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thewxtchwhowrites · 8 months

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Hi 💖✨

I'm back after a long time of being a silent reader of one-shots and fics (I have some of them that I would love to recommend), and also thanks to those authors for making wonderful works.

Anyway.

That led me to the conclusion of making my own Masterlist of my one-shots and fics, mainly to have more order in my blog and because I really want to write again because I LOVE to write.

🔥 = smut

(ES) = español

(EN) = english

Dean Winchester

Don't Boss me around - 1 & 2

Hold On

Sam Winchester

Positions - Old and New version

Castiel

Lucid Dreaming - One Shot

Bucky Barnes

Bus Stop (EN)

The winner takes it all

Healed (requested)

Loki Laufeyson (soon)

Steven Grant (soon)

Marc Spector (soon)

Eddie Munson

Hit the Pedal, Heavy Metal - 1 & 2

Lee Bodecker (soon)

Charles Blackwood (soon)

Jefferson Hatter (soon)

Graham (soon)

Hook / Killian Jones (soon)

August Booth / Pinocchio (soon)

Nick Fowler

Dangerous Woman

PD: I'll probably re-write some one-shots (improve grammar and even plot, so stay tuned), but don't worry, I won't delete the original.

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 6 months

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My Papa Thinks You’re Pretty » Jefferson

Pairings: Jefferson x Teacher!Reader with Grace

Summary: Graces gets her dad (Jefferson) a date with her teacher (the reader).

Warnings: Fluff, language, nothing but cuteness

Written on my phone so sorry if there’s any mistakes or typos.

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩

“Have a great weekend, everyone!” You say to the class.

Everyone shuffled out of the classroom as you packed up.

“Papa!” Grace says, running up to Jefferson.

“Hey sweetheart! How was school?” Jefferson asks, hugging her.

“Great! You have to say hi to Miss. Y/L/N!” She says excitedly.

“Grace, I don’t think—” He was interrupted by Grace.

“There she is!” She pointed at you. “Miss. Y/L/N!” Grace shouts.

You looked at her and smiled, walking towards her and Jefferson.

“Do you need something, Grace?” You asked, looking down at her.

“No. My papa wanted to say hi!” She smiles.

Jefferson smiles and started blushing uncontrollably.

“Hi, Mr. Hatter.” You say with a smile, holding your hand out for him to shake.

“Call me Jefferson.” He shakes your hand. “How’s Grace doing in your class?” He asks.

“Amazing. She one of my star students and my favorite.” You say, smiling down at Grace.

“That’s great.” He smiles.

You three stood in silence for a moment until Grace broke the silence.

“My papa thinks you’re pretty.” Grace says.

Jefferson’s eyes widened and his cheeks turned red in embarrassment. You smiled and blushed.

“Your papa is handsome.” You tell her.

“You two should go on a date sometime.” She suggests.

“Grace, she’s probably busy.” Jefferson says.

“I’m free tomorrow night.” You smiled. “Pick me up at 7pm.” You say.

“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you then.” He smiles.

“It was wonderful talking to you guys, but I have to go home and grade papers. I’ll see you Monday, Grace and I’ll see you tomorrow night, Jefferson.” You say with a smile.

Jefferson smiles and nods as you walked away.

“Remind me to thank you tomorrow.” Jefferson says to Grace.

🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩

-Bucky’s Doll

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colossalsharks · 6 months

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Can someone write a fic where Regina's precious Benz dies and she needs to purchase a new vehicle? But she's stubborn and doesn't actually know how to buy a car so Emma volunteers to go with her and Regina argues the entire way saying that she doesn't need help. When they get there, Regina hates all the options and the salesman is rude to her so Emma gets all "I will roast your fucking loins, my guy" and basically manhandles everybody. Regina finally gets the car she wants and pays below the tissue price. Maybe they're together or maybe they get together afterwards, but EITHER WAY, they're fucking in the car. I don't make the rules.

She'd definitely still go for an S-Class AMG and you CANNOT convince me otherwise. She's a queen, goddamnit.

#regina mills #emma swan #ouat #fanfic idea #please someone else write this #just take it #the idea is free #a one shot would suffice #once upon a time #fanfic #fanfiction #archive of our own #swan queen #swanqueen #swen #one shot #ao3

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jahayla-parker · 2 months

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Practice Run: Freddy Carter x Reader

Part of Love of a Lifetime Mini-Series

Warnings: this part has some suggestive scenes/behaviors.

For full warnings and description, see mini-series masterlist

3.2k wc

Freddy ran his hand down the back of y/n’s neck and to her middle back as he moved to sit beside her. “‘ere, let me help”. When she smiled over at him, he grinned back and took a small stack of fabric. “The way we studied on Pinterest, right?” Freddy confirmed, eyeing the folded napkins y/n had completed.

Y/n hummed and nodded. “You were right, it did get easier after the first few,” she commented lovingly. “So I redid the first few,” she added with a laugh.

Freddy chuckled and shook his head. He placed a tender kiss to y/n’s temple before turning his attention back to his current task. He’d helped get his groomsmen going on properly setting up the seating for the ceremony tomorrow moments ago. So now he was able to return to his fiancée’s side and help her with the task she’d chosen to start with.

Y/n giggled as she watched Freddy’s nose scrunch up in slight frustration. She leaned over and placed her hands on top of his that were holding the cloth and pressed them down to the table gently. With a smile, she then moved her hands to Freddy’s shoulders and turned him to face her. She giggled more as he gave her a sheepish smile. Y/n leaned forward and kissed his pouting lips. “They look fine, honey,” she encouraged sweetly.

Freddy smiled from the kiss. But his expression changed into a dramatically skeptical one as y/n tried to reassure him his napkin folding wasn’t as tragic as he knew it was. He couldn’t help but smile as her laughter rang out in the air again upon seeing his nonverbal disagreement.

“Here,” y/n spoke gently as she took hold of Freddy’s hands. “It’s easier if you do it like this,” she advised. She guided her fiancé’s hands as she instructed him on how to best handle the task. They’d both searched Pinterest weeks ago to decide which style of cloth napkins they liked best and had studied how to complete the style they’d chosen. However, y/n had quickly found a simple trick that made it much easier.

Freddy smiled and nodded as y/n’s hands left his; one napkin from his stack complete. “Thank you, darling,” he said, quickly pulling another piece of cloth to him.

“What’s next?” Y/n questioned aloud as she spun around frantically.

Freddy watched y/n with an amused smile. “Right now?” He clarified, moving closer to her. He set his hands on her shoulders to keep her from twirling around again as she tried to think.

“Mhm,” y/n answered, her eyes scanning the dining hall to see what they still had to do.

“Right now,” Freddy hummed, lowering his hands to his side now that y/n wasn’t pacing in circles. “I think you should kiss me,” he smirked.

Y/n promptly turned around to face Freddy. She gave him a smug smile before she pulled him in for a kiss. She giggled against his lips as he pulled her closer while kissing her back.

Y/n shifted the charger plate slightly as she worked on the current table. She was making final adjustments to the table settings their bridal party had set up. She was just about to move to the next table when she received a hurried kiss to her temple. She beamed as she straightened her back to stand up straight. Y/n’s eyes admiringly watched Freddy’s fleeting frame as he continued to rushed to whatever task he was currently working on.

Freddy watched from afar as y/n stood at the end of the dining hall, clearly looking over the scene. He quietly strode over to her, analyzing her facial expressions as she studied the room. He smiled as he made his way to her, a satisfied smile on her face. He pressed a light kiss to her left shoulder before wrapping his right arm around her waist to guide her to his side. “Pleased?” He questioned in a whisper.

“Beyond,” y/n murmured warmly as she snuggled into Freddy’s side. She smiled and rested her head on the side of his upper chest. Everything looked perfect. And she was so excited for tomorrow.

Y/n smirked to herself as she watched Freddy set up the welcome sign. His tongue was preciously sticking out slightly as he concentrated intently on making sure it was centered. As he stepped back to analyze his work, y/n shook her head lovingly. “Get over here, cutie,” she warmly commanded, staring over at her fiancé.

Freddy grinned proudly as he lifted his gaze to meet y/n’s. He blushed faintly upon noticing that others around them had heard her comment. But he didn’t truly care, he was more than okay with it. After all, he had the world’s most beautiful woman calling him cute. What was there to be shy about?

Y/n noticed the way Freddy’s cheeks briefly flushed in reaction to her compliment. “I’m not scared to admit my fiancé is so insanely adorable,” she defended, wrapping her send around his back to pull him to her. Upon seeing his blush deepen, she tsked playfully. “Don’t act like you don’t know how pretty you are, Freddy.” Y/n beamed at the prideful smile her fiancé now donned and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Be careful,” Freddy gushed as his hands quickly found their way to y/n’s back. She was in the middle of hanging up some final touches, but in doing so, she was standing on a ladder. He knew she was likely going to be fine, but he couldn’t help but be slightly concerned that no one was around to make sure of it. After noticing her bridesmaids were busy working on the decorations in another area and not just ignoring her needs, he relaxed some. But it wasn’t until she stepped off the ladder and into his arms that Freddy’s protective worry fully subsided.

“Freddy!” Y/n scolded despite her giggling. She had been absentmindedly standing in the center of the ballroom’s dance floor, mentally checking off the remaining preparations for tomorrow, when the flash from her fiancé’s camera caught her attention.

Freddy blushed and bit his lip upon having been caught. But, as he made his way over to y/n he shrugged and smiled innocently. “You are so stunning, I couldn’t help myself,” he defended, pressing his lips to her cheek.

Y/n’s giggles echoed around the room while she squirmed in Freddy’s arms as he relentlessly tickled her. “Fr-Freddy,” she whispered through her gasps and giggles, “we’re not done yet”. She looked to the right as she watched her maid of honor smile in her direction before she stepped back into the main hall to continue setting up. Y/n heard Freddy playfully state that he didn’t care as he continued to tickle her sides; all while being sure to keep her from falling over.

When he noticed y/n was getting slightly out of breath, Freddy slowed his tickling until it came to a stop. He wrapped his arms securely around her waist and placed his chin in the crook of her neck. “Will you marry me?”

Y/n laughed loudly as she turned around in Freddy’s arms so she could face him. “Mmm, I’ll think about it,” she answered coyly.

Freddy’s shock was clear on his face as he began laughing. “You’ll ‘think about it’, hmm?” He teased. When she simply laughed more and nodded in response, he grinned and shook his head. “I guess I’ll just have to convince you then, hmm?”

Y/n bit her lip and innocently blinked at Freddy. “You can try,” she joked.

Freddy gasped, his eyes wide and mouth parted in disbelief. He chuckled and smirked as an idea formed. It took less than a few seconds for him to pick her up and set her on the bar counter.

It was now y/n’s turn to gasp. She giggled and clutched onto the material of his dress shirt as she steadied her hand on his shoulder. “Freddy!”

Freddy smirked, a visible shine to his eyes as he moved closer. He slotted himself between y/n’s legs, his right palm resting on the bar counter while his left hand caressed her cheek. He closed his eyes and hummed as he began to press sweet but lustful open-mouthed kisses across her forehead. He craned his neck to each side as he tenderly kissed her temples. Freddy then tilted her head up before moving his kisses down to her eyelids. He selfishly took his sweet time kissing all along her skin.

Next was her cheeks.

Then her earlobes.

Then her nose.

Her jawline.

Her neck.

Her collarbone.

As Freddy’s slightly hungry lips met her clavicle, y/n gave into the urge for her lips to meet his. She gently tilted his head up until his loving gaze lifted to her eyes. She silently but assertively pulled his mouth to hers, her hands instantaneously moving to his hair.

