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emospritelet · 4 years

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Desperation - chapter 12

34: “Remember when we used to leave the house? Fun times”

Apparently I can only write fluff at the moment. Must be a reaction to the shitty timeline we’re in :/

[AO3]

As lockdown entered its second week, Belle found that she was settling into her new life quite comfortably. Bae had improved each day, and was restless and energetic. She had him helping her with baking and pulling weeds in the garden to burn off some of the excess energy. A call from Mary Margaret Nolan, Neal’s mother and Bae’s teacher, announced that lessons would be resuming over Zoom, and Belle cleared a space at the kitchen table for Bae to participate on his father's laptop.

“I’m hoping this works,” confessed Mary Margaret, having explained her idea for the format of the lessons. “Redesigning the lessons for remote delivery and trying to think of ways to keep them engaged has been driving me nuts.”

“If you need a break, I’d be happy to do a story hour with them,” offered Belle. “Maybe we could collaborate on something; a story hour on a book you want them to read, followed by some sort of art project based on that.”

Mary Margaret beamed.

“That’s a great idea!” she said. “We could continue once lockdown ends, too.”

“I’m trying to recall what life was like before lockdown,” said Belle, with a wry grin. “Remember when we used to leave the house? Fun times.”

“Yeah.” Mary Margaret chuckled. “I guess I’m better off than most. The farm still needs work, the animals still have to be fed. I feel for those going stir-crazy in their apartments.”

“That would have been me, if I hadn’t ended up staying here,” said Belle, and Mary Margaret looked curious.

“How did that happen?” she asked. “I was wondering.”

“Completely by chance,” admitted Belle. “Rum and I kind of had a spat over the last packet of paracetamol at the store, and somehow I ended up moving in.”

“Huh." Mary Margaret pursed her lips. “Not your average meet-cute, but these are unusual times.”

Belle gave her a level look.

“He was sick, and I wanted to help.”

“Oh, ignore me,” Mary Margaret assured her. “I’m a hopeless romantic, and Storybrooke needs more happy endings.”

“Hard to be romantic when you literally can’t touch one another.”

“Then you’ll have to be very inventive.”

“Speaking of inventive,” said Belle, feeling herself blush and wanting to change the subject. “Let’s talk more about working together. I was intending to set up some after-school clubs for different age groups at the library. Any input you and the other teachers could give would be great.”

“I’ll email the staff and ask them for their thoughts,” said Mary Margaret. “Sounds like the kind of integrated program we’ve been wanting to introduce in Storybrooke. If we can get the Mayor’s approval we should be able to get more funding.”

“Does the Mayor have kids?” asked Belle, and Mary Margaret gave her a knowing smile.

“She has a ten-year-old son. Something tells me this town will be very supportive of more activities for kids after trying to entertain their own for three weeks.”

The Zoom lessons started well, with only a few technological teething problems, which meant that Bae spent much of his days learning and chatting with his friends, leaving Belle free to do chores and read. The first story hour was due to take place that Friday, and Belle and Mary Margaret had already discussed ideas for complementary lesson-planning. It made Belle feel as though she was achieving something in her new position, despite not having set foot in the library in almost two weeks.

Gold, alas, was still in bed.

Belle had not tried to hide how much he was worrying her, with his rattling cough and the high fever that came and went. Already thin, he was now almost gaunt, and she and Bae tried their best to tempt him with homemade cookies and cakes, along with more substantial meals from the freezer. She told herself repeatedly that at least he didn’t seem to be getting any worse, and that his quietly stubborn nature would surely help him pull through.

On Wednesday evening she took him some tea and found him sitting on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“Hey,” she said.

Her voice made him look up. His eyes and cheeks were hollow, his cheeks and chin covered with almost two weeks of stubble, but there was a determined glint in his eyes. She put her head to the side.

“You okay?”

“I’m getting up,” he said decidedly, gesturing with a finger. “I’m getting my arse up, and I’m going down the bloody stairs.”

Belle hurried to set down the cup of tea on his nightstand.

“Let me help you.”

“No no, it’s fine, I can do it.” He waved her away. “I have to do it. Bloody sick of being a dead weight around this place.”

“You’re sick!”

“And I won’t get better if I let this fucking thing keep me horizontal,” he said shortly, and sighed, running his hands over his face. “Sorry. I’m not angry with you, just this virus.”

“Anger is good in this instance,” she said, and took a step back from him. “Okay, up you get.”

Gold nodded, reaching to the side for his cane and using it to push himself upright. His legs wobbled, and he leaned hard on the cane, but after a moment he seemed to relax a little, although his smile was more of a grimace.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m taking a shower, and I’ll see you and Bae downstairs in ten minutes.”

“In that case, I’ll take your tea down with me,” she said. “We can all sit around the table and eat some of the fruit loaf Bae and I made.”

Gold nodded, his knuckles tight around the cane handle.

“Sounds perfect.”

He made it downstairs, much to Bae’s delight, and sat quietly at the table while Bae drank his suppertime warm milk and told him all about the lessons he had done that day. Belle warmed some soup through on the stove, setting it in front of Gold with bread and butter from the supplies that had been delivered.

“That’s fantastic, Belle, thank you,” he said, picking up a spoon. “I think perhaps my appetite’s coming back.”

“There’s plenty more, if you need it,” she said. “And more bread.”

“The bread tastes weird, Papa,” said Bae, wrinkling his nose. “It’s the same one they have at the school cafeteria. Paige says it’s made of polystyrene and fluff from the inside of the teachers’ pockets.”

Belle chuckled.

“I have to admit that I’ve thought that myself,” she said. “It certainly doesn’t come close to any of the delicious bread I’ve eaten since I came to this house. But it was free, which counts for a lot.”

“Quite right,” said Gold, dipping a piece of the bread in his soup. “We have to appreciate the kindness of those that gave it, Bae. Whether or not you think it tastes good.”

“Okay.” Bae looked a little despondent. “I was just kidding.”

“I know that.” Gold put down his spoon and pulled Bae close for a hug. “You’re a good lad. And a thoughtful one.”

“Belle and I didn’t make bread, though,” said Bae. “Maybe we should have, and then we could use this for something else.”

“We were concentrating on making your dad some treats, right?” said Belle, stroking his hair. “Making him feel better was very important work.”

“And something you both did excellently,” said Gold, turning back to his soup. “See? I’m already up and eating dinner again.”

Bae grinned, flopping back into his seat, and Gold blew on his soup to cool it.

“Go on, then,” he said. “Tell me more of what you learned about birds today.”

Something woke Belle.

