a girl is interested in going to bed with them, they jump at the chance, instead of asking if she’s sure,” Emma smirked.

He rubbed the back of his neck as the tips of his ears turned red. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Trust me, we are.” He wrapped his arms around her again, and she pressed close to him, feeling his arousal against her belly. “I think making love for the first time would be a great way to ring in the New Year, don’t you?”

“Aye, Love. This New Year promises to be the best one ever, and showing you how much I love you would be an excellent way to start it.”

She beamed at him, gave him a quick kiss, then picked up the remote to turn off the television.

“What is this?” Killian asked from behind her.

Turning to see what he was talking about, her cheeks heated immediately. He was standing there holding her body pillow wearing a puzzled look on his face.

“That,” she said, “is my Christmas gift from Ruby.”

“Is it indeed? Well, I like this Ruby already! Have you been sleeping with it?”

“Yes. Are you jealous?” she teased.

“Of myself? Perhaps just a bit,” he admitted.

“Well, you don’t have to be anymore, because tonight I’ll be sleeping with you.” She took his hand and began leading him toward her bedroom. “Come on, I’ll show you the other present Ruby gave me.”

They entered her room and Emma dropped his hand to remove a small pile of clothes from her bed. Dropping them onto a cedar chest in the corner, she said, “I hope my messiness isn’t a deal breaker.”

“Not a chance,” he answered, glancing quickly around the room to take in her personal touches. He saw a few of her glass projects sitting on her dresser, and it made him smile remembering when she made each one.

“The bedding is clean. I just washed it yesterday, but I guess you don’t really care about that,” she said, turning down the top sheet and blanket. She knew she was rambling, but she was beginning to feel a little nervous about being with him for the first time.

“Hey,” he said, taking hold of her hands to still them, “breathe, Swan. Let’s take our time and let this happen naturally. There’s no reason to rush or force things to happen, okay?”

She brought her hands up to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. “I love you,” she breathed.

His answering smile lit up the room. “And I, you. What do you say we get rid of some of these clothes?”

“Sounds good to me,” she agreed, pushing his coat over his shoulders and hearing it land in a heap on the floor. Next, she began unbuttoning his shirt, while his fingers found their way under the hem of her pajama shirt, caressing the soft skin he encountered.

His shirt soon joined his jacket and Killian sucked in a breath as Emma slid her hands over his chest, her thumbs skimming over his nipples. She felt his hands glide up her sides, taking her top with them. She lifted her arms, allowing him to remove it completely and saw his eyes darken with desire as he drank in the sight of her bared breasts.

“Absolute perfection,” he murmured, his hands moving to palm them. She bit her lip as his fingers stroked over her sensitive skin. After several moments of admiration, his eyes shifted back up to hers, then his hands were framing her face, his head dipping to kiss her. It was gentle and unhurried, and she could feel herself relaxing with every sensual sweep of his tongue.

When he pulled her closer, she gasped as her taut nipples came in contact with the coarse hair on his chest, causing her nerve ends to tingle. His hands made their way down her back and inside her sleep pants to massage her ass, making a moan escape her mouth.

She knew his hands could work magic; she had seen them as he manipulated glass. Now she was eager to feel them on every inch of her body and she told him so.

“With pleasure, Love,” he grinned. He began by ridding her of her remaining clothes, then urging her to lay back on the bed. She watched him sweep his eyes over her body, noticing the hunger in them as he took her in. “Emma, you are exquisite,” he breathed, his voice awestruck.

“Please touch me, Killian,” she pleaded, her hands reaching for him.

He obliged immediately, gliding his hands up her calves and over her thighs. His thumbs brushed over her mound, but continued over the curves of her body, stopping to caress her breasts. His body followed the movement of his hands, straddling her until he was hovering over her.

When his lips closed around one of her nipples, her back arched into him. Then his voice buzzed against the skin of her throat. “I want to find out what feels good to you, so don’t hesitate to tell me what you like, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” she replied, her eyes closing, already on her way to a state of bliss.

Killian was eager to touch his beautiful girlfriend in all her intimate places and discover the things that brought her the most pleasure. He shifted to her side and dragged his hand down her body again, nudging her legs apart when he reached them. “Are you alright with me using my fingers?” he asked in a low voice.

“Y-yeah,” she said, widening her legs.

