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#one of the respite staff has just been talking to us n then when i realize its at us n not she to herself ill pull
materialisnt · 1 year
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it doesnt super bother me when ppl forget we cant understand speech n try talking to us but it is definitely. tiring.
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wiypt-writes · 3 years
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Riding On
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Ch 18-Home Run
Summary: Frank’s competitive side comes out to play during an event at Mary’s school, and then he and Fliss get their first child free evening in well over 6 months.
Warnings:  Bad Language words, Smut (NSFW, 18+)
Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher
A/N:  Special thanks to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ for her little drabble which was posted as part of her Birthday Celebrations which I used in here.
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Chapter 17
Taking more than her share, had me fighting for air, she told me to come, but I was already there 'Cause the walls start shaking, the Earth was quaking, my mind was aching and we were making it. And you shook me all night long, yeah, you shook me all night long
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February 2020
Fliss watched as Frank adjusted the blue Red Sox hat on his head slightly, the baseball bat hanging loosely in one hand before he took up position, turning slightly to the side, his long fingers curling around the handle.
"Five bucks says he misses..." Bill spoke and Fliss gave him a dig in the ribs.
"No chance Poppa B" Mary laughed from where she stood in front of Fliss "Frank's got a wicked swing."
Fliss saw Frank who was laughing at something that one of the school teachers who was current performing the role of catcher before his face suddenly warped into one of utter concentrate as the pitcher wound up. Sure enough, a second or so later Frank swung the bat forward and with a satisfying cracking sound he connected with the baseball and set off at a sprint. Fliss and Mary cheered along with the rest of the crowd who had gathered to watch and Frank rounded first base, then onto second as the other guy positioned there had also started to make his way home. Frank made it to 3rd easily, and then Fliss spotted the expression on his face change as he glanced around and set off at a sprint clearly going for home. The gathered crowd started to yell as the ball came flying in towards the catcher but Frank was there just that little bit faster, dropping into a slide and his boot hit the little square marked out as home before the ball. He jumped up, a huge grin on his face as the other parents on the team all cheered and congratulated him, various other yells ringing out around the little playing field, Fliss, Mary, Bill and Verity joining in. 
"Told ya!" Mary shouted as she jumped up and down. "Home run!"
Fliss looked up at her dad who was chuckling as he watched Frank who was now doubled over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. He wiped at his dirty jeans, which were covered in the orange dust from the school playing field and glanced over towards them, shrugging playfully. 
"Well considering he said he would rather stick hot pins in his eyes than play in the Staff v Parents game he looks like he's enjoying himself." Bonnie grinned as she gently placed a hand on Fliss shoulder, leaning over to pull a face at Alex. The 6 month old baby grinned and waggled his arms furiously letting out a loud giggle, a stream of drool trickled down his chin and Fliss wiped it away with the bib round his neck.
"Well Mary called him a chicken." Fliss snorted, gently running a hand down Alex's flushed cheek, thankful he seemed to be in a temporary respite from his teething pain. "Said he was only refusing to take part because he was scared he wasn't good enough. And let's face it, he's not one to back down from a challenge is he?" 
Bonnie laughed and then someone called her away. Apologising she headed off and the family turned their attention back to the game. It finished about 20 minutes or so later when the last batter was caught out, but it didn't matter as the Parents had won anyway. They all let out a little cheer, before the two teams congratulated one another and dispersed, Frank making his way back over to where his family was stood. He chuckled as Mary ran towards him and he swung her up with a little huff and she tipped his hat back to look at him. 
"You're all sweaty." She pulled a face and Frank rolled his eyes as he set her down.
"Yeah, well it’s in the 70s and I've been running." He shrugged, dropping a kiss to Fliss' cheek.
"Hey babe...Ruth. She teased and Frank chuckled before he smiled at his baby boy.
"How's he feeling?"
"He seems OK." Fliss shrugged, looking at him. "Mind you, I've not tried putting him down yet since he stopped crying."
"Let me take him for a bit." Frank said and Fliss passed him over, Alex immediately reached up for his cap. Frank jerked his head out of the way and Alex let out a noise of protest until Fliss handed him his teething ring from his buggy. They baby grabbed it and instantly jammed it into his mouth, chomping away whilst babbling to no one in particular. Frank dropped a kiss to his head as they walked over the field, making their way to the little refreshment tent where a few if the other parents all turned and cheered as Frank walked in. He grinned, flushing a little at the attention and nodded to Rosie's mom and dad as they wandered over to talk to them. Fliss glanced around and caught the eye of one of the other moms who she recognised as being the one who'd been chatting shit about Frank and Mary last June. She narrowed her eyes a little, staring the bitch out and the other woman hastily averted her gaze and making Fliss smirk.
"Stop it." Frank warned in her ear and she turned to look at him, her best innocent expression in her face.
"Stop what?"
"You know full well what." He arched an eyebrow and Fliss shrugged.
"She's a bitch." she offered as justification and Frank merely rolled his eyes, adjusting Alex slightly in his arms, turning the baby so his back was pressed to his chest, one strong arm under his butt, the other hand pressed over his little belly so they small boy could look round the tent. He waggled his arms and legs excitedly as he saw Bonnie who waved her fingers towards him and smiled as she passed with a box in her arms, heading towards the small table set out at the front. 
The rest of the gala passed fairly quickly. It had been pulled together as a way for teachers and parents to bond, a little bit of fun one Friday afternoon in February. And according to the Principal as she spoke, it was going to be a yearly thing from now on. The Staff V Parents Baseball Trophy was handed to the captain of the parents’ team, a tall dark haired man whose daughter was in first grade who grinned and teased the staff members about how good it would look in the cabinet in the entrance hall with the word Parents engraved on the plate for at least the next 12 months, and then there were a few individual trophies handed out. One for best catch which went to the 3rd grade tutor, best display of acrobatics which went to Rosie's dad for his specular trip over his own feet as he ran to 3rd base, most animated player which went to the school's janitor who had been ferociously rallying his team all afternoon and then finally the Top Slugger trophy which to Fliss' delight was awarded to Frank for his absolute peach of a hit and home run. Frank let out a little groan as his name was called and everyone in the tent turned to face him. He accepted his trophy with one hand, Alex still held easily to his chest with the other and declined to say much other than he'd had fun and it has been a nice afternoon, thanking everyone who has organised the day, before cheekily quipping it was about time Bonnie did some actual work, which earned him a slap upside the head when she was walking past him later. 
Eventually it was time to leave and they made their way back to the cars. Mary retrieved her stuff from Frank's truck, handing it to Bill who tossed it into his Range Rover before Frank then handed Bill a changing bag for Alex as Fliss picked him up from the stroller so Bill could collapse it.
"Sure you don't mind dropping Mary off at Roberta’s?" Frank asked as Bill popped the stroller into the trunk and closed it.
"Not at all, it's on the way." Bill smiled watching Mary give Fliss a hug goodbye before she turned and did the same to Frank. 
"Behave." He said sternly and she rolled her eyes.
"I always do."
"Huh must be just us you're a pain in the ass for." Frank shrugged, earning him a little dig in the stomach from Mary. He huffed a breath, grinning as she clambered into the back of the car. 
"One down...one to go." Bill muttered to where Fliss was holding Alex to her, gently kissing his head.
"Yeah and something tells me this one's gonna be a little more awkward to get in your car." Frank sighed and Bill chuckled. Frank turned to him "I know I don’t need to ask but..."
"He'll be fine." Bill smiled "travel cot and baby monitor all set up."
Frank gave a nod as Bill clapped him on the shoulder and they both turned to Fliss who was now talking to her mother in a worried tone as Alex was starting to grumble.
"You know, I'm not sure..."
"Stop. Now." Verity looked at Fliss, giving her a significant look and Fliss knew why. Her mom and dad taking Alex overnight was a trial run for a few weeks’ time when she was planning to take Frank away for the weekend as a birthday gift. It was more a trial run for her than Alex, mind, as she was still ridiculously clingy to him, a fact she knew and was actively trying to get over. 
"He's teething Fliss, not dying." Bill looked at her. 
"I know that" Fliss replied hotly "but he's a little grouchy and he's in pain..."
“So we'll dose him up with medicine, give him cuddles and let him sleep." Verity responded simply.
"Love, we've done this before remember? And we had 2 of them with Charlie and Joel." Bill chuckled as Fliss chewed on her lip.
"But what if he won't settle? I mean he's only just cut his first one and..."
"Honey, we're 15 minutes away." Frank soothed. 
“Yup, any issues we'll call and bring him straight back." Verity nodded. Frank looked at Bill who gave him a small wink which he understood perfectly. There was no way Alex was coming back tonight, even if he was grouchy. Frank knew Bill and V would just take it in their stride to give them their first child free night in well over 6 months. 
Fliss took a deep breath and nodded. "Ok, I know I'm flapping...I'm sorry..." 
She moved to the car and gently placed him in the car seat before Frank stepped forward to take it from their truck to Bill's. Once it was secured, he dropped a kiss to his head and moved so Fliss could so the same.
She stepped back, closing the door and Frank gently pulled her right hand away from her left where it had begun to worry at the knuckles, the way she always did when she was a little panicked. He laced his fingers with hers, thumb gently stroking the back of her hand in slow, comforting arcs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Ok, we'll see you tomorrow." Bill smiled as he opened the driver’s side door. "And try to enjoy your night alone yeah? Ill permit one text an hour to check up otherwise I'll sever all communication."
Fliss rolled her eyes but stayed silent. Frank didn't miss the way her fingers squeezed around his as they waved goodbye to Bill's car as it pulled out of the space next to theirs. 
"So, what do you-" Frank stopped dead as he looked down at Fliss who has just burst into tears. "-oh honey!" He chuckled, as she pressed her face into his t-shirt, his arms wrapping around her, gently rubbing her back over her pale blue top. 
"I know I’m being stupid but I can't help it." She sobbed "He's my baby Frank and he has a sore mouth and he's been all grouchy and..."
"Yes he is, yes he does, and yes he has." Frank pulled back, cupping her face in his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs "But your mom and dad will be fine. The last few nights after his feed and some Orajel he's settled right down, and if he doesn't they've got the Tylenol. He'll be fine, I promise." 
Fliss nodded and Frank dipped his head, giving her a soft kiss. "Now, we got the rest of the afternoon and the entire night to ourselves...and dare I say it a lie in tomorrow morning." He grinned, turning to open the passenger door for her. "Do you wanna go out for a few drinks or..."
Fliss wrinkled her nose "is it bad I just wanna do nothing?" Frank laughed as Fliss shrugged "I mean I have a book that I haven't opened in like a week, I've got a bottle of pinot in the fridge..."
"So you wanna curl up on the window seat and not be disturbed?" Frank arched his eyebrow.
"Well, not all night." Fliss shook her head "but maybe for an hour or so when I finish the yard."
"Ok, well, let's make a deal." Frank's hand dropped to her hips "We take our own time till say 7 ish and then sit down for dinner and a movie."
"Oh my god, perfect" Fliss groaned. Frank shook his head as he snorted.
"When did we get so pathetic that we get our first child free evening in 6 months and you're gonna spend it reading about some lame ass British Detective and I'm gonna be screwing with boat parts?"
"Ok first off there is nothing pathetic about Detective Super Intendant Roy Grace and second off...will you be greasy?"
Frank's head fell back as a loud rumble of laughter erupted from his chest. When he looked back at Fliss she shrugged and he arched an eyebrow.
"You're terrible, you know that?"
"Not my fault you're such a dirty boat daddy."
"Dirty boat daddy?" Frank scoffed as he raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck..."
Fliss grinned as she traced Frank's bicep with the fingers of her right hand "You're my baby daddy...and you get dirty on boats..."
"You don't half talk some shit at times." He snorted and Fliss poked her tongue out, catching it between her teeth as she smiled.
"You love it."
 "I love you." He bent down pressing his lips to hers before he stepped back "Now come on, I got some grease to smear up my arms."
"Can you wipe some on your face too?" Fliss asked as the climbed in the truck. Frank merely rolled his eyes with a smirk in response.
 ****
 Fliss stretched her legs out as she reached the end of her chapter, Thor giving a little annoyed huff as she jostled his head from where it was laying in her lap as they sat curled up, snuggled into the cushions on the large window seat.
"Sorry boy." She chuckled, scratching behind his ears as she glanced outside over the garden. It was dark out, the various garden lights strung up on the fence illuminated the panels which separated their private space to the large garden that belonged to the next house along. They’d really lucked out on this property. The house itself was set into almost 2 acres of land, and not to mention the 8 that now belonged to Sandybrook Stables after they’d purchased the additional 3 at the back. Which reminded Fliss, she really should get the architect onto the re-design.
Reaching for her phone she gave a yelp as she realised what time it was. Almost 8pm. They’d gone well over an hour later than they’d agreed, and given that there was no sign of Frank, he too had clearly forgotten. She stood up, fired her mum a quick message and then called their favourite Italian, ringing through an order for delivery. The guy on the phone was apologetic, saying it would be at least 45 minutes before it arrived but Fliss assured him it was no bother. No sooner had she put the phone down than her mom sent her a message back which was a picture of Alex fast asleep in the crib at her parents, his little cheeks still slightly red, but he looked peaceful. Satisfied everything was ok, she bit her lip before she smiled to herself and pulled open the fridge, tossing a 6 pack into a cool box. Instructing Thor to stay she headed out the back door and round the side of the pool and out of the garden onto the main front area. The garage door was open, the light from inside streaming onto the gravel driveway and the low tones of AC/DC hit her ears as she approached along with Frank’s curses.
The reason for his cursing was simple. No matter how much digging into the boats engine, or twisting his hand at impossible angles, the mother fucking part still wouldn’t come out. Snarling in frustration, he yanked his hand out, and grabbed a wrench, hitting the metal against it, cursing “You son of a bitch, you’re coming out of there whether ya wa like it or not. I’ve been fahking with you all God damn night!”
Fliss climbed the ladder next to the boat and snorted as she set down the cooler on the boards of the deck, arching a brow. It wasn’t often that Frank lost his cool, but when he did, he usually turned a bit Boston.
“You alright Sailor or should I be worried?” she spoke, perching on the edge. Frank fell back on his heels, grabbing a rag to wipe at his grease-covered hands and looked round at her, his brow beaded with sweat.
“If you got a beer in that cooler there, then you got nothing to worry about.” His eyes were hopeful and Fliss leaned forward, popping open the top and drawing out the six-pack. Smiling, Frank pushed himself to a stand and took one, removing the cap and draining a good third of it in one go. “Confirmed, nothing to worry about now Cowgirl!”
Fliss grabbed herself a beer and watched as Frank stepped closer, his hands resting either side of her thighs as she sat perched on the edge of the hull. “You get bored reading already?”
“Well I’d read enough anyway, but then realised the time. Baby its gone 8.”
“Seriously?” Frank frowned and then sighed as Fliss nodded. “Shit, sorry, I lost track o’time.”
“It’s ok, I did the same.” Fliss shrugged “Guess a child free few hours really is a treat.”
Frank smiled softly “We should probably order dinner.
Fliss smirked “Already done, we got like…40 mintues.” she wrapped her hands around Frank’s neck and tugged him closer.
“Whoa whoa baby, I’m covered in shit.” He gave a laugh as he protested slightly.
Rolling her eyes, she snorted. “No, if you were covered in shit, it would be because I worked you for a day at the stables. You Frank…” Her voice lowered, and her eyes turned hooded, leaning up to his lips, whispering against them. “You are covered in grease, and that makes me so unbelievably hot for you, that if you don’t fuck me on this deck, I won’t forgive you.”
“Enough said, consider yourself fucked on deck Baby,” Frank smirked, catching Fliss’ lips. At that point the music changed and flicked over from Whole Lotta Rosie to You Shook Me All Night Long, Frank’s favourite song and he smirked against her mouth as he began to sing the first verse, all the time keeping his lips a mere centimetre or so away from hers.
“She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen, she had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies, knocking me out with those American thighs…”
“Err British thighs, thank you.” Fliss corrected him. Frank simply arched an eyebrow and pulled her easily off the edge of the boat she was leaning against. She giggled as she wrapped her legs around his slim waist, leaning in to press her lips to his in a slow kiss as he walked them over to the benches at the rear of the boat. The kiss remained soft, teasing licks, a slow pace, but it was no less intense than a furious one, if anything it felt more powerful than normal, the pair of them truly alone for the first time in months. With each steady, deliberate tangle of their tongues, Fliss could feel everything. The heat, the spark, the butterflies swarming inside of her stomach.
In an easy, graceful moment Frank turned and sat on the edge of the bench, his hands letting go of Fliss’ hips as she straddled him, reaching up to cup the sides of her face, holding her still while his mouth had its way with hers. Pulling back a little he softly bit her lip, drawing a groan from her mouth and he grinned, resting his forehead against hers.
“What the fuck was in that book you were reading?” he asked and Fliss laughed
“Rape, murder…” she pondered, before she grinned wickedly “A police man in a uniform with handcuffs…”
“So is it the Uniform or the handcuffs that have got you all worked up Pretty Girl?”
“Neither, it’s the dirty, boat Daddy that I’m currently straddling”
At that Frank tipped his head back in a loud laugh, his hands brushing Fliss’ hair back off her face. “I fahkin love you.” he chuckled, as she pressed her lips to his again.
“Good job.” She mumbled against his mouth “Seeing as you’re the father of my kids…and you’re marrying me.” She added as somewhat of an afterthought.
Kids. Plural.
Frank glanced at her, her eyes shining against the lights of the garage and he smiled softly, his chest tightening a little with emotion. Mary’s adoption had only been finalised a few weeks prior, the ink probably still wet on all the documents but in their mind it had been a done deal months ago, from the moment they’d made the decision. Still, it stirred all kinds of warm feelings in his chest when he heard her say it. She smiled, reaching up to brush her hands through the longer strands of hair on his head before her fingers delicately danced down over his shoulders, his strong arms before she gripped at the hem of his T-shirt. He raised his arms allowing her to pull it off, before she dropped her head and chained open mouthed, warm kisses across his collar bone.
Happy to let her take charge for a moment, Frank tipped his head back sighing as she nipped up his neck to his jaw, her mouth skating over the stubble of his beard before she met his mouth again and this time the kiss was fierce. In a flash, Frank fisted his hand in the loose t-shirt she was wearing, yanking it over her head, giving a soft groan as he realised she was wearing no bra. His large hands spread over her back, pulling her snug against his chest, his fingers sliding up and down her spine causing her to shiver a little, letting out a soft moan that morphed into that oh so familiar whimper he knew and loved.
“I could listen to you make that sound for days,” he muttered and Fliss smiled against his mouth, kissing him again. A few seconds later, deciding to push things a little as Fliss seemed to be in a demanding mood, Frank pulled back, his bright blue eyes almost icy with intensity and issued a single word instruction. “Strip” Fliss felt her stomach bottom out with excitement when his demand registered. She swallowed and stood between his legs, slipping down the shorts she was wearing, Frank’s eyes watching her as she then slid down her panties, her gaze never once leaving his face. When he finished looking her up and down as she stood naked in front of him, his eyes met hers a look of pure, unadulterated wonderment and appreciation on his face.
And it was all for her.
“Like what you see sailor?” she bit her lip, her skin tingling with excitement as Frank arched an eyebrow.
“Like you wouldn’t believe…” his hands reached out and grabbed her hips as he stood up, pivoting them so that the back of Fliss’ legs pressed against the bench he had been sat on. His hands slid up, thumbs brushing the underneath of her breasts as he kissed her once more, softly, before he pulled back, his lips gently sucking at that spot on her delicate neck, his teeth nipping at her skin.
“Wanna turn around and get on your knees for me baby girl?” he whispered his question. Fliss looked at him, wide eyed, and he noted that where there had at one time been a slight apprehension in those deep browns at being put in such a position, now there was nothing but excitement, and he wasn’t quite sure when that had changed. But it had, and he loved it. He loved the fact she trusted him, that she was happy to simply be pliant in his hands.  She nodded and turned, kneeling on the bench in front of him, bending over, gripping the back with her hands. Frank reached out, gently manoeuvring so she was positioned where he wanted her to be and then stepped back, biting back the groan that bubbled in his throat at the site of her there, ready and waiting.
Fliss’ head was spinning. She couldn’t see him, but could feel him behind her. He wasn’t touching her yet, but he didn’t have to. Just the fact she could feel the heat of his gaze and his presence was enough to send her into a freefall. Every inch of her skin felt like it was on fire, the ache between her legs intensifying with each passing second. Then she heard a soft thud—Frank dropping to his knees, she assumed, but the gentle press of his mouth to the inside of her left thigh was still a shock, even though she knew it was coming. She inhaled sharply and Frank paused, his hands sliding up the outside of her thighs.
“You okay?” He asked, his voice low with desire. “Yeah.” Fliss’ breath was equally loaded and she let out a sigh as his mouth traced a line of kisses up her thigh, then he moved to do the same to the inside of her right. Her eyes closed, Fliss breathed in slowly in an attempt to steady herself, to stay calm and collected. She was ridiculously close already and his mouth hadn’t even touched that part of her body yet. When his tongue finally made contact, she lost all semblance of cool. Her eyes flew open and she let out a loud cry as the tip of his tongue swirled against her made. It was mere seconds but she was already panting, her hands curling around the back of the bench, the feel of his beard scratching against her was almost too much. Frank fucking her with his mouth, from behind, on the deck of the boat, in their garage was the single hottest thing she had ever experienced, and she wanted it to last as long as possible. Frank however, seemed to have other ideas. Whilst he kept the slow, steady rhythm with ease, he let out a low hum, something he knew would send her wild.
“Fuck,” she whined. “Frank, I…” His tongue swirled faster, his hands gripping the outside of her thighs tightly as she felt the pressure inside her turn white hot. When he slipped his finger inside her she gasped, his mouth matching every gentle but firm thrust his hand made.  It all resulted in a sensation so heavenly, it was agonizing and it spread from between her legs to the farthest reaches of her body, until she could take it no more. With a loud cry she came, hard, pushing back onto his face and her knees buckled slightly, her hand slipping on the wooden rail of the bench, her body and mind completely gone. Frank stood up, giving her a moment as he quickly shed his jeans and boxers before his hands gripped her hips and he bent over to kiss her neck. “You good?” he asked and she gave a hum of satisfaction as she turned her head to look at him, her brown eyes meeting his as she nodded. “Jesus Frank…” she stuttered and he smirked, his grin slipping slightly as she reached back and gripped him in her hand, a choked little grunt escaping his own mouth as her palm tightened around his now throbbing cock. His hands dropped to her hips and he pulled her backwards and up slightly, manoeuvring her so she was exactly where he needed and with smooth, fluid thrust forward he slid slowly into her, the deliberate languid pace allowing her to feel every glorious inch of him. “Lissy,” he growled, and that was the last word he uttered as he thrust into her over, and over, screams and cries and grunts filling the air in the large garage, echoing slightly off the walls. As his hands tightened on her hips, Fliss knew he was close and so was she. He let go with his right hand, dropping it round between her legs to palm her clit and the warm press of his hand combined with the steady rhythm of his thrusts sent Fliss over the edge again and just as a low growl ripped from Frank’s throat, orgasm number two spiked through her. Only this time when she lost it, she was a complete mess.  Every single muscle in her body cramped and quivered as she tensed in front of Frank, bucking violently until she sagged forward, her sailor’s arms wrapping around her as he gave a few more deep thrusts before he shuddered, his arms tightening their hold and he groaned loudly, his hips faltering as he came with a surge that brewed right from his feet. They both remained still for a second until Frank slowly and gently pulled away. He pressed his lips to Fliss’ lower back, showering her in gentle kisses, as he made his way up her spine before he reached the crook of her shoulder. Fliss’s eyes were still closed but her face sported a sated smile as she let out a hum of satisfaction.  Picking her up, Frank sat down on the bench so she was cradled in his lap, reaching for the tartan blanket that was draped over the seat a few down and he wrapped it around them both, kissing her hair line.
“Suppose that’s one way to christen the boat.” She eventually spoke and Frank chuckled.
"God bless the good lady Felicity...and all who sail in her." He retorted, giving a little salute. Fliss snorted and slapped his arm.
“You’re such a wanker.” She shook her head and Frank laughed, kissing her gently”
“You love it, honey.” “No, I love you. Which means I put up with all your wanker-ish traits because I have no choice.”
****
 Once Frank had showered he made his way downstairs dressed comfortably in a pair of sweats and t-shirt. Fliss had already laid the take-out boxes on the counter so he parked himself down on one of the stools as Fliss handed him a beer, taking a glass of wine for herself. They talked as they ate, Fliss teasing Frank about getting him a display cabinet for his baseball trophy to which he snorted and told her he wasn't intending on making it a habit. Once they'd finished their food, they cleared the dishes and Frank made his way to the sofa whilst Fliss let Thor out into the yard as he was pawing at the door. 
Frank absentmindedly flicked through the news channels, pausing at a report on Trump's latest activity and the reaction to a stupid tweet he had made regarding guns and he shook his head, scoffing in disgust.
"I dont know why you watch anything about him." Fliss called as she shut the door "it just winds you up."
"His brain is a fucking scribble" Frank retorted, "I mean...just look at him Fliss!"
"I'd rather not!" She called back, shooing Fred down from where he had hopped up onto the kitchen counter. 
"President of the free world and he's an absolute tool." Frank continued his chunnering as he stretched out, his legs on the coffee table and his arms extending quite forcefully behind his head as he yawned. Unfortunately, Fliss had chosen that exact moment to cross the room ready to wrap her arms around him from behind and as she bent to do so the back of Frank's closed left fist connected with the top of her left cheekbone, just in the outside corner of her eye, and she gave a yelp of surprise. As soon as it happened Frank jerked his head round and as he saw Fliss recoiling from the accidental blow his blood ran cold.
"Shit..." he sprang over the back of the couch, ignoring Thor who was now growling furiously at him. "Oh my god, Lissy, I'm so fahkin' sorry..." 
She straightened up blinking, her hands falling to his biceps as he gently cradled her face. "Frank its fine, you just caught my eye a little that’s all, it won't even bruise."
"Well, maybe not but..."
"Did you-Thor!" Fliss yelled at the dog, turning to look at him "Stop!" The German shepherd fell silent and flopped his butt down on the floor, his dark amber eyes still fixed on Frank, as Fliss turned back to him. "Did you mean to do it?"
"No, of course not..."
"Then there you go. It was an accident." She smiled, "it wasn't even hard enough to bruise, trust me, I know."
"That's not funny." Frank said quietly and Fliss sighed.
"It wasn't meant to be." She shook her head as Frank's eyes roved her face, utter dismay across every inch of his own. "Frankie..."
"Baby, I'm so..."
"Stop apologising." She said softly "it was an accident. Nothing more." Frank looked at her again before she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. "Please don't."
"Don't what?" He asked
"Worry that you've hurt me, or scared me. Because you haven't." She shook her head "would you be this bothered if I didn't have the history I did?"
Frank hesitated. Of course he'd be bothered about hitting his girl, regardless of it being accidentally, but she was right. He wouldn't feel the concern he did has she not been subjected to the abuse she had suffered previously. He gave a little sheepish shrug and Fliss shook her head again, smiling.
"I'm not made of glass Sailor, I'm not gonna shatter over something like this. Not anymore." She took his hand in hers, pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then let go. Frank dropped it to his side, curling both hands on her hips as her arms slid up round his neck. "Can we forget this now and snuggle up with a movie?"
Frank nodded "ok, sounds good..."
After a little deliberation and poking around the channels Fliss’ eyes lit up when she realised that one of the channels was now dedicated to James Bond, the next movie showing being Skyfall, one of her favourites.  However, fifteen minutes in Frank felt her head growing heavy against his chest as they lay sprawled on the sofa. He glanced down to see her eyes closed, her lids fluttering slightly, lashes laying against her cheeks as she slept. With a smile he pressed a kiss to her head, his hand gently resting around her back as she lay snuggled into him. It can’t have been much more than twenty minutes later when he too felt his eyes growing heavy, the exertion of the day finally getting to much for him and he nodded off, both of them waking with a jolt when the music for the end credits kicked in and Fred hopped up onto the back of the sofa before landing on Frank’s chest by Fliss’ head with a loud purr.