She yawned, snuggling in her blankets on the couch, her body warm and comfortable. Something had disturbed her sleep: a soft, distant thumping noise that she couldn’t place. Her eyes fluttered and opened, and the noise came again. Glancing at her watch, Belle groaned to herself and sat up, swinging her legs out of the blankets and getting up to head for the kitchen. She could hear the low sound of Gold humming, and assumed it was he that was making the noise. If he was already up and about at just after six in the morning, perhaps he was feeling better.

Her sock-clad feet made no sound as she padded across the floor, and she entered the kitchen silently, hands curling around the door frame. Gold was standing at the counter in T-shirt and jeans with his cane leaning beside him and a dish towel tucked into his belt, his forearms covered in flour. He was kneading dough, one hand grasping, folding and turning before pushing down with the heels of his hands. Two bowls sat on the table with towels draped over them, with a third standing empty at his side. He hummed as he worked, the rhythmic slap and thump of his hands against the dough in time with the beat, and Belle smiled a little as she watched him.

“Couldn’t face the polystyrene and pocket lint bread again, huh?” she asked, and Gold started, turning to face her with the dough ball in his hands.

“Ah,” he said, looking down. “Well. You both said you liked my bread better, so I thought it was probably time to make some.”

“You didn’t have to get up at six in the morning to make it,” she said, and he shrugged, turning back to his kneading.

“That was always my usual habit, before I came down with the virus,” he said. “I usually set the loaves aside for first rise, then do the rest of my chores. I bet the garden’s just choked with weeds.”

“I hope not, Bae and I have been working on it,” she said, coming into the kitchen properly. “Tea?”

“I’ll make it. You’ve done more than enough this past ten days.”

“Don’t burn yourself out,” she warned, crossing to the sink to fill the kettle. “I can make the tea. The last thing we need is you falling over again. Take it slow.”

Gold gave her a slanting grin, and bowed his head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He gave the dough a final press, then worked it into a ball with swift passes of his hands and dropped it in the empty bowl. Going to the sink to wash his hands, he flourished the dish towel to dry them off, and draped it over the bowl before wiping down the work surface.

“Wholemeal, mixed seed, oat and honey, and black olive,” he explained, as Belle looked questioningly at the bowls. “We’ll eat some and freeze the rest. Just in case.”

“You’re very well prepared.”

“I try to be.”

He grasped his cane, almost falling into one of the kitchen chairs with a sigh, and Belle shook her head.

“You’re still not well,” she said, and he opened his eyes, a tired smile back on his face.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re stubborn, is what you are,” she said severely.

“One of my few redeeming qualities.”

“Stubborn and self-effacing,” she remarked. “It’s almost adorable.”

Gold’s smile grew.

“‘Almost’?”

Belle put her hands on her hips, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. For an awkward moment she found herself recalling what he looked like with a small towel around his waist, and told herself to concentrate.

“I very much doubt the virus cares how adorable it is,” she said loftily. “If it knocks you on your ass again and you end up spending another week in bed, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He was grinning now.

“A good thing I have such a competent housemate,” he said. “I’ll miss you when this is over, Belle. Bae and I will miss you, I mean. Both of us.”

She was definitely blushing now, and that image would not leave her mind, but she couldn’t help grinning back.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll miss you guys too.”

#fic: desperation #rumbelle fic #my fic #rumbelle #sprite's pandemic promptathon #goldenspinner

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wintersweetbou · 4 years

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Glaiveweek 2020- Day 5. Chicken Soup Solves Everything

Day 5 of Glaiveweek 2020. @glaiveweek I’m a bit late, but here it is!

Prompt: Angst, Fluff and Smut- Hold On, Time of your Life, Its Warm and Peaceful

Summary: The last wave of winter has a bad case of the flu bringing the glaive to its knees. Luche sneaks off to the kitchens, and finds help in a young adviser.

