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jrob64 · 1 year

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Blow Me Away (A CS Modern AU One-shot)

Happy birthday @apiratewhopines! It’s a week late, but I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you to all of you who have already shown interest in this story.

After having a discussion with Beth about what it would be like to see Killian Jones as a glassblower in a hot shop, I was determined to write a story about it for her. It includes a short guest appearance by one of her favorite characters, Marco, and something else at the end that she always loves for me to write. Oh, and see if you can recognize the quotes from my favorite CS scene ever!

Please forgive any errors in describing the glassblowing tools and process. Like Emma, all I know about it comes from YouTube videos and the Netflix competition show Blown Away. If you have an interest in glassblowing, I highly recommend watching that show!

Special thanks to @cs-rylie for her encouragement and help with plotting, and to the lovely @hookedmom, who cleaned up my messes as usual.

Story Summary: For her birthday, Emma Swan's friends give her lessons for glassblowing, something she has always wanted to do. Once she meets her instructor, Killian Jones, both of them feel the heat from more than just the furnaces in the hot shop.

Rating: M (for smut)

Words: 12,929

Also accessible on ffn and Ao3

*********

“Happy birthday, Emma!” Elsa, Ruby and Ashley shouted, then broke into the birthday song as Mary Margaret brought the cake in from the kitchen.

Emma Swan smiled broadly at her small group of friends, trying to convey her appreciation to each one of them. Growing up, she rarely had friends. Being in the foster care system meant she lived a transient life, not giving her many opportunities to develop close relationships. Now, at twenty-eight, she was finally putting down roots in the scenic little town of Storybrooke, Maine.

Her best friend Mary Margaret Blanchard brought Emma to her hometown after they both graduated from a culinary academy in Boston. Soon after settling there, Emma and Mary Margaret made their dream of owning a bakery together a reality, naming it Fairytale Confections. Emma handled the duties of working the counter, custom designing the cakes and decorating them, while Mary Margaret took the orders and did the baking. Since neither of them were interested in taking care of the accounting, they hired Mary Margaret’s friend, Elsa Arendelle, who also did the finances for her aunt’s ice cream shop, Any Given Sundae, located beside the bakery.

Mary Margaret introduced Emma to her other childhood friends, Ashley Boyd and Ruby Lucas, too. The group of friends welcomed Emma into their circle with open arms. Ashley was the housekeeper for the only hotel in Storybrooke, owned by Ruby’s grandmother. Granny also owned the town diner where Ruby worked as a waitress. When the bakery opened, she convinced Granny to buy baked goods for the diner from her friends.

It took Emma a while to get used to being part of a close-knit group, but after more than five years, she was very comfortable in their midst. The surprise birthday party was at Elsa’s house and it warmed Emma’s heart to see how much planning they put into it. A large, hand painted banner that stretched across the archway between the kitchen and living room announced ‘Happy 28th Birthday, Emma!’, streamers and balloons hung from the ceiling, and Emma’s favorite Rocky Road ice cream, bought from the ice cream shop, waited in the freezer. The birthday cake had been secretly baked by Mary Margaret and resembled Emma’s beloved yellow Volkswagen.

“You guys didn’t have to do all of this,” Emma declared, as she had done every year they gave her a party, though secretly she loved each one. The only other birthday party she’d ever had before coming to Storybrooke was at one of her foster homes when the mother’s birthday was two days after Emma’s, so they had a party for both of them at the same time.

“Of course we did!” Mary Margaret chirped as Ruby lit the candles on the cake. “You deserve special treatment on your birthday. Now, make a wish and blow out the candles.”

Emma swept her eyes around her group of friends, lingering on each of them for a few moments. She could feel herself getting a little emotional and was relieved when they all started inciting her to hurry.

“We’re not getting any younger here,” Ashley teased.

“Blow them out already!” Ruby chimed in, while Mary Margaret encouraged, “Close your eyes and make a wish.”

Emma smiled so hard, her face began to ache. “I don’t think I need to wish for anything,” she said.

“Sure you do,” Ruby grinned. “You need a big, hunky, stud of a man in your life!”

Emma folded her arms and fixed her with a glare. “I do NOT need a man. I’m perfectly happy without one.”

“Happy, but unsatisfied,” Ruby remarked, her grin growing even wider.

“You two can argue later,” Elsa interjected. “The candles are going to melt all over the cake if you don’t blow them out soon.”

Emma nodded, closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and extinguished all but three of the twenty-eight candles with one blow. Her friends clapped and cheered as she blew out the remaining candles and straightened up, beaming at them.

Ashley retrieved the ice cream from the freezer and began scooping it out onto the Autumn themed cake plates, while Mary Margaret cut the cake into generous pieces and added them to the plates. The tight circle of friends talked and laughed, enjoying the cake and ice cream at the small dining room table. They expounded on Ruby’s suggestion to wish for a hunky man by naming off the list of single men in Storybrooke.

Emma accepted it all good-naturedly until Mary Margaret mentioned Leroy, the grumpy town handyman. “Really? How desperate do you think I am?” she groaned.

“He seems gruff, but he’s just a big, old softy,” Mary Margaret said.

“Not gonna happen,” Emma assured her emphatically, while her friends laughed.

When they finished eating, Emma sat back in her chair, rubbing her belly and licking the last of the yellow icing off of her lips. “That was delicious, Marg,” she praised, using her favorite nickname for her friend. “And Sarah’s Rocky Road is always the best, Els.”

“I know,” Elsa sighed. “Having easy access to ice cream is nice, but it’s also very fattening.” She patted her jean clad thighs for emphasis.

“Oh, like you need to worry about that,” Ashley scoffed. “I’m still trying to get the last ten pounds of baby weight off and Alexandra is almost four months old.”

“You look great. We can’t even tell you had a baby,” Elsa said, while Emma, Mary Margaret and Ruby nodded their agreement.

“Tell my stretch marks that,” Ashley groaned.

“Time for presents!” Mary Margaret redirected, rising from her seat.

“Actually, it’s just a present,” Ruby corrected. “We all went together and got you one big gift.”

Mary Margaret set a small box wrapped in orange paper with a yellow bow in front of Emma, then sat back down and clasped her hands in anticipation. “Oh, I really hope you like it!”

Emma picked it up, surprised at how light it felt, and pulled the bow off the top. “I’m sure I will.” Carefully removing the shiny, foil paper, she found a white box that looked like it could contain a necktie. Upon lifting the lid, she discovered a plain white envelope. “Did you guys give me a million dollars?” she joked, taking the envelope out of the box and beginning to lift the flap.

“In your dreams,” Ruby smirked.

Emma laughed as she finished opening the envelope and drew out the gift certificate tucked inside. Reading it, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

“Do you like it?” Elsa asked anxiously.

“You…you bought me glassblowing lessons?” Emma managed to ask through her shock and surprise.

“Yeah, Marg went online and found a guy in Portland who offers them at his glass shop,” Ashley explained.

“I know you’ve always been interested in it,” Mary Margaret added.

“And you’re like, obsessed with that Blown Away show on Netflix,” Ruby threw in.

“So, do you like it?” Elsa asked again.

“Are you kidding? I LOVE it!” Emma exclaimed.

Ruby pointed to the corner of the certificate. “We paid for ten lessons. By that time, you should be an expert and will be making glass sculptures like Dale Chihuly!”

Emma gaped at her. “I didn’t even realize you knew who he is or the name of the show!”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ll start giving me credit for paying attention to my friend’s interests now,” Ruby snarked.

Giving her the side-eye, Emma said, “I thought you only paid attention to my interest in men.”

“Now you know I’m not one-dimensional,” Ruby shot back good-naturedly.

“All you have to do,” Elsa broke in, “is call the number on the certificate to set up the lessons. The instructor’s name is Killian Jones.”

“Killian? That’s an unusual name,” Emma commented.

“I know, right?” Ashley said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with that name.”

“He sounds hot,” Ruby smirked.

“Of course he’s hot. He blows glass in a hot shop around furnaces all day,” Emma snickered.

Ruby clicked her tongue. “You know what I mean, Emma Swan. He’ll probably be shirtless and glistening with sweat…”

“Please don’t turn this gift into one of your perverted fantasies,” Mary Margaret chastised.

“The man named his shop ‘Blow Me Away’. It literally has blow me in the name. Besides, it’s not my fantasy, it’s Emma’s,” Ruby pointed out.

Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s definitely not mine. I don’t care what the instructor looks like, I’m just really excited to get started with these lessons!”

*********

Bright and early Monday morning, Emma put a call through to Killian Jones. She was prepared to set up her first lesson, but was not prepared for the deep, accented voice on the other end of the phone.

“Blow Me Away, Killian Jones at your service.”

Emma gulped. “E-excuse me?” she stuttered, then facepalmed as she remembered ‘Blow Me Away’ was the name of the glass shop. “Uh…I mean…hi. My name is Emma Swan and um, my…my friends gave me glassblowing lessons for my birthday and I just called to, um…I wanted to…”

“To schedule those lessons, lass?” Killian asked, his voice tinged with humor.

She blew out a frustrated breath. “Yeah. Sorry about that, I just…I wasn’t expecting you to be British.”

He chuckled. “I do hope that isn’t a problem.”

“Oh, no. Not at all,” she assured him.

“That’s good to know, Ms. Swan.”

“Miss,” she spat out quickly, then amended herself, “I mean, Emma. You can call me Emma.”

“Very well, Emma. Now, when were you thinking about beginning your lessons?”

The way her name sounded rolling off his tongue rendered her momentarily tongue-tied again. “Uh…wh-when is a good time for you?”

“I’m here every day, so it’s really your schedule we should work around. Do you live in Portland?”

“No, I live in a little town called Storybrooke. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“On the contrary, I’ve sailed into the harbor there a few times. It’s a lovely place.”

“It really is. I love it. My friend Mary Margaret and I own a bakery here. She’s the one who found your shop online and ordered the gift certificate for lessons.”

“The next time I go to Storybrooke, I shall have to find your bakery to appease my sweet tooth,” Killian said.

Emma smiled at his vocabulary. The man sounded like he just stepped out of the 1800’s. “You should. It’s called Fairytale Confections and it’s right beside the ice cream shop.”

He groaned, the sound of which caused her stomach to do a little flip. “Ice cream and cake. That’s truly not fair.”

“Sorry,” she laughed. “Anyway, I sort of sidetracked the conversation, Mr. Jones”

“If I’m to call you Emma, please call me Killian.”

“Okay, Killian. As far as the time, I’m free most evenings and all day Sunday when the bakery is closed, but you’re probably not open then.”

“Lesson times are flexible, so I would be more than happy to give them on Sundays, if that works for you.”

“Okay, great!”

“How many lessons were you given?”

“Ten.”

“In that case, would you be amenable to having two lessons a week? Otherwise, they’ll run into the holidays when I’ll be in England for a few weeks to visit my brother and his family.”

“Sure. The bakery closes at two on Wednesdays, so maybe later in the afternoon?”

“Would four o’clock work for you?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “What time on Sunday?”

“You call it, Swan,” he said.

“How about one o’clock, Jones?” she replied cheekily.

There was a pause on the other end before he spoke again. “My apologies, Emma. I’m used to calling my assistants by their last name since three of the four are named Joe, including one who is a woman.”

She laughed lightly. “I was just teasing. I really don’t mind at all.”

“To answer your question, one o’clock on Sunday would be fine. Is this Wednesday too soon to start?”

“No, that’s perfect. I’m very excited to learn the art of glassblowing. It has always intrigued me.”

“Very good. Do you have the address of my shop?”

Emma looked at the paper in front of her again. “Yeah, it’s on the gift certificate. So I guess I’ll see you Wednesday at four.”

“Aye, see you then, lass.”

Emma ended the call and sat looking at her phone with a dreamy smile on her face. She would never admit it, but if his voice was anything to go by, she might have to agree with Ruby’s assessment that he was hot, in more ways than one.

*********

As she drove to Portland Wednesday afternoon, Emma worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She was excited but also nervous, not only about learning something new, but also about meeting the man behind the sexy voice. She had actually dreamed about him the night after their conversation on the phone, as if her subconscious was trying to put a face with the voice that was still echoing in her ears.

Parking her bug in front of the warehouse her GPS declared was her destination, she drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Then she grabbed the gift certificate off the seat, flung her car door open and stepped out.

She approached the building and pulled open the creaky metal door, looking around as she entered, but not seeing Killian Jones. Smiling at the glassblowing equipment spread around the large space, she mentally named things she recognized from watching the Netflix show and numerous YouTube videos.

Turning her attention to several blown glass pieces sitting on a table beside the door, she carefully picked them up one-by-one to study them.

“You must be Emma Swan.”

The words spoken close behind her startled her so much, she almost dropped the beautiful aqua colored bowl she was holding. Letting out a gasp, she quickly set it back on the table and turned around, saying, “Oh, I didn’t know you were…”

Her words trailed off as she got a look at her instructor. Her first thought was that her dream of him didn’t do him justice, and her second was that his looks certainly equaled the sexiness of his voice. He appeared to be about her age, was a few inches taller than her, with dark, disheveled hair, a strong, scruff-covered jaw, piercing blue eyes and a gleaming white smile. His hands grasped both ends of a towel slung around his neck, making his biceps bulge under the sleeves of his tight, white T-shirt, the V-neck allowing her to see dark hair peeking out.

While he waited for her to speak again, he used the end of the towel to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. A few strands of hair flopped down over it once he finished and her hand inadvertently reached forward, intending to brush them away. Suddenly realizing what she was doing, she jerked her hand back and ran it through her own long, blonde hair instead.

He looked at her with his head cocked and a raised eyebrow, his roguish grin convincing her he knew the effect he was having on her. She cleared her throat and said, “Uh, yeah. I’m Emma.” Holding out her hand, she added, “It’s nice to meet you, Killian.”

He took her hand, squeezing it lightly as he shook it. “Likewise. Have you been waiting long?”

“Not at all. I just got here and was admiring your work,” she said, sweeping her arm toward the glass works on the table. “They’re very good.”

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile. “Hopefully, by the end of your lessons, you’ll be able to make some nice pieces, too.”

“That would be great!” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Shall we get started?” he asked.

“Oh, do you need this?” She held out the crumpled gift certificate.

“Aye,” he said, taking the paper, folding it and sticking it in his back pocket. Then he gestured for her to go ahead of him.

“You didn’t check it. Are you just gonna take my word for it that it’s worth ten lessons?” she asked teasingly.

“Well, you haven’t lied to me thus far.”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder and saw the smirk on his face. She was enjoying the banter with him and already felt at ease.

Touching her on the shoulder, he stopped her in front of a large furnace. “How much do you already know about the art of glassblowing, Emma?”

“Well…I’ve watched every season of Blown Away on Netflix and quite a few YouTube videos. Does that count?” she asked, with a hint of embarrassment.

“Of course it does. I’ve watched them myself. Let’s see if you can identify some of the tools of the trade.”

As he led her around the shop, she was able to name many things he pointed out, such as the furnace containing the molten glass, the glory hole, where glass in the process of being blown was reheated, and the annealer, in which glass projects were placed to cool slowly.

He also asked her questions about the process of glassblowing to get an idea of what she knew and didn’t know. She impressed him again when she talked about gathering the glass with a blowpipe, rolling it on the steel marver table and rolling it in ground glass called frit to give it color. In addition, she correctly identified the majority of the tools he had laid out on the bench.

“You obviously know most of the important terms and equipment already, Swan,” he praised when they finished the tour. “Now you just have to actually do some glassblowing yourself. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely!” she answered.

Killian handed her a pair of safety goggles, then he demonstrated the procedure, calling on her to help him from time to time.

“That’s the basic process,” he said when he finished. “How would you like to try it for yourself?”

“Really? You think I could do that already?” She was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet with anticipation.

“Of course, and I’ll be here to guide you. First, choose a color of frit and then I’ll help you do your first gather.”

She went over to the table to look over the color selection and chose green.

“Excellent choice. Go ahead and pick up your blowpipe.”

She did as directed and went to stand beside him in front of the furnace.

“Now, I’m going to open the door and then I’ll help you, okay?” he asked.

Emma nodded and held the pipe the same way he held it during his demonstration. He slid the door to the left a few inches then stood behind her to guide her hands. “Place it on the bottom edge of the door and start turning it clockwise,” he directed. When she did, he put his right hand behind hers on the pipe, helping her slide it into the molten glass. “Keep turning. That’s good. Start pulling it back, but don’t stop turning.”

With him standing so close, she felt heat that she knew was from more than the furnace. Between his looks, his voice, the way he listened to her, and how he made her feel important, he had an unmistakable effect on her.

When she had the blowpipe clear of the furnace, she was excited to see the blob of orange at the end of it. “I did it!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, you did,” he agreed, closing the furnace door. “Now, roll it on the marver and then in the frit.” Reaching around her, he adjusted her hands on the pipe, surrounding her with his presence, though she could tell he was being careful to leave space between their bodies.

He patiently walked her through the entire procedure until she created a perfectly round orb and placed it in the annealer.

“Unfortunately, it takes about four hours for it to cool down completely, so you won’t be able to take it with you today,” he informed her.

“That’s okay. I’ll get it on Sunday when I come back for my next lesson.”

“I’m very happy to hear you’ll be back. I was hoping you would enjoy it enough to want to continue all of your lessons.”

She beamed at him. “It was incredible! I can hardly wait until next time. What will we make on Sunday?”

He grinned at her enthusiasm. “Perhaps you’d like to try making a paperweight or a Christmas tree ornament?”

“Either one sounds good to me!”

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she remarked, “I didn’t realize what time it was. I probably stayed past my allotted lesson time, didn’t I?”

“I don’t set a length of time for my lessons,” he assured her. “I’d rather just go with the flow of it, than to cut it off when we reach a certain point in time. I’ve really enjoyed working with you today, Emma. You catch on very quickly and appear to be a natural.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re a great teacher.”

He rewarded her with one of his smiles that made her feel a bit weak in the knees. “Perhaps it’s both.”

“Well, thank you again, Killian. I’ll see you Sunday.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

She started to walk toward the door, but suddenly thought of something. Turning to face him again she said, “Hey, if you wouldn’t mind, could you take a picture of my project and send it to me once it’s out of the annealer? I want to show my friends that I actually made something today and I’d like to have proof.”

“Of course,” he replied. “Could you put your number into my phone? The one you called to set up the lessons was for the phone in the office.”

He pulled his device out of his back pocket, unlocked it, pulled up his contacts and handed it to her. Once she finished, and handed it back to him, he took a look at it. “Swan, huh?” he smirked.

“I told you I didn’t mind you calling me by my last name. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to confuse me with another Emma.”

He nodded as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Drive safely, Swan.”

Throwing him one more smile, she turned and walked out of the building.

*********

Killian stared at the exit long after Emma left, not really seeing the metal door with the chipped paint, but remembering the lovely woman who just walked through it. After hearing her voice on the phone, he had spent more time than he would like to admit trying to imagine what she looked like, but no image that flitted through his mind the past few days could compare to her actual beauty.

He was glad it took her a while to gather her thoughts when she first laid eyes on him, because his first glimpse of her left him a bit speechless, too. Spending nearly two hours with her only made her more attractive to him. She was witty, easy to talk to, and a fast learner. When he stood close to help guide her, it was very tempting to move even closer, but he restrained himself. He didn’t want to offend her or make her uncomfortable in any way. For all he knew, she could have a boyfriend.

That possibility didn’t keep him from admiring her, though. After she chose the color of frit for her project, he couldn’t help thinking how it would perfectly match her beautiful eyes. He almost told her so, but decided to keep the comment to himself, unsure of how she would accept it. The memory of those eyes sparkling with excitement was going to remain with him in the coming days.

Taking out his phone again, he looked down at her contact info with a smile, thinking about her last statement. He didn’t think there was a chance he would confuse her with any other Emma. She was definitely one-of-a-kind.

He traced his finger over her name on the screen, then locked the phone and stuck it in his pocket, before turning to go back into the shop. He could hardly wait until Sunday.

*********

“How was your first lesson?” Mary Margaret eagerly asked as soon as Emma answered her phone. She had just walked through the door of her small loft apartment and marveled at the innate sense of timing her friend seemed to possess.

“It was great! I loved it, and already learned a lot. I made something, but I had to leave it in the cooling oven, so Killian said he would send a picture of it to me when it comes out. I’ll send it to you once I get it.”

“Okay. Tell me about Killian! He must be a good teacher if you already learned a lot. How old is he? Is he nice? What does he look like? ”

There was a brief silence after she finished asking her questions. “Are you done?” Emma laughed.

“I’m sure I’ll think of more later, but that’s all I have for now,” Mary Margaret replied, humor coloring her voice.

“Okay, let me see. Yes, he’s a very good teacher. He explained everything while he demonstrated the process and then guided me through it when I did it myself. I’m not sure how old he is, but I would estimate him to be around my age. And he is very nice. He put me at ease right away.”

“And…” Mary Margaret prodded.

“And what?” Emma asked innocently.

“Answer the last question.”

“What question was that?”

Mary Margaret heaved a sigh. “Seriously, Emma?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Emma snickered. “He…he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, Marg. Dark hair, scruff, dimples and the bluest eyes you can imagine.”

“So Ruby was right! He is hot!”

“Hot and sexy,” Emma confirmed. “But I really don’t look forward to Ruby finding that out.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “I don’t blame you! She more than likely won’t let you alone until the two of you are married!”

“Oh, god,” Emma groaned. “Maybe she’ll forget I had my first lesson today.”

“Fat chance,” Mary Margaret giggled.

As if to prove her point, Emma’s phone buzzed with a text. Glancing at the screen, she groaned even louder. “Just got a text from her that says ‘How was your lesson with Mr. Hottie?’ How long do you suppose I can ignore it before I answer?”

“If you don’t answer, she’ll be pounding on your door very soon.”

“Ugh, fine. I’ve gotta go. I’ll send you the picture as soon as I get it.”

“Good luck. I’ll be listening for her scream when she finds out Killian is good looking.”

“I think I’ll just tell her he’s old and ugly.”

“You really think that will work?”

“Of course not. She should have been a police detective with her knack for interrogating people and making them confess,” Emma sighed. “Talk to you later, Marg.”

As soon as she ended the call, she responded to Ruby’s text.

E: The lesson was great.

R: Details.

E: I made a green glass ball.

R: More details.

E: It was fun!

R: You’re testing my patience.

E: I learned how to use the glory hole.

R: Glory hole? Now we’re talking. Were you horizontal or vertical at the time?

E: It’s a glassblowing term - an oven where you reheat the glass.

R: Whatever you say. Tell me about Killian.

E: He’s a good teacher.

R: What did he teach you? The Horizontal Mambo?

E: Ruby!

R: Ugh, fine! Is he hot?

E: Well, the furnaces are close to 2000 degrees, so it’s hard not to be hot.

R: If you don’t give me a direct answer Emma Swan, I’m coming over there to drag it out of you!

E: He’s very handsome.

R: I knew it! Did you ask him out?

E: Of course not!

R: But you are seeing him again, right?

E: Did you forget you gave me 10 lessons? I’ll see him at least 9 more times.

R: When is the next one?

E: Sunday afternoon.

R: Then you have a few days to plan how to ask him out.

E: You’re impossible.

R: And you love me for it. (smiley emoji)

E: I don’t know about that, but I do love you, Rubes.

R: I know. I’m adorable.

E: (rolling eyes emoji) I’ll send you a pic of what I made today when Killian sends it to me. It had to cool down so I wasn’t able to bring it home with me.

R: Ooh! He has your phone number and you have his! Finally, a step in the right direction! You now have the ability to send him sexy photos!

E: Ugh! I’ve gotta go, Ruby. Talk to you later.

R: Alright. Go daydream about your man.

*********

When Emma entered the glass shop on Sunday afternoon, she saw Killian sitting on one of the benches, speaking to an older man with a fringe of white hair around his otherwise bald head. Curious, she quickly strode across the concrete floor to where the two men were sitting.

Killian looked up as she approached and stood to greet her. “Hello, Emma. How are you today?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she replied, her eyes flicking over to the other gentleman, who was looking at her with a broad smile and twinkling eyes.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Killian said, leading her over to where the man was now standing. “This is Marco Pinetti. He taught me everything I know about glassblowing. Marco, this is my newest student, Emma Swan.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Swan. Killian has told me about you and your potential to be an excellent glassblower,” Marco said, taking Emma’s hand warmly between both of his.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pinetti,” Emma said sincerely.

“Mr. Pinetti makes me sound like an old man! Please call me Marco.”

She chuckled. “Okay, but only if you call me Emma.”

“Marco stopped in to visit and I asked him to stay to watch your lesson, if you don’t mind,” Killian said.

“That’s fine,” she replied, then turned toward Marco again. “Please just remember this is only my second one.”

Marco patted her on the shoulder. “We all have to begin somewhere, my dear, but from what Killian has told me, you catch on very quickly.”

She glanced at Killian and saw the proud smile on his face. Her face heating from the blush creeping into it, she said, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

As the lesson went along, Killian was just as attentive and helpful as he was the first time. Marco ended up staying for the entire two hours, and by the end, she had a multicolor paperweight and a Christmas ornament cooling in the annealer.

“Do you have any advice for her, Marco?” Killian asked.

The older man scratched at his beard in thought. “Follow your instincts and don’t be afraid of making a mistake. Glass is fragile, yes, but pieces can always be remade. Experiment with it and have fun.”

Killian was nodding his agreement, while Emma soaked in the master glassblower’s words.

“Killian was right - you are a quick study,” Marco went on. “You have a knack for the art and I’m very happy you’re pursuing it.”

“Thank you, Marco,” Emma beamed, while Killian looked at her with pride.

*********

The next month passed in a blur and far too soon, Emma was having her final lesson with Killian. She not only learned a great deal about the techniques of glassblowing, but had gotten to know her instructor much better, too. She really liked him, and was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

It was all she could do to keep her hands off of him during their lessons. There was just something so enticing about watching him manipulate the glass, the muscles of his arms flexing with a light sheen of perspiration covering them. His knowledge, expertise and the easy way he explained things were also attractive qualities to her.

They texted one another daily. At first, it was just about the lessons, but eventually, they began sharing personal information with each other, discovering that they had many common interests.

When her final project, a plate with swirls of color, was put into the annealer, Killian turned to face Emma. “You have been a pleasure to teach, Swan. I’ve never taught anyone with more natural ability.”

Emma dragged the back of her wrist across her forehead to wipe away the sweat, but also to hide her blush at his praise. “Thank you, Killian, but I think it was because of your teaching that I learned so quickly.”

Killian scratched at a spot behind his ear, dropping his eyes to the floor. “It’s also been very nice getting to know you. I’m going to miss our time together.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “but just because my lessons are over, doesn’t mean we can’t still text each other.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” he grinned. “I, uh, I was wondering if you might like to go get something to eat while you’re waiting for the plate to cool. That way, you won’t have to make another trip into Portland to pick it up.”

She answered with a smile. “I’d really like that.”

They spent the next three hours enjoying each other’s company at Killian’s favorite diner on the outskirts of Portland. When Emma finally checked her phone, she couldn’t believe how much time had passed. She usually had trouble carrying on long conversations with most people, but it was easy with Killian.

“I guess we should go back to the shop so I can pick up my project and get on the road,” she said reluctantly.

He drained the last of the water in his glass. “I suppose it is about that time.”

He paid the bill, after insisting it was his treat, and they both got into his SUV. Emma found a radio station playing Christmas music and sang one song after another all the way back to the shop, Killian joining her after the first song. Once they arrived, she collected her project and carefully set it on the floor of the passenger side in her car, tucking a blanket around it, before turning back to him.