“Jesus Fred…” Frank grumbled, pushing him off as Fliss sat up, blinking. “Fucking one eyed bastard.”
Fred glared at him and slunk off, jumping up onto the armchair where he curled up, his tail flicking.
“What a rock and roll lifestyle we lead.” Fliss stretched slightly as she yawned and Frank shrugged.
“Well we had a busy day.” “Even busier evening.” She quipped and Frank chuckled, his hand rubbing at her back before she stood up, her hands rubbing at her eyes. With a heave Frank swung his legs off the couch and he too stood, pulling his girl into a hug.
“You go up, I’ll sort Thor check the doors.”
She gave him a quick peck and then left him to it, padding tiredly up the stairs. She headed into the bathroom to clean her teeth and was just climbing in between the soft sheets when Frank walked into the room, Thor behind him, the dog flopping down with a sigh into his basket. Fliss’ eyes fell to the empty bassinet and she suddenly felt a little pang for her missing baby, but she knew from the various texts and the conversation she’d had with her parents earlier that he was perfectly fine so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
It wasn’t long before Frank joined her in bed and she shuffled over to him, tossing her leg over his as he kissed her forehead, his hand sliding up the back of her sleep cami, palm warm against her skin.
“Love you.” He yawned and she smiled.
“Love you too.” She sighed contentedly, her eyes closing as they both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
 *****
Frank woke the next morning to an empty bed. With a stretch he rubbed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. Of course it would be too much to hope Fliss would be able to lay in. And then he turned over to check the time and did a double take. It was almost 10 am.
“Fuck!” he gave a little chuckle. Guess he’d been a lot more tired than he thought. Swinging his legs out of bed he padded into the bathroom, sorted his bladder out and went about the rest of his normal morning routine before he grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sweats and headed downstairs. He paused in the doorway to the large family area, watching as she was stood at the stove, dressed in one of his button downs. It skimmed the curve of her ass, ending in the middle of her thighs and he smiled as he watched her move. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he saw her like this in the kitchen, it was certainly before Alex was born, most likely on one of their kid free Friday nights that had abruptly halted when he’d arrived, not that Frank would change a thing about it mind, but it was still nice to have it back, even it if was just for one morning.
He thought back to the first time he saw her dressed in one of his shirts. It was a Saturday in his old apartment, not long after they'd started dating. He found her in the kitchen much like she was now, making a coffee having woken early and not wanted to disturb him. He remembered thinking it was the first time a woman had ever done that, made herself at home, because in fairness she was the only woman that had lasted longer than a night in 8 years. It had stirred something in him then, a feeling of contentment, much like the one he was feeling now. His life had changed dramatically since she’d walked into it approximately 2 and a half years or so. In some ways the time had flown by, in others it felt like a life time when he considered everything they’d been through, both of them so far from the people they had been, yet so similar too.
With a smile he stepped into the room and walked over to her, and the fact she didn’t jump when he wrapped his arms aroud her from behind told him she’d been well aware of his presence in the doorway for a while.
“I thought we were supposed to be having a lazy morning complete with lie in” Frank’s hand gently brushed Fliss’ wild locks off her neck before he pressed a kiss to her skin
“I did.” Fliss smiled “I didn’t wake up until 8:30. Normally your son has me up at 6.”
“Our son.”
“When he wakes me up at 6 am he’s your son.” She turned her head to glance at him. “Dad’s gonna collect Mary and drop them both off at half past midday ish.”
“Well then, you really could have stayed in bed.” He pouted and she chuckled.
“Once I’m awake I’m awake…” she shrugged “No point staying there.”
“You should’a woken me up, I could’a given you a good reason to stay put.” His lips pressed more kisses to her neck and Fliss laughed, swatting at his head playfully.
“I’ll burn breakfast.”
“So?”
“I’m hungry.”
“So am I.”
“I meant for food.” She turned in his arms and he shrugged playfully giving her a deep kiss.
“Morning honey.” He smiled against her lips and she let out a little chuckle.
“Morning hot shot.” She grinned, patting his chest “you wanna set the places and pour us a coffee each? This is nearly done.”
Doing as he was told, Frank stepped back, grabbing cutlery and placing it on the breakfast bar before he made them both a coffee and grabbed the orange juice and a couple of glasses. As he set it all down on the side, Fliss dropped two plates of pancakes, bacon and eggs on the place mats and Frank gave a little groan of delight.
“You didn’t have to do this.” He looked at her.
“It’s just breakfast” she shrugged “Plus, thought it would be nice, just the two of us. And I wanted to talk to you.”
“Sounds ominous.” He arched an eyebrow as she sat next to him.
“No, not really.” She shrugged “I was just thinking yesterday a little. I wanna go back to work Frank, like full time. I’m ready.”
“Okay.” He nodded, “That’s fine. Did you think I was gonna protest or something?”
“No, I just wanted to discuss it, remember, we said we would do that after last time?”
“Liss, this is different.” He said, shaking his head as he cut into a pancake. “He’s almost 6 months old now, we’ll be weaning him soon.” “Yeah, I was thinking I can start pushing up the hours and then when he’s fully converted onto solids, which by the way, I’m not looking forward to those nappy changes…” she wrinkled her nose and Frank laughed, popping a piece of his breakfast into his mouth “well, when all that’s done then I’m back to full time.”
“Like I said, if you’re ready then fine.” Frank looked at her, hi hand dropping to her knee. “Guess we should start looking for a childminder huh?”
“Mum said she’d help out but I don’t want her to have him all the time, she’s got her own life. But I was thinking she could maybe have him two days a week, as she’ll sulk if I don’t let her have him some time.” Fliss shrugged “The other days, I thought we could speak to the one that Bonnie’s sister uses. She’s not far from Mum and Dad.” “Yeah, ok. Get her number and we’ll go meet her.” Frank agreed, shovelling more of his breakfast into his mouth.
“I also wanna call the architect that Steeby knows” Fliss added, taking a bite of food “Start getting the plans drawn up for the expansion. I’d really like to have that completed by the wedding. We got nearly 7 months. I think it’s doable. The additional stables won’t take long, or the lunging pen and the paddock move. The big job is gonna be the extension to the office and tack room but…again, a couple of weeks and Dad reckons it’ll be done. He doesn’t think that it’ll be much over 12 weeks in total if we get the right guys on the job.” Frank nodded “Well, the land is already ours so, go for it.”
“Yeah?” Fliss smiled and Frank returned the gesture, squeezing her knee.
“Yeah, let’s do it. Get the designs drawn up and some quotes for the work.”
“I love you.” Fliss beamed, leaning over to kiss him softly and he smiled, his nose bumping hers slightly.
“That’s because I’m a very lovable guy” he grinned and Fliss snorted, pulling back.
“Suppose so.”
They ate their breakfast and once the dishes were over they both retired to the sofa, Frank flicking on the news channel, Fliss picking up her book again, Fred curling up behind her head on the sofa back, Thor jumping up beside her. Frank gave a grunt and a huff, pushing the dog’s huge paw off his thigh before he flopped down, head in his lap. It was lazy, comfortable and remained that way until at midday, Fliss headed upstairs to pull on something a little more substantial than Frank’s shirt, much to his chagrin. When she came down dressed in a pair of breaches and a polo shirt little over 20 minutes later he smiled at her.
“You got a class this afternoon?”
“Yeah I’m taking Mary’s one at 2.” She said. “But I need to ride Cap  beforehand and then Bronson needs working and Heidi could do with a walk round the trail too, her back leg keeps swelling up.” “Still bad?”
Fliss wrinkled her nose as she crossed to the fridge “Nothing unusual for her age, the vet said it’s a touch of arthritis which is why I don’t school her any more. It tends to go down when she’s done a bit of walking. If I take her for half an hour hack round she’ll be fine. It’s when it stops going down that I’ve got a problem, but I don’t even want to think about that.” She shook her head, pulling the water out of the fridge. “I can’t imagine my life without her.”
“She’s certainly been with you a long time.” Frank looked at her and Fliss nodded
“20 years this year.” She sighed “Hard to believe really. She was the first horse I ever owned, best one I could have hoped for.”
“How long do you think Mary has with Monty?” Frank asked, declining Fliss’ offer of a glass of water. “I mean till she outgrows him.” “She won’t” Fliss shook her head “I can still ride Monty, he’s a welsh cob. Chunky, she’ll be good with him until he drops. But I do think she’ll be looking for something a little more advanced as well in a couple of years, when Monty needs to slow down again, but we can cross that bridge when we get there.”
“Oh, great.” Frank rolled his eyes and Fliss laughed as she sat next to him.
“Behave, it’s not like it costs anything to keep another.” “I’m referring to the advanced bit.” Frank looked at her “Still scares the crap out of me when she sails over those damned fences.”
“She’s good at it.” Fliss shrugged “If she gets placed in the final competition next month she’s got third place over all. She wins it, then she’s gonna take second. Not to mention the fact that she’s basically already won the Junior Rider class. Not bad for a first season.”
Frank smiled proudly, but before he could say anything else the back door opened and Mary skipped inside, her voice carrying over the room.
“That’s just not true Poppa B and you know it!” She sing songed and Bill rolled his eyes as he carried Alex’s car chair inside.
“Is so.” He nodded “I know someone it happened to.”
“Nah ah!” she shook her head “When you swallow gum it can’t physically wrap around your ribs as when you eat it goes down to your stomach. It’s impossible.”
“Smart ass.” Bill chuckled as Fliss stood up, crossing the room.
“Hi!” she smiled, before she beamed down at Alex who grinned and started to thrash his legs and arms about at the sight of his momma, screeching. “Hi baby, I missed you!”
“What am I? Chopped liver?” Mary looked at Fliss who laughed, and pulled her into a hug.
“And you, dur!”
“You have a good time?” Frank asked as Mary flopped next to him.
“Yeah, we had fish tacos.” Mary smiled “They were well nice.” “Fish tacos.” Frank made an approving noise in his throat.
“Yeah and then we watched some more of The Mandalorian. And I had hot chocolate and went to bed.” Fliss, who now had Alex cradled in her arms, turned to face them both. “Sounds better than my night.” She quipped giving Frank a wink as he raised an eyebrow.
“Oh does it?”
“Why does something tell me I don’t wanna know?” Bill asked and Fliss turned to look at her dad, an innocent look on her face.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She chuckled “I just helped Frank with some stuff on the boat.”
“Sure you did.” Bill rolled his eyes before his eyes twinkled cheekily “Hope you scrubbed the deck afterwards.”
**** Chapter 19
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Text
Riding On
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Ch 18-Home Run
Summary: Frank’s competitive side comes out to play during an event at Mary’s school, and then he and Fliss get their first child free evening in well over 6 months.
Warnings:  Bad Language words, Smut (NSFW, 18+)
Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher
A/N:  SURPRISE!!! Turns out I can’t stop writing these two for long. Updates going forward on this probably won’t be as regular as they were but…it’s not really on hiatus anymore. It wasn’t really on hiatus at all to be fair as I’ve been writing this one since I posted the last!
Special thanks to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork for her little drabble which was posted as part of her Birthday Celebrations which I used in here.
Chapter Song:  You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC 
Series Masterlist //  WIYPT Masterlist
Taking more than her share, had me fighting for air, she told me to come, but I was already there, 'Cause the walls start shaking, the Earth was quaking, my mind was aching and we were making it. And you shook me all night long, yeah, you shook me all night long
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Fliss watched as Frank adjusted the blue Red Sox hat on his head slightly, the baseball bat hanging loosely in one hand before he took up position, turning slightly to the side, his long fingers curling around the handle.
"Five bucks says he misses..." Bill spoke and Fliss gave him a dig in the ribs.
"No chance Poppa B" Mary laughed from where she stood in front of Fliss "Frank's got a wicked swing."
Fliss saw Frank who was laughing at something that one of the school teachers who was current performing the role of catcher before his face suddenly warped into one of utter concentrate as the pitcher wound up. Sure enough, a second or so later Frank swung the bat forward and with a satisfying cracking sound he connected with the baseball and set off at a sprint. Fliss and Mary cheered along with the rest of the crowd who had gathered to watch and Frank rounded first base, then onto second as the other guy positioned there had also started to make his way home. Frank made it to 3rd easily, and then Fliss spotted the expression on his face change as he glanced around and set off at a sprint clearly going for home. The gathered crowd started to yell as the ball came flying in towards the catcher but Frank was there just that little bit faster, dropping into a slide and his boot hit the little square marked out as home before the ball. He jumped up, a huge grin on his face as the other parents on the team all cheered and congratulated him, various other yells ringing out around the little playing field, Fliss, Mary, Bill and Verity joining in. 
"Told ya!" Mary shouted as she jumped up and down. "Home run!"
Fliss looked up at her dad who was chuckling as he watched Frank who was now doubled over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. He wiped at his dirty jeans, which were covered in the orange dust from the school playing field and glanced over towards them, shrugging playfully. 
"Well considering he said he would rather stick hot pins in his eyes than play in the Staff v Parents game he looks like he's enjoying himself." Bonnie grinned as she gently placed a hand on Fliss shoulder, leaning over to pull a face at Alex. The 6 month old baby grinned and waggled his arms furiously letting out a loud giggle, a stream of drool trickled down his chin and Fliss wiped it away with the bib round his neck.
"Well Mary called him a chicken." Fliss snorted, gently running a hand down Alex's flushed cheek, thankful he seemed to be in a temporary respite from his teething pain. "Said he was only refusing to take part because he was scared he wasn't good enough. And let's face it, he's not one to back down from a challenge is he?" 
Bonnie laughed and then someone called her away. Apologising she headed off and the family turned their attention back to the game. It finished about 20 minutes or so later when the last batter was caught out, but it didn't matter as the Parents had won anyway. They all let out a little cheer, before the two teams congratulated one another and dispersed, Frank making his way back over to where his family was stood. He chuckled as Mary ran towards him and he swung her up with a little huff and she tipped his hat back to look at him. 
"You're all sweaty." She pulled a face and Frank rolled his eyes as he set her down.
"Yeah, well it’s in the 70s and I've been running." He shrugged, dropping a kiss to Fliss' cheek.
"Hey babe...Ruth. She teased and Frank chuckled before he smiled at his baby boy.
"How's he feeling?"
"He seems OK." Fliss shrugged, looking at him. "Mind you, I've not tried putting him down yet since he stopped crying."
"Let me take him for a bit." Frank said and Fliss passed him over, Alex immediately reached up for his cap. Frank jerked his head out of the way, spinning his cap back to front, and Alex let out a noise of protest until Fliss handed him his teething ring from his buggy. They baby grabbed it and instantly jammed it into his mouth, chomping away whilst babbling to no one in particular. Frank dropped a kiss to his head as they walked over the field, making their way to the little refreshment tent where a few if the other parents all turned and cheered as Frank walked in. He grinned, flushing a little at the attention and nodded to Rosie's mom and dad as they wandered over to talk to them. Fliss glanced around and caught the eye of one of the other moms who she recognised as being the one who'd been chatting shit about Frank and Mary last June. She narrowed her eyes a little, staring the bitch out and the other woman hastily averted her gaze and making Fliss smirk.
"Stop it." Frank warned in her ear and she turned to look at him, her best innocent expression in her face.
"Stop what?"
"You know full well what." He arched an eyebrow and Fliss shrugged.
"She's a bitch." she offered as justification and Frank merely rolled his eyes, adjusting Alex slightly in his arms, turning the baby so his back was pressed to his chest, one strong arm under his butt, the other hand pressed over his little belly so they small boy could look round the tent. He waggled his arms and legs excitedly as he saw Bonnie who waved her fingers towards him and smiled as she passed with a box in her arms, heading towards the small table set out at the front. 
The rest of the gala passed fairly quickly. It had been pulled together as a way for teachers and parents to bond, a little bit of fun one Friday afternoon in February. And according to the Principal as she spoke, it was going to be a yearly thing from now on. The Staff V Parents Baseball Trophy was handed to the captain of the parents’ team, a tall dark haired man whose daughter was in first grade who grinned and teased the staff members about how good it would look in the cabinet in the entrance hall with the word Parents engraved on the plate for at least the next 12 months, and then there were a few individual trophies handed out. One for best catch which went to the 3rd grade tutor, best display of acrobatics which went to Rosie's dad for his specular trip over his own feet as he ran to 3rd base, most animated player which went to the school's janitor who had been ferociously rallying his team all afternoon and then finally the Top Slugger trophy which to Fliss' delight was awarded to Frank for his absolute peach of a hit and home run. Frank let out a little groan as his name was called and everyone in the tent turned to face him. He accepted his trophy with one hand, Alex still held easily to his chest with the other and declined to say much other than he'd had fun and it has been a nice afternoon, thanking everyone who has organised the day, before cheekily quipping it was about time Bonnie did some actual work, which earned him a slap upside the head when she was walking past him later. 
Eventually it was time to leave and they made their way back to the cars. Mary retrieved her stuff from Frank's truck, handing it to Bill who tossed it into his Range Rover before Frank then handed Bill a changing bag for Alex as Fliss picked him up from the stroller so Bill could collapse it.
"Sure you don't mind dropping Mary off at Roberta’s?" Frank asked as Bill popped the stroller into the trunk and closed it.
"Not at all, it's on the way." Bill smiled watching Mary give Fliss a hug goodbye before she turned and did the same to Frank. 
"Behave." He said sternly and she rolled her eyes.
"I always do."
"Huh must be just us you're a pain in the ass for." Frank shrugged, earning him a little dig in the stomach from Mary. He huffed a breath, grinning as she clambered into the back of the car. 
"One down...one to go." Bill muttered to where Fliss was holding Alex to her, gently kissing his head.
"Yeah and something tells me this one's gonna be a little more awkward to get in your car." Frank sighed and Bill chuckled. Frank turned to him "I know I don’t need to ask but..."
"He'll be fine." Bill smiled "travel cot and baby monitor all set up."
Frank gave a nod as Bill clapped him on the shoulder and they both turned to Fliss who was now talking to her mother in a worried tone as Alex was starting to grumble.
"You know, I'm not sure..."
"Stop. Now." Verity looked at Fliss, giving her a significant look and Fliss knew why. Her mom and dad taking Alex overnight was a trial run for a few weeks’ time when she was planning to take Frank away for the weekend as a birthday gift. It was more a trial run for her than Alex, mind, as she was still ridiculously clingy to him, a fact she knew and was actively trying to get over. 
"He's teething Fliss, not dying." Bill looked at her. 
"I know that" Fliss replied hotly "but he's a little grouchy and he's in pain..."
“So we'll dose him up with medicine, give him cuddles and let him sleep." Verity responded simply.
"Love, we've done this before remember? And we had 2 of them with Charlie and Joel." Bill chuckled as Fliss chewed on her lip.
"But what if he won't settle? I mean he's only just cut his first one and..."
"Honey, we're 15 minutes away." Frank soothed. 
“Yup, any issues we'll call and bring him straight back." Verity nodded. Frank looked at Bill who gave him a small wink which he understood perfectly. There was no way Alex was coming back tonight, even if he was grouchy. Frank knew Bill and V would just take it in their stride to give them their first child free night in well over 6 months. 
Fliss took a deep breath and nodded. "Ok, I know I'm flapping...I'm sorry..." 
She moved to the car and gently placed him in the car seat before Frank stepped forward to take it from their truck to Bill's. Once it was secured, he dropped a kiss to his head and moved so Fliss could so the same.
She stepped back, closing the door and Frank gently pulled her right hand away from her left where it had begun to worry at the knuckles, the way she always did when she was a little panicked. He laced his fingers with hers, thumb gently stroking the back of her hand in slow, comforting arcs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Ok, we'll see you tomorrow." Bill smiled as he opened the driver’s side door. "And try to enjoy your night alone yeah? Ill permit one text an hour to check up otherwise I'll sever all communication."
Fliss rolled her eyes but stayed silent. Frank didn't miss the way her fingers squeezed around his as they waved goodbye to Bill's car as it pulled out of the space next to theirs. 
"So, what do you-" Frank stopped dead as he looked down at Fliss who has just burst into tears. "-oh honey!" He chuckled, as she pressed her face into his t-shirt, his arms wrapping around her, gently rubbing her back over her pale blue top. 
"I know I’m being stupid but I can't help it." She sobbed "He's my baby Frank and he has a sore mouth and he's been all grouchy and..."
"Yes he is, yes he does, and yes he has." Frank pulled back, cupping her face in his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs "But your mom and dad will be fine. The last few nights after his feed and some Orajel he's settled right down, and if he doesn't they've got the Tylenol. He'll be fine, I promise." 
Fliss nodded and Frank dipped his head, giving her a soft kiss. "Now, we got the rest of the afternoon and the entire night to ourselves...and dare I say it a lie in tomorrow morning." He grinned, turning to open the passenger door for her. "Do you wanna go out for a few drinks or..."
Fliss wrinkled her nose "is it bad I just wanna do nothing?" Frank laughed as Fliss shrugged "I mean I have a book that I haven't opened in like a week, I've got a bottle of pinot in the fridge..."
"So you wanna curl up on the window seat and not be disturbed?" Frank arched his eyebrow.
"Well, not all night." Fliss shook her head "but maybe for an hour or so when I finish the yard."
"Ok, well, let's make a deal." Frank's hand dropped to her hips "We take our own time till say 7 ish and then sit down for dinner and a movie."
"Oh my god, perfect" Fliss groaned. Frank shook his head as he snorted.
"When did we get so pathetic that we get our first child free evening in 6 months and you're gonna spend it reading about some lame ass British Detective and I'm gonna be screwing with boat parts?"
"Ok first off there is nothing pathetic about Detective Super Intendant Roy Grace and second off...will you be greasy?"
Frank's head fell back as a loud rumble of laughter erupted from his chest. When he looked back at Fliss she shrugged and he arched an eyebrow.
"You're terrible, you know that?"
"Not my fault you're such a dirty boat daddy."
"Dirty boat daddy?" Frank scoffed as he raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck..."
Fliss grinned as she traced Frank's bicep with the fingers of her right hand "You're my baby daddy...and you get dirty on boats..."
"You don't half talk some shit at times." He snorted and Fliss poked her tongue out, catching it between her teeth as she smiled.
"You love it."
"I love you." He bent down pressing his lips to hers before he stepped back "Now come on, I got some grease to smear up my arms."
"Can you wipe some on your face too?" Fliss asked as the climbed in the truck. Frank merely rolled his eyes with a smirk in response.
*******
Fliss stretched her legs out as she reached the end of her chapter, Thor giving a little annoyed huff as she jostled his head from where it was laying in her lap as they sat curled up, snuggled into the cushions on the large window seat.
"Sorry boy." She chuckled, scratching behind his ears as she glanced outside over the garden. It was dark out, the various garden lights strung up on the fence illuminated the panels which separated their private space to the large garden that belonged to the next house along. They’d really lucked out on this property. The house itself was set into almost 2 acres of land, and not to mention the 8 that now belonged to Sandybrook Stables after they’d purchased the additional 3 at the back. Which reminded Fliss, she really should get the architect onto the re-design.
Reaching for her phone she gave a yelp as she realised what time it was. Almost 8pm. They’d gone well over an hour later than they’d agreed, and given that there was no sign of Frank, he too had clearly forgotten. She stood up, fired her mum a quick message and then called their favourite Italian, ringing through an order for delivery. The guy on the phone was apologetic, saying it would be at least 45 minutes before it arrived but Fliss assured him it was no bother. No sooner had she put the phone down than her mom sent her a message back which was a picture of Alex fast asleep in the crib at her parents, his little cheeks still slightly red, but he looked peaceful. Satisfied everything was ok, she bit her lip before she smiled to herself and pulled open the fridge, tossing a 6 pack into a cool box. Instructing Thor to stay she headed out the back door and round the side of the pool and out of the garden onto the main front area. The garage door was open, the light from inside streaming onto the gravel driveway and the low tones of AC/DC hit her ears as she approached along with Frank’s curses.
The reason for his cursing was simple. No matter how much digging into the boats engine, or twisting his hand at impossible angles, the mother fucking part still wouldn’t come out. Snarling in frustration, he yanked his hand out, and grabbed a wrench, hitting the metal against it, cursing “You son of a bitch, you’re coming out of there whether ya wa like it or not. I’ve been fahking with you all God damn night!”
Fliss climbed the ladder next to the boat and snorted as she set down the cooler on the boards of the deck, arching a brow. It wasn’t often that Frank lost his cool, but when he did, he usually turned a bit Boston.
“You alright Sailor or should I be worried?” she spoke, perching on the edge. Frank fell back on his heels, grabbing a rag to wipe at his grease-covered hands and looked round at her, his brow beaded with sweat.
“If you got a beer in that cooler there, then you got nothing to worry about.” His eyes were hopeful and Fliss leaned forward, popping open the top and drawing out the six-pack. Smiling, Frank pushed himself to a stand and took one, removing the cap and draining a good third of it in one go. “Confirmed, nothing to worry about now Cowgirl!”
Fliss grabbed herself a beer and watched as Frank stepped closer, his hands resting either side of her thighs as she sat perched on the edge of the hull. “You get bored reading already?”
“Well I’d read enough anyway, but then realised the time. Baby its gone 8.”
“Seriously?” Frank frowned and then sighed as Fliss nodded. “Shit, sorry, I lost track o’time.”
“It’s ok, I did the same.” Fliss shrugged “Guess a child free few hours really is a treat.”
Frank smiled softly “We should probably order dinner.
Fliss smirked “Already done, we got like…40 mintues.” she wrapped her hands around Frank’s neck and tugged him closer.
“Whoa whoa baby, I’m covered in shit.” He gave a laugh as he protested slightly.
Rolling her eyes, she snorted. “No, if you were covered in shit, it would be because I worked you for a day at the stables. You Frank…” Her voice lowered, and her eyes turned hooded, leaning up to his lips, whispering against them. “You are covered in grease, and that makes me so unbelievably hot for you, that if you don’t fuck me on this deck, I won’t forgive you.”
“Enough said, consider yourself fucked on deck Baby,” Frank smirked, catching Fliss’ lips. At that point the music changed and flicked over from Whole Lotta Rosie to You Shook Me All Night Long, Frank’s favourite song and he smirked against her mouth as he began to sing the first verse, all the time keeping his lips a mere centimetre or so away from hers.
“She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen, she had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies, knocking me out with those American thighs…”
“Err British thighs, thank you.” Fliss corrected him. Frank simply arched an eyebrow and pulled her easily off the edge of the boat she was leaning against. She giggled as she wrapped her legs around his slim waist, leaning in to press her lips to his in a slow kiss as he walked them over to the benches at the rear of the boat. The kiss remained soft, teasing licks, a slow pace, but it was no less intense than a furious one, if anything it felt more powerful than normal, the pair of them truly alone for the first time in months. With each steady, deliberate tangle of their tongues, Fliss could feel everything. The heat, the spark, the butterflies swarming inside of her stomach.
In an easy, graceful moment Frank turned and sat on the edge of the bench, his hands letting go of Fliss’ hips as she straddled him, reaching up to cup the sides of her face, holding her still while his mouth had its way with hers. Pulling back a little he softly bit her lip, drawing a groan from her mouth and he grinned, resting his forehead against hers.
“What the fuck was in that book you were reading?” he asked and Fliss laughed
“Rape, murder…” she pondered, before she grinned wickedly “A police man in a uniform with handcuffs…”
“So is it the Uniform or the handcuffs that have got you all worked up Pretty Girl?”
“Neither, it’s the dirty, boat Daddy that I’m currently straddling”
At that Frank tipped his head back in a loud laugh, his hands brushing Fliss’ hair back off her face. “I fahkin love you.” he chuckled, as she pressed her lips to his again.
“Good job.” She mumbled against his mouth “Seeing as you’re the father of my kids…and you’re marrying me.” She added as somewhat of an afterthought.
Kids. Plural.
Frank glanced at her, her eyes shining against the lights of the garage and he smiled softly, his chest tightening a little with emotion. Mary’s adoption had only been finalised a few weeks prior, the ink probably still wet on all the documents but in their mind it had been a done deal months ago, from the moment they’d made the decision. Still, it stirred all kinds of warm feelings in his chest when he heard her say it. She smiled, reaching up to brush her hands through the longer strands of hair on his head before her fingers delicately danced down over his shoulders, his strong arms before she gripped at the hem of his T-shirt. He raised his arms allowing her to pull it off, before she dropped her head and chained open mouthed, warm kisses across his collar bone.
