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shadowdianne · 5 years

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3rd @italymystery-swanqueen

Gioia, darling, querida… We have spent quite the number of years pestering each other on this awful site and you always amazed me with your kindness. I’m beyond proud you decided to take on manipping by the way; you always had a very keen eye on details and you sharing that with your creations will never fail to make me smile. You deserve far much more credit than the one you receive and seeing you walk and keep going forward with every single thing life has thrown on your way makes me not only hopeful but happy to keep watching you from afar. Here is for every time you sent me to bed when it was awfully late and for the amount of times you have always picked *the* perfect gif for a reaction. I skill I don’t and won’t ever possess.

- Italy asked for some sound bed-sharing amidst Swan-Mills family scenes. I don’t know if I got the Psycho thing right but it was certainly humorous.

“Remind me again why they weren’t able to give us a third room.”

Regina’s sentence elicited a guffaw from Henry as the teen left the room his mothers had been stuck with, a cheeky grin the last thing both brunette and blonde saw as they glanced at the quickly closing door. The teen had obviously been given the second room they had been able to secure after the downpour that had started to hit Emma’s yellow car, effectively halting their trip just two hours after they had left Storybrooke and, as the blonde sighed and ran a hand through her hair, she shrugged, pointing at the carpeted patch of floor that wasn’t overcrowded with the many knickknacks that seemed to be the major décor on the small motel they had been able to find.

“They are packed.” The blonde finally said. “I can always sleep on the floor if you want. Or sleep with Henry.”

She knew that third option was out of the question though; Henry had already given them both a look of utter horror when Regina had asked how crazy would it be to try to keep the journey under the rain and Emma didn’t want to make the teen feel as if she wasn’t giving him enough personal space. Changing her body weight from foot to foot she considered the carpet; old but not moldy it wouldn’t be comfortable, but it would do the trick for the night being.

Her musings were interrupted by Regina’s sigh as the brunette pinched the bridge of her nose, placing the suitcase next to the vanity that stood directly in front of the bed.

“I wasn’t implying that.” And even though there wasn’t a ‘Miss Swan’ at the end of the sentence the clipped tone was enough for Emma to growl inwardly at that. The journey had started wonderfully; with Regina laughing and smiling as both Henry and herself made jokes and sung to the horrible playlist they had created for what was going to probably be their last journey together now that the teen was about to start University. The warmth that had radiated from the older woman had been, in fact, strong enough to not rattle Emma when they had finally crossed Storybrooke’s town line, the vertigo feeling she usually got whenever she was stripped from her inherent magic not as strong as other times. Yet, as dark clouds had begun to cover the sky Regina’s mood had gotten somber, darkening alongside with the weather. Now, the lines around her mouth, on her forehead, made her look like a complete different person than the one who had tried -and failed- to follow Emma’s colorful choice of music a couple hours ago.

Sighing, Emma went towards her own bag, ruffling for a moment until she extracted her pajamas out of it, flattening the wrinkles on the fabric before turning back to Regina who had her eyes closed, a brief glimpse of repent glowing on the back of her pupils by the time she blinked them open once more.

“I’m sorry.” The brunette began, and Emma nibbled on her bottom lip at the flustered expression that washed over her face a second before. Shaking her head, she approached Regina, putting the pajamas down at the edge of the bed, the frilly cover a stark difference against the plain colors of her sweatpants and t-shirt.

“No, I’m sorry. We could have had tried to drive for a little longer.”

And it was true, she thought as she reached for Regina’s forearm as the brunette crossed her arms at her chest, her hand hovering and then stopping altogether, fingers twitching before she let it fall once again, limp at her side. She could have done that; drive a little longer. The beetle was old, yes, and the road was mostly covered in dark and rain but if she had known Regina would have been so uncomfortable with the idea of sharing a bed…

Because, she added as they both stood, awfully close to each other and the lack of magic essence that always seemed to crack between them both making everything slightly more awkward than expected, even if she felt trepidation at the idea of spending more time with Regina despite her idea of sleeping in the floor she didn’t feel nervous at the idea of sharing that bed. Thrilled would perhaps be a better word for it. One she didn’t plan on admitting to Regina anytime soon.

A sigh from the brunette made Emma focus back on the woman in front of her, her brows rising as she saw a soft blush coloring Regina’s cheeks for a second. A look that she wasn’t used to see on the older woman. Tilting her head, she waited until Regina let her hands fall at her sides.

“No, Henry was right.” She said with one small glance towards the door the teen had closed behind him. “And so were you. It’s better if we wait until tomorrow. It’s just…”

She halted, teeth gleaming between parted lips and Emma forced herself to chuckle as she turned and sat at the edge of the bed, feigning a self-assuredness that she didn’t quite feel. Not with the impending reality of her sleeping next to Regina for the next few hours.

“I don’t hog the covers.” She began, a slow smile spreading over her lips as she watched how Regina’s stillness was replaced with a playful roll of eyes. “At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

She stopped at that; remembering all too well who the last person had been who had shared his bed with her. A memory brought by the lack of ring on her hand, the nervous tick of covering a jewel that wasn’t even there to begin with being quickly tracked by Regina’s own gaze as the brunette looked down at Emma’s fingers, a slight rise on her chest following the movement.

