#ditlot

[accio-ambition]

Happy Little Bubble

Hello friends. As promised, here is one of the products of post-DITLOT adrenaline rush. After "making pancakes" for the first time, Emma and Killian bask and talk about the new normal. It sort of fills in the blank I unintentionally left out once Emma and Killian did the horizontal tango in DITLOT. Also, this is un-beta'd. ENJOY.

Or you can read it on AO3 or FFnet, if that’s the jam you want in your sandwich.

It’s got to be close to mid-afternoon from the way the sun peeks through the curtains. Not that she could actually tell. He’s the sailor. She’s just there to film his superstitions and nautical talk.

The back of her knees are beginning to sweat and there’s just an overabundance of heat beneath the blankets. Emma kicks the quilt back, at least trying to expose her legs to the cool air, and with the popping of her joints, she winces. The soreness of her muscles hurts in the loveliest of ways.

An arm creeps around her waist, pulling her over and scrunching up the covers so the human heater beside her can tug her against his chest.

“Good morning, love,” Killian grumbles, his voice rocky and muffled, half of his mouth hiding in the fluff of the pillow.

“More like good afternoon,” she murmurs back. Still, she snuggles into him, pulling the blanket back over her body now that she’s had a reprieve from sauna temperatures. She’d somehow forgotten that, throughout the night, all of her clothes had ended up in the dryer or on the ground nearby. It’s a bit chilly now.

(That fucking human heater, always making her come back to him.)

“Mm, we were up this morning. I just didn’t think to greet you until now,” he reasons, gripping her tightly. His hand slides from her waist to chest and brushes a thumb beneath her breast. Emma inhales sharply through her nose, surprised at how cold his fingers are when the rest of his body is so warm. “And what a good morning it is.”

The giggles come on suddenly and with little sigh of relief. She sounds hysterical, trying to muffle the noise by hiding the bottom half of her face with the blanket. Turning over her shoulder, Emma tries to make eye contact with Killian. “We did that, didn't we?” she asks quietly, laughter still evident in her voice.

“Yes, we did.” He seems just as happily surprised as she is, his thumb skimming tender skin. His hand moves further down, across the muscles of her stomach until it rests between her thighs, asking a silent questions. “I'd be happy to give a repeat performance if your memory needs refreshing.”

Emma hums and flips over to face him. His arm resettles on the small of her back, the other sliding beneath her neck and wrapping around her shoulders. His eyes are still closed, but he’s got a dreamy grin on his lips.

“Maybe later,” she says, burrowing into his chest. The coarse hair there scratches at her nose. Killian starts tugging at the ends of her hair, a sound reverberating deeply in his chest, like a cat purring. Hearing the noise makes Emma sigh. “Let’s just bask for a minute.”

“I'm amenable to that plan.” His fingers begin to comb through her hair, untangling the knots he made last night. The moment is calming, so much so that it nearly makes her fall back to sleep. But his hands move from her hair up to her neck, his fingers tracing along the hickeys he made the night before. She watches Killian open his eyes, watches his eyes focus in on her, bright blue shooting right through her.  the pads of his fingers lightly tap at each one. “This is a lovely color on you,” he whispers.

“Stop,” Emma groans, pushing at his chest and laughing. His grip on her tightens, pulling her back to him. “How am I supposed to leave this house now? How am I supposed to face Liam? Or Henry?” she asks. “How am I supposed to face about in this town with these marks on my neck? You know they're going to asking who did it.”

Killian shrugs, displacing her head from his shoulder. “You tell them whatever you want. I have no shame in telling people that these marks are from me.” He leans closer to her, and, for a moment, Emma thinks he’s going to instigate a repeat performance as he promised. Instead, his nose dives to the skin of her neck, the tip of it finding unblemished skin. “Mm, but you make it so simple and easy. I feel like I just must have you, must claim you.”

Giggles begin anew as Emma pushes him back again. “Whoa, down boy.”

“I know, I know.” His head comes back up and their eyes match gazes. Somehow, even with him so close, she can still see his wink to her right before his lips press sweetly against hers. “At least it's cold enough for turtlenecks and scarves to be in season,” he says.

“Well that's something.” With a few more unintelligible grumbles, Emma flips on her back. She sighs and leans her head against his shoulder. “If the boys find out, they'll come for you,” she says quietly, the sheets susurrating beneath her as she turns to face him. “You know that, right?”

Killian shrugs again, gently knocking the corner of his shoulder into her temple. “We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.” He kisses the top of her head. “In the meantime, I find myself a tad bit hungry.”

But she knows he's not hungry for Granny's, or any food for that matter. Not with the way his pupils are dilated when she catches a glimpse of them, or with how what started off as a chaste press of lips is rapidly turning into something more heated. “We should do something about that,” Emma murmurs, letting her hand drag down his bicep to his forearm. “Can’t let you waste away.”

Chuckling, Killian says, “Indeed not.”

His body comes to hover over hers, elbows by her ears as his hips settle against hers. She feels his smile against her lips and knows there’s a matching one decorating her mouth. Emma feels him begin to grow against her thigh, encouraging him to come closer with a roll of her hips.

But the heavy thudding against his bedroom door interrupts any activities that they may have engaged in. Killian groans and falls next to Emma on his back.

“For the love of god, little brother, it’s nearly noon,” Liam shouts through the wood. “I need your help cleaning off the  Jolly ’s deck before it rains again this afternoon!”

Killian gives a frustrated sigh. “Give me a moment,” he replies, scrubbing at his eyes before dragging his hand down his face. “I had a long night.”

Even through the door, Emma can hear Liam’s scoff. “Of course you did. I'm sure Netflix kept you up until all hours.” The floor creaks under Liam’s body weight and she hears him take a step away before taking a step back. “Hurry up, arse, and we can try and stop by Granny’s on the way.”

“Aye, fine, go.” Killian groans again before his brother’s footfalls grow quieter and noise begins to echo up from the kitchen.

“You’re lucky your brother isn’t one of those siblings to barge in,” Emma says, scooting up the bed until she can lean up against the headboard. She pulls the quilt up and over her chest, watching Killian ease himself out of bed.

She thinks he says something like “I can honestly say that that is not usually the case,” but she’s a bit distracted by the image of him in all his naked glory before her. She hadn’t really had the chance to take it all in last night before, but seeing it in the current light of day - honestly, it’s a miracle she lasted against his advances and their chemistry as she did.

(And now that she’s had a taste of what could be, Emma isn’t too intent on letting it go.)

From across the room, Killian looks at her, pulling up and zipping a pair of jeans. He winks at her before turning back toward his dresser and rifling through a drawer for a shirt.

“You just gonna leave me here?” she asks, and while she would, at some point in time, like to spend a day or more lolling about in his bed, today isn’t the time for that.

“I assumed you'd want to make a quiet exit, what with Liam downstairs,” Killian says, his head poking out from the hole in his shirt. A salacious smirk overtakes his face as he comes to lean over and kiss her cheek. “Or you can stay in bed all day and I'll hurry through the work and come back for another round.”

Emma chuckles, scooting to her own side of the mattress, pulling the blanket along with her. “As much as I would love to, I do have a child to pick up from a sleepover,” she reminds him. Bending down, Emma grabs the shirt he lent her last night. It’s as she pulls it over her head that she realizes aloud, “My clothes are still in the dryer.”

Something hits her in the back, and it’s when she turns to see a pair of sweatpants that things makes sense. “You can get them on the way out,” Killian says. “Those’ll be a tad big on you.”

She pulls them on and stands, rolling the waistband far too many times before she can spot her toes amid the billows of cotton below.

“God, you weren’t kidding.”

He turns from searching for a pair of socks. A funny little expression crosses his face, his head tilting to the side as he considers her. Emma’s brows raise, silently asking,  What?

“As unusual at this may sound,” Killian starts, “those look good on you.” He points toward her neck, effectively ruining the soft possessive moment he had. “Not as good as those, but still quite good.”

Shaking her head, Emma can’t help her stupid smile. “God, you’re such a man,” she mumbles, heading toward the door. He catches up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back for a second.

“Aye, a man who’s spent the night ravishing the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.” The words are whispered right in her ear, the bite of his teeth skimming her skin. It causes shivers up and down her body, her tongue peeking out from between her lips as she pushes him away.

(Otherwise, she’s not getting Henry from his sleepover  at all .)

After a quick kiss to the cheek, Emma jogs out of his bedroom and down the stairs to find Liam in the kitchen. The morning’s newspaper is spread out on the kitchen counter for his perusal. He glances up, his mouth open to surely admonish Killian for his laziness this morning, but his jaw goes slack when he sees her. She watches his eyes trace down her person - the bruises on her neck, the clothes she’s wearing, the mess that is her hair.

It’s exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

Still, his expression makes her blush, the heat rising on her cheeks, but smiles good naturedly. “Good morning, Liam,” Emma greets him cheerfully before ducking into the laundry room. Her clothes are still in the machine, a little wrinkled but otherwise unharmed from last night’s wet outing.

Soft footsteps grow louder, and Emma turns to the door just as Killian enters the room. She smiles at him before picking up the hem of the shirt she’s wearing and lifting it up. A hand halts her and brings it back down to her waist.

“As much as I enjoy your enthusiasm, I really must help my brother on the ship,” Killian quips. “Or at least lever his jaw off the ground.”

“I was going to change and give you these back, you horny ass,” Emma responds, slapping him on the arm.

“Nonsense. Take them home.” His hands come to rest at her waist, swaying them from side to side a little bit. It reminds her of the night they first kissed, at the wrap party what seems like a longer time ago than it actually was. “A little something to remember last night,” he says with a small part of his trademark swagger.

“I suppose you're right.” Emma leans into him, letting her head come to rest on his chest. She bites her lip, debating whether or not to tell him what she’s thinking.

She goes for it.

“You'll need something to wear when you've got to walk home next time.”

She can feel his body tense in surprise. “Next time?” he asks eagerly.

Stepping back from his embrace, Emma nods. She gestures to her neck. “I demand payback for these.”

He laughs. “I look forward to your vengeance.”

“So do I.” With a final kiss, Emma grabs her clothes from the top of the dryer and heads out of the laundry room. “Have fun today,” she tells both Jones boys on her way past the kitchen. She opens the front door with a final, “Bye, Liam!” before heading home to find a scarf.

#cs ff #captain swan #ditlot #cs au #ouat #my words #storytime #i debated whether if i should just keep adding these one shots as chapters to the original story #but my answer to that was apparently not #anyway #have some cuddles #happy thanksgiving american folks

[yayimallamaagain]

Last Week in Fanfiction

Hi everyone *waves* There was a lot of cooking and family and everything this week so I haven’t been around much and List #25 here was very hastily thrown together this morning, sorry! So if you read or wrote a Captain Swan fic  posted between 11/19-11/25 that I missed let me know and I’ll add it. I’m sure the writers here would love a like, reblog and/or comment on their fics. Happy reading! ❤️

MCs

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke  ch.5  by @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious

Wednesday’s Child  ch.21  by @dani-ellie03

Thorn Among Rose  ch.1  by @totheendoftheworldortime

Another Broken Soul  ch.6  by @suwya  (complete!)

Alternative Season 7  ch.7  by @captainswanseven

The Right Place  ch.14  by @jarienn972

The Promise  ch.16  by @flslp87

What Lies Beneath the Mask  ch.3  by @hollyethecurious

Match Makers  ch.17  ch.18  by @awkwardnessandbaseball

North Star  ch.19  by Emma_Jones

Awake and Alive  ch.7  by @acaptainswaneternity

Wild at Heart  ch.9  ch.10  by @hookedonapirate

Between Now and Nether  ch.7  ch.8  by @artistic-writer

Castle on the Hill  ch.9  by @secret-captain-swan-blog

The Art of Remembering  ch.12  by @swans-and-pirates

Honey, You Know I Will  ch.5  by @asthewheelwills  (complete!)

Some Call it Magic  ch.16  by @seriouslyhooked

But Never Inconstant  ch.1  by shireness 

Fairytale of New York  ch.11  by @artistic-writer

CSBB

Echoing Souls  ch.13  by @like-waves-on-the-beach

Family Ties  ch.13  by @a-winterprince

Part of the Narrative  ch.13  by @emmaswanchoosesyou

Tripping Over the Blue Line  ch.39  ch.40  ch.41  @welllpthisishappening

If the Stars Align  ch.14  by @swanslieutenant

    —Image set  by @acaptainswaneternity

To Everything a Season  ch.14  by @icecubelotr44

    —Image set  by @optomisticgirl

When the Tide Turns  ch.14  by @trueloveseyeroll

Model Behavior  ch.11  by @shippingtheswann  (complete!)

    —Image set  by @acaptainswaneternity 

Heathens  ch.14  by @mahstatins  (complete!)

Assassin’s Creed: Misthaven  ch.14  by @delightfully-difficult-pirate

    —Art  by @cocohook38

One Shots 

Swans in the Evening  by @unfolded73

Happy Little Bubble  by @accio-ambition (DITLOT universe)

Scar of the Heart  by @curiousthingdarkness

Good Form and Florals  by @hollyethecurious

A Different Type of Form  by @writeyourownlifestory

Walking the Walk  by shireness

Swordfight by @alexandralyman

Thankful  by @whimsicallyenchantedrose

Women’s Things  by @distant-rose

#cs ff #cs ff rec #cs ff rec list #last week in fanfiction #25 #my lists #so not only was last week busy but tumblr has really sucked #like nothing wants to load #nothing #and I wanted to work on this last night #but ao3 was down too... #soooo yeah

[captainswanbigbang]

CSLB Author Spotlight: accio-ambition

Today’s featured Captain Swan Little Bang author is @accio-ambition!

How long have you been writing for the OUAT fandom? Did you write anything else (original or fan fiction) before joining the OUAT fandom?

I've been writing OUAT fanfic for probably close to five years now. I didn't really write anything before, but I did briefly write for the Arrow fandom simultaneously.

What sort of fic do you like to write? What sort of fic do you like to read?

I love reading anything that has a parent/child-like relationship and/or AUs. I like writing pretty much the same.

Besides your Little Bang fic, do you have anything else in the works?

I recently finished posting for the last CS Big Bang (shameless self promotion, go DITLOT) and I've got a couple of one-shots in the works in that universe that fill in some plot things during and after that story.

If you participated in the 2016 Big or Little Bangs, or the 2017 Big Bang, what was the experience like for you? What are you looking forward to this time around?

I've had the opportunity to participate in both Big Bangs. The first time was kind of confusing because it was so new, but this last time around was great. My favorite part of the whole thing is learning that I can write what equates to an entire novel and not have it take three years. I learned a lot and I like the camaraderie and support that comes with CSBB. This time around, I'm a little wary about the maximum word count. I think I can do it, but it's going to be a challenge I look forward to. 

Featured Fic: watch me fall a little more in love

It's so simple. The story came from a gif that a friend sent me and it was just me playing on my love for parent/child relationships and it's tooth-rotting sweet. And now every time I see the gif, which isn't often but still has happened, I think of this story.

Check out @accio-ambition on FFnet, AO3, and Tumblr!

#cslb #captain swan little bang #spotlights #author spotlights #accio-ambition

[ao3feed-captainswan]

Happy Little Bubble

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2B2XCiM

by accioambition

After "making pancakes" for the first time, Emma and Killian bask and talk about the new normal. DITLOT universe, missing scene.

Words: 2150, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Drowning is Too Late to Learn

Fandoms: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Liam Jones

Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Liam Jones & Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Liam Jones

Additional Tags: Boot Scene, Missing Scene, Deadliest Catch AU, except there isn't any trawling or anything invovled, but there's cuteness, Fluff, Post-Coital Cuddling, Brotherly Love

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2B2XCiM

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Captain Swan #CS fanfics

[accio-ambition]

Spoiler alert: they all live happily ever after. :) I figure it's the least I could do.

For the final time, thanks to @queen-icicle-fandom, shipsxahoy, sotheylived, and @captainswanbigbang for everything you all have done during this process. You guys are amazing. I've added a few special thank you'd to the end of the chapter, if you care to read them. And to you, who's either been here since the beginning or jumped in along the way: thanks for sticking with it.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Epilogue

It’s takes a while to convince Killian to get back on a ship, even when it’s docked.

But when he does on an oddly warm day in February, Emma makes sure to reward him.

The sun is setting - another banner day in Killian’s long journey of recovery - on this Friday evening. Henry’s off at a sleepover with Phillip, so it’s just the two of them, enjoying each other’s company on the ship that brought them together. Thanks to profits from the show and donations from fans and community members, the Jolly Roger II is just as sturdy as its predecessor. The little marks and stories the old ship held aren’t there, of course, but the thought behind it is wondrous. Killian still hasn’t had the courage to take it out for a spin, but Mulan and Robin assured her it ran just as well as the first one. And when Emma remembers that Liam wanted to rebuild the Jewel before his death, she finds some sort of closure in the circle life has drawn around the Jones brothers.

She loves it. The JRII makes Killian so happy and she adores that. She loves him, almost as much as she loves this town. For the first time ever, she can’t leave something like this behind. She’s known what she’s going to tell him for a while. In all honesty, there was never really a question as to whether it would happen. It was just a matter of when once Emma realized that Storybrooke was home.

“We’re staying here,” she says softly, leaning up against the Roger’s railing and trying not to show how much excitement lies under her skin.

“What?” Killian asks, utterly stunned. “But you said...Henry…” Emma nods, encouraging him to at least finish a sentence. His hand runs through his hair and he’s breathing in little pants of disbelief.  He points at her. “You said you’d go where there’s a job. A constant paycheck so you can care for the lad.”

She shrugs casually. “I’ll find a job,” she says. “I’ll ask the station to give me my job back.” Turning away from the warm colors that come from sunset, Emma looks Killian straight in the eye. There’s something so earnest in his gaze that he solidifies her decision, even if she struggles through putting her feelings into words. “I haven’t had a home in so long and when we moved here, I thought it was another stepping stone.” She shrugs a little and leans into him. “I didn’t realize it was the end of the path.”

“Emma.” He says her name as a question and an answer, a threat and a compliment. Killian leans into her, but doesn’t move any closer or show any intention of touching her.

So she does, taking his hand in both of hers as she scoffs. “Look, you know I’m a woman of action over words. So here’s me taking action.” Emphasising her point, she shakes their entwined hands. “You need me and Henry.” Killian chuckles, because they both know that, while what she’s said is true, there's so much more to it. “Henry needs you.” He gives her another look - smouldering eyes and the hint of a smirk on his lips - that makes her rolls her eyes. “I need you in my life,” she admits on a sigh.

“What happened to this –” he lets go and points to her, his hand waving about to encompass her body entirely, “and that –” he gestures to himself, smirking, “never gonna happen?”

Emma shrugs. “I’m like the ocean. One simple breeze and I can change my mind.”

“I don’t know whether to find that comforting or unnerving.”

Her laughter causes her to fall comfortably into his arms and Killian easily pulls her into his chest. “Yeah, I heard it too,” she says, sighing and relaxing into his embrace. “I run the camera, buddy, I can’t pull eloquent metaphors out of thin air like some people.”

She can feel his wide smile when he presses a kiss into her hair. “They worked on you, didn’t they love?”

“Don’t be so smug,” she scoffs, pulling back from his embrace to fully see his face.

That ridiculous grin is still there, growing wider by the second, if that’s even possible. He’s got mischief in his eyes. “Not smug, darling,” he corrects her. “Victorious, perhaps, but not smug.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Aye,” he says dreamily. Killian’s hand comes up to brush at the few strands of hair a breeze has blown into her face. His fingers trail over her cheekbone and around behind her ear, where he lets the tips of his fingers trail down her neck. It’s loving, his movements, and it reflects the same emotion in his gaze and his soft smile. “And you love me for it, don’t you?”

She doesn’t answer him right away. Instead, she sends him one of his signature smirks and looks back out over the water. Let him stew in my unanswer, she thinks. He knows her well enough by now. Better than anyone ever, she thinks.

He knows.

@sotheylived: Steph, you are a godsend. From the moment you hopped in to the Google doc, you were encouraging and helpful and such a pleasure. I looked forward to getting your edits, which is not something I ever thought would happen. This story would not exist without you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

@shipsxahoy: My goodness, I've never met someone as enthusiastic about fic art as you, Bianca. Heart of gold. The vivacity you had for this story was incredible and I doubt I'll Internet-meet someone like you ever again. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

@the-corsair-and-her-quill: To the only person besides my beta who knew what was gonna happen from start to finish. To the person I immediately texted when I finally understood how awesome angst is. This is my way of telling you the story is finally finished, so you can catch up now. I'll be sending you oneshots to beta shortly 😉

#csbb #captain swan big bang #cs ff #captain swan #ouat #ditlot #my words #storytime #im not crying you are #ive grown unhealthily attached to this story #to the point where ive already got other stuff written for it #ugh #well thanks for coming along on this ride with me #the end kind of snuck up on us all #i hope you liked it #and i hope youre satisfied with this ending #(it might not be the whole ending but its what youre getting for now)

[accio-ambition]

Here we are: the last official chapter of this story. There will be an epilogue posted next week, and there are a few one shots I need to finish writing in this universe, but for most intents and purposes, this is the end. I'll post a whole sappy thing with the epilogue next time, but I wanted to get this out there so you could prepare yourselves or your souls or something.

As I've said since the beginning, many many thanks to @sotheylived, @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, and @captainswanbigbang for all of the various and insundry things they've done during this whole process. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Chapter Twenty-Two

For a second year in a row, Christmas is celebrated with Killian. It’s bittersweet, of course, this being the first Christmas in his life without his big brother, but Emma likes to think she and Henry are doing their best to fill Liam’s shoes. Henry is thrilled that Killian decides to spend Christmas Eve with them at their house, jumping on Killian instead of Emma in the excitement of Christmas morning.

Christmas dinner is a surprisingly lively affair. David and Mary Margaret join them, as well as Belle and her father. There’s laughter and tears, heartfelt toasts and frequent disruptions for bad jokes. When she crawls in her bed and Killian slides his arm around her waist that night, he whispers, “thank you” in her ear, so she must have done something right.

A few days before New Year’s, Robin invites the three of them to meet baby Roxana. The pictures he’s sent both of them prove that she’s cute as a button, but they’ve yet to meet this new addition in person with all that’s been going on in the last couple of months. Emma knows that there’s a lot of frustration, annoyance, and fatigue behind every one of them. A new baby is a far stretched from a walk in the park. She can only imagine how hard it is to balance a newborn with Roland the exuberant child that he is and without Robin currently being employed.

They’re all unemployed, technically. With no trawlers to their name and the crew members who would take over as captain still on the mend, the Jones brothers’ trawling company has come to a sudden halt. They’ll still have whatever money comes from the show, but the future is just a little more uncertain.

But in the meantime, Henry is having a ball playing a new board game with Roland and Regina while Emma, Killian, and Robin crowd around the sleeping baby, curled up in Emma’s arms.

“I always forget how small new babies are,” she murmurs, leaning down to slyly smell Roxana’s head. She remembers the first couple of months after Henry was born. He always had the scent of cleanliness and newness, something she clung to on the nights they were sleeping in her car.

“I’ve got to give it to you, mate,” Killian says, relaxing into the couch, his stunted arm casually slung over the couch behind her. “You two make some cute kids.”

“Cute and loud,” Robin says with a sigh. “Regina wanted you to come over just so she could spend some time with Roland, maybe convince him into taking a nap with her.”

“Oh,” Emma says, looking up and across the room to where Robin stood. “If you had told me that, I would’ve left Henry at Granny’s. He could’ve come and visited another day.”

But Robin’s already shaking his head. “No, Roland’s been cooped up in here with us for a couple of days,” he tells her. “We’ve been too tired to take him anywhere. It’s good for him to have someone to play with that isn’t us.”

That gets laughter out of all of them, softer from Emma so as not to wake the baby. From the other room, Roland starts calling for his father, asking him to come and be on his team for the next game. Robin sighs.

“Go ahead,” Emma encourages him with a smile. “She’s sleeping. Go tell Roland how good of an older brother he’s being.”

With a nod, Robin takes his leave. Emma watches him leave before turning back to the sleeping child, running her fingers slowly up and down her stomach. Roxana inhales deeply, her stomach expanding with the action, and sighs happily.

Glancing over to her side, she sees Killian staring down at the baby, a sweet expression on his face.

“Do you want to hold her?” she asks. His eyes go wide and he vehemently shakes his head. Tilting her head in confusion, Emma adds, “Why?”

Behind her, he holds up his handless arm. “I can’t,” he says simply. “I’d be afraid to drop her.”

Emma scoffs. “Please. You have arms and she’s surprisingly resilient.” His teeth bite into his lower lips, a show of nerves at a level she doesn’t think she’s ever seen on him. And then a thought occurs to her. “Killian, have you ever held a baby?”

He shakes his head, embarrassed. “Haven’t really been around them this young,” he says. “Roland was already walking when I met him for the first time.”

Rolling her eyes, she uses the hand not holding Roxana to position his arms in front of him, making a cradle. “All you really need to do is support her head,” she explains. “Just make sure her head stays in your elbow and she’ll be fine.”

With rusty but practiced ease, Emma transfers the baby into Killian’s hold, his shoulders tense at first until Roxana settles down. She stays asleep the whole time, her little lips smacking together as she turns her head into his chest. Killian chuckles in disbelief, his eyes rising to look at her. Emma smiles in turn, leaning her head up against his shoulder.