Happy to let her take charge for a moment, Frank tipped his head back sighing as she nipped up his neck to his jaw, her mouth skating over the stubble of his beard before she met his mouth again and this time the kiss was fierce. In a flash, Frank fisted his hand in the loose t-shirt she was wearing, yanking it over her head, giving a soft groan as he realised she was wearing no bra. His large hands spread over her back, pulling her snug against his chest, his fingers sliding up and down her spine causing her to shiver a little, letting out a soft moan that morphed into that oh so familiar whimper he knew and loved.
“I could listen to you make that sound for days,” he muttered and Fliss smiled against his mouth, kissing him again. A few seconds later, deciding to push things a little as Fliss seemed to be in a demanding mood, Frank pulled back, his bright blue eyes almost icy with intensity and issued a single word instruction. “Strip” Fliss felt her stomach bottom out with excitement when his demand registered. She swallowed and stood between his legs, slipping down the shorts she was wearing, Frank’s eyes watching her as she then slid down her panties, her gaze never once leaving his face. When he finished looking her up and down as she stood naked in front of him, his eyes met hers a look of pure, unadulterated wonderment and appreciation on his face.
And it was all for her.
“Like what you see sailor?” she bit her lip, her skin tingling with excitement as Frank arched an eyebrow.
“Like you wouldn’t believe…” his hands reached out and grabbed her hips as he stood up, pivoting them so that the back of Fliss’ legs pressed against the bench he had been sat on. His hands slid up, thumbs brushing the underneath of her breasts as he kissed her once more, softly, before he pulled back, his lips gently sucking at that spot on her delicate neck, his teeth nipping at her skin.
“Wanna turn around and get on your knees for me baby girl?” he whispered his question. Fliss looked at him, wide eyed, and he noted that where there had at one time been a slight apprehension in those deep browns at being put in such a position, now there was nothing but excitement, and he wasn’t quite sure when that had changed. But it had, and he loved it. He loved the fact she trusted him, that she was happy to simply be pliant in his hands.  She nodded and turned, kneeling on the bench in front of him, bending over, gripping the back with her hands. Frank reached out, gently manoeuvring so she was positioned where he wanted her to be and then stepped back, biting back the groan that bubbled in his throat at the site of her there, ready and waiting.
Fliss’ head was spinning. She couldn’t see him, but could feel him behind her. He wasn’t touching her yet, but he didn’t have to. Just the fact she could feel the heat of his gaze and his presence was enough to send her into a freefall. Every inch of her skin felt like it was on fire, the ache between her legs intensifying with each passing second. Then she heard a soft thud—Frank dropping to his knees, she assumed, but the gentle press of his mouth to the inside of her left thigh was still a shock, even though she knew it was coming. She inhaled sharply and Frank paused, his hands sliding up the outside of her thighs.
“You okay?” He asked, his voice low with desire. “Yeah.” Fliss’ breath was equally loaded and she let out a sigh as his mouth traced a line of kisses up her thigh, then he moved to do the same to the inside of her right. Her eyes closed, Fliss breathed in slowly in an attempt to steady herself, to stay calm and collected. She was ridiculously close already and his mouth hadn’t even touched that part of her body yet. When his tongue finally made contact, she lost all semblance of cool. Her eyes flew open and she let out a loud cry as the tip of his tongue swirled against her made. It was mere seconds but she was already panting, her hands curling around the back of the bench, the feel of his beard scratching against her was almost too much. Frank fucking her with his mouth, from behind, on the deck of the boat, in their garage was the single hottest thing she had ever experienced, and she wanted it to last as long as possible. Frank however, seemed to have other ideas. Whilst he kept the slow, steady rhythm with ease, he let out a low hum, something he knew would send her wild.
“Fuck,” she whined. “Frank, I…” His tongue swirled faster, his hands gripping the outside of her thighs tightly as she felt the pressure inside her turn white hot. When he slipped his finger inside her she gasped, his mouth matching every gentle but firm thrust his hand made.  It all resulted in a sensation so heavenly, it was agonizing and it spread from between her legs to the farthest reaches of her body, until she could take it no more. With a loud cry she came, hard, pushing back onto his face and her knees buckled slightly, her hand slipping on the wooden rail of the bench, her body and mind completely gone. Frank stood up, giving her a moment as he quickly shed his jeans and boxers before his hands gripped her hips and he bent over to kiss her neck. “You good?” he asked and she gave a hum of satisfaction as she turned her head to look at him, her brown eyes meeting his as she nodded. “Jesus Frank…” she stuttered and he smirked, his grin slipping slightly as she reached back and gripped him in her hand, a choked little grunt escaping his own mouth as her palm tightened around his now throbbing cock. His hands dropped to her hips and he pulled her backwards and up slightly, manoeuvring her so she was exactly where he needed and with smooth, fluid thrust forward he slid slowly into her, the deliberate languid pace allowing her to feel every glorious inch of him. “Lissy,” he growled, and that was the last word he uttered as he thrust into her over, and over, screams and cries and grunts filling the air in the large garage, echoing slightly off the walls. As his hands tightened on her hips, Fliss knew he was close and so was she. He let go with his right hand, dropping it round between her legs to palm her clit and the warm press of his hand combined with the steady rhythm of his thrusts sent Fliss over the edge again and just as a low growl ripped from Frank’s throat, orgasm number two spiked through her. Only this time when she lost it, she was a complete mess.  Every single muscle in her body cramped and quivered as she tensed in front of Frank, bucking violently until she sagged forward, her sailor’s arms wrapping around her as he gave a few more deep thrusts before he shuddered, his arms tightening their hold and he groaned loudly, his hips faltering as he came with a surge that brewed right from his feet. They both remained still for a second until Frank slowly and gently pulled away. He pressed his lips to Fliss’ lower back, showering her in gentle kisses, as he made his way up her spine before he reached the crook of her shoulder. Fliss’s eyes were still closed but her face sported a sated smile as she let out a hum of satisfaction.  Picking her up, Frank sat down on the bench so she was cradled in his lap, reaching for the tartan blanket that was draped over the seat a few down and he wrapped it around them both, kissing her hair line.
“Suppose that’s one way to christen the boat.” She eventually spoke and Frank chuckled.
"God bless the good lady Felicity...and all who sail in her." He retorted, giving a little salute. Fliss snorted and slapped his arm.
“You’re such a wanker.” She shook her head and Frank laughed, kissing her gently”
“You love it, honey.” “No, I love you. Which means I put up with all your wanker-ish traits because I have no choice.”
*******
Once Frank had showered he made his way downstairs dressed comfortably in a pair of sweats and t-shirt. Fliss had already laid the take-out boxes on the counter so he parked himself down on one of the stools as Fliss handed him a beer, taking a glass of wine for herself. They talked as they ate, Fliss teasing Frank about getting him a display cabinet for his baseball trophy to which he snorted and told her he wasn't intending on making it a habit. Once they'd finished their food, they cleared the dishes and Frank made his way to the sofa whilst Fliss let Thor out into the yard as he was pawing at the door. 
Frank absentmindedly flicked through the news channels, pausing at a report on Trump's latest activity and the reaction to a stupid tweet he had made regarding guns and he shook his head, scoffing in disgust.
"I dont know why you watch anything about him." Fliss called as she shut the door "it just winds you up."
"His brain is a fucking scribble" Frank retorted, "I mean...just look at him Fliss!"
"I'd rather not!" She called back, shooing Fred down from where he had hopped up onto the kitchen counter. 
"President of the free world and he's an absolute tool." Frank continued his chunnering as he stretched out, his legs on the coffee table and his arms extending quite forcefully behind his head as he yawned. Unfortunately, Fliss had chosen that exact moment to cross the room ready to wrap her arms around him from behind and as she bent to do so the back of Frank's closed left fist connected with the top of her left cheekbone, just in the outside corner of her eye, and she gave a yelp of surprise. As soon as it happened Frank jerked his head round and as he saw Fliss recoiling from the accidental blow his blood ran cold.
"Shit..." he sprang over the back of the couch, ignoring Thor who was now growling furiously at him. "Oh my god, Lissy, I'm so fahkin' sorry..." 
She straightened up blinking, her hands falling to his biceps as he gently cradled her face. "Frank its fine, you just caught my eye a little that’s all, it won't even bruise."
"Well, maybe not but..."
"Did you-Thor!" Fliss yelled at the dog, turning to look at him "Stop!" The German shepherd fell silent and flopped his butt down on the floor, his dark amber eyes still fixed on Frank, as Fliss turned back to him. "Did you mean to do it?"
"No, of course not..."
"Then there you go. It was an accident." She smiled, "it wasn't even hard enough to bruise, trust me, I know."
"That's not funny." Frank said quietly and Fliss sighed.
"It wasn't meant to be." She shook her head as Frank's eyes roved her face, utter dismay across every inch of his own. "Frankie..."
"Baby, I'm so..."
"Stop apologising." She said softly "it was an accident. Nothing more." Frank looked at her again before she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. "Please don't."
"Don't what?" He asked
"Worry that you've hurt me, or scared me. Because you haven't." She shook her head "would you be this bothered if I didn't have the history I did?"
Frank hesitated. Of course he'd be bothered about hitting his girl, regardless of it being accidentally, but she was right. He wouldn't feel the concern he did has she not been subjected to the abuse she had suffered previously. He gave a little sheepish shrug and Fliss shook her head again, smiling.
"I'm not made of glass Sailor, I'm not gonna shatter over something like this. Not anymore." She took his hand in hers, pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then let go. Frank dropped it to his side, curling both hands on her hips as her arms slid up round his neck. "Can we forget this now and snuggle up with a movie?"
Frank nodded "ok, sounds good..."
After a little deliberation and poking around the channels Fliss’ eyes lit up when she realised that one of the channels was now dedicated to James Bond, the next movie showing being Skyfall, one of her favourites. However, fifteen minutes in Frank felt her head growing heavy against his chest as they lay sprawled on the sofa. He glanced down to see her eyes closed, her lids fluttering slightly, lashes laying against her cheeks as she slept. With a smile he pressed a kiss to her head, his hand gently resting around her back as she lay snuggled into him. It can’t have been much more than twenty minutes later when he too felt his eyes growing heavy, the exertion of the day finally getting to much for him and he nodded off, both of them waking with a jolt when the music for the end credits kicked in and Fred hopped up onto the back of the sofa before landing on Frank’s chest by Fliss’ head with a loud purr.
“Jesus Fred…” Frank grumbled, pushing him off as Fliss sat up, blinking. “Fucking one eyed bastard.”
Fred glared at him and slunk off, jumping up onto the armchair where he curled up, his tail flicking.
“What a rock and roll lifestyle we lead.” Fliss stretched slightly as she yawned and Frank shrugged.
“Well we had a busy day.” “Even busier evening.” She quipped and Frank chuckled, his hand rubbing at her back before she stood up, her hands rubbing at her eyes. With a heave Frank swung his legs off the couch and he too stood, pulling his girl into a hug.
“You go up, I’ll sort Thor check the doors.”
She gave him a quick peck and then left him to it, padding tiredly up the stairs. She headed into the bathroom to clean her teeth and was just climbing in between the soft sheets when Frank walked into the room, Thor behind him, the dog flopping down with a sigh into his basket. Fliss’ eyes fell to the empty bassinet and she suddenly felt a little pang for her missing baby, but she knew from the various texts and the conversation she’d had with her parents earlier that he was perfectly fine so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
It wasn’t long before Frank joined her in bed and she shuffled over to him, tossing her leg over his as he kissed her forehead, his hand sliding up the back of her sleep cami, palm warm against her skin.
“Night honey, love you.” He yawned and she smiled.
“Love you too.” She sighed contentedly, her eyes closing as they both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
*****
Frank woke the next morning to an empty bed. With a stretch he rubbed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. Of course it would be too much to hope Fliss would be able to lay in. And then he turned over to check the time and did a double take. It was almost 10 am.
“Fuck!” he gave a little chuckle. Guess he’d been a lot more tired than he thought. Swinging his legs out of bed he padded into the bathroom, sorted his bladder out and went about the rest of his normal morning routine before he grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sweats and headed downstairs. He paused in the doorway to the large family area, watching as she was stood at the stove, dressed in one of his button downs. It skimmed the curve of her ass, ending in the middle of her thighs and he smiled as he watched her move. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he saw her like this in the kitchen, it was certainly before Alex was born, most likely on one of their kid free Friday nights that had abruptly halted when he’d arrived, not that Frank would change a thing about it mind, but it was still nice to have it back, even it if was just for one morning.
He thought back to the first time he saw her dressed in one of his shirts. It was a Saturday in his old apartment, not long after they'd started dating. He found her in the kitchen much like she was now, making a coffee having woken early and not wanted to disturb him. He remembered thinking it was the first time a woman had ever done that, made herself at home, because in fairness she was the only woman that had lasted longer than a night in 8 years. It had stirred something in him then, a feeling of contentment, much like the one he was feeling now. His life had changed dramatically since she’d walked into it approximately 2 and a half years or so. In some ways the time had flown by, in others it felt like a life time when he considered everything they’d been through, both of them so far from the people they had been, yet so similar too.
With a smile he stepped into the room and walked over to her, and the fact she didn’t jump when he wrapped his arms aroud her from behind told him she’d been well aware of his presence in the doorway for a while.
“I thought we were supposed to be having a lazy morning complete with lie in” Frank’s hand gently brushed Fliss’ wild locks off her neck before he pressed a kiss to her skin
“I did.” Fliss smiled “I didn’t wake up until 8:30. Normally your son has me up at 6.”
“Our son.”
“When he wakes me up at 6 am he’s your son.” She turned her head to glance at him. “Dad’s gonna collect Mary and drop them both off at half past midday ish.”
“Well then, you really could have stayed in bed.” He pouted and she chuckled.
“Once I’m awake I’m awake…” she shrugged “No point staying there.”
“You should’a woken me up, I could’a given you a good reason to stay put.” His lips pressed more kisses to her neck and Fliss laughed, swatting at his head playfully.
“I’ll burn breakfast.”
“So?”
“I’m hungry.”
“So am I.”
“I meant for food.” She turned in his arms and he shrugged playfully giving her a deep kiss.
“Morning honey.” He smiled against her lips and she let out a little chuckle.
“Morning hot shot.” She grinned, patting his chest “you wanna set the places and pour us a coffee each? This is nearly done.”
Doing as he was told, Frank stepped back, grabbing cutlery and placing it on the breakfast bar before he made them both a coffee and grabbed the orange juice and a couple of glasses. As he set it all down on the side, Fliss dropped two plates of pancakes, bacon and eggs on the place mats and Frank gave a little groan of delight.
“You didn’t have to do this.” He looked at her.
“It’s just breakfast” she shrugged “Plus, thought it would be nice, just the two of us. And I wanted to talk to you.”
“Sounds ominous.” He arched an eyebrow as she sat next to him.
“No, not really.” She shrugged “I was just thinking yesterday a little. I wanna go back to work Frank, like full time. I’m ready.”
“Okay.” He nodded, “That’s fine. Did you think I was gonna protest or something?”
“No, I just wanted to discuss it, remember, we said we would do that after last time?”
“Liss, this is different.” He said, shaking his head as he cut into a pancake. “He’s almost 6 months old now, we’ll be weaning him soon.” “Yeah, I was thinking I can start pushing up the hours and then when he’s fully converted onto solids, which by the way, I’m not looking forward to those nappy changes…” she wrinkled her nose and Frank laughed, popping a piece of his breakfast into his mouth “well, when all that’s done then I’m back to full time.”
“Like I said, if you’re ready then fine.” Frank looked at her, hi hand dropping to her knee. “Guess we should start looking for a childminder huh?”
“Mum said she’d help out but I don’t want her to have him all the time, she’s got her own life. But I was thinking she could maybe have him two days a week, as she’ll sulk if I don’t let her have him some time.” Fliss shrugged “The other days, I thought we could speak to the one that Bonnie’s sister uses. She’s not far from Mum and Dad.” “Yeah, ok. Get her number and we’ll go meet her.” Frank agreed, shovelling more of his breakfast into his mouth.
“I also wanna call the architect that Steeby knows” Fliss added, taking a bite of food “Start getting the plans drawn up for the expansion. I’d really like to have that completed by the wedding. We got nearly 7 months. I think it’s doable. The additional stables won’t take long, or the lunging pen and the paddock move. The big job is gonna be the extension to the office and tack room but…again, a couple of weeks and Dad reckons it’ll be done. He doesn’t think that it’ll be much over 12 weeks in total if we get the right guys on the job.” Frank nodded “Well, the land is already ours so, go for it.”
“Yeah?” Fliss smiled and Frank returned the gesture, squeezing her knee.
“Yeah, let’s do it. Get the designs drawn up and some quotes for the work.”
“I love you.” Fliss beamed, leaning over to kiss him softly and he smiled, his nose bumping hers slightly.
“That’s because I’m a very lovable guy” he grinned and Fliss snorted, pulling back.
“Suppose so.”
They ate their breakfast and once the dishes were over they both retired to the sofa, Frank flicking on the news channel, Fliss picking up her book again, Fred curling up behind her head on the sofa back, Thor jumping up beside her. Frank gave a grunt and a huff, pushing the dog’s huge paw off his thigh before he flopped down, head in his lap. It was lazy, comfortable and remained that way until at midday, Fliss headed upstairs to pull on something a little more substantial than Frank’s shirt, much to his chagrin. When she came down dressed in a pair of breaches and a polo shirt little over 20 minutes later he smiled at her.
“You got a class this afternoon?”
“Yeah I’m taking Mary’s one at 2.” She said. “But I need to ride Cap  beforehand and then Bronson needs working and Heidi could do with a walk round the trail too, her back leg keeps swelling up.” “Still bad?”
Fliss wrinkled her nose as she crossed to the fridge “Nothing unusual for her age, the vet said it’s a touch of arthritis which is why I don’t school her any more. It tends to go down when she’s done a bit of walking. If I take her for half an hour hack round she’ll be fine. It’s when it stops going down that I’ve got a problem, but I don’t even want to think about that.” She shook her head, pulling the water out of the fridge. “I can’t imagine my life without her.”
“She’s certainly been with you a long time.” Frank looked at her and Fliss nodded
“20 years this year.” She sighed “Hard to believe really. She was the first horse I ever owned, best one I could have hoped for.”
“How long do you think Mary has with Monty?” Frank asked, declining Fliss’ offer of a glass of water. “I mean till she outgrows him.” “She won’t” Fliss shook her head “I can still ride Monty, he’s a welsh cob. Chunky, she’ll be good with him until he drops. But I do think she’ll be looking for something a little more advanced as well in a couple of years, when Monty needs to slow down again, but we can cross that bridge when we get there.”
“Oh, great.” Frank rolled his eyes and Fliss laughed as she sat next to him.
“Behave, it’s not like it costs anything to keep another.” “I’m referring to the advanced bit.” Frank looked at her “Still scares the crap out of me when she sails over those damned fences.”
“She’s good at it.” Fliss shrugged “If she gets placed in the final competition next month she’s got third place over all. She wins it, then she’s gonna take second. Not to mention the fact that she’s basically already won the Junior Rider class. Not bad for a first season.”
Frank smiled proudly, but before he could say anything else the back door opened and Mary skipped inside, her voice carrying over the room.
“That’s just not true Poppa B and you know it!” She sing songed and Bill rolled his eyes as he carried Alex’s car chair inside.
“Is so.” He nodded “I know someone it happened to.”
“Nah ah!” she shook her head “When you swallow gum it can’t physically wrap around your ribs as when you eat it goes down to your stomach. It’s impossible.”
“Smart ass.” Bill chuckled as Fliss stood up, crossing the room.
“Hi!” she smiled, before she beamed down at Alex who grinned and started to thrash his legs and arms about at the sight of his momma, screeching. “Hi baby, I missed you!”
“What am I? Chopped liver?” Mary looked at Fliss who laughed, and pulled her into a hug.
“And you, dur!”
“You have a good time?” Frank asked as Mary flopped next to him.
“Yeah, we had fish tacos.” Mary smiled “They were well nice.” “Fish tacos.” Frank made an approving noise in his throat.
“Yeah and then we watched some more of The Mandalorian. And I had hot chocolate and went to bed.” Fliss, who now had Alex cradled in her arms, turned to face them both. “Sounds better than my night.” She quipped giving Frank a wink as he raised an eyebrow.
“Oh does it?”
“Why does something tell me I don’t wanna know?” Bill asked and Fliss turned to look at her dad, an innocent look on her face.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She chuckled “I just helped Frank with some stuff on the boat.”
“Sure you did.” Bill rolled his eyes before his eyes twinkled cheekily “Hope you scrubbed the deck afterwards.”
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suddenlysackler · 3 years
Text
One Little Spark
Charlie Barber x Reader
TW: general somber tones, alcohol, covid19, election, anxiety, depression, some angst and cynicism if you squint
A/N: Hello! It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? This is something I had written right after the election returns in November, got halfway through and then couldn’t bring myself to finish it. There’s a looooot of self projecting in it and it certainly is not my best, but I wanted to share something with you all. I miss you very much and hope to get back to posting more often soon. Thanks for reading!
...
There are three empty bottles of wine scattered around the living room now, something that might surprise someone given all of the talk about drinking in excess over the past five days to cope. 
Not that it mattered anyway because, in reality, you weren’t really coping. Neither was Charlie.
Your electricity bill would surely be head and shoulders above what it typically was on any given month and your bed hadn’t seen any use since the wee hours of Tuesday morning when the two of you had pulled yourself from the security and warmth of blankets and sleep to vote and then head to work. Work had seemed like more of a formality than anything else after slipping your ballot into the machine in the gym of the elementary school that had been deemed a polling place. No one in the office really got much done Tuesday and you had opted to work from home to keep Charlie company in the following days.
The two of you had fallen asleep on the couch with the sounds of news anchor speculation just a little louder than you cared for typically.
“Just in case something happens.” Charlie had said, remote in one hand while the other snaked around your waist as you drifted off to the most broken sleep of your life.
The pandemic had been hard on both of you in different ways — you were working with a skeleton staff due to Broadway going dark and, well, Charlie had no work. The two of you were getting along just fine financially, but the lack of things to do and people to see were taxing. Not only that, but Henry just so happened to be with Nicole when things began to shut down and neither she nor Charlie felt right sending him on a plane back to New York. 
All of this is to say that, since March, the two of you had not been doing well. It was quieter around the apartment than usual and three weeks into the stay at home order Charlie had put away the toys scattered around the apartment from Henry’s last visit to avoid the pang that shot through each of your chests every time someone tripped on one or caught a glimpse of another. 
Charlie didn’t know what to do with himself when you were finally called back into the office. Sure, he wrote and he organized virtual workshops and networked as much as he could and even tried to get some of his older stuff published, but it wasn’t enough to keep him satisfied and invigorated. You busied yourself with cooking when you were home and the two of you took as much time to walk or go for runs or whatever you could do in order to stay active and get some fresh air. 
The two of you had had the discussion multiple times since maybe June — would the election fix everything? Absolutely not. Would it get rid of the pandemic overnight? Again, not at all possible. But maybe, just maybe, if it was the outcome you were looking for, there might be some spark of life and hope instilled back into the apartment that had once been so full of joy and possibilities.
“You didn’t sleep again, did you?” You ask that Saturday morning, blinking away sleep and snuggling down even more into Charlie’s chest.
“No.” He shrugged, eyes trained on the ceiling as he listened to the same characters on the same news station talk about the same election returns that they had for the past two days.
Your stomach sank because, yeah, you hadn’t slept well, but you had at least slept. “Did you work at all?”
Charlie shook his head, taking a deep breath as he glanced back toward the television. 
“We should just turn this off, honey.” You whisper, reaching over to grab the remote and jumping when a large hand shot out to stop you. 
He shook his head once more, eyes pleading and round and bloodshot. “What if they call it?”
Holding his gaze steadily, you shake your head and encircle your hand around his wrist. “Then they’ll call it. We’ll find out one way or another.” You continue to whisper, eyelashes fluttering. “Someone once told me that if news is important enough, it’ll reach you even if you don’t have a newspaper or television.”
Charlie’s expression wavers somewhere between incredulousness, exhaustion, and desperation. He needs to know, needs to be put at ease, but he also knows the two of you can’t keep doing this. It’s not sustainable and if it’s not the outcome you want...Well, Charlie doesn’t really know what he would do. Especially after having waited so long. 
“Please, baby?” You plead, your own face just as desperate for some sort of respite.
He’s silent for a long moment, weighing his options but not really focusing on any one in particular — his mind feels like jello. His resolve is breaking. “Okay.” He finally breathes out a sigh of defeat and slouches back, turning the television off himself and visibly relaxing even more as silence envelopes the room. 
You crawl right into his lap and weave your arms and legs around his torso, a movement when he is completely pliant to. He snuggles right up to you and kisses the top of your hair, sniffling just a bit. 
“Baby?” 
“Yes, honey?”
“I’m sorry.” 
Charlie is sorry for so many things. He’s sorry that he hasn’t slept and he’s sorry that he hasn’t been the man you needed him to be for months. He’s sorry for moping as much as he has and he’s sorry for the fact that practically everything in your lives has been ripped apart in the past year. He’s sorry he can’t fix it.
You pull back and stare at him, then shake your head. “You have nothing to apologize for. None of this is your fault.” You say softly, eyes just as round as his had been and now teeming with tears. “I wish I could make it easier for us, but it’s okay. We’re making it through.”
As Charlie opens his mouth to respond, both of your phones start to vibrate. Notification after notification populate the screens that you scramble to grab and his smile matches yours when you’ve finally digested the news. The election had been called and, to your delight, it was the news you had been waiting for.
The celebration that ensues is not what you had been picturing since Tuesday morning. No champagne is popped. There’s no dancing in the streets for either of you. The television is not switched on again. Rather, the two of you breathe the biggest sigh of relief that you had in months, years even. You settle back down into your snuggling positions and even cry a little bit. You talk and talk and head to the kitchen to have a bowl of soup together and just be together and take in the celebrations down below. 
No, this didn’t change anything for either of you. You knew there was still a long road ahead with plenty of your own trials and tribulations to come as well as those that faced the world in the coming weeks and months. But, despite the lack of change that had occurred in the span of the twelve hours since you had last paid attention to the news, that lack of change and all of the change to come could be concurred with Charlie by your side. You just knew it.
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jaeminlore · 4 years
Text
Season’s Greetings | Mark
series timeline | playlist
summary: you’re the only constant in mark’s life, and he wants to keep it that way / as the seasons change, our love will not
words: 1.9k+
category: prince!mark, fashion advisor!reader, read seasons first to feel more emotions >:)
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Sometime in the middle of the night, the fire went out, leaving nothing but stray embers atop the hearth. 
The morning chill of winter is biting, so you do your best to snuggle into the covers and absorb as much warmth as you can. Your blankets do little to fight off the chill that rushes through your veins, but you’re too cold to leave them. A shiver rakes down your spine, causing you to audibly whine in discomfort. You should get up and stoke the fire. Then you can fall back to sleep. It’s your day off anyway. You have all the time in the world to snuggle into the covers.
The door to your bedroom opens, and you hear the voice of your favorite person. “Love,” Mark says, voice slightly stern. “Are you trying to freeze yourself to death?”
“No,” you grumble, hugging yourself to try and preserve some warmth. “But it’s too cold to get out of bed.”
“It’s too cold to stay in bed without a fire going,” he scolds you, no real bite to his voice.
You slowly pry your eyes open and watch him kneel in front of the fire and start to stoke it. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
Mark scoffs fondly, shaking his head. “Only when I do things for you.”
“Is it my fault that the only times I feel particularly affectionate happen to fall on the exact times that you’re doing things for me?”
Small flames appear in the fireplace, and you let out a genuine whoop of joy. “Thank you, Mark.”
Mark makes his way over to you and sits on the bed, reaching down to brush your hair off of your neck. He’s wearing a blue sweater as opposed to his usual shirtless sleepwear. The cold must be getting to him to. “You’re welcome,” he says, eyes traveling across your face. “Can I stay here for a bit? I miss you.”