Spring rain pelted the city, washing away the remnants of winter. However, the two seasons mixed first, bringing icy rain and grey chill to Insomnia. People trudged to work and then ran home. It was too messy to do anything else- and running about in sleet was not the best of ideas. The kingsglaive continued to run as always, but incurred some losses to the flu making its final rounds as the winter heaved its last breath. Luche warped from the parking garage into glaive headquarters. He bustled forward, trying to shake off the cold. He was on requisition duty today. Axis was out sick, so he needed to inventory the armory for potions, munitions, and weapon stocks. Asking the others about the state of their weapons for inventory might not be a bad idea either- the new forge order for custom weapons was coming up. Best to get ahead before anyone else got sick. Luche smiled to himself. Best to stay ahead of the game. The offices held the requisition tablet, and the forms needed to be filled out upon application...Someone sneezed. Luche turned to see Pelna making copies, looking absolutely dreadful. His usually warm umber skin looked kind of pale and sickly, his dark hair slightly plastered to his forehead with rain. Luche noted his state, and internally decided to make orange tea later for him. “You feeling ok, Pels? Looking a little pale there.” “Yeah...just tired...and achy.” Pelna seemed to droop a squidge more at the admission. “Take it easy today then. Do you have any custom armor or weapon requests? The forge order is coming through soon, and it's a good idea to check beforehand.” Luche murmured, adjusting the wayward hair on Pelna’s forehead. Pelna nodded, looking thoughtful, before shivering and turning away with his copies. Luche raised a brow, and changed that internal note to include soup. Charming citadel staff could sometimes beg treats from the castle kitchens. Maybe he could snag something hot- the dark haired glaive looked dreadful. Luche sighed, turning to check in with the captain before going off to the armory. The captain looked more haggard than usual, dark circles under his eyes. Luche glanced at him from the side, suspicious. “Here’s the list of things we definitely need, and as for the forge order, I am covered. Very thoughtful though. Recheck the armory and transport vehicles, especially the first aid and potion stocks.” Drautos grated, voice rougher than usual. “Yessir. You feeling ok? Sound a little scratchy there.” Luche watched, noting some stiffness in his movements. “I’ll shake it off. I’m fine. Dismissed.” Touchy, too. That meant the captain was solidly out of sorts. Luche saluted, and spun about, wondering if he was the only healthy glaive left. The armory was peaceful without the music that Axis liked blasting about, but also seemed colder for the same reason. Luche tucked his coat tighter about him, swearing about getting some citrus later. His work passed smoothly, even if the glaives were disasters on a personal level, they kept their gear organized. Arms noted, potions counted, bombs recorded...it had only taken an hour. Six, that was quick. Oh well. Perhaps he could check on the glaives training for possible forge orders. Luche shifted the tablet, making one final note, before heading off for the arena and weight rooms. Glaives warped and practiced magic at regular intervals in the arena. It was nowhere near the level of energy that was normally used. The sight of half-assed combat drills slowed Luche to a stop. Concerned, he turned on heel and made for the citadel. Whatever bug or fatigue was working through the ranks, he had to do something, else the glaives would start to drop like flies. And yes, this was a common occurrence throughout any historical militia, but these were modern times godsdamnit. Luche would make sure something was done. It was a quick walk through the hallways that connected the glaive headquarters to the rest of the citadel to gain access to the main keep. His status as a glaive gained him access to the servant hallways, normally only used by crownsguard and castle staff. Luche passed several guards, who raised eyebrows but said nothing. The kitchens were below the main floors, along with the boilers and other service hatches. It was just a few stairs- the elevators were packed with maids bustling with food for the council. Lunch was almost here, they needed to serve early so the council could eat and clean up before the session resumed. It was a tight schedule, but worked if he timed it right. Which was why Luche walked in when he did. The main meal was already measured out, so any leftovers could be served to friendly faces afterwards. Smart guards and glaives made friends with the cooks, because royal leftovers were divine, even when microwaved. Luche rounded the corner, and put on his best puppy eyes. Single rations were easy to get, but enough soup for a squad of glaives? He would need to charm it up...and stopped at the sight of a kid, perhaps ten, struggling to heft a huge bag of potatoes. The kid panted, teetering, and Luche warped to steady the lad before he fell and hurt himself. The boy peered up from behind thick glasses, auburn hair combed neatly, uniform pressed to perfection. While his appearance was immaculate, his speech was not. A slightly accented voice stuttered apologies and thanks, blushing fiercely. Luche slung the sack over a shoulder, smiling gently. The kid was cute. “Be more careful, you could pull something by lifting too much at once. Luche Lazarus.” The glaive grinned, offering his hand. “Ignis Scientia. I will be more careful, thank you.” Ignis shook his hand, and pointed to the high steel countertop where he was trying to put the potatoes. “What is a kid like you doing in the kitchens?” Luche plopped the sack on the clean metal. “The cook said if I helped do some chores, he would teach me how to cook.” Ignis stated shyly. “Oh? Anything in particular?” “There is a dessert I’m trying to recreate, but I can’t get it to turn out right. I figured asking for help would be better than wasting more ingredients.” Ignis stared at the floor, the tops of his ears burning. “Practical.” Luche nodded. The both turned as head chef Brusa bustled forward, a large, jolly man, handing a peeler to the kid, and clapped Luche on the back. Luche smiled, accepting the affection. Showtime. “What can I do for the kingsglaive today?” The chef grinned, smile softening as Luche explained his plight, working his best sad eyes. His friends were getting sick, and he hoped he could please have some leftover soup to soothe their sore throats, whatever they had, pretty please… The Brusa was a major softie for the guards and the glaives. He announced that he would not stand by while those so nobly training to defend Lucis suffered. Ignis watched with wide eyes as his first lesson in pastry making was hijacked into a lesson on making soup light enough to soothe troubled stomachs, but hearty enough to sustain soldiers. The young adviser took careful notes- even if this wasn’t pastry lessons, it would still serve the prince if he knew how to prepare foods for illnesses- and helped with the preparation of a huge, several gallon pot of stew. Luche watched, entranced at the controlled chaos enfolding before him. The chef whirled gracefully, preparing ingredients while lecturing about proper food safety. Clean the carrots, chop the celery, warm the leftover stock, measure out the noodles, the thick ones- these are for the glaives, Ignis!- set them to boil...Luche flicked open the notes app on his phone, quickly recording the recipe, for future use. The chef’s food was never ever a disappointment. Luche had to subtly swallow back some drool as the scent of something scrumptious began to waft through the kitchens. Ignis carefully added diced chicken, dripping some of the fat into the bubbling pot, listening to Brusa chuckle about how noodles soaked up that flavor, making it heaven. “ A bit of salt, thyme, rosemary..and heres the secret, Ignis, mint. Just a squidge- the camphor in the leaves has been used for ever in cough medicine, chest rubs. Not too much, it is dangerous in large amounts, but just enough. The broth will break up the mucus of the throat, but the mint is what soothes the flesh after.” The head chef beamed, sprinkling a handful into the monster of a pot, stirring excitedly. Luche typed furiously, feeling his own stomach start to grumble- loud enough for Brusa to hear. “Sounds good, right, glaive?” The chef chuckled, glancing at the sheepish glaive. “Sounds good, smells amazing. Thank you so much, chef. My compliments.” “My, my. You haven’t even tasted it!” The chef blushed, still stirring. “I have to compliment it now, while I still have words, for I’m sure your stew will render me speechless.” Chef Brusa flushed deeper, staring into the pot, before slapping a lid on it. “Give it ten minuets to boil together, then pour it into one of the travel warmers over by the sinks. Ladles are above. I’m afraid we are low on disposable utensils and bowls, but there are still an abundance of paper cups left over from the prince’s birthday celebration.” Luche bowed low, thanking the chef, and turned to haul down a warmer, and Ignis scrambled to find the cups. Fifteen minuets later saw the glaive and adviser-to-be turning the corner to the glaive headquarters, leaden with food. Ignis worked hard to match Luche’s stride, fueled by the promise of all the pastry lessons he could want should he help ladle out soup for the glaive. Lunch was about here, and if they worked fast, they could warm up everyone all in one go, as they convened in the common room for break. Luche and Ignis worked in tandem, handing out cups to exhausted, sniffly glaives. Snacks were always the secret to a soldier’s heart. Libertus tried to be gruff, but at the first sip his eyes glowed, and he mumbled thanks around a mouthful of noodles. Nyx grinned, warming his hands on the cup, sipping slowly, savoring. His eyes slid closed, and he breathed gratitude for the shef. Crowe nibbled on a noodle, pestering him for the recipe, warmth filling her. Tredd took the soup without a word, happily chugging it, giving a thumbs up as he retreated into the common area. Sonitus smiled, seeming the only one still healthy, accepting his share with gratefulness. Only Pelna and the captain were not present, and Luche loped off to the offices. Pelna typed absently at his desk, clearly in a fog. Luche cocked his head, noting how glassy his eyes were, setting the cup gently in front of the glaive. Pelna seemed to notice the movement, and glanced blankly up. Luche frowned, ignoring personal space, feeling his forehead. “Guess I’m not doing so hot.” Pelna sighed, picking up the soup, testing the temperature. “You are doing very hot. That seems to be your problem.” Luche pulled back, concerned by the fever burning under the tanned skin. Pelna grumbled absently in response, chewing slowly. “Go home. Take care of yourself and don’t spread this around. There is more soup- eat this, then meet me in the hallway. Pack up and go home. I will tell Drautos. Rest.” Luche squeezed his shoulders, and smiled at the sheepish mumble of assent. With that out of the way, Luche turned to check on the captain. The captain was borderline incomprehensible, his scratchy voice now almost gone. Luche leveled a glare at Drautos, before setting the cup on his desk. “You sound like shit, captain. With all due respect, get out. Go home, and sleep this off.” Luche growled, not liking the stubborn set of Dratos’s eyes. “I don’t care. I just sent Pelna home for the same reason. Rest now and heal early, or suffer longer. Choose.” Drautos glared down into the soup, then slumped as he picked up the steaming cup, trying a few drops of broth. His broad shoulders loosened, and he took a larger draught, unable to hold back the hum of appreciation. Luche continued to glare, until the captain grated out some sort of submission, standing to gather his things. It would do no one good if he was out longer then he had to be, it would be more efficient to nip this in the bud. Luche waved as the captain and Pelna ambled out into the rain. Mission accomplished. The glaive found Ignis stammering, ladling second helpings to appreciative glaives. The kid looked like he was about to combust under the compliments on his cooking. Several looked better already, Libertus loudly bickering with Nyx on traditional stew ingredients, and Tredd adding his own experience into the mix. Luche smiled, sidling up to the young adviser, helping him dole out more liquid happiness. “You did really good, kid. If you ever need help, we take snacks as payment.” Luche whispered. Ignis nodded, promising himself to learn more recipes under his breath. Maybe the crownsguard could be bought into favors with snacks too. The marshall’s sweet tooth was legendary. Ignis grinned, and Luche watched with no small amusement. A young adviser, already being taught to bribe glaives. He was proud. A glance around had Luche affirming that everyone had been served, and poured a cup for himself, gesturing for Ignis to do the same. The soup was heaven, noodles thick, celery and carrots crunchy, chicken hearty...Luche hummed deep in his chest, drinking deeply. The soup warmed him from the inside, sating the hangry festering there, A look about confirmed the other glaives felt the same. Warm, sated, and peaceful. If, later in the week, Luche awoke to a sore throat and aching body, well. He had the perfect recipe for heaven in a pot.