“See?” she whispers. “Not so scary.”

And, as Emma watches him interact with the baby, she begins to realize that this moment means a lot more than just holding their friend’s child for the first time. Since coming home from the hospital, he’s fought with himself over the loss, not only of his brother, but of his own hand. She’s heard whimpers of pain a couple of times, seen him rub at the scars more often than that, and she assumes that he’s got phantom pains by the way he sometimes glances at his wrist. Try as she might, she knows that everything she does to assure him that he’s still the same snarky scallywag that he was - touching his stump as if his hand were still there, kissing his cheek and brushing his hair away when he feels the pain during sleep - it doesn’t really get to the root of the problem.

But here, holding little Roxana, she can see his psyche knitting itself back together. That, yeah, he can hold babies and make dinner and eventually sail a ship again and everything a normal man can do besides clap his hands together. He just needs to learn how to do it differently. Life goes on with him in it, and he might as well thrive.

(She’ll never tell him that she saw this coming. That she knew this is the exactly type of thing he needed. That she texted Robin, asking if it was okay to come over because Killian needed to get out of the house, needed something to brighten these gray winter days. He needed something to anchor himself, to give him hope in the future.)

“You’re a precious little lass, aren’t you?” he asks the baby quietly, totally entranced, allowing her small fingers to wrap around his pointer finger.

(For the briefest of moments, Emma lets the idea of Killian holding his own child, rocking them to and fro in order to soothe them on stormy nights, consume her.

And maybe the baby has her chin and his eyes, but that’s where that fantasy ends.)

(Yeah, he’s going to be fine.)

0000

Though he’s too stubborn to meet any sort of professional in the wake of the wreck, Killian does start opening up to her whenever something concerns him. Emma’s heard the story of the night of the wreck multiple times, each telling adding a little more detail.

She acts as his sponge, soaking up all this information and cleaning up the mess in his mind. But she never gets squeezed out. It’s not like she can tell anyone else about it - it’s certainly not her secret to tell. So she keeps it all bottled up because if it’s off Killian’s shoulders, then what does it matter? At least he’s healing.

But the sponge loses its ability to soak up information, calls it quits when Jefferson convenes the crew of Sea of Chaos at his house for an announcement. The second season airs in a couple days, and Emma hopes beyond hope that maybe - just maybe - Sea of Chaos will go on. Even she and David, Jeff’s top confidantes in this matter since the beginning, have no clue as to what this meeting could be about.

The whole event has a different vibe than any of the other ones. From the get-go, it’s more solemn, which, when Emma thinks it over, makes sense. In the past two years, they’ve lost three crew members and both their ships. The two crews have been condensed to one, and everyone - from their surviving captain to the on-shore help - has lost a fraction of their livelihood.

It took some haranguing to get Killian to agree to coming. Emma promised him to stay by his side for the duration, as if she would be anywhere else these days.

(But she fought back equally.

“You need to get out of the house, Killian,” she reminded him. “Sitting in here and moping isn’t good for anyone.”

“I’ve gotten out of the house,” he countered, pointing toward the front door. “We visited Robin and Regina. We went to your house for crew dinner just the other night.”

Emma groaned, rubbing her hands across her face. “You know that doesn’t count, you ass.”)

But there she is, by his side as promised, her hand wrapped around his elbow as Jefferson steps up on to his coffee table.

“Are you sure you haven’t a clue what’s going on?” Killian whispers to her, leaning down so his lips brush against her ear. The motion sends shivers down her spine, a smile rising on her lips as she shies away.

“No idea.”

Jefferson clears his throat. The crowd gathered, already quieter than normal, comes to complete silence.

“Due to recent events, the network has decided Sea of Chaos will take a hiatus,” he announces. It’s not like she hadn’t seen it coming, but Emma still feels her heart break a little bit. So much of her life these days she can attribute to this show. It seems like ages ago - Killian rushing out of Granny’s to help Liam alert the appropriate people as to their decision. She and Liam talking on the phone after arguing with Killian. It hasn’t been that long in reality, only about two months or so, since...well, since most everything changed.

“They have expressed interest in a third season,” Jefferson continues, looking each person in the crowd before him in the eye. “It would be shortened by half and we’d start filming next trawling season. At Killian’s behest,” he points to Killian, who blushes, nods, and gives a solemn wave to all the people who glance over at him, “we’re going to put it off indefinitely.”

Over the din of the crowd’s groan, Emma turns on him and glares. “You knew about this?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t know he was going to tell everyone like this,” he whispers. “I merely told him I thought it would be in everyone’s best interests if we didn’t go on.” Next to them, little Roxana begins to fuss in Robin’s arms. Killian, probably anxious to get out of the spotlight, silently offers to calm her down and take the baby out of the room. Robin, being the tired parent of a newborn, gladly accepts the help. With a bounce in his step, Killian leaves.

“Now, now, that’s not the right sentiment,” Jefferson chides everyone. “The network has high hopes for syndication and if Captain Killian out there changes his mind, you all will  be my first calls.”

Even to Emma’s ears, that sounds like a good deal. And she has enough faith in Jeff to hold him accountable to his word, even if she doesn’t see Killian changing his mind at all. He no longer has to sleep facing away from the harbor, but it’s taken longer for him to stroll along the piers, let alone get on or in the water.

“So, as this is our last time together for a while,” Jefferson concludes, arms wide and inviting, “let us drink and be merry.”

Weak cheers come from the crowd as conversations break out and the get together tries to rebound from the somberness of their producer’s announcement. Jefferson claps his hands as everything kind of returns to normal before hopping off the table and approaching Emma.

“A little warning would’ve been nice,” she sarcastically greets him.

Jefferson nods, his lips curling around his teeth and his steepled hands coming up to his mouth. “Emma Swan, I’m going to be straight with you,” he says quietly. Furrowing her brows, Emma steps closer, concern and curiosity getting the better of her.

“They want to film this,” he says carefully.

Confused, Emma shakes her head because her friend’s not making sense. “Film what?” she inquires.

“The aftermath.” His eyes flit over her shoulder and out to the other room, where she knows Killian took the baby. “The mounted cameras got some footage before the Jolly Roger went down, the network could easily get something from the hospital.” He pauses, letting Emma come to the conclusion on her own. “Viewers would eat this story up, you know that.”

“Story?” It’s not like she didn’t hear him the first time: she just can’t believe that any human being would even contemplate the idea of doing what Jefferson is suggesting. Emma looks over her shoulder to make sure Killian isn’t coming back. “Jeff, this is Killian. Your friend,” she whispers harshly. “His older brother died. Liam was the only family he ever had. He can barely look at the water, let alone get on a ship!”

“But…” Emma puts on her fiercest glare, one she imagine would adorn her face if Henry got arrested or if he came to tell her he accidentally got a girl pregnant. It’s scathing, giving her the inklings of a headache. Jeff sighs, relenting for the moment. “Would you at least ask him if he’d consider it?”

“No!” Insulting by the idea, Emma steps away with frustration before whirling back on him and pointing. “If you want him to do it, ask him yourself.” And then she shakes her head because that is an even stupider-as-shit idea. “Actually, don’t. He’s not doing it, Jefferson. Tell the network to shove it up their asses. Killian is a human being. A hurting and healing one, at that.”

Jefferson starts to interrupt her. She cuts him off. “No. No filming if and until there’s another season and, as you said, that’s Killian’s decision.” With a sharp wave of her hand, Emma dismisses him. “Go.”

Proverbially tail between his legs, Jeff nods and goes off to play host for the rest of the party, leaving Emma to bite her lip and wonder if she did the right thing. It is Killian’s life, but she’s gone on and decided on a part - a pretty significant part - of his future without consultation.

(She doesn’t have the right to do that, wouldn’t want somebody doing the same if the tables turned. Except for maybe Killian. Maybe.)

(Oh god, she’s in deep.)

The sound of the door opening behind her breaks Emma from her reverie. She turns to see Killian coming back into the room, handing a napping Roxana off to her father. Spotting her, he sends a small smile her way and comes up to her, his arm curling around her shoulders.

“Did I miss anything important?” he asks.

Emma opens her mouth, but pauses before saying anything. If she lies, he’ll never have to even know that pigs like the network executives and, to an extent, Jefferson himself exist. It’s not just her maternal instincts kicking in - she knows if this were Henry’s future, she wouldn’t tell him at all. Killian’s a grown man, owns a house and had a business, but she feels the strong need to protect him from the worst in life, especially after so much has happened in such a short timespan.

But then, she thinks back to how disappointed and upset he was when he found out she was looking for jobs without telling him. He’s still healing, still just getting back to some sense of normalcy. Now is certainly not the time to get into another argument like that. And that’s the more important factor in this situation.

So she settles on answering him honestly. “Apparently, the execs wanted a third season or a special or something,” Emma explains in a breath.

Raising an eyebrow, Killian says, “But we don’t have any boats.”

“They wanted this.” She gestures around them, then directly at his chest. “They’ve apparently got some footage from the hospital, from the Jolly Roger on that night.” Closing her eyes, Emma plays with a loose strand of hair. “They want to exploit you and the rest of the crew after losing Liam for money.”

“Excuse me?”

But she’s already shaking her head, her hands on his shoulders, sponging up any information and psychological trauma that might bubble up. “Don’t worry, I told him no,” she tells him.

“Swan.” There’s an undertone in his voice that makes her doubt her decision, but she pushes it away stubbornly.

“No, you are not arguing about this with me. It’s not right,” she says. “It’s not good form, right? I’m not going to let them punch you one last time just to make a quick dollar. Mulan and August and Robin and Scarlet, you all deserve better than that.” Letting her hands drag down his arms to entwine the one with his fingers and wrap the other around his stump, Emma smiles up at him. “No one moreso than you.”

His hand squeezes hers and he tugs her into his chest. He leans down as she presses up and throws her arms around his neck. “If it isn’t too wrong to say so,” he murmurs, swinging them back and forth a bit, “you are quite beguiling when you’re defending me.”

Emma rolls her eyes and pulls back a fraction. “Killian,” she moans playfully.

“The beautiful Emma Swan,” he chuckles lovingly. “My savior.”

She bites at her bottom lip before nervously asking, “So it’s okay that I prevented you and the rest of the crew from profiting off of your grief?”

“Swan, I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”  Killian laughs again at her astonished expression, leaning to press a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve been making my decisions for me for the last two years, whether you knew it or not.”

“Huh.”

When she doesn’t answer further, Killian licks his lips in anticipation. “Does that make you feel powerful?” he asks. “Knowing you hold a man’s heart in the palm of your hand?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly. She barks out a laugh before catching herself and matching his gaze. “I kind of like it,” she admits. “Is that bad?”

“Far from it,” he assures her. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in long while, love.” Killian’s smile lights up the room, wide and bright, just like the smile she felt herself falling in love with all those months ago.

Slowly but surely, Killian begins pulling her toward the edge of the room. More specifically, toward the door he’d disappeared behind with Roxana not too long ago. The door, she knows, that leads to the mudroom, which leads out of the house all together. “Do you think the lad could fend for himself tonight?” he asks conspiratorially. “I’d like to take you home and,” he pauses before allowing a smirk to take over his face, “thank you. Properly.”

She catches up to him and wraps her arms around him, backing him up against the wood of the door. Her hand lingers on the doorknob before gently turning it and nodding toward freedom.

“Take me away, sailor.”

#csbb #captain swan big bang #captain swan #ouat #cs ff #ditlot #storytime #my words #honestly #this is probably one of the first full parts i had done when i started this project #i was like dont know how im going to get here but well figure it out #and mama bear emma coming up #being all HOW DARE YOU #wow #i actually really like this chapter now that i reread it #i hope you do too #also killian with a baby #nuff said

[accio-ambition]

What's that? Would you like feelings instead of frights this Halloween evening? I can oblige.

No one else is dying in this story. It's the aftermath of the deaths and other stuff that have occurred thus far. I'm not that cruel.

As always, many thanks to @sotheylived, @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, and @captainswanbigbang for all the help and guidance and everything that you've all given me in your special ways. :)

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Chapter Twenty-One

The day Killian is discharged, Emma’s there, just as she’s tried to be since the wreck two weeks before. She’s there so often, she ended up calling Zelena and asking for an indefinite leave of absence. It’s not that she couldn’t try and balance the job, Henry, and Killian, but she’d rather devote time to the more important of those matters. And now she understands that, though it might be a difficult habit to break, asking for help from the community is a huge advantage.

(It doesn’t hurt that both she and Killian are staples in Storybrooke. People she doesn’t even know have stopped her in the grocery store or called her to see what they can do to help him out and it’s heartwarming.)

Killian can’t drive, not that he drove much before, but someone’s got to be there to take him home. Henry’s hanging out with the Nolans, helping make at least a week and a half’s worth of meals for his freezer.

(Because that’s what you do in a small town, apparently. Just the night before, Mary Margaret had called her to ask which she’d think Killian would like better, cookies or brownies.)

(She said both, because there was some stupidly sappy place in her mind that said for someone in his condition who’s as sweet as he is, Killian deserves both.)

She and Killian stand at the front nurse’s desk, a cool breeze coming in from the automatic sliding doors behind them and stray snowflakes following.

The nurse reads something off of his file and then looks up at him without a hint of empathy. “You’re going to be on your own, correct?” she asks.

“Aye.” The answer sounds so sad and un-Killian. Emma hears him take a deep breath before he adds, “Just me nowadays.”

With a curt nod, the nurse begins to give him directions, telling him to set alarms to take medications at this time and schedule check ups on that day. Standing beside him, Emma pays attention almost as attentively as she did when Henry got sick for the first time ever.

(He thinks he’s going to be alone for the foreseeable future, but if there’s one thing Emma Swan is, it’s stubborn, and she cares about this man too much for him to believe that he’s the only person he can rely on in this world especially at Christmastime. Not anymore. Not on her watch.)

Handing over a thick pile of forms and instructions, the nurse finishes off her spiel with another nod. Killian quietly thanks her and turns to the exit. Emma follows, digging her keys from out of her bag.

Killian’s still somber, even in the way he walks. Instead of his usual too-proud swagger, his shoulders slump forward and forge the path toward her Bug, parked under the covered entryway. Killian gets in, shoving himself carefully into the passenger’s seat while Emma goes around the front to get in the driver’s side.

He stays silent for the short ride, only picking at the already unraveling bandage on his left wrist and staring at the snow fall. Emma glances at him every once in awhile, just to make sure he’s still there and hasn’t sunk into the old leather of her car.

When she pulls up to the curb outside of the his house, Emma flips the engine off and sits there for a minute, just staring at Killian. She knows she shouldn’t - when people did that to her when she was in bad shape, it just made her angrier - but she really is worried about him. After about a minute or so, she yanks the driver’s door open. Killian does the same, opening the door before reaching behind him to grab his duffel. However, she’s already popped her seat forward and is reaching for it herself.

“I can do it, Swan!” he snaps bitterly.

With a sigh, Emma growls, “I know you can, Jones. I’m just trying to be nice.”

“I’m not an invalid,” he continues. “I only lost one hand. The other one is fully functioning.” Tugging his bag free of the backseat, he storms off with his shit and goes into the house.

Emma sighs heavily, letting the stress in her shoulders roll over her body. Slamming the driver’s door shut, she removes her phone from her back pocket and calls Henry.

“Hold on a second, I have to wash my hands,” her son says by way of greeting. She hears the other end of the line clatter on a counter, the rush of water from a spigot, and then Henry asks, “What’s up, Mom?”

“Before you and David bring the food to Killian, can you run back home and grab my clothes from the top of the dryer? Put them in a bag.” She hesitates before adding, “And bring something Christmassy. Lights, bring some lights.”

Muted voices float through the connection. Henry must be asking David to stop next door before leaving. “Yeah, we can do that,” he answers. “But why?”

Sighing again, Emma juts her hip out and leans against the Bug. “Killian shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“So you’re going to stay with him?” She nods and makes an affirmative noise. “Can I come?” he asks.

“Umm.” Normally, she’d be fine with it. Henry is a great help and distraction for Killian. But with the way he’d snapped at her just now, the mothering instinct in her wants to protect her son from that. “Maybe tomorrow night,” she suggests. “We don’t want to overwhelm him.”

She can practically hear him roll his eyes. “Fine.”

“Don’t use that tone with me.”

“Alright,” he grumbles. In the background, a timer goes off. David’s deep voice says something indistinctly while Henry laughs. “We’ll be over in like a half an hour.”

“Okay. Are you behaving for David?”

“Yes, Mom,” he sighs. “Anything else?”

“No.” Despite the somewhat sour mood she’s recently sunk into, Emma smiles. “Thanks for being such a good kid.”

“I do my best,” Henry replies.

Hanging up, she takes a deep breath and mounts the stairs up to the Jones’ front door. It’s still slightly ajar, as if Killian threw it back but it didn’t catch in the jamb. Emma gently pushes it open and walks in.

There’s crashing in the general direction of the kitchen and she follows the sound quickly. She finds Killian rummaging through the cabinets, almost all of them open and the dishwasher gapping and half empty.

“I don’t need your help, Swan,” he grumbles even though she hasn’t murmured a word.

“I know you don’t,” she relents. Standing in the kitchen entryway, Emma watches as he goes back and forth between the dishwasher, one cup or a bowl in his hand, and the cabinets. It explains why the doors are all open, but the bowls are where the plates are meant to be and there’s a spatula in with the mugs.

When he realizes his mistake, Killian throws the plate he’s holding down on the linoleum. It shatters, thankfully into larger pieces, and he practically dives for it headfirst.

“Killian, stop,” Emma reprimands, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him up. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I can’t stop, Emma!” His face is that of a broken man, in all the ways one might think. His eyes are bloodshot, his five o’clock shadow is well past midnight, and there’s something crazed about the set of his mouth. “If I stop, then it comes back. I need to distract myself because if I don’t, Liam haunts me and I can’t.” He runs a hand through his hair frantically, pacing the kitchen and whirling back toward her when he finds his words. “It’s my fault. He was trying to talk to me about you, told me to get my head straight and apologize, and my temper got the better of me because I knew I was being unreasonable and I jerked the wheel,” he says. “We all went overboard because of me and Liam died because of that.”

Frozen in the middle of the kitchen, broken plate at his feet, Killian stares blankly over her shoulder. And then he breaks, tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice cracking. “I can’t, Emma. I’m sorry for all of it.”

Without a word, Emma approaches and embraces him, holds him in the middle of the kitchen and she feels even more assured of the favor she asked Henry. He buries his face into her shoulder, his arms squeezing her tightly, as if she’s the only thing he’s sure about right now.

“I know, Killian,” she mutters, stroking his hair. “It’s okay to can’t right now.” She pulls back a little bit and takes his chin her hand, forcing him look at her. The blue in his eyes is the saddest hue she’s ever seen, like the cloudless sky in the middle of a drought. “But you will. Liam loved you, no matter what. You know that.”

(If she were braver, she’d tell him she loves him too. Perhaps not as much as his brother, but very nearly.)

She gives him a little smile, her hand coming around to to cup his cheek. “He would want you to move on eventually. He’ll always be watching over you now and you know the last thing he wants to see is for you to be miserable.”

Killian sniffs, wiping the remains of salt and sadness off his cheeks. His blunted arms comes up - he seems intent to keep a hold on her waist - but once more he realizes there’s nothing there to help him, and he reluctantly switches arms.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly. She nods. “‘Cause sometimes he was an insufferable arse.”

Emma chuckles. “I’m well aware,” she answers just as gently. “Sometimes you can be too.”

He snickers, the light in his eyes confirming that her jests and jokes are a different way of accepting his apology. “That’s right, Swan, knock a man while he’s down.”

“My specialty.” She lightly slaps him on the cheek. “I feel like it’s only fair, considering the circumstances.”

Sighing, Killian’s shoulders slump forward. “I am sorry about before,” he apologizes quietly. “It was unnecessary and rude. I just…” He licks his lips. “I didn’t want to think about the Jolly Roger crew without you in it.”

“I should’ve told you I was looking for jobs,” Emma replies. “It wasn’t a matter of not trusting you. You seemed so hopeful that the show would keep going. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

A watery chuckle comes from his mouth and pulls her tighter to him. “Why must you always be so thoughtful, love?” He kisses her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. But it doesn’t excuse you for being a dick.”

Confident that he’s alright for now, Emma lets him go. She picks up the few chunks of plate from the ground, throws them in the trash, and starts unloading the dishwasher. In his own time, Killian joins her. He stands guard next to the open dishwasher and hands her a dish at a time, which she places in its proper home.

It’s in these small moments of silence that Emma hazards to inform him of her plan. “Um, so I was thinking I stay here for a couple of nights,” she says, turning around to grab another mug. At his look, she shrugs. “Or at least tonight.”

“Why? What about your lad?”

“Henry’s going to stay with the David and Mary Margaret.”

Killian hums, leaning up against the counter. “It sounds a lot like you’ve invited yourself into my home.”

Emma cocks an eyebrow. “Hasn’t that been your end game for a while?” He shrugs without feeling, eyes looking everywhere but at her. “No one should be alone, Killian, especially at a time like this. I of all people know and understand that.” He still doesn’t say anything. Emma takes a step back toward the front door. “I’ll leave if you want to be alone.”

A moment of quiet settles around them while he contemplates her proposition. She keeps putting dishes away on her own. He comes up next to her and places his hand on her shoulder and drags it down to her hand. He curls his fingers over hers.

“I’d love it if you stayed,” he murmurs, giving her hand a squeeze. “I need someone to make sure there aren’t any monsters beneath the bed.”

Emma laughs. “I knew it. I knew you had to have a flaw.” The dishes put away and the washer closed, she surveys the kitchen. It’s immaculate - the Jones brothers wouldn’t have it any other way - leaving her at a loss of what to do next. “Are you hungry?” she asks. “Do you want me to make you something to eat?”

“Swan.” Eyes wide, she turns around to find Killian staring at her, a smile perking up the corners of his mouth. “I can feed myself.”

Shaking her head, Emma giggles to herself. “Sorry, mom habit.”

“How about I make you something?” he offers instead, pushing off the counter to search the cupboards.

“Killian, you don’t have to.”

“No,” he insists. “You’ve been looking after me for far longer than I want to know and I repay you by being insufferable, as you so delicately pointed out.” He takes hold of her hand in his and squeezes it.  “Let me treat you well.” He looks in fridge, then the pantry. “Well, we’ve got a wide variety of options. Do you want pasta or frozen pizza?”

Emma chooses which one she thinks will be easiest with his one hand. “Pizza sounds great,” she says, settling into his former spot against the counter as he turns the oven on. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the food. I have it on good authority that you’ll have plenty of it in a little bit.”

Almost as if they’ve been summoned, the doorbell rings. Both Killian’s eyebrows raise in confusion. Emma nods toward the door with a grin. “Well, go answer it. Aren’t you a gentleman?”

Cautiously, Killian goes and answers the door, allowing Henry, David, and Mary Margaret in, the latter two weighed down with disposable pans and her son tangled up in twinkle lights and a Santa hat.

“What’s all this?” he asks, following them into the kitchen. Mary Margaret takes charge, directing her husband where to put the pans while she loads them into the freezer.

“We made you food!” Henry declares. “And Christmas cheer!”

Still dressed in her work clothes and running out of room in the freezer, Mary Margaret opens the fridge to see it empty. “Because we knew this was most likely the case.”

David leaves for a second to drop a duffel bag in the entry hall before returning. “Em, your bag is in the hall.”

Emma thanks him and glances at Killian, who seems completely surprised by the turn of events. He looks to Henry, still smiling proudly as he supervises the adults try and fit all the food into storage.

“You know I’ve got some lights of my own, right, lad?” he inquires.

“Yeah, but Mom didn’t know where they were.” Henry finds an outlet and powers up the lights, letting them shine brightly in a ball on the counter. He comes up to Killian and beckons him to bend down. Once he does, Henry places the Santa on his head. “Mom said I could sleep over tomorrow night. Is that okay?”

Killian looks at Emma, who shrugs. “Didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

He sends her a small grin before directing his focus toward her son. “Henry, I would be honored if you slept over tomorrow night.”

Throwing his hands up in the arm, Henry shouts, “Awesome! We can watch movies all night and then we can go find a tree after breakfast!”

For the first time since being cleared for discharge, Killian’s laugh is genuine and might even portray a hint of excitement. “It sounds like a plan, Henry.”

0000

He puts on a good face, but Emma can read him like a book. As she expected, he’s having a tough time adjusting to the loss of his hand. She’ll watch him in the kitchen from her perch on his couch: reaching for a box of cereal with his left hand only to remember that there isn’t anything at the end to grab the box. He’ll stop mid-action, frown at his stump, and shake his head as the one arm raises and the other lowers. He’ll grab for the remote to change from whatever claymation Christmas special she’s got on to watch Discovery Channel and knock it off the coffee table instead.

At least three times a day, Killian will do something along those lines. He’ll get frustrated and annoyed at himself and run off to his bedroom in a huff. When Henry’s over, he and Emma wait awhile and nose-goes to see who will talk to him this time. When it’s her alone, the task falls to her.

(She says it’s for his own good, Killian really shouldn’t be alone right now, but there’s a bit of selfishness in her actions as well. She’s gotten used to being around him that when they’re not together something is...off.)