The way he says the words so openly, as if he isn’t right in front of you, makes your heart warm up even quicker than the fireplace does. “I’ve missed you, too. But I’m glad Donghyuck has been found. It’s been far too long.”
You reach up; brush your knuckles across Mark’s cheek. He leans into your touch and lets out a sad sigh. “It’s been a nightmare waiting for news. You should’ve seen him, Y/n. He’s taller and tanner and he looks worn. Like he’s been through things. And when I hugged him, he just burst into tears. And then I burst into tears, and the entire throne room was a flood hazard.”
“I know,” you say, chest squeezing at the painful thought of what could’ve happened to the Eastern Prince while he was away. “I think it’s going to be a bit emotional while things get back to normal.”
“You know it’ll never be the same, though. Not for Donghyuck.”
“No,” you agree. “But he’ll be okay.” The reassurance eases Mark into dropping his shoulders. “He needs space and a lot of time.”
Mark huffs. He’s frustrated and upset, which is completely understandable, but you wish he wouldn’t put so much on his own shoulders. He doesn’t have to carry the weight all by himself. Donghyuck is safe now, and Mark should be able to rest easy. Instead, he just seems more stressed.
“Come here.” You tug on his sleeve until he complies and sinks down onto your mattress. He lets you warm your arms around him. You press your nose into the crook of his neck and press a few chaste kisses against his chilly skin. “You’re doing your best.”
“What if it’s not good enough?” Mark asks. “What if I–“
“What if you’ve been the best friend to Donghyuck with the circumstance given? Mark, please let yourself rest. You can’t fix every problem by yourself. Donghyuck is safe tonight, okay?“ 
“Yeah.”
You smile at the relief in his voice, thankful to feel his shoulders release some of the tension they’ve been holding. “Yeah,” you agree, kissing his skin again. This time, behind his ear, and it causes a small sigh to escape his lips. “Rest now, okay? I’ll be here until you wake up.”
Mark finally allows himself the option of sinking himself into your hold. He falls asleep in less than ten minutes, and you fall shortly after, thankful that he’s receiving a time of respite.
-
You toss the last miniature sweater onto the pedestal and sigh. “Okay. Winter break starts now.”
“Aw,” Mark coos, picking up a small dress. “This is so tiny.”
“That’s because a baby will be wearing it, genius.”
Mark sticks his tongue out at you before folding the dress. He begins to fold all the clothes. “I’ll get these sent out to Yukhei tomorrow. The children at the orphanage are going to love these.”
“I know,” you whisper excitedly. “Ugh, I miss those two. I hope we can visit them soon.”
“I’m sure they’ll come visit after all of the holidays,” Mark comforts.
You slouch down, ignoring the way your fellow tailors giggle at you. “I want them to have a baby.”
Mark laughs. He leans forward and rubs your chin with the pad of his thumb. “I want us to have a baby.”
“Shut up,” you tell him. Your neck feels hot at Mark’s blunt confession, and you avoid the tailors, who are certainly eavesdropping by now. “We aren’t even married, Mark. Don’t you think that’s a bit scandalous?”
Mark opens his mouth, and you’re pretty sure you know what he’s going to say. He’s going to say that it isn’t like the two of you aren’t already “scandalous”. But the tailors don’t need to know that, and you certainly don’t care to have your personal life spread around the castle. 
You clamp your hand over his mouth. “You’re far too impulsive.”
“I’m careful,” Mark says. “I’ve been giving us a lot of thought lately and while I love you–“
“Mark, are you breaking up with me?”
“No!” Mark sighs in exasperation. Then, addressing the tailors, “Could you please leave us alone for a moment?”
When the door is shut, Mark grabs your hands. “I want a future for us, Y/n. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I don’t know where this relationship is going right now. I want to know that we’re getting somewhere. That there’s a future.”
“Mark,” you cup the prince’s face, and you can feel his cheeks warm up beneath your touch. “There has always been a future. Just because we aren’t married and I’m not pregnant doesn’t mean it won’t happen, okay? We have a future, love, don’t worry.”
Mark sighs. He closes his eyes, and you like the way his entire face seems to relax. “Okay.”
-
Though the North Kingdom is always freezing, it’s only during wintertime that the lakes completely freeze over, and the people are able to go ice skating.
You’re a pro at it: always have been. Mark, however, is much like a fawn, struggling to keep upright on the ice.
You don’t mind, since it’s a chance to hold his hand.
Guiding Mark around the ice is easy. He trusts you completely (even when you skate backwards), and follows you down to the more risky part of the lake, where you like to skate.
“I can’t believe my wife is making me do this,” he says, wobbling on the ice.
“Wife?” You catch his slip up with a raised eyebrow. “Watch it, stud.”
Mark flounders, struggling with the decision to let go of your hands in embarrassment or stay and confess his sins. “I didn’t mean to.”
You pull him towards you. 
Mark grabs at your waist to regain his balance. “You’re teasing me.”
“I am,” you say. “Mark, you’ve been saying a lot of weird things lately.”
Mark’s ears are pink. “Yeah... I don’t know why that is... It must be the change in the weather.”
You lean forward and kiss him, smiling at the way he seems to melt into your hold. After your first night with him, it hasn’t taken long to figure out that Mark just wants attention and reassurance. Luckily, you’ve been practicing reassuring Mark since you were young, and giving him attention has never been too hard.
Mark’s fingers clench at the waist of your dress. “I really love you, that’s all,” he confesses.
“I love you more,” you whisper. 
-
“Catch me if you can!” You run away from Mark, yanking up the skirts of your dress as the two of you run through the snow.
It fell last night in sheets, freezing over the castle. While the staff was given the day off, and chose to stay warm indoors — where Mark’s father prepared a warm feast — the two of you leave it in favor of a good old fashioned snowball fight.
Mark has a snowball in his hand, but he won’t toss it. You know this because Mark worries a lot about hurting you, and he prefers to get close enough to just kind of... mush... the snowball into your back.
You love him dearly.
You run into the field, alerting a few wild caribou. “You can’t catch me- Oh!”
You trip over a root, hidden beneath a blanket of snow. You fall into the snow and turn onto your back, giggling at the way the snow seeps beneath your dress.
Mark catches up finally. He kneels beside you and mushes the snowball into your hair, laughing when you shiver in protest.
“Truce!” You shout, grabbing at Mark’s lapels and pulling him down with you.
Mark raises his hands. “Okay. Truce.”
The two of you stay in the snow. When you sit up, Mark leans in and kisses your forehead. “You know I love you, right?”
“You certainly won’t let me forget it,” you tease.
Mark rolls his eyes. “Listen... I know I’ve been talking about our futures lately. And I- I have a question for you.”
Your eyes twinkle. You know exactly what Mark is going to do. Partly because he’s not very secretive, and partly because you saw the box on his nightstand early this week.
Again, Mark has never been very subtle.
Mark pulls a black velvet box out of his pocket. He opens it, hands shaking, to reveal two rings. They’re silver bands with northern runes engraved into them. 
You can see the words he’s had engraved. “As the seasons change, our love will not.”
“Y/n, I want to marry you,” Mark says.
You hold you hand out, sniffing to hold back the tears. “Mark, just put the ring on my finger before I burst into tears!”
Mark giggles nervously; joyously. “Okay.”
He takes one of the rings and slips it onto your finger. Then he hands you the other one. “Can you-“
You grab the remaining ring and slip it onto his finger. “I would love to marry you, Mark.”
“Great,” Mark says, eyes bright. “Good, great. Wonderful. I’m so excited.”
You grab his shoulders and pull him close. You kiss him once, twice, a third time before he’s smiling so much that you can’t. “Stop smiling so I kiss you,” you say.
“I can’t,” Mark giggles. He cups your face and presses his forehead against yours. “I’m too happy.”
The snow chills your bones. “We should go inside,” you murmur. “It’s too cold out here.”
“I’m warm as long as I’m with you,” Mark says, then he grimaces at himself. “Was that too cheesy?”
You stand up and hold your hand out for him to take. “Just a little bit.”
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wistfulcynic · 4 years
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all the perfect things (that i doubt)
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SUMMARY: Zelena is defeated and Emma returns to her quiet life in New York with Henry, leaving Killian brokenhearted and her feelings for him unresolved. Three years later they meet again and quite a lot has changed—but will these changes push them further apart or help them find their way back to each other?
Canon divergence with no time-travel adventure.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ohmightydevviepuu! You are brilliant and amazing and a fantastic writer and a kind friend, and so to honour the anniversary of your birth I have attempted to fill this VERY LONG one-shot with all the things you like best. There’s angst and second-chance romance and people needing to sort their shit out before finding their way back to each other and angst and emotions and erotica and did I mention angst? There’s also Tinkerhook and Captain Cobra (implied, but very much there) and oh yeah it’s a 3B divergence. AND the title comes from a song! I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young, which is just about the most Killian thing to ever Jones. I hope that it leaves your boxes thoroughly ticked. 
Much gratefulness to @thisonesatellite​ and @katie-dub​ for invaluable suggestions and encouragement ❤️❤️❤️
Rated: M Words: 20k Tags: canon divergence, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending, minor mentions of suicidal thoughts
On AO3 
-
all the perfect things (that i doubt)
Emma parked her bug in front of the red brick row house and got out, hiking her tight skirt inelegantly as she did and teetering a bit on her towering heels as she climbed the steps to the small porch. She went inside and shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it with a small sigh. It was weird being back in Boston after three years in New York—four, really, if you counted the year she and Henry had spent there without their memories—and she hadn’t quite adjusted yet. New York was pretty much home now, or at least that’s what she regularly told herself, and Boston was… well…
Boston didn’t feel like home but it did feel familiar, the uncomfortable familiarity of something—or someone—that knew her far better than she wanted them to. Emma didn’t like places that knew her too well any more than she liked people who did. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to sublet a place in Brookline—that and the generous relocation allowance her bail-bonds firm was paying—and even though she had to drive into the city every day to help set up the firm’s new Boston branch, coming home every night to a place that wasn’t technically Boston offered at least a small respite. 
She hung her keys on a hook by the door and kicked off her heels, flexing her toes in relief. It was only a six month placement, she reminded herself. Six months to get the new office up and running, then she could go back to New York and be comfortably anonymous again. 
“Mom, is that you?” Henry’s voice called and Emma grinned, following the sound into the living room. 
“Were you expecting someone else?” she teased, collapsing onto the sofa next to her son and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “How was the first day at the new school?” 
Henry closed the book he’d been reading and turned to her, his face lit up with excitement. “Fine, fine, the school’s good and kids seem cool, but Mom! You’ll never guess.” He bounced in his seat, almost vibrating with eagerness. Even at fifteen Henry hadn’t lost the enthusiastic nature she’d found so hard to resist in the ten-year-old who’d first come to find her in this city. Despite his occasional bouts of teenage sullenness. 
“Guess what?” she asked, smiling at him. 
“Guess who my astronomy teacher is.” 
“You’re taking astronomy?” 
“I need a science and it’s better than chemistry.” 
“Well, that’s true.” 
“It’s also not important,” said Henry, impatiently refocusing the conversation back to his question. “Guess who my teacher is! You never will!” 
“Um, Carl Sagan?”
“Mom, he’s dead!” 
“Oh.” Dammit, thought Emma. She’d been pleased with herself for managing to come up with the name. “Um, who’s the other guy? Neil something Tyson?” 
“Neil deGrasse Tyson, and no, come on, you’re not even trying.” 
Emma sighed. “Henry, I genuinely have no idea. Why don’t you just tell me?” 
“It’s Hook!” 
“Hoo—what?” Emma stared at him as her heart stumbled then began to pound. He couldn’t possibly mean Hook Hook, could he?
“Captain Hook!” Henry confirmed, and Emma’s heart took off at a gallop. “He calls himself Killian Jones of course and he doesn’t wear the hook anymore but it’s still definitely him! I couldn’t believe it!” 
“But I thought…” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Isn’t he living in Storybrooke?” 
“That’s what I said! I mean, I’ve never seen him there but I just kind of assumed. But he said no, he’s lived in Boston almost three years!” 
“You—you talked to him?” Breathe, Emma.
“Well, yeah.” Henry shrugged. “It would have been rude not to. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me, but he was nice. He said not to expect any special treatment in class though if I remembered what he taught me about using the sextant that one time it would be helpful. I mostly remember, so…” 
Henry chattered on and Emma tried her best to listen but her mind couldn’t focus. She felt breathless and chaotic, buzzing with confusion and with a strange eager excitement. Hook is here, was all she could think. Here. Here in Boston. Where she was. Here. Close by. Possibly very close. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest, and she pressed the heel of her hand against it.
He was Henry’s teacher. Hook was a teacher. She tried to imagine that and found to her surprise that it wasn’t actually all that difficult. Obviously he wouldn’t wear his pirate coat in the classroom like in the image her frazzled brain insisted on conjuring, but he’d always been so good with Henry, she could easily imagine him teaching other kids.  
And he’s here, her brain kept reminding her. Here. Where you are. You can see him. You can see him. You can see him…
“…and he’s actually a really good teacher, he explains things so well.” Henry was still talking. “He says he teaches math too, I’m actually thinking I might try doing pre-calc with him, you know I wasn’t going to take that until we got back to New York, but I think he might be able to help me, and…”
“That’s great, kid.” Emma felt bad interrupting him when he was so excited but she couldn’t handle any more talking about Hook or thinking about Hook teaching Henry or about him talking to Henry or really just any thinking about Hook at all. “What do you want for dinner?” 
Henry’s eyes lit with a different sort of enthusiasm and Emma hid a grin. How to distract a teenage boy 101: Offer him food, she thought.
“Pizza from Dino’s,” said Henry decisively. “But since that’s not possible, how about something Boston-y that we can’t get in New York?” 
“Like what?” 
“How should I know, I’ve only been here once. You’re the one who used to live here.” 
“Um, baked beans? Clam chowder? Lobster roll?” 
“Pah,” he scoffed. “I can get lobster rolls in Maine.” 
“Well, how about clam chowder then?”
Henry looked dubious. “Okay,” he said. “I’m willing to try new stuff while we’re here. But if it’s gross, it goes on the list forever. Deal?” 
Emma laughed. “Deal.” 
Later that night when Emma finally gave up after hours of tossing and turning in her bed, kicked off the covers and went to her laptop, she knew what she was going to do. She didn’t exactly like it, but she knew it, and as she opened the website for Henry’s school she didn’t hesitate. She clicked on ‘Staff Directory’ and scrolled through the list of teachers’ names and then she caught her breath. 
It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Henry, just that in the first flush of shock at hearing his name again she hadn’t really been able to process the reality of Hook being here, in Boston, in a normal place with a normal job and presumably a normal life. Not until she actually saw his name, right there on the screen, with her own eyes. 
Killian Jones. Mathematics and Astronomy. Latin Club. Debate Team.
With slightly trembling fingers she clicked on it, releasing the breath she’d been holding and gasping in another immediately after as her heart stumbled once more and began to pound against her ribs. The picture was in black and white and tiny, just a thumbnail, but it was unmistakably him. Still with the scruff though his hair looked neater, no eyeliner of course but he’d kept the earring—a small stud barely visible in the tiny photo. And somehow, somehow he still had that look in his eye… the one that promised excitement and adventure and fun… Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to clear it. When she opened them again the look was still there. His students must love him, she thought. What kid wouldn’t want a pirate as their teacher?
She closed the school’s website and opened the professional one she used to dig up information on her skips. Using it to investigate anyone else was unethical enough that she could be fired for doing it but she was prepared to take the risk. He was teaching her son, she told herself. She had information about him that the school district did not. She had to make sure he wasn’t still doing… pirate-y stuff. Yeah, that was it. That was the reason.  
Ten minutes later she had his home address and cell number, his personal email and links to his social media accounts. Or rather, his account. Singular. He didn’t have Facebook or Twitter, which wasn’t particularly surprising she supposed, but he did have Instagram. She clicked on the link and a small smile curved her lips as her screen filled with images of the Massachusetts coastline.
He liked to take pictures of the sea. This was also unsurprising. But although various boats and ships featured prominently in many of his photos none of them were the Jolly Roger, and that did surprise her. What had he done with his ship, she wondered. Probably left it in Storybrooke; it wasn’t like he could sail a pirate ship around Boston harbour. Though he had sailed it to New York… She frowned. Hook loved that ship, it had been his home for literal centuries. Emma couldn’t imagine him just leaving the Jolly and moving someplace else. 
It was just… weird, the whole freaking thing. Hook’s presence here, his job, the quiet life he seemed to be living, his absent ship. It was a mystery, and mysteries had never sat well with Emma. Before she could talk herself out of it she copied his home address and pasted it into Google Maps, and when the results appeared on the screen she gave a wry snort. He lived a few blocks away from her sublet. Because of course he did. 
Good, she thought. It was good that he lived so close. That way, when she went to his house to confront him tomorrow she’d be able to walk there and pick up some dinner on the way home. 
Hook, as it turned out, lived in a very nice house on a very nice street in a very nice neighbourhood. A very nice neighbourhood, Emma thought, looking around as she strolled down the sidewalk trying to look casual and not as out of place as she definitely felt. Quiet and well-kept, with tall trees and flowers and carefully tended lawns. Not at all the kind of place you’d expect would appeal to a fairy tale pirate. 
His house was made of red brick in a sharp and tidy style, with white-framed windows and black shutters and a white portico with actual freaking columns at the top of the red brick steps. It was completely bizarre to think of him living there but also made an odd kind of sense. The house’s unfussy symmetry and clean colours gave it a nautical sort of air, and aside from a few shrubs on either side of the porch the lawn was neatly kept but bare. He’d always kept things neat, she remembered. 
 Emma’s heart was galloping again, her hand trembling as she rang the bell. She could hear it echo through the house and panic gripped her chest, and she wondered wildly if it was too late to turn around and run away. Then the door swung open and her mind went blank. 
His eyes were exactly as she remembered them, as blue as the ocean he so loved and just as deep, their expression shuttered now but still compelling. Still beautiful. They stared at each other for a breathless moment as she scrambled to think of something, anything to say to him, then he stepped back and held the door open. 
“Come in, Swan,” he said, and her heart beat even faster at the sound of her name in his voice, “I’ve been expecting you.” 
“You—you have?” 
“Aye.” He smiled wryly. “Ever since Henry appeared in my class yesterday. I knew your curiosity wouldn’t allow you to stay away for long.” 
He ushered her into a living room that was as tidy as his cabin on the Jolly Roger had been, with broad-planked hardwood floors and one wall lined with bookshelves. A large, comfortable-looking sofa sat at the centre of the room and Killian gestured to it. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, beer?” 
“Beer.” Emma latched on to the idea of alcohol like a lifeline. “I think I could use one.” 
“Aye,” he replied. “As could I.” 
He disappeared through a door in the corner of the room as Emma sank weakly onto the sofa and tried to calm her frantic heartbeat. A minute or two later Hook returned with two brown bottles, handed one to her then sat on the opposite side of the sofa and took a long drink from the other. Emma drank as well, surreptitiously studying him from the corner of her eye as she did. 
He was wearing jeans. Well-worn, soft looking ones. And a t-shirt in a similar condition with ‘Boston College’ across the front in faded letters. 
“Boston College,” she blurted, desperate to fill the stretching silence. 
“Pardon?” 
“Your shirt. Boston College.” 
“Oh, aye.” He looked down and shrugged. “Where I studied.” 
“But—you didn’t,” said Emma, feeling thoroughly off-kilter. “You couldn’t have. Did you?” 
“Obviously I didn’t,” he replied. “But I have both memories and official documentation that says otherwise. Courtesy of Tink.” 
“Tink?” Emma frowned, both at his words and the nasty tendril of jealousy that curled in her gut. 
“Indeed. She gave me what I needed to start a new life in this realm. Much as Regina once did for you.” 
“But—Regina did that for me as part of a curse. How did Tink… for you..?” 
He shrugged again. “Damned if I know. I try not to ask too many questions where magic is concerned. We… rekindled our old companionship after you left. She knew I wanted to leave Storybrooke and once her magic was fully restored she offered to help me do that. The results are as you see. She gave me what she said was the same realm-specific knowledge Regina gave the Storybrooke residents she cursed, along with an identity and accompanying memories so I could get a job outside of Storybrooke.” 
“But—” Emma’s head was spinning, the jealous tendril writhing like a snake. “Why did you want a job outside of Storybrooke?” 
“There’s nothing for me in that town,” he replied, in echo of the last time they’d sat like this, drinking together. “Why would I stay?” 
“Well… I mean…” 
He drank again, deeply, and she tried not to watch his throat work as he did. “I saw an opportunity for a fresh start in a new place,” he said. “One that thinks Captain Hook is an object of ridicule with a perm and a waxed moustache.” He smirked wryly though anger flared in his eyes. 
“You saw that, did you?” 
“And read the book.” He drank again. “And as much as I may like to wring the neck of this J.M. Barrie, he did in a roundabout way afford me the chance to slip unnoticed into this realm and become someone new. And so I did.” 
“I’ll say you did. A high school teacher?” 
“And why not?” he challenged. “You’ve said yourself I’m good with children. And I enjoy it. It’s honest work, and rewarding.” 
Emma shook her head, struggling to get to grips with everything he was saying and everything she was seeing in him. He looked so familiar; even with the drastic wardrobe change his face and his hair and his voice were all just as she remembered. But he was different. A kind of different that couldn’t be explained away by the knowledge Tink had given him or his new life. His face and eyes were so expressionless, his body language cool and distant. She couldn’t detect event the smallest hint of the flirtatious pirate who used to invade her space whenever he could, always challenging her, always understanding her, always watching her with that unnervingly intense focus—like he wanted to uncover every inch of her. That man seemed so thoroughly absent from the one now sitting opposite her that for a moment Emma wondered if she had imagined him.
“Well, you seem to be good at it,” she said brightly. “Henry can’t say enough good things about your class. He’s thinking of taking another one with you, actually. Pre-calculus.” 
“Aye. I’ve already approved his request. He’ll start tomorrow.” 
“So are you as good a math teacher as you are an astronomy one?” She made her voice light, teasing, edging into flirtatious, hoping to draw out the pirate—even just a brief glimpse of him, just for a moment. Hook’s face remained impassive.  
“I do my job to the best of my ability in every class I teach,” he replied, then drained the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the sea chest in front of the sofa. Emma sipped hers, feeling cold and confused and with a sharp ache of loss in her chest.  
Hook leaned back against the arm of the sofa and gave her a hard look. “So is your curiosity appeased, then, Swan?” he asked. “Do I pass muster? May I be allowed to continue with my job and my life?” 
She frowned, hurt by the harsh sarcasm in his tone. “I didn’t come here to—to investigate you,” she said, forgetting that this was the exact excuse she’d given herself for her visit. “I just wanted to see you.” I’ve missed you, she did not say. I thought maybe you’d missed me too. 
“And now you have,” he replied. “Is that all?” 
“I—I guess so.” Emma put her own beer on the table though the bottle was still mostly full. “I guess I’ll be going.” 
“I’ll see you out.” 
He could sound less eager about it, she thought, following him to the door. He opened it for her and she looked at him again, at this man so familiar and yet so strange, and realised that even though he was standing right in front of her she still missed him. She missed him. 
On impulse she leaned in close and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. His scruff was surprisingly soft beneath her lips and she heard him catch his breath, felt him flinch as if to hug her in return then stop himself. She lingered as long as she dared before stepping back, and when she looked into his eyes again she caught her own breath. 
There was the heat she’d started to think she had imagined. Heat and longing and that edge of danger that even a black and white thumbnail photo couldn’t disguise. In that split second he looked like he wanted to devour her, his breath hot on her cheek as he leaned closer, his eyes blazing with everything she had missed about her pirate. 
Then he blinked and his eyes were shuttered again. He grabbed her arms roughly, pulling them from around his waist and shoving her away, towards the open door. “Well, thanks for stopping by, Swan,” he said, not looking at her. “So nice to see you again. Tell Henry I said hello and not to forget his astronomy homework. Goodbye.” He shut the door behind her and she heard the click of the lock turning.
She fought the urge to cry all the way home. 
Killian leaned back against his front door and slowly slid down it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head drop into his shaking hand. Tremors racked his body and his chest was so tight he struggled to draw in gasping breaths. 
Three years. Three years since she’d left Storybrooke, left him, returned to the life she’d had when she couldn’t remember him and never looked back. Three years since she’d shattered his heart. 
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he thought bitterly, she walks into mine. He should have taken that job in Montana instead. Emma would surely never show up there. 
Of course, he hadn’t thought she’d show up here either, not in this city she’d already lived in and left. Emma wasn’t the sort of person to go back to places—or people—she’d put behind her. He’d thought he was safe here. 
It seemed he’d thought a lot of things that weren’t actually true. That he could withstand seeing her again, for one. That he was prepared. He’d coached himself, steeled himself, buried his feelings deep and locked them away. And all it took was one brief press of her body against his, one gentle brush of her lips across his cheek to break right through his carefully constructed defences and reduce them to dust. 
Tears prickled behind his eyes and he blinked them angrily away. He would not weep over Emma Swan, he told himself firmly, not again. Not today. Instead he would pull himself together again just as he had in Storybrooke, as he did every time thoughts of her overwhelmed him, and he  would get on with his life. Now that she’d seen him surely her curiosity would be assuaged and she wouldn’t return. He could find his peace again. 
The next morning Killian walked to work, a thing he did as often as possible. It wasn’t that he disliked driving, quite the contrary in fact. Cars, in keeping with many of the mechanical innovations of this realm, fascinated him, and aside from his house his car was the one possession in which he had truly indulged. 
In the staid upper-middle-class neighbourhood where he lived his sleek gunmetal-grey Aston Martin was almost acceptable, not outrageous enough to give his neighbours anything to actually complain about but more than sufficient to irk them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate when he zipped along their tree-lined streets with the top down. Had they known that the money he’d used to buy it was ill-gotten pirate treasure magically converted into the currency of their realm, they would have been even more displeased. The thought of that delighted Killian nearly as much as the car herself. 
And his car did delight him; the powerful hum of her engine and the way she responded to the smallest twitch of her wheel was the closest thing he’d yet found in this world to standing at the helm of the Jolly Roger in full sail. He’d purposely chosen a convertible for the feel of the wind through his hair, and as often as possible he took her out of the city, driving far too fast along quiet country roads and almost hoping the local police would catch him doing it. 
Once a pirate always a pirate, at least in some small ways. 
But still he preferred to walk to work. Idling in traffic was an insult to his car and a waste of her skills and anyway the walk was not a long one—hardly more than a good stretch of the legs, as Liam would have said. It took him barely twenty minutes along the shortest route and less than half an hour even if he stopped for coffee first.  
That morning, he stopped for coffee. He’d not slept well, too plagued by thoughts of Emma and then by dreams of her to manage any real rest. His eyes felt gritty and his head ached, and though the walk in the brisk morning air cleared some of the cobwebs from his brain it hadn’t made much of a dent in anything else. 
He ordered his usual black coffee and a not-so-usual blueberry muffin. The intense sweetness of breakfast foods in this realm he didn’t generally care for but this morning he needed a boost of something and sugar seemed as good a thing as any, despite the inevitable mid-morning crash it would bring. There were always donuts in the staff room, perhaps later he’d finally give one of those a try. Anything to get him through this day. 
He took his coffee and the bag with the muffin from the barista with the best approximation of a smile that he could manage and wished her a good day. She blushed. 
“Thank you, sir,” she said, and Killian shook his head as he turned to go. When had it come to pass that he, the erstwhile Captain Hook, was referred to as ‘sir’ by sweet and blushing young women? Probably right about the time he’d stopped calling himself Captain Hook. 
Still, the blush and her shy smile brightened his mood and he was just thinking that perhaps this day might not end as dreadfully as it had begun when he walked through the cafe’s outer door and straight into Emma. 
Coffee sloshed from his cup and onto his hand and he barely managed not to drop it or his muffin as he caught her around the waist with his prosthetic before she could fall, hissing in a breath at the feel of her pressed against him for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She gave a small cry and grabbed his shoulders for balance, her eyes wide and startled. 
“Hook!” she gasped. 