Y/n moaned lightly against Freddy’s lips, making him grin smugly. He moved his hands to her lower back and tugged her closer. Her butt was now resting on the edge of the bar’s counter, but his waist was pinned against it, keeping her from falling off. Y/n locked her legs behind Freddy’s hips and used them to force him closer. He echoed y/n’s earlier moan as his chest slid into hers and his hips grazed against her inner thighs. It was now y/n’s turn to smugly grin into the kiss .

“Woah,” Tom, Freddy’s older brother gushed as he sauntered back into the room. “Alright you two, save it for the honeymoon,” he joked with a wink. He shook his head playfully as he turned to grab the checklist y/n’s maid of honor was looking for.

Y/n and Freddy froze and bashfully detangled themselves from one another. He helped y/n down from the counter and straightened her clothes and hair for her. He smiled lovingly as he gazed down at her. “Would it be incorrect to assume you’re convinced?” He teased, seeing the dazed look in his fiancée’s eyes.

Y/n laughed and smoothened Freddy’s hair back out. She rose to her tippy toes and kissed his nose. “I never needed any convincing.” She lowered herself back to the soles of her feet and took his hand in hers. “I’ve been waiting for you all my life,” she said as she went to leave to help their loved ones finish.

Freddy shook his head and pulled on y/n’s hand, spinning her back to him. He bent his head slightly until his lips were at her level. He smiled and kissed her yet again, this time purely filled with love. While they knew they still had some more work to do, when they parted they simply gazed into each other’s eyes, smiling lightly.

“Do you mind if we stay like this a little longer?” Y/n asked as she stood in the entryway, wrapped up in Freddy’s arms. She smiled happily when her fiancé shook his head and held her tighter.

“Alright mates, what’s next?” Thomas, one of Freddy’s groomsmen asked, walking up to the couple.

Freddy wrapped his arms tighter around y/n before answering. “Nothing, you’re all dismissed,” he stated. “In fact, can you tell the rest? We’re going to take a moment to ourselves”. He kissed y/n’s cheek as Thomas nodded and smiled widely at the pair before exiting.

“We have to get ready for the rehearsal dinner,” y/n spoke up begrudgingly as she rested her head in the crook of Freddy’s neck.

“Hmm, they can wait a bit,” Freddy argued simply. “We still have some time, they’ve all got to change still,” he reminded y/n. He held her closer to him smiling as she hummed in agreement and snuggled closer to him.

“Can you zip me?” Y/n asked as she turned to face her fiancé. She had changed out of her white button up blouse and into an elegant black dress.

Freddy wore a smile as he dutifully spun towards y/n. “‘Course, love,” he cooed, stepping closer to help. He gently turned her around so her bank was to him. His fingers gripped the zipper and slowly pulled it up until he could secure the hidden clasp at the top of the seam. Once finished, his eyes lifted until he was able to proudly admire y/n through the mirror.

Y/n smiled back at Freddy through the mirror. She let out a soft sigh and leaned back against him. Her hands were placed over his as he held her waist. “I can’t wait to marry you,” she whispered after a brief silence.

Freddy’s smile grew. “Thank you for saying yes,” he commented happily.

“Thank you for asking,” y/n retorted softly. She closed her eyes as she let her body melt backwards into Freddy’s embrace.

Freddy beamed as he gazed down at y/n. He was truly the luckiest man. He pressed a delicate kiss to the side of her head.

Y/n opened her eyes at the contact. Instead of looking at Freddy through the mirror, she tilted her head back into his chest to peer up at him.

Meanwhile, Freddy was still watching y/n and himself through the mirror. He blushed as he noticed the loving look in her eyes as she peered up at him. “Ready my darling?” He asked quietly.

“Ready,” y/n hummed.

“That went well,” y/n sighed with relief. She was thoroughly pleased with the walkthrough rehearsal of the procession and everything they’d just completed with their bridal party.

Freddy simply nodded as he tried to refocus.

Y/n noticed Freddy’s uncharacteristic silence and turned to see him better. She frowned on seeing his eyes were watering a bit. She quickly became worried and decided to lead him away from their guests who were mingling and dishing up. “Freddy, honey,” she cooed, squeezing his hand as she pulled him to a more private part of the room.

Freddy’s best men, his brothers, both smiled as they watched the scene unfold. It was sweet that y/n was so protective and worried about their brother Freddy. But, the brothers also knew why Freddy was tearing and they knew it wasn’t a bad thing. They were both happy for the couple and shared a pleased expression before they went to help their parents get some dinner.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Y/n asked, voice full of concern. “Was it the order of the groups? I thought you wanted Mikey and Will next to each other, but we can change-“ she began, hoping to find a solution to her fiancé’s sadness.

Freddy cut y/n’s worries off with a kiss. When he pulled back, he felt that the tears in his eyes had been to escape and quietly roll down his cheeks.

“Freddy,” y/n cooed again, quickly drying Freddy’s tears. “Talk to me, please,” she requested. “What’s wrong?”.

Freddy shook his head. “Nothing,” he said with a breathy chuckle, still in disbelief at how luck he was.

Y/n squinted as she analyzed Freddy’s facial expressions. “Handsome, I don’t-,” she mumbled in worried confusion.

“I’m just really happy,” Freddy answered in a whisper.

Y/n blinked slowly as she began to relax. “Really? That’s why you’re tearing up?” She asked with a wide smile.

Freddy nodded in confirmation and snaked his arms around y/n’s waist, setting his interlocked hands just above her tailbone. “Seeing you walk down that aisle,” he reminisced as he shook his head, starting to tear up again.

“Awe, Freddy,” y/n hummed. She pulled him in for a tight hug. “I love you so much, sunshine,” she whispered, holding him snugly.

Freddy returned y/n’s secure grip. “I love you too, my darling”.

When y/n pulled back, she met Freddy’s eyes. She hummed quietly as she dried the last of his happy tears.

Freddy grinned warmly at the action.

“Much better,” y/n commented lovingly. The heels she’d put on for tonight allowed her to not have to stretch upwards so much as she went to kiss his forehead.

“Let’s get you some food,” Freddy suggested, reconnected to the present moment. He shifted their stance so his hand was resting on the small of y/n’s back as he guided them to the dining tables. “Cannot have my darling bride be hungry,” he commented with a smile.

“He was, and still is, so smitten,” Freddy’s mate Mikey laughed as he concluded his story. “Obviously, he’d do anything for her, no matter how embarrassing it might look in the process,” he teased, grinning as Freddy’s cheeks flushed again. “In all seriousness though, I am very happy for you mate, I know you two cherish each other more than one could ever imagine, cheers!”

“You’re supposed to save those toasts and embarrassing stories for after the ceremony,” Freddy scolded playfully. “Then she can’t back out,” he commented knowing full-well his cheeks were crimson thanks to Mikey’s cheeky story.

Y/n laughed and shook her head. She snuggled into Freddy, holding onto his bicep. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, peaking up at him.

“Good,” Mikey smirked. “‘Cause, don’t worry mate,” he said, grinning wickedly at Freddy. “I’ve got plenty more stories and toasts to give after the ceremony tomorrow”.

Y/n’s friend, y/f/n abruptly stood as Mikey returned to his seat. “If he’s going to say something now, I will too,” she grinned, winking over at the couple.

“Oh God,” y/n mumbled, closing her eyes.

Freddy laughed softly. He looked over at her lovingly and kissed her head as her friend began to tell everyone how y/n was after he’d taken her on their first date years ago.

After dessert and everyone wishing the couple endless congratulations and best wishes, the evening came to an end. Meaning the couple was now standing a few meters from the main doorway, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Do we really have to sleep apart tonight?” Y/n asked rhetorically as she frowned up at Freddy while he held her.

“No, not if you don’t want to, darling,” Freddy reassured.

Y/n sighed softly as she felt the eyes of her friend and Freddy’s brothers on them. She knew they were waiting for them to part for the night so everyone could go home to rest before the big day tomorrow. “I think it’s out of our hands,” she laughed lightly.

Freddy hummed as he peered over at the group who were trying to pretend they were not watching the couple as they waited. “It’s not up to them, my dear,” he argued. “It’s up to us”.

Y/n lazily shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I can handle one night alone,” she sighed dramatically, “for the sake of tradition”.

Freddy chuckled and kissed y/n’s forehead. “I don’t know if I agree,” he replied playfully. “But, anything for you, darling,” he said with a dramatic bow. He grinned as she began to laugh. Once he stood back up, he tenderly pulled her closer. “But tomorrow night, it’s me and you.” “And no one is going to convince me to part from you,” he whispered in her ear.

Y/n bashfully bit her lip and unnecessarily hid in Freddy’s coat collar. The action made him hum with a chuckle before he kissed the back of her head. She leaned back and cupped his face. “I love you, Freddy,” she smiled, “goodnight handsome”.

Freddy grinned widely. “I love you too, gorgeous, get some rest honey, I’ll see you tomorrow”. He gently kissed her one last time before letting her go, looking at the group as they headed over to separate the couple for the remainder of the night before their wedding.

Y/n peaked back over her shoulder at Freddy as she departed. Catching sight of her gaze, he winked. She gleefully giggled to herself as she turned her head back around and followed y/f/n out of the door.

Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @missdreamofendless @nikfigueiredo @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @alex-kazbrekkersimp @opheliaofficial07 @historynerd77 @el-de-phi

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depressedstressedlemonzest · 5 months

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Oh great it's THIS fuckhead. What the hell does HE want?

#1 I havent taken shit, she WILLINGLY came with me. And probably to get away from YOUR stupid ass.

#2 do you not remember what happened the last time you drew your sword at me?

Slap bitch.

That lil Hmmmmm.

YOU turned him into a ROSE and NOW you're thinking about giving it to belle? Like you weren't thinking about giving her something anyway. Women love flowers.

"Flowers, chocolates,promises you don't intend to keep"

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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.

*********

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @apiratewhopines @anmylica @stahlop @bdevereaux @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper @winterbaby89 @justanother-unluckysoul @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @killian-whump @cocohook38 @wefoundloveunderthelight @drowned-dreamer

#cscw23 #captain swan collab words 23 #cs au one shot #freed to love #collaborative ouat fic #revolutionary war ouat au #killian whump ff #hurt comfort ff

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jrob64 · 8 months

Text

Saying Goodbye and Moving On

An OUAT Canon Divergent fix-it fic

Here is my entry for CSSNS 2023, which was written to fix what I thought was a grievous wrong in the show. All of you need to know that I wanted to make @kmomof4 a co-author because she did so much to help me with this story, but she refused. Several tragic things were happening in my life while I was writing this story and she talked me through it - giving me ideas for the plot, encouraging me to keep going, checking it over when it was incredibly full of errors or didn't make sense, and just generally being the best friend and supporter I needed in order to finish it. On top of that, she created the gorgeous pic set you see at the top, with some manip help from @motherkatereloyshipper. Thank you so much, ladies! I love it!

Many thanks to @hookedmom who was my official beta once again.

SUMMARY: Killian has returned to Emma from the Underworld and they are starting to build their future together, when a ghost from his past suddenly appears, giving them the opportunity to right a few wrongs.

CHAPTER 1/1 - 5230 words

RATING: T

ALSO on Ao3 (I'm unable to post to ffn at this time)

*********

Storybrooke was peaceful for perhaps the first time since Emma Swan crashed into the town sign three years ago. The Underworld saga was behind them, Killian had returned in dramatic fashion, and no new villain had shown up in town…yet. Emma knew it was only a matter of time, but she was going to enjoy the calm after the multiple storms for as long as she could.

Gold was the Dark One again after negating Killian’s sacrifice, but he secluded himself in his Pawn Shop. Emma figured he was avoiding everyone in town because they were furious over him not letting go of the dark power. Even though Emma knew the Dark One couldn’t be killed, she wasn’t above putting a bullet in him for something as minor as jaywalking, given the opportunity. She could never forgive him for what he did to the man she loved.