#glaiveweek2020 #glaiveweek #kingsglaive #ffxv #fluff #sickfic #luche lazarus #ignis scientia #titus drautos #pelna khara #nyx ulric #libertus ostium #crowe altius #tredd furia #sonitus bellum

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pondernce · 5 years

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Behind Closed Doors

Hi!

So this is the first thing I’ve written in almost 5 years, and the first for Outlander. (be kind to me). I hope you like it, and much love to @julesbeauchamp for her support <3

Jamie and Claire meet again in less than ideal circumstances...

Chapter 1

He could feel her hands on him, soft, delicate fingers tracing the planes of his back. They danced over scar tissue--the groves hewn into his skin by force--healing the wounds for him. Her mouth dipped to caress his jaw, the feathery brush of lips chased by soft, humid breath. A kiss on his neck. His Adam’s Apple. The juncture where sternocleidomastoid met trapezius. For a moment he let his eyes close, lost in the sensation. She found his mouth then, her legs winding over his hips and guiding him, urging him on.

Immersed in her, the gentle sound of the crashing waves was lost to him. He pressed up onto his hands, wrenching his mouth away because he needed to see her, needed to find those eyes…

Jamie woke up.

His heart raced, his skin was damp with sweat and he was uncomfortable stiff in his pants. As he was every time he remembered. And he always woke before he could see her face again. Aye, he could call her to his mind’s eye and he’d drawn her a dozen dozen times, but nothing so vivid as those dreams. The sketches were never quite right, and he knew that if he could only see her face in those dreams, he’d be able to capture her likeness completely.

With a sigh bordering on a groan, Jamie sat up and glanced at his phone. Five in the morning wasn’t too early, he supposed. At least it gave him time for a workout before he headed to university. A chance to get the nerves out. For some, perhaps, university was an unnerving step into adulthood. Leaving home, moving into a new place, the excitement of newfound independence. But Jamie had already made his move. From Highland Scotland to the Middle East, with the RAF. He couldn’t look forward to seeing what lads and lasses barely out of their A-levels would make of “adulthood” when they had no real responsibilities yet. And what would they make of him?

The streets of London were hardly quiet at this hour, but they were remarkably empty, and that’s what Jamie needed. A place to clear his head- to get her out of his head- before hustling through the crowded halls of King’s College, London. He jogged through the streets of Southwark, dodging the odd dog walker or early commuter. His route to King’s wouldn’t be long, thankfully. His military salary afforded him a nice enough flat close to the school, just across the river. He shared it with another Scot, Rupert, whom he’d served with in Afghanistan. It was a small mercy that Rupert spent almost all his time at his lass’ flat. The bloke was cheerful, but a bit too much sometimes.

Rounding the corner, Jamie checked the time on his FitBit and pushed his pace up, aiming to finish out five kilometers before he made it home. It wouldn’t due to be late for his first course though, even if his schedule for the day of Legal Philosophy and Medical Ethics hardly seemed interesting.

---

Legal philosophy could have been interesting, if the professor hadn’t put half the class to sleep. Jamie wasn’t surprised though, given that the majority couldn’t have been more than 18. High off being in Uni and hardly interested in what the ancient man before them had to say about the foundations of Legalism. The two girls next to him hardly paid attention, too busy giggling. He recognized the blonde from orientation, and she clearly recognized him.

Throughout the lecture he took diligent notes, only to avoid the girl’s eyes. The former soldier nearly bolted when the course ended.

He had nearly two hours before his next course, and plans to meet that bloke from the Rugby team. He’d gone out before orientation, trying to find some way to get involved. Many veterans struggled in university to find community, and he hoped he wouldn’t be another statistic.

“Fraser!”

He turned, smiling over a few startled students to see John Grey speed walking towards him. He was young, but Jamie found he didn’t mind that energy, John seemed a good person.

Smiling, he bumped the shorter man gently on the shoulder. “Good to see ye, I hope yer class wasn’t as boring…”

“Haven’t had class yet, just came early to grab lunch with you. We have practice this afternoon, you know? You’re welcome to come.”

Jamie glanced at his phone and shook his head. “Medical Ethics,” he sighed, “can ye tell I’m keen?” he laughed and shook his head. He wanted to get a background in law before he tried to leap into counter terrorism, and how did medicine relate to that?

“Pity. I hope it’s interesting.”

“I doubt it.”

Jamie didn’t mean to be cynical about university. It was supposed to be an opportunity to make something of himself after his medical discharge. Only, he found it overwhelmingly uncomfortable. And pointless. When he’d been in the war, reviewing briefings and in charge of his men, everything had been urgent. Learning on the fly, under pressure, where attention meant life or death. Here, he had the feeling he’d never need to attend to do well. It was disheartening.