“Well, this is it,” she said with a sigh.

“It, uh, it doesn’t have to be,” he said, stepping closer to her. “You’re welcome to come blow glass with me anytime, Swan.”

Emma grinned, thinking about how Ruby would twist his words to become something dirty if she was here. “You’re right. I can always buy more lessons.”

He reached out to take her hands. “You wouldn’t have to buy them. I thoroughly enjoy working with you and I’m telling you the truth when I say you show a lot of talent. Please consider this an open invitation to come here any chance you get.”

“Thanks, I would really like that,” she assured him.

They stood with their hands still linked for several moments, until Killian broke the brief silence. “Emma, I…I would like to see you again…I mean, besides you coming to the shop. Would you be interested in going out with me?”

She answered without hesitation, “Yes, Killian. I would be very interested!”

His grin stretched across his face. “Fantastic! Will Wednesday still work for you?”

“Absolutely! I’ve been sure not to schedule anything on Wednesday evenings, so that will work just fine.”

“Wednesday it is, then,” he said, giving her hands a squeeze. “I know of a place just outside of town that has a drive-through Christmas light display. Perhaps we can take it in after we have dinner together?”

“That sounds perfect. Do you want me to drive over here?”

“No, lass. It would be bad form to make you drive here and back by yourself. Please allow me to pick you up at your place.”

“That’s very gentlemanly of you.”

“I’m always a gentleman.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said softly. “I’ll text you my address.” Pulling her hands out of his, she ran them up his arms to rest on his shoulders. Gazing into his eyes, she saw the same desire she was feeling herself and pushed herself up to her toes to meet his lips with her own.

She felt his quick intake of breath and nearly pulled away, thinking she was being too forward, but in the next second, he responded by sliding his lips against hers. As her arms wrapped around his neck, his encircled her waist and pulled her closer.

Emma didn’t make a habit of kissing men. In her experience, she found most of them to be forceful and controlling with their kisses, not caring if it was enjoyable for her. Killian’s kiss shattered all of her qualms as he let her set the pace, gently caressing her lips instead of crushing them.

He lightly teased the seam of her lips with his tongue and she allowed him entrance. His hands spread across her back, holding her firmly but tenderly, and she sighed with contentment.

Resting her forehead against his when they separated, she licked her lips and smiled. “I hope you didn’t mind me doing that.”

His chuckle rumbled in his throat. “In case you didn’t notice, Love, I most assuredly did not mind. I've wanted to kiss you since the first day we met.”

She pulled away and looked at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

He nodded slowly without breaking eye contact. “Aye.”

“In that case…” she said, before initiating another leisurely kiss, enjoying the feel of his hands moving up her back and into her hair. Using them to tilt her head, he deepened the kiss, but kept it soft and undemanding.

This time when the kiss ended, she forced herself to step back. “I, um, I guess I should go.”

“I…” he started, his voice a bit shaky. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I suppose so. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Emma said smiling, before turning to move to the other side of her car.

Killian hurried around to open her door, responding to her appreciative smile with a flirtatious smirk. After she settled into her seat and fastened her seatbelt, he leaned in to brush his lips across hers one more time, then closed the door and tapped his knuckles against the window. She started the engine, shifted into gear and gave him a little wave.

Before she pulled out onto the street, she looked in her rearview mirror to see him rubbing his fingers over his lips with a slightly dazed look on his face.

*********

After Emma’s yellow bug disappeared, Killian stood in the parking lot for several minutes, lost in thought. He had been truthful when he told her he wanted to kiss her since that first day she walked into his shop, but to have her initiate it was a very welcome surprise.

He rubbed his fingers against his lips, wanting to hold onto the feeling of kissing Emma Swan for as long as possible. He’d had many first kisses, but he was hoping this would be his last first kiss. He was completely under her spell, and found he didn’t mind at all.

*********

Their date on Wednesday lacked all of the usual first date awkwardness as they shared easy conversation and genuine laughter throughout the evening. At the end of the date, after another languid kiss at Emma’s door, neither of them wanted to say goodnight. He finally tore himself away once they decided to go out again on Saturday.

They enjoyed four more dates before Killian went to England to visit his brother, promising to stay in touch with her during the weeks he was gone. Emma was disappointed they couldn’t spend the holidays together, but saw how much he was looking forward to being with his family after months of being separated, and was happy for him. The night before he left, she kissed him sweetly and told him to have a wonderful time, determined not to be one of those girlfriends who got weepy over saying goodbye. Just thinking of herself as Killian’s girlfriend made her smile and she knew no matter how long he was gone, she would be there waiting for him when he returned.

*********

“I found her,” Killian told his brother Liam when he picked him up at the airport.

“Found who?” Liam questioned, looking over his shoulder before changing lanes.

“Her. The one. The woman I want to be with for the rest of my life.”

Liam glanced over at his brother. “Are you being serious?”

“Aye, very much so,” Killian said. “Her name is Emma Swan and I met her when she was given glassblowing lessons with me for her birthday. She’s…a bloody goddess, Liam. I think I’m in love with her.”

“When did you meet?”

“Six weeks ago.”

“And you’re already saying you’re in love and want to spend the rest of your life with her?” Liam asked skeptically.

“You of all people should understand, brother. I remember you coming home after seeing Belle at Uni, telling me you met the woman of your dreams.”

“That’s true, and I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

“No, she’s the love of your life, and I think Emma may be mine.”

A smile spread over Liam’s face. “I’m very happy to hear it, Killian, and I’m sure Belle will be, too.”

Killian grinned and settled back into his seat for the rest of the ride to Liam’s house.

*********

“It’s your turn to open a present,” Emma declared, handing one to Ashley. “I had your name this year.”

The friends were gathered at the house Mary Margaret shared with her boyfriend, David, on the Sunday before Christmas. They had a tradition of drawing names for gifts, then exchanging them after making dozens of Christmas cookies. Now, the pizza they ordered was eaten and they were all a little tipsy on the margaritas Mary Margaret kept mixing up.

Ashley tore the paper off the box, lifted the lid and let out a squeal of excitement over the scented bath beads, bottles of her favorite lotion and a gift certificate for three massages. “I love it! Thank you, Em!”

“I figured you could use some pampering - being a wife and mother, and working full time.”

“Definitely. The closest I get to pampering these days is putting a new Pampers diaper on Alexandra!”

Her friends burst into laughter over her statement, then Ruby stood up to collect her gift from under the tree. Emma looked up when she stopped in front of her and held it out. “I got your name, you lucky dog.”

Emma bit her lip. “Am I going to like it?” She knew her friend had a penchant for giving slightly outrageous gifts. The year before, she had given Mary Margaret some racy lingerie that made her blush madly when she opened it, along with a very nice electric tea kettle.

“Of course you are! I mean, I couldn’t wrap Mr. Hottie and give him to you, which was my original plan, but I’m sure you’ll still like it,” she said, with a toothy grin.

Taking a deep breath, Emma removed the wrapping paper from the large box. When she opened the flaps, she found a body pillow with a photo of Killian on it. Her jaw dropped and she could feel her cheeks growing warm.

“Now you can sleep with him every night, at least until he gets back home. Then you can sleep with the real thing!” Ruby crowed.

“Where…how…how did you even get a picture of him?” Emma asked, still a bit stunned. “This looks like the one I took at the airport before he left.”

“It is! You should know better than to leave your phone unattended around me,” Ruby cackled. “So…do you like it?”

Emma stood and held the pillow up in front of her to get a better look at it. She had to admit it was a thoughtful gift, and having a tangible reminder of her boyfriend in her bed every night was quite appealing. Looking over at her friend, she said sincerely, “Yeah, I do, Rubes. It’s really great! Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, there’s something else in the box.”

Emma sat back down and looked in the box, then covered her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“What is it?” Elsa questioned. All of her friends stood up to get a better look.

Ruby reached into the box and held the box of thirty-six condoms aloft. “I thought I would get you a week’s supply!” she laughed.

*********

Killian was really enjoying the time with Liam, Belle and their children, Adrian and Elizabeth, but he was also missing Emma more every day. They called, texted or FaceTimed regularly and it got harder and harder to say goodbye at the end of their conversations.

Three days after Christmas, once everyone else was in bed, the brothers were sitting in the lounge, sipping rum in front of a crackling fire. Liam observed his brother staring into the flames and could tell his mind was far away. “You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” he asked.

Killian startled a bit, then sheepishly grinned before raising his glass to his lips. “Aye, is it that obvious?”

“I can always tell when you get that dreamy look on your face. You look like a love sick puppy.”

“Just how many love sick puppies have you ever seen in your life, Liam?” Killian deflected.

“Enough to know you look like one,” Liam snarked. “You’ve got it bad, brother.”

Killian threw back the rest of his rum and set the tumbler on the coffee table. Rubbing his hands on his jeans, he took a moment before answering, “Being away from her this long has proven I love her. I can hardly wait to see her again.”

Liam nodded and stared into the amber liquid he was swirling around in his glass. After several moments, he said softly, “Then don’t.”

Looking up at him, Killian asked, “What do you mean?”

“You have an open-ended ticket to fly back, so you can return any time. I heard you tell her the other night that you wished you could be with her for New Year’s Eve. Why don’t you fly home and surprise her?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Killian chuckled.

“Of course not, you git. We love having you here, but Belle and I both go back to work January 2nd and you weren’t planning to stay once we do that anyway. Why not go back a couple of days early and spend the first day of the new year with the woman you so very clearly love?”

Killian sat forward in his chair, rubbing his scruffy chin in thought. “You truly wouldn’t mind?”

Liam stood and strode over to him, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We love you, Killian, and we will happily have you with us for as long as you choose to stay. But if you decide to go back and can catch a flight, we will understand. After all, you’ve already done an excellent job of thoroughly spoiling your niece and nephew.”

Grinning, Killian pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up his internet browser to check for available flights back to the States.

*********

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us tonight, Emma?” Mary Margaret asked for at least the fourth time that day.

“I am not going to be a fifth wheel at a New Year’s Eve party where everyone will have a date,” Emma replied. “I’m looking forward to being in my pajamas all evening, eating popcorn, drinking hot chocolate and watching Netflix. I’m sure Killian will call to wish me a happy New Year, probably around seven, when it’s midnight in England, and I don’t want to miss it.”

Mary Margaret gave her a smile and pulled her into a hug. “Okay, but if you change your mind…”

“I won’t. Go have a good time and don’t worry about me. Even if Killian’s not here, it’s my first New Year’s with a boyfriend and I’m happy.”

*********

Emma checked her phone for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. When Killian hadn’t called at seven o’clock, she thought maybe he was just celebrating the New Year with his family, but now it was ten and she was beginning to think he had forgotten all about calling her. She tried to tell herself he might be waiting until midnight in her time zone, but that was unlikely since it would be five AM in England.

She pulled up his contact info on her phone numerous times, but kept herself from clicking on it since she was sure he had to be in bed and didn’t want to wake him.

As she was trying to concentrate on the third episode of The Devil in Ohio, cuddling up to her body pillow, there was a knock on her door. Sighing, she grabbed the remote to pause the show, and crossed the room, mumbling, “I told you not to worry about me, Marg.”

Pulling the door open, her legs nearly gave out when she saw her boyfriend standing in front of her. “K-Killian?” she squeaked.

“Happy New Year, Love.”

“Killian!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. “How…oh, how are you here?”

“Liam convinced me to come back home to you,” he explained, letting out a joyous laugh when Emma started peppering kisses all over his face.

She stopped her onslaught to ask, “I mean, what?”

“You know, Liam, my older brother, he sent me…”

His words were cut off when she tugged him to her and kissed him soundly, only pulling away to say, “I don’t care. I don’t care how you’re here, I’m just glad you are.”

“So am I,” he grinned, hugging her tightly and swaying their bodies back and forth.

Once they finally ended their embrace and moved inside her apartment, she looked down at herself, her cheeks flooding with color. “Here I am in my pajamas, no makeup, my hair a mess. I look terrible.”

“You look stunning, Swan,” Killian assured her. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.”

“Charmer,” she giggled, running her hands up his chest to loop her arms around his neck.

“Just telling the truth, Love.”

Emma brushed her lips over his. “I missed you.”

He wound a loose tendril of her hair around his finger, gazing into her eyes. “I missed you, too. So much so that my brother called me a ‘love sick puppy’ and suggested flying back to be with you for New Year’s.”

“Love sick puppy?” Emma questioned. Her heart began to hammer in her chest, wondering if she was reading too much into the phrase.

Killian dropped his gaze and scratched behind his ear, before looking back up at her with a warm gleam in his eyes. “Aye, love sick…because I’ve fallen in love with you, Emma.”

Her responding kiss was an acceptance of his declaration, and when it ended, she breathed, “I love you, too.”

More kisses followed, both of them trying to convey their newfound feelings to the other. After a while, Emma became aware of Killian putting some space between their bodies. She tried to pull him against her again, but he resisted and the reason suddenly dawned on her.

“If what we’re doing is…affecting you, you don’t have to try to hide it, you know. It doesn’t make you any less of a gentleman,” she whispered. “And besides, you’re not the only one affected.”

His desire-filled eyes met hers. “I…I don’t want you to…think I’m pressuring you into anything…”

“It’s not pressuring if I want the same thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“See, this is how I know you’re different from most other guys. The second they hear a girl is interested in going to bed with them, they jump at the chance, instead of asking if she’s sure,” Emma smirked.

He rubbed the back of his neck as the tips of his ears turned red. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Trust me, we are.” He wrapped his arms around her again, and she pressed close to him, feeling his arousal against her belly. “I think making love for the first time would be a great way to ring in the New Year, don’t you?”

“Aye, Love. This New Year promises to be the best one ever, and showing you how much I love you would be an excellent way to start it.”

She beamed at him, gave him a quick kiss, then picked up the remote to turn off the television.

“What is this?” Killian asked from behind her.

Turning to see what he was talking about, her cheeks heated immediately. He was standing there holding her body pillow wearing a puzzled look on his face.

“That,” she said, “is my Christmas gift from Ruby.”

“Is it indeed? Well, I like this Ruby already! Have you been sleeping with it?”

“Yes. Are you jealous?” she teased.

“Of myself? Perhaps just a bit,” he admitted.

“Well, you don’t have to be anymore, because tonight I’ll be sleeping with you.” She took his hand and began leading him toward her bedroom. “Come on, I’ll show you the other present Ruby gave me.”

They entered her room and Emma dropped his hand to remove a small pile of clothes from her bed. Dropping them onto a cedar chest in the corner, she said, “I hope my messiness isn’t a deal breaker.”

“Not a chance,” he answered, glancing quickly around the room to take in her personal touches. He saw a few of her glass projects sitting on her dresser, and it made him smile remembering when she made each one.

“The bedding is clean. I just washed it yesterday, but I guess you don’t really care about that,” she said, turning down the top sheet and blanket. She knew she was rambling, but she was beginning to feel a little nervous about being with him for the first time.

“Hey,” he said, taking hold of her hands to still them, “breathe, Swan. Let’s take our time and let this happen naturally. There’s no reason to rush or force things to happen, okay?”

She brought her hands up to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. “I love you,” she breathed.

His answering smile lit up the room. “And I, you. What do you say we get rid of some of these clothes?”

“Sounds good to me,” she agreed, pushing his coat over his shoulders and hearing it land in a heap on the floor. Next, she began unbuttoning his shirt, while his fingers found their way under the hem of her pajama shirt, caressing the soft skin he encountered.

His shirt soon joined his jacket and Killian sucked in a breath as Emma slid her hands over his chest, her thumbs skimming over his nipples. She felt his hands glide up her sides, taking her top with them. She lifted her arms, allowing him to remove it completely and saw his eyes darken with desire as he drank in the sight of her bared breasts.

“Absolute perfection,” he murmured, his hands moving to palm them. She bit her lip as his fingers stroked over her sensitive skin. After several moments of admiration, his eyes shifted back up to hers, then his hands were framing her face, his head dipping to kiss her. It was gentle and unhurried, and she could feel herself relaxing with every sensual sweep of his tongue.

When he pulled her closer, she gasped as her taut nipples came in contact with the coarse hair on his chest, causing her nerve ends to tingle. His hands made their way down her back and inside her sleep pants to massage her ass, making a moan escape her mouth.

She knew his hands could work magic; she had seen them as he manipulated glass. Now she was eager to feel them on every inch of her body and she told him so.

“With pleasure, Love,” he grinned. He began by ridding her of her remaining clothes, then urging her to lay back on the bed. She watched him sweep his eyes over her body, noticing the hunger in them as he took her in. “Emma, you are exquisite,” he breathed, his voice awestruck.

“Please touch me, Killian,” she pleaded, her hands reaching for him.

He obliged immediately, gliding his hands up her calves and over her thighs. His thumbs brushed over her mound, but continued over the curves of her body, stopping to caress her breasts. His body followed the movement of his hands, straddling her until he was hovering over her.

When his lips closed around one of her nipples, her back arched into him. Then his voice buzzed against the skin of her throat. “I want to find out what feels good to you, so don’t hesitate to tell me what you like, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” she replied, her eyes closing, already on her way to a state of bliss.

Killian was eager to touch his beautiful girlfriend in all her intimate places and discover the things that brought her the most pleasure. He shifted to her side and dragged his hand down her body again, nudging her legs apart when he reached them. “Are you alright with me using my fingers?” he asked in a low voice.

“Y-yeah,” she said, widening her legs.

He stroked his fingers through her folds. “You’re already so wet, Love,” he murmured into her ear, watching her bite her lip as she nodded jerkily in response. Continuing his ministrations, he began rubbing his thumb over her bundle of nerves, taking note of how her hands gripped the pillow behind her head.

Slowly, he eased a finger inside her, the heat of her channel welcoming him immediately. Adding a second one, he began to stroke her steadily. The quivering of her legs and the moans she was emitting assured him she was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing. He knew she was right on the edge when her hips lifted off the bed and she rasped out his name in a wrecked voice. Leaning down, he sucked her clit between his lips and that was all it took to bring her to climax.

When he began teasing the nub with the tip of his tongue, he felt her hands gripping his hair and lifted his head to look up at her. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Hell, no,” she groaned. “That feels amazing!”

He grinned and ducked down to continue paying attention to her clit as he removed his fingers from inside her, bringing a gush of her arousal with them.

Feeling her hands loosening in his hair, he sat back on his haunches and waited until her eyes opened, glazed with pleasure. “Alright there, Love?” he asked.

She licked her lips before answering, “Yeah, and just so you know, I enjoyed that.”

“Did you really?” he said teasingly. “I’m glad you clarified that.”

“You’re awfully smug, Jones,” she said, trying and failing to sound miffed. Pushing up to her elbows to look at him, she added, “And you’re also far too clothed. It would bring me great pleasure to see you completely undressed.”

“As you wish, Milady.”

He removed his shoes, then getting off the bed, he unbuckled his belt and quickly removed his jeans, socks and boxer briefs. He knew Emma was watching him intently and heard her intake of breath when he stood naked before her. “See something you like, Swan?”

Emma was sure he would be impressive, and she definitely wasn’t disappointed. As he climbed back onto the bed and laid down beside her, she reached for him, stopping just short of touching him.

“You want me to tell you what feels good and I want you to do the same, okay?”

“Okay” he promised.

She took him in hand, stroking and squeezing his cock and feeling it grow harder as she did. He started pressing kisses to her throat and shoulder, murmuring words of encouragement and pleasure into her skin.

After a few minutes, he reached down to still her hand. “Don’t take me too far,” he requested in a strained voice. “I want to be inside you when I come.”

Taking his face between her hands, she kissed him sweetly. “I think it’s time to show you the other gift Ruby gave me.”

“Now?” he questioned.

She giggled. “Yeah, just wait.” She pushed off the bed and crossed the room to her dresser, pulling open a drawer to retrieve the box of condoms.

Turning around, she held it up to show him and he barked out a laugh. “Well, I do have to admit I didn’t come prepared, so I’m very happy you have good friends.”

Opening the box and removing one of the foil packs, Emma said, “She told me this was a week’s worth.”

“I like the way she thinks,” he smirked, as Emma joined him on the bed again. Tearing open the package, she met his eyes in an unspoken question and, at his slight nod, carefully rolled the condom into place.

Killian gently pushed her onto her back and moved over her, palming her breast with one hand, while his other cupped the back of her head to tilt it to just the right angle for him to plunder her mouth. Her hands scratching down his back, along with her needy, throaty sounds, had him as hard as he had ever been in his life. He felt her shifting underneath him and soon he was cradled between her thighs, his cock rubbing deliciously against her wet heat.

Their hands continued to roam, caressing and squeezing, while their mouths stayed connected in a searing kiss, punctuated by nips and panted words of desire. He began lightly rutting against her, trying to gauge her readiness by her reaction. Soon, she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him to her tightly, and he got his answer.

He wordlessly encouraged her to loosen her legs enough for him to reach between them and line himself up. Pushing into her slowly, he watched her face for any sign of discomfort, but all he saw was pure bliss and love.

When he was fully seated, he dropped his forehead to her chest, trying to keep himself from listening to his body, which was telling him to take her hard and fast. Her legs once again gripped his hips and he could feel her nails digging into his back.

“Killian,” he heard her murmur into his hair, “feels so good, but…please move.”

Raising his head, he kissed her briefly, then pushed up to his elbows and started thrusting shallowly. He wanted to savor the feeling of being inside the woman of his dreams; the woman he loved, and who loved him. It was almost overwhelming.

Emma had never experienced more pleasure in her life. She felt like every nerve ending was sparking, shooting heat throughout her body. Killian fit inside her perfectly, like he was meant just for her. Her pelvis raised off the bed as she met him thrust for thrust, her hands scrabbling for purchase on his back.

She didn’t know how long she could last as the pace picked up and his strokes went deeper. Then his rhythm stuttered as he pulled back to look at her and she nearly came completely undone from the look of utter adoration in his eyes.

“I love you,” he panted.

“I love you, too,” she responded. “Now, make me come.”

Grinning, he set about doing just that, and in no time at all, she was falling over the edge, ripples of intense pleasure moving through her body.

Killian felt her climax pulsing against his cock and couldn’t hold back any longer, joining her in a blissful state of euphoria. Not wanting to put his full weight on her, he rolled them over until she laid on top of him, their chests rising and falling together as they tried to catch their breath.

Her smooth, soft skin was a magnet for his fingers, as he drew abstract designs into it. He could easily spend hours holding her against him, feeling her breath on his neck, her hair tickling his arms and her legs tangled between his own. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so sated and content.

Emma didn’t want to move. She wasn’t sure she was even capable of moving since she finally understood what it meant to feel completely boneless. Words failed her, but she didn’t care. Resting her head on Killian’s chest, she could hear his erratic heartbeat and knew this was exactly where she wanted to be.

The comfortable silence stretched on for several minutes, until she felt him brushing her hair away from her face. She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey, yourself,” he mumbled lazily. “Happy New Year.”

She looked at the digital clock on her bedside stand. “We still have forty-five minutes to go.”

“I’m claiming it early because everything feels like a new start with you. I know it’s very soon to be thinking about this, and I don’t mean to upset you, but I can see a future with you, Emma. A happy one.”

“That doesn’t upset me, Killian. For the first time in my life, I can picture being with someone in a committed relationship. I’ve always said I don’t need a man to be happy, and I don’t, but I think I can be even happier with you.”

He barely had time to answer her statement with a smile before she was kissing him, sweet and slow, sealing their declarations about their future.

After cleaning up and putting on the bare minimum of clothes - Killian in his boxer briefs and Emma in his discarded button-down shirt - she reheated some leftover spaghetti for him. He had barely eaten since having lunch with Liam and his family. He merely picked at the meal on the flight, his stomach churning with thoughts of how she would react to his surprise.

“Oh, hey,” Emma said, “can I take a picture of the two of us? I want to send it to my friends. They were worried about me spending New Year’s Eve by myself.”

“Of course, but if they asked you to do something with them, why didn’t you, Love?”

“Because I was convinced you would call me when it was midnight in England and I didn’t want to miss talking to you.”

“So I disappointed you.”

She got up from her seat and circled around the table. Standing behind him, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “You definitely made up for it, my love.”

After collecting her phone from the living room, she resumed her spot behind him, wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth with her finger, and took a selfie of the two of them. Adding the caption ‘Look who came all the way from England to surprise me for New Year’s’, she sent it to her friends in their group chat.

She didn’t expect to get immediate responses since it was only a few minutes before midnight, but Ashley’s reply appeared within a few seconds.

A: OMG Emma! That’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you!

E: Thanks! Why did you answer so fast?

A: We had to come home early because Alexandra got sick.

E: Oh no! Hope she feels better soon.

A: She seems fine and is already asleep. I think she just missed mommy and daddy.

E: That’s good. Well, Happy New Year to all of you!

A: Happy New Year to you and your man too!

Emma couldn’t help the ridiculously wide smile that crossed her face at her friend’s last statement. Her man. She had a man, and not just any man. The sexiest, sweetest, most handsome man she’d ever met…and he loved her.

Checking the time on her device, she noticed it was 11:58. “Do you want to watch the ball drop?” she asked Killian.

“Sure, then we can officially welcome in the New Year.”

They sat down on the sofa and she quickly found a TV station where they could watch the countdown, which had already started. When it got to the final ten seconds, Killian took her hand and squeezed it as they chanted the numbers together. As the huge, glittering ball reached the bottom and lit up with the New Year, they embraced one another and shared a passionate kiss, only pausing to exchange I love you’s before diving back in for more.

Emma had pushed him back on the couch and was trailing kisses down his throat, when her phone started buzzing on the end table. She ignored it, until he asked, “Are…aren’t you going to get that, Love?”

She sat up and looked at him. “Do you want me to?”

“Whoever it is will probably continue to call until you answer it,” he reasoned.

Emma sighed and grabbed the buzzing phone. Seeing the name on the screen, she rolled her eyes. “It’s Ruby.”

He grinned at her consternation while she swiped across the screen. “Hey, Rubes.”

“GIRRRRRRLLLL!” Ruby screeched and Emma pulled the phone away from her ear with a pained look on her face. “Mr. Hottie showed up at your door? And he CAME all the way from England! He must be the most prolific lover of all time!”

“Oh, good grief, Ruby! Why do you always make everything sexual? And why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be sucking face with Graham?”

“I already did and he knows he’ll get hot Ruby love later, but I saw your text and had to call! Did you make good use of my gift to you? Please tell me you’re already well into your week’s supply!”

Emma’s face felt hot and she knew it was beet red. “He’s only been here a couple of hours.”

“And your point is…?”

“Look, Ruby. I’m glad you’re happy for us, but I’d rather not share our, um…personal details.”

Ruby’s loud laugh came through the phone. “You just answered my question, Emma Swan. If you didn’t want us to know you did the deed, you should have made sure he wasn’t naked when you took the picture.”

“He wasn’t…” Emma started, then looked at her shirtless boyfriend. He grinned back at her, rubbing his fingers against his bare chest. “Okay, he was semi-naked, but that doesn’t mean that we…”

“Of course it does. You’re not gonna convince me he flew in from a whole other country to spend New Year’s Eve with you and all you did was shake his hand.”

“You know what, Ruby? Why don’t you go give Graham some of your hot Ruby loving now. I’m hanging up. Happy New Year!”

“And a very, very Happy New Year to both of you, too. Now, go do some more celebrating!”