He stroked his fingers through her folds. “You’re already so wet, Love,” he murmured into her ear, watching her bite her lip as she nodded jerkily in response. Continuing his ministrations, he began rubbing his thumb over her bundle of nerves, taking note of how her hands gripped the pillow behind her head.

Slowly, he eased a finger inside her, the heat of her channel welcoming him immediately. Adding a second one, he began to stroke her steadily. The quivering of her legs and the moans she was emitting assured him she was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing. He knew she was right on the edge when her hips lifted off the bed and she rasped out his name in a wrecked voice. Leaning down, he sucked her clit between his lips and that was all it took to bring her to climax.

When he began teasing the nub with the tip of his tongue, he felt her hands gripping his hair and lifted his head to look up at her. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Hell, no,” she groaned. “That feels amazing!”

He grinned and ducked down to continue paying attention to her clit as he removed his fingers from inside her, bringing a gush of her arousal with them.

Feeling her hands loosening in his hair, he sat back on his haunches and waited until her eyes opened, glazed with pleasure. “Alright there, Love?” he asked.

She licked her lips before answering, “Yeah, and just so you know, I enjoyed that.”

“Did you really?” he said teasingly. “I’m glad you clarified that.”

“You’re awfully smug, Jones,” she said, trying and failing to sound miffed. Pushing up to her elbows to look at him, she added, “And you’re also far too clothed. It would bring me great pleasure to see you completely undressed.”

“As you wish, Milady.”

He removed his shoes, then getting off the bed, he unbuckled his belt and quickly removed his jeans, socks and boxer briefs. He knew Emma was watching him intently and heard her intake of breath when he stood naked before her. “See something you like, Swan?”

Emma was sure he would be impressive, and she definitely wasn’t disappointed. As he climbed back onto the bed and laid down beside her, she reached for him, stopping just short of touching him.

“You want me to tell you what feels good and I want you to do the same, okay?”

“Okay” he promised.

She took him in hand, stroking and squeezing his cock and feeling it grow harder as she did. He started pressing kisses to her throat and shoulder, murmuring words of encouragement and pleasure into her skin.

After a few minutes, he reached down to still her hand. “Don’t take me too far,” he requested in a strained voice. “I want to be inside you when I come.”

Taking his face between her hands, she kissed him sweetly. “I think it’s time to show you the other gift Ruby gave me.”

“Now?” he questioned.

She giggled. “Yeah, just wait.” She pushed off the bed and crossed the room to her dresser, pulling open a drawer to retrieve the box of condoms.

Turning around, she held it up to show him and he barked out a laugh. “Well, I do have to admit I didn’t come prepared, so I’m very happy you have good friends.”

Opening the box and removing one of the foil packs, Emma said, “She told me this was a week’s worth.”

“I like the way she thinks,” he smirked, as Emma joined him on the bed again. Tearing open the package, she met his eyes in an unspoken question and, at his slight nod, carefully rolled the condom into place.

Killian gently pushed her onto her back and moved over her, palming her breast with one hand, while his other cupped the back of her head to tilt it to just the right angle for him to plunder her mouth. Her hands scratching down his back, along with her needy, throaty sounds, had him as hard as he had ever been in his life. He felt her shifting underneath him and soon he was cradled between her thighs, his cock rubbing deliciously against her wet heat.

Their hands continued to roam, caressing and squeezing, while their mouths stayed connected in a searing kiss, punctuated by nips and panted words of desire. He began lightly rutting against her, trying to gauge her readiness by her reaction. Soon, she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him to her tightly, and he got his answer.

He wordlessly encouraged her to loosen her legs enough for him to reach between them and line himself up. Pushing into her slowly, he watched her face for any sign of discomfort, but all he saw was pure bliss and love.

When he was fully seated, he dropped his forehead to her chest, trying to keep himself from listening to his body, which was telling him to take her hard and fast. Her legs once again gripped his hips and he could feel her nails digging into his back.

“Killian,” he heard her murmur into his hair, “feels so good, but…please move.”

Raising his head, he kissed her briefly, then pushed up to his elbows and started thrusting shallowly. He wanted to savor the feeling of being inside the woman of his dreams; the woman he loved, and who loved him. It was almost overwhelming.