“Killian,” he snarled, using the arm around her waist to steer her out of the path of the other people trying to get into the cafe. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that name anymore, particularly not in public,” he hissed, low for her ears only. 
“What, you think someone’s going to recognise you?” She smirked. “You don’t have enough hair for that.” 
“This isn’t a joke, Swan,” he said harshly. “I’ve left that man and his name behind me, and I don’t particularly care to be reminded of them.” Her fingers flexed on his shoulders and with a start he realised that they were still standing close together, his arm tight around her waist. He released her and stepped back so abruptly she stumbled, and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, though he had a terrible suspicion he already knew the answer. 
“Getting coffee,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This place was recommended in all the neighbourhood guides.” 
Neighbourhood bloody guides. “So you live nearby, then,” he said through gritted teeth. 
“Yep. About three blocks that way.” She gestured vaguely behind her. “I’m working in Boston, though. Setting up a new office of my bail bonds firm. What about you?” 
“You know where I live.” 
“Yeah, but I mean are you headed to work already? Isn’t it a bit early?” 
“The school day begins at 7.30, Swan, as I would expect you to know, being the parent of one of my students,” he said shortly. “And I am now officially running late. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go. 
“Killian.” Emma caught his arm and he flinched, both from the feel of her hand on him and the way she said his name. 
“What?” he snapped. 
“Can we—look, can’t we just—” 
“Spit it out, love.” He risked a glance at her, his fingers tightening on the muffin bag as their eyes met. 
“Can’t we be friends?” she burst out. “Please?”
 He stared at her for an incredulous moment and then the fury he’d been so carefully holding back exploded in his chest. He rounded on her, backing her up against the fence of the cafe’s outdoor seating area, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention, spitting the words in her ear. 
“No, Swan, we cannot be friends,” he hissed. “We have never been friends.” 
It was far too tame a word, he thought, too tame a concept to ever encompass the complex tangle of emotions that Emma inspired in him. They had always been both more than friends and a good deal less, and as far as Killian was concerned she’d thrown away the more when she turned her back on him three years ago. The less was all that remained. 
They were standing much too close again, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and hear the rasp in her breath and he was so tempted, so bloody tempted to give in. To agree to be her friend and anything else she wanted, to accept whatever scraps of affection and attention she was willing to spare him and be grateful for them. But he’d accepted those terms before and they had all but broken him. 
With a massive effort he reined in his anger and stepped back, drawing a deep breath to calm himself. “As it appears that we are neighbours of a sort, I don’t doubt we’ll see each other around,” he said. “When that happens I will nod politely to you and exchange pleasantries about the weather and Henry’s progress in school and perhaps the latest performances of Boston’s various sports teams. Beyond that I can’t imagine that we would have anything to discuss.” 
He spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving her leaning against the fence, trembling and once more on the verge of tears. She stared at the door of the cafe for a long moment before turning away, no longer hungry but with an aching emptiness inside her that she had no idea how to fill. 
As he had predicted, Emma ran into Killian everywhere she went, or at least that’s how it felt. After their third encounter at the cafe—each at a different time—she’d started arriving early and lurking in her car until she saw him leave before venturing in herself. Even with that precaution she still spotted him at the grocery store and at the bank, and at the only pizza place in town Henry deemed acceptable as a temporary stand-in for Dino’s. He was everywhere she turned, nodding civilly at her each time they met and making a bland remark, his face and eyes so expressionless it made her want to claw at something. Preferably at him. 
Finally after two awkward weeks Emma found a welcome distraction, a temporary one but at least it was something to take her mind off Killian for one night: a skip that was a perfect target for a honey trap of the kind she hadn’t pulled in far too long. Anticipation buzzed in her veins as she approached the restaurant where they were set to meet, a swankier one than she usually preferred for these sorts of things but the skip was a banker who was clearly out to impress. 
Emma was out to impress too, in a dark red strapless dress that hugged every curve and heels that made her legs look endless. Her hair was perfectly curled and her makeup on point, and she flashed a smile at the doorman as she strode in, feeling slightly reckless and more confident than she had in some time, and completely failing to notice the woman standing just inside the doors until she’d bumped into her. 
“Oh, sorry!” she said, catching the woman’s arm as she stumbled. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” 
“No problem,” replied the woman with an apologetic laugh. “I probably shouldn’t be standing in the doorway, but my boyfriend’s running late which is really not like him, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself while I wait.” 
She was a very pretty woman in a wholesome sort of way, with golden brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a warm smile that Emma couldn’t help responding to. 
“Well I hope he turns up soon,” she said, smiling back. 
“I’m sure he will,” replied the woman. “Have a great night!” 
“You too.” 
The skip was waiting for her at the bar, with a martini for himself and a glass of white wine for her. Emma ground her teeth behind a brilliant smile. Men who ordered for women without consulting them were the worst kind of assholes. She was going to enjoy nailing this fucker’s balls to the wall. 
“White wine!” she exclaimed, settling gracefully onto the barstool next to him and crossing her legs, making sure a generous portion of thigh was on display. “How’d you know?”
“I know what the ladies like,” he replied with a smirk he probably thought was charming. 
“You sure do.” Emma picked up the wine glass and took a sip, not missing the way his eyes lingered on her mouth as she did. She set the glass down and ran her fingertip along its rim, looking up at the skip through lowered eyelashes. “So tell me about yourself,” she cooed. 
“Well, I work for the biggest bank in the city…” he began, and Emma widened her eyes in feigned interest. From the corner of one of them she caught sight of the woman from earlier approaching a small table not far from the bar, accompanied by a dark-haired man who had his hand at the small of her back and was leaning down to whisper in her ear. Emma smiled to herself, glad that the woman’s boyfriend had finally showed, and then she got a good look at him. 
Killian. 
Emma’s heart stumbled and she froze, her eyes fixed on the couple as they arrived at their table. The woman was holding a pink rose, sniffing it with a soft smile as Killian pulled out her chair for her and kissed her cheek as she settled into it. He spoke a few words to the hovering waiter who nodded eagerly and scurried away, then sat down next to the woman and took her hand, lacing their fingers together and murmuring something that had her blushing and sniffing the rose again. 
My boyfriend’s running late… my boyfriend… boyfriend… the woman’s words rang in Emma’s ears as she watched them. They looked comfortable together but still with an undercurrent of excitement, like the relationship was new but not too new. Killian must have been dating this woman for at least a few months. Long enough for her to know that it wasn’t like him to be late, and not to feel insecure when he was. Long enough for her to casually call him her boyfriend. 
The waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine and a small vase for the rose. The woman laughed when he set it down in front of her and the look she gave Killian made Emma’s heart ache. The waiter poured their wine and they clinked their glasses together, then settled into what appeared to be easy and pleasant conversation. 
Killian looked… not precisely happy, Emma thought. But he looked content. Relaxed and at ease in a way she’d never seen him be before. He smiled often as the woman spoke and there was no flirtation in it, no smirk or leer or defensiveness. Just simple smiles from a man enjoying the company of his date. 
“Hey,” said the skip, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “You’re not even listening to me.” 
“Sorry.” Emma dragged her eyes away from Killian and tried to focus on her mark. She needed to stay sharp to spot the moment when she could jump in and cuff him with the least amount of fuss. It would be better if she could get him outside first; he looked like a runner and although she’d taken the precaution of clamping his car she didn’t really want to cause a commotion in a restaurant this nice. He started in again boasting about his job and she did her best to appear attentive but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting back to Killian. That woman had seemed so nice, sweet and friendly and she didn’t even know who he was, thought Emma with a burst of anger. She didn’t know anything about him, not about his past and the terrible things he’d done… or about the losses he’d suffered… the way he could read her like an open book… how he used to look at her… the way he kissed…
Oh she knows exactly how he kisses, whispered a nasty little voice in the back of her head. And a lot more.   
Emma snarled at that thought, clenching her fist on her wine glass so hard that the stem snapped and its jagged point sank deep into her palm. 
“Ow!” she cried, loudly enough that several people at the neighbouring tables turned to stare. She didn’t look at Killian—she couldn’t—but she could sense his eyes on her and for a crazy moment she wished she still had magic and could disappear in a puff of smoke. 
“What the hell,” said the skip, glaring at her. “What is wrong with you?” 
“Nothing! I just—it just broke.” 
“You’re bleeding everywhere.” His lip curled in disgust but he made no move to help her. 
“Sorry,” she said. “I—I’m sorry.” 
“Fuck this,” said the skip, tossing back the rest of his drink and standing up. “You’re really hot but no lay is worth this much effort.” He tossed some money on the bar and walked away. 
“No—wait!” Emma tried to follow but as soon as she stood up a jolt of pain shot through her hand and made her woozy. Her wound was bleeding profusely now, dripping into the spill of white wine on the bar and turning it pink. The bartender was frantically trying to mop up the mess with one hand and waving a handful of cocktail napkins at Emma with the other. 
“Ma’am…”  he said faintly, “please don’t bleed on the upholstery…” Emma took the napkins and tried again to pursue the skip. She squeezed the paper against her palm in an attempt to stop the bleeding but her wound twinged agonisingly under the pressure and she stumbled, crying out again, and then a warm hand gripped her elbow. 
“Swan,” said Killian’s voice in her ear. “Let him go.” 
“No—he’s a skip—he’ll get away—” 
“You can’t chase him down with a bleeding puncture wound on your hand,” said Killian impatiently. “Let him go. You’ll get him another day.” 
Emma looked up at him, her head spinning from the combined effects of pain and blood loss, and his touch on her skin. He eased her back onto the barstool and she didn’t protest, sitting quietly as he took the napkins and dipped them into a glass of water he must have brought from his own table. Cradling her hand in his prosthetic one he gently dabbed the blood from her wound, easing out a tiny shard of glass that had been lodged within it. 
“You should get this seen to properly,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “But I suppose you won’t.” 
“I hate doctors.” 
“Very understandable, but it might get infected. At least wash it well when you get home.” 
“In rum?” she challenged, hoping to rile him. He didn’t look up. 
“No need,” he said. “A good antibacterial soap should do the trick.” 
He finished rinsing the wound and set the used cocktail napkins aside, pulling a large cloth one from his pocket. She caught her breath as he wrapped it several times around her hand and secured the ends in a tight knot. His new prosthetic moved, she noted vaguely. Much more useful than a hook. No need to use his teeth. 
“There,” he said, stepping back. “That should do it.” 
Emma’s chest was aching, her mind whirling with how familiar and yet how strange this felt. Never, in all the times she’d thought of him over the past three years, not once had she imagined a situation in which Killian Jones didn’t flirt with her. Didn’t challenge her. Didn’t even fucking look at her. Flirty Hook she could handle, and cocky Hook. Even hot as fuck Hook breathless and wrecked after their kiss in Neverland she could handle. But this calm and controlled man who bandaged her hand without once looking at her face, this man she absolutely could not. She had no idea even what to say to him.
“I guess you think I should thank you,” she snapped. Her pain and confusion were too raw, too much for her to process right now. Anger was easier. It was hot and clean and she had more than enough to spare. 
Anger flashed across Killian’s face as well and she felt a perverse thrill at the sight of it. Good, she thought, he should be angry. She wanted to make him furious. 
“Don’t trouble yourself,” he snarled. “I have no need of any gratitude from you.”  
She hissed in a breath sharp with hurt and they glared at each other, the air thickening with the tension between them, brittle and volatile and unbearable.  
“Killian,” said a small, quiet voice, and they both turned to see the woman standing awkwardly a few feet away, twisting her hands together. “I’ve paid the bill,” she said. “I—I’m going to go.” 
The anger drained from Killian’s face, replaced by regret and guilt and a deep sorrow that made Emma feel ashamed. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll accompany you.” 
For a moment Emma thought the woman would refuse, but then she gave a small nod. Killian offered her his arm and she slid hers through it, and they left the restaurant together, not looking back. 
Emma shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if a million eyes were watching her. She swept the room with a defiant glare and as soon as Killian and the woman disappeared through the doors she headed towards them herself. With any luck she’d still be able to catch the skip before he could get the clamp off his car. She hoped so. She hoped he ran when she confronted him. She hoped he fought back and gave her an excuse to punch him in his stupid smug fucking face.
Killian dropped Anabel at her door with a kiss on the cheek and an apologetic smile, hating himself for the hurt confusion in her eyes. 
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, squeezing her hand. She gripped his fingers hard. 
“Who is she?” she whispered. 
Guilt stabbed at him, followed by suffocating regret. He genuinely and deeply cared for Anabel, and he’d tried so bloody hard to be happy with her. He was almost happy, as close as he could remember being for the best part of three centuries, and so naturally he’d gone and buggered it the first chance he got. One glimpse of Emma pale and bleeding had wiped Anabel and his hard-won contentment and every other bloody thing clean out of his mind, and he had acted without a thought for anyone but her. 
“Someone from my past,” he replied. “I haven’t seen her in years. I thought I’d put her behind me but—” 
“You still love her,” said Anabel flatly. It wasn’t a question. 
Killian sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this here, or now, or ever, but he owed Anabel the truth. 
“I don’t know how to stop.” 
She nodded, blinking hard as tears filled her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder, soothing her as they fell. “I’m so sorry, Bela,” he said softly. “I care so much for you and I truly thought that we could—” 
She pulled out of his embrace and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t make any decisions now. Sleep on it. Talk to her, figure out whatever needs figuring. I’ll wait.” 
“I couldn’t ask you to—” 
“I’ll wait, Killian.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. “You’re worth it.” 
You’re worth it. Those words followed Killian home, chased him through his door and straight to his stash of rum. He’d mostly given up drinking it, needing to be sharp for his classes and limiting himself to a beer or two when he wanted to relax, but there were times that simply called for the hard stuff. 
He poured himself a generous glassful and tried not to let the words ring in his ears. You’re worth it. It was worrying, how hard such things still were for him to hear. No one had thought him worth much of anything for so long that he’d come to believe it himself. To internalise it, in the terminology of this realm.
He knew of course that he had some good qualities. He was intelligent and quick to learn, resourceful and decisive and courageous. A man couldn’t survive centuries in command of a pirate crew without at least a few of those attributes. But they counted for little when his shortcomings were constantly cast up at him by the one person he most wished to impress. Well you are a pirate… I’ve got magic, he’s got one hand… let me guess, with you?
Emma had certainly never thought he was worth much. Not worth staying in Storybrooke for. Not worth taking a chance on. Not worth loving. 
While he, fool that he was, could never stop loving her. 
He was deep into his fourth glass when his doorbell rang, and he knew without even looking who it was. Ignore it, whispered his sensible voice in his ear, but Killian was too drunk and too angry for the sensible option. 
The moment the door swung open Emma charged in, shoving him back and slamming it behind her. She rounded on him, fisting her uninjured hand in his shirt collar and pulling him against her. 
“I lost my skip because of you,” she hissed. 
In her heels and his stocking feet they stood eye-to-eye, pressed together from chest to knee, and every nerve in Killian’s body screamed in pleasure at the contact. He grabbed her hand and yanked it off him, pushing her away so forcefully she nearly fell. “You lost your skip because you broke your glass,” he snapped. “It was nothing to do with me.” 
“You distracted me. While I was working.” 
He glared at her. “What are you on about? I was having dinner, or about to—”
“You were flaunting that woman—” 
“Flaunting?”
“With the rose and the pulling out her chair and—” 
“That is simply how I treat the women I date, Swan,” he said, stepping closer to her again, backing her against the wall.  
Emma’s cheeks flared bright pink but she didn’t back down. “What, even when I’m not watching?” she sneered. 
“I wasn’t aware you were watching tonight!”  
“Oh, like you didn’t notice me as soon as you walked in.” 
Her breath was coming in short pants, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest with each inhale, and his lust clawed inside him like a living thing desperate to get out. Killian leaned in until their lips were almost touching, torturing himself with her little gasp and the way her eyes darkened. “No, actually,” he growled. “I didn’t.” 
He pushed away from the wall and smirked at her. “I know this is difficult for you to grasp, love, but not everything in my life revolves around you,” he said harshly. “Until two weeks ago I thought I’d never see you again.” 
“Oh, so you just happened to be out on a date at the same place I was?” 
“That place being my girlfriend’s favourite restaurant, where we’ve dined many times before, you mean?” 
Emma’s lip curled. “Your girlfriend—”
���Aye. Of nearly a year.” 
“—you expect me to believe that Captain Hook has a girlfriend?” 
“No, Killian Jones has a girlfriend,” he hissed, stepping closer again. “What, Swan, did you imagine I would pine away in celibacy forever because you wouldn’t have me?” 
“Of course not! That was never—we were never—” 
Abruptly all his anger, his frustration, his lust, the electric thrill of sparring with her again drained away, leaving him numb but for the gnawing ache in his heart. “Indeed,” he said, and turned away. “We were never.” 
“That’s not what I meant, Killian.” 
“Isn’t it?” 
He stalked into the kitchen and retrieved his glass of rum, tossing it back and refilling it with a hand that was not quite steady. Before he could pick it up again Emma appeared at his elbow, whisking the glass away and taking a long drink. 
“Help yourself, love,” he snarked. She handed the glass back to him and he drained it, setting it down on the table. She refilled it without a word and took another drink. He sighed. 
“Why are you here, Swan?” he asked. “What do you want from me?” 
“I don’t know.” 
Fury licked at him again. “You don’t know,” he hissed. “Is that so? Well perhaps I can enlighten you.” He took the glass from her and emptied it, then slammed it down. “You wanted to make sure that I was still your faithful pet,” he spat. “That I would still come running the moment you crooked a finger, desperate for any scrap of your attention—”  
“That’s not true—”
“—despite your utter rejection back in Storybrooke and your complete lack of interest in me or my life in all the time we’ve been apart.” 
“I asked about you, or I tried—” 
“You tried.” 
“Yes! Every time I talk to my parents I ask—well, not ask but I try to—I thought you were still in Storybrooke!” 
“And so you thought you’d just use your parents to check up on me? And it never struck you as odd that they didn’t know anything?” 
“I just—I couldn’t—” 
“You couldn’t ask them directly because then they would know you were curious,” he concluded. “And we couldn’t have that, could we darling?” 
She grabbed the rum glass and refilled it. He watched as she tossed it back, wishing he could ignore his body’s reaction to her—that constant itch to touch, to trace the curves outlined by her clinging dress and sink into the softness of her hair. He still remembered how it felt beneath his fingers in Neverland, the taste of his rum on her tongue… he wanted to taste it on her again, to lick the traces of it from her lips and then deep into her mouth, wanted to rip that dress from her body and plunder her. The dark heat that flared in her eyes as she caught him staring, as she let the rim of the glass trail across her lower lip, said she knew exactly what he was thinking and she wouldn’t stop him. That she wanted everything he did. 
Slowly she set the glass down and stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her hair and feel her breath against his cheek. His cock was rock hard and he cursed it, cursed his helplessness to resist the pull she exerted on him. His hand curled around her waist without his permission, and when a small, satisfied smile curved her lips it slid down to grip her arse and pull her tight against him. 
She stiffened and for the briefest moment he thought she might pull away, and then she moaned and rolled her hips and he was lost. His arm wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck, he plunged his hand into her hair and she tugged at his, bringing their lips together in a clash of heat and lust and fury. She tasted just as he remembered and this time he chased it, battling her for control of the kiss. If they were going to fuck like this, he thought, in anger and animosity and not lovingly, reverently as he had so often dreamed… if they were going to fuck, they were going to do it his way.  
He slid his hands beneath her dress and hooked the index finger of his prosthetic beneath the thin strap of her thong, snapping it easily. She gasped against his mouth and he chuckled darkly, trailing into a groan as his fingers found the slick heat between her legs. She was so soft and so bloody wet—wet for him—that his head spun and his knees went weak, and he forgot his anger and their fight and sought only to pleasure her, pushing two fingers inside her and stroking her clit with his thumb, thrilling to the sound of her low moan and the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into his arms. 
He tugged her head back and trailed his mouth down her neck as his fingers worked inside her, dragging the neckline of her dress down with his teeth until her breast was freed then swirling his tongue around her nipple. 
“Oh, fuck,” she gasped. “Hook.” 
He jerked away like she’d doused him in ice water, his anger flooding back. 
“No,” he hissed. “Killian.” 
Emma’s eyes flashed defiance, “Hook,” she insisted, scraping her fingernails down his chest, popping buttons as she went. He knocked her hands away with his prosthetic and backed her up against the kitchen counter, his fingers still inside her, squeezing his hand to grind the heel of it hard against her clit, wrenching a helpless moan from her.   
“You want Hook?” he snarled. “Do you?”
“Yes!” 
“Well, you can’t have him. It’s me or nobody and I swear by all the gods in the heavens, Swan, if you call me by that name again I will kick you out of my house as you bloody are.” 
She glared at him, chest heaving, and he could see how badly she wanted to defy him. He prayed he’d have the strength to carry out his threat if she did. Their harsh breaths sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the kitchen until Emma bucked her hips against his hand and conceded. 
“Killian, then,” she said, grudging but breathless, like the name was an intimacy that she resented but also craved. He pressed her clit harder and she moaned again. “Killian,” she breathed, and it sent a spear of pure lust through him. 
He pulled his hand from between her legs and stepped back, holding her gaze as he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. “My bedroom is upstairs,” he said. “First door on the left.” 
Her eyes flashed again and then she straightened up, reached behind her back and in one quick movement unzipped her dress and shimmied free of it, smirking when he hissed in a breath at the sight of her naked body. She stepped out of the pile of fabric, still in her heels, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. 
“I’ll be waiting,” she said, and sauntered from the room. 
Killian ground his fist into the countertop and forced himself to count to sixty before following her. 
When he arrived she was sitting on his bed, leaning back on both hands with her legs crossed, one shoe dangling from the tip of her toe. He stopped in the doorway and feasted his eyes on the sight of her toned limbs and smooth skin as he slowly undressed, not missing the catch in her breath when he undid his trousers. 
“Curious, love?” he taunted. 
“Very.” 
He pushed the garments down, trousers and underpants together, smirking as her eyes widened and she drew a deep breath. 
“Well,” she purred, “you did promise I’d feel it.” 
He ignored the stab of anger, bit back the retort that it was Hook who’d told her that, and put a swagger in his hips as he closed the short distance between them. She sat up eagerly and reached for him but he caught her hand and held it back. 
“I want your mouth,” he said. “No hands.” 
She shot him a venomous glare but complied, laying her hands flat on the bed as she took his cock in her mouth, swirled her tongue around the tip then sucked hard. He clenched his teeth against an aching moan, wove his fingers through her hair and tried not to perish from the sheer pleasure of living out one of his favourite fantasies. 
She took him deep in her mouth, alternating hard suction with lazy strokes of her tongue and quick scrapes of her teeth until he couldn’t take any more and pushed her away, shoving her back onto the bed where she lay panting and looking very pleased with herself. 
“Too much?” she taunted. 
“For now.” He leaned over her, running his hands up the insides of her thighs and spreading them wide, then slipped his arms beneath them and buried his face in her cunt. She gave a strangled cry as he licked through her folds then sucked on her clit, pressing the tip of his tongue hard against it. Her hips bucked as she tried to push them up against his face but he held her down, licking her far more gently than he knew she wanted and forcing her to accept it. 
“Damn you, Killian,” she snarled, clutching at his head. He laughed and she gasped at the feel of the vibrations on her swollen flesh, then moaned when he resumed his onslaught, as hard as she liked this time, licking and sucking her roughly until she lay teetering just on the edge. 
“No…” she whimpered when he pulled away, blindly reaching for him as he leaned across her to yank open a drawer on his bedside table and withdraw a condom. He handled it with practiced ease, holding it securely in his prosthetic and tearing the packet open with his hand. 
Emotions flitted across her face as she watched him, anger laced this time with a touch of hurt. The hurt cut deep into his heart and made him furious. She really did think she’d had him on such a leash that he wouldn’t sleep with anyone else after she rejected him, he thought, giving her a nasty leer as he rolled the condom down his length. Her nostrils flared but she didn’t look away, and when he finished she grabbed his shoulders and shoved him onto his back, straddling him, kissing him roughly and digging her fingernails into his skin as she positioned his cock at her entrance and took him inside her.  
They groaned together at the sensation, the tight, slick squeeze of it. He thrust up as she ground down, groaning as she tilted her hips and arched her back to take him deeper, dragging her sharp nails down his chest. 
“Ugh that’s so good,” she moaned, and as they found their rhythm and began to move in perfect tandem Killian could only agree. Emma's head was thrown back, her hair curling wildly over her breasts and down her back, her muscles squeezing him as they rocked together in the most glorious dance of his life, and had he not already been as deeply in love as a man could be Killian knew that he would have fallen then. His hurt and anger ebbed away and he lost himself in sensation, in the indescribable bliss of sinking into the woman he loved and feeling her clenched tight around him, the sound of her sighs and moans in his ear. It was a feeling he never thought he’d know again after Milah, and certainly never dreamed he might know it with Emma. 
You don’t, he tried to remind himself. This is only sex. She doesn’t love you. She never will.   
He didn’t care about that though; in this moment with this woman he couldn’t care. He could only feel, and make the most of this one chance to feel these things with her. 
Emma’s breaths grew faster, harsh and short and catching in her throat, and as her rhythm began to falter he could tell that she was close. Gripping her arse tightly he flipped them over until she was spread out beneath him. She hummed in approval and hiked her leg up over his hip as he thrust in deep, driving her hard into the mattress over and again until she gasped and cried out, her eyes squeezed shut and back arching as a pink flush spread across her skin. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and it sent him flying over the edge, choking out his own cry as ecstasy gripped him harder than ever before. He collapsed onto his side and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, conscious of little more than the smell of her skin and the gentle caress of her fingers through his hair. 
They lay like that until their breathing calmed and their skin cooled, and gradually reality began to encroach. Killian forced himself against every will he had to move, untangling himself from her and rolling over to remove the condom and dispose of it in the bin next to his bed then grabbing a handful of tissues to clean them both up. 
He dreaded what he would see when he turned back again but Emma still lay where he’d left her, her face calm and showing no signs of panic or regret. She took the tissues he offered without comment and cleaned herself, grimacing a little when she handed them back. He dropped them in the bin along with his own and took a deep breath, waiting for the excuses he knew had to be coming, for the sound of her getting up and running away, leaving him yet again. When the bed shifted but none of those things came he risked another look at her. 
She was snuggling back against the pillows, and as he watched she pulled back the blankets and slid beneath them. He held his breath and did the same, swallowing hard when she slid over to him and curled herself against his chest. 
“Emma—” he began. 
“No,” she said firmly. “No.” 
She cuddled closer, slipping a leg between his and an arm around his waist. He tangled his fingers in her hair, stroking a silky strand between his thumb and forefinger as she hummed in contentment and closed her eyes. A moment later so did he.  
He didn’t know how long he lay there, his eyes half-closed and his nose in her hair. He was adrift in the moment, this extraordinary, unbelievable moment of softness between them when Emma not only allowed him to hold her but actually snuggled into him, fitting her body to his like it belonged there, like there was nowhere else she wished to be. Killian suspected she would regret it in the morning and when she woke she would push him farther away than ever. But now, here, in this moment, she was his. 
Her skin was so soft, he marvelled, so silky beneath his fingertips that he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, gently stroking down her body, the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip, down her thigh and up again, over her arse and along the ridge of her spine to sink once more into her hair. 
Slowly he became aware that she was touching him as well, her hand trailing over his thigh and hip, up his back and down his shoulder, pausing briefly to explore the tattoo there then slipping further on to sift her fingers through the hair on his chest. He caught his breath as she discovered the scatter of tiny stars tattooed across his heart, almost lost among the dark strands, and traced the pattern they described with unnerving accuracy. 
She looked up at him with eyes hazy with desire, blinking slowly as he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the dimple in her chin. He kissed the dimple, thrilling to the little hum of enjoyment she gave. He kissed her nose and her forehead and both her cheeks, and then, finally, her lips. 
The kiss was slow and soft and and achingly tender. Killian poured his whole self into it and everything he felt for her, fully aware of what he was confessing but unable to care. Emma knew his feelings whether she wished to accept them or not, and he had nothing to lose. 