They received congratulatory messages from Mary Margaret and Elsa soon after and by that time, jet lag and a day of international travel had taken its toll on Killian. Emma ignored his protests of wanting to follow Ruby’s instructions and dragged him off to bed, where he promised to make it up to her in the morning, then fell asleep in her arms within minutes.

He was true to his word, waking her up in the most pleasurable way eight hours later, the two of them celebrating until their growling stomachs finally drove them out of bed at noon.

*********

The new year brought lots of changes to the couple, along with more happiness than either of them had ever known. Killian met Emma’s friends and their significant others, and was soon comfortable being part of the group. He spent many nights at her apartment and within a few months, most of his clothes were in her closet and his toiletries littered her bathroom.

Emma became a regular at Killian’s glass shop, while still staying busy at the bakery. Even though he was thrilled to spend so much time with her, he worried about the amount of back and forth driving she was doing in her old VW. One day in May, he surprised her with the announcement that he rented a warehouse in Storybrooke and was moving his shop there. She protested at first, not wanting the more isolated location to hurt his business, but he assured her his online sales were booming and that people would be willing to drive a little further for lessons, which proved to be true.

When he started looking for an apartment in Storybrooke, Emma suggested he move in with her instead, and he happily agreed. Once he had his shop up and running at the end of July, they moved the remainder of his belongings into her place.

In September, Liam and his family flew in to visit Killian and meet Emma in person. She had seen them through his phone screen on several FaceTime calls and already felt accepted by them. By the end of their week-long visit, her place in the family was cemented when Liam referred to her as the sister he always wanted.

Mary Margaret, who was newly engaged, was convinced Killian was going to propose at Christmas, so when he didn’t, Emma tried not to be disappointed. She really wasn’t in any hurry to get married, but after her friend planted the thought in her head, it began to take root.

Their plans for New Year’s Eve were to have dinner at their favorite restaurant overlooking the harbor and then attend the annual party at the town hall with their friends. That evening, Killian called her thirty minutes before their reservations to tell her he was delayed waiting for several orders to be picked up by the parcel service, and would meet her at the restaurant.

She blew out an exasperated sigh and sat down on the couch to wait until it was time to leave. Twenty minutes later, she buttoned her winter coat over the red, form-fitting dress she was anxious to reveal to her boyfriend, grabbed her handbag, and threw the door open.

It was like deja vu. Killian was standing in the hallway, dressed smartly in a navy suit, crisp white shirt, and silver tie, holding a bouquet of red and white roses in a glass vase she was sure he made especially for her.

“Happy New Year, Love.”

“K-Killian, I thought you said…”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Just like last year, huh?”

“Well, not exactly like last year,” he answered, bending to sit the vase on the floor beside him. Then he pulled a jeweler's box out of his jacket pocket and lowered himself to one knee in front of her, opening the box as he did.

Her eyes immediately misted over and she covered her mouth with both hands.

“Emma,” he began, “you blew me away the moment you stepped into my shop. You’re the love of my life and I want to spend every minute of that life with you. It would make me beyond happy and proud to be your husband, if you will agree to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

She started nodding before he even finished asking, and then she choked out, “Yes, Killian! Oh god, yes! I will marry you!”

He removed the diamond ring from the box and took her trembling hand to slip it onto her finger, then stood and pulled her into his embrace, showering her hair and face with kisses. When their lips finally met, the kiss was like none they had ever shared before - a promise of their future which was more than just a dream now.

As they stood with their foreheads pressed together after the kiss ended, he murmured, “I guess we better get going or we’ll miss our dinner reservations.”

She looked at him with a smug smile, bent down to pick up the vase of flowers and turned to go inside. Once she set the bouquet on the kitchen table, she unbuttoned her coat slowly and deliberately, letting it slide to the floor when she was done.

Killian’s mouth dropped open at the sight of her in the red dress and his Adam’s apple bobbed several times before he could force words past it. “Swan, you look absolutely breathtaking.” Moving across the room, he pulled her to him for another passionate kiss. Slightly out of breath afterwards, he picked up the coat and held it up for her to slip into it.

“I don’t need it,” she said.

“It’s freezing outside, Love. Of course you need it.”

She took the coat and folded it over a chair. “No, I don’t,” she purred, draping her arms around his neck. “I want to spend New Year’s Eve with my fiancé, celebrating the exact same way we did last year.”

“But dinner, and our friends…”

“I don’t care about dinner, and our friends will understand once we tell them we were celebrating our engagement. Unless you would rather keep our original plans?”

His face morphed into his signature smolder, with a sly smirk and one eyebrow raised high on his forehead. “Your plans are much more appealing, my love.”

Taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom, she said, “Come on, then. Let’s see if your new fiancée can still blow you away!”

*********

Happiest of birthdays, Beth! I hope this brightens your day, and I wish the same for anyone else who reads it. Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tagging: @xsajx @hookedmom @kymbersmith-90 @kmomof4 @lassluna @pirateherokillian @teamhook @stahlop @elizabeethan @whimsicallyenchantedrose @resident-of-storybrooke @therooksshiningknight @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @killianswannn @stories-enchanted @eleveneitherway @withheartfulloflove @kday426 @djlbg @kristi555 @laschatzi @xarandomdreamx @wyntereyez @goforlaunchcee @yasbio2015 @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @wefoundloveunderthelight @hollyethecurious @let-it-raines @jonesfandomfanatic @searchingwardrobes @oncechicagolove @andiirivera @gingerchangeling @everything-person @klynn-stormz @qualitycoffeethings @enchanted-swans @ohmakemeahercules @donteattheappleshook @bluewildcatfanatic @the-darkdragonfly @demisexualemmaswan @grimmswan @spartanguard @flslp87 @ultraluckycatnd @thisonesatellite @captainswan21 @zaharadessert @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @kiwistreetswan @batana54 @nadine200179 @probalicious17 @courtorderedcake @julesep3026 @jackieorioncat @whatthehell102082 @jarienn972 @sthonour @linda8084 @pirateprincesslena @daxx04 @winterbythesea @artistic-writer @cocohook38 @captainswan4life85 @molly958 @itsfridaysomewhere @fallingforthecaptain @onceratheart18 @strangestarlighttree @justanother-unluckysoul @mrs-potato-but-likes-tomato @anothersworld @deckerstarblanche @purplehawkcaptain @superchocovian @k-leemac @citygirlscowboy @laughterandbooks @sotangledupinit @apiratewhopines @huntressandlioness1 @cosette141 @gingerpolyglot @motherkatereloyshipper @cs-rylie @anmylica @paradiselady19 @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @elfiola @softkilly

#cs ff #blow me away #a birthday story for Beth #jrob64 #CS modern AU #cs fanfiction #captain swan fan fiction #cs smut and fluff #captain swan fic #ouat captain swan fanfic #glassblower Killian #cake decorator Emma

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donteattheappleshook · 1 year

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Barefoot in the wildest winter... a captain swan Christmas AU

Summary:

She wasn’t supposed to come back. It had been a stupid plan, thinking she could get in and out of Storybrooke without anyone knowing she was here. Just catch the skip, bring him in and go back to Boston without her brother finding out that she’d lied about not being able to come home for Christmas like she did every year. There’s some kind of cosmic joke being made at her expense. There has to be for this day and this storm to have led her here of all places, on tonight of all nights.The walk to the building feels all too familiar and she struggles to push back the memories of the last time she was here as she works up the nerve to make her way up the stairs, to knock on the door. There’s still time to run. “Swan?” “Hey, Killian.”

Rated M (E?)

Merry Christmas @killiansprincss ! It’s me, not the problem this time but your Secret Santa 🎅

I’ve SO enjoyed getting to know you over the last few weeks and getting to talk CS, Christmas and Taylor Swift! 🥰

I hope you like this little story I’ve written you for the @cssecretsanta2020 I tried to fit in as many of your favorites as I could: soft Killian, forced proximity/only one bed, fluff/smut/angst (with a happy ending of course), and a little nod to some favorite holiday movies, a splash of favorite side characters and scenes, and (obviously) a little inspiration from the queen of love songs herself

And a hundred thousand million thank yous to @the-darkdragonfly who saved this fic when it went off the rails and made it not terrible <3 It never would have come together without you holding my hand through all of it.

Read on Ao3 were my italics work!

❄️❄️❄️

It’s not that bad.

It’s just a little snow.

The Bug is reliable and she’s got winter tires.

She’ll be fine.

Shit, she just missed her turn. They need more street lights around here - the snow covering the signs doesn’t help either. She ducks her head, trying to see better, looking for any landmarks she recognizes. Emma thought she knew Storybrooke off by heart, but it seems a decade away has left some of her recollection hazy.

The snow had come out of nowhere, blanketing the ground in the amount of time it took her to walk in and out of the Sheriff’s station, the flurries massive and wet as they hit her windshield. What little light her headlights manage to shine through the dark is blinded by angry streams of flakes, falling furiously against them in the harsh wind, the consistent rattling noise unnerving.

She used to wish for winters like this, town blanketed in snowfall, schools closed and days spent hiding out with friends. ‘Here.’ A gift pushed awkwardly into her hand, an embarrassed smile, flakes swirling around a little version of the town they both lived in. ‘Now you’ll always have snow.’ Now she just needs to get away. The magic is gone. No more dreams of white Christmases.

She can see the water - she thinks - to her left. There’s a road along the shore, one that leads out of town in a more round-about way, and so she makes the next left turn she can, weaving through the narrow, empty streets until she finds herself on Misthaven road with a triumphant cheer. Okay. She’s got this. This way leads right out of town and towards he highway and she can -

Emma slams her foot down on the break, eyes suddenly reflecting bright in her headlights and the car swerves on the slick ground. She doesn’t have time to see what it was, cursing as the bug swings frantically from side to side, fighting with the wheel to get it back under control as it skids towards the ditch piled high with snow. But there’s no stopping it.

The impact is jarring, her whole body rocking forward with the force of the sudden stop. She grips the wheel, heart racing as she puts her head down against it to take a breath. You’re okay. It could have been a lot worse, she rationalizes when she looks up to find her windshield and front windows completely clouded in white. She could have hit the water.

She manages to get her seatbelt off, falling forward into the dashboard with a grunt. The door won’t budge when she tries it, the snow packed tightly on either side, so she pulls out her phone to call for help. She finds it on the floor instead, screen shattered and ominously black. Of course.

Climbing through the car, over the back seats to the trunk, she manages to pop it open and heave herself out. Emma looks back at her little bug as she sits on the bumper, uses it to step back onto the road. I’m sorry, I’ll come back for you. She just needs to find a phone. Do payphones still exist? This town has been stuck in the 90s for decades. Or someone has to come by eventually, a snow plow, another person as determined to get out of here as she is…

Her coat isn’t warm enough, arms wrapped around herself as her hair, freezing in icy tendrils, whips across her face as she struggles to keep her eyes open against the onslaught of wet snow. Where are you? No answer comes, her memories of this road too hazy to see through the storm. So she walks, picking a direction rather than standing and losing extremities one by one.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was never supposed to come back here at all. She should have ignored the call, let someone else take the bounty on the skip that had decided to go hide out in her hometown, a place she’s managed to avoid for over a decade now. She’d gotten out, run as far and fast as she could, hurt one too many times by this cursed little town where all her happy endings were taken from her.

Christmas morning, the day after her first and only boyfriend had dumped her - the last in a long line to leave her behind in Storybrooke - because he ‘wanted to see what was out there’, she’d taken a train to Boston and never looked back. She wasn’t supposed to come back.

It had been a stupid plan, thinking she could get in and out of Storybrooke without anyone knowing she was here. Just catch the skip, bring him in and go back to Boston without her brother ever finding that she’d lied about not being able to come home for Christmas like she did every year. And yet here she is, wandering the streets of Storybrooke on Christmas Eve, lost and alone.

She’s not sure how far she’s gone when she sees the water, a clearing in the trees, a straight shot to the beach. The waves bring memories with them as they crash against the shore, the sea always refusing to be frozen by the harshest of colds. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere. Arms wrapped solidly around her, a hand taking hers, ‘come with me,’ sitting in the cold sand throwing rocks at the waves with his hands on her ears, ‘they’re going to fall off, Killian,’ and her heart on her sleeve.

Emma looks up at the building across the street. If she squints she thinks can see a light on. There’s some kind of cosmic joke being made at her expense. There has to be for this day and this storm to have led her here of all places, on tonight of all nights. She still has a snowglobe on her mantle, a gift given to her by a boy she’d spent most of high school infatuated with, and the years after navigating an ineffable friendship.

How long has it been since she’s seen him? Not since that morning she left, the one where everything had almost changed. It did, she supposes, but not the way she’d been so suddenly terrified it could in those few breaths between a question and a goodbye. He may not even live there anymore. She knows he’s still in town from what David’s told her and the occasional social media stalking, but that’s about all she knows about him now.

It’s your best bet. At least whoever’s there might have a phone she can use, know a tow that she can call to get her bug back on the road and her on her way back to Boston. The walk to the building feels all too familiar and she struggles to push back the memories of the last time she was here as she works up the nerve to make her way up the stairs. Still, her heart pounds in her chest and her stomach tightens reflexively when she knocks on the door. There’s still time to run.

“Swan?”

“Hey, Killian.”

***

They were at the Christmas market, Emma grumbling to Ruby about the fact that there hadn’t been any snow that year as they picked through a pile of novelty keychains. “It just doesn’t feel like Christmas without it.” She picked up a little skull and crossbones, holding it up for her friend’s appraisal.

David called them over, offering to buy everyone hot chocolate, all thoughts of shopping abandoned - “Who would you even get that for?” “I don’t know.” She just thought it was cool. This was the first time she had her own set of keys to a front door. It slipped so easily into her pocket, a habit picked up between foster homes. Take whatever you can get your hands on. You might not get the chance again.

“Hey, Swan.” Only one person called her that, whispered too low for anyone else to hear. “Nicely done.” Killian smirked at her, nodded toward her pocket, eyebrow raised.

Crap. “You’re not going to tell David, are you?” She couldn’t lose this one too.

“Why would I do that?” Thank god. His face softened. “It takes a while.”

“What does?”

“To stop feeling like you have to.” Something passed between them then, an understanding. David had said they had a lot in common. “Here.” He put something in her hand, smile awkward, cheeks red. A snow globe, one of the ones Ingrid from the ice cream shop made, a vague rendition of Storybrooke in the center. “You’re right about Christmas.” He touched a finger to the back of his ear. “Now you’ll always have snow.”

“Did you steal this?”

His laugh was loud. She liked it. “No. It’s a gift.”

She smiled at it, face flushing furiously - a gift from David’s new friend, the nice one with the pretty eyes who smiled a lot. Shaking it a few times to make the little flecks of white dance around her currently green town, Emma looked up at him, lip catching between her teeth. “I love it.”

“Here.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out the stolen keychain, wanting to be able to give him something in return.

His slow smile sent something twisting in her stomach, mischievous, like they had a secret. “Your loot, Swan? I’m honoured.”

“Well if you don’t want it -”

“No, I do,” he said quickly, grabbing it before she could take it back, ears red, running his thumb over the little skull. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it always.” Idiot.

***

He’s staring at her, like he can’t quite decide if she’s real, a literal ghost from his past appearing on his doorstep after a decade without a word. He looks good. She knew he would - he always had. But the last time she saw him he was twenty-two and the years have been unfairly kind to him. He’s grown a beard, a ginger scruff that covers his cheeks, both them and his ears reddened by the cold like he’s just come inside.

She shifts uncomfortably as the silence drags on and he continues to stare, brow pulling down in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

She’s not sure if he means the literal here at his door, or here in Storybrooke, or here suddenly in his life again, so she answers all three. “I ran my car off the road a little ways up the street. I was hoping you might have a phone.” She holds hers out. “Mine didn’t survive.”

“You what?”

“There was a deer or something… Can I come in?”

Killian blinks at her, finally registering her question, her answer to his. “Aye,” he says, stepping back to let her pass. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just, you know, cold. And stuck.”

It’s different. The first thing she’s come back to in this town that isn’t exactly the way she left it. The large, single room is furnished in old wood and leather, the heavy curtains along windows keeping out the fury of the storm. There’s art on the walls. When she’d been here last it had belonged to a guy in his twenties: second hand couch, posters of bands and movies tacked up with push pins.

She looks over towards the back of the apartment, the bed in the same place it had always been but new. She let out a squeal falling onto the mattress, the distance further than she expected. Laughing, ‘you need a bed frame.’ A rushed promise, ‘I’ll go to Ikea in the morning.’ Better not to pay attention to that.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head. “Just need a tow.”

“Do you want a towel?” She thinks she needs to answer yes to one of his questions or he might not stop asking them. Her hair is soaked, snow melting in her lashes, probably smudging mascara down her cheeks.

“Sure, thanks.” She kicks off her boots. Her socks make an unpleasant, wet sound when she sets her feet on the hardwood, damp fabric squishing between her toes and she makes a face at them.

Killian notices. “Do you want to borrow a pair of mine?” More questions.

She shakes her head, “No, I’m fine,” quickly pulling them off and draping them over her boots. She won’t be here long.

“Cell service is down, but you can use the landline,” he offers, nodding towards the phone in the kitchen.

“You have a landline?” she smirks before catching herself. But he sees it, his shoulders relaxing a little.

“Comes in pretty handy when we lose power.” There’s just a ghost of that cheeky smile she remembers as she pads barefoot across his apartment, too modest to be smug but close.

“Fair point.” She stares at the thing. Oh, right. “Do you have a number for a mechanic?”

He hurries over to join her in the kitchen, searching through a drawer until he pulls out a business card. “Here.” Gus’s Auto Repair.

Gus can’t come get her car out until tomorrow. “Got to be on standby for emergencies and since you’re clearly somewhere safe and not stranded on the side of the road freezing to death -”

“I don’t count. Got it.”

Perfect. Could also have done without the somewhat patronizing comment that she shouldn’t be out driving in a blizzard.

Killian’s waiting for her to fill him in when she hangs up, handing over the promised towel. “Looks like I’m stuck,” she tells him, wringing her hair out.

“Sorry, love,” he sighs. “I’m sure you had people waiting on you to get home for Christmas. Do you want to call anyone? Let them know you’re okay? Make as many calls as you need.”

She almost debates lying, pretending that yes, there is someone at home waiting for her to get back, having a fake conversation with her own answering machine rather than admitting the slightly pathetic truth. “No, it’s okay. It was just going to be me this year.”

She’s gotten used to being on her own though. She did it for a long time before she’d ever had any family to spend the holiday with. She’d started out alone, after all, found just outside the town line, a few hours old, abandoned and wrapped in a blanket with her name on it, a small suggestion that maybe someone had loved her at one point. But nobody had come forward.

There had been a series of foster homes after that, none sticking, in and out of Storybrooke for the entirety of her childhood. She’d had one good year, the Sheriff taking her home for Christmas, no social worker around when the latest family left her at the station. She’d always liked him, the kind man with the beard and the funny accent who let her hold his badge and chase him around the station.

But when he’d died it had been a series of foster homes again until she’d met David in high school. Older enough and big enough to scare off bullies, he’d brought her home for dinner until his mother decided she should stay. And Emma had stayed, until David got married and moved out, until Ruth passed away shortly after, and then it was just her again, alone in Boston celebrating Christmas, eggnog and a plastic tree.

Neither of them say anything for a moment, her last comment hanging between them until he finally breaks the silence. “I was going to warm some cider. Would you like some?”

“You got anything stronger?”

“It’s mostly rum.”

“Then yes.”

She takes a moment to wander the apartment rather than standing awkwardly in the kitchen with him, tracing her fingers along the back of the old leather couch with heavy blankets draped over it. She tries to reconcile her memories of the twenty-two year old she knew and this man he’s become. And while they don’t quite fit, they make sense. He’d always been this way, warm, inviting, comforting.

“Nice place,” she says as casually as possible, as though she’s never stepped foot in this room before. He’s put up Christmas decorations, lights and pine branches, little wooden trees and reindeer sculptures. Emma looks over at the massive fir in the corner. “Your tree doesn’t have any decorations on it,” she tells him absentmindedly, because focusing on that is much easier than focusing on how familiar and comfortable the place feels.

“Aye, we’re decorating it tomorrow,” he explains, scratching behind his ear in the same way he always did when he was nervous. It’s nice to know she’s not the only one. “Your brother and Mary Margaret are coming for dinner.”

She takes a seat on the sofa, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees, bare toes curling over the edge of the cushion as she tries to figure out what to do next. Right, she’s stuck in Storybrooke for the night. “Sounds fun.” The words fall flat.

He hums, then stops what he’s doing, deep breath, hands gripping the edge of the counter, bracing himself for whatever’s about to come. “Why are you here, Emma?” The question is hard, she can tell, his jaw clenching and shoulders tight.

“In Storybrooke?”

“For starters, yes.”

“I was chasing a skip,” she sighs. “He was hiding out here and I thought I could catch him, collect the bounty and be back in Boston before the end of the night.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I didn’t really have any other plans...”

“What about David and Mary Margaret? Do they know you’re in town?”

“No. And I don’t want them to. I said I couldn’t come - it would just hurt their feelings if they found out.”

“And that’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“The only reason you’re in Storybrooke.” She nods, wrapping her hands around her cold toes, resting her chin on her knee, his gaze hot on her, reading her in that way he’d always been able to. “Alright.” He brings over a steaming mug, sets it down on the table in front of her. “So what now?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,” she winces.

“Just stay here, love,” he sighs, like his offer is an apology. “It’s hell out there. I’ll take the couch for the night. It’s better than freezing to death in your car,” he adds when she doesn’t answer right away. Emma bites her lip. She’d been considering it - he knows her too well. Killian raises an eyebrow. “I’m going to try not to take offence to you deciding which is actually worse,” he tells her and a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Okay.” Her voice is quiet, her answer also an apology, for disappearing from his life without a word, for bursting back into it without explanation. “Thanks.”

“Good,” he says, then breathes, “bloody ghost of Christmas past,” into his mug.

Emma takes a sip of her cider, immediately coughing when the burn of spiced rum hits her throat. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding,” she coughs again and he smirks, taking a more dignified drink of his own. “Listen, I appreciate you letting me stay here and not freeze to death or whatever,” she tells him when he takes a seat next to her on the couch, leaving as much space between them as possible. “But I don’t want to ruin your night if you have plans…”

“Nothing important.”

“What were they?” She’s horrible, doing this to him twice.

He shrugs. “I usually spend Christmas Eve on my own before the big hoorah tomorrow. Drink spiked cider, watch a Christmas movie… I usually take a walk along the coast first but, well, between the storm and you showing up here like the Little Match Girl, I think I’ll skip that part this year.” He smiles crookedly at her, the same way he had another Christmas Eve so long ago. And her heart gives a little lurch as the memories come flooding back.

***

Maybe she was being irrational, maybe she was overreacting; people broke up all the time. But it was the coldness in his tone as he did it, the dismissal, like he never actually cared at all, like she was a placeholder until he could go and find something better that made it hurt so much.

She was already outside, having left Neal’s place as quickly as she could, already halfway down the road, halfway towards god-knows-where before she even realized that it was snowing, that it was cold. But it wasn't like she could bring herself to go back. She couldn’t go home either. Not to that house where Ruth would have been only a year ago, would have known what to say and what to do to make everything better - that house where it was just her now.

He’d just ended it. Just like that. As though they hadn’t spent almost a year together, as though they didn’t have plans to go to Boston in the morning for a little Christmas holiday. As though they didn’t already have tickets. He ‘wanted to see what else was out there’. She knew what he meant but didn’t say. He wanted to see who else was out there.

She was stranded. Stuck on a windy road in this horrible town with nowhere to go, nobody to call. Everyone was gone or celebrating with their loved ones. She was running out of those. She knew there was really only one person she could call - one person who would pick up and come find her, regardless of the fact that she’d never actually called his number before.

Headlights shone down the winding road, the sound of a car slowing echoed on the quiet street. The engine turned off, the door slamming shut before footsteps crunched in the snow. “Swan?” Killian came running over. “Swan, what happened?” She hadn’t told him much on the phone, just asked if he could come, and he looked so worried now, so much like he actually cared, like she actually mattered, that it chipped away at the walls around her heart just enough that she couldn’t keep the hurt out anymore.

“I didn’t know who else to call.” The tears overwhelmed her and she let him pull her against his chest. Maybe it should have felt strange, but instead his arms felt solid around her. His fingers stroked through her hair the way Ruth used to and it was something she needed more desperately than she realized. All that soft affection that he always showed her, that she’d always held for her brother’s friend - the one who always smiled at her, always teased her, always cared - flooded her as she tightened her grip on his jacket.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked when she’d finally managed to stop crying, to pull her face from the collar of his shirt she’d definitely ruined. He wiped at her tear stained cheeks. “Do you need a ride somewhere?” he asked before cocking his head at her and raising a brow. “Or maybe for me to murder someone?” She snorted out a laugh, his smile relieved if still tentative.

“I’m fine… Neal and I just broke up.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, and then, “Would you like me to murder him?” She snorted another laugh. “I never liked the guy anyway. Wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“He’s not worth it.”

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“No, I’m sorry. Thanks for coming to get me, I just... I can’t face home right now.”

“It’s okay,” he promised. “I was on my way home. Do you want me to take you somewhere else? Granny’s maybe?”

“It’s almost midnight,” she pointed out. She couldn’t believe she called him this late - and on Christmas Eve. But she just… needed him. Nobody else would have been able to make her laugh just now.

“Right.”

“This is so stupid. I’m not even crying over him. I don’t know why I’m crying at all,” she insisted, rubbing harshly at her eyes in frustration. “I just - this town fucking sucks. I need to get out.” Her laugh was bitter. “Neal and I were supposed to go to Boston in the morning. We were gonna spend Christmas there together. I even have the stupid ticket.”

He considered her for a moment and she thought maybe he got it, the urge to escape for a little while, forever. He reached out and took her hand in his. “Come with me.”

They walked along the edge of the water, waves crashing against the shore, surface refusing to freeze despite the cold. Killian didn’t say anything, just kept her hand in his and led her further down the beach until he finally came to a stop, looking out at the sea. She followed his gaze.

“What are we doing?”

“Looking at the water.”

“Okay… Why?”

He huffed a laugh, sitting on the snow-covered sand. “I thought you might find it soothing.”

“It’s cold.”

“It is,” he agreed, nodding but not moving to get up. With a sigh she plopped down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. “I come here whenever I’m pissed off and need to get away,” he shrugged.

“You get pissed off?” She didn’t think she'd ever seen him lose his temper. He was always so calm, even when he had just as much reason as her to want to curse out the whole world. Killian smiled, picked up a rock and tossed it into the water. She did the same, and then did it again, the splash satisfying against the roar of the waves before it was swallowed up by the rest of the sea. She sighed, shutting her eyes and letting the sound of the water fill her ears and calm her anger, dull her hurt a little.

“You know this is still Storybrooke though, right?” she reminded him.

He shrugged. “Maybe. But the water always kind of feels like its own place, everywhere and nowhere all at once. It’s easier to imagine being somewhere else here.”

“Poetic,” she teased, turning back to watch the water a little longer, the waves pulling at something in her every time they slipped back from the shore, like they were trying to drag the words from her chest. “I feel like an idiot. I think I knew he wasn’t a nice guy, deep down.”

“You’re not an idiot, Swan. You fell in love. Happens to the best of us.”

“Maybe.” Was it love though? Or had she just clung onto someone in the hopes that she could make them stay, that they’d be the first not to disappear on her. “I think this town is cursed.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Cursed?”