He’s usually sulking on the bed, curled up on his side and facing the wall. His bedroom window looks over the water, hundreds of yards away, now a traumatic reminder of what took his brother instead of the calming balm it once was. More often than not, the TV is on, an attempt and failure to provide distraction. She’d tried talking to him the first couple of times, but when she received no response, she fell back on to her trusted ways: actions over words.

Hesitantly, she crawls on the other side of the bed and curls up behind him, spooning him with an arm over his waist. She buries her face in his shirt between his shoulder blades and just lies there, letting the warmth of her breath against his back speak the volumes of words she can’t verbalize.

You’re not alone. I’m here. It’ll be okay in time.

(It all reeks of love, and while Emma most definitely can’t say that, she certainly feels it toward this man, no matter how broken he might think he is.)

It’s when he starts to lay his arm atop hers, his fingers twisting together with hers, that she really starts to believe in her own words. That day, he flips around to face her on the bed and it’s just as momentous, as it is wrought with emotions.

“What are you doing, Swan?” he asks.

She shrugs, looking at their hands between them instead of his eyes. “Procrastinating wrapping presents,” she responds.

That gets a deprecating chuckle out of him. “Don’t you have a job to attend to? A son?”

“Henry’s at school during the day and I…” She hesitates in telling him that she technically quit her job to watch over him. He’ll react poorly, go on about how he doesn’t need a nurse, and this is the first time they’ve actually talked during his episodes. She settles on, “I don’t have to worry about work right now. I’m focused on taking care of you.”

Killian’s head falls forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “Emma, love, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: I can take care of myself,” he mutters.

“I know, but you don’t have to,” she whispers back, brushing the tip of her nose against his. “Try something new: it’s called trust.” He chuckles once at his own words parroted back. “Trust me, Killian. You’re my person, Killian. For everything. And if I have to guess, it’s true the other way around too.”

Laughing outright, he pokes at her side. “Who’s sounding a little self-obsessed now?” Pulling her closer to his body, Killian rolls onto his back and Emma’s head comes to rest on his chest. For a moment, they lay in silence, Emma listening to his heartbeat and steady breathing. “Did they fire you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” she sighs, relaxing against him. “I was spending more time in your hospital room than at my desk, so I took a leave of absence.” He’s so warm and comfortable that her eyes start to droop. “Even when I was at work, I was worrying about you.”

She must be more exhausted than she thought she was. Her eyelids are much heavier than they were two minutes ago. Her fingers scratch against his chest beneath his shirt and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you, Emma,” he murmurs. “For everything.”

(It’s what people do when they’re in love, she thinks.)

“It’s what I’m here for,” she says.

#csbb #captain swan big bang #cs ff #captain swan #ouat #in which killian has a breakdown #which i think he is more than welcome to at this stage #but then emma's here #there to remind him that he does have a family in one sense #happy halloween my friends #ditlot #storytime #my words

[accio-ambition]

I lied.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations Chapter warning: Thematic elements, violence?, and death

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Chapter Nineteen

With the fate of Sea of Chaos so uncertain, Emma begins her job search with renewed vigor shortly after the Nolans’ barbeque. She really does want to stay in Storybrooke. It’s the longest they’ve stayed in one place since Henry was born, and the mere thought of leaving this lazy, winter wonderland of a town brings tears to her eyes. This place is home.

Luckily, there’s a small local TV station looking for someone to run their camera during the evenings and nights. It’s not ideal, but it brings in money and she can negotiate holidays off with Henry. She puts that as one of her requirements in her cover letter to the broadcasting group: she’s a single mother, her son relies on her in every way, and they’ll have to be understanding that sometimes he’ll get sick when they aren’t expecting it or he’ll need her to drop him off somewhere and cause her to run late.

She’s picking Henry up from school one afternoon when she gets the call - part-time video producer, working mostly evenings, but some nights. She gets some benefits and the rest of the staff understand the basics of her circumstances. They, too, have family emergencies pop up from time to time and the woman on the other side of the line, one Zelena Mills, says that she is a single mother herself.

“We understand completely, Ms. Swan,” she says, “and we’ll do our best to accommodate if you do the same for us.”

Gladly, she accepts it. It’s freeing to have a safety net. She loves the Jones crew - will always love each and everyone of them - but the network didn’t pay for annual doctor’s visits or hospital visits for broken arms. It’s been a long time since Emma hasn’t had to worry about things like that. And even if Jefferson does get back to them with favorable news - looking more and more unlikely the colder the temperature gets - she can always tell Zelena sorry, but no. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?

The one thing she doesn’t plan on is Killian. Of course. Because when ever has he played right into her hand?

“I got a job,” Emma says when she’s on the phone with Killian one night. Henry’s spending the evening planning his perfect Halloween costume - he’s looking to go as Poe Dameron, but only if he can find a costume size to fit him. That’s left her to folding the laundry in the other room, her phone on speaker.

“So do I,” he chuckles, the slam of a cabinet covering his amusement. “You remember we work together, right?”

“I know,” she sighs, “but it’s getting to crunch time and I need to have some source of income.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, the only indication that he hasn’t hung up the beeping of a microwave in the background. Finally, he asks a bit too harshly to her liking, “You were applying to jobs?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “And I got one. At the TV station outside of town.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice deeper than normal. Usually, that means he’s next to her, behind her with his arms twined around her waist, his nose buried in her skin and mischief in his future. But now, on the phone, it’s kind of frightening.

“It didn’t seem important.” She puts down the shirt she’s folding and takes him off speaker. With the phone up to her ear, she asks, “Why does it sound like you’re getting frustrated? Or upset? I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I thought you would’ve told me,” he says curtly, his voice containing none of the warmth and kindness Emma is accustomed to. “You can’t say we aren’t close, Swan. And I thought that you’d have a little more faith in us.” He pauses before adding, “In me.”

It catches her off guard. Finding another job wasn’t something she advertized - she had only told David, Mary Margaret, and Henry, but only because David was in the same boat and he couldn’t keep a secret from his wife if his life depended on it. It’s not like she hadn’t thought about telling Killian: it just hadn’t come up and she didn’t want to doubt his hope in what the network might say. “It’s just Jeff hasn’t gotten back to us and in my experience, that doesn’t bode well,” she explains gently. “And I wanted to be prepared. Just because I’m not going to be on the ship with you doesn’t mean I don’t have faith in you.” She swallows something back, a lump edging up her throat that threatens to overcome her. “I trust you, Killian. I thought you knew that.”

“Then why don’t your actions speak to that?” he counters sharply. And it’s not necessarily the worst barb she’s been stuck with in her life, but his tone certainly doesn’t soften the blow. “Aren’t you a woman of action, not words?”

And that hurts, her own words thrown back in her face. Because, loathe though she is to admit it, he’s almost got a point.

Almost.

Killian scoffs. “Best of luck in your new endeavors, Swan. Tell Henry I say hello.”

“Why are you angry with me?” Emma asks, beginning to get hysterical if she trusts the quiver in her voice. “I told you before, I need to go where the money is. Thankfully, the money is just ten minutes outside of town.” There are tears threatening to roll down her cheeks and she isn’t quite exactly sure why. Why she’s getting emotional like this, why Killian’s turning on her. All she can think is how fortunate it is that Henry’s in the other room. “We’re still going to be down the street. We’re staying here, this is our home, Killian.”

He doesn’t respond. Emma pulls back her phone and sees that the line is still open. He’s just sitting there, letting her stew in his silence. And that is the final straw. “Fine, be an ass. Don’t talk to me. Whatever. Have a good life.”

She hangs up, sensing like she should feel victorious in standing up to his asshole tendencies. Instead, she feels raw. And if she lingers in the laundry room far after she’s finished folding clothes, then there’s surely some other reason besides licking the wounds that Killian’s inflicted on her.

0000

Emma doesn’t talk to Killian for a while. Months, actually - her birthday passes with much more fanfare than the year before, but without a word from him. Liam answers Henry’s knock on Halloween, sending her a small, sad smile while her son digs through a bowl of candy. Thanksgiving passes with burnt fingers and happy bellies, but Emma comes home to a sadness no amount of pie or tryptophan can even come close to curing. She only hears of his wellbeing through infrequent texts from Liam.

And it hurts, not just her. Henry begins to wonder why they all stop hanging out and Emma can’t even begin to explain what happened because she doesn’t know. He just got angry without rhyme or reason. Any way she looks at it, there really isn’t any logical reasoning behind his outburst.

So she calls in the big guns.

“Sometimes, he just snaps,” Liam confides in her, the sounds of the harbor cluttering the phone line. “It happens on occasion. I believe…” he pauses, as if determining whether or not to share a particular anecdote with her. “Personally, I feel like it might be something to do with our father. He broke promise after promise and my little brother forgave each one of them until the day he never came back.”

It’s the one piece of the Jones brother puzzle she hadn’t been able to find herself. She’d had the inkling that Liam played a huge part of Killian’s life, the way their relationship went deeper than she assumed a normal fraternal relationship would go, and when the elder Jones tells her that, it all makes sense. Liam was Killian’s Henry - the only blood he’s got in the world, the one who’s been there since the beginning through thick and thin.

And then the realization that Killian thinks she’s leaving him hits. But she’s not, she argues, just changing direction a little bit. They’ll still live down the street, they’ll still be around, hell, they could still hang out every day. She knows what it’s like to be left and she isn’t going to do that to him.

“No matter what he says, Emma, Killian adores you,” Liam reassures her. “You and Henry. You’re as much as part of his life now as I am or the sea is.”

“I guess,” Emma sighs, crossing her arm over her stomach. She’s looking out her bedroom window, the tops of some of the boats and ships visible from across the way. It’s the beginning of December, the end of trawling season near. This has to to be one of the last time the Roger and her ragtag crew will go out this year. She can just imagine Liam standing on the pier, everyone on the Roger getting ready to cast off for another day out on the water. “I still think he’s overreacting.”

Liam scoffs. “Have you met my brother? Biggest drama queen I’ve ever met.”

That makes her laugh, lightens the mood even if only for a second. “If you could, I don’t know, put in a good word for me?” she asks.

“I see how it is,” Liam groans. “Making the big brother the middle man. Sending me in to try and sweeten him up.”

(It’s not a lie, but Liam seems to understand what was going on from both sides of the argument. Besides, Killian would give anything or anybody a second chance if Liam asked.)

“I’ll talk to him, Emma. We’re taking some of the old crew and heading out in a moment.” She sighs, thankful that at least one of the Joneses has a head on their shoulders. “But whatever decision he makes, however inane, is his own.”

“Yeah, I know.” She hears a commotion downstairs and assumes Henry has finally come home from school. “Thanks, Liam. I’m glad you guys come as a pair. He’d be a giant pain if you didn’t calm him down.”

“He is a giant pain even when I do calm him down.” She laughs before the sounds of bellows and yells echo through the phone line. “Duty calls. Be good, Emma.”

“I’ll do my best,” she says. “Be safe. All of you.”

“Your concern is touching.” More shouts sound come from the background and it sounds as if Liam, muffling his phone, responds to them. Then he comes back on. “I’ll watch over him. He’ll get some sense knocked into that thick skull of his if it’s the last thing I do.”

0000

After tucking Henry into bed at David and Mary Margaret’s house, Emma resigns herself to another boring night shift where she expects nothing interesting to happen. In a town as small as Storybrooke, it’s not unusual to get through all of her assigned tasks – mostly leftover work from her shifts earlier in the week – and spend time reading about news around the rest of the world. Tonight, the top story is the weather: it’s raining, might turn into snow in the early morning hours. Storybrooke - such a riveting place to live.

She’s cutting together a segment about a high school unity concert – little snippets of kids greeting and taking ticket money at the front door, or their verbose and hilarious faces as they sing – to the voiceover of their teacher or principal or some administrator talking about how proud they are of their students. Honestly, it’s so small town, she lets her eyes go out of focus, only seeing flashes of color on the screen, as the woman’s soft voice from her earphones lulls her to drowsiness.

Her peace is broken when the police scanner whoops to life. Ripping her earbuds, Emma focuses her attention. It’s the Coast Guard siren, the one only used when a man’s gone overboard.

Or worse.

The two other people on call tonight stand as well, already hustling about and grabbing their gear to head out to the scene. There’s information to find out – the who, what, when, etc. – and Coast Guards to interview for the morning’s news. But Emma stays seated: someone’s got to stay behind on the off chance that something else newsworthy happens at the same time. She’ll be the one to actually listen to the radio and recount it to her coworkers when they eventually call or text her asking where to go or what to ask.

“Be advised,” the discombobulated voice says. “We have reports of a crash on shore four miles due north of Georges Bank. Five bodies on board, five missing. Be advised.”

“Damn,” she mutters to herself, turning back to the rolls on her screen. “Hope they find the bastards.”

“Be advised.” And, for some reason, this time around makes her stomach sink. She’s lived here in Maine for over two years now. She’s heard that siren handfuls of times and never felt the sense of dread she’s experiencing now.

“Vessel confirmed as Jolly Roger. All crew missing. Be advised.”

Feeling her eyes go wide and her jaw drop, Emma understands the emotion now. The Jolly Roger – practically her second home. And the crew, all five of them, missing.

“No,” she mumbles to herself. “No, not him.”

She runs to the camera operator heading out to film the live spot. Grabbing his shoulder, Emma yanks him back. “You’ve got to let me film this one.”

“What?” her coworker asks, stunned. “No, Emma, you stay here, that’s how it alwa- ”

“I don’t care if that’s how it always is!” she shouts, gaining the attention of the few others in the office. Her breathing is intense and heavy, a pain stabbing deep throughout her body. “I need to be out there. Please.”

Taken aback from the swiftness of her outburst, her wide-eyed coworker rolls his eyes and relents. “Fine,” he says, shrugging out of his rain slicker. “Any reason not to go out in this weather.”

“Thank you.” She takes equipment from him and follows reporter out to the truck. In her haste, she gets drenched from the storm while loading the van. It’s as she’s running back out, now donning her jacket and hood, that she whips out her phone. She’s in the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and revving the engine, and dialing Mary Margaret’s cell.

Her friend barely answers the phone, obviously having been fast asleep, before Emma’s breathlessly explaining the situation.

“The Jolly Roger went down. They don’t know where any of them are. I’m heading out there to film a spot right now.” She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, and a sharp right down toward the Coast Guard’s station. “Mary Margaret, they’re out there,” she says quietly. The anchor filming the spot is too involved in calling sources and figuring out how much information he knows to pay attention to Emma’s conversation and verge of a breakdown. Still, she can’t be too sure.

On the other end of the line, Mary Margaret calmly asks Emma how she can help. “Just, watch Henry for me. I’ll send you updates when I can. Try not to worry him too much. And call Jeff. He’ll want to know.” She sighs heavily, taking another turn far too fast. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

Emma pulls into the gravel lot of the station shortly after hanging up with Mary Margaret, the anchor running up the slickened steps as Emma grabs the equipment.

By the time she gets inside, Whale, Scarlet, and Mulan have been found, pulled up into the rescue copter, and brought to the Coast Guard headquarters. They’re huddled up together in the corner, wrapped in blankets and soaking wet. Quickly, Emma sets up the tripod, the camera atop it while the reporter asks all the important questions of the lead officers, and then runs over to them. She hugs them all at once, careless as to her own state of dryness or lack thereof.

“Are you guys okay?” she asks, holding herself back from kissing all three of them out of pure joy to see them alive. “What happened?”

“Don’t bloody well know, a’ite?” Scarlet grumps. “One moment, we enjoying ourselves, catching great, the next I’m swimming in the world’s coldest bath.”

At a loss for words, Emma just stares them over, maternal instincts kicking in. She’s observing them, looking for any bodily damage.

“Honestly, we’re gonna be fine.” Whale’s words stop her glances. “Minor bumps and bruises and cold, unless we’re stuck in these clothes much longer. Then we’re at risk for hypothermia and that’s never a nice way to go.”

Emma looks to Mulan, who she knows won’t sugar coat the actuality of the situation.

“I think Liam and Killian were fighting in the captain’s post,” she says. “The ship turned too sharply over a swell and...” Still wrapped in her towel, Mulan motions going overboard. She shivers and cuddles back with her blanket. “Any word on them?”

Emma shakes her head. “Not that I’ve heard.” The reporter calls her over, snapping at her. She rolls her eyes. “I suppose we’ll find out in a minute.”

“They gonna be okay, Emma,” Scarlet says, his entire countenance softening despite the tenseness of the situation. “Them Joneses are survivors.”

Nodding, she hurries over to her set up, flicks the camera to rolling, and points toward the anchor, telling him to get on with it. She kind of zones out until a name - his name - crosses his lips.

“Captain Killian Jones and his brother, Captain Liam Jones, still remain unfound. Coast Guard air rescue is looking, but with each passing moment, their chances of survival shrink.”

She covers her mouth, doing her best to stay professional. Emma has to choke back a sob because her coworker is right. The longer it takes for the Coast Guard to find them – if they find them – the worse of her Jones boys will be. It’s cold and wet on land: she can only imagine how bad it is in the water.

After they’ve finished the spot, the reporter makes one more round in the station, gathering all the pertinent information and contact numbers, before coming up to Emma as she makes sure for a fourth time that what’s left of the crew of the Jolly Roger is okay. “You ready to head back and edit this bitch?”

A slight glance toward the door and the bustle of station, everyone trying to save those men, has Emma crossing her arms and looking at her coworker. She jerks her head toward her friends, still huddling on the bench, warming up but waiting for news. “No, I’m going to stay here.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug. “If a new lead comes in, call me and I’ll come back down.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says, her attention turning back to the crew members of Jolly Roger in their vigil.

The night goes fast and slow. For the most part, the four of them are quiet, getting lost in their own thoughts. It’s close to one in the morning when Emma hears the garble of the radio again. It interrupts a memory she’d been reliving - a movie night with Henry, Liam, and Killian, in the middle of last winter - and wakes her up for a little bit as she strains to hear the message. She catches only a few words – two, medevac, unknown – but it’s enough to spark the flame of hope in her heart.

“They found them,” she whispers, elbowing Mulan next to her. “They found them.”

“How do you know?” she asks groggily.

“They said it on the radio. They were both medevaced to Storybrooke General.” Emma stands abruptly.  “I’ve got to go.”

“Where you going, Emma?” Whale asks.

“The hospital.” She runs a hand through her hair, getting it caught in a knot at the tips. “I need to know they’re okay. Do any of you have your phones?” They shake their heads and Emma nods. “Okay, I’ll call Ruby and tell her to get down here and I’ll keep her updated.” She nods again, more to clear her head than anything, and she gives each one of them a hug. “Get warm,” Emma says by way of goodbye.

Texting Ruby as she walks out the door, Emma gets confirmation that her friend will be there soon. She’ll get to take care of Whale, which both parties will enjoy, and Mulan and Scarlet can derive some sort of joy from ragging on them. Once she rushes out of the Coast Guard post, she realizes she’s stranded. Her coworker took the channel van back to the office. Luckily the hospital isn’t that far away, so she runs. It’s still raining and it’s as she runs around a corner through an alley that she gets a flashback to being drunk and running down her street. Running through puddles to get to Killian, that night where she force her way into his house and he forced himself into a Killian-shaped hole in her heart for good.

The idea of never being able to do that again spurns her legs to go faster.

Along the way, she calls Mary Margaret again, updating her as promised.

“Please tell me it’s good news,” her friend greets her.

“They found them,” she gasps out, the hospital coming into sight. She doesn’t slow down though, still jogs until she reaches the end of the entrance canopy. “Coast Guard found Killian and Liam. I’m at the hospital right now to see them. I’ll text you when I get some more info.”

Mary Margaret doesn’t even say goodbye, just says, “Okay” and hangs up.

Emma gets to the hospital’s front desk, huffing and puffing and says to the nurse behind it, “Coast Guard just brought in two men.” Emma bends over the desk, her palms flat on the surface as she struggles to catch her breath. “Medevac,” she manages to get out. She takes another couple of deep breaths before she can form another actual sentence. “I need to know their condition.”

But the nurse behind the desk shakes her head and returns her gaze to the computer screen. “I can’t tell you that, ma’am.”

“What? Why not?”

The woman sighs and rolls her eyes. “Ma’am, I can’t release that information to someone who isn’t family.”

“I am,” Emma insists, jabbing her finger into her chest and then toward the elevators. “They are. They’re my family.”

“I know you might really want to know, ma’am, but I must insist. I’m not allowed-”

“I don’t care!” she shouts. As it was in the newsroom earlier that evening, all eyes turn to her. Emma feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment and frustration. Again, she points toward the elevator. “Those two men are the closest thing to family I’ve got besides my son and I will not lose them!”

The nurse is startled and starts to stutter through a response. “Ma’am, I-”

Emma groans and leans forward on the desk. “Is there someone else I can speak with? I’ll tell you whatever you want. Go ahead, try me.” She tries to calm herself, settle herself down by stating facts. “My name’s Emma Swan, I’m looking for Liam and Killian Jones.”

“Jones?” Another woman comes out from behind a partition, probably separating the front room from the break room. She looks vaguely familiar and Emma realizes why when she speaks again. “I treated Liam when he was in here a couple months ago.” Her eyes narrow as if she’s trying to see past the rat’s nest of hair and drenched clothing hanging off Emma and then she nods. “His brother put you down as a secondary contact.”

Emma sighs in relief. “Thank you,” she says, her voice breaking.

(Later, when the dust has settled, she’ll think back to what the nurse’s words actually meant. That, had anything gone wrong that first time, Killian wanted her to be in charge in case they couldn’t get through to him.)

Stepping closer to the desk, the edge digging into her hips, Emma pleads with the nurse. “You know me, I’m sorry I forgot your name, but please, can you tell me anything about either of them?”

This new nurse looks at the first nurse, then ushers Emma over to entrance of the desk. She leans over the partition. “I can tell you they’re both here, but it’s really rough right now,” she whispers in her ear.

“What’s wrong?” Emma catches the hint of hesitation in her eyes and she has to hold back another groan of despair. “Look, I don’t want the bullshit. Just tell me.”

The nurse sighs and starts typing away at another computer nearby. “They’re taking Killian into surgery now. The rope was wrapped around his wrist too tightly for too long.” Then she looks directly at Emma. “They’re going to amputate his left hand.”

Her hand goes to cover her mouth in shock. “Oh my god.”

Squinting at the screen, the nurse explains, “He’s a bit touch and go right now. He hasn’t really been lucid, but he’s breathing on his own for now.”

“That’s good, right?” Emma clarifies. “That he’s breathing on his own?” The nurse nods and a small weight lifts off her shoulders. He’s fine, for now. He’s a survivor. Both of them are. “And Liam?” she asks. “What about Liam?”

When the nurse looks away from the computer screen, it feels like a boulder takes up residence in her stomach. The pause that follows makes it even heavier. “I’m sorry, Ms. Swan, but as for Liam…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but then again, she doesn’t really need to.

Emma shakes her head in disbelief. She can’t imagine a world without Liam in it, his silly stories and teasing. And while it’s going to be really tough for her to fully comprehend, it in no way would compare to the train of thought she’s on when she asks her next question:“Does Killian know?”

The nurse says no. It makes sense, with Killian being in and out and hardly conscious, but it still hurts. Emma silently starts to break down, the remnants of her run - gasping breaths and rivulets of sweat - turning into sobs and streams of tears. Offering her condolences for Liam’s death, the nurse comes from around the desk and leads her to a chair in the waiting room. For a moment, the nurse wraps her arm around Emma’s shoulders and just holds her, a weak attempt to glue her together as she falls apart.

After a few minutes, she gets up and gets back to work. “I’ll let you know when Killian gets out of surgery,” she assures her.

A wobbly “thank you” comes out of Emma’s mouth as the nurse leaves. A moment later, she crumples up on a chair and cries. She brings her knees to her chin, the heels of her sneakers perching on the edge of the chair. The sobs reverberate off the waiting room’s walls and Emma’s reminded how lonely being sad can be.

Thanks to @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, @sotheylived, and @captainswanbigbang. You know what you did to enable this. And you too, @the-corsair-and-her-quill. You know.

#csbb #captain swan big bang #cs ff #captain swan #ouat #my words #ditlot #storytime #i am the worst for a lot of reasons :)

[accio-ambition]

This chapter is mostly banter. So enjoy. As always, a million bajillion thanks to @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, @sotheylived, and those crazy kids at @captainswanbigbang. With each new chapter, I get a little sadder that this project is wrapping up and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank them enough.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Chapter Eighteen

“We’re not getting another ship.” Killian slides onto the bench across from her at Granny’s, nabbing an onion ring as he scoots by her plate.

“What?” she asks, confused about both the statement and the idea that he thinks she won’t mind him stealing her onion rings. Rotating her plate so her rings are closest to her side of the table, Emma repeats herself. “What do you mean, you’re not getting another ship?”

He shrugs. Somehow, the action conveys sass. “What part don’t you understand, Swan? ‘We’ refers to my brother and I. ‘Are not’ means - ”

“I mean why aren’t you guys getting a new ship?” she interrupts, glaring at him. “You said you were looking into it before the Jewel sunk. Why stop looking now that it has?”

Glancing anywhere but at her, Killian explains, “There’s nothing out in the market right now that’s what Liam’s looking for. I think he wants to try and salvage the Jewel, build it up again from scratch and make some changes.”

“How long would that take?” she asks, ticking her head to the side.