His mind drifted as they ate. His fingers itched for his sketchbook, idle in his book bag. Jamie has taken up the hobby in the barracks, well before he met his muse. But the last two Moleskins had been interspersed with pages devoted to her. It had been a year, he knew he needed to let go. But he couldn’t yet.

“Jamie,” John’s voice cut into his thoughts, jarring the plans for how he’d shade the moonlight dappled on her skin from his thoughts.

“Och, Sorry. What was it ye we’re saying?”

John pursed his lips with that good natured shake of the head Jamie had already come to realize was a habit. “We should get going to class, where’s your head, man?”

The scot blushed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck with a laugh. “Nothing, sorry. I didn’t sleep well, ye ken?” It wasn’t quite a lie, given he almost never slept well, or the medically recommended amount. With a small nod he grabbed their rubbish, scolding himself internally on the short walk to the bin.

Jamie knew better. He wanted to make something of himself that wasn’t available in the military, and that’s why he was here. He’d done the work, networked with other former soldiers already working for MI5 and in the government, learned what he needed to do if he wanted to work against domestic terrorism. But university should also be for himself, shouldn’t it? A change to live a bit of a normal life, to decompress after so much time at war. He knew he was lucky to even be back in the UK, let alone at a prestigious university. With a sigh and a quick shake of his head, he returned to John.

“I’ll be at practice after my class eh, make it up to you. Ye free for a pint after?” He grabbed his bag and fell into step alongside the shorter man, making a mental note of their plans as John went off about something on the news that morning. His brother was running for Parliament and the whole family had been in politics for centuries. Perhaps someday Jamie would be able to take advantage of such a connection, but presently he just needed the company.

They parted ways at one of the newer campus buildings, all shiny glass and stone. London was like that--an eclectic mix of modern and tradition that had Jamie missing Scotland more than foreign shores ever had. He’d not been home in years, and never truly wanted to go back. At least not yet.

“Excuse me,” he shoulder his way through a gaggle of students in the corridor, looking for the correct room. “104, 106… Christ.” 108 had to be the smallest room in the building, if not on the bloody campus. He’d failed to realize that the modern building connected to one of the oldest buildings, where the rooms became cramped cubicles of stone with sharply pointed windows, more reminiscent of a church than a university. The floor was old oak pitted and polished by centuries of steps, and Jamie could almost trace the path to one of the few available seats left. He was a large bloke--a fact which became abundantly clear as he settled behind the old fashioned desk. His knees knocked against the tabletop when he tried to sit up, forcing him to fold them awkwardly over the side. “Bit cramped, aye?” He joked quietly, meeting the eyes of a petite girl watching him. She flushed violently and nodded, stuttering over her reply.

“It-It’s a small course,” she shrugged finally, milky eyes darting back to her phone.

Jamie hummed, his own phone lost in the bottom of his bag after he got off the tube. After the military he apparently lacked the addiction to smartphones present in the rest of his generation. Or perhaps he was just old. Stretching his legs, he inadvertently cracked his back and sighed in relief, twisting to traction the other side just as another student walked in.

He froze, tracking her steps as she came into the small room. Slightly flustered, curls escaping her high bun and dragging over the material of her lightweight olive jumper, and her arms full of files and textbooks, she was unmistakably the same woman. His muse. Jamie traced every line of her, the smooth curves he knew with his hands and his pencil. He watched the long arc of her graceful neck, so pale and flawless against her dark hair. He couldn’t see her eyes, not yet, and the desire to almost had him squirming in his seat. So distracted was he that he failed to notice she hadn’t taken one of the available seats.

His muse had set down her books at the front of the room, shrugged off her camel overcoat and tossed it carelessly over the podium, carved her name into the ancient chalkboard in neat print, and now stood before them all, introducing the course.

His muse was a professor. His muse was his professor.

The name that had been absent from his syllabus and his memories stared mockingly back at him, stark white on deep green. Dr. Claire Beauchamp.

#my fic #behind closed doors #jamie & claire #prof/student au #if you catch a typo let me know!!#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fic

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hookedonapirate · 7 years

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Brave Little Lad (Chapter 25/?)

Summary: Fear for her unborn child, a bruised and broken Emma Swan is determined to escape an abusive marriage. After she drives a long way from home to a small town in Maine, she doesn’t think her life could get more complicated… that is until she ends up falling for her OBGYN, a blue-eyed British man who’s shielded his heart from love long ago. But he may be just what she needs to begin her healing process and start a new life for her child. If only nothing gets in the way.

Notes: I’m so sorry for the delay. As most of you know I have 2 other stories going but I try to update as soon as I can. Thank you all for your patience. This chapter isn’t beta’d so I apologize for the errors. Also, in order to make this charter work and move at a steady pace, I had to alternate between Emma’s and Killian’s POV. Hope you enjoy!

I owe a huge thanks to @rouhn for her suggestions and constant support. Thanks sweetheart!

*TRIGGER WARNING* Mentions and depictions of physical and verbal abuse/domestic violence

Rated: M

Catch Up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Deleted Scenes: 1 2

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

“That’s a relief. I’m so glad to hear that Emma’s alright,” Liam admitted through the phone with a deep sigh. “Cordelia and I can’t take our eyes off the three of you in that photo you sent me. The little lad is adorable and looks just like his mum,” he said with a soft chuckle. “And we can tell you and Emma are so happy together even after everything the lass has been through. She’s a tough one and I have a lot of respect for her. I think you made the right choice. I think you both deserve to be together.”

Killian scoffed playfully, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “You mean you’re not going to tell me you told me so?”

“No, I imagine you’ve suffered enough so I won’t boast my success and rub it in your face.”

“Well, this is a first,” Killian teased with a laugh.

“Seriously though, I’m genuinely happy for my brother.”

“Thank you, Liam. I appreciate that.”

“No problem.”

“Okay, I have to go now and get back to Emma and the baby. I’ll see you soon.”

“Aye, we’ll be seeing you soon.”

Killian ended the call and pulled up the photo that he had sent Liam as he made his way through the halls of the hospital. Before his phone call with Liam, he’d changed out of his scrubs and took a quick shower. The first time he tried to call Liam was after the Nolans arrived at Emma’s room and he’d left to send his brother the photo before dialing his number, but Liam didn’t answer. So, when Killian told Emma he would get her some food, he took the opportunity to change out of his scrubs that he’d worn all night and took a much needed shower before making another attempt to reach his brother.

Killian admired the picture with a smile, seeing how happy the three of them were. They really did make quite the cute little family, as Ruby put it.