Emma threw another rock into the ocean. She didn’t know how to explain it to him, something she’d started believing as a kid, when every family she found left her here alone, as everyone she cared about in this town was ripped from her one by one. It became a lot easier to try not to love them, to keep David and Ruby at arm’s length after Ruth died, to choose a guy she knew she couldn’t completely open her heart to. And to ignore the way she felt whenever she was around Killian, the pull and the longing, how easy and tempting it would be to just pour her whole heart out and trust him not to judge her, not to hurt her.

“Well,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his, smile crooked. “That’s one of the nice things about Christmas, magic in the air and all that. Probably enough to break a curse.”

It was so cheesy and she wished she could believe him, but years of heartbreak just made it impossible. Emma looked away from him, pulled her coat more tightly around herself, a shiver running through her and she changed the subject.

“Do all of your philosophical ideas involve Christmas and frozen beaches?” she asked, tucking her chin into the neck of her coat. “Because we probably could have looked at the water from inside. And then I might still be able to feel my ears.”

He laughed and she breathed a sigh of relief - he was gonna let her off the hook. He wasn’t going to make her talk about her stupid cursed life in this stupid cursed town because he got her. She didn’t need to explain it to him. She never did.

“Baby,” he teased.

“They’re going to fall off, Killian,” she insisted. “And it’ll be your fault.”

His hands came up to either side of her face, fingertips chilly but palms warm as they covered her ears and her heart stuttered in her chest.

“Better?”

She nodded, swallowed. Slowly, his amused smile slipped and she could tell he was trying to read her. Emma slipped her hand into one of his, holding them both against her cheek. She would blame the waves, drawing her stupid, battered heart out of her chest, or maybe the cold, urging her towards all of the warmth inside of him, but suddenly she was leaning across the space between them, pressing her lips to his.

Killian froze and she pulled back, panicked. Shit. Shit, she’d completely misread that. It was stupid and impulsive and now she’d probably ruined whatever it was they had, this little bit of good that she’d just tried to grab onto.

He didn’t let her go, pulled her back to him, mouth hot against hers, fingers sliding from her cheek to weave through her hair, the other curling around her waist. It should have felt strange, it was probably a mistake, but it was Killian, and this felt long overdue. So she let him pull her closer, let him hold her like he had on the side of the road and kiss her like he was trying to break whatever curse would eventually rip him away from her.

***

“Guess I kind of ruined your night alone.”

“I don’t mind the company,” he promises. “So long as you don’t comment on the movie.”

“Why would I - Oh, no.”

“Oh yes,” he beams, reaching for the remote. “Every Christmas Eve.”

Emma groans as the music starts, an English accent giving a monologue about airports and then the dreaded words flash on the screen. Love Actually. “This is literally the worst Christmas movie ever.”

“This is the best Christmas movie ever.”

She rolls her eyes but does her best not to say anything as the movie begins, Killian getting up at one point to make a bowl of popcorn - with Milk Duds mixed in so they get all melty. Her silence doesn’t last very long, the rum making her bolder, making her forget the awkwardness. She finally reaches her breaking point.

“This is so stupid. They can’t even understand each other. And they’re just saying the complete opposite thing the whole time.”

He looks over at her, exasperated, head rolling over the back of the couch. “People don’t have to be able to say they love someone out loud for it to be real.”

She doesn’t have an answer for that, staring at him for a moment before shutting her mouth and turning back to the movie. He has a talent for saying things without saying them. It’s only a few minutes before she can’t help herself again.

“Okay, but even you have to admit this one is terrible.”

“There’s… something romantic about loving someone from afar.” He’s not even buying it.

“Sure, but this is just stalking.”

“It’s just one story.”

“Out of a hundred other terrible stories. Like this girl. Just don’t pick up your phone and -”

“Swan, I will make you sleep in your car.”

“I just don’t get what the appeal of this movie is. Everyone makes such a big deal out of-” She’s interrupted by a handful of popcorn shoved into her mouth, Killian licking melted chocolate off his finger.

“There,” he says, pleased with himself. “Now if you promise to be quiet for the rest of the movie, we can watch Home Alone after, alright?”

Emma just stares at him, eyes wide in disbelief. He did not. When he looks up at her, back on his half of the couch but not quite as far away, a smirk starts to tug at his lips, stretching wide when she spits the popcorn out into her hand.

“You’ve got chocolate all over your face,” he tells her, barely holding back a laugh.

“Whose fault is that?” She drops the handful of mushy popcorn into her empty mug, wiping her palms on her jeans.

Chuckling he reaches out again, wiping his thumb over the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry,” he says - he’s not - looking at her with very serious, and very insincere, apology.

His attention drops to her mouth, hand settling on her cheek, and traces his thumb along her bottom lip where she’s sure there’s more chocolate. But all she can focus on is how close he is and how much she wants to replace his thumb with his mouth and her breath hitches. ‘Are you sure?’ whispered between heated kisses, his name broken on her lips, her fingers desperately fisting in his hair, falling apart on his tongue, the heat of him inside her, gentle touches and praise breathed against skin as they came together again and again.

His eyes dart back up to hers and she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing as the amusement in his eyes fades and then she’s waiting for him to do something, even if they probably shouldn’t, even if she definitely shouldn’t.

But she doesn’t stop him when he pulls her mouth down to his, lips slanting across hers as he drags her closer. They knock over the bowl, popcorn scattering across the floor when she climbs into his lap, fingers digging into his hair, his digging into the skin at her hip as he presses himself against her, tongue seeking hers.

This is probably a bad idea. In fact it’s definitely a bad idea, because she’s been exactly here before and she knows how it ends. But his lips are on her neck, tracing the line of her jaw, and she lets out a small whimper, hips rolling over the hardness she can feel growing beneath her. He catches her mouth again with a growl, one she knows all too well, and his hand slips under her sweater, calloused palm rough against the skin of her back as he arches his hips up into her, hard and hot against her centre.

She wrenches her lips from his, her fingers finding the buttons of his shirt and hurrying to undo them. She lifts her eyes to his face, finds him watching her, his own gaze dark and heady, hesitates on the next button. “I’m going back to Boston in the morning.”

“I know.”

Her heart beats frantically against her ribcage, as she tries to read his expression beyond the obvious want and temptation. So long as they’re on the same page, she tells herself. That’s all that matters. This isn’t like last time.

***

They stumbled through the door, practically running from the beach, giggling like kids the whole way. He’d kissed her for ages out there by the water, until she told him she thought she would lose her fingers from the cold and suggested they go somewhere warmer.

Now that they were inside though - the apartment new, some of his things still in boxes on the floor - he hesitated. So she took his face in her hands like he’d done before and kissed him, feeling the doubt melt away as he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close.

They fiddled with zippers of puffy coats, laughing as they unravelled too-long scarves, boots kicked off as they crossed the length of his apartment, Emma letting out a squeal when they fell onto the mattress, the distance further down than she’d expected.

“You need a bed frame,” she laughed, lip caught between her teeth.

“I’ll go to Ikea in the morning,” he promised, claiming it for himself, fingers going to her hair as he deepened the kiss.

It wasn’t what she expected. She’d never kissed anyone this long before, hadn’t ever taken things quite this slow. But he seemed content to continue kissing her for the rest of the night. When she arched up against him he sucked in a breath, pulling back to look at her, “Are you sure?”

There wasn’t any question, not for her. She kissed him again, clothes pulled off slowly, his mouth finding her neck, her stomach her breasts, hands hot on her skin, pulling her closer - always closer.

He asked again, settling between her legs, a kiss to her thigh - “This okay?” - words breathed hot against her center, waiting for her nod before putting his mouth on her. Killian took his time, finding what made her breath hitch, what made her cry out and what made her hips arch up desperately against his tongue, building her up slowly, bringing her over the edge and leaving her trembling.

She kept waiting for him to take what he wanted, to rut into her and find his release, surprised he’d waited this long already. Instead his lips mapped her skin, discovering places he hadn’t yet, drawing his tongue across her body like ink, leaving marks wherever he found a gasp or a sigh - a secret trail for him to follow, hidden from the rest of the world.

He traced the marks with his fingers, mouth falling over hers and they slipped between her thighs, leaving her writhing when he found that sensitive bundle of nerves. She fell apart again, fingers deep inside her, lips speaking praise against her skin until she was left a shaking, boneless mess.

“Gods you’re beautiful, Swan,” he breathed into her ear like a confession, one he’d held onto for a long time.

Emma snuck a hand between them, taking hold of him once more and canting her hips up until she felt him brush against her heat. His groan echoing hers as he slid in just the tiniest bit. “We can stop if you want.”

She shook her head, taking his face in her hands and meeting his lips in a messy kiss. “Please don’t,” she breathed into his mouth, fingers fisting too tightly in his hair.

He took her slowly, the same way he’d kissed her, the same way he’d done everything. She wasn’t used to slowly, to the way his lips kept finding her own, tracing along her neck, hand finding her breast and tongue rolling languidly over the sensitive peak as he moved inside her.

This wasn’t fucking, this was something she’d never done before, something tender and gentle. He made love to her, drawing out her pleasure, staving off his own until she was shaking, nails digging at his back, forehead pressed to hers as he brought them both over the edge.

He stole an exhausted, sated kiss from her lips before settling beside her, pulling her to him. Emma lay her head on his chest, tracing absentminded patterns through the small smattering of dark hair as she tried to school her breathing, to keep her eyes open.

His fingers ran over the length of her arm, turning every few minutes to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She let out a low, lazy giggle. “How would I not be okay right now?”

“I’m sure this isn’t what you imagined when you asked me to pick you up tonight,” he sighed. He was berating himself. She could hear it in his voice, imagining himself a villain for coming to her rescue, for healing her heart just a little bit - and then making her come three fucking times.

Emma raised her head, meeting his self-conscious gaze and smiling softly. She leaned in, kissed him, relieved when he kissed her back, hand weaving through her hair again like maybe he was trying to keep her there a little longer. When she pulled away he gave her a crooked, hopeful little smile, only growing when she pressed her lips to his again, tasting it.

Tucking herself back against his chest, he curled his arm more tightly around her, fingers tickling along her spine. “Merry Christmas, Swan,” he whispered into her hair.

***

She kisses him again, finishing with the fastenings of his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. He leans forward enough to shrug it off, not breaking the kiss except to pull her sweater over her head and then dragging her back to him as soon as she’s free of it.

Emma traces the line of his shoulders, over his chest and the hair that blankets it, nails scratching down his stomach, relishing in every inch of soft skin and hard muscle beneath her fingers. His mouth wanders the length of her neck again, tongue teasing the line of her collarbone and down through the valley between her breasts, leaving goosebumps and fire in his wake.

She gasps when he tugs one of the cups of her bra out of the way, taking her nipple between his teeth. She lets out a curse, back arching into him, hips grinding roughly against the outline of his cock through their jeans. Her fingers fist in his hair, holding him there as he licks and sucks at the sensitive peak.

His hands slide along the outside of her thighs, palming her ass and squeezing as he drags her slowly, firmly over his length before standing, taking her with him, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His mouth finds hers again as he walks them across the room to his bed, kneeling on the edge before dropping her onto the mattress.

His hands quickly find the waist of her jeans, tugging them open and Emma catches her laugh between her teeth as she helps him slide the tight denim past her ankles. He tosses them aside while she pulls the remaining fabric from her chest. Killian pauses, looking her over slowly and she does the same.

It’s really not fair how much better he looks after so much time - he was already handsome enough when he was young. Now the angle of his jaw is sharpened, his shoulders broader, the hair on his chest darker and thicker. Her tongue runs over her bottom lip wantonly before she tugs him back down to her.

He lowers himself between her open thighs, the scratch of his chest against her breasts and his beard against her neck making her writhe beneath him. Killian’s hand slides over her waist, down across her stomach before going in search of where she’s wet and aching for him.

“Fuck,” she breathes as his fingers tease their way between her legs, turning to hiss “yes” against his ear when he finds the sensitive bundle of nerves there, rolling it under his thumb.

“Tell me if you want this.” - making sure, always making sure - as he slides a finger inside her, adding a second and thrusting slowly, dragging against her walls in toe-curling torture. It takes her a moment to find her voice as he continues to fuck her with his hand, thumb and fingers working in a steady rhythm, a knot tightening in the pit of her stomach.

“God yes,” she tells him, remembering how good he felt inside of her, how full and perfect and right. She scrambles for the button of his jeans, popping it free and making quick work of the fly before sliding her hand inside. She finds his cock, hard and straining in her palm, and he lets out a choked moan when her fist tightens around him.

“Now?” he asks, voice strained, and she nods, not able to find her own with his fingers working her faster, the circles he presses into her clit holding her right on the cusp of her climax.

Her hands shove at the waist of his pants, using her feet to push them further down. He slides away from her, standing to kick them off, and she bites her lip, moaning at the sight of his length bobbing against his stomach. She hears his slightly desperate groan before he’s on her again, mouth claiming hers, hot and messy, tongue sliding past her lips and drawing a whine from her chest.

Taking himself in hand and lining his cock up with her entrance, he hesitates only until she cants her hips, trying to take him inside herself. Her hand finds his back, the other grabbing at his ass as she hooks a leg around his thigh and urges him forward.

They both cry out when he finally sheaths himself inside her, thrust rough, cock thick and long as he slides out slowly only to push back in hard, hips snapping against hers. God yes, she thinks as he fucks her. This is what she’d expected last time, the desperate race towards the edge, her whole body rocking every time he drives back into her, the roll of his hips powerful and so fucking good.

She starts to writhe beneath him, the knot coiling so tightly inside her that she can feel it about to snap. His lips are at her neck, his hand reaching for one of her breasts, palm rolling over her nipple and then pinching it between his fingers as he moves faster. Her nails dig into his sweat slicked back, cries growing louder and more frequent, his curses and praise spoken into her skin between the slide of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth until her back bows sharply, pleasure ripping through her as she comes apart around him.

Emma can feel him following after her, fucking into her at a frantic pace until his own release takes him and he goes stiff in her arms. He collapses on his back beside her, his breathing ragged as her own as they both lay there and wait for their hearts to stop racing and the sweat to cool on their skin.

Killian rolls onto his side, hand reaching for her, fingers spreading over her stomach just below her breast, different from the way he’d pulled her to him last time. His thumb traces absentmindedly along the underside of her breast and she knows they understand each other - or he understands her at least. A one time thing. She’s leaving in the morning.

Killian clears his throat, voice still raspy when he speaks. “Bloody hell, I didn’t know you hated the movie that much.”

She laughs, boneless, exhausted. “Anything to get out of watching it.”

He raises himself up a little, looking over towards the TV. “I don’t think it’s over yet, actually.” He raises a brow. “We could probably still catch the big finale.”

Emma groans, long and suffering. “Please no. I literally can’t think of a worse way to spend the night.”

“Oh?” he asks and she can tell just by his tone what he’s thinking, even before his arm snakes around her waist and he pulls her back to him, rolling and bracing himself above her. “What did you have in mind, then, love?” There’s that cheeky smile again.

His lips are already teasing, feather-light over the spot below her ear, grinding his hips suggestively against hers before she can answer. She’s tempted to let him continue, to let him make her fall apart again and again for the rest of the night. But, “I’m leaving in the morning.”

He nods, giving a nip to her jaw as he answers, “Aye, so you’ve said. Many times now.”

“So this - tonight - needs to be a one time thing.”

Killian pulls back, searching her face carefully. He brushes a piece of her hair behind her ear. “I know you’re not staying, Swan. I won’t ask you to.” Not again, lingers where the words stay unspoken. “This was all just a freak, horrible series of events brought on by bail skippers, snow storms and devilish good looks that landed you into my bed tonight. And in the morning you’ll be on your way back to Boston and I’ll be here trying not to replay everything in graphic detail while I sit next to your brother at Christmas dinner.”

“Ew,” she laughs, shoving at his shoulder.

“But it’s not morning yet,” he finishes, tongue tracing the inside of his lip, gaze fixed on her mouth, waiting. A one time thing for a second time. A bad idea, a dangerous one. A desire she’s going to give into again, one she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to resist. She’ll never stop wanting him, not so long as she stays here.

“No,” she says, sliding her fingers into his hair, tongue sneaking out to tease the seam of his lips. She’ll be gone tomorrow, tonight doesn’t matter. “It’s not.”

***

He’s already up when her alarm goes off in the morning, Emma blinking crankily against the light shining through the windows. It takes her a moment to remember where she is, wrapped up in the familiar spice of salt and leather that clings to the sheets and her pillow, skin bare against the warm blankets. He’s standing by the stove puttering around with something and she watches him for a minute. It’s strange, still being here. She’s not used to her one night stands lasting into the next day.

“Merry Christmas,” he greets when she’s pulled her clothes back on and padded into the kitchen. She manages to mutter. He hands her a slip of paper. “Gus called, said to give him a ring when you were up and he’d come by with the tow.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s coffee,” he tells her, gesturing towards a pot. Her second thank you is more enthusiastic and he laughs. “I know you wanted to get up and on the road as soon as possible.” Emma hums, pouring herself a cup and drinking deeply.

“Can I ask you something?” she ventures, thinking of returning to Boston, of leaving this town once and for all for the second time. He nods. “Why are you still in Storybrooke? I thought you’d have left a long time ago.”

Killian shrugs. “I thought about it a couple of times. It just never felt right. This was the first place that felt like home.” Emma plays her fingers over the rim of her mug, nodding like she understands. “I know that wasn’t the case for you.”

She hesitates, trying to figure out how to explain her complicated feelings about this town. “Storybrooke never felt like home to me,” she admits. “Graham’s place did for a while,” she shrugs. “But that didn’t last very long. Without him it was just a house. Ruth’s did too. But with her gone…”

Killian’s expression softens, sympathy without pity from someone who knows what it is to lose those you love. “It doesn’t feel like her anymore. And I love David but that home is his and Mary Margaret’s now and for me it’s just…” A house, too large and full of too much grief. “I always figured home was someplace I would miss when I left it. But they’re all just buildings,” she shrugs.

Killian nods, looking pensively into his cooling mug of coffee. “I suppose it’s not the places but the people in them that make it home,” he says, finally looking up at her, the only person in this town she’s ever really missed, and the silence hangs heavy between them.

She can’t read his expression, his eyes more guarded now than they used to be, his heart no longer on his sleeve like it had been when they were young. And she thinks that’s her fault. She cut him out of her life for a decade, of course he wouldn’t trust her like he used to. And yet here they are, right back where they were that morning.

She doesn’t know how he feels now, doesn’t know for certain how he felt about her then. But she does know how she felt, how seeing him again has brought back so many of those old feelings, ones she’d always hoped would fade with time, that she’d managed to ignore until now when they risk becoming fresh and raw once again.

And she worries… most of all she worries that if she lets them come flooding back - break through the wall she so carefully constructed around her twenty-one year old heart - that she’ll want to stay.

“Knock knock,” a voice calls, too cheery for the early hour. Killian turns panicked eyes on her.

“What is she doing here?” Emma hisses.

“I don’t know! They weren’t supposed to get here until tonight.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mary Margaret continues, already pushing her way inside. “The door was open and we thought with the storm you might need help getting things ready and -” She stops dead in her tracks, David nearly running into her before looking up and staring in shock at the sight of his sister.

“Emma?” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you were in New York.”

“Um…” she hesitates, trying to come up with a story that won’t hurt their feelings - a reason to be in Storybrooke. “Surprise?”

The lie comes almost too easily, Emma and Killian exchanging guilty winces over her family’s shoulders. She meant to come down to surprise them. The storm got in the way and she had to crash at Killian’s for the night. Parts of it are true. It was all planned. She’s thrilled to be home for Christmas. Most of it isn’t.

“How long are you here for?”

“Just the day.” Her grimace is taken for guilt. She can’t spend another night here.

There’s lots to do - or so she’s told, more the type to order in when she hosts her family for the holiday - and they put her to work. ‘Don’t worry, Swan, you can do the easy bits.’ ‘I can cook!’ ‘Whatever you say.’

Her insistence backfires, gagging when they ask her to help prep the turkey, nearly losing a finger chopping vegetables - ‘Give me that,’ Killian takes it from her. ‘Who gave Emma a knife?’ ‘You should be really glad I don’t have one right now.’ - until she’s banished to cookie duty.

“Think you can manage icing without injury or illness?” Killian’s smirk is shit eating and she takes the sugar and milk from him.

“Is it supposed to be this runny?”

Once Mary Margaret has fixed the icing, she’s left with a piping bag and several tins of gingerbread. She’s halfway through, Killian’s hands on the back of her chair, looking over her shoulder at the little man she’s decorating.

“Did they send you here to check on me?”

“Just some run of the mill quality control.” She’d gotten bored a little while ago - ‘two eyes, three buttons and a smile, that’s all you need to do’ - deciding to get more creative. “What on earth are those supposed to be?” he asks, eyes wide as she traces icing in the shape she wants.

“A bow.”

“Swan.” He’s barely holding back his laughter, face red and she narrows her eyes at him. “Please don’t make me say it out loud.”

“What?” Emma looks down at her cookie, at the four others she’s already made - ‘they’re bows!’ - but the icing has spread, the wobbly squares at the top rounded, the two hanging ribbons melded into one. “Oh my God.”

His roar of laughter sends the others over, crowding around her horrible creation. Killian’s barely able to hold himself up anymore.

“Oh,” Mary Margaret says, trying her best when David loses his shit too. “Well, it’ll certainly be the most phallic gingerbread we’ve ever had.” Everyone’s laughing now.

“Got something on your mind, Emma?” her brother snorts and she shoves the cookie in her mouth, destroying - some of - the evidence. “Maybe you should help,” he tells his friend, returning to the kitchen.

“Aye, Swan,” his voice is low, whispered against her hair, breath ghosting over her neck, “got something on your mind?" She tries to hide the way her cheeks heat, goosebumps down her spine. She does now.

They make a pretty good team, Emma supplying the ideas while Killian does his best to execute them. The task quickly becomes a game of finding what she can stump him with. ‘Are you really gonna be smug about being good at icing cookies? That’s the bar you want to set?’ ‘I’m a man of many talents, love, some I’d be more than happy to remind you of.’ She gives up when he turns the chubby little cookie into a skeleton. “Fine, you win. I’m sure this skill will take you far in life.”

People start arriving sometime in the late afternoon, the apartment filled with the smells of Christmas dinner, every shelf of the oven and every burner on the stove in use - her skills in the kitchen finally appreciated when she made them all mac and cheese in the microwave for lunch. Every guest wears the same expression of shock at seeing her standing with the others.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ruby demands, tactful as ever. Nice to see you too. Emma can tell by the look Ruby gives her that she doesn’t buy this being a planned surprise, but her friend pulls her into a hug regardless, a murmured promise that they’ll be talking about it more later whispered over her shoulder. When Granny asks why she didn’t stay at the inn, she repeats the story about the storm and the accident - ‘Where did you sleep?’ Ruby knows. ‘The couch.’ - and then quickly changes the subject.

Two waist-high heads of strawberry blonde curls come hair barreling through the apartment, Killian returning the identical little girls to their parents, one swinging from each of his arms.

“Girls, we’ve told you before,” Elsa scolds, “Uncle Killian is not a tree.”

“Aye, only his head is made of wood”’

“Is that the best you’ve got, brother?”

Emma watches them play, the girls infatuated with their uncle, smiling into the rim of her wineglass as they attempt to tackle him onto the couch only to be tossed onto the cushions over and over.

She’s caught, Killian looking over, eyes meeting hers, his own lips quirking up tentatively and she feels that same soft warmth from all those years ago spreading through her chest. She doesn’t know what it is, not exactly, but she knows that she’s missed that smile for the last ten years.

One of the twins hurls herself at his stomach sending him falling backwards with an ‘oof’ and Emma has to bite back her laugh, turning and pretending she’s been listening to the conversation when someone asks her a question.

Killian’s apartment is small packed in with what feels like half the town, and when it’s time for dinner everyone finds a spot to sit or stand, plates balanced in their laps or set down on a counter or an end table, whatever surface they can find. Emma manages to snag a spot on the couch, Granny and Elsa next to her, wrapped up in an intense conversation over the benefits of real versus plastic trees.

“How are you fairing?” He takes a seat on the arm of the sofa, one leg still on the ground, plate resting on his knee, and handing her a glass of wine.

“Much better now,” she beams, taking the drink from him. She’s never had so many conversations about her childhood in her life, everyone determined to reminisce about the way they used to spend Christmas, the dinners and the ice skating and the secret party that Ruby would always throw in the basement of the diner. ‘Turns out Granny knew all along.’ The old woman only shrugs, impish smile on her usually dour face.

Some of it hurts, remembering the mornings with Ruth, the presents and the hot chocolate - and the mornings where there were no trees, no presents, no smiling foster parents or siblings. She’d suppressed all of them for so long, determined to forget the way her happiest moments were taken away, forever tinged with sadness so that she’d forgotten how good they’d once been.

When David talked about the Christmas market they all used to hurry to, buying each other cheap gifts from the weird collection of crafts and things people found in their attics, she felt a twinge in her chest. A little snow globe pressed into her hand, red ears and cheeky smiles. A little skull and crossbones she’d taken because she thought she had to, then given away to the first person who ever really understood. She realizes that a part of her does miss it - the people, not the places, like he’d said.

“I’m sorry you got stuck here. I know it’s hardly how you wanted to spend your Christmas.”

“It could be worse,” she admits.

“Here, I saved you one.” Killian hands her a little gingerbread man from the corner of his plate.

“Awe, you’re giving me a little gingerbread dick?”

“It’s clearly a bow. Get your mind out of the gutter, love.”

They’re all decorating the tree - Killian’s nieces arguing over which would get to climb on his shoulders to put the star on top - when she sneaks off to the bathroom, the only place in this apartment with a door that closes.

She just needs a minute to herself, needs a second to reconcile her dislike of this place and the fact that she’s actually enjoying herself. It’s never been safe to let her guard down, but it just keeps slipping around him, and it’s getting harder and harder to put it back up. And she doesn’t know why - after all this time…

Something catches her eye when she looks in the mirror - ready to give herself a talking to, to remind herself why she has that guard at all - a piece of a chain hooked over the corner, the rest fallen behind the back of the frame.

It’s a necklace, long and worn, the silver tarnished from years of wear. A little skull and crossbones hangs from the end. He kept it. All these years. It slips into her pocket, as easily as it had that day at the market, another secret kept between them.

“Are you coming back with us?” David asks when everyone has started to make their way home, the hour late, the glasses empty.

“Actually, I think I’ll stay for a bit. My car is still here…�� Emma looks from her brother to where Killian is clearing dishes, his eyes lifting to hers for only a second before dropping them quickly. She doesn’t say she needs to get going, can’t quite bring herself to - can’t quite bring herself to leave, to have this be their final goodbye. “If that’s okay?” His guard is slipping too. She can almost read him again when he nods, enough to know that he might not want her to leave just yet either.

They’re curled up by the fireplace, the dishes done and the room tidied. There’s only the two of them and the silence of the empty room, their voices sounding so much louder against it with everyone gone.

“Do you want to call Gus?” he asks, looking at the time after they’ve talked about the party, gossiped about all their friends. “If you want to get back to Boston tonight you probably shouldn’t wait much longer.”

Oh. “Right.” She tucks her hair self-consciously behind her ear, staring at the fire.

“Unless…”

She looks up. Unless? There’s no question posed, the sentence never finished. But neither moves for the phone. She can’t leave. Not without telling him. Not without knowing if it’s all in her head. Not when it means leaving him behind. Not again.

“Killian, I -” Just say it. “I’m sorry.”

His guard is back up, weak and struggling, but it’s there. “For what?”