Right now, that man was alive and well beside her, his arm flung over her hip and snoring softly in her ear. It had been nearly two months since he returned and she was still hesitant to let him out of her sight. The first few nights after his return, both of them were desperate to reacquaint themselves with the other’s body. Gradually, as the realization grew that Killian was truly back and nothing was going to threaten their blissful happiness, their lovemaking grew gentler and less frantic, but no less meaningful. Now, after their bodies were sated, they’d lay in each other’s arms talking softly before they drifted off to sleep, content in the fact that nothing would pull them away from one another again.

*********

Killian awoke with a jolt, heart thundering in his chest and breath coming in sharp gasps. Sitting up quickly, he closed his eyes, tilting his head back while he concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths to calm himself, hoping he wouldn’t wake Emma. When his heart rate slowed down a bit, he opened his eyes and the blood in his veins froze.

He rubbed his eyes furiously, then cautiously opened them again. The image hadn’t disappeared. Hovering hazily in front of him was…

“Milah?” he choked out.

The specter’s pale eyes brightened and a slight smile crossed her face. Drifting closer, she opened her mouth to speak…

“Killian?”

Immediately, the ghostly figure disappeared. Killian blinked rapidly as he felt Emma’s hand on his back.

“Are you okay?” she asked, sitting up beside him.

“Oh, uh…aye,” he managed to say, still trying to get over the shock of seeing what was obviously the ghost of his former lover.

“Are you sure? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

His head jerked around, searching her eyes to determine if she realized the accuracy of her statement. All he could see was concern in the green depths. “Aye, Love, I just…I’m having some trouble sleeping and I don’t…I don’t want to keep you awake, so…uh…I think I’ll spend the rest of the night on the Jolly, if you don’t mind,” he stammered.

A wounded look crossed her face so quickly, he wasn’t even sure he saw it. She schooled her features carefully before replying, “If you’re having nightmares, I can help you through them. You don’t have to handle them yourself, you know.”

He wiped a hand down his face. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt this woman who sacrificed so much to bring him home. He loved her more than he could express and owed her his very life. But after seeing the vision of Milah, he knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night and he didn’t know how to explain what had happened.

“I know, Love. I just…I think I need some fresh air.” Enfolding her in his arms, he rubbed her back soothingly. “I’m not pulling away from you, I promise. I’ll meet you at Granny’s tomorrow for breakfast, aye?”

“Yeah, okay,” she mumbled into his chest. “Call me when you get to the Jolly?”

“Of course.” He got out of bed and began putting on his clothes, feeling her eyes on him the entire time. When he finished, he turned back to see her still sitting up, the sheet wrapped around her. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, he reached over to brush some wispy strands of hair away from her face. “Get some sleep, Darling. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She leaned in to kiss him, pressing her forehead to his for a brief moment afterwards. “Be careful on your way to the docks.”

“I will. Goodnight, Love.” After brushing her lips with his once more, he stood and began walking toward the doorway.

“Killian?” she called softly.

He turned. “Aye?”

“I love you.”

He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. “I love you, too, Swan.”

*********

On his way to his ship, Killian searched the skies for any sign of Milah’s apparition. He was torn about whether he wanted to see her ghostly image again. On the one hand, he was curious why she was here and wanted to talk with her to get some answers. Conversely, he was ready to move on with his life and his True Love.

He made it to the Jolly without any sign of the specter, but upon entering his quarters, he was met with the sight of her hovering over his bunk, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.

“Milah!” he gasped. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Her eyes widened in horror as she continued to try, with no success.

“You can’t talk?” he questioned. She shook her head sadly, and seemed to shrink in on herself, floating toward the ceiling. “No! Don’t go!” he cried. “Please…stay.” He held out his hand in invitation, knowing she wouldn’t be able to physically take it.

Her eyes softened, her distress easing as she settled back down to eye level with him.

“But you can hear me, can’t you?” he asked, needing to clarify their connection.

She nodded and made a hand gesture urging him to continue speaking.

He sat in his desk chair and swiveled it to fully face her. “I don’t know how you’re here, but…I’m glad you are.” His comment made her smile. “Emma, she…she told me the two of you met in the Underworld, and that you helped her get to me when Hades had me chained up over the River of Lost Souls.”

Milah nodded again, giving him a small, tight smile.

“I’m truly sorry Hades threw you into that river before I had a chance to say goodbye.”

Anger flashed across Milah’s face and she shook her head vehemently.

“What is it, Milah?” He watched her making motions with her hands, pantomiming pulling her heart out of her chest. “Hades tore your heart out? No, that wouldn’t make sense because you were already…” He stopped short, unable to bring himself to say the last word.

Milah continued to make gestures showing her heart being crushed, then pointed to Killian’s hook.

Suddenly, understanding dawned on him. “The crocodile?” he asked incredulously. She nodded vigorously and he could feel the rage rising in him. “Was he the one who pushed you into the River of Lost Souls?” At Milah’s emphatic nod, he angrily jumped to his feet. “Not only did he take you from me the first time, he also doomed you to eternal torment and deprived me of a chance to give you a proper farewell! And now he’s the bloody Dark One again! Bloody fucking hell!” He spun in a circle, wanting to throw or hit something.

The specter of his first love drifted closer and reached out to stroke her palm over his cheek. He felt a cool sensation where her ghostly hand brushed past him, calming him instantly. He sat down on his bunk and she moved over to him, sadness mixed with compassion coloring her translucent features. “I’m so sorry, Love. I should have killed him long ago to avenge your…death. I never figured out a way to do it since the Dark One is immortal, and then I met Emma and I…I chose her over my quest for vengeance. I failed you, Milah…”

She brought her finger to her lip and shook her head to silence him. Then she placed her hand over her heart, before moving it to cover his heart. He understood her meaning and his shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you, Love. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m very happy to have it.” He smiled gently at her for a moment before a startling realization came to him. “Milah,” he said, confusion infusing his words. “How… how are you here?” He stood quickly, not knowing what to think. Could he still be dreaming? Milah shouldn’t be here. She couldn’t be here. This had to be a trick of some kind. Was Gold behind it? Had Hades found some way to return?

Alarmed recognition crossed her face and she reached for him. He stumbled back away from her and she made no further move toward him. In an effort to help him understand, she placed both hands on either side of her head, fingers pointed straight up. She moved them up and down in short, sharp movements that reminded Killian of Hades when his hair erupted into blue flames.

“Hades?” he asked tentatively.

She nodded furiously, her face lighting up with his understanding of her motions. She drew a single finger across her neck in a motion he had no trouble interpreting.

“He’s gone forever, right?” Killian asked. When she continued nodding, Killian felt excitement and hope rise within him. “When he was vanquished, was your soul released from the river?” It was more than he could possibly hope for, but her joyous visage and nod confirmed his speculation. Relief completely enveloped him and he moved closer to her, holding his hand out again. This time, she reached out for him as well. He felt a chill that somehow felt warm at the same time as her hand passed through his. “Oh, Milah,” he breathed. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”

Milah smiled gently at him then floated over to his bed and patted the space beside her. He sat down and saw her gesture for him to talk. Taking a deep breath, he launched into the tale of his life after losing her.

*********

Emma was unable to go back to sleep after Killian left. He’d had plenty of time to make it to his ship, yet he hadn’t called her as promised. She was well aware he would have a lot to work through after everything he’d experienced. Becoming the Dark One, dying and going to the Underworld, being tortured by Hades, reuniting with his brother Liam, only to have to say goodbye to him again, not to mention being separated from his True Love, before being sent back to the land of the living by Zeus.

She was willing to give him all the time he needed, but tonight, something was amiss. She could sense there was more to his abrupt departure than simply a desire to get some fresh air. His eyes were…haunted, fearful. She couldn’t help but wonder what he wasn’t telling her.

Sighing heavily, she shoved back the covers and got out of bed. Something was troubling the man she loved and she was determined to help him through it.

*********

Emma drove slowly through the streets of Storybrooke, scanning every street and alley, but didn’t catch sight of Killian. Parking at the docks, she was relieved to see his ship was still in the usual berth. She hadn’t thought he would take the Jolly Roger out to sea this late at night, but she knew how sailing calmed him, so she wouldn’t have been surprised to find the space empty.

Killian wasn’t on the deck, gazing at the stars - another activity that always brought him peace. Emma quickly crossed the polished surface, descended the steps taking her below deck, and walked down the narrow hallway, stopping outside the captain’s quarters. As she reached for the door handle, she heard Killian’s voice and paused. It sounded like he was carrying on a conversation with someone. She didn’t want to invade his privacy, but curiosity won out and, in spite of herself, she listened.

“...that’s when I found out Bae had a child with Emma - a boy named Henry. Yes, I know. It came as quite a shock to me, as well. By that time, I was already intrigued by Emma, and also very attracted to her. I hope you don’t mind me talking about her. She’s my True Love and I owe her so much. She’s the one who made me want to give up my fruitless quest for revenge in order to be someone worthy of her love.”

Emma took a step closer to the door, hoping to hear the other person to identify him…or her. Her mind raced as she waited. Nearly everyone in town knew that Henry was Neal’s son, so who could it be?

“I wish you could meet Henry. He’s a wonderful lad - intelligent, kind and brave. Bae would be so proud of him.” There was a long pause before Killian resumed. “He, uh, he died trying to warn the town about a villain. He visited Emma before she went to the Underworld and told her he was in a place where he was happy. Perhaps you’ll be able to take care of your unfinished business and join him there.”

Emma’s brows furrowed. He was talking to someone with unfinished business? Someone who might be able to join Neal, which would mean they were dead…

Suddenly, it dawned on her who it had to be, but how was it possible? Milah had been thrown into the River of Lost Souls. There was no way she could be here talking to Killian. Emma’s mind swirled with doubts. Maybe he needed someone to talk to and couldn’t trust her, so he was talking to the memory of Milah instead.

Unable to quiet the negative voices in her head, Emma grasped the door handle, and after a brief moment of hesitation, pushed inside the cabin.

Killian looked up when he heard her enter, his startled look turning to one of chagrin. “Swan? What are you doing here?”

“I…I was worried when you didn’t call,” she said, looking around the room and seeing no one. “Killian, who were you talking to?”

Killian glanced beside him, where Milah still hovered. “I was…” Turning his eyes back to Emma, he asked, “Can’t you see her, Emma?”

Emma’s brows furrowed. “The only person I see here is you. Were you…it sounded like you were talking to…to Milah.”

He stood, casting a quick look at his first love, then moving to stand in front of his True Love. “Aye, Love. Milah is here, in this room. Her spirit is, at least. She appeared to me in your bedroom and that’s why I left so abruptly. When I reached the Jolly, I found her here, too. I don’t understand why I can see her and you can’t.”

Emma closed her eyes, her heart pounding. If he was telling her the truth - and her lie detector was silent, confirming his words - then Milah was haunting him, no matter where he went. How was she supposed to deal with that?

Tilting her head, she sensed something different about the atmosphere in the room. Breathing in deeply, she caught a whiff of…

“Killian, did Milah smell of lilacs?” she asked, her eyes opening to focus on him. A shocked expression crossed his face.

“Aye, Love. She…she always wore lilac water. I purchased it for her every chance I got. How did you know that?”

“I can smell it, and I feel a…a presence. Can she talk?”

Sadness filled his eyes. “No, she can hear me, but she can’t speak. She has been able to communicate, though. She…she told me it was Gold who threw her into the River of Lost Souls and that she was released when Hades was defeated.”

“Gold did that to her?” Emma spat. “That bastard! I’m already furious over what he did to you and this just adds fuel to the fire! Dark One or not, someday he’s going to pay for all the evil things he’s done, and I, for one, am not going to be sorry about it!”

Killian stepped forward to squeeze her hand, his eyes flicking up behind her. “I think Milah likes you, Love,” he grinned.

“Why do you say that?”