Slipping his phone into the pocket of his jeans, Killian had his backpack strapped to his shoulder as he walked out into the parking garage. David had informed him of the car’s whereabouts but Killian had to search a bit before spotting it on the third level. He still had a smile on his face from his conversation with Liam and from the fact that Killian would soon be able to take Emma and the wee lad home. She had progressed nicely after returning from the OR, although she was still be in pain but his love was a tough lass like Liam had mentioned.

Killian pulled out his key, pressing the button on the car remote to open the trunk. He went around the vehicle and lifted the trunk door open, throwing his bag inside. He lifted his hand to shut it, but before he could, he fell a hard, painful blunt to the back of his head and he fell forward as everything went black.

~~~

The hospital room was dark. Emma could hear the thunder rolling outside, the lightening crashing and the rain pounding against the window. It had been several hours since Killian had been gone and she had been drifting in and out throughout the night, too sick with worry to sleep. David had went to look for the car in the parking lot where he’d left it, but it was gone. The Nolan couple even checked his place to see if he went home, but Killian was nowhere to be found. Emma refused to believe that Killian abandoned her but the longer he was away the more she felt doubts bubbling up inside, plaguing and taunting her.

Ian was in his crib as Emma heard his soft cries. Her heart ached and she started to get up so she could hold and comfort her son. When Emma moved her hands, confusion fell over her features and she started to panic as she tugged at the cuffs around her wrists that kept her bound to the bed. “What the hell?” Her body jerked and twisted as she continued yanking at the rubber cuffs around her wrists. ”Someone help me. I’m tied to the bed! My baby needs me!” she yelled out.

Then the door opened and she sighed in relief and glanced in the direction of the person emerging from the dimly lit hallway. “Thank goodness… why are my hands tied? I need to hold my baby.” The room was pitch black but some of the light spilled into the darkness and she could make out the face of the person entering.

Her eyes blew wide in fear. “No…” she uttered, struggling against the cuffs again, crying out louder. “Somebody help me! My baby’s in danger!”

“Shhh shhh shhh. Everything will be alright babe.” His tone was dark and menacing as he approached her bed. “You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll make everything better.”

Emma’s body was stiff, ice running through her veins as Neal lifted his hand to her cheek, brushing his thumb across her skin. She got chills, goosebumps crawling all over hier skin as he touched her. “Please don't…” she managed, her words strangled and broken through her tears. “Don’t hurt my son.”

Neal’s face lit up with a crooked smile. “Oh, I have no intention of hurting our son…” He grabbed the pillow from underneath her head and pulled it out, causing the back of her head to drop back into the bed. She didn’t even know how he was there; how he broke out of jail and snuck back into the hospital.

Neal leaned in, his breath hovering over her ear and she shivered as he spoke in a deep whisper. “…only you.” Emma started sobbing and screaming out as Neal lifted the pillow and pressed it into her face. She fought against it as best as she could as she heard her baby’s cries becoming louder.

Emma tried to yell out, her pleas muffled through the pillow as his grip became more firm, the air escaping her lungs. She tried to gasp for air but all oxygen was closed off as he held the pillow, forcing it tighter and tighter around her face. She didn’t give up, her body squirming and fighting for dear life until she could no longer hold on and her body stopped moving, the oxygen in her lungs completely gone.

Emma sat up suddenly, gasping for air, her hands gripping onto the sheets. Her face was as pale as a ghost, beads of sweat forming at her forehead as she searched around the room. She was still panting, feeling the need to catch her breath, even though she had only been sleeping.

It was just a nightmare. But it felt so real.

Emma looked over into the crib where her baby had fallen asleep the last time she remembered.

Her eyes went wide and as much as she had no strength within her, she managed to get out of the bed. She anxiously reached into the crib, frantically moving the blankets around but to her complete and utter horror, her newborn baby was not there.

“Ian?!” She called out her son’s name, fear rippling through her blood. “Ian!” She started sobbing as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Emma? What’s wrong?”

Emma was wiping away her tears when she turned around to see Mary Margaret entering the room.

“Emma?!” Her friend’s face was awash with concern as she approached.

“My baby… do you know what happened to him? Did the nurse take him?” Emma asked, her tone strangled and high-pitched.

“I don’t think so. He was just in a few minutes ago when I left to get some coffee.”

“Could you please check? Can you ask them what happened to my baby?” Emma was trying to keep herself together but it was very difficult.

“Yes, of course, Emma.” Mary Margaret left the room to find to find a nurse. She came back a moment later, her face as pale as a sheet. “The baby’s supposed to be with you.”

~~~

Killian slowly opened his eyes, but everything was still pitch black. He didn’t know where he was or how much time had passed. The room was dark, he couldn’t see anything at first. His head was throbbing, he felt like he’d been hit by a brick, his neck could barely hold his head up. He tried to move his hands but both of them were bound by rope. He pulled at the restraints on his wrists and let out a groan. He didn’t know who captured him but he had a feeling he knew who was behind this.

When his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he realized he was surrounded by cement walls of what he assumed was a basement. There were old shelves with cobwebs and a staircase on the other side of the room that led to a door. He tried to move again but as he did, he heard the faint sounds of crying. His ears perked up and he listened intently. The wails became closer and they were definitely those of a baby.

“Emma…” he whispered, hoping she wasn’t in danger, hoping the baby wasn’t in danger.

The door opened and a man appeared but Killian couldn’t discern who he was. He was a medium build, wearing a mask and carrying a bassinet. And Emma’s son was crying his tiny little heart out from inside of it. Killian summoned all of the energy within him and stood, his body jerking and struggling against the ropes tied around his wrists. “Don’t you dare hurt him! I will kill you!”

The man was silent as he laid the bassinet down on the floor. Killian continued to scream after the man as he proceeded up the stairs. “What have you done with Emma?! Answer me goddamn it!” The man continued to the door and disappeared behind it.

Killian’s eyes fell to the infant in the bassinet, seeing that in fact it was Emma’s son.

“Bloody hell…” he murmured, his heart tearing apart in his chest. Did Emma know he was missing. Was she okay? Was she hurt?” A million questions raced through his mind, thinking of all of the worst-case scenarios. Emma must be worried to death. It broke Killian’s heart to know that she was beside herself, scared and afraid that something had happened to the little lad.

Killian started wriggling one of his hands against the rope, realizing it wasn’t as tight as he thought it was. The baby’s wails grew louder, encouraging Killian even more to free his hands, but to his surprise it wasn’t that difficult. He pulled out one hand and then loosened the other, letting the ropes fall against the wall. He quickly went over to the infant and carefully picked him up from the bassinet.

“Hey… it’s okay little lad..” Killian whispered softly to the baby in his arms. “Killian’s here and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He placed a delicate kiss to his forehead and cradled him in his arms with gentle sways to calm him. He didn’t know why Neal or one of his goons would kidnap Emma’s son and then bring him to Killian and not even bother to secure the ropes very tightly.