“For how I left things - for how I left you.”

Warm fingers tracing over her skin, sitting on the edge of the mattress in the cool morning air, bare toes on the floor, always braced to run. ‘You know you could stay, if you wanted...’ Heart screaming to be heard, too terrified of what could happen if she stayed, if she let herself love him like she wanted to. An apologetic shrug, a glance over her shoulder, shirt pulled over her head, boots laced. ‘I already have the ticket.’

“You don’t have to apologize, love.” It slips again, a small sigh as he shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. It was one night, however I felt about it… whatever I might have wanted or hoped for was on me, not you.” But it wasn’t just one night, not really. She can’t make herself say the words. Felt, wanted, hoped, past tense. “I always wondered though.”

“Wondered what?”

He can’t look at her and it hurts. “If you left because of me. If you regretted it or if I did something.”

Her heart sinks. She was such an idiot. “Is that why you never called?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t answer.”

“I never regretted you, only that that night made it so much harder to leave.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Because of you,” she says finally, the heartbreak clear on his face even as he nods in acceptance. “Remember how I told you I thought Storybrooke was cursed?” Another nod. “Almost everyone I’ve ever cared about in this town is gone - died here, left me here.” Her parents, the Swans, Graham, Ruth, Neal… “I had to leave. And I couldn’t ask you to come with me because -” Her hands shake, her biggest fears spoken out loud. “What if it wasn’t Storybrooke, what if it’s just me? What if I’m the one that’s cursed - to lose everyone I love… I couldn’t lose you too.” But she had, in a way that was so much worse in the end.

“Lose me?”

“I thought it was safer to stay away from you, from everyone I loved - for them… and for me. I know it doesn’t make any sense but I -” He puts a hand over hers, fingers twisting in her lap.

“No, it doesn’t. But I get it.”

She forces herself to look at him. It takes a while - to stop feeling like you have to. And she’s so sick of running. “I would take it back if I could.” She pulls the necklace from her pocket, slips it into his hand, his breath hitching. “Because the truth is…” Deep breath. “I miss you. So much, Killian.”

The silence stretches on too long, her whole world hanging on whatever he’s going to say next, his thumb tracing over the pendant. “Emma.” He hesitates again. Just say something. “I’ve thought about you every day since you left.” Something sparks in her chest, hope. “I think maybe I couldn’t leave,” his fist closes around the necklace, “because I was hoping you’d come back.”

His words are rushed, spoken in a breath before his hands are in her hair and he pulls her to him, his kiss long and deep and perfect. She missed this. She missed him. She tries to apologize again, ‘I’m sorry’ whispered against his lips, but he steals the words from her tongue. ‘Later. We can talk later.’

Later is good, later means after, later means this is more than just right now, more than just tonight. No more one time things - this is the third time, after all.

He lays her down in front of the fire, hands more cautious than they’d been last night, peeling the clothes from her body until she’s bare beneath him and he can find the map he drew so long ago, lips tracing the lines that have faded from her skin.

They make love like they had the first time, no desperate attempt to fuck away the feelings they couldn’t voice, no need to rush for fear they would run out of time. She presses all of her apologies into his body, feels the forgiveness in his touch, fingers tight in her hair when she takes him in her mouth and begins to learn him as well as he does her.

He breathes words that aren’t quite love but could be into the space between them, Emma rocking above him, hands on his chest, his at her hips, dragging him towards the edge with her. Sitting up and pulling her to him, skin pressed to skin, repeating the same words against her lips, against her neck and breasts, ‘I love you,’ spoken somewhere in the moments before they find release, neither sure who said it, only that it’s true as they fall apart, clinging to one another, no intention to let go.

“Does this mean you’re staying in Storybrooke?” he asks when they’re laying intertwined on his floor.

Emma lifts her head, resting her chin on his shoulder and giving a small, hopeful smile. “Do you want me to?”

“Aye, I do. But only if you want to stay.”

She presses a kiss to his chest, above the pendant that now hangs around his neck. “I want to stay with you,” she tells him quietly, heart still timid, unused to being seen. “No matter where that is.”

“There’s always Boston.”

“You’d come to Boston with me?”

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, thumb tracing along the length of her jaw, over her lips as he watches her with what she finally knows is love. “I’d have come with you to Boston ten years ago, Swan. All you had to do was ask.”

She kisses him then, her words not enough to do justice to the way his burn through her, fill her from the inside out. He rolls them, settling above her, beginning his exploration again, fingers and mouth finding her where she’s hot and desperate for him, driving her to the edge with careful strokes of his tongue and languid touches that leave her writhing and begging for more.

She comes apart at his hands once again, kisses trailed up her body before he claims her lips with his and pulls her into his side. Limbs tangled, skin warmed by the fire, her fingers trace patterns over his heart, patched up to match her own. ‘I could get used to celebrating Christmas like this.’ He presses a kiss to her temple, words breathed into her hair, ‘Then we will, love, every one.’

❄️❄️❄️

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @goforlaunchcee @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @batana54 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12 @anmylica @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr

#cs secret santa #captain swan #cs fanfic #cs christmas au #the ghost of bloody christmas past #only one bed #cs angst #cs smut #cs fluff #cs ff #ouat au

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everything-person · 4 months

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Kazoos Advent Calendar

@kazoosandfannypacks Day

Todays gift a fic inspired by a popular winter song.

The Jones Christmas party was a success. The night had been filled with laughter and the exchanging of gifts and pranks. Most everyone had left, most except.

"Swan you really don't have to clean up," Killian insisted for the tenth time.

"It's fine. I know you like your place a certain way," Emma replied picking up some bottles that had been left on the table.

It wasn't even that big of a mess. His friends thankfully cleaned up after themselves as the night went on, for the most part. Knowing he wouldn't be able to convince her otherwise he left her in the living room. He went to the kitchen to begin cleaning there.

The place was clean in no time. In fact the only evidence there was a party was the three garbage bags in the kitchen, which Killian intended to take out in the morning.

"Well," Emma announced shuffling on her feet, "I guess thats it."

At some point she had pulled her hair back in a messy pony tail, along with discarding her sweater. She stood before him in a simple tank top and fitted jeans, still she was the most beautiful woman hes ever had the pleasure of knowing.

"Allow me to show you my appreciation with a drink."

"I can't stay."

"Just one drink." Killian looked in her eyes imploring her to stay just a little longer.

The corner of Emma's mouth turned up slightly in a shy smile, "Alright. One drink."

Killian turned to the kitchen as Emma made herself comfortable on the couch. He warmed some water in a kettle and prepared to mugs. Not long after he disappeared he reemerged holding to mugs.

"Thank you," Emma took the mug and took a sip, "Cinnamon?"

Killian nodded, "Thats how you like it. Is it not?"

"Yeah. I'm just surprised you remembered." She smiled into her mug before taking another sip.

The tips of Killians ears redden as he reached for his remote putting on a virtual yule log with soft music playing in the background.

"There now that should warm us up," he joked.

Emma smiled. They passed the time with light conversation and hidden glances. Before long something caught Killians eye out the windows. He pulled back the curtain slightly to reveal a snow storm.

Emma turned her head to look as well, "Oh I better go." She set her mug down on the coffee table and rose to her feet.

"Swan," He stopped her rising to his own feet, "There must be 3 feet of snow out there."

"I really can't stay."

"It's freezing outside."

Emma stopped looking for her sweater and shoes, looking up at her host, "This evening has been-"

"I'm glad you drop by." Killian took a step closer to her.

"It was really nice."

Killian gently grabbed her hands feeling how cold they got, "Your hands are like ice."

Leaning forward a bit he brought her hands to him as he tried to warm them with his warm breath. Sending a shiver down her spine.

"My mother will start to worry."

Killian picked up his head at this. He was greeted to the sight of a mischievous smile gracing Emmas face.

"Whats your hurry?" he quirked an eyebrow.

Emma looked down at her feet shifting her weight before meeting his gaze again and saying, "My father will be pacing the floor."

Killian straightened more never letting go of her hands, "Listen to the fire place roar."

"Well maybe a half a drink more."

Killian pulled her a little further in before letting her go. Grabbing her mug, he scurried to the kitchen to refill it with her favorite drink. When he returned he handed it back to her and turned the volume up on the fire place.

Cradling the mug close to her she spoke up again, "The neighbors might think."

Killian hesitated only a moment, "It's bad out there."

Emma took a sip from her mug, never taking her eyes off him. Barely taking the mug from her mouth she said, "Whats in this drink?"

Killians eye widen. He opened his mouth to reassure there was nothing in there besides cinnamon and chocolate. But as she lowered her mug her eyes held jest and her smirk calmed him. This was part of her game.

Killian sighed, "Your eyes are like starlight."

"I wish I knew how," Emma put the mug break on the table swaying closer to Killian, "to break this spell."

"Your hair looks swell," Killian smiled down at her. He brought up his hand moving a strand of hair out of her face.

"Mind if I move in closer," Killian asked as he took a step forward, his hands coming to resting on her hips.

"The welcome has been," Emma brought her hands around his neck, "so nice and warm."

"Look out the window at the storm." They began to sway in the spot. The sound of the virtual fire crackling and the soft instrumental music playing guiding them.

"My sister will be suspicious. My brother will be at the door."

He had no doubt that Elsa and Mary Margret would be gossiping about her staying late. David would surely break down his door. But all Killian could focus on was the woman infront of him.

"Gosh your lips look delicious."

Finally the space between them was closed. Their lips danced as sparks flew bewteen them. This had been like nothing either of them had ever experienced before. They pulled each other closer unable to get enough of each other.

When them came up for air, Killian was the first to speak, "Since we've no place to go. Let it snow."

Emma giggled at that before leaning in for another kiss.

Without breaking apart Killian lifted Emma and carried her to his bedroom. It was cold outside but they were sweating by morning.

#kazoosadventcalendar #captain swan #cs fanfic #cs ff #cs au #emma swan #killian jones #ouat #once upon a time #baby it’s cold outside

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daggzandarrowsnew · 7 months

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Clearing out my drafts - this one was started from a prompt on my original Daggzandarrows Tumblr account (which I stupidly deactivated *cries in soooo many lost fics*)

“Baby Peanut’s magic”

————

“If we suppress it, it will only hurt her in the long run.” Regina explained, her patience running thin because they'd talked about this for so long now and, as much as she loved Robin, he just wasn’t getting it. “She needs to learn to control it now, while she's young lest she lose control and, god forbid, kill someone.”

“She wouldn't.”

“Not on purpose, Robin,” she amended on a tired sigh. The kids were due home soon and the chance to speak so openly with him was quickly dwindling. “You know her temper. At least if she understood what it was, she'd be prepared.”

He shook his head, still pacing in front of the window as she watched from her place on the sofa. “I just…” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, “I don't want her to turn out like-”

“Like me?” It stung, penetrated deep and flooded her veins like acid.

His pace slowed as he turned his head to look at her, a look of horror on his face, “What? No! That's not-”

“Magic is in her blood just as it is mine, Robin. Regardless of who birthed her, Mills’ blood runs through her veins. You cannot condone my magic yet condemn Zelena’s because they are one and the same.”

“Regina, I-”

“If you'll excuse me,” she interrupted briskly, swallowing thickly as tears glistened in eyes that wouldn't lift to look at him, “I need to make a start on dinner.”

————

“Is Mom sick?” Henry frowned as he watched Regina walk from the room, the plate of food in her hands barely touched unlike the children's empty plates she’d stacked beneath her own.

Robin swallowed guiltily, his own food inedible with the way his stomach was knotted. She'd barely looked at him since before dinner and had immersed herself in the children when they'd bounded through the front door, full of joy and caked in dirt having spent the afternoon in the forest with Robin’s men.

He felt awful.

“I think she's just a little tired, Henry.”

“She looks sad,” Scarlett frowned worriedly with eyes still on the door through which her mother had walked, “do you think she'd like a hug, Daddy?”

He couldn't help but smile with absolute affection at his daughter’s words, nodding his head as he replied, “I think she'd love that, darling.”

————

Her shoulders shook with her silent sobs as she pressed her face harder against her legs, wrapping her arms tighter around her knees and berating herself for getting so worked up over something she knew Robin hadn't meant.

He loved her, loved every single part of her - he'd spent many years now reaffirming that belief in her - and she knew that included her magic, he was just worried that it would corrupt their girl like it had done Zelena and Regina both and his fear wasn’t irrational...it was just unnecessary.

He didn’t understand how frightened Scarlett would be should she feel that first surge of power without knowledge of what it was or where it came from. There’d been many a night in which Regina had stood watching in the doorway of their daughter’s room as her dreams had been magically projected onto the ceiling, chuckling softly as her teddy bears had danced about the room in a way that had been strangely elegant.

It was beautiful, their daughter’s magic, but it could change and Regina wanted her to be prepared for that in a way that she herself hadn’t been.

There was a tug on her fingers that startled her, eyes wide as she lifted her head to blink wetly at the very person she'd been thinking of staring concernedly back at her.

“Why are you crying, Mama?”

She’d inherited magic from Regina’s side of the family but had most certainly inherited Robin’s ability to move silently when he wanted to. “Oh, I just stubbed my toe, sweetheart,” she replied and she hated lying but this was not something she was ready to discuss with their daughter yet, not until she and Robin were agreed on the best course of action. “It really stung.”

Eyes as blue as her father’s but as expressive as her own blinked back at her, a shadow of suspicion there as Scarlett looked to her bare feet and back again.

She changed the subject - or at least her daughter’s train of thought - by holding out her arms to Scarlett and asking, “Can Mama have a hug? It’ll make me feel much better.” And that was no lie.

Dimples dented chubby little cheeks as Scarlett nodded and reached arms up towards Regina, giggling wildly when she tickled at her sides as she lifted her onto the bed and placed her in the gap between legs now crossed, folding her arms tight around her daughter’s waist as small arms wrapped around her neck in turn.

Regina threaded her fingers through strawberry blonde curls and held Scarlett’s face to her neck as she cried quietly, trying to keep her shaking to a minimum. Their daughter was good in spite of her conception. Inherently good and that wasn’t only because of Robin but because of her too. She knew that even on her worst days.

They’d raised her in the right way - Zelena’s visits were still supervised even now and they’d never heard anything to be cautious of but it would remain that way lest she even dare think she could corrupt the goodness in Scarlett’s heart - but Regina knew the lure of dark magic. Knew how it could whisper in your ear and wrap around your heart.

It was a chance they weren’t willing to take where Zelena was concerned despite Regina’s own desire for a change in her sister much like her own. There was simply too much to lose.

“Can I sleep with you tonight, Mama?”

Her heart ached in her chest as she stroked her fingers through Scarlett’s hair and nodded, “Of course you can, my darling.”

————

She wasn’t sure of the time nor how long she’d been asleep but when she blinked open heavy eyes, she found Robin to be sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room watching them sleep. He looked exhausted and completely guilt-stricken. It was automatic and instinctual for her to lift a hand from Scarlett’s back and hold it out to him.

Robin didn’t hesitate to cross the small distance to the bed and slip carefully beneath the covers, instantly leaning up and over their daughter to press a kiss to Regina’s lips. “I am so sorry, my love.”

Regina shushed him gently, accepting another lingering kiss from him before she lay her head back down onto the pillow and watched as he did the same after dropping a kiss into Scarlett’s sleep-mussed curls. They lay in silence for a long moment, just soaking in the tiny child in their arms and the joy she brought to all of their lives much like her brothers before her. A child not born of Regina, much like the other two, but just as embedded in her heart.

“She may be Mills by blood,” Regina began quietly, shushing him gently when he moved to apologise, to tell her he hadn’t meant that. “But she’s also a Locksley by heart and soul. She’s so good, Robin. Much of the darkness in both Zelena and myself was out there by years of neglect. We chased that with a need to be loved by people who didn’t have the capacity to and that in turn bred abuse and an acceptance that that was what we deserved…until we couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“That dark path was a choice both Zelena and I took. I was simply lucky enough to find people to pull me back from that, to make me realise that there was so much more for me to find in the light.” She pressed a kiss to Scarlett’s temple when the girl snuggled deeper into her hole without waking before continuing. “One day Zelena might realise that too - maybe she’s already leaning that way, only time will tell…but Scarlett will never have to wonder if she is loved because we show her everyday. She will never feel alone because she has a whole army of people behind her. And she will never feel scared because we are going to tell her the truth.”

“Within reason,” Robin laughed softly, and she breathed a laugh in return because yes, some things she didn’t need to know just yet. But others…

“I suspect she already knows she can do special things or at least sense it, I began to suspect at her age,” she smiled down at the angelic features so relaxed in sleep, reminded of Henry at that age and Roland too, not yet aware of how dangerous or scary the world could be. “I just don’t want her to fear what is a part of her. I don’t want her to resent her magic, not when we can prepare her for it, when I can teach her to wield it properly.”

“I know,” Robin moved forward to capture her lips in a kiss that said so much more than he could. It was full of apology, of compassion and of promise. She was not alone. He stayed close when he allowed the kiss to break, stroking a hair through Scarlett’s curls. “I don’t want her scared either. I want her to feel confident in who she is, to know she can be whoever she wants to and we’ll always be there to catch her if she falls…it’s just…”

“Scary?”

He nodded, relief colouring his features that he was finally communicating what he’d been trying to say earlier. “I have absolutely no doubt that you will keep her safe, Regina. I trust you implicitly.”

She smiled tenderly at him, eyes moving over his face for a long moment before she admitted, “It scares the hell out of me too, Robin…” and then, “but the thought of Scarlett disliking or even fearing any part of herself scares me more.”

Robin leaned in once more to press a kiss to her forehead, cupping the back of her head as he moved in closer to hold his two favourite girls as he pressed his forehead to her own and promised, “Then her lessons start tomorrow. Let’s show our daughter another of the beautiful things about herself to love.”

And with those words, another dark shadow began to fade from Regina’s bruised heart as she closed her eyes and cuddled close to her family. Her world.

#ouat #regina mills #outlaw queen #oq ff #once upon a time #oq au #robin hood #daggzandarrows #ouat ff #outlaw queen prompt

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shady-swan-jones · 19 days

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“How about italian?” And thus it begins, without ceremony or preamble. The work day ends, dragging the last poor souls into overstaffed trains and bouncy buses and Killian swings by her office waiting for her to gather her things and they go to dinner.

It becomes their unspoken tradition. Until he leaves.

Read on Ao3

#captain swan #ouat #cs ff #cs fic #cs au #cs modern au #ouat ff #ouat fic #emma swan #killian jones #my fics

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 5 months

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Witchy Woman (7/10)

0.5 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | AO3 | 8 | 9 | 10

LOOK AT THIS STUNNING ARTWORK BY @cocohook38

Summary: When Emma came into her position as Storybrooke Coven Leader, she ended things with the powerful Vampire Overlord, Killian Jones. She’s spent over a decade working alongside him and ignoring the growing tension between them.

During his best mate’s wedding, Killian decides he is done waiting. He is ready to have his mate back in his arms (and bed) again. Emma is not an easy woman to woo, but Killian has never backed down from a challenge.

When Emma’s jilted ex-boyfriend returns to town and Emma goes missing, Killian will stop at nothing to get her back and ensure that nothing can ever separate them again.

Rating: E

CW: Mention of domestic abuse, blood and blood drinking (vampires), threatening situations, minor violence, death, mention of parental death

Entry for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2023 (@cssns)

Tag: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)

Lifting her gaze from the seemingly endless lines of tiny, irregular text in front of her, she let her eyes rest on the sight of the gorgeous vampire studying a similarly old and yellowed text. He toyed with his pen, cleverly manipulating it between his fingers, as he read unaware she’d stopped her own research. Her heart almost hurt as she took in features too perfect to be real, his cheekbones had been carved by a particularly gifted angel doing their best work, the perfection of his jaw was highlighted by deep amber scruff, and his eyes were the deep, rich blue of a clear winter sky.

He was focused, his tongue running under this sharp canine as he read. His fangs weren’t elongated now as they’d been when he ran them along her neck this morning. He had held her tight, thrusting deep into her, as she rocked against him chasing her pleasure. The scrape of his fangs had sent shivers straight to her core. The memory crept up on her all morning in vivid detail while they worked distracting her completely from the dull, ancient texts.

Emma heard so many things about the bite from a vampire. Connections between vampire pairs and vampires and their mates were deepened by the bite. Some claimed it was the most intimate connection any supernatural pairs could share - and werewolves could communicate telepathically with their mates. Most who were bitten by vampires agreed it was the most pleasurable experience they’d ever had - some even became obsessed, addicted to the bite. Emma wondered how enjoyable it would have to be to cause people to stalk vampires, seeking another hit of the venom. Older vampires were said to cause more pleasure. Killian was one of the oldest she’d ever heard of. What could his bite do to her?

“Does it really…” Emma felt her face heat when those stunning eyes looked up to meet hers. The intensity of his gaze heated her more than the question she had started to ask.

“Does what really what, Swan?” His voice was hardly more than a rumble. When he took in the deep blush blooming on her features, his lips quirked up in a heartbreakingly beautiful smile.

“Your bite, does it really enhance things?”

“Enhance things?” Killian’s eyes danced with humour. He clearly knew what she was asking and was enjoying her embarrassment entirely too much.

“Never mind,” she snapped and returned her attention to the book before her.

“Do you want to know what a vampire’s bite is like? Because you can read that in any of your many books on the subject.” Killian asked keeping his voice in that low villainous timbre. His eyes were rolling with that starlight of magic. “Or, are you asking what my bite, specifically, would do to you?”

“What would make your bite different?”

Killian’s gaze flicked away as he chewed over his next words. He turned his attention back to her and hesitated for a moment - his tongue wetting his bottom lip followed quickly by his teeth grazing over the spot. Why is he nervous?

“If I were to bite you, Swan, I believe it would transform our relationship completely.”

“Because you’re such a powerful vampire and I won’t be able to stay away from your allure after one bite?” Emma teased.

“No. Because when a vampire bites their mate, he gives her more of himself. You would see memories some memories as with most bites, but you would also know what I am feeling so long as my venom is in you. Since you are a witch, I expect there would be some exchange of our powers. I’ve heard powerful conduits,” he looked at her pointedly before continuing, “share an even deeper connection with their mates after their bond is solidified in this way.”

“You believe that I am your mate?”

“I know it to be so.”

“How?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. “Don’t you have to taste my blood before you can be certain?”

“When your blood is fresh, I can smell it.” His cheeks were rosy at the admission as if it were something embarrassing to admit. “The night before you ended things, you had cut your hand while we were cooking together.”

“You’ve known all this time?” Emma murmured. “We’ve wasted all this time?”

“What’s a decade or two when you live forever?” He answered with a smile before adding softly, “For an opportunity to hold you again, I would have held out hope for us until we both ceased to exist.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. How did she come to have a love like his? Of one thing she was absolutely certain, she’d spend the rest of their infinite lives showing him that he was loved just as deeply and unconditionally as he loved her. She’d prove to him that his faith in them, his hope over all this time apart wasn’t wasted.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

The Supernatural Gala held on the first night of the festivities was, Emma was certain, a form of torture banned by several governments. The dress that Anna had produced for her to wear tonight clung tightly to her form. She supposed it was fashionable and exquisite in its own right, but it made her skin itch and she felt a bit like she was playing dress up with her mum’s clothes, wanting to be the elegant grown-up that the finery suggested she should be.

Anna had transformed the dated ballroom into a scene that rivalled something from the Fae Courts. The high ceiling had become a clear night sky, twinkling with stars. The old wooden columns had been transformed into large, sprawling trees that reached toward the night sky. Their trunks were wrapped with cloth that shimmered as if it were woven from moonbeams. Flowers with petals so deep a blue that they might have been black bloomed on some trees, while others were filled with leaves the colour of freshly fallen snow. Music from an orchestra that Emma could not find drifted into the room and muted the conversations between guests. A few couples were dancing to the music, their movements impossibly complex and graceful. Most of the guests were standing in tight groups exchanging hollow pleasantries while they sipped endless glasses of wine.

“Amphitrite would envy how well you wear her waters.” Killian appeared by her side with a glass of wine and the warmth she hadn’t realised she was missing until his arm was wrapped around her waist. His perfectly tailored suit was the same fathomless blue as the ocean at night kissed by the moon, the same colour as her gown, the colour of his eyes when they darkened with need.

Emma rolled her eyes at him - as if his words and his muscular legs in those tight slacks didn’t affect her - and she plucked the glass out of his hand. She leaned into his side and he tightened his hold, his hook resting on her hip. She sipped at the wine gratefully before resting her head against his shoulder. “I hate these things.”

“I know, love.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. Emma adored that he didn’t press her further, didn’t try to convince her these were fun or necessary events, and didn’t brush off her comment with a dismissive, “It isn’t that bad.” Rather, he stood by her side making the whole stuffy night more bearable with his steady presence (and the wine - of course).

He took the empty glass from her hand and set it on a nearby table and offered his hand to her. “What do you say, Swan, would you dance with me?”

Emma smiled, laying her hand in his. “Why not?”

“That’s the spirit.”

She followed his confident movements in a complex dance that many of the other guests seemed to know the steps to as well. She knew the music must indicate the moves that were expected of the guests, but it all sounded like background music to her.

“It’s a waltz,” Killian murmured, answering her unasked question.

“Of course, you know how to waltz.”

“Mum was fascinated by balls and masquerades,” Killian spoke softly as he led her in a series of turns and complex steps. “She told Liam and me these fanciful, romantic stories of men and women falling in love as they danced together in ballrooms filled with magic and wonder. She danced with us, her little princes, humming the songs that she overheard from the ballrooms she was never invited into.”

The sadness behind his eyes at the memories tugged at her heart. She wanted him to know that he was not alone any longer and she was glad he’d shared such a precious memory with her. She wasn’t quite sure how to tell him just that, so she pulled him close to her, interrupting the graceful movements of the dance to kiss him.

He kissed her back as though she were the only thing that had ever mattered.

A cloud of white haze surrounded them, magic swirling, gently pulling and twisting until it wrapped them up tightly and transported them away from the noisy gathering. Killian raised an eyebrow when he saw the familiar walls of his bedroom surrounding them. Emma smiled back at him with a mixture of pride and mischievousness on her features. “That’s quite a trick, Swan.”

Smile still in place, she wiggled her fingers and his jacket and shirt were tossed carelessly onto the floor. He pulled her to him and kissed her again, nipping her bottom lip and soothing the sting with his tongue. She moaned lowly as his tongue tasted and teased her. He swallowed her moan. “You taste divine.”

“You’ve never tried a bite,” Emma teased.

Killian tensed in her arms. “Emma?” The emotion behind that one word cracked his voice as he searched her features for an answer to a question he didn’t dare ask.

“I want you to.”

“You’re certain?” He kept his eyes focused on hers, ensuring there were no traces of doubt or hesitation hidden somewhere in them. “Once we do this, we can’t take it back.”

Emma lifted to her toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. His stubble was rough on her lips, but it made her smile. Everything about this moment felt right. Her magic hummed and stirred around them as if it, too, agreed she was making the right decision. The fear she expected to accompany this decision was notably absent. Instead, she was filled with a pleasant hum of anticipation and an absolute certainty that this was going to be a wonderful thing for them to share. “I want to be yours in every way, Killian. That includes the way that vampires are together. I want you to mark me.”

“As you wish.” His voice was more growl, more vampire than she’d ever heard it before. Excitement spread through her - her chest and cheeks flushing a deep red. “You look absolutely delicious when you flush like that for me.”