“She’s right behind you, smiling and clapping her hands.”

Emma’s cheeks reddened. “We got to know each other a bit in the Underworld. I liked her, too.” She looked thoughtful. “There has to be some way to allow her to talk to us. Remember when we used that double-ended candle to try to talk to Cora?”

“Aye, but the candle had to be lit over a person’s heart before they were killed in order to use it to communicate with that person’s spirit,” Killian reminded her.

Emma sighed. “That’s right, I’d forgotten that detail.” She chewed on her lip in thought, before speaking again. “I’ll go talk to Regina. There has to be a way.” She pulled her hand out of his and turned toward the door.

He caught her arm with his hook. “Perhaps you should wait until morning, Darling. I doubt the queen will be very amenable to helping us if you wake her in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot what time it is,” she admitted. “I, um, I guess I’ll just go home for a few hours, then. Are you…will you stay here?”

Killian glanced to his right before answering. “I still have a lot I want to share with Milah and I don’t know how long she’ll be able to stay here. I hope you don’t mind.”

Emma gave him a weak smile. “No, I understand. Do you want to come with me to talk to Regina in the morning?”

“Aye, Love.” He pulled her into his embrace. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Okay, I’ll come by and pick you up around seven,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

He put enough distance between them to be able to cup her chin in his hand. “Be careful going home, my love.”

“I will.” Leaning up to whisper in his ear, she asked, “Do you think she would mind if I kissed you?”

He gave a low chuckle. “I’m sure she won’t. She knows we’re True Love.”

She combed her fingers through the hair above his ear. “This is a weird situation, you know that, right?”

He nodded with a lopsided grin and leaned in to share a lingering kiss with her.

“See you in the morning,” she said when it ended, then added, a bit louder, “Goodbye, Milah.” After brushing his cheek with her lips one more time, she turned and left the cabin.

*********

Once Regina heard Emma and Killian relate the events from overnight, she sat behind her desk in the mayor’s office pursing her lips in thought.

“Can you explain why Killian is able to see her, but I can’t?” Emma asked.

“I’m not sure, but my guess would be it’s because Killian is Milah’s unfinished business,” Regina stated.

“That makes sense,” Emma agreed. “I can feel her presence, though.”

“Have you any ideas for how to talk to her?” Killian inquired.

Regina considered for a moment. “Using the enchanted candle to talk to her definitely isn’t an option. The phone booth in the Underworld was a way for the dead to communicate with the living, but we don’t have anything like that here. You obviously don’t want me to ask Gold for help, or Belle for that matter.”

“Absolutely not,” Emma said emphatically.

“We don’t want the crocodile to know that Milah has made an appearance,” Killian added angrily. “If I had my way, I’d send the bloody bastard back to the Underworld, never to return. Hades wasn’t the one who threw Milah into the River of Lost Souls. It was Gold. He needs to pay for what he did. It wasn’t enough for him to kill her in front of me in the first place, but he had to sentence her to eternal torment, as well.”

Regina’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t know all the details of what happened between Rumplestiltskin and Killian Jones, but she could certainly understand Killian’s anger and wanting to make sure ‘the crocodile’ paid for what he’d done. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about Gold. If you recall, he’s the Dark One and can’t be killed, no matter how much all of us would like to see it happen. Now, let’s focus on the problem of how to communicate with Milah. Do you have any idea how long she will be haunting you, Hook?”

Killian shook his head sadly. “No, but I have a feeling it won’t be very long. From the first time I saw her until she left this morning, her form had already faded substantially.”

“Hmm, I wonder,” Regina said, walking around the front of her desk and crossing her arms. “I know she probably didn’t come through a portal from the Underworld to get here, but I wonder if being close to one will give her more strength and help her be able to speak.”

“You mean the one in the duck pond?” Emma asked.

“Do you know of any other?” Regina snapped, her sarcasm in full force.

Emma chose to ignore her snark. “I think it would be worth a try to see if she’ll join you there, wouldn’t it, Killian?” At his nod of affirmation, she added. “How would you feel about Henry being there? If Milah is able to speak, he would get to talk to his grandmother.”

“I think that’s a grand idea, Love. I told her about him and what an exceptional lad he is, and I’m sure she would appreciate the chance to see for herself.”

“Is that alright, Regina?” Emma asked.

“Of course. I don’t think he would find meeting the spirit of his grandmother any more disconcerting than any other adventure he’s experienced since he brought you to town. He planned to spend the day at my house playing video games. I’ll pick him up and meet the two of you at the pond.”

“Do you think Milah will find you there, Killian?”

“She found me at your house and on my ship, Love.”

“Good point. Well, let’s see if this works,” Emma said, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze before they headed out the door.

*********

Returning to the place where Emma was forced to run Excalibur through Killian was difficult for the couple. As they drew near the exact spot where it happened, Killian heard her breath hitch and he tightened his grip on her hand.

Regina and Henry arrived a few minutes later and joined them at the edge of the duck pond.

“Mom says Grandma Milah appeared to you, Killian,” Henry said excitedly. “Is she here now?”

“Not yet, lad,” Killian said.

“We’re not sure she will be, Henry,” Emma said.

“Yeah, Mom explained that to me. She also said Grandma can’t speak, but I’m still glad you wanted me to be here.”

They waited for several minutes, as Killian scanned the skies for any sign of Milah’s ghost. The only sounds heard were the birds in the trees and the occasional quack of a duck swimming past, until Killian declared softly, “She’s here, right over the center of the pond.”

“I was going to ask if she was,” Emma said. “I thought I felt her presence.”

“There is definitely a stirring in the atmosphere,” Regina remarked.

“Is she trying to say anything?” Henry asked.

“No,” Killian answered, “she’s just watching us.” Suddenly, the water in the pond began rippling as a breeze blew across it. “Hello again, Milah. Someone is here to meet you.” He stepped over behind Henry, putting his hand and hook on the boy’s shoulders. “This is Henry, Baelfire’s son.”

“Hi, Grandma,” Henry said, his eyes darting back and forth across the sky. “It’s nice to…kind of…meet you.”

“She’s smiling at you, lad,” Killian assured him.

“I wish I could see you. Were you the one who churned up the water?” Henry asked. In response, a stronger breeze blew, causing small waves to form in the duck pond. “That’s a cool trick, Grandma!” he laughed.

A chilly wind swept past the group, rustling the leaves on the trees. “Is Milah doing that, too?” Emma whispered.

“Aye,” Killian answered, his eyes following the movement of the specter only he could see. “Something seems to be distressing her.”

“I think I see the source of her agitation,” Regina remarked, her brow furrowing in concern. “Here comes Gold. He must have sensed a supernatural disturbance, too.”

The man came stumping up the path, slowing as he took in the scene before him. Seeing the group assembled by the pond, he asked, “What are you all doing here? Are you trying to cast some sort of…” His words came to a stop as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in surprise. “M-Milah?”

Another rush of cold air swept past them, strong enough this time to shake the tree branches and increase the turbulence of the water. “Seeing him has made her extremely angry,” Killian explained.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Regina remarked.

The wind kicked up even more, causing dust and debris to swirl around them. It seemed to center on Gold, making him duck down and cover his head. “Get away from me, you vile woman!” he screamed. “You’re supposed to be in the River of Lost Souls!” At his confession, the wind picked him up bodily and slammed him to the ground, stunning him as he hit his head on a rock.

“And YOU’RE the one who threw her into it!” Killian shouted.

Gold raised his hand to his head, wiping at the blood over his brow. Suddenly, it was if something grabbed him by the ankles and began dragging him toward the pond. “NO! NO!” he screeched, attempting to crawl back up the path.

“Grandpa!” Henry yelled.

There was a loud whooshing sound and they turned to see a vortex rising up out of the water, the force of it beginning to pull Gold toward it. He continued to scream his protests, his fingers scrabbling in the dirt as he was dragged backwards. They watched incredulously as he flew past them, too quickly to even attempt to grab him.

He was caught up in the vortex, which spun across the surface of the pond. Emma gasped as she spotted something moving behind the trees. “It’s Charon’s boat! Why is it here?”

“Gold is tethered to the Underworld through his blood,” Regina explained, shouting to be heard over the tumult. “The blood from the gash on his head must have gotten into the water and summoned Charon.”

The four people on shore watched the furiously swirling waterspout until it reached the boat, where it suddenly disappeared, depositing the helpless Dark One in a heap in the middle of the vessel.

Gold’s blood curdling screams echoed through the air as Charon guided the boat toward the portal to the Underworld. The moment it passed from view, his cries were silenced and they knew he was gone.

“Look!” Henry cried, pointing at the sky.

Emma, Killian and Regina turned to see a black vapor in the shape of the Dark One’s dagger hanging over the pond. As they watched, it dissipated, completely disappearing within seconds. “Does that mean what I think it means? What I hope it means?” Emma asked.

“No more Dark One? The Darkness is gone forever?” Regina questioned, turning back towards the others.

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means and now I can finally be free,” a serene voice said from behind them.

“Milah!” Killian gasped. “You can speak!”

“Rumple silenced me when he threw me into the river,” she explained. “Now that he’s gone, he has no power over me, or anyone else, for that matter.”

“I’m sorry you lost your grandfather like that, kid,” Emma said, putting her arm around Henry’s shoulders to comfort him.

“Yeah, me too, but he had a lot of chances to give up the power of being the Dark One and he never did. He loved power more than he loved me, Belle, and even my dad, so I guess he deserved what he got.”

Killian patted him on the back, then looked at the specter hovering in front of them. “You did it, Milah. Everything he ever did to us has now been avenged,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“Yes, it has,” Milah said, her voice sounding much thinner. “My time here is drawing to a close, so I have to say my goodbyes.” Killian watched as a wide smile spread on her lips. “I can see Killian was right when he told me how special you are, Henry. I just wish I had more time with you. When I move on, I will tell your father what a fine young man you became.”

“Tell him…tell him I miss him,” Henry said.

“I will,” she promised.

Emma stepped up beside Killian and stretched up to kiss his cheek.“We’ll give you a chance to say goodbye,” she whispered. “I’ll be home if you want to come by afterwards.”

He nodded and watched her walk away with Henry and Regina. Turning back to Milah, he saw her translucent form was fading quickly. “I’m very happy I got the opportunity to bid you a proper goodbye, Love.”

“So am I. Oh, my love, I’m glad we were able to have so many wonderful adventures together.” Her voice grew so faint, he had to listen intently to hear her. “ Emma is good for you, Killian. It’s wonderful that you’ve found love again and you’re finally moving on. I can see that you’re really happy.” She paused for a moment, then- if it was possible for a ghost- she sighed. “I’m your past and she’s your future.”

“You’ll always have a place in my heart, Milah. You were my first love.”

“Yes, and I will always love you, but Emma is your True Love. You deserve happiness with her.”

“And you deserve peace. I hope you find it.”

“Now that all of my unfinished business has been taken care of, I’m sure I will.” Swooping down, she brushed her nearly invisible fingers across his cheek. “I must go now. Goodbye, my love.”

“Goodbye, Milah.”

He stood transfixed, staring at the sky for several minutes after her form disappeared. The sadness he had carried in his heart for so long over the loss of Milah, was replaced with relief and joy.

Finally, he turned and began walking back to town, where he knew he would find Emma waiting.

He saw her sitting on the steps of her house when he stopped in front of the gate. Looking up at him, a warm smile crossed her face, and he returned it with one of his own. Stepping through the opening, he moved toward his future.

*********

Was I the only one who thought Gold should have been held accountable for what he did to Milah? Or that Killian should have had the chance to say goodbye to his first love? Please let me know how you felt about it.

Special thanks to the people who have held the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer event for many years now. It's always a lot of fun!

And thanks to all of you for reading, commenting and reblogging!