“It’s anybody’s guess,” Killian says as Ruby comes up to their table with a smile on her face, asking Killian if he needs anything. He orders a cup of coffee, more out of kindness than necessity or desire. Once she’s gone to place his order, he looks back at Emma. “He’s calling up some of his mates in the Coast Guard and throughout the harbor to see if any one of them is willing to help haul what’s left on the shore back to a shop.”

“Huh,” she hums. It’s an interesting proposition, one that could make for good TV. She isn’t sure if that’s at all what they would want - they being the Jones brother or the executives - but it could be interesting. That is, so long as no one is breaking their contract. “Have you told Jefferson?”

Killian shakes his head. “He’s the next call, after Dave.” Reaching across the table, he steals another onion ring, narrowly avoiding Emma’s slap. He takes a bite and chews it for a moment. “I didn’t know Granny made onion rings,” he comments idly.

Emma smirks, taking a bite out of one of her own rings. “She does for her favorite customers,” she snarks.

An extremely dramatic frown crosses his face. “I thought I was one of her favorites,” he mumbles.

She knows he’s playacting for her pity, but Emma still feels the need to comfort him. “I don’t think there’s anyone in town who isn’t Granny’s favorite.” She reaches across the table to pat his hand. “Don’t worry, you’re one of my favorites,” she says.

He grins. “As much as I will cherish that admission,  I don’t get free food out of our relationship.”

“Hey, I still have to pay for this stuff,” she whines. “And I can make you food.” His eyebrows shoot up and she shrugs. “It’d be free for you.”

“I feel like we’ll have more time for that in the near future, what with there being only one ship in our possession.” Sighing again, Killian rests his head on the table in front of him, grasping blindly for her hand. He entwines their fingers together. “What are we going to do, Emma?”

“I don’t know,” she grumbles, relishing in the warmth and weight of his hand in hers. “We’ll figure it out.” In the meantime, Emma uses her other hand to slide her plate reluctantly between them, a silent offer for assurance in the form of onion rings.

Peeking up from his arms, Killian smiles. He actually thanks her this time as he takes an onion ring and munches on it thoughtfully. “What do you think Jeff’s going to say about the show?” he asks.

She shrugs this time. “He’s probably going to refer back to whatever contract you guys signed, then take it up to the channel execs. See what they say.” Ruby finally returns with his cup of coffee and another small plate of onion rings for her. “It’s a huge guessing game until the end of this season. I’m sure it won’t end badly. They might just find another trawler somewhere nearby and focus on them instead of the Jolly Roger and the Jewel.” She rolls her eyes. “Who knows?”

Looking off into space, Killian reaches over to the plate of fresh onion rings, only to be met with empty air. He looks up to find Emma hoarding the plate close to her, Gollum protecting the one ring.

“I don’t care how good looking you are,” she threatens him. “You want onion rings? Fucking order some and stop stealing mine.”

A huge smile breaks across his face before he salutes her sarcastically. “Message received loud and clear, love.” Still, he actually stands up and grabs one last ring from her possession. “They just taste so much better when it makes you feisty.”

Bending over to press a short kiss to the top of her head, Killian pops her onion ring into his mouth and smirks on the way out of Granny’s, leaving Emma fuming.

0000

Jefferson’s reaction, at least according to Liam and how Killian relays it to her on the phone later that night, is more positive than either of them had expected. While Emma prepared herself to hear about screaming and cursing in true Jeff fashion, Killian tells her that their producer understood considering the circumstances.

“Liam said that Jeff said that he’d inform the proper executives and get back to me if there was anything else he needed,” his voice crackles through the line. Emma’s walking in the front door, a bag of Chinese food dangling off her elbow and her cell wedged between shoulder and ear.

“Well, that sounds kind of promising,” she assures him, shutting the door behind her. “Hold on a second.” Taking the phone from her shoulder, Emma yells for Henry to set the table before returning to their conversation. “Do you think he’ll have something to get back to you with by the barbeque?” she asks.

“Dunno,” he grumbles. She can just imagine him scratching behind his ear, the uncertainty of the future causing a frustrated blush to rise on his neck. He sighs, and then says, “I’ll let you and the lad get to supping. See you soon, love.”

“Bye.”

Emma hopes for all their sakes and sanities that Jefferson does have something to tell the crew by the time the Nolans’ barbeque rolls around in a couple of days. It’s the end of summer though it feels more like fall, coming up on the end of regular trawling season, and to celebrate that or maybe just help each other grieve and mourn the recent past. Either way, Mary Margaret had brought up the idea and Emma had wholeheartedly volunteered her and Henry’s manpower to help set up.

“Mom, Phillip’s mom was gonna take us to a movie,” he complains where she tells him of their plans.

“Well, you’ll have to call Phillip and tell him sorry,” she says. “It’s going to be a beautiful day and David promised me there would be ice cream.” Flopping back on the couch they share and changing the channel, Emma adds, “Invite him to the party while you’re at it. Phillip and his parents.”

“This is Mary Margaret and David’s party, remember?”

She shrugs. “We’re setting it up, I’m saying we can invite people.”

And Emma really begins to agree with her own words as she’s helping David set up the eighth fold-out table in an hour in their backyard, his wife directing them on its placement and Henry plugging in lights around the fence. Mary Margaret keeps saying she needs to keep an eye on food she’s pre-cooking in the kitchen, but Emma’s sure she just doesn’t want to do the heavy lifting. Literally.

All the while, the possibility of having to leave Storybrooke - of no longer being able to use her son for chores, of no longer being close to Mary Margaret and David, or Ruby, or even the Joneses - lingers in her mind.

It’s something she doesn’t want to do unless it’s absolutely necessary.

But now that there isn’t a second boat and no intention of getting one, there might be no show that needs a camera for her to operate. She’s in a bit of a tight position. She has enough saved up for her and Henry to survive for a little while, but the mastering of camera operation can only take you so far in life.

These frightening thoughts sneak in and out of her mind during the party, almost ruining the beautiful sunset that cools what remains of a scorching day. Henry’s having a blast, he and Phillip shooting each other with water guns in between hot dogs and ice cream. Mary Margaret’s in full-on hostess mode, talking with everyone she walks by to make sure their drinks are cold and their stomach are satisfied. And David, standing next to Emma, taking in the scene with his own internal commentary.

“What am I going to do?” she asks David in one instance of darkened thought, beer in hand.

Reading her mind, he shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. “What are we going to do?”

Emma chuckles darkly. “At least Mary Margaret’s got a job.”

“Hey,” David reprimands her. With a shrug, she rolls her eyes at him. “I know you don’t particularly like asking for help, but you know you don’t have to do this alone.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he pulls her into his side, a brotherly gesture of comfort. “Some other project will come up. And in the meantime, enjoy your time with Henry. Relax.”

“Easier said than done,” she grumbles. She takes a swig of her beer only to find it empty. A frown growing on her face is halted by the somewhat magical appearance of another drink in David’s other hand.

“Maybe you just need a little push in the right direction,” he suggests, handing the beer over.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

David nods to Killian, who’s now chasing after Henry and Roland, Liam and Robin and Regina laughing at his antics. He’s spent the majority of the evening doing so, choosing the adventures of children over alcohol for entertainment. Liam even had to scold him for running about the deck too fast.

(He’d been sheepish naturally, being treated like a child, but Emma had to admit that the entire situation was adorable.)

“Don’t make me spell it out for you,” David nearly begs.

Catching his drift, Emma grimaces. “You’re gross.”

“I’m right.” She glares at him as he takes another drink of his beer, trying unsuccessfully to hide his smug smile. When he finishes, David shakes his head. “Look, I don’t want to know anything about it.”

“There’s nothing for you to know, we just - ”

“Don’t want to know,” he interrupts her, his hand coming up between them. “All I need to know is if he makes you happy. Because I can lie to myself all I want and pretend that you’re happier here because you have us. But even I have to admit you look a hell of a lot happier when he’s around these days.”

Taking a moment to contemplate the idea, Emma finally shrugs, hints of a smile curling the corners of her mouth. “I’m not unhappy.”

David nods once sharply. “Good enough for me,” he says, taking another drink. “The rest of that stuff, you can talk to Mary Margaret or Ruby. Not my department.”

Emma nudges his shoulder in good humor. “You mean you don’t want to know the intimate details about-”

“Nope,” he interrupts her. “Not my department. Not at all.”

With a nod and a smile, David takes his leave, mumbling something about making sure there’s enough food. It’s as much a fake excuse to get away from the uncomfortable conversation as it is an inside joke - like Mary Margaret would ever let anyone go hungry at her house.

As though his ears were burning, David’s space is quickly occupied by Killian himself, out of breathe and damp from being chased with water guns.

“Those lads are quick,” he says nonchalantly.

Emma chuckles. “What, Captain Hook can’t keep up with the Lost Boys now?” she teases him. “Finally admitting defeat and letting old age and a croc get you?”

Killian’s frown is so dramatic - honestly, it makes him look like a blobfish - that her laughter flourishes into guffaws and even a few tears. “I am affronted, Swan,” he says. his voice equally put off. “How dare you insult the captain as such. I should make you walk the plank!”

So she’s had a few drinks, as he probably has too, but that matter doesn’t do anything to quell the warmth that bubbles up inside with this ridiculous man next to her. She thinks of what David said and maybe it’s just become obvious to her how obvious she and Killian are together. How often and how much time they spend with each other, how their countenances change when in each other’s company.

It nearly makes her sad when she forces the conversation to other, less amusing topics.

“Did Jefferson get back to you yet?”

Shaking his head, Killian runs a hand through his hair. “I even inquired about it the other day after Liam’s check up,” he tells her. “Alas, nothing from executives or any other higher up.”

“I’m sure that doesn’t mean anything,” Emma assures him, though a different discussion sets off in her mind. She knows better than Killian that, unlike in other realms of the world, no news in show business isn’t good news. Sea of Chaos is quite a money maker for the network: it’s grown a fanbase, it’s interesting enough and original enough that it could bring in more ratings, and the cast is memorable enough that they can quote them on merchandise. Changing it in any way - or worse, cancelling it - could be detrimental to their entire lineup.

But Killian doesn’t need to know that.

“No news is good news, right?” Emma lies easily.

He shrugs. “I can only suppose so.”

#csbb #captain swan big bang #cs ff #captain swan #ouat #ditlot #but i can totally imagine emma being like fucking bitch #i love you get your own damn onion rings #and then at the bbq #she sees him with the kids and has the off thought that hed be a great dad #which he would and will be in the show #and then being like hmm i gotta go make out with him behind the garage or something #i dont think mary margaret and david have a garage #okay so maybe under a tree or something #my words #storytime #also i know there are a whole lot of things i skip over because of time #but going back through it #i really want to fill in the gaps #so if you have a suggestion #im open to hearing it

[accio-ambition]

I know, I know, I broke the rules, but aren't rules meant to be broken on occasion?

Four million thanks to @captainswanbigbang, @sotheylived, @shipsxahoy, and @queen-icicle-fandom for supporting and even encouraging the feels in these last couple of chapters.

Now have some more angst.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Chapter Twenty

Emma Swan has endured some long nights in her life. The cold ones where her shivers were the only way to keep her warm at night. The empty ones where she sat awake, eyes wide and stomach growling. The lonely ones where the closest thing to human interaction – to a friend – was the car that served as her bed. Even the single night she sat in a jail cell, ankle cuffed to a bed while contractions wracked her body.

Those were nothing compared to this one.

Not only is Killian lying in a bed, lifeless and pale, so far away from the vibrant, innuendo-ready man that he is normally, but Liam is gone.

And his little brother – the light of his world, the only blood to ever care for him – doesn’t know.

The tears roll down Emma’s cheeks almost nonstop.

The nurses work around her, like she’s another machine working to keep Killian alive at the side of his bed. And, in a way, she thinks, she is. Without Liam, he needs a reason to fight, to come back.

To fight and come back to her.

When she first came into his hospital room, about four hours after initially arriving, it was jarring. Killian was breathing on his own, thank god, but the sheer number of wires and tubes leaking into his body was breathtaking. And his arm: his left arm stopped short of his wrist.

“Be careful of his left side,” the nurse advised her. “It got the brunt of the wreck. It’s going to be tender for a while.”

Emma nodded wordlessly, the image before her choking back any sort of verbal response.

“He’s going to be fine, Ms. Swan,” the nurse said quietly. “He’s a fighter, but he probably won’t wake up for 12 hours at the least. He can hear you, though.” Gently, she pressed Emma into the room. “Talk to him. It’ll help his progress.”

A scratchy “thank you” was all Emma could say. The nurse nodded and headed back to the nurses’ station, leaving her all alone with her hurting, healing pirate.

The nurse was the first of many to tell her to talk to Killian. They said so every time they came in to check his vitals, but it feels wrong. She wouldn’t be talking to him – talking to him involved banter, a back-and-forth, god even his incessant flirting. No, she’d be talking at him.

So she does the next best thing: she scales her own walls to cross over his while they are down. Her hand slips into his where it’s lying on the bed. It’s cold and there’s an IV in the way. But she doesn’t let go. Not even to itch her nose. Her hand stays in his because it is the one reassurance she can give him.

During the night, when she finds herself uncomfortable or her back aching, all she does is glances up at Killian’s face. It’s peaceful, laugh lines evident and eyes flitting behind the lids. If not for the slight bruises forming and marks on his cheeks, she could be sitting next to him on his bed, waiting for him to wake up and partake in round two of three of mind-blowing sex. Maybe she’d even been able to persuade Killian into torturing Liam with theatricalities through the thin bedroom walls.

Then she remembers the news that’s waiting to be told when he awakes and Emma reevaluates her circumstances.

At some point, she miraculously falls unconscious, her head pillowed on her elbow resting on the bed. She doesn’t hear the nurses come in periodically or the hum of the machines. The only reason she knows she ever fell asleep is the sensation of pressure squeezing her hand.

Slowly uncurling from her hunched position, Emma squints. The sun peeks through the blinds, far brighter than it should be. There’s a kink in her neck and her back and – well, she’s going to pay for her sleeping arrangements all day.

But then the pressure grabs her attention again. Looking down at her hand, she begins to piece together the meaning. Her eyes follow the lines of his body – from his wrist, up his arm, across the scratches that marred his face to the hazy blue of his eyes.

Killian’s awake, and the first thing he sees is her, puffy eyes, rat's nest hair, and all.

She doesn’t think she’s ever been this happy and sad in her life.

“Swan, darling,” he says, his voice scratchy and low. “What are you doing here?”

Ten minutes ago, Emma would’ve said she was fine. She’s been through hell and worse in her eyes. But the moment Killian asks his question, the tears start anew. Without saying anything, he can read Liam’s death in her eyes and he shakes his head minutely. He squeezes his hand and hers by default.

“No.” It’s desperate, but not begging. He sighs in distress, turning so his eyes stare up at the ceiling instead of at her.  “I was with him,” he says quietly, eyes closing. “The storm was too much and he was getting cold, so he and I hung on to each other to keep warm.”

Biting her lip is the best she can do to keep from breaking. The pain and threat of blood centers her, lets her focus on Killian’s pain. That’s what matters most right now: he’s lost everything.

“We’re survivors, Emma, Liam and I. We get through anything together.”

But that rips her heart to pieces, and the waterworks begin in earnest. “Coast Guard picked you both up at the same time,” she tells him, trying to keep her sobs to a minimum to get the information out. “They had the hardest time prying you two apart, but once they figured out…”

She needs to get the words out. They both know that. Killian will not be able to start grieving properly until he knows without a shadow of a doubt. Emma takes a deep breathe before quietly, solemnly saying, “He’s gone, Killian. Liam died honorably.”

“What?” Killian spits out. “In a crash? In a storm? He survived that, Swan. To be killed as he’d already been beat isn’t honorable.”

Emma shakes her head and squeezes his hand. The motion brings his attention back to her, his eyes shooting to hers. “He died protecting his baby brother, Killian,” she whispers. “He died so that you could live.”

Killian corrects her immediately, a pavlovian response  – “Younger brother.” – and she watches his eyes widen as he realizes that never again will his elder brother tease him.

And that’s when he breaks.

0000

Having had the misfortune of being around Killian when he’s tired, hungry, angry, and just about every other negative emotion on the spectrum, she has an idea of what to expect with grieving Killian.

It’s completely wrong. While she suspected he would rage, he doesn’t: he just sits silently more often than not. He’ll greet her when she comes to visit, engage in small talk because he’s gentleman enough to not leave her hanging, but that’s really it. He doesn’t laugh at her bad jokes. He doesn’t crack a smile. He just...doesn’t.

The only time he seems remotely happier is when she brings Henry along on her visits. It’s like her son can understand where Killian is mentally. They discuss the weather and the basics of Henry’s schooling, but then Jones will fall silent. So Henry fills the air with stories – he brings in the story he has to read for class or the anthology of fairy tales he loves and reads them aloud. Emma can see the tension slowly ease out of Killian’s rigid positioning while her son’s young voice bounces off the walls.

It all comes back, though, when a nurse walks in, or she sneezes, whenever the magic of the moment is broken. And it breaks her.

She knows that he’s strong – hell, he fought back death for a couple more decades at least in his weakened state – and she knows that he’ll recover both physically and mentally eventually, but his emotional state has her worried.

He needs to talk about it, to someone. If not her, than David or one of his crew boys. A therapist even, though she knows he won’t approach or even contemplate that method of healing.

So for now, Emma brings Henry along with her as much as she can. Because at least when her son’s around, Killian seems almost like his old self.

And she knows that their time together is helping Henry heal, too. Emma insisted on being the one to tell him, coming home from the hospital to shower once Killian was stable enough. Belle had taken the seat by his bed, had decided to talk to him because, as it turns out, she and Liam were together. They were supposed to go camping that weekend, and they were going to tell everyone officially once they returned. They were going to pick out a Christmas tree for Belle’s apartment, have the holiday dinner together. He was going to meet her father.

But some stories get cut short.

(It’ll do her good, Emma reasons. She gets to tell Killian about a different side of his brother. It’ll help both of them cope somewhat healthily. Hopefully.)

Henry’s still in his pajamas, staying home from school at her request under David’s eye. When she goes to pick him up, ragged and tired beyond belief, he immediately rises from the couch and hugs her. He has no idea what’s wrong, but he can tell she’s in pain. Her baby boy knows that, right now, she needs to be sure that he’s okay, just like he needed to make sure he was okay when the storm nearly mowed the Roger over.

The favor is returned mere minutes later, after Emma explains the whole ordeal and he’s sobbing into her shoulder on the couch. He’s lost one of his best friends, if the Jones’ spot on their Christmas list was any indication, and she’s sure it hurts more than anything he’s ever experienced. Liam was nothing if not an older brother to all three of them - knocking Killian into shape for the majority of his life, teasing Emma at every opportunity, and entertaining Henry when no one else had the patience or wherewithal to do so. Together, they’re a little quartet that’s lost their leader.

And they’ll get through it, eventually.

Together.

#csbb #captain swan big bang #cs ff #ouat #captain swan #i know #im the worst #tbh the beginning of this chapter made me emotional #like i was teary eyed writing this #which doesnt happen often #or at all really #there are at least three more chapters #one might be an epilogue #also i love the idea of henry being one of the biggest bright spots in killians life in this post liam world #it makes my sad heart a little happier #storytime #my words #ditlot

[accio-ambition]

Hello, and welcome to another episode of what in the world are you doing to me, Maggie? In this episode, we'll feature adorable drunks, bedsharing, and sexytime boot scenes. Tune in for that and more, coming up!

A million and bajillion thanks to @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, @sotheylived, and those crazy kids at @captainswanbigbang. With each new chapter, I get a little sadder that this project is wrapping up and I don't think I'll ever be able to thank them enough.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations Chapter warning: Foul language, clothed foreplay if that needs to be a warning

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Chapter Seventeen

A couple nights later, Henry sleeps over at Grace’s house after a long week at school and Emma takes advantage of the empty house by getting drunk on the rum Killian and Liam brought over for Christmas - which she still hasn't finished m. It’s not the smartest idea she’s had ever, but work has been rough lately. Since she doesn’t like to drink immensely with her son around, she tends to go hard on the few occasions Henry’s gone. Sad movies, drinking out of the bottle, the whole nine yards.

She’s probably a half hour into Pretty Woman - Julia Roberts telling off that snotty woman at the store is her favorite part, let’s be honest - when it starts to rain and Emma, perhaps influenced by the copious amounts of alcohol she’s consumed, goes outside to take it in. It seems to fit the mood: getting wasted and hanging out in the rain, letting the water wash away whatever worries and negative thoughts are bumping around in her brain. It’s rejuvenating, even if a bit chilly.

Which explains why when she gets a burst of energy, she absolutely has to run down to the Joneses’ house. What’s a better way to warm up then to run?

It really is freeing, having the raindrops pelt against her skin and drench her sweatpants. She makes it up to their front door without feeling out of breath at all, and knocks on the door with a bright, wide smile on her face.

While she waits, Emma realizes she’s stepped in a puddle or two on the way down there. The bottom of her pants pull the rest of them down, her bare ankles and feet nearly covered in the excess wet fabric. She crouches down to roll them up a little bit, but her hands aren’t working properly.

She’s still trying to hike up her pants - or maybe the mission has changed to wringing out the water - when the door creaks open and Killian answers, confused.

“You should really do something about your puddles.” she says in greeting, rising and effectively giving up on whatever she was trying to do.

“Pardon, love?”

“Your puddles,” she repeats, pointing behind her. “You should do something about them because they were in my way and I stepped in them and now my feet are wet.”

“Swan, are you…” he starts, and then dissolves into chuckles. “Swan, are you drunk?”

She shrugs, nervously twisting at the waist. “I’ve had a drink,” she admits. “Or seven.”

His chuckles grow louder as he shoots her a delighted smile. “Oh Swan,” he murmurs, holding out his hand. Naturally, she takes it. “My lovely adorable drunken Swan.” That makes her happy, a dopey grin growing on her face as she takes a step closer to him. “Where’s Henry?”

“He’s at a sleepover.”

“Well, I suppose it’s good you don’t have to care for him tonight.” Killian ushers her inside, tugging on her hand. He disappears for a moment, letting her drip alone on the hardwood floors of the entryway, and comes back with a pair of socks way too big for her as she ungracefully flops on the couch. Ever the gentleman, he takes one of her legs and places it on his lap, carefully rolling the socks up and onto her foot. He does the same thing with her foot, before tapping her shins.

“I’d suggest we start a fire, but we haven’t any firewood, so I’m sorry about that.”

“But then we could make s’mores.”

He laughs, sparking some warmth within her better than any fire could. “Yes, Swan, we could, but that would involve burning some furniture and I shouldn’t think Liam would be too pleased with me.”

She sighs dramatically, sinking further into the cushions. “Who cares?” She gets up, goes to kitchen to get herself some water, and peruses the fridge’s contents. Even the mention of s’mores makes her hungry for something sweet. Maybe they’ve got whipped cream and ice cream.

Emma opens up the freezer at the same time, trying to focus one eye on each side of the appliance, but all it’s doing is giving her a headache. She shivers.

“Is there something specific you’re looking for?” The contrast of the cool blast in front of her and the heat of his body behind her is far more intoxicating than the alcohol she’s drunk. It forces her to unconsciously sway back into him, her shoulders gently nudging into his chest. She takes a swig of water and turns around, letting both doors close behind her.

“No. Not really.” She shivers again.

Killian gazes down at her, a little smirk on the corner of his lips. “You should get out of those wet clothes,” he says, taking a step back. “Can’t have the boss falling ill, can we?” He takes her hand once more and drags her to the laundry room.

“I’m not your boss,” she whines, coming to a stop right in the doorway. Killian releases her and goes digging through the clean laundry. He hands her a shirt and a pair of shorts from atop the washer. “What are these for?” she asks.

“Change into them.” He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Through the wood, he says, “Change and throw your wet ones in the dryer. And when you can’t figure out which buttons to press, go ahead and shout.”

Emma wrinkles her nose. “I know what buttons to press, asshat,” she shouts.

She strips down and throws her clothes in the machine. She puts his shirt on and take a quick sniff and, ugh, even his shirt smells good.

(Bastard.)

She wants to prove him wrong, she really does because she’s not that drunk. She ran down here, didn’t she? And she didn’t fall flat on her face nor did she get any glass in her feet or skin her knees on rocks. Emma is a strong independent woman who doesn’t need help from any man.

“Killian!” she yells. “Killian, the dryer is broken!”

Far too quickly, he enters the mudroom chuckling. “Are the words moving as well?” he asks. “Is that how it’s broken?”

“The buttons won’t go down.”

“That’s because you’re not pressing on the buttons, you’re pressing about two inches above the buttons.” He programs the machine and it starts to rumble to life. When he sees she isn’t completely dressed, he turns away, the one ear she can spot tingeing red. “Those shorts should fit you. A conquest of Liam’s left them behind.”

Looking down at herself, Emma can see that the hem of his shirt covers her ass and, yes, it falls a little high on her thigh, but she’s covered. When she goes to give him a sassy reply, he’s already gone. To appease him, she forces her legs into the gym shorts, grumbling under her breathe the entire time.

Emma heads back to the living room and sprawls her body across the couch. “Where is Liam, anyways?” she asks.

“Last I knew, he was on a date with Ms. Belle French.”

“I knew it.”

Killian replies in surprise. “You know her?”