Quicker than she could track his movements, he was behind her unzipping her gown and dragging his lips along her neck. The gown flowed to the floor, pooling at her feet. Killian sucked in a breath at the sight of her naked before him.

“So bloody perfect, Emma.” He told her as he carried her to his bed and laid her down almost reverently. He tugged off his trousers and pants in a quick motion. He kneeled before her. “I love having you laid out before me with your cunt dripping.” His warm breath flowed over her sensitive flesh, pulling a moan from her. “I haven’t even touched you yet, love.”

“Needy witch.” Then, his tongue was on her. He ran the flat of his tongue slowly up her slit, savouring the taste of her. He nipped lightly on her clit before licking and sucking at her folds again. He slipped two fingers into her, stroking her and building the tension up, while he sucked at her clit. Her hips lifted from the bed, desperately trying to reach her peak quicker.

“Impatient little thing,” he admonished softly, pulling his head away from her as retribution for her trying to take control. He trailed kisses along her thigh, smirking at the whines and curses flowing from her at his cruelty. She grabbed his hair and pulled him back to her centre. A low laugh escaped him, vibrating against her clit in the most wonderful way, and he returned his full attention to pleasuring her with his clever fingers and tongue.

He twirled his tongue around her clit in a motion that made her buck against him once again “Fuck, Killian.” She could feel him smile even as he continued devouring her. His rough stubble provided her with additional friction carrying her even closer to the edge.

The tension was almost too much, the release a moment away, when he sunk his fangs into her thigh. Warmth spread through her as he drank, she felt like she was floating away, a blissful haze welcoming her as she shattered around his fingers.

Pictures flashed through her mind, moments Killian had captured and held dear of them working together of her smiling at him of the yearning he’d felt over the years. Something deep, something eternal flooded her system as he smoothed the wound over with sweet kisses, murmuring praises into her skin as he watched her intently as if he expected her to regret it.

The words rushed out of her before she could think about it and stop them.

“I love you."

#cssns23 #vampire!Killian #witch!Emma #Emma x Killian #Emma Swan #Killian Jones #Captain Swan #CS AU fanfic #CS modern AU fanfic #OUAT AU fanfic #inspired by Stay A Spell #ouat captain hook #killian x emma #cs fanfic #once upon a time #ouat #cs ff #art by cocohook38

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myfearless-love · 4 months

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Fields of Freedom - Chapter 1.

SUMMARY: In a twist that even her inner circle couldn't predict, Emma abandons the urban hustle for the enchanting embrace of farm life, spurred by an unexpected inheritance. Armed with determination but little agrarian know-how, she enlists the help of her mysterious neighbor, Killian Jones. What starts as a simple offer of farming expertise blossoms into a harvest of support that neither Emma nor Killian saw coming. Turns out, amid the sprawling fields, it's Killian who secretly yearns for a helping hand in the delicate dance of life.

Words: 6.8k

TW: domestic violence

Chapters: 1/2

Buy me a coffee if you like :)

Read on: AO3 or FF.net

Forgot to tag some folks who might be interested: @anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare @jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779 @winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd @eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie

#cs ff #captain swan #emma x killian #captain hook #ouat ff #emma swan #killian jones #ouat #once upon a time #cs fanfic #modern au #farmer!Killian #New Yorker!Emma #niki writes

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snowbellewells · 4 months

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Captain Swan Collab Words 23 fic: "Freed to Love"

This event was such a fun idea, and the three of us - @statustemporary @jrob64 and @snowbellewells - had a lot of fun working together and seeing our initial idea come to life. We decided we really wanted some whump and hurt/comfort taking place, and eventually we settled on a Revolutionary War time period AU for our setting. We also used a suggested quote about the persistence of hope, and the idea of being touch starved, both of which played into our idea well.

Thanks so much to the @CSCW23 @Captain Swan Collab Words 23 for the idea to create a story as a group. It really was a new and exciting challenge that made for a new CS adventure.

And a very special thanks to @hookedmom for all the time and care she took as our beta reader for this fic!!

Summary: Though the colonists' fight for freedom from the British brought Killian Jones and Emma Swan together, the dangers of war have also pulled them apart. Can Emma find her beloved spy again, or will she be too late? What other trials and hurdles will they have to cross before they are finally free to live and love as they have dreamed?

Reposting with additional edits and correct AO3 and ff.net links.

Can be read HERE on AO3 or HERE on ff.net, if that is your preference.

"Freed to Love"

by: @statustemporary @jrob64 & @snowbellewells

Early morning dew soaks through Emma’s boots to her stockings. The wetness chafes at the skin of her feet and she holds back a wince with every step she takes. Her eyes remain downcast in the role of a perfectly submissive British nurse ready to abide by the orders of officers and soldiers alike. Her horse arrived late yesterday afternoon to the stern face of Colonel Sitwell, a high-ranking officer of the British military who is well aware that escorting a new nurse to camp is far below his station.

Last night’s rain is making the trip uphill more strenuous than anticipated. Sitwell’s boots kick mud back at her, staining the bottom of her gown, and a part of her wonders if he does it purposely.

Philadelphia.

She started in Fort Ticonderoga in late July, aiding the troops who overtook the abandoned rebel colonists’ camp. The end of August found her in Bennington, caring for the few wounded left behind after their defeat at Rebel hands. September brought her to Brandywine Creek, before her new orders informed her to follow the river to Philadelphia.

She has traveled so far just to end a few days up the river from David and Mary Margaret.

Emma’s heart pounds as they encroach on the troops standing guard outside the British camp. How many more can she bear to approach before she’s unable to handle the heartache?

All of them , she thinks immediately. She’d travel up and down the colonies if she has to, until she finds him. Her hands would service each wound on every British soldier if it brought him back to her. She’d swallow back the bile while they brag about killing her friends, she’d clench her fists as they discussed future strategies while on their sick beds.

She is trained for this. Mary Margaret showed her how to survive, while David taught her how to blend in. And Killian…

Her heart lurches when the familiar accents of British soldiers reach her ears. Emma barely pays any mind to what they’re saying. Instead, she embraces the only reminder she has of Killian, of the way he spent hours teaching her his accent to help her prepare for her role.

Despite the harsh, uncaring intonation, the familiar words that swirl in the air around her easily send Emma’s mind back to a happier early morning, months ago now, but emblazoned on her memory with the warmth and clarity of something from mere moments ago.

Killian had come to the house to report his findings from a recent scouting mission, and when he finished, she had pulled him into the kitchen to speak privately, blushing hotly as she did so, the heat from the pot-bellied stove keeping the room toasty, though breakfast preparations were over.

Up to that point, they had spoken a few times, and Killian had also been friendly, polite, even playfully attentive with her, but Emma had not gotten the occasion to speak with him as much as she would have wished. Mary Margaret had encouraged her, with her ever-present optimism and her hope to see Emma as happily in love as she was herself; to take this very genuine opportunity to seek him out at once and gain the knowledge she sought.

Seated facing her on the rough hewn wooden bench at the Nolan’s kitchen table, Killian had grinned impishly as she settled beside him and arranged her skirts, clearly knowing what she was about, even though the tops of his ears were a heated pink to match her blushing cheeks. When she dared to look up and make full, uninterrupted eye contact with him, Emma had nearly toppled off her seat onto the floor at the electric impact of his gaze connecting with hers.

She was only saved from making a fool of herself prattling away nervously by Killian speaking. The gently cultured cadence of his words reminded her of her purpose, as he dipped his chin to look up at her rakishly through his dark lashes.

And so it had begun between them that simply. She asked Killian for instruction in British pronunciation, accent, phrases, anything which might help her to better blend in and avoid detection as a patriot spy amongst the Redcoats. Granted, few paid much heed to what the nurses - or women in general - had to say; for once, her femininity was an advantage in the quest for near-invisibility. Still, she wanted to be ready. If the need to speak arose while she was posted in some hospital or camp, Emma was determined to sound as English as any fine lady in London.

Not only was it all too easy to pull up the hazy-warm and peach-sunrise-gilded memories and lose herself within their comfort, but as time and distance stretched between them and Emma searched fruitlessly once they learned of Killian’s capture, it had been one of the rare bits of joy left her for a momentary escape. She could envision his face so clearly within an instant of closing her eyes. The curious tilt of his head as he waited for her to speak whatever term he had just taught her. The way the tip of his tongue poked tantalizingly from between his parted lips to tease her mind addled with flustered desire. The way his lips moved deliberately, patiently, repeating whatever sound or inflection she attempted to imitate, until they were both satisfied with her repetition - usually left Emma nearly in his thrall before they were finished.

One particular morning as the seconds stretched and melted together between them like butter and honey slathered on a hot, homemade biscuit, making her want to soak up every delicious second she could, she paused hesitantly before bravely clutching his hand in shaking fingers, “And what would you say…” she asked, clinging as tightly as possible to him while they both were still together and safe. “What would you say,” she tried again after swallowing hard and gathering her courage, “if you were captured and threatened with death?”

Emma had held her breath, waiting anxiously for his response, all the while knowing it would not be one to put her at ease, nor had she truly asked for the sake of gaining some stoic, proper British response for her own use. She knew Killian would never yield to questioning or torture, would not plead for his life or make any sort of fearful compromise, much as she might wish him to, if it meant his life. Emma wasn’t sure what she was hoping to hear, but somehow she needed his answer all the same.

“I’d tell them they might bloody well try to end me,” he had replied stoutly, the blue of his fathomless eyes almost drowning her as he held her gaze determinedly. “But I’m a survivor, Lass, and I will find a way to return to you. You need never doubt that.”

His words had left her breathless then, and now Emma forced herself to release the breath she held in her aching chest as she remembered that promise.

Opening her eyes again brings her back into the muddy, chaotic, and haphazardly organized camp around her, which seems all the more removed from the haven she had recreated in her mind’s eye, because of the loneliness that immediately accosts her and the complete absence of Kilian. Though the speech around her had brought those better days to mind at first hearing, now they seem to highlight just how alone she is, since none of the accented voices belong to him…

“Miss Swan,” Sitwell growls. Emma shoots her gaze up to meet his and she purposely widens her eyes to bear the image of apologetic innocence. The move infuriates the officer further. His white hair is slicked back with sweat across his broad forehead, the wrinkles there crumpling together as he glares down at her. The lines around his mouth become more pronounced as his face fashions into a sneer and he juts his large nose up at her. “Has cannon fire damaged your hearing or are you fit to perform your duties to the Crown and His soldiers?”

“My apologies, Colonel Sitwell,” Emma says, effortlessly picking up the accent Killian worked so hard to teach her. “It won’t happen again, Sir.” She bows her head to him and clasps her hands together in front of her. Her small bag bounces against her hip and she thinks not of the weapons that have been stored there for months, swaddled between clothes and hidden in pockets.

Sitwell scoffs and strides into camp with the silent expectation that she is to follow. Hurrying behind him, she catalogs all possible routes of escape and makes a note to pay attention to guard rotation over the next couple of days.

The European theater of war plays out drastically different than it does in the colonies, or so David has said. Rules of engagement in Europe allow a modicum of respect for the treatment of prisoners of war, varying with rank. To escape while a prisoner is considered desertion and dishonorable. Except, they’re not in Europe, and British troops refuse to recognize Colonists as an independent entity, tossing all procedure out the window.

Will Scarlett’s return just a week after Killian was taken occupies the free moments in her mind.

Malnourished, with a number of infected wounds and diseases bringing him knocking on death’s door, Will, a fellow rebel from their town, explained to the women that the British didn’t have the care or the resources to deal with their large numbers of prisoners. He’d been kept in a warehouse packed together with other prisoners, like a school of fish with vermin nibbling at their toes. Feces became their pillows and the dead bodies of their comrades their blankets.

Her friend’s words work as nightmare fuel when she lays her head down to sleep. Visions dance behind her closed lids of the worst possible scenarios.

Will was just an everyday soldier, but Killian – he’d barely been a man when he followed his brother into the Royal Navy at the end of the Seven Years War in the colonies. After his brother’s death due to their King’s nefarious orders, he swore off his homeland and pledged his allegiance to the colonies. She watched as he moved up in rank and provided crucial details and secrets of the British.

If what Will saw is what the British did with a regular soldier, what would they do with a traitor of great importance?

Emma's hope for the future outcome of their struggle against the British and for Killian's safe return to her had flickered like a candle struggling in the wind at the picture Will painted. For several frightening moments when he first told them of his experience, she had feared it extinguishing altogether. Her ability to believe had already been fragile; the odds were against them, after all. But as she cleaned and bandaged her friend's wounds, and allowed him to clutch her trembling hand in his, his bloodied knuckles made the bile rise in her throat once more at the idea that Killian could be bleeding out somewhere and she would never know. She had held on just as tightly, trying to impart to him what she needed for herself. She simply couldn't give up. Killian was a survivor; he would never stop fighting, and neither would she.

Emma attempts to swallow around the lump in her throat as she surveys the camp. The area’s fortification means a quick escape is too risky and more planning will be needed if Killian is here.

If he’s still alive , a dark corner of her mind taunts.

At the start of her search for him, Emma would have fought back tears. The topic proved too sensitive to truly dive into, and she felt the walls Killian worked hard to break down shoot right back up. Now she bats the whispers away without thought.

He is alive. She just knows. And she will find him.

Sitwell brings their brief and stilted tour to an end outside of the hospital tent. He pauses and debates with himself before eying her up and down. With a sigh, he turns away from the hospital tent and points to the other side of camp where a small tent is pitched. The material of it is weathered, with mismatched linens patched over holes. The tent sags and barely looks able to stand up, let alone handle the weight of the cloth.

“Understand this, Miss Swan,” he starts, eyes darting between her and the tent. “No matter what you hear – crying, groaning, screaming – whatever you hear, do not enter that tent. Is that understood?”

Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion and her heart skips a beat. In all of her stays at different British camps, she’s never received such an instruction.

Could it…

She briefly forgets the persona she’s created of Nurse Anna Swan and lets Emma Nolan take over for a moment. “What’s – ”

Sitwell doesn’t let her say anything more.

“Do not enter that tent,” he snarls. “Refrain from disobeying my orders, Miss Swan. Otherwise you may join the traitor on the execution block tomorrow.”

The officer spins on his heel and strides away, agitation dripping from him with every stomp of his boot. Yet she pays him no mind as she gazes at the collapsing tent across the way.

Traitor , her mind replays.

Killian , her heart hopes.

Gulping down a large breath, Emma eyes the soldiers of the camp for a moment to ensure no one caught her stare, before she dashes into the surgical tent. Her mind races and her fingers are sloppy, fumbling one too many bandages.

She found him.

*********

Emma is busy all day nursing the sick and wounded, but keeps an ear out for any mention of the traitor being held for execution. She’s torn between praying it isn’t and hoping it truly is Killian.

As the sun sets and the day transitions into early evening, she becomes more on edge, anxious to see inside the prisoner’s tent. When she is finally finished for the day, she collapses onto a wooden bench outside the hospital tent.

One of her fellow nurses - Belle, if Emma’s memory serves her correctly - pauses in front of her, gesturing toward a small building nearby. “They’ve a meal prepared for us inside, Anna,” she says.

Emma hesitates. Should she take the time to eat when Killian could be in that wretched tent, tied up and living out his final hours? Grudgingly, she knows she has to keep up her strength in order to help her beloved escape.

Rising from the bench and forcing a smile onto her face, she thanks Belle and falls into step with her. They enter the rustic building and find seats at a large, wooden table, where bowls of thin vegetable stew, a few strips of salted meat, and chunks of dark bread are set in front of them. The food’s aroma reminds Emma’s stomach that it hasn’t been filled since breakfast that morning, right after she entered the camp and signed on as a nurse.

Knowing they will need food for the journey back home, she surreptitiously slips the jerky and half of the bread into the secret deep pockets of her skirt, cleverly designed by Mary Margaret, where they join the boiled eggs she saved from breakfast.

She is just dipping her last bit of bread into the broth at the bottom of her bowl, when the gruff voice coming from a junior officer makes her ears perk up.

“Well, someone has to take him his tray, and it shan’t be me. I can barely tolerate the thought of a traitor in our midst, let alone feed the bastard!”

Hurriedly stuffing the bite of bread into her mouth, Emma rises from her seat and approaches the man, her brain scrambling to formulate what to say. “Excuse me, sir,” she says, stepping into the man’s line of sight. “Is there someone who needs tending?”

The officer turns to her, appraising her with his eyes. “Who are you?” he snaps.

“Anna Swan, sir. I’ve been working as a nurse.” She doesn’t add that she’s been there for less than a day.

“Are you finished with your work for the day, Miss Swan?”

“Yes, sir. I was just having my evening meal when I happened to overhear you say that someone needed a tray of food delivered to him.” She hopes he won’t detect the nervous quaver in her voice. “I would be willing to do that, sir.”

“The man of whom I was speaking is a prisoner - a traitor and a threat to our beloved king and country,” he spits. “Why would you want to aid someone of such ill repute? Someone who is scheduled to be executed on the ‘morrow, I might add, as soon as our commanding officer arrives.”

Emma chooses her words carefully. “I am a nurse, sir, and as such, I have sworn to give aid to anyone in need, regardless of their allegiance.”

Time seems to pass at a snail’s pace as he considers her offer. She knows she is probably out of line for offering and could be facing punishment herself, but she simply cannot forgo the possibility of seeing Killian.

At last the soldier snaps his fingers and shouts over his shoulder, “Bring the food for the prisoner!”

Emma prays her trembling legs continue to hold her upright. Once the tray, containing nothing but a small piece of bread, cup of watery broth, and a strip of jerky, is placed in her hands, the junior officer escorts her out the door. They trudge through the camp without speaking, until they come within sight of the ragged tent, guarded by two soldiers.

“The prisoner is in there. Tell the guards Sergeant Gold gave you permission to enter the tent. The traitor is restrained and will pose no physical threat to you.”

“Excuse me, sir, but if he is tied down, how is he able to feed himself?”

“I was only instructed to supply him with food. Whether or not he is able to eat it is none of my concern.” After barking out those words, the officer turns on his heel and stomps away.

Emma squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath, before trekking across the clearing to the tent. The guards drop the butts of their sidearms to the ground, crossing them in front of the opening to the tent as they shout in unison, “Halt!”

“S-Sergeant Gold sent me to d-deliver this food to the prisoner,” Emma stutters.

The two men eye each other, then one gives a slight nod and they return their muskets to their shoulders. “You may enter,” she is told.

Emma ducks her head and pushes through the canvas opening. Once inside, she drops to her knees, her eyes trying to adjust to the dark interior. When they do, she wishes they hadn’t, because what she sees turns her stomach and breaks her heart.

The man is sitting on the ground against the support pole in the middle of the tent, his legs extended in front of him with thick rope knotted around his bare ankles. His arms are behind him, and she assumes they are tied as well. He is stripped except for his tattered breeches and she can see bloody stripes across his emaciated body. His head hangs down, dark, matted hair obscuring his face, but Emma knows this man is her beloved Killian.

Quickly, she sets the tray of food off to the side and crawls to kneel beside him. She notices crusts of bread littering the circumference around him and rage burns through her as she realizes that, even though food has been delivered to him, he has been unable to eat much, if any, of it.

She nearly gags as the stench coming from his unwashed body fills her nostrils. Apparently, he hasn’t been taken outside to relieve himself and reeks of the smell of urine. “Oh, Killian!” she gasps. “What have they done to you?”

His head jerks up. “Emma?” he croaks weakly. “Is…is that you, Love?”

Her fingers brush his hair away from his face, a sob catching in her throat. His left eye is swollen completely shut, his lip is split open, and dried blood obscures most of his handsome face.

“Yes, my love, it’s me,” she whispers. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

“You…shouldn’t…be here. I…I told you…not to come after me.”

“I never listen,” she tries to joke.

“You’re…impossible,” he sighs.

“And you love me for it.”

A hint of a smile quirks one corner of his mouth. “Aye, that I do.”

“How long has it been since you have eaten?” she asks, turning to slide the tray containing the paltry meal closer.

He grimaces. “I…I don’t know.”

Emma holds the cup of broth to his cracked lips, tipping it until it dribbles into his mouth. His eyes close as he swallows, a moan escaping him as if he was enjoying a fine steak dinner. She pulls the cup away when half of the liquid is gone, tears pooling in her eyes as she watches him chase after it.

Setting it aside, she picks up the chunk of bread and tears off a small piece. As she feeds it to him, she whispers, “We have to figure out how to get you out of here.”

He finishes chewing and swallows. “Don’t risk your life for me, Love.”

“Without you, I don’t have a life, Killian.”

She offers him another bit of bread, but he shakes his head. “I wish…I could hold you right now.”

Moving carefully so she won’t cause him any more unnecessary pain, she wraps her arms around his neck, scratching her fingers through his long, unkempt hair. His body shakes with a sob. “I…I’ve dreamed of having you in my arms, Emma. I have been starved for your touch.”

She is loath to release him, just as desperate to feel his body against hers, so she murmurs into his ear, “I feared you were dead, and am relieved I have found you, but I heard them say that they…they plan to e-execute you tomorrow.”

“Aye, so I have been told,” he confirms with a sigh. “I am surprised they have not done it already.”

“They are waiting for the commanding officer to arrive so he can give the order. I am hoping the rain last night will delay him, but we cannot count on that. We have to get you out tonight.”

Her heart aches as he lays his head on her shoulder, mumbling, “I do not think there is any hope of that happening, Love.”

“If Mary Margaret has taught me anything, it is that there is always hope,” she says firmly.

They are both startled and jerk apart when one of the guards shouts, “How long does it take to deliver a tray of food, Miss?”

“I have to go,” Emma whispers, reluctantly pulling away from Killian, “but I will be back. Do not doubt that. I love you, Killian.”

“I love you, too, Emma. Please be careful.”

She nods absently while her eyes sweep around the perimeter of the tent, cataloging weaknesses in the canvas. Before leaving, she feeds him the rest of the bread and broth, pockets the jerky, then kisses him tenderly, careful of his split lip.

Just before exiting through the flap, she turns and gives him what she intends to be a hopeful smile. She is encouraged when he attempts to return it.

The brisk night air of the impending autumn season greets Emma as she exits the tent. Bumps rise on her skin and a shudder runs down her spine during her short walk to the nurses’ tent. Lifting the flap, she finds their sleeping quarters still empty, Belle’s voice wafting through the air from the direction of the campfire. She’s only met the other nurses at their camp in passing at the change of their shifts, but worry creeps up her spine that one of them might walk in.

Her small bag sits on the ground at the foot of her bed, the gray and brown staining a far cry from its original white. A quiet thump fills the tent when she tosses it onto her bed linens, a soft clanging heard just a moment later.

If Killian was with her, he’d chide her for the careless way she shoves her hands between her clothes and blindly feels for her few weapons. There are three knives haphazardly sandwiched between layers of skirts, but pulling them only dampens her spirits. Her fingers grip their leather bound handles and her arm saws furiously at her blanket to no avail. If the blades can’t even rip the thin linen, they’ll be useless for Killian’s ropes.

Her heart starts racing as she fights to keep panic from clawing at her.

Emma paces the short length of the tent, hands on her hips as her mind offers solutions.

The knots are too tight and complicated for her to unravel, and Killian is in no shape to walk her through it. Which brings her back to cutting him free. The thought of stealing something from one of the many British soldiers around camp crosses her mind. She could sneak into one of their tents once they’ve fallen asleep, but she runs the risk of discovery. There’s no helping Killian if she’s delivered the same fate as him.

Belle’s laughter rings loudly in the slowly quieting camp, and Emma’s eyes widen in realization.

Her steps across the camp are soft and she keeps to the shadows of firelight. She moves slowly, eyes constantly roaming the area, her guard on high alert. The lanterns burn low in the tent where she spent most of the day, creating a glowing beacon on the edge of camp. The tent flaps gently move in the breeze, and Emma hears the voices of Zelena and Fiona, as they gather bandages to wash at the basin near the campfire.

The chill of the night starts to prickle at her skin, and her breath becomes visible in small wisps of white clouds before her eyes. She waits, shivering, for their footsteps to move away before she enters the back of the tent.

John Darling, a soldier not yet twenty, groans quietly six cots away from where she ducks in. His eyes remain closed as he calls for someone who is not there, and his blood is visible through the mountain of bandages she applied before the end of her shift. Her heart lurches as he continues to call for people she’s never met and with whom she doubts he’ll be reunited.

Emma swallows back the image that comes to mind of Killian sitting alone in his tent doing the exact same, as he receives food scraps he can’t eat and unable to move to relieve himself. Instead, she tiptoes over to the table that holds the equipment they’ve been using throughout the day. The amputation saw sits on the edge, blood staining the blade. She used one once, back in August after the British faced intense losses. The man said his name was Arthur; he had dark hair and blue eyes that made her heart yearn for Killian. She refused to look at him as she amputated his mangled left hand, but that didn’t stop the nightmares from replacing his face with Killian’s.

Her fingers move deftly past that to the scalpel. Blood stains that blade as well, but it is smaller and more easily concealed. It’ll be sharp enough to cut the ropes and easy to maneuver around his wrists without risk of injury.

Zelena and Fiona’s voices drift into the tent, and Emma glances up in alarm. In a quick move, she snatches the scalpel and rushes out before she can be detected.

Once outside the tent, a thought strikes her, and she seeks out the area where she knows discarded clothing of the deceased have been tossed. There are several jackets and shirts, but breeches are more difficult to come by. She digs through the putrid pile until she is lucky enough to procure two pair, bloodied and full of holes, but still usable. She tugs one pair on under her skirt, then stuffs the other pair, along with two shirts, into her blouse, and buttons it back up. Knowing they may face raw weather, she also picks out two uniform coats, rolling them up and clutching them tightly to her chest.

Moving as stealthily as she can with the extra bulk, she begins picking her way across the camp. Frustration sits heavy in her belly because she wants to hurry straight to where her love is suffering, but she can’t take the risk of being caught.

Along the way, she catches snippets of soldiers’ conversations and can’t help comparing them to those of the soldiers in the camps of her fellow countrymen. They may be on opposite sides of this conflict, but the same topics occupy their minds - deep longing for their families, hot, home cooked meals and their homes. They’re not very different, after all; yet, they’re killing each other by the hundreds, in battle after battle.

At last, she comes within sight of the shabby tent, still being guarded by two soldiers. Quickly stepping behind a large tree, she surveys the immediate area and decides on a route which appears to be safe.

She is just about to step out when she hears a shout coming from behind her.

“Halt! Thief!”

Her blood freezes in her veins as her breath stutters in her lungs. Cautiously turning her head, she sees Colonel Sitwell striding across the clearing, approaching a young soldier who looks to be no older than a teenager. He is cowering in front of the officer, his hands clasped behind his back, holding what appears to be a loaf of bread.

As Sitwell begins questioning the boy about where he is going and what he is doing, Emma turns her eyes to the guards in front of the tent and realizes their attention is drawn to the confrontation, giving her a golden opportunity.

Crouching down to make herself as small as possible, she scurries to the back of the tent. A thin sliver of moonlight is all that illuminates the heavy canvas and she gives herself a few precious seconds to allow her eyes to adjust. Once she is able to make out a seam, she pulls out the scalpel and, starting a foot above the ground, slices through the thick threads.

As soon as the seam separates, she drops to the ground, removes the pilfered clothes and pushes them through the opening, then she shimmies herself through. She gets up to her hands and knees, her eyes immediately trained upon the man still sitting in the same position in which she left him.