Tagging: @hookedmom @kmomof4 @cs-rylie @qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @wyntereyez @the-darkdragonfly @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper @julesep3026 @courtorderedcake @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @captainswan4life85 @bluewildcatfanatic @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling @andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @huntressandlioness1 @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @laschatzi @zaharadessert @jennjenn615 @yasbio2015 @lyssapup27 @nachocheese-itsmycheese @singersdd @mie779 @undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @xsajx @jackieorioncat @teamhook @bdevereaux-blanche @soniccat @searchingwardrobes @jarienn972 @apiratewhopines @softkilly @goforlaunchcee @kymbersmith-90 @captainswan21

#csff #cssns23 #captain swan supernatural summer #saying goodbye and moving on #jrob64 #art by krystal #manip by motherkat #canon divergent #fix it fic #ouat fanfic #ghost story #milah gets justice #rumple gets what he deserves #one shot

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deadlyflames · 7 months

Text

Day 7: Free Day

Born to Run ~ Swanfire Enchanted Forest AU Fic

Ao3

Based on this post

xxx

The Swan Princess

xxx

In the private royal gardens, one lone swan floated on the man-made pool. King David had several similar pools made throughout the castle within the past 10 years. Some were inside for the winter months, while others were in the private gardens so the swan could enjoy the warmer months outdoors.

The pool was made of white polished marble, with tall pillars and a roof to provide shade from the hot summer sun, along with an ornate fountain in the centre. Lily pads and coy fish had been added to the pool for stimulation and atmosphere, but the swan became less and less impressed with these additions as she grew older. These days, she lived for the day’s end and the approach of sunset. She ruffled her snow-white feathers in anticipation as she watched the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon.

When the last remnants of sunlight faded away, a bright glow enveloped the swan’s form. Water splashed up on its own accord and swirled around the swan, and in a shimmer of light, the white feathers melted away to reveal a young woman standing in the pool.

Princess Emma took the silk robe that was waiting for her at the side of the pool and wrapped it around herself as she emerged from the water. For the sake of her privacy, her parents would give her this period of grace after the sun had set. These few minutes of solitude, when she could soak in the twilight and breathe in the fresh night air with her human lungs, were minutes that she treasured.

But she couldn’t stay out there forever. A princess, even one with her affliction, had responsibilities. Especially on this particular night.

Stepping into her slippers, Emma begrudgingly made her way towards the castle, just as her mother came out to greet her.

Snow White was still regarded as the fairest in the land. Even after years had passed since she had become queen, her beauty and grace were untouched. The elaborate gown she wore was encrusted with jewels which shimmered in the night, and it whispered along the floor as she walked towards her.

“Emma!” Snow wrapped her arms around her daughter, squeezing her for a bit too long and a bit too tightly. “How was your day?”

Emma skewed her lips into a pout as she pulled back from the embrace. “Same as any other day.”

Snow’s bright smile didn’t falter, but it did seem to crack in response to her daughter’s dismissive tone. Not to be deterred, she turned back and motioned to someone behind her. A servant stepped forward with a large present in his arms, artfully wrapped and adorned with a bright red bow.

“Well, I know I already told you this in the morning,” she said, and her hopeful expression made Emma feel a twinge of guilt for her curt words. “But happy birthday!”

Emma looked at the gift and could already guess what it contained based on its size and the timing. Her parents had given her a new archer’s bow before the sunrise, meaning this present was something connected to tonight’s festivities. Not wanting to hurt her mother’s feelings any further, she offered a hesitant smile before untying the bow. As she expected, the wrappings revealed a splendid periwinkle gown. One she was likely expected to wear tonight.

Despite the dread that was rising in her gut, Emma plastered an ecstatic grin on her face. “It’s beautiful mama,” she replied, running her fingers along the fine gossamer fabric. “Thank you!”

Emma’s attempt at covering her unease hadn’t been as convincing as she had hoped. Snow was many things, but delusional wasn’t one of them. Taking her daughter’s hands into her own, she gave her most imploring look. Not many could resist the earnest compassion and sweetness of those big green eyes, not even a girl who shared those same eyes.

“I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend your evening,” she said with understanding. “But I hope you can enjoy yourself tonight. There will be dancing and a feast. I’m sure you’ll get more than a few offers to dance.” Snow White beamed while Emma resisted the urge to grimace. “It’ll be fun.”

Emma sighed heavily before swallowing her apprehension. Nodding along to her mother’s assurance, she took the present from the servant’s outstretched arms.

“I’ll try,” Emma promised as she and her mother made their way through the entrance that connected the ballroom to the expansive royal gardens. When she entered, her face was bathed in the warm glow of a thousand candles. She turned to her mother and performed a quick curtsy. “I’ll go get ready.”

Emma made her exit from the resplendent ballroom, where the final preparations for her 17th birthday celebration were being made.

It was a celebration that Emma was not looking forward to in the least.

For her, these balls were events where she would be paraded before a mob of gossiping aristocrats and nobles. Their curiosity would be assuaged when they caught another brief glimpse of their mysterious princess. The sheltered girl never appeared at court or even during the daytime, but when they saw her at the ball, they would know she was still alive and not being held in a tower somewhere.

Queen Snow White and King David did an admirable job of hiding their daughter’s curse from the world, aside from the most trusted servants, guards and some close friends. However, rumours tended to sprout like weeds in spite of best-laid plans.

Whispers had spread throughout the Enchanted Forrest about the Cursed Princess. The heir to the throne, who had been put under a spell when she was a babe. Her step-grandmother Regina, known as the Evil Queen, had exacted her revenge on Snow White by cursing her only daughter to be a beast during the day and a girl at night.

Emma wished those rumours were true. Being a beast would be much more interesting than being stuck as a swan. Maybe that’s why Regina made her a waterfowl. Somehow she knew it would be painfully boring.

“They’ll gawk and stare. I’m sure some might make awkward small talk,” Emma complained, adjusting the sleeves that were patterned with silver roses and vines “‘What have you been up to?’ ‘When will we see you at court?’ ‘Have you been well?’ Not that they care, I think they just want to confirm their theories or dig for more gossip.”

Emma had been laced into her corset and had her long blonde hair pulled back into an elaborate bun, with a few sweeping curls framing her face. A more subtle tiara had been placed on her head since she couldn’t stand wearing a heavy crown of jewels, especially tonight.

“There’s going to be some scheming duke or count or whatever who will try to seduce me. That’s always fun,” she sneered. Potential suitors had been lining up to claim her since she was 13. After all, as heir to the throne and the daughter of the ‘fairest in the land’, she would make a glorious prize. She’d have to endure simpering noblemen of all ages vying for a dance and bragging about themselves in an attempt to enthral her. It would make for an exhausting night. She turned to her baby brother with a wry smirk. “I’m just saying, you’re lucky you’ll be asleep.”

Leo looked up at her from the plush rug where he sat surrounded by toys with his mouth slightly agape. His baby blue eyes were wide and curious and showed that he was completely oblivious to her plight. Emma found her little brother to be a great listener when she needed to vent, which seemed to be all the time. It was helped by the fact that he couldn’t repeat anything she said to their parents, since he only knew how to say ‘mama’, ‘dada’, and occasionally ‘Em’.

Emma was stalling by hanging around her brother’s nursery, wanting to avoid the ballroom full of guests who were awaiting her arrival. But her mother or her father were bound to come looking for her if she made them wait much longer.

“I guess I’ll have to face them sooner or later.” The princess heaved a sigh before offering the little prince a playful smile. She curtsied daintily before plucking her brother from the floor. “May I have this dance?”

Leo babbled happily as she twirled with him in her arms, the layers of shimmering fabric swirling about her heels.

“That’ll be my favourite dance of the night,“ Emma stated as she placed the baby back into his crib.

“Well, I hope that’s not true,” a familiar voice called out behind her. Emma whipped around to see her father standing in the doorway. “The night just started.”

“I was just about to come down, Daddy,” she said hastily, smoothing out her dress.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” her father laughed, coming up beside the little prince’s crib and tucking the baby in. “I think the princess gets to be fashionably late to her own party. But, we should let Leopold get some sleep.” He straightened and held out extended the crook of his arm for her to take. “Shall we?”

Emma nodded, ducking her head to hide the frown on her face as she looped her arm through her father’s.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” David said as he led her out of the nursery and towards the ballroom. When Emma didn’t give a response, he chose to prod her rather than ignore her melancholy. “You don’t seem very excited.”

That was because she wasn’t. When she was little, she had been so thrilled to attend her first ball. Since it was held after sunset, for once she could actually meet people, instead of being hidden away as she was during the day. But she couldn’t stand the way people stared at her like she was some sort of pitiable wretch or some oddity on display. It didn’t help that everyone was so uptight and two-faced. Someone would be complimenting her one minute before snickering behind her back the next. The parties had become a chore to get out of the way before she could spend her night as she wished.

With Emma’s stubborn silence, her father was prompted to try again. “I know you don’t always like these things, but-“

“Then why do we keep throwing them?” Emma huffed, fed up with pretending to be happy. “It’s my birthday. So, why can’t I celebrate how I want?”

“I understand, Emma,” David said calmly, slowing his stride as they continued their walk. He didn’t want to enter that ballroom without an attempt at lifting his daughter’s spirits. “I didn’t grow up with all these extravagant balls. I’ve never gotten used to all the pomp and circumstance. But I think it’s good for you to go to parties like this. It’s a chance to meet people. To make friends.”

“Friends I would only get to see if there’s a ball,” she grumbled under her breath. “Or if there’s a hunt being held at night for some reason.”

David stopped in his tracks, causing Emma to jolt to a stop as well. He turned so that he faced her head-on, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. Emma met his searching stare with a pout and her arms over her chest, sensing that she had earned a lecture with her comment.

“Emma, I know living with this curse isn’t easy,” he said, his normally light tone shifting into one of earnest solemnity. “Every day, I wish I could find a way to make things better for you. But we can’t just shut you away from everyone while we look for a solution.”

Emma’s gaze shifted to the wall, pointedly avoiding her father’s searching gaze. She knew he was right. As much as she disliked these parties, being hidden away indefinitely like a secret shame would make her feel even more like a freak. At least on a night like tonight, she could pretend she was an ordinary girl. Well, as ordinary as it was to be a princess having a ball thrown in your honour.

“Besides, tonight could give you the answer you’re looking for,” he continued cryptically, causing Emma to scrunch up her nose in confusion when she met his eyes again. “A ball is the perfect place to find your true love.”

An unladylike snort passed through her lips at that statement. The deadpan look she gave her father caused a smile to twitch on his lips. “Somehow, I doubt my true love is down there.”

That particular hope had been extinguished after years of disappointment. Emma had been wishing to find her true love since she was a child. She grew up hearing stories about the unstoppable power of a ‘true love’s kiss’. Before she was born, her father woke her mother from a sleeping curse with that powerful kiss. Emma dreamed that one day she would find the person who who help her break her own curse.

However, love had alluded Emma despite her best efforts to find it. Her parents would describe this instantaneous connection that they developed within a few days, this spark of attraction that ignited a blaze when they saved one another on the troll bridge. Emma never found that connection.

“You’ll never know if you don’t look,” David responded. He offered his arm once more, blue eyes sparkling with amusement in the candlelight. “Maybe someone will surprise you.”

Emma doubted it, but her father’s optimism still brought a grin to her lips. Squaring her shoulders and puffing out her chest, she looped her arm through his again and mentally prepared for a night of misery. “Let’s get this pony show over with.”

David smiled as they marched into the ballroom. “That’s my girl.”

xxx

The Runaway Theif

xxx

There were pros and cons to sneaking into an exclusive royal ball.

Pro. There were plenty of unsuspecting wealthy nobles, who would be occupied with the festivities and wine. It made them easy prey for the nimble fingers of a seasoned pickpocket. No one expected to get robbed while rubbing elbows with the monarchs.