He cautiously walked up the stairs, and tried to open the door, but it was locked from the outside. He wondered if he could bust down the door, it looked really old and frail, but he had a feeling this was some sort of trap. Why would his captor make it so easy for him to escape and why would he kidnap a baby and put him right in front of Killian and let him leave with the baby?

He swallowed thickly. People would find out Killian was missing and nowhere to found when they realize the baby had been kidnapped from the hospital. This was a setup. Killian didn’t know Neal very well but anyone who was capable of hitting his wife was capable of anything. The fucking bastard’s plan was obvious. Neal was trying make it look like Killian kidnapped Emma’s son.

~~~

“Don’t worry, Emma. We’re going to find them.”

If Emma could curl herself up into ball right now she would. Instead she was laying in the hospital bed on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her cheeks were covered in tears, her eyes wet and swollen.

Both her boyfriend and her son were missing.

No one saw anyone come into the room early that morning, but one of the nurses mentioned that there were only a few visitors in the hospital who had stayed overnight, including Mary Margaret.

The worst part about this, other than the fact that Killian and Ian were missing, was that Neal was in jail, so Emma wouldn’t be able to point fingers at him, even if she knew this was all his doing. Him and Gold. She was beginning to think Neal had set himself up to go to jail so he couldn’t be blamed.

“Emma…” David called out, sounding out of breath. “We came as quickly as we could.”

Emma tore her gaze from the ceiling to see James rushing into the room behind David. “Make him go away,” she said quietly, looking away again.

“Emma, James didn’t have anything to do with this. He was with me the whole time,” David assured her.

“But what about giving away my whereabouts?” she cried out. Emma started to get up and Mary Margaret took her hand to help her sit up on the bed.

James approached her with genuine concern in his features. “Em, I know you think that I was responsible for Neal finding you, but regardless, I’m going to help David find your baby and Killian.”

She eyed the Nolan brothers in surprise and shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

James flashed her a small smirk. “See, you know that I had nothing to do with any of this.”

“No, I don’t know that… but I still care about you, you asshole!” She started sobbing again and Mary Margaret wrapped Emma up in her arms, rocking her softly.

Kneeling in front of her, James took her hand in both of his. “Em… you can hate my guts all you want, but I’m still going to find your son. And we’re not going to come back until he’s in David’s arms, you hear me?”

Tears were spilling down her cheek as she managed a nod. “Please find my baby.”

“You got it.” He stood up and pressed a kiss to her forehead, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Just be careful,” Mary Margaret told them, standing up and drawing David into a hug. “We will, I promise.” He sealed his reassurance with a sweet kiss to her lips before he and James left the room.

Mary Margaret stayed with Emma as she laid back down in the bed, telling the brunette that she didn’t want anyone in her room unless it was Killian or David and James with her baby. Until then, she waited, her whole body completely numb and consumed with worry.

~~~

Killian had managed to settle the little lad down, cradling him in his arms when he could hear movement from upstairs. He heard the door slam shut and he could make out a couple of male voices. He quickly held Emma’s son protectively against his chest. He knew he should’ve put him back in the bassinette and secured his hands with the ropes in case it were the Sheriff and Deputy but he’d rather go to jail for kidnapping than let anything happen to Emma’s son.

“Killian!”

He felt a swarm of relief when he heard his name being called. “Down in the basement!” Killian yelled back.

The door flew open and James and David came running down the stairs.

“Thank god,” They both expelled heavy breaths when they saw that the baby was safely in Killian’s arms. “We didn’t think the baby was here when we saw that the house was empty and I really didn’t want to go back to Emma empty handed,” David said, his eyes circling around the room. “Do you know how you got down here?” he asked Killian.

“I was hit in the back of the head when I went to my car. When I woke up, I was here. I only saw someone when they brought him down here,” Killian explained, referring to Emma’s son as he stroked the baby’s cheek.

“Why would Neal and Gold kidnap the baby and keep him in the basement with you?” David asked in confusion.

James walked over to the ropes, picking them up and observing them. “My guess is they set Killian up to make to it look like he did it. I mean Neal’s in jail, so he won’t be suspected.”

Killian lifted a brow in shock. “He is?” He should’ve been happy, but jail time was far too clement of a punishment for Neal. Even death wouldn’t be cruel enough for the evil bastard.

“Come on. Let’s just get out of here before anyone shows up, so Emma can know her son is safe. I’ll tell you about it in the car.”

They went upstairs, looking around to see that the house was mostly empty. The rooms were sparse with only a few pieces of furniture and it looked like it had been abandoned. It didn’t look like place someone like Neal used to hide out in for weeks.

The three of them walked out onto the porch and started heading towards David’s truck before Killian stopped in his tracks and turned around.

“Killian? What is it?” James asked as he and David turned around, eying Killian with inquiring looks.

“I have to check something.” The lad was stirring in Killian’s arms as he cautiously walked over to the garage and entered through the side door. The last thing he remembered before he’d been knocked out, was opening the trunk of his car. If his captor was actually planning a fake kidnapping, he would’ve made sure Killian’s vehicle was at the scene. To his suspicion, his car was right there sitting in the garage all by itself. Killian started to become angry.