Emma had never experienced more pleasure in her life. She felt like every nerve ending was sparking, shooting heat throughout her body. Killian fit inside her perfectly, like he was meant just for her. Her pelvis raised off the bed as she met him thrust for thrust, her hands scrabbling for purchase on his back.

She didn’t know how long she could last as the pace picked up and his strokes went deeper. Then his rhythm stuttered as he pulled back to look at her and she nearly came completely undone from the look of utter adoration in his eyes.

“I love you,” he panted.

“I love you, too,” she responded. “Now, make me come.”

Grinning, he set about doing just that, and in no time at all, she was falling over the edge, ripples of intense pleasure moving through her body.

Killian felt her climax pulsing against his cock and couldn’t hold back any longer, joining her in a blissful state of euphoria. Not wanting to put his full weight on her, he rolled them over until she laid on top of him, their chests rising and falling together as they tried to catch their breath.

Her smooth, soft skin was a magnet for his fingers, as he drew abstract designs into it. He could easily spend hours holding her against him, feeling her breath on his neck, her hair tickling his arms and her legs tangled between his own. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so sated and content.

Emma didn’t want to move. She wasn’t sure she was even capable of moving since she finally understood what it meant to feel completely boneless. Words failed her, but she didn’t care. Resting her head on Killian’s chest, she could hear his erratic heartbeat and knew this was exactly where she wanted to be.

The comfortable silence stretched on for several minutes, until she felt him brushing her hair away from her face. She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey, yourself,” he mumbled lazily. “Happy New Year.”

She looked at the digital clock on her bedside stand. “We still have forty-five minutes to go.”

“I’m claiming it early because everything feels like a new start with you. I know it’s very soon to be thinking about this, and I don’t mean to upset you, but I can see a future with you, Emma. A happy one.”

“That doesn’t upset me, Killian. For the first time in my life, I can picture being with someone in a committed relationship. I’ve always said I don’t need a man to be happy, and I don’t, but I think I can be even happier with you.”

He barely had time to answer her statement with a smile before she was kissing him, sweet and slow, sealing their declarations about their future.

After cleaning up and putting on the bare minimum of clothes - Killian in his boxer briefs and Emma in his discarded button-down shirt - she reheated some leftover spaghetti for him. He had barely eaten since having lunch with Liam and his family. He merely picked at the meal on the flight, his stomach churning with thoughts of how she would react to his surprise.

“Oh, hey,” Emma said, “can I take a picture of the two of us? I want to send it to my friends. They were worried about me spending New Year’s Eve by myself.”

“Of course, but if they asked you to do something with them, why didn’t you, Love?”

“Because I was convinced you would call me when it was midnight in England and I didn’t want to miss talking to you.”

“So I disappointed you.”

She got up from her seat and circled around the table. Standing behind him, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “You definitely made up for it, my love.”

After collecting her phone from the living room, she resumed her spot behind him, wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth with her finger, and took a selfie of the two of them. Adding the caption ‘Look who came all the way from England to surprise me for New Year’s’, she sent it to her friends in their group chat.

She didn’t expect to get immediate responses since it was only a few minutes before midnight, but Ashley’s reply appeared within a few seconds.

A: OMG Emma! That’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you!

E: Thanks! Why did you answer so fast?

A: We had to come home early because Alexandra got sick.

E: Oh no! Hope she feels better soon.

A: She seems fine and is already asleep. I think she just missed mommy and daddy.

E: That’s good. Well, Happy New Year to all of you!

A: Happy New Year to you and your man too!

Emma couldn’t help the ridiculously wide smile that crossed her face at her friend’s last statement. Her man. She had a man, and not just any man. The sexiest, sweetest, most handsome man she’d ever met…and he loved her.

Checking the time on her device, she noticed it was 11:58. “Do you want to watch the ball drop?” she asked Killian.

“Sure, then we can officially welcome in the New Year.”

They sat down on the sofa and she quickly found a TV station where they could watch the countdown, which had already started. When it got to the final ten seconds, Killian took her hand and squeezed it as they chanted the numbers together. As the huge, glittering ball reached the bottom and lit up with the New Year, they embraced one another and shared a passionate kiss, only pausing to exchange I love you’s before diving back in for more.

Emma had pushed him back on the couch and was trailing kisses down his throat, when her phone started buzzing on the end table. She ignored it, until he asked, “Are…aren’t you going to get that, Love?”

She sat up and looked at him. “Do you want me to?”