Con. Being caught meant being thrown into the stocks or worse. The severity of punishment depended on who caught you. Queen Snow White was widely regarded as kind and just. The worst she would do to a humble thief would be to throw them out of the castle. Other aristocrats would sooner take a hand or a head rather than let a pickpocket get away unscathed.

Pro. The food was mouthwatering and abundant. After living on stolen scraps for the past few days, having access to a royal banquet would be a nice relief for a hungry man’s aching stomach.

At this point, the pros outweighed the cons.

Neal Cassidy was a man of few means, but he was also an opportunist. As difficult as it would be to sneak into a royal ball, the payout would be worth it.

The effort was made simpler by some premeditation. The whole kingdom had been abuzz with the news of Princess Emma’s birthday and the ball that would be thrown in her honour. It was good business for the high-end tailors, as plenty of nobles had money to burn on new dresses and doublets for the event. Posing as a delivery man, Neal managed to get his hands on a nice set of clothes that would be suitable enough to help him blend with the other attendees.

Looking the part of a noble didn’t guarantee his entry, since no one would make it through the front gates without an invitation. So he wouldn’t be entering through the front gates.

Less than four years had passed since he escaped from Neverland, and the skills he had developed in that centuries-long nightmare were still engrained in him. Scaling a castle wall was nothing in comparison to climbing a jagged cliff face with lost boys laughing and hollering from above and below as you tried not to fall to your death. And that had been just a part of Pan’s twisted obstacle race.

After the sun had gone down, and the castle was aglow from within, no one paid mind to the dark shadow crawling its way up the outer walls.

Slipping into the ballroom from a back door in the castle gardens, Neal was taken aback by the sheer splendour around him. The room was lined with large white columns accented with gold. The massive chandelier that hung above glimmered like it was made of diamonds. Noble women in beautiful gowns, being swept across the marble floor by their dance partners.

Neal took a steadying breath, soaking in the opulence that was not meant for lost boys or thieves before he got to work. Sleight of hand was a skill that you had to pick up quickly on the streets of London, in Neverland, and in the slums of the kingdom. With a careful misdirection, you could swipe a diamond ring or a golden broach and the owner would be none the wiser.

The difficult part was not getting carried away and not stealing too many items in such a short amount of time. That was something Neal had trouble with, especially when surrounded by so many stuffy blue bloods covered in jewels that would help keep him fed for a month.

Neal spent the night flattering inflated egos and pocketing treasures that were sure not to be missed in the long run. He was loitering around the buffet and sampling the strange foods that the upper class enjoyed (Who would eat a peacock?) when his eagerness came back to bite him.

“My necklace! It’s fallen off!”

A younger woman whom he had charmed a few minutes ago was shrieking in despair as she felt her bare neck. An older man marched up to her as she panicked, with a dour frown that brought out the wrinkles in his face.

“By gods, Carissa! You would lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders! Heavens know that would cost me less! Why are you always so careless?!”

“It wasn’t my fault, daddy! The servants here have sticky fingers! One of them must have taken it!”

Neal thumbed the golden string of emeralds in his pocket as he covertly shuffled away from the commotion. He slipped behind a pillar into a hall untouched by the torchlight, meanwhile, the Lord and his daughter continued to bicker and roped some poor servers into searching for the necklace. With the fuss they were kicking up, others were bound to notice that they were also missing jewelry. That would drum up a manhunt and he didn’t want to be around when that happened. Neal kicked himself for not taking more of the ridiculous and abundant food when he had the chance.

He looked frantically for the nearest exit when a blur of golden curls caught his attention.

The din of music and people's voices faded into a quiet hum. After that, he couldn’t look away if he tried.

A girl in a silver gown raced behind another pillar, pressing her back flat against the stone. She was a few yards away from where Neal was pressed against his own pillar, but she didn’t seem to notice him. Her eyes were tightly closed and her chest rose and fell with heaving gasps as if she had been trapped underwater and was now finally coming up for air.

She was young, maybe a few years younger than him. Done up in a silver corseted dress, embroidered with roses that glittered in the dark hall. Her blonde hair was pulled into a bun aside from a few strands that framed her face.

And it was one hell of a face. Neal would swear she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Neal was transfixed as he watched her entire body seem to sag in relief against the pillar. She released the deepest sigh he had ever witnessed. Extending her neck, she rested the back of her head against the stone pillar and turned her face up to the ceiling. Slowly, her eyes opened and the smallest breath of laughter passed through her lips.

For the first time in a very long time, Neal wished he could sketch. He hadn’t drawn anything in years, but he wanted to capture that feeling on a page. That moment of freedom.

Neal’s breath was caught in his throat when her attention was finally turned towards him. Despite the urge to look down in embarrassment, he continued to stare. The girl peered at him for a brief moment, before pointedly turning her gaze back to the ceiling. She didn’t ignore him for very long, but it felt like hours until her eyes slid back towards him. After a beat, she gave him a glare that seemed to say ‘What the hell are you looking at?’. That was enough to bring Neal’s attention to his shoes.

When he had the nerve to look up at her again, the girl was still staring at him. Neal felt bare beneath the intensity of her eyes, and he wondered if she could tell he didn’t belong there. Or maybe she was just as intrigued by him as he had been by her. Maybe they were both outsiders in this place.

They stood in silence, both watching the other while the bright ball continued at their backs.

The girl kept her eyes on him as she pushed herself from the pillar and started walking towards him. Neal was certain his heart would burst in his chest when she actually reached him. But she never got the chance to get that far. A hand latched onto hers, whirling her around and pulling her attention away from him.

And just like that, the spell he had been under snapped like a string pulled taught.

Some young aristocrat had a smarmy grin on his face and had the girl’s hand pressed to his lips. Neal couldn’t hear what he said, but he could see the muscles in the girl's back becoming tight and her free hand was balled up into a fist. After a brief exchange of words that Neal couldn’t make out, the noble dragged her toward the centre of the ballroom.

She didn’t look back.

Strangely, all the other dancers dispersed as the couple went straight for the centre of the dance floor. The young noble snapped his fingers to get the attention of the musicians and demanded that they play a waltz. The girl looked like she wanted to ram her elbow into his teeth.

“Who is that?” Neal asked aloud as the girl was pulled into a stiff dance. He hadn’t asked anyone in particular, but people in this type of crowd were always eager to impart gossip.

“The young Lord LeGume,” an older woman answered from behind her ornate fan. “A scheming little upstart who thinks he can charm his way into the royal quarters. He’s a scoundrel from what I hear. He deflowered the daughter of the Duke of the Frontlands, but he left the girl pregnant and disgraced. I suppose he has his eyes set on a much bigger prize.”

“What about the girl?” Neal asked the woman. She seemed knowledgeable and loose-tongued enough to give him the answer he actually wanted.

The woman seemed aghast by his question, looking at him as if he had grown another head.

“That is Princess Emma!” She said with her hand pressed to her bosom, shocked by his lack of awareness. “Were you raised out in the woods?”

The princess.

Neal felt his body seize up with mortification. He had been gaping at her like an idiot and had been stupid enough to think they had some sort of kinship. She had probably been marching over to him to slap him or order that he leave the castle or have him thrown in the dungeons for his rudeness.

“Well, it’s not as if she’s ever at court,” a different woman said in his defence. “No one ever has the opportunity to see her, let alone the ability to recognize her.”

“She’s quite a lovely thing,” an older man chimed in, watching as the princess was pulled in close by the Lord Legume. Neal could see her grimace as the young noble’s lips came close to her ear. “I wonder why the king and queen hide her from us.”

“I’ve heard that she’s is quite mad and they can only take her out for occasional outings.”

“Well, I’ve heard she was cursed by the Evil Queen.” The woman beside Neal whispered. “She becomes so hideous under the light of the sun that no one can stand to look at her.”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll make a fine wife all the same,” the older man said, leering at the princess as the hand at her waist began to slide lower. “Plenty would take a mad or cursed princess for a kingdom this great. Besides, there’s no need to see her in the day. A wife’s main purpose is fulfilled in the bedroom after sundown.”

“Reginald! Honestly!”

Neal decided that he had his fill of the gentry for one night. He might as well escape this place while all these vultures were distracted by the princess and her groping suitor.

However, before he could take a single step towards the door, the music screeched to a halt and a collective gasp erupted from the crowd.

The princess had shoved the lord away from her, so hard that he stumbled back several steps. Whatever he had been whispering in her ear, it was enough to have the princess stop the dance before the song had ended. She was gritting her teeth and casting the boy with a livid glare so fierce that he flinched away from it. However, Princess Emma’s ferocity was not enough to stop Lord Legume from putting his foot in his mouth.

“They should keep a thing like you in a cage!” He screeched. “You're practically a rabid animal?”

Apparently, Neal had been right about one thing that night. Princess Emma really had wanted to ram her elbow into the other man’s teeth. There was a heavy thud as she forced the sharp corner of her elbow into Lord LeGume’s face. Blood gushed from his mouth as he fell back to the floor, while the princess rubbed her reddening arm.

In the heavy silence that fell over the ballroom, the sharp laugh that came out of Neal’s mouth seemed to echo.

Princess Emma paid no heed to the nobles, servants, and guards that stared at her in shock. She didn’t even look at the king and queen, who were sitting gobsmacked on their thrones. She simply marched out of the ballroom with her head high, shoving her way past the other guests.

Neal figured this was as good a time as ever to slip from the ballroom unnoticed.

xxx

The Serpent in the Garden

xxx

Emma didn’t stop running until she reached the palace gardens. Falling to her knees at the side of her favourite pool, she gathered the gossamer skirts of her gown into her fists. She wanted to rip the dress to shreds or punch more of those snotty sycophants in the teeth. Hot tears burned at the corners of her eyes as a scream of frustration ripped its way through her throat.

“Oh dear. Seems it’s not a very happy birthday to you.”

Emma whipped around to see who had invaded her place of refuge. Her heart jumped in her throat when she saw the lizard-skinned figure that stood behind her. The wide blackened grin and serpentine eyes caused a shiver to crawl up her spine. Emma had only seen him once when she was a child, but she would recognize him anywhere.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

#swanfire #ouat #swanthief #emma swan #baelfire #neal cassidy #sfweek2023 #nealfire #once upon a time #i completely missed swanfire week #but ive had this on the backburner for a while #worked hard on those gifs #Just a one shot for now cause writing is hard

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pirateswhore · 7 months

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Carve your name into my bedpost 🔞

one-shot drabbles written for cocktober 2023. most will be under 1k words. following the prompt list from @cs-c-ocktoberfest2023

Ch I - Caught in the Act : Read on AO3

#cscf23 #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #ouat #emma x killian #chantecler writing #smut fanfiction #one shot collection

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swanfireprincessmydear · 7 months

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A Moments Distraction

After Snow and David’s name-giving ceremony, Emma disappears into the forest. She just wants to be alone - until she discovers it is much easier to be distracted when you’re with someone else.

Swanfire Week 2023 Day 1 Writing Prompt: Emma and Neal playing on the swings at a small playground that nobody goes to anymore.

#sfweek2023 #swanfire #once upon a time #neal cassidy #ouat #emma swan #baelfire #firethieves #swanthief #bae & emma #ouatedit #Swanfire fanfiction #Swanfire one shot

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 4 days

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Take a Break » Jefferson/Mad Hatter

Pairings: Husband!Jefferson x Wife/Teacher!Reader

Summary: Jefferson convinces his wife to take a break from grading papers.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, f receiving, unprotected sex, praise kink, aftercare, use of pet names

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Sweetheart…” Jefferson’s voice softly echoed through yours and his home office, leaning against the doorframe.

“Now’s not a good time, Jefferson.” You say, not looking up from the stack of papers in front of you.