She opened her mouth with a soft moan and took the kiss deeper, pulled him closer, her tongue on his sending heat licking up his spine, her hands stroking it across his skin. He wanted to touch her everywhere, worship her as he had in his dreams, distil a lifetime of devotion through the prism of this one act. But there wasn’t time for all he wished to do and so he made do with what he craved the most. The soft weight of her breast in his palm and the hard peak of its nipple, how she moaned into his mouth as he stroked it with his thumb.  His fingers caressing her, slowly down her belly then between her legs, sinking deep into her velvety heat. Her tongue soft and wet as she licked down his neck, nipping at him, leaving marks that would linger on his skin for days and break his heart anew each time he saw them. 
Emma shifted beneath him, aligning their bodies and lifting her knees to cradle him, holding him close and kissing him hard as he slid inside her. The wet warmth of her mouth and her cunt made him dizzy; the squeeze of her legs around his waist and the clutch of her hands on his shoulders and back urged him on. He tried to go slowly, to make this last as long as possible, but the sounds of her pleasure, the way she clung to him, the sheer elation of sharing this with her—however illusory it may be—was too great to withstand, and far too soon they fell. 
She gasped and he groaned as ecstasy gripped them both, her fingers curling through his hair and pressing his forehead to hers, their eyes locked as she fluttered around him and that gorgeous flush suffused her skin once again. Caught in the delicate tenderness of the moment, wrapped in intimacy and awash in sensation, Killian struggled to contain the words he longed to say to her. He tried his best to hold on to what he knew was true—that this was just an interlude, a moment soon to end—but against all good sense, his better judgement, and even his will, he felt that tiny, stubborn bud of hope bloom yet again in his heart. Perhaps, it whispered to him as he rolled onto his side and Emma followed, curling herself tightly around him and sighing contentedly against his chest as they drifted off to sleep. Perhaps.
A prickly sensation in her arm woke Emma. She resisted it, groaning internally and trying to will herself back to sleep. It was far too early to be awake, she could tell that much even through her drowsy haze. It was early and she was so comfortable but for the prickly arm, warm and contented and relaxed, with Killian’s chest beneath her cheek and his arms tight around her. 
Killian— With a jolt Emma came fully awake, staring up at his sleeping face with eyes gone wide in dismay. What the hell had she done? 
Slept with Killian Jones was what she’d done—God, she couldn’t even call him Hook in her head anymore. She’d charged into his house and drunk his rum and had sex with him—twice!—and it had been just everything she had ever fantasised about and more. So much more. Far, far too much more. 
She forced herself to pull away, away from the warmth of his arms and of him. The fact that she had to force herself had panic gripping her chest. She wanted to stay, she realised with a flash of the same terror that had sent her running from him in Storybrooke and the same regret she’d felt on realising, not even a week after her return to New York, that leaving him had been a terrible mistake. For three years she’d tried to bury her regret over that one rash decision, buried it and ignored it and denied it, without success, and now here, finally, she had the chance to make things right. All she had to do was slip back into his arms, curl up where she wanted so badly to be and go back to sleep. 
But she couldn’t—it was too much, too fast, and she wasn’t ready. His feelings were too big for her to deal with and hers… hers she couldn’t even bear to think about. She scrambled away, trying not to jostle him, but his eyes blinked open anyway and she froze just on the edge of the bed, caught by the look in them. He had such expressive eyes, true windows to his soul as the saying went, laying bare his every thought and feeling, and it had always amazed Emma that he never seemed to mind how vulnerable they made him. He’d hidden nothing from her, not since Neverland and not until these past few weeks when the cold, shuttered blankness in those beautiful eyes had cut her more deeply than she’d realised. They weren’t blank now, though, but brimming with emotion—with hurt and anger and a weary, hopeless resignation that clawed at her heart.
“I...” she began, trailing off when she realised she had no idea what to say, how to explain. How to make him understand. 
Killian sighed and leaned over the edge of the bed. She heard a drawer opening and then a soft t-shirt landed in her lap. “You can wear that downstairs,” he said. “Your dress is on the kitchen floor.” 
“Killian—” 
Emma groped for the words to tell him that she didn’t want this to be the end, that she wasn’t trying to run from him again. She just needed some time and a bit of space to process all the things that had happened and how she felt about them. But his face was blank again and his eyes so terrifyingly hard that the words wouldn’t come. 
“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t fucking bother. Just go.” 
She swallowed over the aching lump in her chest. “I never meant for this to happen,” she whispered. 
He snorted. “Let’s not kid ourselves, love,” he said, and she flinched at the bitter edge in his voice. “You’ve wanted to know how I fuck since the beanstalk. Now that you’ve finally got it out of your system perhaps we can both move on.” 
“Move on,” she choked. “You’ve done that already.” 
“I’ve certainly tried,” he said. “Anabel makes me happy. She actually likes me for myself and while you may not think I deserve that I choose to believe I do. I’ve worked bloody hard to put my past behind me and build a respectable life in this realm.” 
A life that doesn’t include you, his words implied, and she nodded, fighting the tears that prickled behind her eyes. She slipped the t-shirt over her head and scrambled from the bed, grabbing her shoes as she fled, desperate to get away from him before he could see her cry. 
Killian managed to hold off his own tears until he heard his front door close behind her and then they came in a torrent. All the anguish he’d kept so tightly locked away these last three years—the heartbreak and the guilt, the regret over the life he’d led and the choices that had shaped him into someone a woman like Emma could never love—came rushing forth like the sea through the hull of a sinking ship. He turned his face into the pillow that still carried her scent and wept for all he had lost in the course of his long life, for every terrible deed he’d done and every beautiful thing his touch had destroyed. He wept until he had nothing left inside him, until he sank into a restless, dreamless sleep. 
 When he awoke again the sun was pouring in through his windows with offensive brightness and he groaned, rubbing his eyes and wishing that just once the habits born of centuries on the sea would leave him alone to wallow in his bed. Instead he dragged himself up and stumbled into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and ignored his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, then went downstairs. 
In the kitchen he found his t-shirt, folded almost neatly and draped across the back of a chair. With shaking hands he picked it up and pressed it against his cheek—just for a moment—then with a guttural cry flung it away against the wall. 
Emma spent the next week driving herself as hard as she could, working the toughest cases, the longest hours, hounding the staff at the new office with her demands. Anything, anything, to avoid having to think. If she stopped moving even for a second she saw Killian’s face in her mind’s eye and heard his voice telling her to go, and the ache of loss would hit her again, as fresh and raw as the moment it happened. 
Losing something she’d never really had shouldn’t hurt so much, she thought, and frankly she resented it. She felt swamped by a strange sort of untethered frustration, an uncomfortable feeling and uncomfortably familiar. She’d last felt it back in Storybrooke, that antsy itch under her skin whenever Killian was near, in the few quiet moments they’d shared in between battling flying monkeys and breaking curses. She’d managed to ignore it then, seizing on the witch and the curses and Neal as convenient distractions, excuses not to think about Killian or her feelings or what he wanted from her. What she wanted from him, what they could have. And as soon as those distractions were gone she had run. Just as she always did. As she would continue to do, damn it, until she found something that made her want to stay. 
She refused to think about how badly she’d wanted to stay in Killian’s bed. 
...
“Mom,” said Henry the following Saturday, coming into the living room to find her dusting the corners of the bookshelves, “can I ask you something?”
“Hmmm?” Emma dragged her attention away from her determined assault on the cracks in the wood. “Sure. What’s up?”
Henry shifted uncomfortably. “Um, have you—have you seen Hook at all since we moved here?” 
“Killian,” said Emma automatically.
“What?” 
She felt her face grow hot. “He prefers to be called Killian now.”
“So you did see him!” cried Henry. 
Emma set her dusting rag down with a sigh. “Yeah. I did.” 
“Did you guys have a fight or something?”
“Kind of, I guess. It’s hard to explain.” She cast a sideways glance at her son. “Grown-up stuff.”
“Mom,” sighed Henry, with his special ‘I’m a teenager now’ eyeroll. “I’m not a kid anymore and I’m not stupid. I know that you and Killian—that there was something going on with you guys in Storybrooke and I know that’s part of the reason you left.”
“Henry—”
“And I saw how you reacted when I told you he was here. It’s okay to talk to me about it.”
Emma made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. 
“I mean, no details,” he said with a grimace. “But like, in general.”
“Henry.” Emma rubbed her temples. “I appreciate it, really. But I can’t. I can’t even think about it.” 
“You really should. It’s not a good idea to hold stuff like that inside.” 
“Stuff like what?” 
“You know. Feelings. You hold yours in too much.” 
“I know. I know I do.” She frowned at him. “How did you know there was… something with us in Storybrooke?”
“It was pretty obvious, Mom. He came all the way from the Enchanted Forest to New York to get you, and then when we got back to Storybrooke you two were always talking together or at Granny’s, and when you weren’t with him you asked him to babysit me. Which you wouldn’t do unless you trusted him.”
“That’s true,” Emma whispered. She had trusted Killian. She did. 
“And then after we moved back to New York you never asked about him,” Henry continued. “When you talked to Grandma and Grandpa you asked them about everybody in Storybrooke, even my mom. Even Leroy. But you never asked about him. If he’d only been a friend you would have.” 
Emma shook her head. “Kid, when did you get so smart?” 
“Duh, I always have been. Thanks for noticing.” They were silent for several minutes before Henry spoke again. “And you know,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind. If you wanted to, you know. Date him.” 
“Really? Would you really want me to be with a pirate?” 
Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to think of him that way anymore. But I always liked him, mostly. He took me sailing and told me about my dad. And he’s probably the best teacher I’ve ever had. And he’s been looking really sad all week.” 
“He has?” 
“Yeah. Everyone’s noticed. He’s all quiet in class, not like he usually is. And he hasn’t been having lunch with Miss Hartfield.” 
Emma’s heart gave a painful thump. “Miss Hartfield?” 
“The physics teacher,” Henry clarified. “They always used to have lunch together. All the girls in my class thought they were dating and now they’re all crying cuz they think they’ve broken up.” 
“Is Miss Hartfield a very pretty brunette with dark blue eyes?” 
“Yeah.” Henry looked surprised. “How did you know?”
“I—met her. Last weekend. She was having dinner with—with Killian. I guess they really are dating. The girls in your class should be happy.” 
“Oh.” Henry’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Mom—” 
“It’s okay.” Emma swallowed hard and forced a smile when he gave her a skeptical look. “Really! I’m okay.” 
“You’re not—” 
“I am.” Emma wrapped her arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Or I will be. I just—need a little time. Is your homework done, by the way? Speaking of your teachers.” 
“Oh, yeah, nice segue.” Henry rolled his eyes, playing along, though it was clear from his face that he didn’t believe her. “It’s nearly done.” 
“Well, get it all done and then what do you say we order pizza and watch some bad movies. Unless you’ve got other plans?” 
“Nope. I’m all yours.” 
By the next Thursday, Emma had almost convinced herself that she was fine. Killian still crept into her thoughts far more than she’d like but the ache he brought she convinced herself was less severe. She didn’t have to fight so hard to stop the tears from welling up or keep herself constantly distracted.  
It’s like he said, she told herself fiercely. It was just an itch that needed scratching, and now it’s scratched that’s it. No hard feelings. No feelings at all. 
Thursday afternoon as Emma was leaving work, Henry texted her that his friend Becca was having some problems and wanted to talk and he was going to her house for a little bit. His homework was nearly done, he said, and he promised to finish it when he got home.  
Said homework was spread out over the dining table when Emma returned and she went to gather it up and put it to one side so she could sit there herself and have some dinner. Her heart skipped when she saw it was astronomy he’d been working on, the book still open to a page illustrated with several constellations. One of them caught her eye. It looked like a slightly tilted cross with bent arms, and it tickled something in her memory. 
She frowned and bent down to get a closer look. That pattern of stars looked so familiar. Emma racked her brains trying to remember where she could have seen it before. It couldn’t have been that long ago, she thought, and—oh. Oh. She flushed as the memory resolved with uncomfortable clarity, and her heart began to pound. 
She recognised that pattern because she had traced it herself through the hair on Killian’s chest, connecting the sprinkle of stars tattooed over his heart. She remembered thinking how odd it was, him having a tattoo there where it was practically invisible. His other tattoos were elaborate and brightly coloured and on places where he had less hair, but those tiny stars she would never have noticed if she hadn’t had her face pressed right up against them. 
It did make sense, she reasoned, for an astronomy teacher to have a constellation tattoo, though all his others featured names and clear associations with people from his past. But this one—Emma peered more closely at Henry’s book looking for the constellation’s name, and when she found it sank slowly into the chair, her knees gone too weak to support her. 
It was the constellation Cygnus. The swan. Killian had a swan tattoo. Right above his heart. 
He was in love with her. 
Emma let her head fall into her hands as the full force of that realisation hit her, with the strength and fury of a hurricane. She was aware he had feelings, strong ones, and though she’d never let herself think too much about them she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t known. But this… this was serious. He wouldn’t put her permanently on his body with Milah and with Liam unless it was big-L love. Killian loved her, or at least he had. Did he still? Could he still, after what had happened between them?
She closed her eyes and thought about the last words he’d spoken to her, about his girlfriend—Anabel—and how happy he was. Her breathing sped up an her hands trembled as she recalled it, the memory she’d tried hardest to escape and with the least success. The closed expression on Killian’s face and the flat tone of his voice were etched into her mind as clearly as if she were back there in his bedroom living that terrible moment all over again, and she realised with a flash of shock that he’d been lying. She’d been too upset to see it at the time but now her superpower was screaming at her. He’d lied to her, and not even well. 
A bubble of hope rose up in her heart. If Killian was lying about being happy, about having moved on, then maybe… maybe there was a chance that he still loved her. Maybe if she told him how much she missed him… if she reached out, if she tried… maybe they could actually talk. The way he’d acted the other times they’d met… his coolness, his distance, his anger… of course he was just trying to protect his heart from further hurt. She could certainly understand that. But if she told him, if they talked, then she could fix this. She could get the old Killian back again—the one who looked at her with warmth in his eyes and always believed in her. The one she could now admit to herself that she deeply and desperately missed, not the way you miss a friend you haven’t seen in a while but like a part of herself was gone. 
She sent Henry a quick text telling him where she was going and raced out the door. Ten minutes later she was standing in front of Killian’s, practically leaning on the bell. 
Killian opened his door and for the first time looked surprised to see her standing there on his small porch. 
“Swan!” he exclaimed. “Is Henry okay?” 
“Um.” Emma frowned. “Yeah, he’s fine. Why would you think he wasn’t?” 
“Why else would you be here?” 
“I wanted—” She took a deep breath. “Can we talk?” 
“Talk,” he repeated in an incredulous tone, then eyes moved from her face to something behind her and he smiled a huge, fake smile and waved his hand. Emma turned around to see a middle aged woman waving back as she walked down the sidewalk, a similar smile on her face and a very sharp look in her eye. The moment she looked away Killian grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her through the door. 
“Come inside, Swan, before the whole neighbourhood sees you,” he hissed. 
“Since when do you care about the neighbourhood?” 
“Since I have to live in it.” He glanced around then shut the door tightly. Emma went into to the living room and perched on the edge of the sofa, trying not to fidget. Killian followed but remained standing in the doorway, watching her with a dark scowl.
“What do you want?” he asked. 
“I told you—to talk.” 
“I don’t believe we have anything left to say to each other.” When she didn’t reply he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it you wish to discuss?”
“Your tattoo.” 
Emotion flashed in his eyes, apprehension and a hint of alarm. It flared just for an instant and then was gone, as thoroughly as if it had never been. Had she not been looking for it, Emma thought, had she not known how to read him as easily as he did her, she’d have missed it completely. “I have many tattoos,” he replied. 
“I’m talking about one in particular. The stars over your heart. It’s a constellation, isn’t it?” 
Killian’s face was like stone. “Aye.” 
“Which one?” 
“Swan—” 
“Exactly.” Emma pounced. “It’s Cygnus. The swan. You have a swan over your heart, Killian.” 
He shrugged. “What of it?” 
“What of it is I don’t think you get tattoos that have no meaning. You’ve got Milah on your arm, Liam on your shoulder, someone called Alice on your hip who I’m willing to bet is your mother, and over your heart is—is—” 
“Is you,” said Killian flatly. “Is that what you want to hear, Emma? The swan is obviously for you. Because I love you, and because I can’t resist torturing myself with permanent reminders of everyone I loved who is lost to me, etched into my bloody skin. Is that what you came here to get me to confess? It’s a poor confession when you already knew.” 
Guilt swamped her, heavy and suffocating. “I didn’t know,” she attempted to protest, her voice quiet but falling like lead in the face of his stark confession.  
Anger snapped in Killian’s eyes, fuelled by a pain she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t allowed herself to see. “Don’t lie to me, love, and don’t lie to yourself,” he snarled. “Of course you knew. You knew when I all but begged you not to go back to New York, and you still left. You knew when you slept with me and you still tried to sneak away before I awoke. You’ve always known exactly how I felt and it has never once stopped you from breaking my heart.” 
“Killian—” 
“No. I can’t hear this.” He ran a hand over his face. “Go now, Swan, and don’t come back.” 
“Don’t come back?” she choked. 
“What would be the point? We both know where we stand and I—” his voice broke “—I can’t live with a gaping wound in my chest.” He turned to look at her, his face for once not blank but open and raw and with a plea in his eyes that tore at her heart. “Please, Emma. If you care anything at all for me, leave me alone now. Let me have the chance to heal.” 
Emma’s brain was screaming at her to say something, stop him, don’t let this happen, don’t let him go. FIX THIS. But everything he said was true, every angry, hurtful word of it. She had known his feelings and had she had taken them for granted, even used them against him, never thinking of how that might hurt him. She’d caused him so much pain already that she couldn’t now refuse this one small, heartbreaking thing he asked of her. 
It’s too late. You pushed him away one time too many and now he’s gone. 
“I talked to your girlfriend, you know,” she said, forcing the words past the clawing ache in her chest. “At the restaurant, before you got there. She seems really nice.” She risked a look at his face and almost cringed at the wariness in his expression. “I’m glad you’ve found someone like her, Killian. I really am. You do deserve it. You deserve to be happy.” She stood and moved towards the door, refusing to be hurt by the way he visibly tensed as she drew near. “I—I hope you’ll be happy.” With one last look to fix his face forever in her memory she turned and ran from his house. 
When she got home Henry was back, sitting at the table with his homework. He looked up to greet her, the cheerful words dying on his lips when he saw her face. He jumped to his feet and hurried over to wrap her in a huge hug. Emma gripped him tightly and let the tears she felt like she’d been holding in forever finally, finally fall. She cried as she could never remember crying before, great heaving sobs that left her empty and drained and clinging limply to Henry’s shoulders.
“What can I do?” he begged. “Mom, tell me what I can do.”  
Emma sobbed again, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve him. “Do you think it’d be okay if I came back to Storybrooke with you this weekend?” she asked. “I just really don’t want to be alone.” 
“Are you kidding?” Henry smiled, a bright smile that did nothing to disguise his worry. “Grandma and Grandpa would love that!” 
“They would. What about Regina?” 
“Honestly, I think she’d be glad to see you too. Everyone would. People have missed you.” 
“And you wouldn’t mind me tagging along?” 
Henry hugged her again. “I’d love it.” 
They drove up to Storybrooke as soon as Henry finished school the next day, arriving at her parents’ loft just in time for dinner. Snow and David were as thrilled as Henry had predicted, hugging her between them, smiling widely with damp eyes. Emma found her own eyes growing damp as she leaned into the comfort of their embrace, her heart tripping when David gently cupped the back of her head. 
“Dinner’s almost ready,” said Snow when they finally pulled apart, cradling Emma’s face between her hands. “Why don’t you and Henry go sit at the table?” 
“Is there anything I can—” 
“Nope,” said Snow firmly. “It’s all under control.” 
Emma seated herself at the table between David and Henry and looked around at the loft. “Wow, have you guys changed anything in this place since I was here last?” she asked. 
“Um, I think those curtains are new,” said David absently as he attempted to wrestle a protesting Neal into his high chair. Henry grabbed a toy and distracted his uncle with it long enough for David to get the toddler’s legs through the holes and settle him in. Emma’s heart tripped again. Henry was so comfortable here, far more comfortable with her father and brother than she was, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. 
“We’re thinking of moving, actually,” said David, sitting down next to Emma. “There’s a farm just outside of town that’s for sale, we might buy it.” 
“You want to be a farmer?” said Emma blankly. 
“I grew up a shepherd,” he reminded her. “And this place won’t be big enough once Neal is older and wants his own room. Plus we haven’t entirely ruled out the idea of more kids. So I think it’s an opportunity we shouldn’t pass up. Your mother, on the other hand—” 
“I don’t object to it, exactly,” said Snow as she set a bowl of salad and a large platter of chicken on the table. “It would just mean a long commute if I’m going to keep working with Regina.” 
“You’re working with Regina?” 
“I’m the deputy mayor,” said Snow. 
“You are? Since when?” 
“Um, about two years now?” 
“Oh.” Emma fell silent as her parents launched into a debate on the merits of farm vs town in a way that made it clear that this was an old, comfortable discussion, frequently rehashed. Henry chimed in with a comment every now and then, egging them on, and Emma ate her chicken rather sullenly and tried not to feel left out. 
“So what’s it like being back in Boston after so long?” David asked her, when the conversation hit a lull. 
“It’s fine, I guess.” She shrugged. “A bit weird. I don’t normally like to go back to places I’ve left.”
An awkward silence fell and Emma felt herself flush. “I mean, I’m not saying I never would, but—” 
“How about you, Henry?” Snow jumped in. “How do you like Boston?” 
“It’s pretty cool. I like that there’s so much history. And my school’s really good.”
“Are you still having a hard time with math?” asked Snow, smiling fondly. “I remember that was always your downfall when you were in my class.” 
“No, actually, I’ve got a really great teacher at the new school.” Henry shot Emma a questioning look and she nodded. “It’s, um, actually it’s Hook.” 
“Hook?” David frowned. “What, like Hook Hook? He’s your teacher?” 
“Captain Hook?” said Snow. 
“How many Hooks do you know?” snapped Emma, irritated by their disbelief. 
“Well,” said Snow, now looking surprised at Emma’s vehemence. “It’s just a bit strange, isn’t it? That Hook’s a teacher?” 
“I don’t think so,” said Emma. “He always taught Henry stuff when he used to watch him before.”
“And my dad too,” said Henry. “In Neverland.” 
“Really?” asked David, still frowning. 
“Yeah. He’s the one who taught my dad how to navigate and how to sail. Seriously, Grandpa, he’s really good at it,” said Henry decisively. “Everyone loves his classes.” 
David shook his head. “Not that I don’t believe you, Henry, it’s just hard to imagine. It’s hard to imagine Hook as anything but a pirate.” 
“It’s not that hard,” retorted Emma, stabbing at a piece of lettuce on her plate. 
 “Well, you know, after Pan’s curse when we all landed back in the Enchanted Forest he could hardly wait to get back to his pirate’s life,” David pointed out. “He barely stayed with us for an hour.” 
“Though to be fair, it was mostly his ship he wanted to get back to,” said Snow. “And it’s not like that was an option for him here.” 
“That’s true,” David conceded. “I guess it’s hard to be a pirate when you’ve got no ship. He could’ve stolen one, but I genuinely did have the feeling he wanted to turn over a new leaf.” 
“Wait, wait—what do you mean, no ship?” demanded Emma. “What happened to his ship?” 
Snow, David, and Henry all turned to her in surprise. “Don’t you know?” asked Snow.
“Know what?” 
Snow and David exchanged a glance. “Hook traded his ship,” said David. “For the magic bean he needed to get to New York to find you. Didn’t he tell you?”
“He traded his ship…” Emma’s head began to spin. “For me?” 
“Well, yes, in a way,” said Snow. “Did he really not tell you?” 
“No. He never said a word.” 
“Well I guess we only know because David basically dragged it out of him,” said Snow. 
“He was moping around the town so much after you left,” said David. “Drinking and getting disruptive. I threw him in the cells for a night and in the morning tried to gently suggest he might be happier if he took his ship out for a few days to clear his head, and he said that would be a bloody challenge when Blackbeard had his ship.” 
“Blackbeard!” Henry exclaimed. “I didn’t know that part. He hates Blackbeard. Said he’s the worst kind of pirate, a man with no code and no honour. Why would he trade his ship to Blackbeard?” 
“He didn’t say. I guess he just really wanted to get back here and find Emma.” 
No one was looking at her but Emma could feel the weight of their attention, and she groped desperately for something to say, some way to respond to this revelation. But as always when she was overwhelmed with emotion, no words came. She poked at her food, feeling frozen and numb and so terribly sorry, and desperate for a distraction. 
One came a minute later in the form of a knock on the door. Emma had never been more glad in her life to see Regina, come to pick up Henry with Robin Hood and a delighted Roland at her side. In the bustle and confusion that followed their arrival, Emma slipped away to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, downing half of it in one gulp then pressing the cool glass to her temple as she tried to calm her turbulent thoughts.   
Regina hugged Henry and watched as he hugged Robin and Roland, smiling a smile that made Emma blink with a new shock of astonishment. It was unnervingly soft for the erstwhile Evil Queen, warm and happy. 
“What the hell happened to Regina?” she whispered to her mother when Snow came into the kitchen with their empty plates. 
“What do you mean?” Snow frowned. “She looks just the same to me.” 
“Yeah but remember I haven’t seen her in three years. She looks… well, she looks happy.” 
“She is happy,” said Snow. “She and Robin got married last year you know, and—” she broke off when she saw Emma’s face. “You didn’t know.” 
“Huh-uh.” 
“But didn’t Henry tell you? He gave her away.” 
“I—don’t really ask Henry about his visits here. And you never mentioned it.” 
“You don’t ever seem to want to talk about Storybrooke with me either,” Snow replied. “You ask how everyone is, but whenever I try to offer details you change the subject. Have you left this place behind so completely, Emma?” 
“I’ve tried to,” said Emma, in a burst of honesty. “I wanted to get away from all of it—magic and villains and being the Saviour. I never wanted any of that and I never really felt like I belonged here.” 
“You never really tried,” said Snow. “But there’s always a place for you in Storybrooke, sweetie, whenever you want to take it.” 
Killian parked his car in front of Granny’s and got out slowly, taking in the sight of the familiar streets and buildings with a resigned sigh. He hadn’t been back to Storybrooke since he’d moved to Brookline, hadn’t had any desire to return until seeing Emma again had stirred up all the old feelings he’d worked so hard to bury. This past week his new life had felt like it was suffocating him—the students who looked up to him, the colleagues who respected him, Anabel who loved him. All of them so obviously concerned by the shift in his mood, caring about him, and the weight of all the pretence he’d built around himself threatened to crush him. Not a single one of them truly knew him, what he was and the things he’d done, the life he’d led for so very many blood-soaked years, and Killian hadn’t been able to bear another second of their kindness.  
The Rabbit Hole was just as he remembered, loud and raucous and full of people playing their own game of pretend, fuelled by alcohol and shielded by the brittle jocundity of such places. He looked around for Tink but couldn’t see her, and though he strained his ears could hear nothing over the pounding music. He pushed through the crowd towards the bar where he finally caught sight of her, perched on her knees atop a barstool and waving him over. 
“Hey!” she cried, leaping down from the stool and throwing her arms around him. He froze in surprise for a minute then tentatively hugged her back. 
“Tink,” he said cautiously. “Is everything okay?” 
“Yeah, fine.” She released him and stepped back, grinning as she took him in. “I guess I just missed you.” 
“That’s new,” he snorted. 
“Well you used to call me, if you remember, the first year or so after you left. Now I barely hear a word for months on end until suddenly you text to say you’ll be here in three hours and can I put you up for the night. So I have to ask, is everything okay with you?” 
Killian tried to summon his old cocky grin and some quip to reassure her, but they refused to come. Everything wasn’t okay, far, far from it, and he knew this was at the root of his spur of the moment decision to come back to Storybrooke. He needed to talk to someone who truly knew him, all of him, and who had known him at his worst. Tink was, as strange as it may be to think about, his best friend. 
“No,” he said, and watched her eyes widen at the stark honesty of his reply. “I’m not okay. At all.” 