“Whoever it is will probably continue to call until you answer it,” he reasoned.

Emma sighed and grabbed the buzzing phone. Seeing the name on the screen, she rolled her eyes. “It’s Ruby.”

He grinned at her consternation while she swiped across the screen. “Hey, Rubes.”

“GIRRRRRRLLLL!” Ruby screeched and Emma pulled the phone away from her ear with a pained look on her face. “Mr. Hottie showed up at your door? And he CAME all the way from England! He must be the most prolific lover of all time!”

“Oh, good grief, Ruby! Why do you always make everything sexual? And why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be sucking face with Graham?”

“I already did and he knows he’ll get hot Ruby love later, but I saw your text and had to call! Did you make good use of my gift to you? Please tell me you’re already well into your week’s supply!”

Emma’s face felt hot and she knew it was beet red. “He’s only been here a couple of hours.”

“And your point is…?”

“Look, Ruby. I’m glad you’re happy for us, but I’d rather not share our, um…personal details.”

Ruby’s loud laugh came through the phone. “You just answered my question, Emma Swan. If you didn’t want us to know you did the deed, you should have made sure he wasn’t naked when you took the picture.”

“He wasn’t…” Emma started, then looked at her shirtless boyfriend. He grinned back at her, rubbing his fingers against his bare chest. “Okay, he was semi-naked, but that doesn’t mean that we…”

“Of course it does. You’re not gonna convince me he flew in from a whole other country to spend New Year’s Eve with you and all you did was shake his hand.”

“You know what, Ruby? Why don’t you go give Graham some of your hot Ruby loving now. I’m hanging up. Happy New Year!”

“And a very, very Happy New Year to both of you, too. Now, go do some more celebrating!”

They received congratulatory messages from Mary Margaret and Elsa soon after and by that time, jet lag and a day of international travel had taken its toll on Killian. Emma ignored his protests of wanting to follow Ruby’s instructions and dragged him off to bed, where he promised to make it up to her in the morning, then fell asleep in her arms within minutes.

He was true to his word, waking her up in the most pleasurable way eight hours later, the two of them celebrating until their growling stomachs finally drove them out of bed at noon.

*********

The new year brought lots of changes to the couple, along with more happiness than either of them had ever known. Killian met Emma’s friends and their significant others, and was soon comfortable being part of the group. He spent many nights at her apartment and within a few months, most of his clothes were in her closet and his toiletries littered her bathroom.

Emma became a regular at Killian’s glass shop, while still staying busy at the bakery. Even though he was thrilled to spend so much time with her, he worried about the amount of back and forth driving she was doing in her old VW. One day in May, he surprised her with the announcement that he rented a warehouse in Storybrooke and was moving his shop there. She protested at first, not wanting the more isolated location to hurt his business, but he assured her his online sales were booming and that people would be willing to drive a little further for lessons, which proved to be true.

When he started looking for an apartment in Storybrooke, Emma suggested he move in with her instead, and he happily agreed. Once he had his shop up and running at the end of July, they moved the remainder of his belongings into her place.

In September, Liam and his family flew in to visit Killian and meet Emma in person. She had seen them through his phone screen on several FaceTime calls and already felt accepted by them. By the end of their week-long visit, her place in the family was cemented when Liam referred to her as the sister he always wanted.

Mary Margaret, who was newly engaged, was convinced Killian was going to propose at Christmas, so when he didn’t, Emma tried not to be disappointed. She really wasn’t in any hurry to get married, but after her friend planted the thought in her head, it began to take root.

Their plans for New Year’s Eve were to have dinner at their favorite restaurant overlooking the harbor and then attend the annual party at the town hall with their friends. That evening, Killian called her thirty minutes before their reservations to tell her he was delayed waiting for several orders to be picked up by the parcel service, and would meet her at the restaurant.

She blew out an exasperated sigh and sat down on the couch to wait until it was time to leave. Twenty minutes later, she buttoned her winter coat over the red, form-fitting dress she was anxious to reveal to her boyfriend, grabbed her handbag, and threw the door open.

It was like deja vu. Killian was standing in the hallway, dressed smartly in a navy suit, crisp white shirt, and silver tie, holding a bouquet of red and white roses in a glass vase she was sure he made especially for her.

“Happy New Year, Love.”

“K-Killian, I thought you said…”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Just like last year, huh?”