Jefferson sighed and pushed himself off the doorframe and walked in the office, closing and locking the door behind him before approaching the desk. He leaned down, kissing along your neck and shoulder, his teeth nipping on your skin hard enough to mark you up. You bit your bottom lip and tilted your head to the side to give him more access.

“Jefferson…” You breathed.

“You need to take a break, darling. You’ve been grading papers all evening.” He says in almost a whisper in your ear.

You opened your mouth to say something, but a gasp left your lips when you felt Jefferson’s hand disappear inside of your blouse and into your bra, gently squeezing one of your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut and you melted into his touch. You felt your panties dampen.

“Jefferson, Grace is home.” You say.

“She’s spending the night at a friend’s house. We have the whole house to ourselves, honey.” He says.

He took his hand out of your blouse and began to unbutton it while his other hand disappeared underneath your skirt, rubbing your clit through your wet panties. You moved your hips against his hand, wanting more.

“You want more, sweetheart?” Jefferson asks huskily.

“Yes please!” You begged.

Jefferson pulled you up from the chair and pushed it aside. He turned you around and kissed you hungrily. He pushed your blouse off your shoulders, letting it fall it the floor. One of his hands expertly unclasped your bra. He pulled your skirt down your legs, letting it pool around your feet. You stepped out of it, kicking it to the side. His hand slid down your stomach and into your wet panties. His fingers rubbing from your clit to your tight entrance causing your pussy to clench around nothing.

“Jefferson, please…” You begged.

“Bend over the desk and spread your legs for me, darling.” He whispers in your ear.

You obeyed his orders, bending over the desk and spreading your legs and gave him a perfect view of your wet pussy, waiting for your husband to make the next move. He placed kisses along your spine before getting on his knees behind you. His hands grasped your thighs, placing kisses on them, making his way up to your pussy.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart that the only thing on your mind is me, your husband.” He says.

Your hands grasped onto the edge of the desk when his lips latched onto your clit, his tongue circling it. Your mouth fell open, moans of his name leaving your lips.

“Jefferson…” You gasped. “Oh yes!” You moaned.

His finger circled your entrance before sliding it inside of you causing your hands to grip the desk tighter.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned.

He move his finger at a decent pace while his tongue continued to flick your clit. His other hand snaked up your body, blindly finding it’s way to one of your breasts. His thumb and index finger pinched your nipple causing your cunt to clench around his finger at the sensation. Jefferson slid a second finger inside of you. Your jaw dropped, breathy moans leaving your lips. Your nails dug into the wood of the desk as his fingers and tongue fucked you.

“Yes! Oh fuck yes!” You moaned loudly when his fingers hit your sweet spot.

His tongue moved faster against your clit. His fingers moved faster, continuing to hit your sweet spot. He pinched your nipple again, this time a little hard which triggered your orgasm to start building up.

“Oh baby! I’m almost there!” You moaned.

“Give it to me, darling. Cum for me.” He says huskily.

His fingers pinched your nipple one more time before you came on his face and fingers. His fingers and tongue fucked you through your orgasm. Jefferson took his fingers out of your pussy and his lips off your clit. You leaned against the desk, catching your breath. Meanwhile, Jefferson was stripping himself out of his clothes. He hovered over you, turning your head to the side to kiss your lips.

“You’re being such a good girl for me.” Jefferson praises. “I think you deserve more. What you think, darling?” He asks softly.

“Mmm yes, I do.” You hummed in response.

Jefferson pumped his cock in his hand a couple times before lining it at your tight entrance, slowly sliding it inside of you, inch by inch. He turned your head again, kissing you once more when his cock was deep inside of you. His hands grasped your hips when he started thrusting. His thrusts were fast and loving.

“Always so fucking tight.” Jefferson moans, tilting his head back.

You felt every vein of his cock rubbing along your walls. Your hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter. His hands left your hips and slid up the front of your body, helping you stand up straight, your back against the front of his body. One of your hands continued to grip the edge of the desk while your other one found its way to his hair, your fingers tugging on it. His hands roamed your body, cupping your breasts and gave them a squeeze. A moan left your lips and your back arched off his body.

“Jefferson…” You moaned, your jaw dropping and your eyes fluttering shut.

Jefferson always takes your pleasure seriously, especially when you’ve been working hard and you deserve something for it.

“How are you feeling now, sweetheart?” Jefferson asks almost in a whisper.

“Amazing!” You gasped. “More!” You begged. “I want more!” You tell him.

“I’ll give you everything you want, my darling.” He says.

He didn’t just that. One of his hands snaked down the front of your body, stopping on your clit and began rubbing it in circles. A tingle went through your body when you felt the cool metal of his ring against your clit. One of your hands grasps Jefferson’s wrist to keep his hand in place. His fingers applied more pressure on your clit as he was rubbing it. A moan of his name left your lips. You arched your back in pleasure, pressing your breast more in his hand. Your head was against his shoulder. Your cunt clenched around his cock, feeling your orgasm building up.

“I know you’re close, sweetheart.” Jefferson says in your ear. “I know you’re on the edge. Cum for me.” He almost whispers, kissing your neck.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your jaw dropped, a moan of his name left your lips as you came. Jefferson fucked you through your orgasm, getting closer to his own orgasm. His thrusts got sloppy momentarily, but quickly regained it. A moan, followed by a curse word left his lips as he came inside of you, painting your walls. He laid his forehead against your shoulder as his thrusts came to a halt. You two stood there for a moment, catching your breath. Jefferson pulled out of you and turned you around, holding you in his arms so you didn’t fall due to how wobbly your legs are at the moment.

“Feel better, honey?” Jefferson asks, kissing your lips sweetly.

“Mmm, much better. Thank you, baby.” You say against his lips.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and to bed.” He says.

Let’s just say that grading papers was the last thing on your mind for the night.

🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩🎩

-Bucky’s Doll

#jefferson #jefferson mad hatter #jefferson hatter #jefferson once upon a time #jefferson ouat #mad hatter #once upon a time #ouat #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #jefferson x female reader #jefferson x wife!reader #jefferson x teacher!reader #jefferson x reader #jefferson x y/n #jefferson x you #jefferson smut #jefferson one shot #jefferson imagine

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pervprincealwayswins · 7 months

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Hello!!

I am right now taking requests for a few (various)char x char/reader oneshots (It can be smut too), reactions, headcanons and scenarios!

If you want to request anything here's what you need to know!! 🥰

Requirements:

Read this list beforehand

Specify whether its MalexMale, Male4GN or Male4Fem (And if you want an openly trans reader or the chars to be, feel free to specify that also!)

The request follows the list below

Smut REQUESTS FROM 16+ people only

Fandoms:

Death Note

Diabolik Lovers

Once Upon A Time

Black Butler

Harry Potter

(Love) interests you can pick from:

L Lawliet

Mello

Matt

Beyond Birthday

Light Yagami

Ryuk (pre glowdown or after glowdown iykyk)

All Sakamaki brothers (except Kino)

Carla Tsukinami

Azusa Mukami

Peter Pan from OUAT

Captain hook from OUAT

Hercules from OUAT

Grell Sutcliff

Sebastian Michealis

Universes:

Draco Malfoy

Omegaverse

Fatasyverse

Pirateverse

Normal

Time:

Modern

Medieval

Victorian

Types:

Fluff

Smut

Romance

(any combination of these 3)

Scenario's

Questions to characters

Headcanons

My hard limits:

No DDLG/B (or any variation)

No ed/r-word scenario's

No parental abuse scenario's

No incest ships (non relative AUs are accepted)

No weird age gaps

Anything im uncomfortable with (I'll let you know)

Sexist, racist or bigotry encourging plots

You can either put it in my ask box, DM me your request, or comment it under this post. If i have any questions or have made your request i will notify you! :)

Thats it, if you have any questions feel free to ask away!

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iverna · 1 year

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Holiday Subterfuge (CS one-shot)

Emma has been using her imaginary boyfriend as an excuse to get out of work-related socialising all year. But people are getting suspicious, so when it's time for the Christmas party, Emma makes a deal with a friend: he'll call, wearing his scrubs, pretending to be her boyfriend. It goes reasonably well until Killian Jones shows up. (Based on several prompts that sort of coalesced into... whatever this is. Yes, I wrote modern AU. 'tis the season, and all that.) rated G | ~ 2,700 words | read on ao3

This was a mistake. Emma suspected it was a mistake the second she agreed to it, but call her naive, she still had hope.

The plan was simple. She’s been using her non-existent boyfriend who works odd hours as an excuse to get out of after-work get-togethers, team-building trips, invitations to lunch, and every other bonding activity she hates. And it worked perfectly—he’s a doctor, so everyone is always full of understanding and admiration.

Until the annual Christmas party. Which she has known about for weeks in advance, and which they planned especially so that everyone could attend.

And Emma does not have a doctor boyfriend. She doesn’t have any boyfriend.

Enter Victor Whale, a friend of a friend, a man who is more than willing to accept a bottle of whiskey in return for pretending to be her boyfriend via FaceTime. The plan was simple: he calls wearing his scrubs, makes a bit of small talk, and she gets another year of peace and quiet.

Emma is holding her phone, watching Victor chat to her boss, Ingrid, when she becomes aware that someone’s watching her.

She turns—right into Killian Jones.

For a moment, she doesn’t quite register it. She’s used to seeing Killian in jeans and a sweater down at the docks, or in a t-shirt and loose pants at fencing practice. She’s never seen him in a suit before. It’s not a bad look—she’s pretty sure that no outfit in the world could make him look bad—but it doesn’t quite look like him, either.

“What are you doing here?”

He looks just as off-balance as she feels, but as she watches, he pulls himself together. “I was invited,” he says, and she realises that there’s someone standing next to him. A petite brunette, dressed impeccably in a blue blouse and corduroy skirt. Belle.

Belle, who has also begged off various work engagements due to her boyfriend.

She’s dating Killian?

Emma’s stomach is dropping, something that feels horribly like loss plummeting through her. She thought he was single. He flirts like he’s single. And yeah, she always rebuffs him, because that’s been their dynamic ever since they met.

And maybe, just a bit, because she wants to know whether he’ll keep trying.

So far, he has. Or so she thought. And it’s not like she thought he really means everything he says to her, but she did think—she assumed—well. She didn’t know he was taken.

By Belle.

And then her brain catches up to her, and she takes a closer look at him and the expression on his face and the guilty, trapped set to his shoulders and she realises two things: one, he didn’t expect to see her here either. And two, he’s lying.

He’s not dating Belle. Belle is doing the exact same thing Emma is, except she clearly didn’t think of the video-call compromise.

He meets her eyes, and he seems to realise that he’s giving the game away, because he straightens his spine and relaxes his stance, a smile on his face. Another lie. She’s caught it now, and he’s not fooling her. She smiles back blandly.

Belle is not quite oblivious to the byplay. “Hi, Emma,” she says brightly. “You two know each other?”

“Aye,” Killian says, a heavy, almost resigned note to his voice despite his apparent efforts. “Emma is in the fencing club.”

“Oh.” And then Belle’s eyes widen, and she stares at her ‘boyfriend’. “Wait, you mean this is the—?”

Killian clears his throat loudly. “I didn’t know you worked here, Swan.”

Belle closes her mouth, though her eyes are still wide, as if she’s processing some kind of revelation.

Emma has no idea what that’s about. What she really wants is to call Killian out right now, but that means giving Belle’s game away, and that wouldn’t be fair. She’ll get him later. For now, she just shrugs. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Truer words,” Killian mutters. Under his suave exterior, he still looks unsettled. Maybe he knows that she knows. Or maybe he’s worried that she’ll figure it out. He can almost never fool her during practice either. She can always tell when he’s feinting.

Granted, that goes both ways, but still.

“Emma?” a voice comes from her left.

She’s forgotten about her phone. The video call. Victor.

Crap.