The dew has already settled on the grass in the darkening night, and Emma shivers as she stands just inside the tent - the leather boots she’s worn all this time are thin enough with gaps in the soles that some of the moisture has soaked through - making her teeth chatter along with the trembles of fear. The heat of the day has long since fled, and Emma feels the clammy chill down to her bones - aching for nothing so much as someplace safe and warm for herself and Killian. That desire drives her forward, despite the uncertainty that plagues her and the fear that she will fail him. She has to grit her teeth at the sight of Killian just feet from her, in a shelter full of rips and holes allowing wind and rain to blow right through, while his clothes are torn and threadbare - not even dry. They have barely deigned to feed him, and so of course he has not been granted any sort of blanket for the cold, autumn nights. She feels as though she is freezing; she cannot fathom the torment he has been going through. It’s a wonder he has not already succumbed to the elements and his countrymen’s gross mistreatment. She means to be certain he does not suffer even more with torture at their cruel hands.

She hates each hesitation as she sneaks across the dirt and grass at her feet; anxious to bolt and flee the danger like a startled rabbit. It is only Killian, so close again at last, who manages to stay her and keep her tiptoeing forward, making sure the way remains clear. All must still be distracted by Sitwell’s angry interrogation and the hapless young soldier he had accosted, to be checking in on their weak and battered prisoner, for she hears no further calls of alarm, no pounding feet bearing down, and she breathes out in relief.

Her eyes begin to water almost immediately - the stench unbearable in such close quarters - and her emotions nearly overcome her at Killian’s being forced to remain in his own filth; a man proud and fastidious of his manner and appearance, determined to present himself in his best light whenever possible. The wounds she had seen on him previously must be festering and growing infected. She cringes against the pain and shame she knows he must feel, in spite of it being no fault of his own.

Finally at his side, Emma drops to her knees and reaches out to clutch his shoulder, shaking gently and hissing urgent whispers of his name. When he fails to respond immediately, it strikes her all over again just how serious his condition is, and she wastes not another second before beginning to saw at his bonds with her stolen blade. To her dismay, Killian’s dark head lolls lifelessly, chin against his chest, until in her haste, she accidentally nicks the tender skin at his wrist.

With a startled grunt, he jerks an inch or so away weakly, and finally turns to face her, his unswollen eye fluttering uncertainly before managing to focus blearily and murmuring “Emma?” in question, as if he does not quite trust his own vision. “Why are you back here, Lass? If they catch you…” he sucks in a quick breath, whether from the effort it takes him to speak, or from jarring some injury she cannot see, Emma’s isn’t sure, but she aches for him all the same. He struggles on breathlessly, “You have to leave me here and get out. I am not worth – ”

“Hush!” she scolds sharply, giving the single word as much volume and strength as she dares. Her eyes spear his, staring him down with a look that allows no argument. She has managed to break through the ropes holding his arms behind him and around the central tentpost, and Killian nearly slumps over on his side at the sudden release of tension, but she steadies him, then cups his scruffy, nearly-bearded chin in her hand, willing him to accept her words as fact. “You are worth it. I won’t hear another word,” she whispers.

For a moment, unbidden and breaking across his face like the sun from behind the clouds of a storm, a smile upturns his cracked lips, and he chuckles just barely in spite of his condition, then merely sighs, acquiescing to her words largely out of sheer fatigue, but indeed loving her for them.

Releasing his chin, Emma gives a curt little bob of her head and reaches to the pile of shabby, but at least dry, clothing she had managed to scavenge. She had dropped it hastily to the side in her hurry to reach him and make sure he was still alive. Holding out a shirt, she gives Killian a hopeful look, tremulous smile aiming to inject inspiration into both of them for this perilous escape they are about to attempt.

She watches him try to work the feeling back into his hands and arms after their being bound behind him for so long. His limbs move awkwardly, even as he reaches forward to take the shirt she offers.

Killian’s eyes roam her face with entirely too much awe for her comfort, drinking her in hungrily and as though she has done something noteworthy rather than merely rooting through a pile of discarded uniforms and cutting through tent canvas to crawl back to his side. He simply nods to her in agreement.

His silence unnerves Emma; she is used to a lilting flow of eloquent words from Killian - so much so that she has often wondered if he talks for his own entertainment as much as he does to charm her. Whatever the case, his gently cultured, warm, and soothing voice had been one of the things she missed most desperately about him while they were parted, and she cannot help but worry now, as the quiet persists, just how little strength her beloved has left.

When he fumbles to get his hands into the sleeves, a strangled sound and arrested movement at his effort to raise his arms and slip the shirt on over his head attests to just how much pain he is in. Emma soothes him regretfully, reaching out to ease his arms down to his sides and guide his limbs gingerly into the garment, swiftly securing the fastenings as well.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” she whispers, hating that it had taken so long to find him, that he had ever been hurt at all, and that she has to press him now when he cannot move without causing further anguish. But he is already shaking his head at her, forgiving what she cannot help without a moment’s hesitation.

He is panting once he finally gets the shirt on, and the sheen of sweat glistening on his face concerns Emma more than she wants to admit. How is he ever going to flee as quickly as they need to, over rough terrain, if just this has taxed him so badly? And, even if they get away, how how sick is he and how badly is he hurt? Will they be able to help him recover?

Emma bites her lip against another swell of emotion at just how large the shirt appears on Killian’s emaciated frame. His collarbone protrudes sharply where the neck of the shirt hangs low, to a degree that Emma knows it would not have done when last she saw him.

Hesitantly she tries to help him stand, not wanting to insult or demean him - a man of lesser strength might not have clung to life as long as he has - but she genuinely fears he may not be able to support his own weight, and she isn’t sure what she will do otherwise.

Killian grunts, clenching his teeth and lurching forward to plant his hands on the hard-packed dirt and push himself upwards, then leaning against the tent post, he does indeed manage to leverage himself to his own two feet. It isn’t without obvious discomfort and struggle, and he lists worryingly to one side, though Emma isn’t certain if he is favoring broken ribs or trying to appease the stretching of the whip weals on his back.

She has already seen more of his body bared to her eyes than ever before - more than is entirely proper. It is far from the interlude she would never admit to having envisioned when they would finally explore each other’s bodies one day. All the same, she will not let that keep her from any small modicum of comfort she can offer him, not after all he has already withstood. Blushing hotly, but ready to press on, Emma is about to hold out the stolen pants in offering, when with a low moan, Killian crumples back to his knees weakly, barely catching himself by leaning once more against the post which had held him captive.

Heedlessly, Emma tosses the breeches away in alarm. They will have to worry about comfort and his taking further chill later. He cannot stand much more of this, and she has to get him out. His eyes rise to hers looking so pained and ashamed that Emma wants nothing more than to wrap his trembling frame in her arms, hold him close to her, and comfort and soothe him until he is well again. That he would feel embarrassment in front of her for something he cannot help, weakness forced on him through malnourishment and abuse, breaks her heart anew. She can hardly stand to push him further, but there is nothing for it.

She only shakes her head when he attempts to speak. “We’ll manage,” she asserts with a false bravado. There is no other option. She won’t even allow herself to consider it.

He nods again, some of the resolute steel she knows and loves at last returning to his gaze. She places her hands under his arms, and with them both heaving and straining, Killian gains his feet once more. This time Emma doesn’t let go, keeping one arm around his waist as he uses her as a crutch, sliding her shoulder under his arm so he can brace against her.

Quickly grabbing the pack she has carried with her from camp to camp, she leads forward, and together they take the first few shuffling steps toward the hole she has made in the back of the tent. She can tell he is lightheaded, hurting, struggling even to breathe properly, but now that Killian is up, his survival instinct - or at least his concern for her survival - has him painstakingly putting one foot in front of the other.

It is only as they near her makeshift exit that Emma realizes in horror that the distracting commotion which had been going on outside has calmed, and that she is still dressed exactly as anyone else in the camp would have seen her earlier. Quickly she cautions Killian just to lean against her for a moment, seeing his discarded tricorn hat in the corner of the tent, she grabs it, stuffs her brightly identifying hair up under it, then unbuttons the waist of her skirt and flings the long, heavy material away. It is far from a brilliant disguise, but that would only cover her absence for so long, anyway. Once Killian’s escape is discovered, the new nurse who had asked to bring food to him, then disappeared the same day she arrived, is going to be the most likely suspect. Her shaking hands quickly transfer the food she managed to grab from her skirt pockets to her stolen breeches, and she stands to let Killian lean on her again. She doesn’t have time to worry over any other items left behind at the moment; they just need to make haste as soon as possible.

As she adjusts her grip on Killian, Emma realizes once more just how poorly he must feel. Unlike his usual self, he has not a playful comment or even a salacious wink for her, despite the fact that she has seen him shirtless, helped him dress, and shed her skirts in front of him. She sends up a silent prayer that they can make it to the surrounding woods before they are discovered. She knows he cannot run full tilt - he can barely stand - so they must manage some sort of a head start.

Dipping her head to peer just barely through the roughly torn flap of tent in which she created an exit, Emma sees that although things have grown much calmer since she snuck in - Sitwell must have carted off the poor younger soldier he caught stealing - the other staring eyes throughout the camp have returned to their previous concerns and conversations. Though it still feels much too risky, far too exposed, the time will not get any better for them to escape.

As a last minute thought, Emma changes her mind, throws on one of the jackets, grabs the breeches she’d tossed aside, realizing she’ll eventually have to get Killian into enough clothing that he doesn’t freeze. Then, half-supporting and half-tugging him, Emma ducks her head to slip out of the prisoner’s tent through the hole she made, making sure Killian follows without stumbling or getting caught on the ragged edge.

Killian bites his lip against the agony that each step and merely standing upright clearly causes him in an effort to ease her nerves and steel himself for flight. He nods, visibly marshaling every last bit of strength he possesses to push forward as they step onto the dew-wet grass. Holding her gaze for one brief, but weighted moment, he then bows his head to watch each wobbly step he struggles to take. Gritting his teeth, the wounds that burn and pull each time his feet strike the ground try to steal his breath, but he forces himself to move on, matching Emma pace for pace.

She doesn’t dare speak, but she urges him along in her head, silently cheering with each foot they progress across the trampled field and closer to the treeline, nearer to the relative cover and safety of the woods nearby. Heart pounding in her ears, frantic and alert for the first sign they have been found out, Emma forces herself to lead without looking back, to focus on the shadows and brush of the forest as they draw blessedly nearer. Twenty-five feet…fifteen feet…ten…just a few more feet…

They have only just gained the edge of the woods when a shout of alarm goes up. Bellows of “The prisoner has escaped!” and “Search the area!” ring out, along with the sound of feet pounding and general mayhem as the camp mobilizes from the drowsy comradery of evening by the fire to the dogged pursuit of a fugitive. Emma’s breath catches in her chest with fear, and she risks one frantic look thrown over her shoulder as they dodge beneath low-hanging branches and plunge into the darker foliage that surrounds them just in time.

She sees torches - far too many to evade it seems, as panic momentarily takes hold - fanning out from the camp in all directions; some moving closer to them than she can bear already.

This time it is Killian who brings her back to the present, to the immediate steps before them. “You can do this, Emma. Bloody brilliant you are,” he pants. “Lead on, we’ve almost made it.”

Grateful for his steadying belief, though she knows he is half-delirious with pain and fever and is no more certain of their escape than she is, it is the jolt Emma needs to shake her panic and bring her back to her task. Turning once more, she steps forward again, only to snag her foot on an uprooted twig, making her stumble forward off-balance, bringing Killian with her.

The ground seemingly dissolves beneath their feet, falling away to nothingness and sending them plunging downward into the dark. It happens so suddenly that Emma has rolled and pitched against the hard, sloped ground several times before she can cry out, thankfully. A wounded grunt is all she hears from Killian before hitting the bottom of an incline hard enough to knock the air from both of their lungs as she lands on top of him with a sickening thud.

Scrambling off of his body, Emma tries to squint in the dark to find his face in front of her, stomach turning at the thought of having hurt him further. “Killian?” she whispers, not daring to speak any louder. He doesn’t respond, but before she can try anything else, she hears yelling and footsteps drawing nearer, crunching through twigs and fallen leaves. Wrestling a dirt-stained, ragged gray blanket from the pack that is miraculously still on her shoulder, Emma flings it desperately over them both, hoping it will blend into the night and the overgrown vegetation at the bottom of this steep dropoff. There is nothing else to do, with their enemies nearly atop them. She holds herself motionless, her hand over Killian’s chest, feeling for the barest rise and fall, praying the Redcoats will pass by and fail to see them.

Each agonizing second seems to stretch on for an hour as she waits, but slowly, painstakingly, the tramp of threatening forces move on, circle back, and judging by the calls she overhears, return to the main camp to regroup. They will be back on her and Killian’s trail by first light, but it is a miraculous reprieve in that moment, and she lurches upright to see if he has regained awareness to carry on.

“Killian?” she pleads once more, clutching at his shirt and gently trying to shake him awake. “Killian, please! You have to answer me!”

At last his eyes flutter open, though focus in them is far from clear. “Emma…?” he mumbles blearily, the words hazy in a loose-lipped mush. “What happened?”

“I tripped on a root of some sort, and we tumbled down a ravine. I- I’m sorry, I didn't see it until it was too late.”

He reaches out unsteadily and cups her cheek as if to brush her apology and fear away, despite the ever-weakening tremble of his limbs.

She presses on doggedly. “The blanket has hidden us from your jailers for the moment,” she adds, “but we better get as far as we can before daybreak. They will be after us again, no doubt.”

Doubt and an embarrassed uncertainty flicker in Killian’s eyes, but he does not speak, only pushes himself into a sitting position through sheer force of will. “You may have to help me up,” he finally relents, no longer meeting her eyes, but Emma is so relieved and glad that he is awake and willing to try, that she somehow musters the strength and adrenaline to help him lever himself back to his feet.

Rather than attempting to scale the hill they had tumbled down, they follow a small trickle of water running along at their feet, which becomes a stream after a mile or so. Pausing briefly to see that Killian gets a drink and has a crust of bread she stuffed into her pocket, Emma wrestles the ruined pants Killian wore off his legs, hurrying to dip a less dirty part of them into the stream and wash his skin the best she can, knowing that despite the cold, it must be done since he’d been forced to wear them so long. She doesn’t dare look him in the face as her fingers skim his bare skin, and she still looks off to the side determinedly as she helps him wrestle the change of breeches she had stolen over his jutting hipbones, urges him back to his feet and fastens the breeches securely. She shoves the other pair in her bag for the moment, to avoid leaving evidence behind. They just need to focus on getting out of here. Anything else they could work through, once they were safe.

By the time the first pale rays of sunrise start to color the sky, Emma hopes they have covered enough distance to avoid detection. They are heading for David and Mary Margaret’s quiet, out-of-the-way farm, but they will not make it today, not before Brits catch up to them.

Luckily they find a small cave, and Emma presses them as far into the dank, winding depth of it as they can possibly get. Sitting at last, she urges Killian to rest, his head in her lap, her hands smoothing through his matted, sweat-soaked hair. Watching over him, fretful and sleepless, she tries to gauge how long it has been and listens for any sign of discovery. When she finally sneaks out, she discovers they have made it until dark again and they can press on.

She counts each ragged breath that rattles through Killian’s shockingly light frame, and thanks the Lord above he hasn’t been taken from her yet. They are still together, and will fight on.

*****

They have been traveling for two days when Emma again hears the low babbling of a brook. Killian struggles during their journey, relying heavily on her to help him move. His weakened state only worsens with the small amount of food she can scavenge and no canteen to provide him hydration. Blood seeps through his pilfered clothes to stain her own when she supports his weight on their walk. She thanks the heavens he’s only awake during the night hours so he doesn’t see it, all the while cursing herself for not being able to do more for him.

But the sound of fresh water is enough to give her a sprinkling of hope.

Emma practically drags Killian in the direction of the noise, eyes frantically scanning the tree line for an enemy to surprise them. If worse came to worst, she’d drop Killian to the ground and batten her defenses, grabbing the blunt blade from her boot. She’d fight the entire British army if she had to, just to help him.

Thankfully the only other inhabitants of the woods are the animals that scurry across their feet.

Killian’s eyes blink rapidly as he fights to stay awake. She knows that they’ll have to stop for a full night tomorrow or the next day. He needs to regain his strength, and, aside from a few hours rest the night before, Emma hasn’t slept a full night since before arriving at camp. Adrenaline has kept her going thus far, but even she knows it’s not sustainable.

“We’re almost there,” she whispers to him, Killian’s head lolling against hers as he grunts a reply.

Twigs scratch at their ankles, and the cool night air wraps around their shoulders in a deep embrace. Moonlight offers their only source of light, and Emma desperately clings to the moon beams that shine down between the treetops.

Relief floods her body as they break through a particularly profuse thicket and the creek flows just a few paces from their spot. Rocks litter either side of the stream, one large enough to lean Killian against. She drops to her knees once he is situated. Dew seeps into her clothes, a wet patch gathering quickly where she kneels. The cool sensation is nothing compared to the water.

Emma dunks her hands into the water in a quick fashion, hissing when the brisk liquid stings her fingers. She quickly pulls her hands back and looks to Killian. “You need to drink,” she murmurs, not expecting an answer that he has no strength to give. Taking a deep breath, she sinks her hands into the water, up to her wrists and cups them together, gathering water that she hastily carries over to him, tipping her hands onto his lips. Water slips between her fingers as she tries to give him some, droplets slide down the sides of his face. He gasps as he gulps down the meager offering.

She repeats the process until she suspects his stomach is getting upset. Her fingers tear the hem of her borrowed clothes and rip a few bands of cloth. The moon highlights the blood cresting on his skin from the open wounds along his body, the dirt collecting on his person.

“I need to clean you,” she whispers as her hand cradles his cheek. Killian opens his eyes to meet hers, and she sees the corner of his mouth lifting under his unruly facial hair.

“You’ve done enough, love,” he says just as quietly. “Give me a moment and I can wash myself.”

“The water’s cold,” she argues.

“Suppose I’ll need a distraction then.”

Hydrated and more awake than he’d been when they arrived at the creek, Emma helps Killian shed his shirt and aids him in kneeling at the creek’s waterbed.

Killian stares at the water, and Emma notices a faraway look taking over his face. The look is one she’s become familiar with working on other soldiers. Memories – nightmares really – that haunt even their waking hours. Her hand reaches over to cover his shaking fist crushing a band of cloth. She swallows as he suddenly swivels his head to her, blinking a few times before he offers her a wobbly smile.

“Do you remember when you caught fish?” she asks. Her tone is light and her smile is encouraging. The undercurrent of teasing that usually accompanies the story is barely tangible.

Killian breathes out a small laugh. “You would never let me forget.”

A nod is shared between them and her voice offers a distraction as he dips the cloth, hissing as it touches his raw skin.

The sun was barely rising over the horizon, when a specialized knock echoed throughout the quiet Nolan house. David and Mary Margaret were undoubtedly already awake with the livestock kept on the property, but Emma had hoped for a few more hours of rest. Her feet ached and her fingers felt numb, her first week spent treating wounded Colonists draining every ounce of her energy. She won’t be shipped out to a British camp for another few months; her secret coding needed to be finely tuned and her stitchwork would give her away as an inadequate nurse.

She winced as her fingers worked to knot the belt of her robe. Sleep still scratched at the edges of her consciousness, but her racing heart beat it back vigorously.

Emma opened the door in a rush, breath caught in her throat from anticipation. She sighed heartily when she realized it was merely Killian standing on the porch. A woven basket hung off of one arm, and he clutched a bouquet of wildflowers in the opposite hand.

“Morning, lass,” he greeted with a wide grin.

She squinted as the early sun rays overwhelmed her sight. “To what do I owe this honor?” The door squeaked momentarily as she leaned against it, her heart racing for an entirely new reason. A smile threatened to emerge as she struggled to keep a disinterested face in the presence of such a magnificent man.

The sun shone on him like he was a gift from above, just for her. Golden rays of light gleamed on his dark hair to create a halo and his grin was certified to make any lady swoon. His eyes crinkled in delight as he gazed down at her, and she swallowed hard as she awaited his answer.

“I remember you mentioning over the summer how much you missed cod,” he said as he maneuvered his way inside the house. The basket is placed gently on the kitchen table while the flowers remain in his tight grasp.

“I don’t think that’s enough of a remarkable statement to explain your appearance this morning. Nearly everyone in town misses the cod.”

Killian grinned, something quick and hidden as he ducked his head out of her sight. Her statement was true, no matter the humor he found in it. The increasing warships offshore had chased the fish further out into the ocean. The wider landscape made it difficult to catch a quantifiable amount of cod to justify the trip, not counting the dangers that came with being in the same waters as opposing military forces.

“Well,” he started, “it does offer an explanation for my appearance.”

“Oh?”

Wildflowers were suddenly thrust in her direction, and she blinked for a few moments before it finally registered. Killian’s arm was extended to her and nerves crept up his tense shoulders. “Firstly, these are for you.” His tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lips, her attention dramatically pulled from the flowers by the movement. The sight was always a distraction when they practiced her accent, but now it felt like it had intent. An intent to tease her, to bring her to a different focus.

Belatedly, she took the bouquet from Killian. “Thank you,” she said softly, taking a moment to smell the flowers. No one had ever brought her flowers before. Most girls she grew up with were married off with children of their own by now, but she found herself too different from them to warrant the attention of a gentleman in town. Until Killian.

“And this is for you as well.” Killian proudly walked over to the basket and pulled back the linen covering its contents. “Freshly caught cod.”

Emma stepped closer and peered into the basket. A gasp left her mouth before she covered it to prevent her laughter from becoming noticeable.

“What?” he asked.

“You have never been fishing here before, have you?”

“No… Why?”

She failed to keep the laughter from her voice as she spoke. “These fish aren’t cod.”

A slew of expletives was voiced under his breath as he moved to her side. His hand reached for the basket to examine the fish closer. “Are you positive?”

She huffed. “I may not be a fisherman, but I do know my food.” Her eyes examined the fish, wrapped and salted to preserve it for the days long trip back, as a smile threatened to appear on her lips. “These are summer flounder, which are still edible and mild tasting. I appreciate your efforts.”

The amusement left her body as she watched Killian’s face fall and his demeanor depress. His hand toyed with the edge of the basket as his jaw ticked from how tightly he clenched it. She called his name only to receive a shake of his head in return. He dropped his weight onto one of the kitchen chairs and sagged into the seat.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he murmured to himself. Emma followed his lead and sat beside him. The urge to reach out and grab his hand between her own brewed deep in her stomach.

“Wanted what?”

“Apologies, love,” Killian said. He offered his best self-deprecating smile for a brief second before he returned his stare to the table. “I had hoped to present this as my official request to court you, but alas, I’ve made a fool of myself, instead.”

Her throat dried at his words and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered. He wanted to court her? The mere thought left her practically speechless. Killian had wanted to present her with her favorite meal – cod – and picked flowers for her by himself. He traveled in dangerous waters just to impress her.

She hummed, bringing the flowers to her nose. The fresh aroma made her head spin in the most delightful way, and she sent Killian a shy smile. “It seems to me like you’ve been doing a splendid job, so far.” He grinned back at her for a moment before it fell at the sight of the summer flounder. “You really went out to sea to catch these fish? For me?”

There was no teasing inflection to her words, a heavy weight instead accompanied them. Their eyes met over the table, and she watched Killian’s throat bob as he swallowed hard. He matched her seriousness and kept their eyes connected; his single word answer said a million things to her.

“Aye.”

Emma placed the bouquet gently on the table between them and refused to let her eyes trail away from his. She leaned forward as he watched in anticipation, breath hitched in his throat.

Their lips met, and Emma finally tasted freedom.

*********

“Just…a little further…Killian,” Emma gasps, her arm tightening around his waist. Her eyes are trained on the small house shining in the moonlight in front of them, but they also continue to dart around for any sign of being followed.They’ve been careful to travel only at night, seeking out dense woods where they could hide and rest during the daylight hours.

It’s taken them nearly a week to reach Mary Margaret and David’s farm, their progress hampered by the constant surveillance of their surroundings for fear of being captured, and by Killian’s injuries. Emma has tried to treat his wounds along the way, cursing herself for not grabbing any medical supplies when she pilfered the scalpel and clothing. He was also weak from lack of food, since the small amount of food she smuggled and berries she was able to find were not doing much to build his strength.

But now, the end of their arduous journey is finally within sight. Emma tries to quicken their pace, but Killian’s groan of pain reminds her that he’s already going as fast as he can. He hasn’t once complained, but she knows every step has been agony for him.

“I’m sorry, Killian. Please forgive me for my impatience.”

“You…you’ve been anything…but impatient, Love,” he rasps. “I should be…apologizing for…causing you all this trouble.”

“Hush, now,” she admonishes. “You are worth everything to me. I would go to the ends of the earth to find you and bring you home.”

“It almost feels like…that’s how far we’ve come,” he says with a dry chuckle.

She laughs in response, her heart lifting a little over his attempt at humor. They continue their laborious trek over the uneven ground until finally, they are standing on the small wooden stoop at the back of the house.

“I hope someone is awake,” Emma whispers. Raising her hand, she raps on the door three times, pauses a few seconds, knocks twice, then twice more in rapid succession.

The wait seems interminable until they hear a familiar voice saying, “Identify yourself.”

Emma almost cries at the sound of her brother’s voice. “Em-” Her voice is suddenly not working, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Emma Nolan.”

There’s a pause. “What happened when I was twelve that you always thought was your fault?”

Without hesitation, she replies, “You fell out of a tree and broke your left arm trying to rescue my kitten, Patches.”

She smiles at Killian as they hear the sound of a key turning. Before she can react any further, the door swings open and she’s pulled into a crushing hug.

“Where have you been?” David’s voice rumbles under her cheek where it’s pressed against his chest.

“Let us in and I’ll tell you.”

“Us?” he questions, pulling away to look behind her.

“I found him,” she says simply, reaching to take Killian’s hand. Even in the dim light coming from the fireplace in the kitchen, she can see David’s eyes brighten. He steps out of the way so the two travelers can enter.

After closing the door behind them, he turns around and the happiness in his eyes instantly turns to dismay when he takes in the condition of the other man. Before he can say anything, Mary Margaret’s voice can be heard from their bedroom doorway, asking, “Who was it, David?”

“See for yourself,” he answers, grabbing a match to light a kerosene lamp on the kitchen table.

She emerges, tying the belt of a thin, cotton robe. “Emma! We’ve been…” Her eyes move to the figure leaning on her sister-in-law. “Oh, Killian! Look at you!” Pulling out a chair, she helps Emma gingerly lower the injured man into it.

“I’m alright,” he says, but can’t stop the groan from escaping his lips when he’s fully seated.

Mary Margaret immediately begins assessing the injuries to his face. “David, please bring the basket of supplies. Emma, get a wash basin of water and a cloth.”

They both scurry to do as told, coming back to find Mary Margaret has already started working on the shirt fasteners. “Have the two of you had anything to eat?” she asks.

“Just whatever we could scavenge from the woods,” Emma answers, placing the basin on the table and tossing the cloth into the cool water. “I ran out of the food I was able to steal from camp.”

Mary Margaret finishes with the fastenings and pushes the shirt aside, gasping when she sees how much weight Killian has lost. “I’ll, um, I’ll let you clean him up while I heat some chicken stew.” Emma can see tears shining in her eyes when she turns away.

After setting the medical supplies on the table, David moves to the fireplace to remove the kettle. He pours some hot water into the basin, replaces the kettle, and returns to help Emma peel the shirt off of Killian. When he sees the wounds from a whip across his back and chest, his mouth tightens into a straight line, his eyes hardening with anger.