Tink’s face softened and she looped her arm through his, and he let her lead him to an empty pair of stools at the very end of the bar. They sat and Tink ordered a bottle of rum and two glasses, then rested her hand just above his prosthetic and listened, keeping his glass filled as he told her everything. He told her of how hard he’d worked to make a place for himself in this land and build a new life to go with it, and how at times he felt that he’d succeeded in that aim but at others felt a complete fraud. He spoke about his job and how much he loved it and the joy of helping his students learn, but how he still felt unworthy of the trust placed in him by the school and by their parents. He told her about Anabel and how much he wished that he was whole enough to love her and then finally, haltingly, he spoke of Emma. About seeing her again and all that had occurred between them, and the way he’d spiralled afterwards into a depression so deep he wasn’t sure he could recover.
“I’m so tired of living sometimes,” he said. “You know what I mean.” It wasn’t a question but Tink nodded anyway, memories of long nights spent sharing rum and companionship in Neverland hanging thick between them. “Obviously time passes differently there, you have less of a—a sense of it passing, but—” 
“But it still passes,” she said. 
“Aye. It still passes, and I’ve passed so bloody much of it. And sometimes I think about how in terms of the physical age of my body I’m only about thirty-five. I could live another fifty or sixty years, easily, what with the medical marvels in this realm, and at times I just wonder—” he drew a deep breath “—I wonder if that’s really what I want.” 
“You want to die?” Tink asked carefully. 
“Not precisely.” Killian tossed back his rum and she poured him some more. “I’m just exhausted by the prospect of more living. Does that make any sense at all?” 
Tink nodded, sipping her own drink before speaking. “Years can be a burden,” she said. “Fairies are immortal so we don’t feel them the same way humans do, but we see how they affect you. Most humans your physical age would still have a lot left to look forward to but you’ve already lived the lifetimes of at least three men. It’s understandable that the prospect of living another might feel overwhelming.” 
“So what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”
“Well, assuming you don’t actually want to end your life?” 
“I don’t,” he assured her. Though he couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind in his more desperate moments, Killian had fought too hard for his survival to ever end himself by his own hand. 
“Then you have to find something to live for,” said Tink. “Or someone?” 
He shook his head. “Emma doesn’t want me.” 
“It doesn’t have to be Emma.” 
“It can’t be anyone else,” he muttered, glowering into the depths of his glass. “Not for me.” 
“You felt that way about Milah too.” 
“I thought I did, but this is different. Milah and I—we were in love but our relationship wasn’t healthy. I can see that now. We didn’t bring out the best in each other; in fact we probably brought out the worst. She wanted the cocksure pirate and so I leaned into that role, for her. We both leaned into it, and we enjoyed it, the plunder and the destruction and the casual cruelty. I think it made us both feel powerful.” He sipped his rum and shot a sideways glance at Tink, who was watching him attentively and still without judgement. 
“But Emma, though,” Killian continued, setting his glass down and flexing his fingers around it. “Emma makes me want to be better. Even when I thought I’d never see her again, even though I know we’ll never be together I still want to be the man she inspired me to become.” He squeezed the glass harder, almost hoping it would shatter in his hand. “But then, if I’m only being that man because of her is that truly who I am? And how can I try to build a life with someone like Anabel when I know I can’t love her as she deserves and I’m only even remotely like someone she might want because of my feelings for another woman?”
Tink wrapped her arms around one of his and squeezed it sympathetically, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wish I had an answer for you, Hook,” she said. “But who you truly are, or can be, is a question you have to work out for yourself.” She paused as they both drank. “Have you ever considered telling Anabel about your past?” 
He snorted. “Tell a sensible science teacher from the land without magic that I’m Captain Hook? Oh yes that would go over brilliantly.” 
“That’s not what I meant,” said Tink. “I meant telling her a modified version of what happened to you, with your parents and Liam and Milah. Letting her see a bit more of who you are and what shaped you.” 
“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I’ve thought about it. I genuinely don’t know if it would help or just be a burden on her. For all she knows I’m just a normal man born in Bristol, England in 1981. How would I even begin to fit parental abandonment, a dead brother, and two tragic romances into that man’s life?”
“Two?” 
“She already knows about Emma.” 
“Right. Well, you’d have to get creative, but if it helped her know you better? At least you could try.” 
Killian drank again then tightened his arm to pull Tink closer, resting his cheek on her head as the the pleasant haze he craved began to settle over his mind. “Do you know why I fell in love with Emma?” he asked. Tink shook her head, her hair tickling his nose. “It wasn’t her courage or her kindness or her beauty, though those are all contributing factors. It was because she understood me. We understood each other, from the very beginning, in a way I’d never known before. It scares her but I—I crave it. And that’s what’s missing with Anabel and with every other woman I’ve known, even Milah. That connection of the whole self. It’s something that can’t be forced or—or brought into being. It is or it isn’t, and that’s that.” 
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure that I don’t have the energy to sort through all of this realm’s women in hopes of finding a pale reflection of it. I’ve found the love of my life, Tink. It took three centuries but I found her, and I offered her my heart, and she refused it. I don’t think the answer is to try to patch over that wound with another woman. I don’t know what the answer is. Perhaps there isn’t one.” 
He frowned as Tink tensed against him, her eyes going wide. “Perhaps the answer is Emma,” she said. “And you just haven’t asked the right questions yet.” 
He followed her gaze and felt his jaw clench. Tink clung to him for another brief moment, whispering in his ear. “She might still be your answer, Hook. Don’t lose hope just yet.” 
Once Henry left to spend the night with Regina and her parents went to put Neal to bed, Emma muttered something about taking a walk and fled the loft, desperate for some space and time alone to sort through her muddled thoughts. As painful and chaotic as they were she knew she had to think them, and feel the feelings that they brought. Already she’d lost so much by trying to run from her feelings. More even than she’d known. 
Killian had given up everything for her. That was the thought that kept echoing in her brain. He’d given up his ship, his home, his most prized possession. He’d given it to a man he hated, all so that he could get back to her, knowing she wouldn’t even remember him. All to bring her back to her family. Her home. 
And what had she done? She’d scorned him and pushed him away, denied her feelings and run away from them and from him the first chance she got. No wonder he was so hurt. No wonder that pain had turned to anger. He should be angry, she thought in disgust, he should hate her. Yet she knew that despite everything he didn’t. He may not want anything to do with her anymore but he didn’t hate her. She almost wished he did. It might actually make the weight of her guilt and regret easier to bear. 
For the first time in her adult life Emma actually, genuinely faced her feelings, and thought seriously about what they were and what they meant. She didn’t love Killian, not the way he loved her, but she could. All the elements were there, from the way they had always understood each other to how easily she’d trusted him to the electric sizzle of their sexual chemistry. It was that could that had scared her, sent her running three years ago. The vulnerability it represented, the loss of control, terrified her. It felt like standing at the edge of an abyss with her her toes hanging over the edge and a gale force wind at her back. She’d fallen into that abyss before with terrible consequences, but then Killian was not Neal. She knew, somehow, beyond any doubt, that if she let Killian Jones into her life he’d never leave her. 
If she had let him in. It was too late now. 
She began to cry again, not with the wrenching sobs she’d cried the day before but with heavy, drenching tears that flooded her cheeks and dripped off her chin faster than she could wipe them away. Her chest felt hollowed out, aching and empty and hopeless.
She caught sight of the neon sign for the Rabbit Hole and swerved abruptly to her right, cutting across the street without looking for cars. Fortunately there were none. This was Storybrooke, after all, even on a Saturday night. And she really, really wanted a drink. 
The Rabbit Hole was fairly busy, its noise and bustle comfortingly familiar. Emma kept her head down as she moved towards the bar, hoping no one would recognise her. It wasn’t until she was nearly there that she spotted Killian. 
He was sitting at the end of the bar with a half empty bottle of rum and Tinkerbelle beside him, her arms looped through his and her head on his shoulder. The obvious, comfortable intimacy between them sharpened the ache in Emma’s chest and reminded her of her suspicions about what their relationship had been in Neverland. She was certain it was more than either of them had let on. 
As she stood frozen and wondering what to do, Tink looked up, her eyes widening in recognition. Killian frowned and followed her gaze and when he saw Emma the look that flashed across his face nearly broke her heart. He shook Tink off and stood up, tossing back the rest of his glass of rum and heading for the door. 
Before she could think better of it, Emma spun on her heel and took off after him. She caught his arm just before he could reach the door and he spun around, yanking it from her grip. 
“Bloody hell, Swan, can I never be free of you!” he cried, and the hopeless defeat in his voice made her tears well again. She forced herself to remember that his feelings were justified, that she had done this to him and that he didn’t owe her forgiveness or anything else. 
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here and I don’t want to bother you, but Killian—” 
“What?” 
“My dad—he told me what you did. How you traded your ship for a magic bean to come find me in New York.” 
A faint flush coloured Killian’s cheeks and he shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing,” he said. “Anyone would have—”
“No, anyone definitely would not have,” cried Emma fiercely. “You gave up everything you had to get me back here and then I just turned my back on it, and on you. And I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Killian, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I wanted you to know.” 
He swallowed hard and gave her a small, guarded smile. “You made what you thought was the best decision for yourself and Henry,” he said gruffly. “That’s all anyone can do. I’m just glad you’re happy.” 
“But I’m not,” she burst out. “I’m not. I mean, I’m not unhappy exactly but I miss—I miss you.” She heard his sharp intake of breath but barrelled on before she could lose her nerve. For once in her life she knew just the words she wanted to say and she was going to say them. 
“And you were right,” she continued. “I knew how you felt about me and I threw it back in your face and pushed you away whenever I could. I was scared of my own feelings, of how strong they were, and I know that’s no excuse but all my life I’ve always run from things like that. I run from things that make me feel too much and I still can’t believe that anyone could really care as much about me as you seemed to and so I ran before I could find out that you didn’t. I know I hurt you. It wasn’t always unintentional, and God, Killian, I am so fucking sorry for that too.” 
She swallowed hard, twisting her hands together, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her but not daring to meet it. “And I know that there’s no chance for—for us anymore but I wanted you to know how much I regret it. There’s nothing in my life I regret more than ruining things between us before they could even really start.” 
Gathering her courage she looked up at him, and caught her own breath at the expression on his face, that soft, intense expression she’d missed so much. “Do you want there to be a chance?” he said hoarsely. “If there was a chance, would you—could you take it?” 
Emma gasped again as hope exploded in her heart and it began to race. She nodded. “Yeah. I think I could. I would.” 
“You think?”
She stepped closer, looking up at him, hardly daring to breathe. Music pounded through the air around them, voices shouted, bodies danced, and they were the only two people in the world. 
“I could,” Emma whispered, “I can and I will if—if that’s what you want too?”
Killian drew a shaky breath and his fingers trembled as he reached up to caress her face, brushing softly across her cheek before sliding into her hair. He pressed his lips to hers in the gentlest kiss of any they had shared, a butterfly’s wing of a kiss, a kiss of promise and forgiveness and hope. Emma sighed into it as it slowly deepened, as Killian’s fingers tightened on the back of her head and hers gripped his jacket and she couldn’t suppress a moan. 
When they broke apart she was breathless and dizzy and he was beaming, a bright, dazed grin that made her heart soar as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you really mean it, Emma?” he whispered. “You really want—” 
“You,” she said. “Yeah. I want you, and I want us.” 
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m yours, love,” he said. “As you know.” 
“Just like that?” Emma pulled back enough to look at his face while keeping her arms tight around him. “After all the hurt I caused you, you can just forgive me?” 
“Aye, just like that. I’m not saying all the hurt is healed or that we don’t have  things to work through. But of course I can forgive you. I love you.” 
“Killian—” 
“Shhhh, let’s just leave it there for now,” he said. “It’s nothing we didn’t both already know. We’ll work on the other half later.” 
“Later,” Emma murmured, snuggling back into his arms. “I like the way that sounds.” 
@thisonesatellite​ @katie-dub​ @mariakov81 @stahlop @teamhook @kmomof4 @shireness-says @thejollyroger-writer​ @snowbellewells​ @jennjenn615​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ 
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chiwhorei · 4 years
Text
hello, my paradise
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Autumn has cascaded around the city of Paris once again, and Tendou Saroti is reminded of how beautiful his life has truly become.
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pairing: domestic punk!s. tendou x fem!reader
genre: post time-skip, a tiny dash of angst but mostly just sweet, soft fluff
word count: 2k
warnings: manga/timeskip spoilers
a/n: hello! this is the first full piece i’ve posted in a while, and i am so excited to share what’s been hiding in google docs for a month. Special thanks to @heyybrittannia for keeping me upright and providing constant encouragement and support while writing my soft tendou dreams, you really keep me glued together sometimes.
hymns: “I Love You, I Love You. It’s Disgusting” by: Broadside, “Home” by: Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, and “Isn’t She Lovely” by: Stevie Wonder
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The dribbling of the ball rings heavily in Tendou’s ear, signaling the final point. 19-21. There is stillness in his lungs, a calm, contemplative feeling washes over him as the crowd roars to life in equal parts surprise and thrill. His face turns upwards, taking in the feeling of his sweat cooling on his skin. The jittering of his heart. The tension of his muscles. Just one more time.
“Farewell, my paradise.”
Tendou Satori jiggles the door handle a final time to ensure the shop is locked. He sent his staff off an hour ago, but couldn’t help but flesh out a new recipe rattling around in his brain. Now, he can finally head home. He wraps the thick, red scarf tighter to keep the ink swirled across his skin nice and warm against the biting, evening air. Before departing, he unravels the top of the white paper bag crinkled in his hand, three pumpkin shaped chocolates lay inside. “Perfect,” he smiles fondly at the treats, “they will love these.”
Tendou can’t help being especially contemplative as he begins walking home. Paris is enough to be in awe of even after years of residency, but Paris in the fall? With colorful leaves littering the streets like festival confetti and bright orange pumpkins on every doorstep. Tendou has only seen two things more beautiful in his whole life. Autumn, he thinks, has to be the most special time of year. The chilly air and cozy sweaters have always comforted Tendou Satori, loving the first morning he can see his breath like smoke in the air. Moreover, five falls ago, he met the woman that would change his life.
Shortly after finishing culinary school, Tendou accepts an apprenticeship in Paris. He packs two large suitcases, buys a one-way ticket, and moves into the smallest, dingiest apartment in existence. It’s not a lot to start a whole life with, but he’s always been especially resourceful.
“FRENCH FOR BEGINNERS! THURSDAYS AT 4PM”
One afternoon, while grabbing lunch at a cafe Tendou spots a bright yellow flyer in a sea of other adverts. He has gotten along well enough with speaking English and using google translate, but something compels him to sign up. What is there to lose? A few hours a week sitting in a squeaky desk going over basic vocabulary doesn't sound any worse than mulling around, alone, in his apartment. Ushijima will be relieved at the respite of 3 am calls to talk about the weeks Jump. For reasons he didn’t know yet, Thursdays would become his favorite day of the week.
You’re busy scribbling notes on the white board when you hear the footfall of someone behind you. You greet the man with a smile as he seems to contemplate every chair in the room before sitting directly in front, he’s tall, you note, and seems a little intimidating. He’s dressed in all black, the only color being his bright red eyes and matching, shaved hair. As he rids himself of his leather jacket, you see his arms covered in colorful tattoos. It seems like he wants to look unapproachable, but the way his brows knit together in concentration, debating between the blue and black pens in his fingers, is remarkably endearing.
Noticing you probably look strange staring at him, you turn back to the task at hand. Basic greetings litter the board in both French and English, and you groan at the realization that someone had placed the eraser at the very top of the frame. You bounce on your toes, lifting one leg in a feeble attempt to gain any extra inches.
Tendou watches the fight between you and the eraser for a moment before deciding he would provide backup. He reaches up and grabs the object, turning to drop it in your awaiting hands and getting a good look at you for the first time. You’re definitely not what he expects, assuming the class would be held by a grumpy old woman and not someone who looks about the same age as himself. His height towers over you and he worries that you’ll recoil at his appearance, as it isn’t the most inviting. He fidgets with the silver ring in his eyebrow while trying to remember any French to introduce himself, but your smile is rendering speech in any dialect quite impossible.
“It’s okay, I speak English. How else would I teach you another language?”  Your sweet accent catches his ears like a spell, and the light, welcoming sarcasm blooms a rosy tint to his cheeks.
“Right, that makes sense.”
Tendou always finds himself to be the very first person in class. Your casual conversation in the minutes before other people file in becomes the best part of his whole week. One particularly rainy October afternoon, as Satori picks up coffee before class a small, wobbly voice lilts from behind him.
“It’s nice to see you Tendou-san.” You say with shaky delivery and he spins around at the sound of his mother-tongue, clear surprise on his face. You heat under his confused stare, worried that the greeting you had been practicing came out incorrectly. You hadn’t expected to see him here, but the greeting tumbled out before you could edit yourself when his familiar form came into view. A wide, toothy grin splits across his face and the pit in your stomach is replaced with a thrumming of butterflies.
The idea that you had looked up japanese greetings just to talk to him makes the back of his knees feel like jelly, but he composes himself.
“Satori. Appelle-moi comme Satori.”
“Satori it is then.” God, the way his name rolls off of your tongue should come with a warning label.
The ding of Satori’s cellphone pulls him back to the present, fishing it out of his pocket, he smiles when your name flashes across the screen.
Y/n<3: Your little monster is craving chocolate. I don’t know how long I can hold him at bay. Also, Akiko want’s to show you her new “awesome spike”
Satori: I’ll be home soon, my love. Tell my monsters I come bearing offerings so they don’t burn down the harvest.
He snorts at the message, feet carrying him over crinkling leaves with new vigor. Tendou Akiko, with hair red like fire. With deep, contemplative e/c eyes to match her mother’s and a smile that would eclipse the sun, is awaiting her father's anxious return.
“Sir, excuse me sir,” Satori hears the warbled sound of someone talking to him through the blood rushing in his ears. He snaps his head to look at the nurse, “would you like to hold your daughter, Mr. Tendou.” His body shakes violently, wracked with nine months of nerves, but you reach an exhausted hand out in reassurance. Your smile steadies him, and puts out his trembling arms to receive a tiny, pink package.
Akiko’s tiny hand wraps around one of Satori’s tattooed, sugar-burnt fingers. Nothing else has ever felt like this, like his heart was ripped open to make room for the tiny creature in his arms to be placed snugly inside. He starts bouncing on the balls of his feet, cooing his daughter like the action had been seared into his brain just to be utilized in this moment.
“She looks just like you, ‘Tori.” you roll your head to look up at him with the same sweet smile he’s fallen in love with every day for two years now. Satori doesn’t notice the tears escaping until one falls onto the sleeping bundle in his arms. Akiko stirs, opening her eyes to meet her father’s.
Tendou decides that he would rip down the curtains of time and space to keep his precious, Autumn child safe.
As the welcoming sight of his yellow apartment door comes into view, Satori can already hear the singing of Akiko on the other side. Turning the doorknob, he is greeted with a familiar song.
“Baki baki ni ore, nani wo?” A high-pitched voice sings to herself, voice melting into a squeal as Satori walks inside. The warmth of the fireplace and smell of cider scented candles is a welcoming escape from the cold night air. He sings the next lyric to an impromptu duet as Akiko throws herself in his arms.
“Kokoro wo dayo” he bounces her on his hip, grabbing one of her chubby hands to dance their way towards the kitchen, spinning her around as if they are waltzing in a grand ballroom.
“I can’t believe you taught her that song, Tori.” You chide, waddling from the bubbling pot on the stove to the pair of redheads. Satori pulls you into his chest as far as your bump will allow, smooshing you and Akiko into a hug that licks away any stress from the workday still hanging on his shoulders.
“Hello, my paradise.” Satori pulls you into his lips, the display eliciting a grimace from the toddler sandwiched in your hold. The nickname echoes in your ears heavily every time he says it, a promise written in the air between you. Your arms are home, his paradise.
“Papa, magic!” Akiko pouts, squirming in Tendou’s arms. He sets his daughter down and turns away from her for a moment to slide a chocolate pumpkin into his hand. He crouches down and brings the candy to her ear, pulling it towards her awaiting eyes, as it had definitly been waiting there for him to grab all day.
The small girl howls in delight at the acquired treat and gives Tendou a kiss on the cheek as payment. Your husband stands back up, pulling out two more chocolates, one for you and one for his son, and delights in the mix of excitement and relief in your face as you pop one in your mouth.
“How’s my little ace doing? Ready to come out and meet us, huh?” Satori rubs at your swollen belly, thumbing against the large sweater of his where it stretches on your round middle.
“Little man better make his grand entrance soon. This is exhausting.” You groan at the ache in your back that is holding tension from every second of the past 39 weeks.
“Mon amor, you look so beautiful like this. Let’s have at least a few more.” Satori pulls your hands to his lips, kissing every knuckle.
“We can have more when you’re the one going through labor, Miracle Boy.” rolling your eyes at his lower lip jutting out and patting his cheek. You turn back to finish up dinner while Tendou follows Akiko’s wailing from the other room.
“Set for me, Papa.” the chunky toddler rolls a volleyball towards his awaiting hands as he sits cross legged on the carpet in front of her. Tendou gently tosses the ball to her, watching as she misses most times, but he swears he can see some potential in her clumsy bumps back and forth.
“You know what, princess? I think you’re ready to face Uncle Toshi when he visits in a couple weeks” Satori says and Akiko lights up at the mention of her godfather’s name.
After dinner, as Akiko ate all of her food without complaint, Tendou settles down with her on his chest to watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown for the 7th time in a week. You sit cuddled into his side, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your belly.
As Akiko nuzzles into Satori’s neck and traces her small fingers around the ink on his collarbones, he feels the clicking of pieces falling together perfectly. The road to this very moment was bumpy to say the least, marred in an itching fear. What am I but a monster? 
A hole he could never quite find the right shape to slot in the empty space. But that spot was never the dark abyss he had assumed, rather an awaiting table you had made reservations for long before that crisp fall afternoon in a dusty community center. 
Just as the puzzle is becoming a clearer picture in his sights, another piece is about to find its home, and Satori is met with your sharp squeal and trembling words.
“Uh, ‘Tori, I think your little ace is ready to meet us.”
Another bright, Autumn child.
Another paradise.
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all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️
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321 notes · View notes
black-wolf066 · 6 years
Text
Happy Hour Hysteria
Summary: (Season 7) Flu season has hit Hyperion Heights and Regina is in over her head at the bar. Thankfully Henry and Rogers are there to help.
Words: 2153
((((((A/N: This is a prompt idea that I couldn’t resist taking. The squad goals started off so strong at the beginning of the season and then we saw nothing else from the three since, haha. Tagging @theonceoverthinker for her help with the title, it went from “Happy Hour Mania” to “Happy Hour Hysteria”.
Prompt idea by @mcbrideannemgt
Roni’s Bar. I’d like to see an episode in Season7 where Roni’s bar is so busy that she asks Rogers and Henry to help man the bar and they agree. It turns out they are brilliant at pouring drinks, serving customers etc. Total team effort impressing Roni completely. Rogers takes no nonsense from drunk customers either
Anyway onward with the story. I hope I did your prompt justice!)))))
Happy Hour Hysteria
Flu season.
Every small business owner's worst nightmare.
Roni's was beyond crowded, and with Regina's staff of two down for the count, she was definitely in for quite a rough night.
Though in the beginning, it hadn’t exactly started out that way.
It had gone as per usual in her routine as a bartender. The regulars had all showed up right after work, patrons that Regina absolutely loved dealing with because she knew exactly how to handle them (keep the alcohol flowing and they typically kept to themselves). Roughly after nine, the hordes had picked up as if on cue. It was a Friday night after all and as the younger masses came in to celebrate their weekend, the older regulars had left before the establishment got too loud with chatter and music.
It was all something Regina could handle with or without Adam and Mia there to help. Nothing more than a normal night on the job. What wasn’t normal was the fact that they didn’t stop coming from all angles of her bar.
The inside and the veranda were bursting at the seams with people of all ages and sizes; the number undoubtedly beyond what was considered safe for fire code and regulation.
And as she scrambled around to fill orders and sanitize glasses to reuse; only one thought crossed her mind in all the chaos. If she got fined for anything tonight, Lucille would be swinging giddily while her fireballs were currently out of commission.
“Hey, sweet cheeks! We need more beers!”
And if that buffoon at the far corner table didn’t stop yelling and calling her sweet cheeks, the baseball bat was coming out sooner.
In all the rushed motions to get everyone served, she almost missed the movement from the corner of her eye as someone boldly walked behind the counter. She whirled around; about ready to rip the person a new asshole, when she froze.
Henry took only a second to grin sheepishly and apologetically for startling her, before bending to grab three Bud-Lights from the mini fridge to help serve the next impatient group of patrons.
Regina relaxed and smiled briefly in relief at his profile.
Help had arrived in the form of her cursed son, and with a bit of the pressure lifting at his arrival; she dove right back into the fray.
(***)
“Sorry about earlier; it just looked like you could use the help.” Henry finally stated the moment they were given a small respite.
“Don’t apologize,” she answered immediately as she garnished a glass with an orange slice and filled it with Blue Moon from the tap. “Your arrival was a godsend tonight.”
“What happened, anyway?” He pivoted to grab the Skyy vodka from the middle shelf to pour out three shots. “Where are Adam and Mia?”
“Flu,” was her one worded response as the masses picked up again.
(***)
Somewhere along the second wave of customers, Rogers had shown up.
At first, Regina thought he was called in for a complaint. It was exactly what she didn’t want or need at the moment; which gave her all the more reason to believe it was the case.
Thankfully, it wasn’t so.
He was dressed down far too casually to be on duty or on call tonight, and his stance wasn’t stiff but relaxed. As he moved away from the entrance, she glimpsed him staring at the crowd in bewilderment before she had to look away to grab the money for the Jaeger Bombs.
“Oh crap,” she barely heard Henry mutter over the loud din.
“What?”
“I forgot I invited Rogers to meet me here.” He answered as he briefly waved when Rogers’ attention finally shifted to the two of them. “He’s been so adrift after the Eloise case; I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get him out and about more.”
“So you invite a recovering alcoholic to hang out at a bar?” she deadpanned.
“I invited him to meet me here.” Henry repeated; the old, familiar sass allowing Regina just a moment to believe that the curse was broken and everything was alright. “We were supposed to go see a movie.”
“Well,” she waved him away as she took another order. “Don’t let me and this place stop you.”
Before Henry could retort at her dismissive behavior (she honestly didn’t mean to sound so flippant, but there were more important matters to attend to at the moment); Rogers walked behind the counter, nodding with a smile of greeting and understanding as he shifted to help. Regina was just about to tell him he didn’t have to, but his gentle smile and piercing eyes prevented the words from tumbling out.
So they worked; each one of them forming an efficient rhythm around each other with ease. Henry—she knew—could handle it; having heard the stories involving Lucy’s ballet recital. It was Rogers; however, that she found herself more impressed with. He may not have been as graceful as his counterpart, but he was holding his own fairly well with mixing and pouring out the orders.
But the more they operated around each other, the more the pangs in her heart grew (almost screaming to be noticed). She didn’t have the time to notice it though. Didn’t have the time to contemplate or reminisce on how well they had worked as a team even back in the Enchanted Forest.
At least, she didn’t have the time to think about it until she finally did.
By the stroke of midnight, the crowds had slowly ebbed and dwindled to something more controllable. The nightlife in her bar was still lively, but they no longer had the hordes blocking up the counter and stools—the space currently being occupied by a group of frat boys egging each other on with shots of tequila and lime.
With the extra manpower—despite thanking them and reassuring that she could handle it from this point on—Regina was finally able to wait on and clean up the tables. It was as she was wiping down one of the booths; her eyes traveling back to watch the boys man the counter, that those thoughts reared their ugly heads.
It was comforting and heartbreaking all at once to have them both near again but not have them remember her. To have Henry not recognize her as his mother for the second time in their lives. To have all her painstaking progress with Killian—of getting him to break down his walls and open up—unraveled back to the start. She missed how her son—even with a daughter of his own—still came to her for advice as he and Ella raised Lucy. She missed those quiet nights with Killian spent conversing and reminiscing when sleep eluded them both. She missed the others too, she missed Ella and Tiana and the bear hugs Lucy would give her. She missed how Henry could get Jack so worked up over Star Wars (her son had and still was a natural storyteller; Jack didn’t need to see the movies to fall in love with the tale and its characters).