Shrugging, Emma begins to play with the tips of her hair, curling them around her finger in front of her face. “She hung out with Liam in the hospital when you needed to shower. And Henry reads like I film during the summer. We always gets to know the librarians.” She sighs and nods harshly. “About time. Good for them. Good match.”

“I’d have to agree,” he says, joining her on the sofa. Killian stares at her feet for a moment before deciding to forcibly lift her feet so he can sit. Her heels come to settle on the tops of his thighs. “The lads and I have been trying to get them to agree to dinner for quite some time.”

“That’s nice.” Emma crinkles her nose, overwhelmed by the menial tasks of comprehending Liam’s love life as well as the comforting feel of physical touch.

Naturally - and drunkenly, let’s face it - she decides that’s been enough of that.

“I should probably leave then,” she says. Emma takes her feet from Killian’s lap and struggles to get vertical. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shrugs again, this time much more awkwardly. “Wouldn’t want to intrude of any after-date activities.”

“No.” Following her suit, Killian stands, reaching out to rest his hand on her arm, steadying her. There’s a bit of urgency or something else along the same lines in his voice that surprises her. “He’ll text me if something should occur, though I don’t think it will.”

“Yeah, Belle is a bit of a prude.”

“Emma,” he scolds her sternly. “Watch your tongue. That’s not only my brother’s date, but a friend of mine.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, licking her lips. “I don’t know why I said that. Belle’s super nice.” He’s still touching her, his hand slowly falling down toward her wrist, and it’s a bit distracting. She shakes her head, trying to clear the fog in her mind, regardless of whether it originated from alcohol or tension. “Can we watch a movie or something?” Emma asks, her gaze flicking toward the TV to her right.

He chuckles. “First you show up at my house unannounced, nearly break my dryer, insult my brother’s date, and now you ask if we can watch a movie?”

She shrugs, casually returning to the couch. “I’m not used to being in that big house alone.” Emma lies down again, letting her body span the length of the couch. With one eye squinted, she looks up at Killian. “So can we?”

Killian sighs and takes a seat on the couch once more, lifting her feet up to take their place and setting them gently on his lap. “What genre do you want?” he inquires, stretching out to the coffee table for the remote and turning on the TV. Save for the shift of bending forward, Emma’s feet stay snug on his lap.

“Something funny,” she requests. “Or something with a car chase.”

“How about Hot Fuzz?”

“Never seen it.”

She’s staring at the screen, which automatically scrolls through newly-added titles instead of the quick flicking Killian usually took to. Glancing down the couch from her, Emma sees his eyebrows touch the tips of his bangs. “Then that’s it,” he declares, leaning closer to her. “It’s both funny and has a car chase.”

Emma gasps dramatically, her hand falling on her chest. “Be still my beating heart.”

“You’re going to love it, Swan,” Killian assures her, searching through the menu until he finds it.

After pressing play, he rests his hands on her, one on her foot and the other on ankle. It’s almost domestic, like they’re on a date night in or something, the rain gently pitter-pattering on the windows and the hum of the movie on in the background. The alcohol still buzzes through her veins and gives her an overall sense of contentment. Her eyes begin to droop and she must fall asleep, for the next thing she knows, she is coming to surrounded by fluffy pillows and a luxurious blanket that most certainly aren’t hers.

The beginnings of a hangover headache gently knock on the inside of her forehead. Emma groans and fights her way out of the little cocoon she’d wrapped herself in. Her feet touch hardwood floors and she knows she’s not home.

“Killian,” she grumbles, wiping at the sleep still in her eyes. Her voice is deep and gravelly, so she clears her throat and repeats herself a bit louder.

Her ears perk up at the sound of quick footsteps in the hallway and before she can properly search the room for a weapon against an intruder, the door creaks open and Killian’s face peeks in.

“Everything alright, Swan?” he asks, his voice scratchy as well.

Emma pushes herself off the mattress and walks toward the door while Killian presses it open wider. “Yeah, I was just surprised to wake up not in my bed,” she explains.

“Oh,” he says, his voice and eyes falling a bit. “I thought I heard you call for me.”

“I mean I did,” she admits. “Kind of. I was trying to figure out what was going on with my voice.” His mouth opens slightly in understanding. “How did you hear that?”

“Ah,” Killian says with a smirk. He gestures to the room next door. “I was resting in Liam’s room. For as lavish as this house looks, the walls are deceptively thin.”

Emma nods, glancing about the room. “So this is your bedroom?”

“Yeah.” She hums, taking it in. It’s pretty sparse, but somehow perfectly encapsulates Killian. His window looks over the backyard and the waters beyond. The floor is spotless, his closet doors and drawers closed completely. A few aesthetic pictures - mostly of ships, unsurprisingly - decorate the walls and his dresser has a few shells and what looks like a photograph of the Roger’s crew on display.

(The man lives and breathes the sea.)

A movement catches her eye and she looks at him as he goes to scratch behind his ear. “I figured it’d be bad form for you to be woken if my brother and Belle decided to come in.”

“He’s not home yet?” she asks. “What time is it?”

“Close to two, I think.”

Silence falls between them, Emma hovering by his bed and Killian still standing in the doorway. “I should get home,” she murmurs, searching for her phone and readying herself to cool dampness outside.

“Don’t.” His request startles her, the earnestness and sincerity behind it confusing. She whirls around to face him and, if she’s not mistaken, she detects a hint of a blush on Killian’s cheeks. “You’re still a little inebriated, which means I would have to walk back with you and it’s still raining,” he explains. His hand casually gestures between the two of them before falling to his side. “Besides, you don’t want to be alone.”

Ignoring the army of butterflies that begin fluttering in her stomach - he remembered, she didn’t want to be alone - Emma’s independence roars its head. “I could walk home fine by myself,” she insists.

Killian gives her a side eye and scolds her in a low voice: “Swan.”

They stare each other, mentally willing the opponent to concede. Always up for a challenge, Killian takes a step closer to her, and Emma does the same, until they’re sock-clad to bare feet.

(It’s not fair, her mind tells her. Even when he’s not doing anything, the color of his eyes are distracting.)

“Fine,” Emma finally says on a groan. “I’ll stay here tonight.”

Grinning wide, Killian wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her into his body. His warm, sturdy body, a weakness even when she’s completely sober and awake. It’s basically her kryptonite now that she’s coming down from intoxication and a nap.

Emma hears the tell tale sound of the front door opening and closing a floor below them. The heavy fall of male footsteps swiftly follow.

“Looks like Liam’s home,” she remarks quietly, pulling away from Killian’s embrace.

“Indeed,” he murmurs, letting her move freely. He takes a step back, closer to the door. “I’m going to speak with him, but you can go back to bed. I’ll bring you some water.”

She nods absentmindedly before his words really register. “Wait, where are you going to sleep?”

“The couch,” he said, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. Then he points to himself, a wry smile growing on his face. “Gentleman, remember?”

“Killian, no, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Emma offers, moving toward the bedroom door herself. “I came here unannounced and interrupted your night. Let me sleep on the couch.”

“I won’t have it, Swan.”

Groaning, she throws her hands up in the air, exasperated. “Fine. Then we’ll share your bed.”

“What? That, Swan, sounds like the exact opposite of any sort of solution.”

“No.” Emma, grumpy as she is from being woken from her nap, makes it back to the rumpled sheets of the bed and sits on them, staring intently back at Killian. “You won’t let me sleep on the couch and I demand you sleep in your bed.” She throws her arms wide, gesturing toward the empty side of the mattress. “It’s big enough for the both of us.”

Killian glances over his shoulder quickly before shutting the door. “Of course,” he mumbles, shuffling over the hardwood toward the bed. “Won’t even notice you’re here.”

“Thank you.” Now that he’s settling into his side of the bed, Emma allows herself to bury beneath the covers, barely warm from her earlier snooze. She sighs contently and falls unconscious with the echo of Killian’s constant breathing ringing in her ears.

0000

She’s awoken at a much more reasonable hour by the heat of a heavy weight on her hip. On her hip and across her stomach. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, just unusual. Henry’s not one to cuddle up to her like this. No, her son is very much a child to lay on top of her, just as she positioned him on her chest soon after he was born.

But this weight comes with more hair and muscles than any 11-year-old should have, even if they’re a chronic steroid abuser. As she’s waking up - much faster than she originally thought she would - Emma comes to realize that it’s not Henry.

It’s Killian.

Emma breathes deeply through her nose, a reaction of surprise more than anything. It’s been a long time since she slept - just slept - with anyone who wasn’t Henry. It’s comforting, she finds, coming to with the knowledge that someone else is beside you.

Carefully, she turns about to face Killian, trying her best to keep his arm around her. He’s a lot closer than she expected: her nose skims the tip of his as she establishes herself in her new position.

For a moment, she observes him in what will likely be the last moments of unconsciousness. He’s always been a looker, she won’t deny herself that. But there’s something about him when he’s not putting on an act. He’s not in front of the camera, pulling off the dickish captain, or Liam, acting as the worshipful little brother. There’s lines around his lips that show past laughter and bags under his eyes from endless night at sea and otherwise.

He’s even more handsome like this.

She must unconsciously move some part of her body, for Killian stirs, his eyes blinking away the remnants of sleep slowly. His vision must come into focus because he squints, as if he doesn’t really understand the sight before him.

“I insisted on sharing the bed ‘cause I couldn’t stand the idea of you sleeping on the couch,” she explains quietly, running her hand up his arm. It’s the first question she would’ve asked - what are you doing here? - were she in his situation.

Killian opens his mouth with an ah of comprehension. “I do remember that now,” he says. “Practically dragged me into bed, if I recall.”

“Did not,” she chuckles, squeezing his upper arm. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Perhaps.” His hand tightens at her back as he stretches, chin dipping to his chest and legs extending beneath the sheets. When he settles, his blue eyes connect with hers. “Although you have to understand why I’d think that when I have a lovely woman who forced me here in the first place is wound around me.”

“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but I’m the one who woke up with someone hanging off me.”

He sighs, burrowing his face into her neck. Emma can’t help but giggle.

(She tries not to focus on how nice this feels, the scratch of his scruff on her still sleep-warm skin, the comfort she draws from his breath on the crook of her neck. It’s more than she thinks she can handle.)

Killian keeps his face buried in its spot, his thumb rubbing at the small of her back. She returns the favor, moving her hand up into his hair and echoing the motion. They stay wrapped up in one another for what could be minutes or hours. Emma can’t be sure.

“I don’t think I realized how nice this is,” Emma says softly, trying to extend the moment for as long as possible. At his indistinct questioning noise, she adds, “Just sort of hugging someone. Holding and being held.”

Readjusting to be better heard, Killian asks, “How long has it been since someone held you, Swan?”

Emma shrugs, her voice going deep and hoarse. “I couldn’t even guess.”

“I’m glad I could be of service.” Groaning, Killian extricates himself from her hold, sitting up and scooting back until he sits against the headboard. His arms go up, coming to rest behind his head and Emma feels the loss keenly. “If you should need anything else, I shall strive to be of assistance.”

As silence settles between them, a traitorous thought pops into Emma’s mind. There is one thing he can...assist her with.

(And honestly, the fact that she’s even considering this means something. What exactly, she can’t be sure, but she is sure that in this moment, with him, she feels warm and safe and happy.)

Before she can stop herself, Emma leans forward, cupping his face in her hands. She kisses him, almost attacking him how hard she presses her lips to his. And for one moment, she’s shocked him. It’s a bit like kissing a pillow or a dead fish, something that doesn’t kiss back. For a moment, she regrets even thinking there was any sort of attraction between her and him, even though they’ve done this before. Maybe all those times was just the alcohol talking.

But then Killian’s one hand is tangled in her hair and the other is wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer to him, causing her to straddle his legs. He tugs at her hair to direct her, tilting his head in turn.

“Emma,” he mumbles, his lips leaving hers. “We shouldn’t. You’re-”

“Please,” she whispers, her voice hoarse again. He pulls back a fraction and she shakes her head. “Killian, I swear, I want this. This isn’t alcohol or the moment or whatever or anything. This…” Her laughter fans off his cheek and back to her ears. She’s nearly breathless when she admits, “This is a long time coming.”

Even as close as they are, Emma can still catch the raised brow he sends her. She feels the grin against her own lips. “Are you saying you’re in this for the long haul?” he murmurs back.

She chuckles again. “Let’s start with the one time and reassess from there.”

Killian adjusts her on his lap, pulling her hips closer into his. “Well, if I only get one time, I’m damn well sure going to make it count, love.”

He’s passionate, to say the least. His lips are insistent on the skin of her neck, leaving marks and bruises and making her sigh in pleasure more than she’s ever done in her life. Back with Neal, he’d been more to the point: get her wet enough to get his dick in without hurting her, then getting himself off in as few minutes as possible. Between borrowed rooms and simple selfishness, she’s sure, there was never really time for them to actually enjoy sexual acts.

But this. This makes her toes curl. Feeling his mouth follow as she swallows, his nose brush against the tense tendons of her neck. He bites softly at her collarbone through her shirt and, if she were younger, she’d lose her mind completely.

“Fucking fuck,” she breathes, enjoying the new-old feelings that bubble up in her stomach.

“Finally,” Killian chuckles against her skin, words partially garbled as he moves back to her neck. “A verbal reaction.”

Glancing down as best she can, Emma asks, “Is that what you’re trying to get out of me?” When he doesn’t answer immediately, she grabs at his hair and gently tugs it back to look him in the eye.

“Among other things,” he admits with that smirk of his. “I like to think of verbal responses as the gateway to the rest of your inner thoughts.”

“Trust me, you do not want to be inside of my head.”

“Your head is not the first thing of yours I want to be inside right now.” He cocks his eyebrow, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. “But if it takes me that way, then I’ll gladly take the detour.”

Emma’s laugh turns to breathy moans as his hand falls a little lower and he grabs at her ass. “Fuck, Killian.”

He stops.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say it again.”

His words catch her off guard. All she’s said is...oh. Oh. “Killian, please,” she groans again, taking joy in the way his breath catches in how his name comes out. She realizes then that, though she’s trying her best, she still doesn’t use his given name too often. To say it in an intimate context as this - she gets it.

(She wonders if he gets the same thrill in the pit of his stomach as she does when the Ms in her name roll off his tongue.)

“Fuck, Emma.” He attacks her anew, pulling at the collar of her shirt to reach still-untouched skin. Her head rolls back on her neck, relishing in the feel of teeth lightly nipping at her collarbone.

“That’s the goal,” she responds belatedly.

He chuckles against her sternum. “My god, Swan, your commentary is both welcomed and unnecessary.”

“How so?” Emma asks, arching her back unconsciously, trying to get closer to him as his nose skims across sensitive skin.

Pressing a kiss to the side of her breast, still tucked away in her bra and shirt from last night, Killian rises up so he’s face to face with her. “I’m a fan of every part of you,” he whispers into her pulse point. “From the snark to the sky high walls I’m knocking down brick by brick.”

A sappy smile crosses Emma’s face. “Stop talking like that, you’ll build them again.”

Killian mimics it, smacking his lips to hers before working his way further down her body. “Then by all means,” he mutters.

She’s got more hickeys in this moment than she’s ever had in her life combined, surely - she can feel at least three blooming on different places on her neck and another with the way he’s mouthing at her skin right now - and she loves it. Killian’s marking her as his, belongs to her, no one else’s but –

“I’m not yours,” she grumbles, her words a little muffled as, together, they quickly disrobe him of his shirt.

“What’s that now?” Killian asks.

“I’m not yours.” She pulls back for a moment to connect their gazes. It’s a bit silly, she’ll realize in the afterglow, because Emma knows that Killian knows her boundaries. But still, it’s important he understands. “I’m my own person. I am me and no one owns me. I’m just sort of…” with a hand on his shoulder, she gestures wildly with the other one, looking for the phrase best suited for the situation, “lending me to you.”

He cocks an eyebrow in question. “I know that, darling,” he answers, his thumb brushing at the underside of her bra. “I never asked or said otherwise.” Killian kisses her gently, lingering but not heating it up. “But I do hope you’d like to ‘lend’ for now at least, maybe longer.”

“One step at a time, Jones,” Emma says with a chuckle. “For now, just kiss me again.”

He does as she wishes, a peck before whispering, “With pleasure.”

His hand may or may not drag up her outer thigh – and her inner thigh for that matter – while she scoots closer to him. And she might grind herself against him unabashedly but she doesn’t care. Killian has done so much for her and she so much for him since moving to Storybrooke and honestly? That shoulder to cry on he and his brother keep telling her about? She’s found it.

She’s found it in him.

He does something weird and oddly pleasant with his tongue, dragging it between her breasts above her shirt and she can’t be having that. Pushing him away gently, she tears her shirt up and over her head until just her bra is left.

“Go hard or go home, right?” she jokingly asks.

“Darling, your words couldn’t be more correct.” He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her hand down to his prominent erection, jutting up between their bodies.

“I feel like we should take care of that,” she quips.

Killian tilts his head to the side, rolling into her tightening grip. “Only if you want to.”

She smiles genuinely. “Are you not going to add ‘because I’m a gentleman’?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Well, I think this is the first time it actually fits.”

Killian draws back and rests a hand on his bare chest. “Love, that almost hurts me enough to diminish this.” He gestures down toward where they’re still clothed but connected, her hand still resting on him.

Emma places her hand atop his, and entwines their fingers together. “Alas, not enough completely.” She kisses him with renewed vigor. “I’ll have to assuage you somehow.”

His hand buries itself between her skin and her clothes, gripping at her ass beneath her pants.

(He’s an ass man. Killian Jones is most definitely an ass man.)

“I’ve got a couple of ideas on how to remedy that,” he says with his signature smirk.

Emma returns it happily, her grin growing when his hand pulls her infinitesimally closer. “Oh, please, do tell.”

#csbb #captain swan big bang #captain swan #ouat #cs ff #LETS FUCK SOME SHIT UP #not actually #but im excited to see how you guys react to this chapter #also some of this might be based on real life #am i talking about the puddles #maybe #ugh #this is the shipping shit i love #and every time i read over it it makes a little less sense #but whatevs #my words #storytime #ditlot #and the hickey things too #perhaps

[accio-ambition]

We're going to subtitle this chapter "The One Where You Get a Hint of Everyone's Romantic Relationships, but Not Nearly Enough to Whet Your Need."

Thank you, as always, to you, my reading, ship-obsessed friends, as well as to @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, @sotheylived, and @captainswanbigbang for doing their things for this story. 17/10 would work with them again.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Chapter Fifteen

They’ve found Liam. Emma nearly cries of happiness. She’s pretty sure Killian actually does, not that she can blame him.

He’s beaten up, about 13 miles downshore of where the Jewel went down. According to the officer speaking with Killian, he was face up in the sand, clothes torn and stomach bleeding profusely. There’s some worry that he’s severed an artery or ruptured his stomach lining and, for the time being, he’s been transported to the hospital for emergency treatment.

There might be more to the story, but Killian’s already off to his truck, yelling “Swan!” over his shoulder. She follows quickly as she can with all the equipment on her frame and hops into the passenger seat.

“They found him,” he says to no one in particular. His eyes are on the road - a good thing, because he has to be going 20 over the speed limit at least - and he’s laughing in disbelief. “Swan, they found him. He’s going to be okay.”

(She gets that on camera, mentally files it away as a great moment, but fails to remind him that Liam isn’t out of the woods yet.)

They arrive at the hospital in what has to be record time, Jones actually forgetting to turn off the engine in his haste to see his brother. Emma does it for him, putting the keys in her pocket and jogging to catch up with him. She leaves the camera and all her equipment in the truck. She’s gotten his reaction, that’s all Jeff wanted. They can cut to talking heads of the rest of the crew, whatever. She’s not recording this part of the story; she’ll get fired before she subjects Liam and Killian to reliving this.

It’s a couple hours later, as the sun is starting to rise after one of the longest nights of her life, that she gets a call from Belle, Storybrooke’s resident librarian. Emma’s been sitting in the hospital reception area all night, napping in between calming Killian down. He’s off checking with the nurses’ station - again - when the blaring ringtone interrupts the stillness.

“Hi Emma,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind, but Jefferson gave me your number. He called to tell me about Graham first thing this morning.” Emma quirks a brow, but doesn’t say anything as the other woman sniffles. For everything worth her spit, she thought Belle was into Liam, and vice versa. Emma’d found out Belle was the brunette all caught up in Liam’s arms at the wrap party in November, and if that wasn’t a sign, then what were they doing? Then Belle sighs and adds, “He was my neighbor.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Belle,” she apologizes. Killian returns from the nurses’ station, takes a seat next to her for a moment before jolting up and beginning his pacing anew. “What can I do for you? I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“That’s why I’m calling. I’m down at the Coast Guard station.”

“Why?” The question leaves her mouth unbidden before Emma could stop it. And, yeah, it comes off a bit rude and terse, but she’s in a hospital waiting to hear about how her close friend is doing after a shipwreck.

The other end of the line is silent for a moment before Belle sighs. “Jefferson told me about the wreck and I wanted to make everyone else was okay.”

A little taken aback by the reasoning, Emma nods. “Yeah. Well, no. August and Mulan are fine, David I think is at home now, Liam’s in the hospital, and the Guard are still looking for Arthur.”

“Oh.” Quiet hangs between the two of them, as if Belle is trying to figure out what she should say. “Actually, I overheard them saying they were going to keep looking for Arthur until around noon and then call it.” She sniffs again, her voice staying surprisingly even. “I’m sorry, I thought they’d called Killian.”

“They might have, but he’s a bit preoccupied now.” The man in question is running his hands through his hair, over and over again and if Emma doesn’t stop him, she’s going to start doing it herself. She has to berate herself: while an excellent distraction technique, making out with anybody while their brother is in the hospital is probably not, how would he say it, good form. “Do you have David’s number?” she asks.

“No.”

“Would you mind calling Jefferson and either asking him for David’s number or asking Jeff to get out in the field himself? Actually, ask Jeff,” she corrects herself. In all the melee, she’d forgotten that David was at sea for a short period as well. He’d been fine, in no worse shape than August or Mulan, but Emma’s sure Mary Margaret wouldn’t be letting her husband out of her sight for a while. “This is something that needs to be documented.”

“Oh, okay,” Belle replies, a little stunned at the professionalism in Emma’s request. “Um, would you mind calling me if anything happens with Liam?”

And despite everything going on around her, Emma smiles softly. She knew Liam had to be a part of the reason Belle called her. “Of course. I’ll send you a text as soon as I know something,” she offers. “Thank you, Belle. And I really am sorry about Graham.”

“He’s left a wonderful legacy behind,” she says, her voice cracking. “I’ll talk to you soon, Emma.”

The line goes dead, Emma shoving her phone back in her jacket pocket before standing from her seat. Her joints pop in protest from being unused for so long. She moves directly in the path of Killian’s pacing, nearly getting bowled over in the process. Her hands come up to his shoulders, both to steady herself and stop his movements.

“What did the nurses say?” she asks, rubbing along his upper arms.

“The bleeding’s stopped for the most part,” Killian reports back. “They sewed him back together. He’s still out, he’s going to have a nasty scar.”

“But he’s going to be okay.” She doesn’t ask, because she knows it’s true. At least she hopes it’s true. But it sounds like the professionals are optimistic about the whole thing. “So what are you worried about?”

Killian shrugs, tension leaving his body and he begins to lean into her. Emma leads them both to chairs again, where he finally sits for more than two seconds.

“He’s my brother, love,” he says simply. “He’s all I’ve got.”

Tilting her head to the side, Emma then leans her head onto his shoulder, her arm threading through his in hopes that maybe some of her strength will soak through his skin. “And you’re all he’s got. He’s going to come back, Killian. Liam’s never going to leave you.”

0000

It’s a somber week in Storybrooke. It’s the end of June, school’s out, the sun is shining, but it feels as though it’s been nothing but storm clouds and rain for years. In a town as small as it is, everyone knows everyone. It was something Emma thought she would have a hard time adjusting to after living in huge cities for the past decade, but she didn’t. Whether it was because of the smaller population or the fact that she already had familiar faces waiting for her, she couldn’t say. But it was nice, being able to walk into the grocery store and greet whomever she met while reaching for milk.

That being said, she is unprepared for the amount of sorrow that walks the streets of her and Henry’s new hometown in the wake of the wreck. Graham and Arthur are both laid to rest - one physically and the other metaphorically - that second week of July, after failed attempts to find one and the coroner's decision on the other. The entire town shows up for both, save for Liam, who’s still recovering in the hospital, and the nurses who care for him. The only bright spot is that he’s doing well, and should be sent home by the end of the weekend.

Despite the doctors’ good tidings, Killian spends nearly every waking - and frankly, unconscious as well - moment at his brother’s side. Emma visits the two of them, sometimes bringing Henry along in the afternoons, to keep their spirits up. She knows that Belle drops by every couple of days, but what she and Liam do is a mystery to both her and Killian.

(Emma’s got some good ideas, though.)

The day Liam comes home, hopped up on meds but otherwise fully functioning and with a cool new scar to boot, Killian all but throws a party.

“He needs to rest, Killian,” Emma tries to gently remind him. “He’s been in the hospital for a week. Two weeks, actually. The doctors thought his wound was infected this time last week.”

But Jones won’t hear of it. “He’s been resting for two weeks, Swan, he’s bored,” he says. “We won’t party too hard. It’s just the lads.”

“Have you been to a get together with just you boys? It’s like a Vegas bachelor party on St. Patrick’s Day.”