“Well, not exactly like last year,” he answered, bending to sit the vase on the floor beside him. Then he pulled a jeweler's box out of his jacket pocket and lowered himself to one knee in front of her, opening the box as he did.

Her eyes immediately misted over and she covered her mouth with both hands.

“Emma,” he began, “you blew me away the moment you stepped into my shop. You’re the love of my life and I want to spend every minute of that life with you. It would make me beyond happy and proud to be your husband, if you will agree to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

She started nodding before he even finished asking, and then she choked out, “Yes, Killian! Oh god, yes! I will marry you!”

He removed the diamond ring from the box and took her trembling hand to slip it onto her finger, then stood and pulled her into his embrace, showering her hair and face with kisses. When their lips finally met, the kiss was like none they had ever shared before - a promise of their future which was more than just a dream now.

As they stood with their foreheads pressed together after the kiss ended, he murmured, “I guess we better get going or we’ll miss our dinner reservations.”

She looked at him with a smug smile, bent down to pick up the vase of flowers and turned to go inside. Once she set the bouquet on the kitchen table, she unbuttoned her coat slowly and deliberately, letting it slide to the floor when she was done.

Killian’s mouth dropped open at the sight of her in the red dress and his Adam’s apple bobbed several times before he could force words past it. “Swan, you look absolutely breathtaking.” Moving across the room, he pulled her to him for another passionate kiss. Slightly out of breath afterwards, he picked up the coat and held it up for her to slip into it.

“I don’t need it,” she said.

“It’s freezing outside, Love. Of course you need it.”

She took the coat and folded it over a chair. “No, I don’t,” she purred, draping her arms around his neck. “I want to spend New Year’s Eve with my fiancé, celebrating the exact same way we did last year.”

“But dinner, and our friends…”

“I don’t care about dinner, and our friends will understand once we tell them we were celebrating our engagement. Unless you would rather keep our original plans?”

His face morphed into his signature smolder, with a sly smirk and one eyebrow raised high on his forehead. “Your plans are much more appealing, my love.”

Taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom, she said, “Come on, then. Let’s see if your new fiancée can still blow you away!”

*********

Happiest of birthdays, Beth! I hope this brightens your day, and I wish the same for anyone else who reads it. Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tagging: @xsajx @hookedmom @kymbersmith-90 @kmomof4 @lassluna @pirateherokillian @teamhook @stahlop @elizabeethan @whimsicallyenchantedrose @resident-of-storybrooke @therooksshiningknight @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @killianswannn @stories-enchanted @eleveneitherway @withheartfulloflove @kday426 @djlbg @kristi555 @laschatzi @xarandomdreamx @wyntereyez @goforlaunchcee @yasbio2015 @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @wefoundloveunderthelight @hollyethecurious @let-it-raines @jonesfandomfanatic @searchingwardrobes @oncechicagolove @andiirivera @gingerchangeling @everything-person @klynn-stormz @qualitycoffeethings @enchanted-swans @ohmakemeahercules @donteattheappleshook @bluewildcatfanatic @the-darkdragonfly @demisexualemmaswan @grimmswan @spartanguard @flslp87 @ultraluckycatnd @thisonesatellite @captainswan21 @zaharadessert @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @kiwistreetswan @batana54 @nadine200179 @probalicious17 @courtorderedcake @julesep3026 @jackieorioncat @whatthehell102082 @jarienn972 @sthonour @linda8084 @pirateprincesslena @daxx04 @winterbythesea @artistic-writer @cocohook38 @captainswan4life85 @molly958 @itsfridaysomewhere @fallingforthecaptain @onceratheart18 @strangestarlighttree @justanother-unluckysoul @mrs-potato-but-likes-tomato @anothersworld @deckerstarblanche @purplehawkcaptain @superchocovian @k-leemac @citygirlscowboy @laughterandbooks @sotangledupinit @apiratewhopines @huntressandlioness1 @cosette141 @gingerpolyglot @motherkatereloyshipper @cs-rylie @anmylica @paradiselady19 @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @elfiola @softkilly

#cs ff #blow me away #a birthday story for Beth #jrob64 #CS modern AU #cs fanfiction #captain swan fan fiction #cs smut and fluff #captain swan fic #ouat captain swan fanfic #glassblower Killian #cake decorator Emma

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