Those bloody bastards were going to pay.

~~~

“Emma, we just received a call from someone who says they know the whereabouts of your son.”

Emma sat up as quickly as she could, her eyes wide with hope. Her son had only been missing for a couple of hours, but they were the worst hours of her life. “Where? Is he okay?”

August told her that they had an address and one of the neighbors reported hearing a crying baby at an abandoned farmhouse.

As he and Graham left, Emma knew that David and James had already succeeded in their search. She knew it was the same house that James and Killian had come across when they had followed Gold there. Emma was confident that they would be back at any moment.

Sure enough, the door opened a few moments later and Killian emerged, holding Ian in his arms, the Nolan brothers following behind him. Emma had never been more relieved in her life. “My babies!”

She stood up and threw her arms around both of them. “Oh my God, I was so worried,” Emma murmured, kissing her son’s forehead and then Killian’s lips. “I love you both so much…” Emma scooped up Ian in her arms, tears stinging her eyes as Killian wrapped both of them up in his embrace.

He explained what happened and how he was knocked out and taken to the farmhouse. Between Killian and the Nolan brothers, they were able to fill her in on everything.

Emma was absolutely appalled. Not that she would ever press charges against Killian, but the fact that Neal and Gold set this whole thing up to get Killian in trouble infuriated her.

“I’m so sorry that he was taken away from you, love, and that I couldn’t be here.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re both here now and you’re safe.” Emma felt warm and secure in Killian’s arms as she held her baby close, dropping gentle kisses to his delicate head.

“I’m also sorry that we followed Gold without telling you. It was my idea to find Neal in the first place. James was just happy to help.”

Emma looked up at him in surprise.

“James told me everything in the car. He told me that Neal showed up and tried to take you and the baby away. He also told me that he accused James of selling you out.”

Emma looked over at James as he held a pained expression. “Do you think he really did it?” Emma asked her boyfriend.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, love. You’re the one with the superpower.”

Emma sighed as Killian loosened his arms and released her from his hold. She looked James in the eye, scrutinizing his facial features. “I want to. I mean you helped find Killian and my son and if you hadn’t found out about the farmhouse, the deputy and Sheriff would have found them first and it would’ve looked like he kidnapped my baby. So I suppose I should thank you,” Emma murmured, flashing him a weak smile.

“It’s no problem, Emma. I didn’t do it for your forgiveness, I did it for you and your son.”

“What about me?” Killian teased in mock offense. “I was hit over the bloody head and thrown in my own trunk.”

James chuckled. “You’re right, I was hoping to find you as well. We do make a good team,” he said with a wink and then reverted his gaze to Emma. “So does this mean you believe me?”

“If you say you didn’t do it, then I believe you.” She transferred her baby to Killian’s arms and went over to James, pulling him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, tightening his hold as she sighed against him. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I just… I was upset that you kept things from me and I was still in shock from Neal showing up.”

“It’s okay,” James assured her.

Emma pulled away from him, continuing to explain. “Plus, when you kissed me I was taken off guard and then I thought maybe it was a kiss of betrayal or an apology kiss or-”

“Hold on a bloody minute… you kissed my Swan?” Killian asked angrily. Emma turned around to see him gritting his teeth.

James held his hands up in defense. “Killian, it was just a quick peck on the lips. I was just glad that she was okay after giving us all a scare. That’s all it was. I care for Emma, too.”

Emma could see the tick in Killian’s jaw and she was certain that if Killian weren’t holding the baby, he’d be balling up his fists, ready to punch James in the face. “Killian, it’s okay. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Relax mate, I’m not trying to steal Emma. I have my own girlfriend, remember?” James sighed, offended. “Emma, I’m glad the little duckling’s alright, but between yesterday and today, I think I’ve had enough accusations thrown at me. I think I’m going to say goodbye to Rose and take off.”

“James, I’m sorry,” Emma murmured.

“We’re going to take off too,” Mary Margaret told her. “Do you need anything before we go?”

“No, but thank you so much for everything.”

“It’s not a problem,” David assured as Emma engaged them both into a warm hug. “We’re just glad the baby’s alright.”

“Me too.”

After the Nolan’s left the room, Emma put her arms around both of her boys and she peered up to see Killian looking at her, his eyes full of apology. “I’m sorry I overreacted, love. It’s been a rough couple of days,” he whispered, kissing her softly on the the forehead.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay,” she murmured, lifting her hand to caress his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetness. Both of you.”

Emma captured his lips, pulling him in for a soft kiss. She didn’t know what she would have done if she lost either one of them. They breathed each other in as though they needed each other for air, indulging in each other’s warm embrace as they held Ian securely between them. Slowly breaking the kiss, Emma gently pressed her forehead against Killian’s, her voice broken and wrecked. “I was so worried about both of you,” she whispered, lifting her hand to stroke her son’s hair. They still had Gold and Neal to worry about, but knowing that she had both of her boys in her arms was enough to keep her positive and hopeful.

~~~

Before Emma was discharged from the hospital, Dr. Tink dropped by to check on her, delivering the “nothing in the vagina for six weeks” spiel. Emma had to admit that although she loved Killian and there was no denying that he was a very attractive man and she was insanely addicted to him, sex was the last thing on her mind right now, considering all of the circumstances. After pushing a human being out of her vagina, the idea of having sex at all seemed very daunting.

Emma was dressed and wearing her jacket, holding Ian who was sound asleep in her arms as Killian pushed her out of the hospital in a wheelchair. The little lad was wearing a blue onesie and cap on his head, wrapped up in a blanket that Cordelia had knitted for him. The winter air was bitterly cold and the sidewalks were slick, soft snowflakes falling and gently covering the ground. There was a heavy snowstorm forecasted for Storybrooke, in fact Liam had called Killian to tell him the flights were delayed and he wouldn’t be home until the next day, depending on when the weather cleared up.

Killian put the breaks on the wheelchair and scooped Ian up in his arms, securing him in his car seat. He helped Emma into the car and drove as safely as possible to get them home.

~~~

That night, the three of them laid in bed, the newborn laying on Emma’s chest as Killian held them in his arms. Finally, they were home and were able to snuggle in the comfort of their own bed. Killian couldn’t possibly think of another moment that he’d been happier than in that moment. He had his love in his arms and her son, who seemed to also be as happy as a clam. His mum had just fed him and he had a great big smile on his face as he looked over at Killian with his big blue eyes. Killian chuckled, taking the wee lad’s tiny hand in his and pressing a few gentle kisses to his fingers. “Such a happy little lad and such a trooper. He’s not even a week old and he’s been through a lot already.”

“He sure is a brave one. Hopefully he won’t have to go through anything like that again,” Emma said and at the same time, she looked very thoughtful.

“You alright, love?”

She nodded, offering a soft smile. “Yeah, I just… I picked out a name for the little guy.”

Killian arched a brow, intrigued. “Let’s hear it, love.”

Emma’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears as she looked up at Killian. “I wanted to name him after someone who means a lot to me. Someone who’s made a difference in my life. Who will make a difference in our life,” she explained, peering down at her son and dropping a kiss to his head. Her eyes darted back to Killian’s as her infectious smile only widened. “I named him Ian. After you. Ian Swan.”

Killian’s heart exploded in his chest, a broad grin taking over his lips. He was completely touched that Emma named her son after him. “You named him Ian?” he asked, still in shock.

She laughed. “Yes. You will be a father figure to him. And he deserves to be named after an amazing man in my life. Who better than you?”

“Emma…” he breathed out. He still couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe she name her bundle of joy after him, he couldn’t believe she referred to him as his father figure. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Emma’s eyes flickered to his and he lost a breath. Leaning in gently, he pressed his lips to hers and tightened his hold around Emma and Ian, his heart fluttering and his skin on fire as he drew her into a toe-curling kiss. It was hard to believe that a year ago he was lonely and miserable and consumed in his work. He’d been good at masking his pain, but now… now there was no pain left to mask. And if he had any control over it, the same would be true for Emma and Ian. He would do anything to take away all of their pain and he’d do it a million times over again.

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#cs ff #cs ff au #cs #captain swn #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fic #tangled up in blue

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