He grins at her, his knuckles drumming out a rhythm on the nurse’s desk. “How would you know, love?” he counters. “Last I knew, you’d never been to one.”

“I’ve talked to Robin and August,” she quips easily. “I’m not making this shit up, and you know it.”

Leaning in, he whispers to her, “We’re just going to watch a football match. Nothing too rowdy, I promise.” And then he winks at her. “And if something goes awry, we’ll call up nurses Belle and Swan to come heal us.”

Emma groans and slaps him across the back of the head. “If you call me that, I’m going to leave you all to suffer.”

“What? Nurse Swan?” he teases her. He looks off into the distance, a fond smile on his face. “I don’t know, love, you’d look pretty good in a nurse’s uniform.”

She punches him in the shoulder this time and spins on her heels. She’ll text Liam that his brother was being a dick and make her apologies for not seeing him home later.

0000

A few days and what sounds like a well-deserved hangover later, Jefferson calls all of them over - both Jones brothers, David, and Emma - and convenes a meeting to discuss how things - show wise and business wise - will proceed from here on out.

“It’s really up to however things go for the JoBros Co.,” Jefferson explains, directing his attention toward the brothers. “Of course, the three of us are at the beck and call of your business. I know it hasn’t been long, but have you had time to discuss what the plan is now that you’ve only got the Jolly Roger?”

Liam and Jones share a look, one that says ‘we have but we’re not entirely set on it and, because of that, we don’t necessarily want to share it with you nosy people.’ But Liam sighs and regards Jefferson.

“We’re going to look into getting another trawler,” he says. “Thankfully, we were already doing that before the Jewel went down. But in the meantime, we’re just going to switch in some of my crew for that of the Roger’s every couple of days. Encourage everybody to take some extra vacation time before season’s end and then hopefully have a second ship by the start of the next.” Looking to his younger brother for agreement, Liam nods. “Is that going to work for you guys?”

“I don’t see why not,” Jefferson says. “Emma, you’ll still be lead camera since you know the ship, but I suppose you and David can coordinate something together. Figure it out.”

“Of course,” David answers, winking at her. “You can spend a couple days with Henry before school starts back up.”

(Not that she really has a choice on the matter, but that’s the point that sells her. Her son’s going off to middle school come September, so this might be the last summer where he’ll want to soar down the slip and slide or be seen at the public pool together without being an embarrassed almost teenager.)

Still, though, there’s something that doesn’t sit right with her about this plan. It’s something she caught in the look between brothers, a sympathetic tilt to the younger’s head to the elder’s verbalized plan.

“Are you sure this is good with you guys?” she asks. “You’re both captains, you’re both used to being in charge of your own crew and ship.”

Liam shrugs. “The Roger is still Killian’s ship,” he explains. “Should he want a break, I’ll be happy to take over for a bit. But I should think it’s about time my little brother takes the reins of the family business.”

From across the table, Emma hears Killian grumble “younger brother” under his breath, but his countenance seems overall pleased, even if Liam, under the surface, doesn’t seem too thrilled at the idea of his baby brother taking charge.

“So it’s settled then.” Jefferson claps his hands, always enthusiastic, and stands from his seat. “Emma, I’ll ask that you take the first shift next time these boys decide to head out just so Mary Margaret doesn’t murder me in my sleep for keeping her husband from healing.”

“I’m not even hurt,” David groans, rubbing his hand against his forehead. “Liam was the one in the hospital for ruptured stomach or whatever.”

“Nevertheless, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of a worried woman and her ‘ailing’ husband.” Jefferson adds the air quotes and everything, making Emma and the Joneses burst into laughter. David blushes out of embarrassment, and tries to hide his face in the table.

(To be honest, it only makes Emma laugh harder.)

#csbb #captain swan big bang #cs ff #captain swan #ouat #my words #ditlot #storytime #GUYS LIAM IS OKAY #OKAY? #AND HE'S GOT A LADY ADMIRER TO BOOT #the amount of crap I got last chapter #I GOTTA KEEP YOU ALL INTERESTED SOMEHOW RIGHT?! #jeez louise #I BELIEVE IN HAPPY ENDINGS YALL

[accio-ambition]

I‘M SORRY THIS IS LATE BUT MY COMPUTER POOPED OUT. But it’s okay, we’re gonna do this now.

This chapter has what the MPAA would call thematic elements and there's also mention of character death(s?). GUYS, SHIT GOES DOWN IN THIS CHAPTER. In the original draft, this and the next chapter were one, but then it was like 10k and I was like THAT'S TOO LONG. So now you get two. You're welcome.

As always, so many thanks to you, @sotheylived, @queen-icicle-fandom, @captainswanbigbang, and @shipsxahoy, who made ANOTHER image for this story. It's gr8, thank you Bianca my dear.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations Chapter warning: Death, violence, thematic elements

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset

Chapter Fourteen

When she finally gets on the Jolly Roger a few days later, it’s a surprisingly pleasant day. The sun is bright and warm, but not so overbearing that she wants to die from holding 20 pounds of camera equipment for four hours straight or longer. There's a slight breeze that smells like summer and it seems like the perfect day to go sailing.

Killian looks to be the only one on board at the moment, standing in the door at his post on the captain’s roost. His hair moves in gentle waves, which Emma takes to mean that the windows behind him are wide open. His face is set in a scowl, which genuinely surprises her. Who would frown at this type of weather?

She jogs up the gangplank and then across the deck until she stands on the bottom stair leading up to him.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Emma asks, mentally trying to plan out what she needs to film. Jeff told her to get more talking heads, but in order to get better talking heads, something big has to happen. She doesn’t expect to get any of that action today, but it’s the sort of day that she could persuade and trick herself into thinking as a day of leisure instead of another day on the job.  

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to head out today,” Killian says, shaking his head.

Affronted by the idea, Emma visibly recoils. “Why not? It’s beautiful out.”

Jerking his chin up toward the sky, he responds, “It’s going to storm.”

“What?” Looking up, Emma is stunned to see nothing. Not a cloud, not a bird. Just blue, blue skies for miles in each direction. “Have you gone blind, Jones? There aren’t any clouds or anything and it just rained for three days.”

Killian sighs and stands up. “Exactly.” He says it with such conviction that Emma almost doesn’t question it.

“I’m sorry, are you sure you aren’t crazy?”

“The sky was red this morning,” he explains. When she doesn’t respond, Killian sighs again and crosses his arms. “’Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.’ Ever heard it?” Emma nods. “It’s true. Even if it looks beautiful, the sky was red this morning,” he gestures out to the water before them. “Storms are coming and the Jolly Roger isn’t steady or large enough to handle them.”

Emma sighs and rolls her eyes. “Is the Jewel heading out?” she asks.

Rolling his eyes right back at her, Killian spins on his heels, nearly mows her down as he grabs his phone from inside, and begins to stalk back toward the house. “Despite my better judgement, yes.”

“Then why - ”

“You said you trusted me, Emma” he says frustratedly, whirling back on her. His eyes are alight with something, challenging her to interrupt him. “I’m not taking my men out on the water today.”

His request doesn’t exactly leave a bad taste in her mouth, but it doesn’t make her see reason either. Jones knows that he’s got to go out as certain number of days during the season so she can film it. It’s in his contract, one that she signed as well with different words.

Emma whips out her phone and calls David, glaring at Jones as the line connects. David picks up on the second ring. He barely greets her, so accustom to Emma calling him to talk work.

“Hey, I was thinking that we could switch - ”

“The Roger’s not leaving port today,” she interjects. Even though she knows David can’t see her expression, she makes sure to send a sneer toward the captain of said ship. “Apparently, Jones’ spidey sense is tingling.”

“What does that even mean?” David asks.

Sighing, Emma turns her back to Jones. “He said it’s going to storm real bad.”

“Has he looked at the forecast? The weatherman was saying Maine’s on the verge of a drought.”

Emma shrugs. “I know, trust me, I know,” she mumbles. “Anyways, I’m gonna stay in and film some talking heads with the boys, try and get some footage out of today’s mood swing. Text me anything you want to me to address or record.”

“Alright.”

“Have fun, David.”

“You too, Emma.”

She hits the end call button, an angry red she thinks fully expresses the emotions she’s trying to control right now, and glancing over her shoulder to continue silently glaring at Jones.

“Trust me, Swan,” he says, as if he can read her mind. And maybe it’s not necessarily her mind that she’s reading. A couple times before, when she’s been in this sort of mood, others have told her that her anger and frustration played out on her face.

That knowledge has her sighing, the tension that’s set in her shoulders relaxing a shade as she turns to face him head on. He approaches her, slowly. “I have been doing this for far longer than you have,” he reminds her. “I have made the mistake of going against my gut feeling before, of going out when I know I shouldn’t. Never again.” His hands gently lay on her shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze. “I told Henry I would keep you safe. This is how I’m doing it.”

Now that he’s semi-explaining his decision to her - not that he should have to, but it's nice that he is - Killian makes sense. Sometimes she gets so focused on doing her job that she forgets about the others who might be affected by it. Jones does have the experience and, despite being still somewhat new to the title captain, he practically breathes the sea. He knows her far better than Emma could ever wish to.

And hell, she isn't the only one who has people to come back to, who would be devastated if something went wrong. Whale has to have a handful of conquests to return to, Scarlet as well. She’s got Henry and the Nolans and Robin, he’s got his wife and son and baby on the way.

He’s thinking smart. He’s thinking for himself and not following Liam’s suit, as Emma realizes she was trying to do in getting him out on the Jolly Roger.

On a groan, Emma rolls her eyes, grabs Killian’s wrist, and begins dragging him off his damn boat.

“C’mon,” she grumbles. “If we aren’t going out, I’m going to sit you down and annoy you to death with questions.”

She hears his chuckle, but refuses to acknowledge the apparent joy he finds in her threat. “I did say I missed our sessions, didn’t I?” he quips, catching up to her and pressing a kiss behind her ear.  “As long as I’m with you, Swan, it’s a lovely way to die.”

Her jaw drops in annoyance and she rolls her eyes without another thought.

0000

Normally, talking heads are filmed in a studio, but since this whole endeavor is still technically in it’s infant stages, the network executives haven’t afforded them the luxury of an actual local studio.

Luckily enough, the Jones’ house has a guest room, which, for the time being, Jefferson has converted into a studio. There’s a little stool that the crew members can sit on in front of a dark blue backdrop. A tripod is set up across from it, and a window looks out over the backyard and harbor.

(When she first walked in the room, Emma wondered what happened to the bed she’s sure was in it. She was going to asking Killian, but then she could imagine on the tip of the iceberg of innuendos she’d be asking for.)

She’s texted the boys and told them she’s expecting them in an hour and a half for talking heads - planned interviews to go in between scenes and explain the more complicated aspects of trawling. In the meantime, she’s found a little solitude in the makeshift studio.

Henry’s back at home by himself, technically under the watch of Mary Margaret even though they’re in their separate houses. He texted her a couple minutes ago asking if he could go over to Phillip's after lunch. She’d given him the okay so long as he stopped by next door and told Mary Margaret where he was going.

(She doesn’t admit that Jones’ words hung in her mind as she added “And bring a slicker” as an afterthought to the message.)

She relishes in her silence, staring out the window for god knows how long. All she knows is that when she started watching the waves, they were gentle. Now, they’ve worked up into storm swells hitting against the docks and ominous clouds have rolled in the stead of sunshine.

“What d’you know?” she murmurs to herself. “He was right.”

“I know.” Killian’s snuck up on her, his voice coming from right above her shoulder, causing her to jump. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Her hand resting over her heart in an attempt to calm it, Emma shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she gasps. “It’s totally and completely fine for you to scare me shitless.” Then she smacks his shoulder. “Don’t fucking do it again.”

He chuckles and takes a step back as she goes to hit him again. “Again, my deepest apologies. I won’t knowingly do it again.”

Gesturing toward the stool, Emma’s murmured, “Asshole,” is thankfully overpowered by the crackle of the Coast Guard radio in the corner. It’s happened on occasion, in the middle of interviewing Killian at the wheel on the water or when doing talking heads. The communication comes to life and let’s them know the status of the harbor or the sound. None of them really pay attention to it except to pause the recording and start once the update is finished.

Right now, the radio warns of worsening conditions, waves reaching 10 feet and expected to grow larger.

“Do you believe me now?” His voice breaks her concentration on the camera. Looking up, smugness is written all over his face.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be mean about it,” she says. “Remember, I’ve only been around boats for a couple months.”

Killian closes his eyes and looks up toward the ceiling, as if he’s saying a silent prayer for patience. “Ship, Swan,” he finally groans. “You’ve been here a year. I thought that’d be enough time to get it through your stubborn head.”

(It has gotten through, for the most part. Nowadays, she does it because of how badly it ruffles his feathers.)

“Alright, whatever,” she sighs, and starts recording. Opening her phone, Emma pulls up the notepad app on her phone and scrolls through the mixture of questions she keeps and the ones she thought up after her conversation with Jones this morning.

“Why didn’t you go out on the waters today?” she asks first.

He furrows his brows. “Come now, Swan, I told you earlier,” he answers.

“You told me,” she says, pointing at herself for emphasis. Then she points at the camera, its lens focused on him. “You didn’t tell the audience.” Killian gives her a baleful look and Emma rolls her eyes. “You know how this works. Humor me.”

After another annoyed look and a sigh, he sits up straight and stares directly into the camera. He launches and delves deeper into the explanation she heard earlier this morning about red skies and old wives’ tales. Even hearing it a second time is fascinating, but she finds herself being a little biased.

(She also finds herself drifting off into dreamland, the cadence of his voice lulling her into a contented haze.)

Once he finishes, Emma asks the next obvious question: “How do you feel about your brother and his crew going out?”

A flash of something like concern flashes behind his blue irises and she knows it wouldn’t be evident on TV, but she knows Killian these days. There’s something about the weather and the current conditions that has him worrying over Liam and the rest of the Jewel.

“I’m not pleased, as you can probably tell,” he says, his voice getting low with disappointment. His hand scrubs across his face. “Liam taught me all that I know about sailing, trawling, all of it. And to see him explicitly go against everything he taught me today.” He looks up at the ceiling again and this time Emma can’t tell if it’s a prayer or an attempt to censor his feelings toward his brother. “He’s his own man, he can do what he wants.”

She falls out of interviewer mode, looking up from her phone and taking a step out from behind the camera and tripod. His head comes back to straight and Emma looks at him in a different light. “That doesn’t sound like the Jones brothers I know,” she says quietly.

Killian sighs and looks to her, not the camera. “There’s a lot about the Jones brothers you don’t know,” he says just as softly. “Liam always told me growing up a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.” A self-deprecating chuckle falls from his lips. “He still tells me that, at least once a week.” Killian shrugs and throws his hand toward the window. “If this is what he wants, then he’s fighting for it. Whatever happens to him happens.”

“Don’t say that,” she murmurs, stepping further away from the camera setup.

“Why not?”

She comes to stand beside him, staring down at his still-seated position. “I know you’re angry with him right now, but don’t say that Liam deserves whatever happens to him out there.” Contemplating her next words, Emma finally settles on almost telling him a little bit about her past. “Look, I never had any siblings, but I know that if I had, I would’ve protected and loved them with everything I had.”

“It’s not that I don’t love my brother,” he corrects her. His hand runs through his hair. “It’s just he’s such an insufferable, stubborn arse sometimes and it more often than not ends up bad for him or me or one of the crew.”

“But you’ve all survived so far, haven’t you?” she counters.

That makes Killian laugh, his head thrown back and the sound a bit jarring compared to the previous quiet of the interview.  “Yeah, we’re all survivors. Somehow, some way,” he admits. Still, he shakes his head, then glances up at her with a funny little twinkle in his eye. “You’re not trying to get some heartfelt admission out of this, are you? Not trying to use your womanly wiles against me?”

Scoffing, Emma takes a step away from him. “Womanly wiles?” she asks, walking toward the window and looking out it. The rain has started and it is coming down in sheets. “What is this, the 19th century? Afraid I’m going to bewitch you body and soul or something?”

Under his breathe, she thinks she hears, “You already have,” but the next thing he says aloud is “Austen. I can definitely see you as a Lizzie Bennett. Maybe even Lydia.”

“Don’t insult me like that,” she says jokingly. A glance over her shoulder proves that he’s raised his hands in defeat.

“Worry not, I only meant it in jest,” he assures her. When he lowers his hands, Killian’s expression takes on a more - she doesn’t want to say adoring, but that’s the only word she can think of right now - tone. “You’re my own Emma Bennett.”

She grimaces at him even though her stomach does a little clench-and-flip move at his words. “No, I won’t use this footage if you don’t want me to,” she tells him, effectively changing the topic. “Although I bet some of it would pull on viewers heartstrings. Make you more human and stuff like that.”

“No need for that.” Emma hears him stand from the stool, his footsteps falling heavy on the floor until they come to a halt right next to her. She can feel the warmth and comfort that radiates off his jacket without even trying. “Everyone I want to know about me is already well on their way to figuring me out.”

She turns to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? What does that even mean?”

He sighs. “I’ve lived my life with my brother and our ships in this small town for a very long time,” Killian says, turning to face her completely. Emma, in turn, mimics him. Taking a step closer, he continues, “It’s not very often we have new residents move in or even longtime visitors such as yourself. I care about everyone in this town and they know exactly as much as I want them to about my life.” A grin forms as his face as the tip of his tongue licks at the corners of his mouth. “But you…”

Killian’s leaning into her space, a shy smile on his face and the tip of his nose a hair’s breadth away from hers. She feels a blush on her cheeks.

He’s going to kiss her. And she’s going to kiss him back. Again.

But the siren sounds and all hell breaks loose. Killian’s eyes shoot up in a flash, and he’s across the room staring directly at the scanner.

“Be advised,” a Coast Guard’s voice crackles over the radio. “We have reports of a crash on shore 15 miles due south of Georges Bank. Three persons reported missing. Two deckhands picked up by passing vessel. Be advised.”

“How awful,” Emma mutters, moving back to the camera, a finger pressing the record button and effectively pausing the film.

Killian turns around and winks at her. “Now do you trust me, Swan?”

The scanner comes back to life, repeating information they already know. Emma turns back to the camera, just about to ask him to take a seat, but new information reaches her ears.

“Vessel confirmed as Jewel of Realm. Captain among missing.”

She feels the blood run out of her face and before she can fully process what the radio dispatch said, she hears the quick clunk of Killian’s boots sprint down the stairs.

As Killian runs out the door, Emma grabs at the camera and follows closely behind him. She’s catches footage of him running through the storm, down and through his yard  to the docks where he stands for a moment before sprinting back to his truck. Emma races after him, internally debating whether she should follow him in the Bug or hop in the passenger seat.

“Dammit, Swan, get in and let’s go,” Killian shouts, and she dutifully follows. Of course, she’s worried about Liam and his crew, but she’s been in this business long enough to know what makes the best television, and this is the shit that, for want of a better term, is fucking gold.

(In hindsight, and even in the moment, Emma feels horrible for seeming like she’s putting her job first. She’s grown to care about the brothers and the rest of the crews more than she ever thought she could. But this is something that could cost her the job that brought her to them if she doesn’t film it.)

Her camera isn’t the best in these close quarters, but Emma thinks it’ll add to the franticness and desperation of the situation. It also doesn’t hurt that she’s trying to rationally think about what she would would do if she weren’t tasked with catching the moments. With the back end of it steadied on the rumbling truck door, Emma sends a quick text to Jeff alerting him of the situation.

Jewel crashed. Three missing.

And then she jumps into camerawoman mode, asking Killian questions as he hunches over the steering wheel to make it down to the Coast Guard’s station.

“Talk to me, Jones,” she urges him. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“What I’m thinking?” he shouts, the anger reverberating around the small metal cab. “Really, Swan, is that the best you have for me?” Killian flicks on the turn signal and the truck’s wheels screech as he rounds the corner. “My brother’s ship was just reported wrecked and he’s among the three unaccounted for.” He glances over at her ruefully and sarcastically asks, “What do you think I’m feeling?”

“Anger,” she supplies easily. “Worry. Fear.”

“Yes, fine, if that’s what you want me to say, then yes.”

His voice is hollow and somewhat frightening. This isn’t the Killian she was just joking around with, the soft Killian she’d kissed before and nearly did again just now. Reading the tension in the car, Emma does something she’s been told to never do: she lowers the camera and turns it off.

“He’s going to be okay, Killian,” she says softly. She can barely hear her own voice over the sound of rain splattering on the windshield and windows. “You know that, right?”

“But I don’t,” he spits out. “I don’t know Liam’s going to be all right because the sea is a fickle bitch.She takes whatever men she desires whenever she cares for them, no matter if it’s their time or not.”

“You can’t afford to think like that.” With a deep breath, Emma decides without really deciding to reveal a story from her past. A real story that hurts to recount, because the only way she knows how to make Killian feel better is to tell him she knows what he’s going through. Sort of.

“I met David and Mary Margaret at community college when I was 17,” she starts. “During my second year, I met a guy who supposedly loved me. But Neal set me up to take the fall for his thefts.” She sighs. “I was young and pregnant and incarcerated and all I wanted to do was give up. Nothing was going my way and I honestly woke up sadder every day.” She gulps at the lump that’s formed in her throat. “But then I had Henry and it was alright.”

She looks up at him, grateful to find his laser focus on the road in front of them. “Whatever happens, whatever you find out at the Coast Guard station, you have to realize that it will be okay. And I know you probably don’t want to hear about me right now, but hopefully it took you mind off of the entire situation right now and you get - ”

Killian slams the gearshift into park. They’ve made it to the station, where some other cars are parked, getting soaked in the rain. He leans his forehead on the curve of the steering wheel.

“You’ve got to have some hope, Killian,” she murmurs. “Otherwise, you’ve already lost him.”

There’s silence. Then, “You truly are your son’s mother.”

Emma checks the camera, one hand strapping it back to her body and the other hand on door handle. “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” she says, pushing the passenger door open. “Let’s go.”

They both run through the rain, up the wooden stairs and into the warm and busyness of the building. Killian checks in with a woman behind a desk scanning a computer screen and reports back to Emma, who’s turned the camera back on and is catching footage of the Coast Guards running about.

“She said August and Mulan were found on the jetty. They’re banged up and a little worse for wear, but okay.” His hands akimbo on his hips, Killian stares at the floor and seems to get choked up. “Graham’s dead. They found him with the wreckage and he was already gone.”

Emma nearly drops the camera, hand covering her open mouth. Her eyes get watery. “No,” she whispers. “Killian, I am so sorry.”

Killian takes a deep breath to maintain his composure. He shakes his head. “He didn’t feel any pain. I’m sure he’s in a better place now.” Letting out a gasp, he finally looks up and into the camera. “He died doing what he loved.”

Emma takes a moment for herself, to let the news sink in. With him being on the Jewel’s crew, she’d never really had many occasions to hang out and truly get to know Graham, but they’d interacted often at crew dinners. The conversations they did have left her in a good place. He made her laugh. And now he’ll never make anyone else laugh again.

But then she’s thrown back into the hustle and bustle of the Coast Guard station. “What about Liam and Arthur?” she asks.

Killian shakes his head. “No word yet, nor David,” he says.

“What?!”

“He was out there too, remember?”

“Shit.” Whipping out her phone, Emma sends a hurried text to Mary Margaret. She needs to know, would want to know, especially before dinnertime.

Killian’s hand rests on her shoulder. “They’ve got men on shore and the copter overhead. They’ll find them.”

She nods and continues filming the hubbub and tension of the post, every once in a while glancing around to check on Killian. He paces the little lobby in front nervously.

A few more minutes pass before Mary Margaret storms in, more furious than Emma’s ever seen her, asking anybody in uniform about her husband’s welfare. Then she spots them in the corner and rushes up to them.

“Are they telling you anything? What’s going on?” she asks frantically.

Killian opens his mouth to answer her, but an officer calls Killian over to get some insight into Liam’s head, see if Killian can give them some pointers on where Liam might’ve been heading or where he might have been, just to narrow down the search fields. That leaves Emma to fill Mary Margaret in.

“They found Mulan and August, they’re alright,” she says. “They’re still looking for David, Liam, and Arthur.”

“What about Graham?”

Emma gulps. “He’s dead.”

Just as Emma did earlier, Mary Margaret covers her mouth in shock.

But that moment, too, is blessedly cut short.

“They found someone!” an officer shouts over the din of the station. “Four miles north on the shore.”

While Emma’s and Mary Margaret’s heads snap toward the man, Killian runs to him, leaning over his shoulder to look at the computer screen before them. “Who is it? Describe him.”

The officer presses his hand to his headphones, listening intently as his colleague describes their victim. “Medium build, Caucasian, light hair.”

Killian sighs while Mary Margaret runs to the other side of the officer, completely disregarding those who say civilians aren’t allowed back there without permission. “Is he okay? That’s David, is he okay?”

“We don’t know quite yet, ma’am, but initial reports still have him breathing,” the officer assures her.

“Oh, thank god,” Emma sighs, her hand coming to rest over her heart in relief. She doesn’t know what she’d do if she lost David. She figures that she wouldn’t be as heartbroken as his wife or his mother might be, but David was the first person to accept her for who she is without trying to change her. He accepted and helped her become the person she is today, whether he likes to admit to it or not. He’s the closest thing she has to family besides Henry.