“Uh, yeah.” She forces a smile as she turns her attention back to the screen. “Sorry, I got—uh, a friend just showed up.”

Victor smiles back. “Do they wanna say hi?”

“Who’s that?” Belle asks.

And that’s when Ingrid leans in with a bright smile and says, “This is Victor! We finally get to meet Emma’s mysterious boyfriend. He’s on call at the hospital tonight.”

Belle’s eyes widen. She glances at Killian, who has gone rigid. Emma, fighting back a renewed feeling of dread, angles the phone so Belle can see. “Victor, this is Belle.”

“Ah, yes.” Victor is all smiles and charm. “Emma’s mentioned you. She didn’t mention that you’re gorgeous. Wow.”

Belle blushes, though she looks rather like she wants to sink into the ground and disappear. “Thank you.”

“So what do you do exactly, Belle?” Victor asks oh-so-smoothly. Emma resists the urge to roll her eyes. He was bad enough with Ingrid; if he keeps this up, he is not getting the whiskey. He’s supposed to be her boyfriend, not trying to score with her colleagues.

Killian is glaring at the phone, and for a moment, Emma doubts her own assessment. There’s something in that frown, in his stance now, that looks… not possessive, but definitely protective. Is he jealous? Maybe he really is dating Belle.

But no. Killian can play the charmer with the best of them, but he’s a romantic at heart. There’s no way he wouldn’t have mentioned a girlfriend. And there’s no way he’d be dating someone if he wasn’t besotted. And if he were… she would know. Everyone would know, the same way everyone knows that David is madly in love with Mary Margaret.

She’s never imagined Killian dating anyone, but now that the thought has occurred, she can’t imagine him being anything other than devoted.

Even though she really has nothing to base that on.

But the idea of him dating Belle and flirting with her like he has been just doesn’t fit. It goes against everything she knows about him.

Until now, she never realised just how much she knows about him.

Victor is still flirting with Belle, oblivious to the daggers that Killian is glaring at the phone, and Emma has suddenly had enough. This wasn't part of the deal. “Okay,” she says, turning the phone so Victor’s looking at her. “I think I’d better go. Don’t want to keep you from your work, honey.”

“Always so considerate,” he drawls. “I’ll catch you later then, sweetcheeks.”

“Yeah.” She almost—almost—rolls her eyes, but that wouldn’t exactly help sell this relationship to her audience, so she manages a smile instead. “Bye.”

She ends the call. When she looks up, Killian is watching her with narrowed eyes, and Belle is still looking mortified. She seems to gather herself, and takes Killian’s hand. “I need to talk to you,” she says. “Excuse us a moment, Emma?”

“Uh, sure.” Emma stands there as they walk off together, feeling a little thunderstruck.

There’s no way. This is a ruse, the same thing she’s doing.

He’s not even Belle’s type.

“He seems very nice,” Ingrid says. Emma looks at her. She’s watching Killian and Belle walk off too, smiling. Emma clenches her fists. “You know him from fencing, he said?”

“What?” Emma forces her hand to relax. “Oh. Yeah. He’s, uh.” She can’t call him nice. Nice doesn’t even begin to describe Killian Jones. “He knows how to leave an impression.”

“I’ll say.” Ingrid turns her smile on Emma. “As does your Victor. I’m so glad I finally got to meet him.”

Emma can’t help hearing and confirm that he’s real behind the words.

And then her stomach lurches again, because… now Killian thinks she’s dating Victor. Meaning that pretty soon, David and Mary Margaret are going to think that she’s dating Victor. And probably August, and Ruby, and… crap. She’s going to have to confess before this goes any further. She can’t lie to her friends. This whole thing was never supposed to extend beyond work.

Which means she’s going to have to tell Killian that she essentially hired a guy to pretend to date her. Which is pathetic. She’s never going to live it down.

At least her colleagues are finally satisfied that Emma’s boyfriend is in fact real. She’s never liked work get-togethers; they always feel like an insincere waste of time. Hence the whole pretend-boyfriend thing. But at least the conversations don’t feel like a minefield tonight.

Eventually, she finds herself standing alone at the buffet table, and there’s a whisper of movement beside her as Killian joins her. “Swan.”

She feels her mouth twist. “Jones.”

He has opened the top two buttons of his shirt, his tie nowhere to be seen. Better, she thinks. More like himself.

“Enjoying your evening?” he asks, the picture of politeness as he takes a glass of champagne.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, unable to help the sarcasm. “You?”

His mouth quirks just before he takes a sip of his drink. “What’s not to love?”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “That why you agreed to come? You just love work parties?”

He looks momentarily taken aback, like he’s not quite sure what she’s getting at. “I came with Belle. Though, I wanted to—”

“You’re not dating her,” she says, and maybe she’s a little smug about it because she caught him out and that’s not easy to do.

He opens his mouth, closes it again. “Pardon?”

“You,” she says, poking him in the chest, “are not dating her. There’s no way.”

She expects him to deny it, to give her whatever story they came up with. But he lets out a sigh, bows his head, and looks up at her through his lashes. It’s the look he always gives her when he’s guilty and trying to persuade her to go easy on him, and she knows she’ll be in trouble if he ever figures out just how well it works.

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” he says. “What gave it away?”

She shrugs. “You’re not her type. And there’s no way you wouldn’t have mentioned it before now.”

His eyes are sharp on hers. “You know me too well.” She can’t tell whether there’s something intimate in it, or whether that’s just wishful thinking.

She shrugs again. “I told you, I’m pretty good at knowing when people are lying.”

“I was going to tell you,” he says. “And in my defence, I didn’t know you’d be here. I had no idea you worked here too.”

“Right.” She never talks about work. She never talks about anything personal if she can help it.

“And speaking of things I didn’t know,” he says, and he sounds casual, but there’s something tense behind the words, “why have you never mentioned this man of yours? Victor, was it?”

“Oh.” Emma just about suppresses a wince. She should tell him. She has to tell him. It’s only fair. “Yeah. It’s, uh. Long story.”

“I’d love to hear it,” he says, and there’s a glint in his eyes that she recognises from practice. She was wrong. He’s not tense. The word is predatory. “I would love to know how you came to date a man who calls you ‘sweetcheeks’.”

She’s going to kill Victor. “That was—he doesn’t call me that.”

Killian raises his eyebrows. “I was there, love. I heard him.”

“Yeah, well, you call me—that.” Not the best comeback, in hindsight, but by then it’s too late to think of a better one.

He laughs, looking amused now. “If you prefer ‘sweetcheeks’, I can always—”

“No,” she cuts him off, annoyed.

She spots Walter and two of the other tech guys wandering over towards the buffet table, and hastily turns away. Killian follows her as she walks away from the table, with no aim other than avoiding people.

There’s no avoiding him, of course, not now that he’s smelled blood.

And she can’t even complain, because she started it.

“At first I thought I owed you an apology,” Killian says as he falls into step beside her, “for misreading the situation so badly and pursuing you when you were spoken for. But then, you never so much as mentioned the man, so how was I to know?”

Emma comes to a stop, staring at him. Pursuing? What does that mean? Pursuing implies catching, which implies… more than just idle flirtation. Right?

“And now,” Killian goes on, “having seen the man you’ve allegedly broken your golden rule for, I can’t help but think that either you’ve taken leave of your senses, or something else is going on here.”

That… sounds like something she should be offended by. “Excuse me? What rule?”

“The one about no relationships,” Killian says.

He’s right. She did say something about that. Once. Shortly after she met him.

And she did set that rule for herself, years ago, but… she almost forgot about it. It hasn’t seemed very important lately.

Weird.

(Not really that weird.)

“Oh,” she says. “That.”

“You’re not telling me that you, Miss Love Will Leave You Brokenhearted, broke that rule for him,” Killian says, his eyes narrowed as he studies her. That predatory gleam is back, the one he gets when he knows that something’s going on and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met a more obvious candidate for breaking a woman’s heart.”

He’s right. He’s so right that it’s kind of scary. He’s got no business being that perceptive.

And what the hell did he mean by pursuing?

“I know,” she admits. “It’s—like I said. Long story.” She looks around to make sure nobody else is within earshot. “Kinda pretty much the same as Belle, I guess.”

“Ah.” It’s a long sound, and it seems to release the last bit of tension in his stance. He grins at her. “I had a feeling. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” she says quickly. “Please.”

One eyebrow quirks up. “And what do I get for keeping your dirty little secret?”

She mirrors his expression, although she has to use both eyebrows. “Oh, blackmail, is it?”

“Don’t try to claim the moral high ground, love.” He looks like he’s enjoying himself now. “You want to make me, an honest man, party to your lies and deceptions. Surely that calls for some kind of recompense.”

“You’re already party to lies and deception,” she points out, “or have you forgotten why you’re here?”

“Belle has already promised me a favour in return.”

She is not going to ask what that favour involves. She is not. They’re clearly just friends. “Fine. What do you want?”

He considers. “I want you to give me a fair chance. If the answer is still no, that’s fine, but no treating it all as a joke or hiding behind the past.”

She feels her eyes widen. “A chance, as in… you and me?”

“Not a date or anything of the sort,” he says quickly. “I’m not going to blackmail you into that. I just mean… you always laugh it off. You don’t let yourself consider it.”

Right again. And if Emma is perfectly honest—something she can admit she struggles with—there have been times when she almost knew that he wasn’t just joking around. When she felt the maybe hovering between them. It’s just a lot easier to laugh it off than consider the possibility of… anything else.

But it’s Killian. She knows him—better than she even realised. She’s been right about him every single time so far.

“Like I said, if the answer’s still no, I’ll accept it,” Killian says, and she knows that he means it. “And you have my word that I won’t bring it up again.”

“No, that’s—” Emma shakes her head. “I mean, yeah. Okay. Deal.”

He beams at her.

* * *

He smiles more widely still just over a week later, when she ends their last training session before Christmas by asking him out.

(Once he's recovered from his shock, that is.)

* * *

Tag list (shh I didn't forget again) - @optomisticgirl @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @tomeandflickcorner @spartanguard @snowbellewells @karl0ta @heavenlyjoycastle @queen-serena88 @stahlop @inkerii @bubblegum1425 @elegies @winterbaby89 @kday426 @sals86 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @laschatzi @scientificapricot @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @ilovemesomekillianjones @last-tsarina @thesschesthair @the-darkdragonfly

#cs ff #ouat ff #cs one-shot #cs crew #merry christmas etc #modern au #cs au #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #ouat fanfic #fanfic #mine

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kaseyskat · 4 months

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Okay if i was writing Once Upon A Time season three 3b you know what I would've done. I would've just killed Rumple LMAO! I think that Rumple's sacrifice at the end of s3a was pretty big and important and definitely more important than resolving a love triangle that didn't even need to BE a love triangle in the first place. You know what I would've done. I would've had Neal become the dark one in Rumple's stead. Like he and Belle still go to the vault but instead of resurrecting the previous dark one it turns Neal into the dark one instead. Zelena still gets the dagger, she's still going to use the dark one for her spell, but now it is Neal who has to learn how to handle what his father had gone through and fight to keep himself sane and not lose his character under the influence of dark magic and what Zelena is forcing him to do. It would've been fun!

Give Neal a platonic relationship with Emma, they can be besties who help raise Henry together it's fine. Let Belle be just as dedicated to helping free him because he's the last remnant of Rumple. It is so real in my head- Neal getting to develop relationships with the others, have a family that lasts longer than two seconds, be a secondary father to Henry while also putting him in his own father's shoes. There was so much potential for him to be given meaning outside of a love triangle with Emma and I wish the writers would've considered that

#kasey rambles #ouat #once upon a time #neal cassidy #once upon a time s3 #this is me fervently shooting my shot to see if anyone else has thought of the same premise #i just think. neal deserved better. BAELFIRE deserved better #also dark one baelfire is just such a banger concept imo

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