Emma speaks as she squeezes out the cloth and begins tenderly wiping her beloved’s face. “When I found him, they were holding him prisoner, planning to execute him the next day, as soon as their commanding officer arrived.”

She continues relating the conditions in which he was held, as she moves on to begin sponging his neck and chest. Mary Margaret and David share grim looks as they listen, appalled at the way their friend was treated.

“He was actually much worse than this, but we came across a clear creek and he was able to wash himself off a bit, even though the water was pretty chilly,” Emma says.

“David,” Mary Margaret says, turning quickly to her husband. “Can you please begin filling the tub with water? I’m sure soaking in a hot bath would feel good, wouldn’t it, Killian?”

The man looks up at her with bleary eyes. “Aye, it would.”

“Take the tub into our bedroom, David. We can move into one of the rooms upstairs and Killian can have our room so he won’t have to climb the stairs.”

David sets to work getting the metal tub moved and filled with water, while Mary Margaret dishes up bowls of reheated stew for Emma and Killian. His hands are shaking as he spoons the food into his mouth, slopping some into his unkempt beard. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Mary Margaret says, as Emma dabs the spill away with the cloth. “Just don’t eat too fast. Your stomach is going to have to get used to having adequate food in it again.” He nods in understanding, giving her another look of gratitude when she sets a plate containing several slices of bread between him and Emma.

They’re just finishing their meal when David rejoins them in the kitchen, announcing that the bath is ready. He offers to help the other man bathe, and it’s a testament to how weary and weak Killian is that he accepts.

Once the men leave the room, the women have a whispered conversation. “Do you think there’s any chance they’ll find him here?” asks Mary Margaret.

“I really don’t think so. We were very careful and diligent about not leaving any evidence behind. You and David taught us well.”

“How did you find him?”

“I kept moving from camp to camp, working as a nurse. If I didn’t find him in one place, I would move on.”

“You were very fortunate to find him when you did. If you arrived even one day later…”

“I don’t even want to think about that,” Emma shudders. “I came so close to losing him.”

Mary Margaret reaches over and pats her hand. “But you did not. That is the important thing.”

“Now we need to help him recover, and I fear it is going to take a long time. He is very weak. There were times when I was afraid he would not have enough strength to make it here.”

“I suppose you will not want to be far from him tonight,” Mary Margaret observed. At Emma’s confirmation, she added, “We can set up a cot for you just outside the bedroom so you will be able to hear him, should he need you.”

By the time the two of them retrieve the cot from the attic and take it downstairs, David is exiting the bedroom with a concerned look on his face. “A couple of his wounds appear to be infected, but I can’t be sure until we see them in the daylight. I cleaned them the best I could and bandaged them. I know you wanted to tend to him tonight, but he is utterly exhausted, so I already helped him to bed.”

“That is probably for the best,” Mary Margaret says. “I think we all need to get some sleep. Emma is going to sleep on the cot so she can be there for him if he needs her.”

“Do you want me to fill the tub with clean water so you can take a bath, too?” David asks Emma.

“No, I will just take a sponge bath using the water in the basin. I’m so tired, I would probably fall asleep in the tub.”

Husband and wife empty the water from the tub and carry it out, then set up the cot in the kitchen and cover it with bed linens, while Emma washes up and changes out of the filthy, stolen set of clothes into a soft, flannel nightgown. Releasing her hair from the tight bun, she brushes the snarls and tangles out of her long blonde tresses, then, after bidding her brother and sister-in-law goodnight, goes into the bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she observes her love by the dim light of the kerosene lamp on the nightstand. His face is relaxed in sleep, but she can still see the cuts and bruises marring it. Tenderly, she reaches over and brushes some strands of still damp hair away from his brow. Leaning down, she brushes kisses to his cheeks and lips. “You are safe now, my love,” she whispers. “No one is ever going to take you from me again.”

After watching him sleep for a few more minutes, she moves out to the cot, climbs between the soft, clean sheets, and falls into the first deep sleep she’s had since she said goodbye to Killian months ago.

*********

Emma is awakened in the middle of the night when Killian begins groaning loudly and thrashing around in the bed. She throws back the blanket and rushes into the bedroom, distressed when her hand touches his forehead and feels the heat radiating from it.

Quickly, she goes back into the kitchen and pumps more water into the basin, adding a couple of washcloths to it before carrying it into the bedroom. Nudging the extinguished lantern aside, she makes room for the basin on the nightstand.

She wrings out the first cloth, folds it, and lays it across Killian’s forehead, then repeats the process to lay one on his chest. He begins mumbling, but she doesn’t think he’s quite awake. Leaning down, she speaks into his ear, “What do you need, my love?”

He runs his tongue over his dry, cracked lips, murmuring, “Thirsty.”

Returning to the kitchen, she fills a glass with water and brings it back. She slides her arm behind his back to help raise him up, tears coming to her eyes once again when she feels the sharpness of his shoulder blades through his nightshirt.

He gulps the water thirstily and thanks her, before she lowers him back to the mattress and kisses his feverish brow. After returning the glass to the kitchen, she refreshes the washcloths with cool water, then sits down on the wooden chair beside the bed, turning to face him. She sleeps fitfully the rest of the night, reapplying the cloths and checking his temperature a few more times.

Once the morning light begins filtering in through the thin curtains, Emma dresses hurriedly and goes into the kitchen to find Mary Margaret already preparing dough to make bread. She looks up at Emma with a smile that fades when she sees the worried look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Mary Margaret asks, pulling her hands out of the dough and wiping them on a towel.

“Killian has had a fever all night. I’m afraid he does have an infection.”

“Is he awake?”

“Not yet. I know we need to examine him more thoroughly, but he needs his rest, too. Do you think I should wake him?”

Mary Margaret ponders for a moment. “Let him sleep a while longer. David has gone out to ride the perimeter of the property. When he gets back, we will find out what he thinks we should do.”

Emma pinches off a small piece of dough and pops it into her mouth. “Is he making sure we weren’t followed?”

“He knows you were careful, he just doesn’t want to take any chances,” Mary Margaret explains, beginning to shape the dough into small loaves.

Upon hearing a sound from the bedroom, Emma turns and hurries in there. She finds Killian sitting on the side of the bed with his feet on the floor, his head hanging down and his hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

She steps in front of him, cupping his face in her hands and gently lifting it. “Good morning, my love. How are you feeling?”

He manages a weak smile. “Much better, being here with you, Love,” he says, his voice rough with sleep and fever.

Combing her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Do you want some breakfast?”

“Aye, that sounds good.”

Emma discreetly runs the back of her hand over his forehead, troubled to still find it overly warm. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

“Trying to peek at me naked, are you?” he jokes weakly.

Despite her concern, she still blushes and can’t help but smile. He has always had a knack for making her laugh, and she’s pleased to see he hasn’t lost his sense of humor. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

He turns his face to press a kiss into her palm. “You are helpful, and also very beautiful. My beautiful saviour.”

Her heart swells at his words and all she can think to say is, “I love you.”

“And I, you.”

She dips her head and brushes a kiss to his cheek. Leaning her forehead against his, she sighs. “I cannot believe I actually found you and we made it back home. There were times when I thought I…” The emotion makes her breath catch in her throat. “...I would never see you again.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Emma. You should know by now that I’m a survivor.”

“The order of execution did give me pause.”

“Point taken.”

She soaks in a little more time of being able to touch him, before declaring, “I’ll go upstairs and get some clothes for you.”

“Thank you, Love.”

Giving him one more kiss, she exits the room. David is stomping his feet off on the mat inside the kitchen door. “Is everything secure?” she asks.

“As far as I can tell,” he answers. “How is Killian this morning?”

“He is carrying a fever, but it does not seem to be as bad as it was in the middle of the night. I’m going to get clothes for him. Could you please go in and check on him?”

“Of course,” David agrees, already heading toward the bedroom.

Emma goes to the cedar chest, where Mary Margaret keeps extra clothes for anyone in their spy network who is in need of them. Kneeling down before the chest, she takes the opportunity to send up a prayer of gratitude and also a plea for healing. Killian may be putting on a brave front, but she knows him. He’s weak and in pain; far from the strong, robust man he was months ago, before he went undercover behind enemy lines.

Gathering the shirt and knickers into her arms, she descends the creaking stairs, finding Mary Margaret removing the bread from the oven. “Is David still in with Killian?” Emma asks.

“Yes. He came out to get some clean water, whiskey and towels. He said Killian has wounds showing signs of infection and he has heard that pouring alcohol on them helps.”

Emma grimaces. “That sounds like it would be painful.”

“Not as painful as amputation, should the infection get worse,” Mary Margaret notes quietly.

Emma’s face pales as she thinks about the possibility. The wound around his left wrist, caused by the ropes with which he was tied, is especially concerning; the flesh around it red and angry, while the wound itself appears to be festering.

“David said Killian is relaying information to him about the enemy’s position and strategies. Even being held for execution, he was gathering vital information. That man of yours is a model of bravery, Emma.”

Now her chest swells with pride, but the moment is interrupted by a hoarse curse coming from the bedroom. “Bloody hell, David! That bloody hurts!”

The two women share a concerned, and slightly amused, look. “At least he has a little fire in his voice,” Emma comments.

Her sister-in-law nods in agreement before asking, “Should I prepare a tray of food for him?”

“I’m sure Killian will insist on joining us out here. He won’t want you making a fuss over him.”

“He deserves to be fussed over, after all he’s gone through.”

“I agree, but you know he won’t see it that way.”

Emma approaches the bedroom door and taps on it lightly. At David’s permission to enter, she pushes it open and peeks in. “I have some clean clothes.”

“Bring them in, I just finished treating his wounds,” David says, tying off a bandage around Killian’s wrist.

Emma’s eyes scan over her love’s form as he sits slumped on the side of the bed. He looks up and manages to give her a small smile. “Thank you, Love.”

She deposits the clothes on the bed beside him and catches David’s eye, communicating silently with him to ask about Killian’s condition. The grim set of his mouth and slight shoulder shrug tells her he shares her concern about the other man.

Emma picks up the shirt, unfolds it, and carefully pulls it over Killian’s head. David helps guide his arms into the sleeves, Emma ties it, and a lump forms in her throat when she sees how loosely it hangs on him. Mere months ago, he would have easily filled it out with his muscular physique. The stolen shirt was also baggy on him, but she tried to reason that the man to whom it belonged must have been much bigger than Killian. Now, there’s no denying that he has indeed lost a substantial amount of weight during his captivity, and her hatred toward the soldiers of his former homeland intensifies.

She holds out the remaining clothes to David. “Please help him put these on while I go help Mary Margaret get breakfast on the table,” she says, knowing her voice sounds gruff from the raw emotion she’s feeling.

Turning on her heel, she exits the room.

*********

The next two days for Killian are a series of ups and downs. He continues to run a fever, sometimes mumbling deliriously because of it. His stomach repels the food he eats ravenously, the vomiting causing his already dangerously weak body to weaken even further. Heedless of the custom dictating unmarried couples not sleep together in the same room, they move the cot into the bedroom so Emma can get to Killian more quickly when he needs her aid.

There are far too many moments when she wonders if they escaped and made the dangerous trek back home, only for him to die anyway.

Yet, in the mornings, after a good night’s rest, he’s fairly alert and his endearing personality comes shining through. They’re relieved to see his wounds responding to their careful treatment, the fiery looking skin around them returning to normal as the infection ebbs away.

On the third morning after their return, Emma is awakened by Mary Margaret rushing into the bedroom, shaking Emma’s shoulder as she whispers urgently, “Get up! David just found signs of someone being on the property, and we need to get the two of you down to the root cellar!”

“Enemy soldiers?” Emma asks, throwing off the covers, her heart in her throat.

“He does not know, but he also does not want to take any chances. He and Leroy have gone out again to see if they can find anything else, and he wants me to get the two of you into the cellar.”

Emma pulls her robe on and ties the belt, then slides her stocking feet into her shoes. Mary Margaret is trying to rouse Killian, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. “Gather as many quilts and blankets as you can and go down to the cellar to try to make up a bed for him on the floor,” she instructs Emma, her voice still a whisper but full of tense anxiety.

Emma hurries to do as she’s told, emptying the linen closet under the stairs. It takes two trips down the steep, rickety steps to get everything to the dank root cellar. The pungent smell of earth and unwashed vegetables fills her nose as she tosses the thick quilts on the ground in the corner under the stairs, quickly straightening them the best she can and dragging sacks of grain over to use as pillows, before dashing back upstairs.

Mary Margaret has managed to get Killian standing and into a pair of breeches. She’s just tugging a heavy, knitted sweater over his head, his arms sliding sluggishly into the sleeves, when Emma re-enters the room. She grabs his boots from under the bed and works to get them on his feet.

When he’s dressed, the two women half drag him to the opening in the kitchen floor between the fireplace and the stairway, which leads to the cellar. Emma moves down the steps backwards so she can help guide Killian with her hands on his hips, while Mary Margaret is behind him, supporting him under his arms. As they struggle to keep him moving, they both give him quiet encouragement, praying they can get him out of sight in time.

It seems to take an eternity until he finally sets foot on the packed dirt floor. As they maneuver him behind the stairs and lower him to the pile of quilts, Mary Margaret whispers, “There is a lantern and matches on the shelf, but only light it if absolutely necessary because it might show between the floorboards. As soon as I get back upstairs, I will get a basket of food together and bring it down to you. Oh, and there’s a chamber pot under the table.”

“How long do you think we will have to stay down here?” Emma questions.

“I do not know, but it’s better to be prepared in case it ends up being a while. Please remember to stay as quiet as possible,” she reminds them needlessly. After squeezing Emma’s hand, she turns and bustles up the stairs, dropping the door down behind her.

Emma and Killian are left in complete darkness, and she fights to tamp down the panic tightening her chest. Her eyes work to adjust, beginning to make out the shapes of objects around her with help from the tiny slivers of light sneaking through the floorboards overhead.

She turns her attention to the man lying on the pile of quilts, head resting against a burlap bag of grain. He’s still feverish, and she fears the dampness of the cellar is going to exacerbate his condition. Her hands grope for the pile of blankets she had dropped carelessly to the floor.

As she unfolds one blanket after another and lays them over him, she listens for any sounds coming from above. Everything is muted, but all she can hear are shuffling footsteps she’s sure are Mary Margaret’s.

Soon, the room is flooded with light again when the trap door is lifted. Emma rises and hurries to the bottom of the steps to take the basket of food and pitcher of water from her sister-in-law’s hands.

“I think I heard David and Leroy’s horses returning to the barn,” Mary Margaret tells her. “Hopefully they have some good news and you will not have to stay down here very long.”

Before Emma can answer, Mary Margaret returns to the kitchen, leaving them in darkness once again. Emma cautiously picks her way back across the floor, setting the food and water down when she senses she’s back at Killian’s side, then sits down herself.

“Killian,” she whispers into his ear, “you need to drink some water. Can you sit up?”

He pushes himself up, groaning with the effort. Since she doesn’t have a cup to pour the water into, she holds the rim of the pitcher to his lips, slowly tipping it up until he’s swallowing the liquid. She gives him several sips before he pulls back and taps her arm to signify he’s had enough.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asks, but he’s already dropped back down to the makeshift bed.

“Not…right…now,” he forces out through chattering teeth.

“Are you cold?”

“A…bit.”

She already used all of the blankets to cover him, so she does the only thing left she can think to do to help him get warm. Peeling back the blankets, she stretches her body out alongside his and pulls the covers up over both of them, then wraps her arms around his thin frame and buries her face into the crook of his neck, breathing warmth against his skin.

Soon she can tell he has fallen asleep, but she remains awake and alert. All is quiet upstairs, but just as she’s dozing off, she hears muffled pounding on the back door. Her eyes pop open and her breath catches in her throat.

Murmuring voices reach her ears and she strains to listen, but can’t make out anything that’s being said. Heavy boots thud across the floor, and Emma holds her breath, praying whoever is up there doesn’t discover the trap door beneath the innocuous-looking braided rug.

The voices increase in volume and she can catch a word here and there. “...nobody…sister…left yesterday…” she hears David saying.

Another deep voice, obviously a man’s, responds, “...proof…evidence…escaped…” And then the word that makes her heart stop “...traitor.”

She hears doors slamming and wonders if Mary Margaret had time to hide the cot before their unwanted visitors arrived. She has to believe she did, since her sister-in-law has plenty of experience with hiding evidence. Their spy ring has been active since the beginning of the rebellion, and they’ve had a few close calls, but they haven’t lost anyone yet.

Killian shifts in his sleep, letting out a soft moan, and Emma swiftly covers his mouth with her hand. Chances of anyone upstairs hearing him are almost nil, but she doesn’t want to tempt fate.

Disconcerting noises continue for what seems like an indeterminable amount of time, until at last, the door slams and silence settles again. Emma strains to hear anything, but there is absolutely no sound at all. She should feel relieved, but she’s worried for her brother and his wife. What if they’ve been taken by the soldiers? If they have, will they become prisoners of the British army? Unbidden tears fill her eyes at the thought, and she forces herself not to think along those lines.

It is several minutes before she realizes she still has her hand over Killian’s mouth. She removes it and strokes his cheek, allowing herself to enjoy the prickling of his beard against her palm.

She has no idea how much time passes until she hears the sounds of someone entering the house and her entire body tenses. If the soldiers have come back to search again and find the hidden cellar door, she and Killian are helpless and will without a doubt be captured…or killed.

Her heart is pounding so loudly she’s afraid she’ll give them away, when she hears light tapping on the floor above them. Three knocks, followed by two and then two more in quick succession. She wants to hope, but what if it’s a trick?

Then she hears Mary Margaret’s voice through the floorboards. “It’s me, Emma. They’re still on the property, so stay put.”

They stay hidden in the cellar the rest of that day. Emma is eventually able to get Killian to eat and walk in small circles around the crates of vegetables, but most of their time is spent lying on the nest of quilts. In between fitful spurts of sleep, they have whispered conversations and cuddle together. Emma understands the danger they’re in, but she has to admit she doesn’t mind the time spent in Killian’s arms.

Later in the evening, Mary Margaret brings down more food and water and tells them that David is pretty sure the soldiers are long gone, but as a precaution, recommends they stay in the cellar overnight since they could be waiting to see if there’s any movement from the house after dark. After her sister-in-law goes back upstairs, Emma lets tears of exhaustion and relief pour down her face as she buries it in Killian’s chest.

*********

David and Leroy thoroughly inspect the property early the next morning to ensure the soldiers have moved on. Once they return to the house and give the all clear, the two men help Killian back up the steps. While Mary Margaret and Emma collect the blankets and begin making breakfast, David fills the metal bathtub and assists Killian into it. Being in the cellar all that time is surely detrimental to his recovery, and they want to drive the chill and dampness from his body with a long soak in hot water.

Mary Margaret fills Emma in on the men who searched the house and barn as they fry eggs and slices of ham. “It seems they sent men more interested in finding something of value to steal, rather than finding the two of you, because they were looking in places where it would be impossible to hide - inside cupboards, behind the stove, in dresser drawers. If the situation hadn’t been so nerve wracking, I would have laughed at their blatant disregard for their mission.”

Emma manages a small smile, knowing if the British would have sent doggedly determined men like Colonel Sitwell and Sergeant Gold, she and Killian would surely have been discovered.

“It was our good fortune that they were more preoccupied with burglary, though,” Mary Margaret continues. “I do not think they realized that a house can have a cellar beneath it. As many times as they tramped across the kitchen floor, they did not notice the hollow sound of it.”

“The search seemed to take an eternity and I do not think I breathed the entire time,” Emma states.

“I was holding my breath, too. That is the closest call we have ever had.”

They are plating the food when David comes out of the bedroom, carrying a bucket of the bathwater. “Killian wants to join us in the kitchen for breakfast,” he informs them, before emptying the bucket outside.

“He is feeling up to it?” Emma asks, a hint of worry in her voice.

“He says he’s tired of being a bother to everyone. And yes,” he adds quickly when he sees Emma getting ready to object, “I assured him that is not true, but you know he is stubborn.”

“Yes,” Emma agrees, “but his stubbornness is what kept him alive.”

David nods with a grin and disappears into the bedroom again. Emma and Mary Margaret share a smile and finish putting the food on the table, eager for the four of them to be eating together again, just as they had so many other times.

On the eve before Killian left to infiltrate enemy lines, he shared a hearty meal with Mary Margaret, David and Emma.

“We double checked the route Killian will take to try to find the British encampment,” David said between bites of his hash. “He should be able to follow the river almost the entire way.”

Emma blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. She had seen many spies off on missions, and had been sent herself, but this time was different. This time, it was the man she loved who was putting himself in danger.

She felt his knee bump against hers under the table and knew he was well aware of her thoughts. He always seemed to be able to read her like an open book. Swallowing hard, she turned to look at him, valiantly forcing a smile onto her face. He returned it with one of his own, though it didn’t quite reach his beautiful, blue eyes.

They finished their dinner, speaking of mundane topics to skirt around the issue that was weighing heavy on all of their minds. Afterwards, Mary Margaret waved away Emma’s offer to help clean the kitchen, and Emma knew it was because her sister-in-law understood her desire to have some time alone with Killian.

The two of them walked outside, enjoying the evening’s cool respite after the heat of the mid-June day.

“You plan to leave at daybreak?” Emma questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Aye. The sooner I depart, the sooner I will be able to come back to you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you.”

“Good,” she replied with a slight smile.

They continued walking until they were on the back side of the barn, out of sight of the house. Killian turned and took both of Emma’s hands. “I will miss you, Love.”

“Promise me you will be careful and will come back to me.”

“I will try my best, but you know as well as I that what we do is dangerous. Extremely important, but dangerous.”

She nodded solemnly, casting her eyes down to the ground. After several moments, she looked back up at him. “If we do not receive any communication from you for more than a month, I will come looking for you.”

“Emma…”

“You know you would do the same for me,” she interrupted, before he could object.

“Of course I would, but we do not know exactly where I will be.”

“It does not matter. Wherever it is, I will find you.” Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed her cheek, damp with tears, to his chest. “I will always find you.”

Returning her embrace, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too.” Turning her face up to his, she added, “We probably will not have any time to ourselves tomorrow morning, so I want to give you something now.”

His brows rose in question. “What is it, Love?”

“This,” she said, then pushed up onto her toes to press her lips to his. It was a tenderly sweet kiss, expressing all the love, fear and longing they shared, and neither wanted it to end. When it finally did, she pulled him close again. “Take that with you to remember that I am here, waiting for you.”

The next morning after a quick breakfast, Killian mounted his horse, pressed his fingers to his lips and waved goodbye to her. She wouldn’t see him again for more than three long, agonizing months.

*********

Two mornings later, Emma opens her eyes and immediately rolls over to face Killian. His eyes are also open, and she can see that they appear clear, bright, rested and fever-free.

She wastes no time throwing back the covers and getting off of the cot to go to his bedside. “Good morning, my love. You look like you feel better.”

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he gives her a lopsided grin. “I do feel like I have re-entered the land of the living.”

Emma sits on the side of the bed, brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes while releasing a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to wonder when you would decide to stop making us coddle you,” she teases, her heart lighter than it has been for as long as she can remember.

“Do you mean to tell me that by recovering, I will be giving up my chance to be coddled?” he asks, flopping back down onto his pillow. “Perhaps I haven’t thoroughly thought this through.”

She leans over and boldly presses a kiss to his lips. “I believe there are better ways for me to pay attention to you, than by nursing you back to health,” she says, only pulling away far enough to look into his beloved cerulean eyes.

“Do tell,” he grins, reaching up to twist a lock of her hair around his finger.

A knock on the door interrupts their private moment, and Emma sighs for an entirely different reason. Killian finds her hand and brings it to his lips. “Best answer that, Love.”

She nods in resignation, rising from his bed and grabbing her robe from the nail beside the door. Once she has cinched the belt around herself, she opens the door to find Mary Margaret on the other side.

“How is the patient this morning?”

“Much improved,” Killian answers for himself.

Mary Margaret steps into the room to see for herself. “Oh Killian, you do look better!”

“Back to my devilishly handsome self?” he cheeks. “After all, the bloody Brits pretty much knocked the handsome out of me.”

“No army is that powerful,” Emma assures him, earning her a warm, loving smile.

She knows he still has a long recovery ahead, but it relieves her to see that he finally appears to have turned the corner.

*********

It takes several months for Killian to completely regain his strength and health. He stays with David and Mary Margaret during his recovery, so he and Emma are able to spend every day together while their relationship continues to deepen and flourish.

One day, when Killian is almost fully recovered, he asks Emma to take a walk with him after the evening meal. She can tell that something is on his mind, and when she questions him about it, he turns to face her, gently clasping both of her hands. Then he slowly lowers himself to one knee and Emma gasps, realizing what he intends to do.

Looking up into her beautiful face, he says, “Emma, I know that we face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of - that I always, always want to be by your side. So…Emma Nolan, will you marry me?”

“Oh, Killian,” she begins, tears already escaping her eyes and trickling down her cheeks, “you know how much I love you, but are you sure this is the right time? We still do not know when or how this conflict is going to end.”

“That is exactly why I think we should get married. I do not want to waste any of the time I could have as your husband, because we have no guarantee how many years we may have together. I love you, Emma, and I don’t want to wait any longer to marry you, but if you do not want…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupts firmly. “I am not saying I do not want to marry you, because I do, with every fiber of my being. I just do not know if we should take the time to plan a wedding, when there is still so much work to do for the cause.”

“I understand how important our work is, but you are more important to me.”

Emma sinks to her knees and frames his face with her hands, scratching her nails lovingly through his beard. “And you to me, my love. You are right - we should not let what is happening around us dictate our lives. So yes, Killian, I will marry you and be the proudest and happiest woman alive.”

Killian huffs out a relieved breath and flashes her a dimpled grin, before dipping his head to claim her lips in a celebratory kiss. No one knew what the future held, but the newly engaged couple was sure that whatever it was, they would face it together.

*********

The conflict, which becomes known as the Revolutionary War, will drag on for another six years. The spy ring organized and aided by David and Mary Margaret will operate until the end, providing important intel to the Continental army. After their close call, Emma and Killian won’t risk going behind enemy lines again, but continue to work tirelessly for the cause nonetheless.

One evening, nearly a year after Killian’s capture, their daring escape, and his lengthy recuperation, he and Emma sit on the rickety wooden steps leading up to the back entry to David and Mary Margaret’s home. They watch the sun set with golden spangled light on the field and trees of this land for which they are fighting, and for which he nearly died, fingers twined together and Emma’s head lying on Killian’s shoulder. They are in the process of working with David to save the money to purchase a few acres next to he and Mary Margaret’s property, where they will build a home of their own, when the fighting is over, and hopefully the colonies are left to self-govern.

Emma sighs, in as near a state of perfect contentment as she can remember feeling in some time. There were many dark moments in the last months, and even years, and she knows better than to think the future will be perfect or easy. But the hope that feeds her, bolstered by the strength of their love, is a source of joy that she trusts will endure through any challenge. She might once have thought hope and true love fanciful notions from fairy tales rather than the stuff of real life.

It’s true that people often speak of hope as if it’s this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whisper and spider’s web. She knows better though, after what they have been through. Hope is not fragile or fleeting. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go. But that’s the beauty of it; hope will always get up and start again.

Killian’s arm around her lends the warmth of any blanket as he draws her closer to his side, murmuring his love for her into the skin at her temple before placing a chaste kiss there as well. The fight may not yet be over, but that time will come. They will see the battle through and celebrate that day - a happy beginning - together.

*********

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