“The others,” Killian asks, voice just this side of frantic as he addresses the officer. “Have your men seen any sign of the other two? Both Caucasian, darker hair, one curly.” A bit taken aback by the ferocity with which Killian speaks, the officer merely shakes his head slowly. “Nothing?” Killian slams his hand on desk in frustration. “Dammit, keep looking.”

Left with nothing to do but worry over whatever may happen, Emma - a little bit too easily - falls back into camerawoman mode. She catches shots of Killian bustling about, of him discussing coordinates and the like with the Coast Guard officers. When she figures she’s gotten good footage of everything she can think of, Emma phones Jefferson to let him in on the situation.

“I trust your judgment, Emma,” he says when she tells him what she’s recorded, his voice crackling over the connection. The storm must just be hitting his side of town, or ruined the phone lines as well as crash the Jewel. “Just make sure you capture the moment Killian discovers Liam’s okay.”

Emma gulps at the insinuation in her next question: “But what if he’s not?”

Jefferson doesn’t say anything for a long while - has Emma pulling back to look at her screen to make sure the line hasn’t gone dead - but ends the call with, “Get whatever happens. Don’t let your eyes leave him for one moment.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she mumbles before hanging up.

The next few hours are a blur. Logically, Emma knows that she should go home and get some rest. A watched pot never boils and all that. But the thought of leaving Jones alone to deal with this...she can’t do that to the poor guy, even if she was in one of her crueler moods. She knows what that’s like - to be at a low point, perhaps the lowest of your life, and have to suffer through it alone. That’d been her life until she met the Nolans, until she had Henry. And, though she doesn’t think they’ll ever be best friends or anything close to it, just ships passing in the night when alcohol or the mood hits them, Emma’s come to kind of care for Jones.

(She tells herself she likes Liam better, that's no question, but Killian holds his own in her book.)

Her back is up against the wall as she dozes, the camera set up on the action going on around her. It’s getting late and she’s put in a full day, despite not setting foot on the Roger. And she’d keep an eye on Jones if he would stop moving for a second, stayed stationary or maybe even paced a rut in the floor. But no - when he’s nervous, he’s a flurry of action.

It’s just as she’s rousing to text Ruby, asking her to stay with Henry at their house tonight - no one has any idea of how long the Coast Guard is going to keep this up - that all the mayhem comes to a pinnacle.

“Captain Jones!” an officer shouts. Killian rushes over to his post and she grabs the camera. Though Emma can’t hear what the officer is saying on her way over, the camera is trained on Killian. And she spots the moment his shoulders relax and his head falls forward in relief.

#csbb #captain swan big bang #captain swan #cs ft #ouat #guys this is one of my favorite chapters #I think it's really where the story ramps up #and their relationship starts to soar #UGH #THESE CHILDREN #MY DEATH #Mkay gonna go back to outlander #ditlot #my words #storytime #also i really am sorry this is late #i tried

[accio-ambition]

And with this chapter, we are officially over the halfway point in this story! A million thanks over for all of you who have stuck with this since the beginning, and a million thanks to those who've hopped on along the way. As I might've said before, this had been an idea in my head for a long time before it actually started to become something. It really means a lot that all of you are enjoying it so much :) I want to, as always, give an extra special thank you to @sotheylived, @queen-icicle-fandom, @shipsxahoy, and @captainswanbigbang. You know what you did ;)

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset

Chapter Thirteen

It seems like she’s hardly taken a breath when Emma’s settling into the corner of the couch at the Jones residence, watching one of the last commercials before their show - the one they’ve all put so much work into - airs. Crew dinner leads to crew drinks leads to both crews, Emma, Henry, David and Mary Margaret, Jefferson, Grace, and Ruby struggling to find a place to watch the premiere. Liam’s had to force some of the others into his room because not everyone could comfortably see the TV.

“Never thought I’d be nervous to look at me handsome mug on a screen,” Scarlet says, taking another drink of his beer. “Soon I’ll be changin’ ma numba. Too many ladies wantin’ a piece of me.”

“Sounds a bit optimistic, mate,” Robin jokes next to her. “No woman will want to come close to Storybrooke once they know you’re here.”

A pillow flies toward them, narrowly missing her face, in insubordination, and the room breaks into laughter before the title card comes on the screen and Henry shushes them all.

It’s the first time anybody’s seen the full cut of the episode, including Jefferson, or even the title of the series. The executives decided on Sea of Chaos, and it’s a bit pretentious for Emma’s taste, but if it’s what the execs want, she’s not going to disagree with the people who sign her paychecks.

Tonight’s premiere is an hour, mostly introductions to the people and explanations of the trawling world with occasional sass. Well, more than occasional: it seems the executives wanted to capitalize on the nihilism and sarcasm popular with millennials and makes sure to include more quips than Emma thinks she’s ever heard in one sitting.

(And that’s saying a lot, seeing as she spends the vast majority of her time in the company of Joneses.)

Money exchanges hands during one of the final commercial breaks when they determine Whale is going to be the asshole of the series. A lot of it is going into the possession of Whale himself, and Emma can’t be too stunned that he knows how much of an ass he is.

Overall, it goes off well. Everyone present is happy and excited for the next episode. On their way out the door, Jefferson tells her and David they’ll meet later in the week once the ratings come in.

“It’s look great,” he says, wiping at snowflakes that have caught in the fringe of his hair. “I have full confidence that it’s going to be a hit.”

“I hope so,” David says, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “You already promised us a second season. No take backs on that shit.”

Emma chuckles, bidding them goodbye as she wraps herself around a complaining Henry.

“C’mon, can’t I stay up a little while longer?” he pleads.

She shakes her head. “You’ve still got school tomorrow, as far as we know.”

Henry groans, dragging his feet in the little snow that’s already accumulated. “But August said that the weatherman said it’s going to snow a foot,” he argues. “And Killian promised I could sleep over the next time school was cancelled.”

“Well, Killian needs to talk that over with me before you do anything.” She nudges him in front of her. “And you’re going to school tomorrow. I feel it in my bones.”

Her bones, turns out, are wrong. When she switches off her alarm the next morning, all white greets her outside her window. She can’t even see the road, can barely tell where the plow had already been through earlier that morning. A quick call to the automated school system hotline tells her that, since all the roads are closed and the sheriff’s department has issued a no unnecessary travel throughout the county, students get the day off. They’ll make it up at the end of the school year.

Loathe as she is to leave her bed, Emma does, tiptoeing her way into Henry’s room. He’s haphazardly sprawled across the mattress, already looking too small for her weed of a son. Placing a hand on his back, she leans over and whispers in his ear, “No school, kid.”

“Told you,” he grumbles, turning his head further into the pillow and readjusting himself. Emma chuckles, moving the blankets so they better cover his body. She’ll let him off this once, let him sleep in and enjoy the snow day. It’s only January, but winter will come to an end eventually.

Emma finds out the hard way that Maine winters never end. It’s still snowing significantly at the beginning of May and she’s trying to prep for the next season of Sea of Chaos. Henry’s going on field trips every other day because the end of the school year is in sight and teachers know that no more learning is going to get done in the classroom, but even his field trips end up getting snowed out.

“This has got to be one of the worst winters in history,” Robin says, watching even more snow fall from the warmth of his living room. Emma’s over visiting  the Locksleys, mostly so Henry can distract Roland outside and give Regina some needed rest. Taking a sip from his mug of tea, Robin turns back to her. “Seriously, I don’t know what gods you angered when you both moved here, but tell them to quit it. We’re not going to be able to go out until next year at this rate.”

Emma shrugs, drinking from her own cup of hot chocolate. “I go where the money goes,” she says. “Take it up with whatever god patronizes that.”

0000

On the early June morning season two is set to start filming, a freak storm  - just rain this time, it seems the snow has decided to make its delayed exit - forms from nothing and the Jones brothers both think it best to stay ashore. Word on the radio says that the water is choppy, and swells were nearing record heights.

“It’s not safe for anyone out there today,” Liam tells her as they stand by the docks just behind his home. Water is already lapping vigorously at wooden planks they stand, and Emma makes a mental note to get a few seconds of that after she finishes this higher vantage point B roll.

“That’s good,” Emma mutters as she looks into the viewfinder. “Make sure to say that when David sits you down later today.”

Liam chuckles. “No weather can stop the show from shooting, does it now?” he asks.

Pulling back from her camera, Emma hitches it further up her shoulder before sinking to the ground. “I’ve got a son. When you’ve got a kid who has the reading ability and love that he does, you’ve got to have the money to keep up with the habit.”

“Your boy could have much worse habits.” And it’s true: Henry could be addicted to video games. Or rather, more addicted. She’s just lucky that he enjoys imagining the story rather than watching it play out on a screen. “Killian was rotten when we were growing up.”

That piques her interest. “Really?” she asks in disbelief. “How so?”

“Oh, you know,” Liam leads. “Boys will be boys and such.”

“Nuh uh.” Setting the equipment between her feet to steady the shot, Emma looks up at Liam, pulling the hood of her slicker forward. “You and I both know that I don’t stand for that logic. And you wouldn’t bring up the topic if you didn’t want to share a story.”

Grinning wide, Liam claps her on the shoulder. “Have I told you how much I enjoy your company, Emma?”

She shrugs. “Not today you haven’t,” she concedes. “But get to the point.”

Liam crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his head forward so his hood properly shielded him from the rain. “Killian was probably 12 when this happened. After our mother died and father left, I had to take on the role of parent and brother. But Killian just lashed out. He wouldn’t come home at night.” He rolls his shoulders back and straightens up a bit. “I still, to this day, don’t know where he ran off to sleep at night. But when I could wrangle him home, he spent the entire night downstairs in the living room.” Liam paused in the middle of his story to glance at Emma out of the corner of his eye. “Watching I Love Lucy reruns.”

“No!” Emma gasps, to which Liam nods, his smile growing wider by the second.

“I would come down every couple of nights to make sure he was still there and there he was.” His words are tinged with laughter now, as Emma’s sure that he’s seeing preteen Killian, wide-eyed and half asleep on their couch, in his mind’s eye. “I asked him about it once and he yelled and stormed off and didn’t come home for three days. His teacher eventually sent him home because he smelled rancid.” With a shake of his head, Liam heaves a large side. “Honestly, it’s a miracle that he made it through any classes.”

“That’s surprising for how smart your brother is,” Emma defends him, though she isn’t quite sure why. “I mean, TV Land obsession aside.”

“It’s ‘cause he read all the time,” Liam says with a reluctant chuckle. “During waking hours, I never saw him without a book close by.” Crossing his arms, he sighs. “Yeah, he’s a fool, but damn, do I love that nerd.”

“Which nerd?” Both Emma and Liam turn to see Killian wandering toward them, footsteps stuttered as the mud sucks his boots in the ground. “Is my brother boring you with tales of Star Trek, Swan?”

“Actually, he was telling me about you,” she tells him smugly. “How you spent your late nights at the Copacabana with Ethel and Desi and Fred.”

Killian is stupefied. His jaw hangs from its joints and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He looks at his brother with accusation. “I told you, you prick, that was the only thing on at that hour!” he shouts.

Liam shrugs. “Whatever you say, little brother.” He steps back, away from Emma and toward the house, with a slight bow. “Whatever you say.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Killian,” she tells him. “We all do things when we’re desperate for distraction.”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he corrects her with a shake of his head. Water droplets flick onto her face. “When I did watch it, I found it quite amusing.” He sighs and looks back toward the retreating figure of his brother. “I just wish my elder brother wouldn’t go throwing out that story willy-nilly.”

“Well, it sounds like he watched Star Trek more than someone normally would,” she observes. “I’m not saying payback, but I’m also not not saying it.” That gets a guffaw out of him, Killian leaning back and laughing toward the sky. It’s a great sound, something that wards off the chill of the rain around them.

His laughter dies down and Emma sighs. “I should get back inside.”

“Before you go,” he grabs her arm and gently tugs her back to look at the harbor. “The last episode of the series airs tomorrow night.”

“It does, finally.” Between award shows, holiday specials, and breaking news events, Sea of Chaos had been pushed back and interrupted more than originally expected. “Are you excited?”

Killian shrugs, his hands digging into the pockets of his jacket. “I have no real opinion on the matter.” He shuffles his feet a tad before looking at her. “However, I was wondering if you might want to come and watch it.” His eyes flit to the side. “With me,” he adds, “alone.”

Pursing her lips to hide her smile, Emma raises a brow. “If I didn’t know you any better, Jones, I’d think you were asking me out on a date.”

“Not a date,” he says quickly. “No, if I was asking you on a date, you would know.” He shrugs again and looks out to the roiling water before admitting, “I miss our little sessions on the Jolly Roger.”

“What little sessions?”

“In the captain’s roost,” he explains. “The ones where you come up and bother me by asking questions and doing your job.”

“Killian, we’ll have those little moments as soon as this weather lets up and we get out on the water,” she reminds him.

“Maybe I didn’t want to wait until then.” He says it quietly, maybe hoping it would get lost in the sounds of the storm. But Killian shakes his head and gestures back to the house. “It’s fine, Swan. I’ll watch it with my prat of a brother. I’ll talk to you later.”

Turning to follow in Liam’s footsteps, Killian starts back toward the dryness of the indoors. He looks sad, a dejected little puppy caught out in the rain, and Emma can be cruel and play too many games, but not to him. Not when he looks like an animal out of an ASPCA commercial. She reaches out and manages to catch his arm.

He stops and looks over his shoulder at her. “Yeah,” she says, nodding. “I’ll bring the rum.”

His smile could stop the storm itself. In fact, Emma’s surprised it doesn’t. “No need, love. We’ve got plenty of that.”

“I’m bringing it anyways. I’m afraid Henry’s going to start getting adventurous and rebellious soon.”

Killian scoffs and shakes his head. “Nonsense. He’s 10. Besides, your lad wouldn’t dare to disobey his mother.”

Both her brows raise up as she comes up next to him and they match their steps heading up to his house. “You’d be surprised,” she grumbles. “I was pretty stubborn at his age.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

Emma happily regales him with some of the stories of her youthful hijinks the next evening while lazing about on his couch during commercial breaks. She leaves out the part about Neal, stays in the realm of foster care and the time before Henry. There aren’t many years to draw from, nor an array of good memories, but she shares them nonetheless.

It’s nice, just hanging out with him. He doesn’t try any funny business, of which she’s a little bit confused about because the last couple times they were together, they were hard-pressed not to find a space more secluded. But it’s nice, having a more-than-friend to do whatever with, even if it’s just laughing at something stupid his brother said on camera that was supposed to be inspirational.

“I can’t believe he said that!” Killian shouts, laughing so hard he smacks himself in the stomach. He grabs his phone and starts texting. “I’ve gotta ask Dave if he actually said that.”

“I’m sure he did,” Emma tells him. “Talking heads are the one thing we don’t really mess with.”

He cocks a brow and pulls at her foot, legs lying tangled with his legs across the couch. “That’s good information to have, Swan. Thank you.”

“Except the cursing,” she adds. “Don’t go cursing up a storm because I will edit the shit out of that.”

“I’m a sailor, love,” he whines, tugging at her socked toes. “How else am I supposed to talk?”

#csbb #captain swan big bang #cs ff #captain swan #ouat #ditlot #my words #storytime #a date not date? #did anyone ask for a date not date? #how about liam and emma being friends? #or swan believer? #or the premiere of the show? #no one? #okay then #never mind #go about your business #as usual

[accio-ambition]

I know it seems like there's a lot of time jumps in this story, but they'll calm down soon. Ish. Promise. But I’m giving you some relationship milestone(s) in this chapter, sooooo... As always, thank you, thank you, thank you to @sotheylived, @queen-icicle-fandom, @shipsxahoy, and @captainswanbigbang for doing their parts in this story. If you feel so inclined, go ahead and leave a comment or message me on the tumblr. I've spent all day with screaming children, I'm already impervious. :)

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset

Chapter Eleven

A week later, Emma and Henry arrive at the wrap party, dressed up for the occasion because what else is she supposed to dress up for in Storybrooke? They’ve gathered at Jefferson’s house, a nice little two bedroom on the other side of town. The furniture has been pushed to the sides of every common room, and Emma can only be thankful that Jeff had the forethought to plan it here and not on the Jolly Roger or the Jewel. There’s got to be upwards of 50 people here, crews and casts and friends and family, and there’s no way more than 10 could fit on the Jolly Roger on a good day.

(The weather isn’t spectacular either, but the late fall breeze wouldn’t be unwelcome with all this body heat surrounding them.)

She’s got a drink in one hand, waiting for some big announcement Jefferson had teased upon entering the party. She’s laughing with Liam at a shitty joke Mulan’s told when Jefferson claps his hands and mounts a crate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I have an enormous announcement,” Jefferson says, his arms flying wide and spilling some of his drink over the lip of his glass. It falls just short of Emma’s bare toes.

“Not one for the dramatic, are you now, Jeff?” she asks, loud and sarcastic, getting a raucous laugh out of the crowd.

Jefferson gives her an annoyed side eye. Otherwise, he continues as if Emma hadn’t interrupted. “I have the great pleasure to tell you guys that the execs loved the show.”

“Well, that’s always nice to hear,” Liam booms.

“And that they want a second, full-season!”

“No way!” Emma shouts, covering her surprised smile with her hand. Henry runs into her, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist.

She’d hoped for a second season, but figured they wouldn’t have a clue for another couple of months. The premiere hadn’t even aired yet, and it was, in her experience and knowledge, very rare for a brand new series to get picked up at this point in the game. Thus, the job searching.

“So congratulations, everyone!” Jefferson yells over the chaotic din that’s broken out. “We’re a hit!”

“Technically,” Henry says at her side, “the show hasn’t premiered yet, so we can’t tell if it’s a hit.”

“Ah, m’boy, that means little,” Killian chides him in good nature, appearing at their sides from nowhere. His free hand ruffles her son’s hair and Henry beams.

For once - and it’s been known to happen on the odd occasion since their tenuous friendship began - Emma agrees with Jones. “Seriously. Think of it this way, we get to stay here.”

“We’re staying?” Henry asks at the same time Jones says, “You were planning on leaving?”

Emma directs her nod toward the captain. “I’ve got to go where I can provide for my son,” she says simply. And then she grins wide and looks down at the boy. “And right now, that’s Storybrooke.”

Henry’s excited, as she knew he would be. He’s practically jumping on her feet. “I can’t wait to tell Phillip and Grace.”

“Well, Grace is over there with Ruby, so you can tell her now.” Gently pushing him toward the little group of kids gathered together in the corner of the room, Emma nods her assent. “Go ahead.”

He starts off toward them, but then Henry hesitates and comes back. “Can I have friends over tomorrow?” he asks.

“In the afternoon,” Emma responds. With a slight glance - hopefully not too noticeable to anyone but herself - in Jones’ direction, she adds, “I have a feeling we’re going to want to sleep in tomorrow morning.”

Nodding, Henry turns around and bounds toward his friends, yelling their names to grab their attention.

“And just what do you plan on doing that’ll force you into a late morning?” Killian asks with a smirk, leaning toward her slightly.

She knew he was going to ask something along those lines, especially if he caught the look she gave him. Which, of course, he did, if the look he’s giving her - a look she’s seen on many men in bars during late nights - is any indication.

Biting on her bottom lip, Emma smiles. “I’m going to celebrate with my friends because I have a steady job for a little while longer and people who care about me.”

“Yes, that is indeed true. An ever growing list, if I’m not to mistaken.” Killian takes another step toward her, invading her personal space and Emma can’t find it in herself to reprimand him for his bold move. “Henry, of course, the Nolans, Ruby and Granny, the crews-”

“You,” she interrupts despite herself. And then she feels her face go blank because now she’s the one who’s being bold. Nervously, she seeks a bit of validation. “Right?”

Killian chuckles nervously and scratches at his ear. “Me,” he admits, “and hopefully it’s likewise?”

She feels kind of foolish, like they’re middle schoolers with their first crushes. She shrugs, trying and failing to hide her growing smile. “You’re alright, I guess.”

Killian scoffs, his hand coming up to his chest. “You know how to wound a man, love.”

Emma smiles wider, tilting her head to the side. “Let’s just say, god forbid, if you were to be lost at sea, I’d help look for you,” she says, “and if you were never found, I’d be sad.”

Chuckling softly, Jones shakes his head. “Such a way with words, Swan,” he says on a sigh. “So eloquent.”

And because she’s happy, so happy, she goes for it. She grabs his hand at his side and pulls him into her, their noses barely touching, but their bodies are aligned from hip to shoulder. “I’m more of a take-action kind of girl.”

“Do tell,” he murmurs, leaning forward just enough so the tips of their noses touch. She, in turn, sets her hands atop his shoulders.

“I’ll leave the words to you, Jones. How’s that sound?”

She feels more than sees him shrug his shoulders beneath her hands. “I think I’m agreeable with that.”

It’s been so long since Emma’s just kissed a man that she becomes a bit too enthusiastic at the prospect. Normally, Killian stands maybe six inches above her, if not less. Now, in her present shoes, they’re nearly the same height. When she pushes up on her toes to kiss him, Emma overshoots and her lips end up closer to the crease of his brow than his lips.

Killian chuckles. It seems he leaned down to compensate for their height difference. Emma groans in embarrassment, sinking to her regular height and clunking her head against his chest.

“Now, now, love,” he says, tipping her chin up to face him. “We’re both a little eager. You’ve been dreaming about this moment since the day we met. That’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

His comments make Emma scoff, a real smile growing across her lips as shakes her head. “You’re so full of yourself,” she mutters, closing the distance between them much more cautiously than before.

When their lips brush against each other, it’s steady and surprising. For all the hard exterior bravado he puts on, Killian is soft, both in the pressure he exerts on her lips and the way he holds her. His arms wind around her waist as they give and take. Her arms slide up from his shoulders to around his neck, her fingers finding a sweet spot that makes him shiver at the nape of his neck. Scratching at the hair she feels there, short and coarse, makes him growl, a dark sound starting in the back of his throat and rumbling into hers.

It’s not at all what she was expecting, makes her heart pound and her breathing run amok, but then again, when has Killian Jones ever done or been what she was expecting?

Killian leans further into her, his mouth more insistent against hers, forcing her to bend backwards to keep their lips together. She gasps, allowing the perfect opportunity for him to slip his tongue between her lips and tangle with hers. Emma feels a grin on his lips and can’t help but respond with her own, a hand coming from behind his head to hold his face, bring him infinitesimally closer to her.

She pulls back quickly when she begins to lose her footing, but not without inner protest. Feeling sort of dazed, she opens her eyes to find his bright blue ones shining down at her. If Emma could keep kissing him – perhaps even more than that – without the threat of Henry or anyone else popping in on them or questioning their motives, she most definitely would. No question.

Alas, even now, Ruby approaches them, their bodies still entwined around the other’s, with a martini glass in one hand and a devious smirk growing ever bigger on her lips. She was drunk before Emma got to Jeff’s, and Emma wouldn’t expect her to have stopped because she arrived. Nor would Emma have expected her to spot her and Killian in the midst of everything facebattling one another and not comment on it.

“Were you two just making out in the middle of a public event?” she asks, loud and brash, whatever drink in her glass swooping perilously close to the edge.

Emma shakes her head furiously, even though her arms are still wrapped around Killian’s neck. “Of course not.” She licks her lips as she tries to think of a plausible excuse as to why the two of them are so close. Killian casually swings them so the weight of their bodies shift from one foot to the other and it’s as she hears the slow music in the background that Emma finds the perfect lie. “We were just dancing,” she explains, swaying them more obviously from side to side as if to prove her point. “You know these Jones men.” In a more secluded corner of the room, Emma finds Liam dancing similarly with a brunette woman wrapped up in his arms. She nods her head over Ruby’s shoulder to direct her gaze as she herself looks up to Killian, a soft smile on her lips. “Nothing but gentlemen.”

“Aye,” he chuckles, pulling her closer by the waist. “Raised to save a damsel in distress.”

Ruby cocks a brow, not understanding something that Emma doesn’t want to attempt to understand either. “So you’re saying you saved Emma?” she asks.

Killian shakes his head. “She can save herself.” But under his breath, meant for her ears only, he adds, “I’m just here to help if you need.”

Ruby all but forgotten, Emma feels his words resonate deep inside her. No matter what curve ball she throws at him next, he’s going to stay by her side. He’s sticking around for a while and Emma can scrupulously say it’s the first time in a long time she’s believed anyone who’s vowed to do that.

0000

In-between seasons have usually been a letdown in Emma’s experience. She goes from occasional 14 hour days to nothing. Granted, her place does seem cleaner, and she gets to hang out with Henry more often, but it’s very much a 60 to zero lifestyle.

That being said, of all the off seasons she’s experienced, this one is the least boring. With the promise of another season on the horizon and a nice system – support, school, etc. – in place, it only makes sense for Emma and Henry to stay in Maine for the winter. She did promise him cold days cuddled up by the fireplace and snowman building sessions. It only seems fair to follow through.

(And she loves it. Honest to God, this winter makes her regret every winter she spent in sunny wherever, without snow and her snow bunny son, with his chubby red cheeks and nearly nonstop laughter.)

What she’s not prepared for is the sheer amount of time she spends with people from the show. Emma expected to hang out with Mary Margaret and David simply because they’re old friends of hers and they live right next door, but when Robin calls her a week and a half after the wrap party to invite her and Henry to a pre-Thanksgiving get together, she confusedly says they’ll be there. Then Ruby invites her to a girls’ night down at the Rabbit Hole, as many drinks as you want for five dollars because the season’s slowing down and Ruby finds herself bored more often than not at her off-season bartending job.