She—
“Hey, sweet cheeks! Another round of beers for me and the boys!”
Regina startled out of her thoughts, and the moment the words sunk in; she huffed out air through her flared nostrils in annoyance.
In spite of her bar being overly busy (a recipe for disaster if there ever was one), there surprisingly hadn’t been as many incidences tonight as she originally thought—the few rowdier ones easy to manage between the three of them and whoever they came to the bar with. Regina had a feeling it was due to Rogers’ continued presence. Most of them knew he was a detective for the district of Hyperion, and whether he was on duty or not, none of them seemed willing to test their luck with him—not when he’d pierce them with a look that words couldn’t manage when things started to get out of hand.
Then there was the corner table; the loud jackass with his equally loud and boisterous friends.
She was thankful that, during the wave, one of the quieter men—designated driver by the looks of it—would come up and order their pitchers of preferred ale for the group. But that still didn’t stop Pig McGee and his loud mouth from being heard over the din of noise every once in a while.
“Sweet cheeks, ya listenin’?!”
The thin ice that was her patience for him broke into several sharp pieces.
“When you start talking to the owner of this establishment with respect, then maybe she will.” Rogers answered before she could pivot around and give him a piece of her mind.
A few surrounding bystanders quieted to watch the exchange as Rogers moved from behind the bar; standing tall with the no-nonsense air surrounding him as he walked.
“Who asked you?!” The burly buffoon shot back.
“Mike, take it easy man.” The sober friend piped up with his hand on Mike’s shoulder; warily eyeing Rogers and the scowl on his face as he came closer. “This isn’t worth getting kicked out.” The others at the table murmured in agreement.
“Heed your friends’ advice, mate.”
“Not your mate.” Mike sneered as he clumsily stood. He was easily a head and a half taller than Rogers, and solidly built like a mountain; and from the corner of her eye, Regina could see Henry reaching under the counter for Lucille. “I ain’t disrespecting nobody. All we want are some beers,” he gestured around. “This is a bar, ain’t it? So why don’t you go back behind that counter, and let the pretty lady serve us.”
“Mike, he’s a cop, I’m not bailing you out if you get locked in the drunk-tank again.” The sober friend tried yet again, with one of the others standing to help.
“I suggest you either sit down or get out.” Regina affirmed and cut off whatever Mike was going to say; stepping forward before things could get any more out of hand. “This is still my bar, and if you continue to disturb myself or my patrons.” She gestured to everyone as a whole, but she was mostly referring to the group of women who had had to move tables to get away from them. “Then I have the right to kick you out and not allow you back in.”
Mike looked ready to argue—his face no longer flushed from the alcohol—but Rogers and a few other men moved to stand next to her.
“Come on, man, let’s just leave. S’not worth it.” Mike’s third friend slurred as he and the fourth man stood and pulled their coats off the back of the chairs.
There was more back and forth, but eventually, the four left; Regina cringing when the door was slammed shut more forcibly then was necessary from Mike.
Well, at least the glass didn’t break. She mused as she thanked the men for their help. She then turned her full attention on Rogers, stopping him with a hand on his arm before he could go back to the counter.
“Thank you.” she shot him a grateful smile and squeezed his forearm gently to show the sincerity of her words.
He smiled humbly back, his cheeks and the tips of his ears tinting a slight pink as he responded to take the praise away from himself. “Yes, well, you looked more like Negan then Roni for a second there; figured it was only right to step in.”
She snorted and smacked his shoulder. “You know I don’t watch that show.”
“Yet you still got the reference.” He responded with a wider grin.
(***)
By the time the bar closed at two, and everything was cleaned up and restocked by two-forty-five; the three of them were exhausted as they moved and collapsed into one of the booths.
“Thank you, I don’t think I could have survived tonight without you both.” Regina stated as she raised her can of soda in a toast.
Henry and Rogers did the same.
“With all the free beers I’ve been grabbing, it’s the least I can do. Gotta earn my keep somehow.” Henry joked.
“Not to mention the replacement cake and all the beignets you sent to the station.” At Regina’s startled look, Rogers raised a brow and grinned. “Didn’t think I would notice that, did you?”
“Hell of a cop.” She responded with a mirth-filled huff. “To friends.”
She clinked her can with theirs as they chorused back, “To friends.”
Regina didn’t know how she was going to break the curse and save Henry at the same time, but she wouldn’t give up. It was just the low moment before the hero fought back. That’s what Henry always believed, and so too would she.
She had her boys and their family to protect after all.
53 notes · View notes
stunudo · 7 years
Text
New Around Here
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A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction
Featuring: Hotch x Female Reader         Setting: Late Season 12
A/N: Happy Smuturday! This is following my dreams of what Hotch and Jack are up to now. Also unprotected sex, wrap it up folks! Also the ending sucks formatting wise. Hooray for mobile and not getting still.xoxo Stu
The bearded man had been coming into the diner nearly every weekday for lunch for the last two weeks. The only reason you noticed him at all was he tended to nod at you in your usual booth in the corner, that and he was rather attractive. You guessed he knew you were the boss by the way you knew the regular’s by name and kept busy on your laptop scheduling the deliveries and checking the accounts.
Today was about that time to make a formal introduction, since he had become your latest regular after all. You waited until he was served his Tuna Melt before beginning your usual circle through the dining area. Elsie was the Tues-Thurs-Sat server and you were glad you had her diligence on your staff. She smiled warmly as you started in the far corner, “Y/N? Will you drop off Table 5′s check for me?”
“Sure thing, Elsie. Good job today, that late breakfast crowd was brutal.”
She shrugged, “Eh, no biggie, they were generous too.”
The Gerritsens were in the back booth, like every Thursday. An old couple that had matching windbreakers on despite the bright afternoon outside. They had been married for 58 years and made sure everyone knew it. Then there was Old Tom, perched at the counter grumbling at the day time talk show hosts, his extra bacon BLT half finished as he slurped his fourth coffee refill.
These faces were like home, imperfect yet welcoming. You felt so lucky to have them come back week after week.
Aaron was getting used to the pace of his day, which naturally meant much less structure than when he led the BAU. He had started teaching at the local community college along the California- Nevada border. His alias was that of a newly divorced dad from Minnesota, the Marshals had arranged him to become James Spivey. Jack had been given the name Jordan, a slightly easier transition than his father. He was adjusting to the new school and making friends quickly.
Considering Peter Lewis was still on the run, the Hotchners were given a larger security detail than most Witness Protection participants. Aaron felt his shadow at all times, but so far the civilians hadn’t caught on. Jack’s Marshals were posing as security guards at school and they regrouped in shifts at the small family’s residence. Lecturing gave him some thing to do and let him use his experience without exposing his past. The diner just off the small campus gave Aaron a respite from socializing with the other faculty.
He ate his deliciously fried sandwich before starting his side salad, because no one was here to scold him. The lovely owner was making her way to touch base with her regulars, which was earlier than her usual routine. Aaron had noticed her over the course of his time in town and how she seemed to brighten the mood of everyone she interacted with. He had learned she had inherited the diner from an uncle and left a career in Nursing somewhere in the South. Profiling was not an easily forgotten ability; he had figured she was single and a workaholic.
“Need anything else today Professor?” The red headed waitress asked, refilling his water glass.
Aaron wiped his mouth with a napkin and shook his head. “Not today, thanks Elsie.” She was studying Elementary Education at the school, he had seen her on campus on her off days.
“Take your time,” She smiled gently and left the bill upside down in front of his unused coffee mug.
“How was everything today?” You asked, trying to sound casual. He had already left cash on the table to cover his lunch. He wasn’t playing on his phone like so many people who ate alone did these days. He had brought a newspaper along, but hadn’t touched it since getting his meal. His dark eyes were relaxed, yet you were on guard, feeling them float over your body.
“Wonderful as always.” He smiled, the lines along his eyes crinkling.
“So, being new around here, how’d you find our little hole in the wall?” You asked, picking up his cleared plate, a force of habit.
He smirked now, “I, uh, teach over at the school. This is my first semester there, you have a perfect location.”
“Yeah, tell that to my night crew, the drunks showing up demanding coffee and pie at two a.m. are real, charmers.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m Y/N, the owner, by the way. You are?”
He didn’t miss a beat, “James, but please call me Jim.”
“Nice to meet you, finally, Jim.”
“You too, Y/N.” He stood, gathering his things. “I have a class at 2, see you tomorrow?”
“You got it.” You brushed his firm arm with your finger tips and left him with a gentle wave.
Aaron spent the next two weeks casually flirting with Y/N each day during his break between lectures. She was fascinating, but not too pressing on the personal details. He wanted to ask her out on a real date, somewhere she didn’t know the menu or the farm where the eggs were laid, even. But how to do that without exposing his always present body guards?
“So, I’m just going to do it then?” She approached him first, before he even settled into the booth. This time was different, she sat across from the former FBI agent with her hands in a teepee. “If you can get a sitter, how about we hang out tomorrow night?”
“Well, Ja-Jordan is old enough to take care of himself for a few hours.” Aaron admitted.
“Is that a yes, Jimmy?” She rose her eyebrows.
He smirked, “That’s a yes, Y/N. Can I pick you up?”
“7 o’clock sharp?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
If the first date went well, then the following three were phenomenal. You hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time. But you felt guilty taking Jim away from his son so often, especially since the boy’s mother was out of the picture.
“So, another good bye kiss on my doorstep?” You asked begrudgingly. “You know I have a very nice place, you could even sit down and have a drink with me. In my living room.”
“You don’t say?” Jimmy laughed like a bark. His dark whiskers scratching along your jaw. His voice deep and sensual. “How do I know this isn’t a trap, Y/N?”
“Because you can leave any time you want to Professor Spivey.”
“Who said anything about leaving?” He nibbled your ear, his strong hands pulling you closer to his tall body.
“Don’t you have to be home before bedtime?” Your voice hitched as his hand slid down your ass, his long fingers hovering just below the curve.
“Nope, Jordan’s at a sleepover, my evening is all clear.”
“Wrong. Your dance card is filled, sir.”
“Lead the way.”
Aaron hadn’t had time to think about romance in over a year. The prison break and the subsequent trail of dominoes led them right back to Peter Lewis. But now, he was safe. Jack was at a friend’s house that was covered by four different US Marshals and his two personal body guards had secured the perimeter of Y/N’s house before they had arrived. He was as relaxed as he had been since going into witness protection.
“This is the foyer,” Y/N murmured, walking backwards into the unlit house. Her hands were sliding off his coat as she kicked off her shoes.
“It’s a nice foyer,” He chuckled, not looking around at all. She grinned, reaching in for a deep kiss. Her wine from dinner lingered on her lips, her tongue tantalizing. He maneuvered out of his own shoes without falling over.
“I’m not giving you the full tour, you can see it in the morning.” She was pulling him by his collar now, miraculously walking backwards and kissing him without any missteps. Too quickly her lips disappeared and Hotch had to open his eyes to see where she went. She had backed into the carpeted steps, landing soundly on her backside.
Her pouting expression was priceless as he tried to stifle his amusement. He slid beside her on the soft gray stairs. The only light coming from above the sink the kitchen around the corner, casting Y/N in stark relief. Her natural smile returned when she watched Aaron try to lay comfortably on the stairs.
“There are worse places to make out.” They both laughed, knowing their teen-aged selves had found plenty, however far apart they grew up it was a given. He gave up sitting beside her and perched himself between her legs, supporting himself by his forearms along the stair her neck rested upon. She seemed so small beneath him, her larger than life personality delicately packed away inside. He couldn’t wait to unwrap this unexpected treasure.
His gruff face began trailing along her neck, his sure hands un-tucked her blouse, his hands raked up her bare torso. She squirmed beneath him, deftly she hitched her skirt up, to spread her thighs, beckoning him closer. He dropped down a step, pinning her down his waist in line with her unfurled knees. She shrugged out of her top, his rough lips leaving hot trails to her chest. He bit at her nipple through the fabric of her thin bra. She purred into a giggle, her nails dragging his shirt from his belt now.
You were letting it get ridiculous, stripping in the stairway while you had a perfectly good bedroom just yards away. His body has covered in scars, you didn’t see them at first, with your head thrown back. But your wandering hands had traced over enough of them to sneak a glance. His dark eyes looked ashamed, you stroked his chiseled face.
“It’s a long story, Y/N.” He seemed wary. You drew his face to yours, bringing him back to the task at hand.
“Let’s skip that tonight.” You reached down in between your bodies, stroking him over his pants. His voice huskier than usual as he whispered in your ear.
“I hope you don’t mind rug burn.” You thought he meant from his beard and you shook your head that you didn’t mind. Instead this dark and handsome man danced his fingers into your panties, stretching the fabric to the side. He had freed himself from his pants while you were distracted by his mouth. Suddenly your eyes popped opened understanding his comment. And then Jim slowly entered your center, soaked with your want. He delved inside of you as far as he could and kissed you fiercely as your hips rose from the stairs to meet his momentum. Your shoulders were going to kill you in the morning, but right now the heat from the friction added to the building tension throughout your bodies.
He was in great shape, his legs supporting him and half of you as his hands kneaded your hidden breasts. You whimpered as he changed rhythm, your nails raking down his back now. He grunted as he sighed, pulling back from his pinnacle. His muscular hand reached between your folds, rubbing your clit in a motion that was both too fast and not forceful enough. Your whined, driving into, increasing the sensation for you both.
Suddenly a phone was ringing from back in the foyer. Jimmy froze, panting. His forehead pressed into your collar bone. He removed himself from you, his thumb rubbing your cheek tenderly. As he straightened up you rolled on to your side, your body sore from the odd positioning. He quickly found his phone and began redressing. His voice soft, you realized he was talking to his son.
“It’s okay buddy. I will be right there.”
“So much for the sleepovers?”
“I am really sorry, Y/N. Nightmares.” You waved it off.
Thus ended your evening, but not the possibility of more to come. You showed Jim out, it was weird you could have sworn an SUV pulled out of your neighbor’s driveway right after him.
Part 2: Come Around Again
212 notes · View notes
ncfn · 7 years
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Nothing Comes from Nothing Part 11: Excerpt
Slowly, Regina Mills meandered down the sidewalk, trailing a few steps behind her constant companion. She sighed softly when the sign for Dave’s Fish ‘n’ Chips came into view. Her shoulders tightened as she pursed her lips, fighting the urge to grit her teeth, and she knew if she didn’t relax, she’d end up with a headache in addition to her already souring mood. She hadn’t wanted to come, and it was a small consolation that Emma hadn’t, either. Yet, a deal was a deal, especially since she had already visited with her own mother.
Somehow, the pair was now walking side-by-side. Her eyes cut over to the blonde, and her brow furrowed at the intense expression. Rolling her eyes, she silently cursed herself and her weakness for Indian food. Then, the former mayor glimpsed over her shoulder, spying two Crows Guard, Alma Chavez and Jason Sirtis, trailing far behind them. Monty would not be pleased, she mused with the hint of a raised eyebrow. She glanced across the street to notice two more, Bruce Farmer and Lài Qingzhao, sitting on Granny’s Diner’s front patio, and she frowned. When Emma opened the door to Dave’s, she spotted the last two of her personal guard, Diego Flores and Irene Smith, sharing a table in the front corner by the window. Her eyes narrowed as Diego flashed a warm smile and waved. As she slipped off her coat, she shook her head. The commander had followed through with his threat from the other night, calling the Queen’s Guard into service. She was headed toward their table when Emma’s voice made her pause.
“Aren’t you going to sit with me?” Emma asked from a booth on the other side of the restaurant. As previously discussed with Elmwood, it was in perfect alignment to the guards’ position.
“Must I?” the former mayor quipped a tad sulkily. She tilted her head as the other woman deflated slightly. Without waiting for a reply, she moved to the occupied booth. Yes, she had become unaccountably soft if she didn’t rage at the unwanted presence of her Queen’s Guard or resist the pouty expression of a certain blonde.
Sighing heavily, the sheriff watched her friend. “Come on, don’t leave me on my own,” she whispered, biting her lower lip. Then, as Regina slipped onto the bench next to her, she grinned and happily intoned, “They might win me over, and then where would you be?”
“Very well, but you owe me,” the brunette relented in a low voice laced with amusement. She took a slow, deep breath as her eyes drifted around the fisherman-themed eatery, absently accepting the large, two-sided, laminated menu. Her visit with Cora the other day had left her feeling off-balance and that unnerved her. For the first time in a long time, she was comforted by the guards’ subtle presence.
“Yeah, yeah,” the blonde teased, knowing her friend didn’t want to be there. Heck, she didn’t want to be there, but she had made a deal. “So, what are you going to get?” she prompted, trying to keep things light as she scanned the menu. It had been difficult keeping the other woman’s impending bout of brooding at bay. Hearing the dramatic sigh, her eyes never left the menu as she smirked.
“Good evening, my name’s Jack. I’ll be your server tonight.” A waiter, who wasn’t one of Dave Salter’s sons, stepped up to their table, asking, “May I take your drink order, ladies?”
“Coke!” Emma immediately chirped.
“Guinness, please,” Regina said, passing the menu back to the blonde.
“Short or tall?” Jack questioned, not bothering to write anything down.
“Tall,” the former mayor replied, ignoring Emma’s raised eyebrow. If she was going to suffer through this, by the gods, she was going to drink.
“Do you want to order now, or are you waiting for someone?” the waiter inquired. His gaze drifted to the empty side of the booth. It wasn’t too unusual, just a tiny bit strange for these two to sit next to each other.
Looking at her watch, the sheriff hesitated briefly before saying, “We’ll order now.” She didn’t want to be stuck with her parents any longer than necessary, especially if things went south. “I’ll have Dave’s Fish Basket,” she drawled, deciding against trying the nightly special, suspiciously coined Ocean Meat Tacos. What the hell is ocean meat? she pondered to herself, wondering if anyone had ordered it.
“I’ll have the same, please,” the brunette interjected. She felt resigned to her fate. Hopefully, she’d have at least one beer down before Mary Margaret and David made it through the door.
“Alright, I’ll bring your drinks out shortly,” Jack said, and with that, he was gone.
Fidgeting with the various condiments, Emma casually commented, “A beer? I’m shocked. What about your image?” Her gaze darted to Diego and Irene.
“What about the survival of your parents?” Regina darkly countered. She watched the blonde fiddle with sugar packets and the labels on bottles. Her eyes drifted up to study her companion’s face. By all outward appearances, the other woman appeared calm, if somewhat bored, but the nervous flickering magic slinking against her own told a different story. She took another deep breath, forcing the leeching, anxious energy to settle.
“Good point,” Emma agreed. She returned the bottles to their original places. Then, their drinks arrived. Dropping a straw into her beautiful Coke, she nonchalantly remarked before taking a long drink, “You seem pretty worked up.” When her eyes met the brunette’s, she winced, putting down her cup. “Okay, okay, no more dumb commentary,” she quickly added. There was a long moment of silence as she repeatedly stabbed her straw into her beverage, knocking the ice around in the plastic glass. “So, what do you want to do tomorrow since we have off?” she asked, desperate for conversation.
Enjoying a long, slow swig, the former mayor licked the remnants of the bitter brew from her lips and returned the frosty Guinness glass to the tabletop. “You could always use some more training,” she suggested, relishing the warm feeling in her stomach. Yes, the beer was an excellent idea. She took another, larger, drink, tipping the glass at Irene when she caught her eye.
She was not amused, but Diego was.
“Magic training?” the sheriff prodded hopefully. She shook her head and muttered, “I need a break from Anne.” The fiery, tough-as-nails second-in-command was a force of nature. Absently, she rubbed her right biceps which was still bruised from the other day’s session with staves.
A low, rumbly chuckle emerged as the brunette agreed, “I suppose.” She idly caressed the sweating glass with the fingertips of her right hand. Quietly, she added, “I’m not having much luck with the memory potion.” Of course, she hadn’t attempted, yet, to add her blood to the concoctions, as that peculiar development still needed further investigation and intensive testing. However, she shifted away from her darker thoughts. Tonight was going to be taxing enough on its own. “Maybe a respite would be helpful for me, as well,” she mused, considering her preferred scenario of hiding away in her study. She quietly observed Emma playing with her plastic straw wrapper, tying and tugging on it. After taking another hearty swallow, she stated, “You seem rather tense, Dear.”
“Yeah, well, it hasn’t been all sunshine and lollipops since we got back from Manhattan,” the blonde grumbled, staring at her almost empty cup. She sighed heavily, rolling her head from one shoulder to another. Sheepishly, she glanced at her friend and admitted, “I don’t really want to be here.”
Not surprised by the revelation, Regina nodded before simply asking, “Then, why did you agree to meet them?” She watched her friend closely.
“Because Mary Margaret won’t let up until I at least try to make an effort,” Emma huffed in agitation. She crossed her arms on top of the table, dropping her head on them. “God, she’s relentless,” she exclaimed in frustration, her declaration muffled by her position. Rolling her head to one side so she could see the other woman’s face, she awkwardly continued, “And I figured if I was going to push you to talk to Cora, I couldn’t not talk to my parents.” Fair was fair, right?
Whether it was the goofy look on the blonde’s face or the beer warming her belly, the former mayor wasn’t entirely certain at this point, but she did know she trusted Emma. So, she smiled fondly at the other woman and raised her glass to her. “Company meet misery,” she teased in a serious tone, nearly finishing the remaining half of the beer in a long gulp.
The sheriff laughed. It was loud, and pleasant, and warming. “Yeah,” she agreed, straightening. “I’ll take that over being the pot to your kettle,” she quipped before sucking down the dregs of her Coke. She stabbed at the ice with her straw. “Parents suck,” she huffed. “I thought they’d be great, but reality’s a bitch slap,” she explained her new outlook and was only slightly repentant.
“Hmm,” the brunette agreed, softly chortling as she took another sip of her woefully dwindling beverage. Where was their food? Did they need to raise the fish from eggs?
Honestly surprised, the blonde rested her jaw on her open palm, leaning on her elbow. “You seem pretty calm, considering everything,” she quietly said, eyeing the woman beside her.
“One of us has to be,” Regina quickly retorted, narrowing her eyes at the staff lingering by the counter. While their waiter, Jack, was nowhere to be seen, the two Salter boys working the register had been quite busy with to-go orders.
With a furrowed brow, Emma uneasily demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rolling her eyes before looking at the blonde and tilting her head, the former mayor replied with just a hint of vexation, “What choice do I have? You’re pushing enough nervous energy to make a sloth twitch.” She knew it wasn’t Emma’s fault, necessarily, but the beer did help take the edge off her irascibility. She certainly didn’t want to examine her increased consumption of acholic beverages over the last few months. If she had been tethered to anyone else, to anyone who didn’t care about her, things could have gone terribly wrong for everyone in Storybrooke. Quickly, she finished her beer and faced forward.
“Pushing?” came the confused response.
Hearing the slight tremble in the sheriff’s quiet voice, the brunette’s expression softened. She placed a comforting hand on the blonde’s arm and explained, “Your magic, Dear. It keeps spilling over into me, a side effect of the bond, apparently.” This wasn’t something she wanted to broach in a public place. After all, certain things would be better left unsaid.
Sitting up, the blonde twisted in her seat to face the former mayor. “Okay, Lucy, ‘splain,” she said in a horrible impression of Ricky Ricardo. But if anyone had asked Emma, she would have said that it was fantastic.
Regina rolled her eyes, surprised she hadn’t given herself a headache, yet. She pulled her hand away as she pushed the empty glass toward the edge of the table. “Magic is emotion,” she reiterated for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t a difficult concept, but many non-magical beings had problems with it, regardless. “So, when your magic leaks through the bond, your emotions come through, as well,” she elaborated, hoping the sheriff would connect the dots.
“Why isn’t your magic leaking through?” Emma immediately questioned. Her brow furrowed as she added, “Is it because you have more control?” That was something she still had difficulty with during their training. Her magic tended to go full throttle or not at all, whereas, the brunette’s demonstrations were perfect.
“No, Dear, it’s because you are the control,” the former mayor lightly chided. She kept her tone low and quiet, not wanting to draw any further attention to them. As it was, too many people knew about their unique situation. Her gaze cut to Emma and she frowned.
“Wait, what?” the sheriff prompted. The dots were coming together, and she didn’t like the picture.
Releasing a heavy exhale, the brunette gave her friend a weak smile. “It only goes one way, Emma,” she responded in a soft tone, reassuringly patting the sheriff’s knee. Instantly, she felt the dramatic shift from nervous to sad through the bond and their mingling magic. At seeing the downward cast expression, she was at a loss. They’d already talked about this, but she would give Emma time to process. She rolled her lips, removing her hand, as she was unsure what to say or how to ease to the other woman’s worry.
Then, Jack whisked another round of drinks to their table. “Your food will be right out,” he stated before disappearing with the empties.
“He took my straw,” the blonde muttered, examining the rim of the plastic cup. She smiled when a puff of purple produced another straw. Taking a satisfying sip, she looked at Regina. “I was pissed off at my parents,” she admitted, not like it was a big secret, “and, you took that,” she elaborated, trying to understand this new layer. Of course, it only raised more questions and fostered quite a bit of concern. Her brow furrowed in deep thought, staring unseeing into her Coke.
“Precisely,” Regina praised, smiling. If she treated Emma as an apprentice, it made the darker aspects of their situation easier to swallow, sometimes. “I couldn’t send you calming thoughts like you can for me. I had to tease it out of you,” she gently explained, praying her friend didn’t feel violated.
A part of her feared what the sheriff could do with this power over her, or more accurately, what the sheriff could be forced to make her do. Power was, after all, only an illusion. She had learned that lesson a long time ago. And as demonstrated at the town line, her free will could be bypassed, her magic forcibly restrained, and if Emma honed her position as master, she could effectively wield her as effortlessly as a feather. However, she didn’t believe, at that moment, the savior would ever do that, not without extenuating circumstances, but she’d been betrayed before by those closer to her heart.
“But I can feel when you’re upset or in a good mood,” Emma countered in a small voice. She could tell when the former mayor was withdrawn, angry, irritated, happy, or sad. She searched her friend’s face for something but, exactly what that was, she wasn’t entirely certain. “Your magic gets all jangly and harsh like it’s pushing against me,” she expounded, her throat tightening at the implications. “Or it gets all cuddly and slinky.” It felt like cheating.
“That would be how the bond allows our magic to meet, the push and pull,” the former mayor confirmed. Since the spell, the sensations had developed slowly over time and had become very familiar to her, almost second nature. Clearly, the same was apparently true for Emma. “So, while I cannot push my magic nor my emotions to you, you can sense a vague echo of it on your periphery,” she clarified, tentatively reaching out with her magic to the sheriff, wanting to illustrate her point. She was surprised to feel the savior’s magic recoil from her, but the other woman was unable to mask her distress. However, she couldn’t justify withholding her theories, and so, she explained, “This spell was most likely designed to be used by a non-magic user to control a mage, not to be used between two natural casters.” A dark snigger escaped as she looked forward again and added with a half smirk, “A spell this insidious would not want the slave to have access to the master’s power.” She took a sip from her fresh beer.
Horrified by the mere prospect, the sheriff firmly gripped Regina’s arm and quickly reassured her, “You are not a slave.”
Although she was touched, the brunette didn’t stop the mirthless, breathy chuckle that rumbled low in her throat, and in a deep voice, she intoned, “Of course, I am.” She was a tool, an implement of destruction and terror.
Squeezing the arm ensnared in her grip, the blonde’s eyes watered as she stammered, “I wouldn’t . . . couldn’t…. I can’t…. No one should be used that way.” This all felt so utterly wrong. She shook her head because she had no words. A lone tear escaped the corner of her left eye and rolled down her cheek.
Reaching up and, with a feather-light touch, catching the stray tear on her finger, Regina offered a sad, thankful smile. “I know,” she whispered, lowering her hand. She hoped this beautiful woman never fell into darkness like she had. In that moment, as they held each other’s gaze, she felt their magic coil and caress. The corner of her lips twitched as intense feelings bubbled to the foreground with bright clarity. Maybe Emma’s feelings weren’t so misguided after all, and she was struck speechless with the thought.
FF.net / AO3
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