Neither of them had truly talked about Hook after the divorce. Not like it was something Emma liked to speak about after all and even if Regina had been the first one who had received a visit from her as soon as she had made up her mind the former Queen hadn’t mentioned that either, not after Emma had signed the papers, red rimming her eyes as she had done so. Not even after Emma had asked Regina to go and have a drink with her at Aesop’s, the fuzzy memories that night had brought with it telling enough.

Clearing her throat, Emma patted the bed underneath her, the far too soft sheet under her hand speaking volumes of how many times the cloth had been washed repeatedly.

“I don’t snore either.” She added and that broke the spell Regina seemed to have fallen for, a gentle chuckle escaping her lips as she eyed Emma with something close to mirth dancing on her eyes.

“I guess I will find out tonight.”

It was true, she didn’t hog the covers, but Regina definitely did. They had both settled for the night shortly after their conversation with Regina sitting at the other side of the bed with something close to attentive focus on the cream she proceeded to rub on her hands, forearms and face. Something Emma had been very careful not to stare at as she stood and went to the small adjacent bathroom to change into her pajamas. When she had exited the room, Regina was already changed and after a quick awkward moment in where the brunette had stood and tiptoed towards the bathroom Emma had just vacated, the blonde had slipped beneath the sheets, nervousness curling her toes as she waited, scrolling down her phone and answering to some messages Snow and David had sent to her.

After that, Regina had followed her movements, carefully entering the bed through the other side and glancing at her before muttering a quick goodnight that Emma had felt tong-tied to answer to. Switching the lights off, Regina had quickly closed her eyes and fallen asleep. Which had only led to more nervousness on Emma’s part as she pondered not only on how peaceful the brunette looked when she was resting but also on the very distinct possibility of her rolling towards her side once she fell asleep and do something as crazy as hugging her.

Which had turned to be a problem when, after possibly reaching a REM state, Regina had started to not only hog the covers but also move closer and closer to Emma’s still awake body.

Something Emma was sure would have caused her magic to go high wire if they would still have been at Storybrooke. Outside the barrier that separated the town the crackling energy she had become accustomed to didn’t feel as connected or as strong inside of her so aside from a slight buzz on the tips of her fingers she only felt lightheaded when Regina’s arm finally wrapped around her midsection, the movement causing her shirt to rile up a few inches.

She wasn’t stupid of course, or at least not enough to not know what was either happening or why her body felt as if it was on fire. Yet, Emma didn’t want to move, or turn to her side so she could extricate herself from Regina’s arms. Closing her eyes and forcing her breathing to even out, she willed sleep to come, darkness helping to her tired brain until everything around her turned fuzzy enough for her to be able to not think on how easy would be to simply follow Regina’s antics; pressed her body flush against the older woman and just pretend, for one night, that she hadn’t terminated her marriage because precisely her.

“Moms?”

The sound of Henry’s voice at the other side of the room was what made Emma blink bleary, the darkness from outside already been replaced by the dull, grey-like light of early morning. The kid had obviously inherited that from Regina as she groaned and wished to be able to sleep a few more minutes. Something that was quickly forgotten as she heard a chuckle at her side and something frighteningly close to a pair of lips caressing her earlobe as Regina’s voice reached her; rougher than usual and definetely holding a breathiness there that Emma hadn’t gotten to hear before.

“Someone’s eager to keep with the trip.”

Blinking, feeling her cheeks beginning to redden, Emma twisted so she could watch at Regina, noticing for the first time in the few minutes she had be awoke how Regina’s arm was still hugging her close, her fingers splayed on her midriff, her thumb pressed against her skin where the shirt had bunched up further since they both had fallen asleep. Brown eyes blinking at her, sleep still clinging to them, they lacked the tension they had sported the night before and Emma wondered what had changed, why it had happened.

“Moms!”

“Give us a minute.” Emma didn’t recognize her voice, but she felt her lips move, her eyes unable to look away from Regina’s as she addressed the teen at the other side of the door, the huffed answer of something she didn’t want to unpack the only response she got from the boy. Licking her lips, being painfully aware that Regina’s eyes followed the movement, she managed to croak a “Good morning” that fell flat against her teeth and tongue, a lazy and trembling smile following short after.

One final squeeze on her waist and Regina moved away, her warmth being quickly replaced by the chill that seemed to fill the room the second the covers that hid them both from it were lifted. Blinking and feeling her chest tightening, the blonde almost didn’t hear Regina’s voice as the woman called for her. However, when she did, she found a pair of mischievous eyes glancing at her, the lack of purple on them just as staggering as it had been the night before.

“You certainly not snore, Emma. But you speak on your sleep.”

The blonde couldn’t answer that, unable to find her voice, but she gaped as Regina chuckled and began to fish for her clothes, a third call from Henry breaking the spell.

“If you are kissing tell Zelena she owns me ten dollars!”

“Henry!”

#swan queen #OnTheLastDayOfChristmas #italymysteryswanqueen

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accio-ambition · 7 years

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

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

Now have some more angst.

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

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Chapter Twenty

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

Those were nothing compared to this one.

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

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

The tears roll down Emma’s cheeks almost nonstop.

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

To fight and come back to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when he breaks.

0000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But some stories get cut short.

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

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

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

And they’ll get through it, eventually.

Together.

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

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