And then the snow starts in earnest and barely stops enough for the roads to clear and their clothes to dry again. Henry’s running off to Jefferson’s house for a snowball fight while she drinks with Scarlet and Whale on the front porch, trading horror stories and laughing so loud that both Joneses two and a half blocks away can hear them.

(Killian texts her one specific evening, telling her to calm down and “next time you decide to imbibe the drink, please invite me so I can keep the lads from getting too randy.”

“You think I can’t smack your men into shape?” she responds.

His answer comes a moment later: “Oh, I know you can. I want to make sure I have a crew afterwards.”)

By the time Christmas rolls around, Emma doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. For so long, it’s just been her and Henry. They’d usually go to Walmart or Home Depot and buy a small potted plant to throw on the few ornaments they had collected, most of them handmade. She’d get a handful of presents for Henry and split them down the middle – half from her and half from Santa. They’d stay up late and watch Christmas movies until they couldn’t keep their eyes open on Christmas Eve and laze about on Christmas Day.

But now they have a house – a big house, far bigger than they really need but worth every square inch – that needs decorations inside and outside. It calls for a real Christmas tree, with lights and tinsel and a star on top. Stockings hanging from the actual fireplace mantle and the scent of Christmas cookies wafting through every room: the mere thought makes Emma emotional when she’s on her own some nights.

They have friends and people who care for them. When she and Henry sit down to make a list for the people they need to get presents for, Emma nearly cries at how long it is. There���s David and Mary Margaret, Jefferson, Mulan, August, Graham, Robin and Regina...

For the first time in a long time, Emma feels like she belongs.

“Liam and Killian!” Henry reminds her, his finger anxiously jabbing the next blank line on the paper. “We have to get something really good for Liam and Killian.”

“Why do we have to get something really good for them?” she asks as she reluctantly writes down their names. There’s a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach that bubbles up when she adds their names to their list, and it’s a bit hard to place, so Emma shoves it further down.

“Because they’re our best friends,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

(And it kind of is, when she thinks about it.)

“What about your friends from school? What about them?” she asks in an attempt to distract him.

Henry shrugs and shakes his head. “Liam and Killian are our best friends.”

Chuckling, Emma means to correct him - she meant does she need to add any of his school friends’ names to her list - but a knock sounds at the door. Both of them tilt their heads to the side: neither of them are expecting any visitor. As the adult of the relationship, unfortunately, Emma stands up and shuffles over the front door, swinging it open and letting in a chill.

Lo and behold, it’s Killian himself.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmurs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Is that your way of saying you find me devilishly handsome, Swan?” Killian asks with a twinkle in his eye. It’s been showing up a lot more often these days, as a byproduct of their wrap party dalliance, she’s sure.

But as for development of whatever it is between them, there’s been none. Aside from occasional texts and drive-bys, Emma hasn’t really seen or talked either Jones brother since the party. Unsure as to whether Killian was staying away from her, letting her come to him in her own time, or whether she was unconsciously hiding away from him, Emma couldn’t say.

(But she does miss them. Him. Henry runs down to their house and says hi at least three times a week when he’s off to school or a friend’s house. She knows that, and they’re less than a mile away, but they just haven’t said anything about the elephant in the room and it feels awkward.

So Emma doesn’t broach the topic.)

(Whatever she tells Ruby in the aftermath and hangover of that night, Emma ruminates in the memory of making out with her soft, blue-eyed captain more than she would like to admit.)

“No.” She ushers him in quickly with a roll of her eyes as the wind picks up, and motions to Henry still sitting on at the table. “We were just coming up with a list of people we need to get Christmas presents for.”

Killian smiles, acting honored with a hand to his heart in true Jones-drama fashion. “And I made the cut?” he qualifies. Spinning around on his heel, Killian looks back at her and sends her a wink. “Swan, I’m truly honored.”

“Nuh uh.” Emma points to Henry with a slight grin. “You should be thanking him. I was more than happy to leave you off the list, but he insisted because he thinks of you and Liam as his best friends.”

His expression softens before turning to face her son. He looks truly honored now. “I’ve never heard kinder sentiments, lad.” In a few long strides, Killian situates himself right next to Henry’s chair. He reaches out and ruffles his hair. “Thank you, Henry.”

Henry’s bashful when he says you’re welcome - his cheeks rouge and he begins twiddling with his fingers beneath the table. Emma’s heart hurts from how happy she is, how much joy she finds in this moment in time. Henry’s never really had anyone but her to look up to, but here and now, it feels like Killian is taking on some of that burden.

“So,” Killian starts, breaking the moving warmth in the room, “do the Swans have any big Christmas plans?”

Emma shakes her head, settling back into her chair. “We’ve got a lot of decorating to do before then,” she reminds him dolefully, both answering his question and not. “That’s where my mind is right now.”

Henry asks, “What are you guys doing?”

Killian shrugs. “Nothing special, I suppose,” he tells them. “We usually eat dinner with Robin and his clan, but I shouldn’t think us welcome in Regina’s current condition.”

Under her breath, Emma laughs. Regina’s well into her second trimester, maybe even the beginning of her third at this rate, reaching the point in her pregnancy where Emma knows nothing matters but finally getting the baby out of her. She remembers those days far too well.

It probably is better that Liam and Killian stay far and away from a woman in such a volatile state, especially during one of the most stressful times of the year. But in no way would she think her own son would suggest the alternative he does.

“Why don’t you come and spend Christmas with us?”

Emma’s jaw drops and she sharply scolds him. “Henry!”

His eyes meet her from across the table. “I’m serious, Mom,” he says. “It’s just going to be us and Liam and Killian are going to be alone too. Why shouldn’t we be alone together?”

Killian glances at her, then back to Henry. “If it’s quite alright with your mother, I would love to,” he answers the boy gently, “and I’m sure Liam would think the same.”

Henry’s face illuminates more than any Christmas tree Emma’s seen in her life. Then he turns his begging puppy dog eyes on her. “Mom, please?” he begs.

“I don’t know,” she responds hesitantly. Her gaze flick between the brown of her son’s eyes and the startling blue of Killian’s. She relents. “Maybe during the day. But not in the morning,” she says sternly. “That’s gonna be for me and you, kid.”

“You should come over for dinner,” Henry offers. “Mom makes spaghetti.”

Killian cocks a brow. “Really?” He stares her down, his tongue peeking out from the smirk growing on his lips. “You cook, Swan?”

Holding her ground, Emma casually shrugs. “On occasion.”

He nods, his mouth trying - and failing horrendously, she observes - to hide his grin. With a nod of his head, Killian says, “Then I look forward to the day.”

Her smile is smug, she knows, she can feel it, but she’s very satisfied with how her son’s little surprise ends with a win for her. And then she remembers Killian interrupted their family Christmas list making session. “Did you come here for a reason or did you just need to get out of the house?” she asks.

“A little bit of both,” he admits, pushing off the back of Henry’s chair to scratching behind his ear. “I wanted to see if I could interest you in coming over for dinner tonight.”

“Tonight?”

He nods, his eyes darting everywhere that isn’t her and his hand moving furiously at the skin behind his ear.

She’s suspicious. She narrows her eyes and purses her lips. “What did you do?” Emma grumbles.

“Nothing, hopefully.” And his words ring true to her. “Liam sometimes gets a little too into the holiday spirit. He’s been baking and cooking all day and though the house smells heavenly, I am merely one man and cannot possibly eat close to a quarter of what he’s made,” Killian explains. “So I called up the lads and some other neighbors and invited them over and thought I’d swing by and invite you and your boy.”

Jones’ sentence is barely finished when Henry says, “We’ll be there.”

“Henry,” she reprimands.

(What is up with him, she wonders to herself. He’s never been this obstinate and she of all people would know how stubborn her son can be.)

“Mom, you were going to say yes anyways,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. That takes Emma aback even further, but Henry doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he turns to look up at Killian. “What did Liam bake?”

“A few dozen batches of cookies, a lasagna or three, and there may have been some homemade jam as well,” Killian rattles off, ticking each one off his fingers.

Just the list of food has Emma practically drooling. She looks to Henry, whose eyes are wide as saucers and his mouth gaping open. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to be there,” she decides immediately. “What time?”

“Whenever pleases you.” Killian gestures to the door he’d entered through a few minutes before. “We can walk back together now, if you so wish.”

“Can we, Mom, please?” Henry pleads. “We want to get all the good cookies before Will comes and steals them all.”

Opening her mouth to respond, it’s cut off by the clicking of Jones’ tongue. “The lad’s got a fair point, Swan,” he says, turning a swarthy look on her. “You know Scarlet will scarf down everything in sight.”

After scrunching up her nose - she’s displeased to say the least at her coworker and son banding against her - Emma groans, turning to Henry. “Did you do all your homework?”

“Not my math.”

“Take it with you,” she says reluctantly. “Maybe Killian will be better help than me.”

“Oh, well, I, uh,” Killian says, stumbling over his words. That makes her smile. For once the tables have turned and she’s caught him off guard.

But Henry’s already cheering, excited to be having this huge dinner with the people he’s grown to love.

Emma - she’s just excited to see her son so happy.

They gather up their warm clothes, Henry his backpack from upstairs, and then they’re out the door. Henry, in a great impression of the Tasmanian devil, whirls down the porch steps and is halfway out the gate while Emma turns around to lock up the door.

“Honestly, Swan, I don’t know why you insist on locking up your home,” Jones grumbles at her side. “You know practically everyone in town. The town knows you and the lad. What do you think should come to pass if you don’t lock the door?”

She shrugs, watching Henry hurry down the sidewalk to the Jones’ house. “Old habits, I guess.” A brief look at his face shows him unsatisfied with her answer. “You know me. We were in Phoenix before we were here, and L.A. and Baltimore before that.” She shrugs again. “I guess I’ve just always lived in cities.”

“Oh, so it’s not because you don’t trust a soul in this town,” he says, pushing and holding the gate open for her. “Because, honestly, love, I hope there’s at least one person in Storybrooke you trust enough.”

Emma giggles and hums. “And who do you hope that it is?” she asks him, already knowing the answer. Stopping short on the sidewalk, she faces him. “You, Jones?”

The question hangs in the air as they silently make their way through the cold and around the corner to his and his brother’s home. It’s similarly big as hers, though a light blue instead of a gray. The porch doesn’t extend all the way around, but it covers most of the front. Even from here, Emma can spot their backyard, shadows dancing across the lawn from people inside. They extend as far as the wooden walkway, on which the other side harbor waters lie. Even before her son claimed the Jones brothers as their best friends, she could’ve said this was a perfect house for them.

Henry’s already made it to the front porch. Emma can see him knocking on the door from the sidewalk.

Jones doesn't answer her question until they step up to the front door. He reaches for her arm, squeezing her forearm before shrugging, a boyish quality taking over his body language. “It’d be an honor of mine,” he tells her, not a hint of teasing to be heard. “But in the unfortunate case it is not, then I’d be glad to know that you’ve got someone to lean on.”

Emma chuckles. “You know, your brother said something eerily similar when we first met.”

Opening the gate for her, Killian laughs as well. “Honestly, Swan, it’s like you forget who raised me.” He leans in to her, close enough for her to smell the cologne he must have sprayed before coming to visit them. “I know who my confidante is,” he whispers conspiratorially to her, winking. “I happen to be standing next to her. She’s quite enticing, even when she’s yelling at me.”

His words really touch her, even with their slight jab at her temper, but she doesn’t have time to contemplate them for her attention is immediately focusing on the ruckus from inside. It sounds like something fragile just hit the floor and shattered. “How many people did you invite?” she asks.

Killian chuckles and pats her on the shoulder. “Come now, Swan, it’s a spontaneous dinner,” he reminds her. “Can’t have dinner without the entire crew.”

He opens the door to reveal literally the whole crew: all trawlers from both of their ships and assorted family members parade through the house. Emma spots David and Robin in the corner with beers in hand and August and Mary Margaret chatting in another. She’s been to crew dinners before, but she doesn’t even know half of these people.

“Are you sure Liam made enough food?” she asks him quietly, stripping off her jacket.

“Definitely,” he assures her, taking her coat and somehow finding it a spot on the crowded coat rack. “Funnily enough, Swan, this is not the biggest crowd we’ve ever had in this house.”

She grimaces. “I’d hate to have been there.”

He gently pushes her toward the center of the madness. “Don’t be prickly. Who knows, maybe you’ll have a good time.”

Emma groans and drags her feet as she makes her way toward the kitchen and the admittedly heavenly smells that waft from that direction. There’s got to be a bottle of beer and a handful of Christmas cookies with her name on them somewhere in this house.

#csbb #captain swan big bang #cs ff #captain swan #ouat #ditlot #my words #storytime #YOU WANT DANCING?! #HAVE IT #KISSING?! #PRESTO CHANGE O #CHRISTMASTIME #TAKE IT #HEART TO HEARTS #WHAT HAVE I GOT TO LOSE

[accio-ambition]

I am posting this from the great beyond. And by that I mean my internet is down today, so this is actually being posted in queue and I hope tumblr doesn’t mess that up. That being said, the story on FFnet and AO3 won’t be updated until I get my internet back on Saturday, so you can either wait or continue or come up with a third option. It’s up to you. I will tell you that Flustered Emma and Eloquent Killian show up in this chapter. And also boats - ships.

As always, a humongous thank you to @sotheylived, @shipsxahoy​, @queen-icicle-fandom, and @captainswanbigbang for supporting and getting this project through at some point in time in the past…god, seven months? Is that right? Math is not my strong suit.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset

Chapter Ten

The first time the cold, cold water sloshes over her, it’s bracing to say the least. She thought she’d pulled the strings of her boots tight enough and had enough layers on to at least stall the water’s path to her skin, but she was dead wrong. From the moment the first drop hit her cheek bone, it stole the breath from her lungs.

They’ve been lucky enough to avoid any inclement weather since filming started. But not today. No, the local meteorologists were predicting one of the most forceful storms of the season and they weren’t kidding. She’s only calm because everyone else is. If something were wrong, Robin would be on his phone texting Regina or Whale would be drinking the schnapps he hides in the kitchen.

(She won’t lie to herself, she’s impressed she knows anybody well enough to know their panicked tells. She knows that Jones wouldn’t be humming like she can hear him doing through Scarlet’s radio and she knows that Scarlet would be cursing a storm bigger than the one knocking them around right now.

Almost like they’re her friends.)

But they go about business as usual, and she follows their lead. It’s a little more slippery and the lighting is a bitch to deal with, but the footage she’s capturing is actually pretty good. It’ll make for a good episode. She’ll just need to talk with Jeff about the right angle, how to fit it into the bigger season picture.

A wave crashes over the side of the ship again, drenching Emma and the camera once more, and she can’t suppress the shiver that wracked her body.

“Go talk to Jones, Emma!” Robin shouts. “Warm up and dry off a bit, then come back out!”

Right now in her mind, she’s never met a smarter man than Robin Locksley. Anywhere out of this wet and cold weather sounds better. “Don’t do anything interesting while I’m gone!” she yells back.

“If we do, we’ll be sure to face the camera, eh?” he says with a smile.

She carefully heads up to the captain’s roost, gripping tightly to the railing and shaking her head as she goes. Killian’s got a single window open next to him when she walks in to better hear if any emergency arises on deck, rain spitting through the opening and onto his arm.

“Well, well, well, Swan,” he greets her, sliding the window closed a bit to lessen the noise between them. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m wet,” she says simply, shaking her arms and letting the raindrops fling off her sleeves and on to the equipment around her.

“Jumping right into the action, then,” Jones chuckles boastfully. “I’m always agreeable.”

She rolls eyes. “The waves have been targeting me specifically.”

“Don’t feel bad, love,” he tells her, focusing back on the sea before them. “Everybody stumbles during their first time.”

“I’ve been doing this for weeks now. You know that.”

“Who said I was referring to being on my ship?” he says with an eyebrow wiggle.

She scoffs. “God, Killian, the innuendos need to wind down.”

He jumps a little bit, then looks her over. “Do they make you uncomfortable?” he asks, his voice gentle and so quiet, it takes Emma a moment to actually comprehend what he’s said over the sound of crashing waves coming in from the open window.

“A little bit,” she admits. “It’s more the frequency than anything else.”

He pauses to think about it, all the while pressing this button or shifting the wheel that way to keep them on course. “Then I’ll endeavor to make them less frequent.”

Raising her brow, Emma lets out a surprised, “Really?”

He surprises her further by holding up a single finger and a smirk. “On one condition.”

She sighs. “Of course there’s a condition.”

“It’s nothing to arduous,” he assures her, glancing her direction and licking the corner of his lip.

“What is it?”

A swell builds in front of them, taking his attention away from her to safely navigating them deeper into the water. A heated tension sizzles between them as Emma waits for his request.

When Jones is finally satisfied with their course, he looks her straight in the eye. “Call me by my name a little more.”

“Huh?” Honestly, the words that keep coming out of his mouth keep leaving her more and more speechless. “What, have I been calling you a pirate to your face? A scoundrel? A nincompoop?”

He laughs heartily, his hand smacking up against his chest. “Not aloud, but it’s nice to know what you truly think of me, Swan,” he says once he calms down. “I only mean my name. My given name.”

This time, both of Emma’s brows shoot up to her hairline. Slowly, she gets as close as she can to him without interfering with her camera equipment or his captaining. “You mean to tell me that if I call you Killian more, you’ll tone the innuendoes down?” she repeats skeptically.

“Not tone them down, necessarily,” Jones amends, “but I’ll make them less.”

“Seems like a fair deal.” She sticks out her hand to shake on it. He takes her hand, raises it to his lips, and presses them to the knuckles of her fingers.

“An accord, then,” Jones - Killian - murmurs against her skin.

Emma blushes but ducks her face in an attempt to hide it, glancing out the front window. “I wish you’d keep both hands on the wheel,” she says, effectively changing the subject and calming the rise of red on her cheeks. “We are in the middle of a storm.”

“Ah, but it’s clearing up.” He points out the front window, toward a sliver of bright sky in the distance. “We’re moving out of it. By the time we turn back, it’ll have dissipated.”

Shaking her head, Emma readjusts the camera so the frame flatters Jones better before asking, “You seem to really know the ocean’s ways. How come?”

He glances at her, spots the camera’s lens pointed at him, and gives her a slight look to condemn her for using their casual conversation to facilitate filming. But he sighs and answers anyways. “When you’ve been around the sea as often and as long as I have, she becomes her own person,” he explains, staring forward as the waves begin to calm, just as he predicted. “Much like I can tell when Liam hasn’t slept well or when Victor drank too much the night before, there are signs. In the sky, in the crashing waves, sometimes even the grass beneath my window. The sea has her own personality. Now, for instance,” Killian says, gesturing out the side window, “I can feel the swells getting smaller, see the sunlight ahead, the wind’s less fierce.” He sighs reluctantly. “She was angry earlier, but now she’s vented her feelings and she’s calming back down.”

With the small space now quiet - Jones is nothing if not eloquent - Emma takes a moment to admire his profile as he gazes out at the ocean. Strong lines, light scruff, masculine and somehow still giving off a bit of a boyish fear.

(Like she’s hit a nerve or something.)

“Is that good enough for you, lass?” His question breaks her concentration.

“Me? Yeah, no, that was great.” Somehow, his words have touched her. It’s a different side of him, one she’s only seen one other time. When he was showing her and Henry around the Jolly Roger that afternoon, he had the same sort of – reverence, is the word she comes up with, but isn’t at all sure that’s what she means.

“Good.” Her feelings must show on her face and Emma quickly tries to quell them, for he asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just.” She scrunches her nose and bites at her bottom lip. “Nothing,” she answers. After another moment of looking at him, trying in vain to figure out what’s going on in her brain, she jerks her head back to the deck below. “I should get back out there.”

He nods in understanding. “We’ll be back to shore shortly, Swan. No need to worry about orphaning your lad today.”

Emma groans, already halfway out of the captain’s roost. “I wasn’t worrying about ever orphaning Henry, but now that you’ve put that thought in my mind, it’s the only thing I can think about.” She glares at him and his shit-eating grin over her shoulder. “Dick.”

“What a way to talk to your captain,” Jones laughs.

0000

The weeks continue to fly by and before Emma knows it, Henry’s back in school and the weather is turning cold. Trawling season extends until late December in some parts of the state - and even later in some states - but the Jones brothers decide to call it quits shortly after Halloween. Between what they caught in those couple of months and the commission they’ll get from channel executives, Liam, Killian, and everyone in their employ will be safely set until next year.

As the end of October rolls about, Emma spends her birthday quietly, finishing up the last edits of B roll to send to HQ. Henry surprises her with a cake he and Mary Margaret made the night before, and Ruby gifts her with free coffee and a box of bearclaws Granny made especially for her. It’s not much, but it’s certainly better than birthdays she’s had in the past.

She’s also – secretly, of course – checking for new jobs. Without the guarantee of a second season, Emma’s got to be able to make money somehow. She’s looking locally because she loves this house, now that it’s had time to be lived in and gather the typical Swan clutter and mess, and she likes this town and the people in it. But when nothing shows up within reasonable driving distance, she’s forced to look in Boston and Portland and points further away from home.

(Because that’s what Storybrooke is now. Home. The first one she’s actually felt that way about in a long, long time.)

In mid-November, after what’s probably the third snow of the year, Jefferson texts them all with a premiere date – a Tuesday in mid-January, not a bad slot, but not a good one either. It’s honestly what she expected for such a new show’s first season – and information for a belated wrap party.

“Are these wraps normal?” Killian asks her one evening during a crew dinner. He’s seated between her and Graham, a deckhand on the Jewel, and across from Regina, who’s cutting Roland’s piece of lasagna into smaller squares. She’s got a bit of a belly now, the news of her pregnancy official shared with both ships’ crews at the beginning of dinner. Seeing this woman – her friend, or so Emma considers them – in the middle of her pregnancy takes Emma back to the time when she was pregnant with Henry. The situations were nearly opposite ends of the spectrum, but there were times when Emma was so excited and happy to welcome her son into her life.

Responding to Killian’s question, Emma shrugs and shoves a bite of salad into her mouth. “It really depends,” she says around lettuce, then swallows. “I think it’s bigger for scripted shows and movies. But Jeff promised me open bar, so I’m not gonna say no to a night of free booze.”

Killian guffaws, his laughter frightening people at the other end of tonight’s table. “A woman after my own heart, Swan.”

(She tries to ignore the blush that rises on her cheeks at his words, but at the look Liam gives her from further down the table, she knows she doesn’t exactly get away unnoticed.)

Emma shrugs again and says, “It’s all I asked for for my birthday, free booze. But Henry’s not exactly allowed to buy it and he’s the only one I told anyways.”

Wiping his mouth with a napkin – who the fuck is this guy, she thinks, using an actual napkin to dab at his mouth like he’s a fucking earl – Killian asks, “I’ll be happy to oblige. When’s the day?”

“October 28th.” His response is a dropped jaw. Emma’s eyes widen and she looks up and down the table, then back to Jones. “What?”

“That was three weeks ago,” he says simply. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

For the third time, Emma shrugs. “We were all focused on ending the season on a good note. Besides, my birthday’s never been an event. Even when I was a kid.” She looks back at her plate, still half full, but she realizes she’s lost her appetite with this conversation. Setting her fork down, Emma adds, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” If it’s possible, Killian’s jaw drops further. He shakes his head and then stands up, surprising both her and Graham on his other side. Clinking his knife against his glass, he calls for everyone’s attention. Everyone quiets down, focusing on the Jolly Roger’s captain.

“While I’m overjoyed to have everyone together for yet another crew dinner, there has been an oversight on every one of our’s part,” he announces. Glancing down at Emma, he sends her a wink. “Three weeks ago, on October 28th, we missed the annual celebration of our own Emma Swan’s birth. And so, to reconcile ourselves, I propose we give Swan a proper Storybrooke birthday, even if it’s a fortnight late.”

Robin stands up, his glass in hand and his lips wide in a smile. “Seconded,” he declares. To her, he says, “Best protect your ears, Emma. Don’t want them bleeding all over your sheets.”

And with that, every single person at the table starts their most horrible, most off-key rendition of happy birthday. Arthur, another deckhand on the Jewel, is going falsetto; August, the Jewel’s engineer, is singing in a different language altogether; and Mulan, Liam’s second-in-command, is singing the song backwards. By the end, Henry’s at her side, hugging her tight, and Emma’s in tears from laughter and trying to get oxygen back into her lungs.

Killian conducts the whole thing and brings it to a close after a prolonged final note before thanking everyone and taking his seat again. Emma leans her forehead to his shoulder, more for support in trying to get her breath than anything else.

“I know it wasn’t on the day itself, but it’s the best we could do at the current time,” he tells her.

“No, it’s perfect,” she says, still laughing. “Thank you, Killian. It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

He rests his head atop hers. “You’re more than welcome, Swan,” he murmurs. “Happy birthday.”

#csbb #captain swan big bang #captain swan #ouat #cs ff #my words #ditlot #storytime #I promise we're getting to the good parts of the story #and also I really love how killian just wants to hear emma says his name #that ego of his #can someone have a name kink? #is that a thing? #becuase i think this killian has one