justine / ouat fanatic / ships snowing and captain swan / sometimes i write about them / and it's the greatest joy when people like what i come up with
personal blog: http://destinypanics.tumblr.com/
writer of
~Fingers Crossed [Snowing]
~ Mothers of Daughters, Daughters of Mothers [Regina, Snow, Emma]
~ In the Eyes of the Daughter [Emma-centric, Snowing, Charming Family]
~ Always (Hearts and Souls) [Snowing]
~ I don't have a choice (I still choose you) [Snowing, Charming Family, Captain Swan]
~ Lightning in a Bottle [Charming Family, Emma-centric]
~ On and On [Snowing]
~ The Here and Now [Captain Swan]
~ Blessings of the Sun [Captain Swan]
~ Starlight [Captain Swan]
~ The Prince and the Pregnancy [Snowing]
~ i forget where we were [Captain Cobra] and ~ Freedom Love [Snowing]
At the end of another day, another shift, she looks down at her husband, lost to his cursed slumber, and she feels the weariness right down to her soul.
She hadn’t known she could feel so tired, so… she doesn’t want to think ‘defeated’, but Gods…
It’s time for her to kiss him awake, to take his place, his turn in their shared-but-not life, and she just doesn’t want to.
He’s just as worn out to the very heart of him, she knows. Just as done. He needs her every bit as much as she needs him, maybe even more.
The Evil Queen could not have cursed them better if she tried.
It’s been weeks. Months, perhaps? She’s lost track, time losing its meaning when you’re just trying to get through, when half your life - more, even, as Charming has taken more than his share of the time trying to protect her from the horrors of being awake - has been taken out of your control, stolen from your grip.
She doesn’t particularly care to count anyway.
They’re no closer to finding a solution, a cure; the closest they’ve come to anything resembling help at all was Regina’s finding a way to alter the curse so that they were no longer trapped in the fiery netherworld while taking their turn asleep. Rather, at least, at very least now their time lost is to their own dreams, be they what they may.
Nightmares often still, given the way they suffer while awake, but at least not trapped in a literally burning hell.
The emotional agony of being without each other is bad enough. Adding in physical pain - especially his - was more than she could bear.
And looking at Charming now, his face seems more relaxed in sleep than she’s seen it in some time. Perhaps his dreams tonight are good, calm. She hopes so.
She desperately wishes to join him in that peace.
And it suddenly occurs to her that she can, perhaps. There’s no rule that says they have to switch off when it’s time to… and certainly, if there was Charming had already quite spectacularly blown that to bits a few weeks back, when he’d kept himself going for over forty-eight hours straight on willpower and fury and protectiveness of her alone.
There’s no emergency that needs one of their attentions right this minute. The baby is sleeping sound. Emma has given herself a ‘timeout’ night that quite clearly was meant for her and Killian alone, no disturbances wanted.
She can… she can do this.
Just crawl into bed beside her husband, pull his arm around her body, curl up with her head on his chest, in just the right place to hear his heartbeat steady and true and matching up with hers.
She cannot be awake with him. But she can be asleep.
After all this time, it’s finally occurred to her that she can at least have that, still, despite everything.
She can let herself fall asleep without taking on the curse to do it.
Cuddled up against Charming in a way she hasn’t been in so long, too long, she feels her eyes almost immediately fall heavy.
And with her eyes closed, drifting off to dream, she could almost believe that everything was normal, and all was well.
It’s always a funny thing, to know when you’re dreaming as you’re dreaming it.
She’s home in the way that she hasn’t been in a lifetime, wandering the woods of the Enchanted Forest, finding them completely untouched by time or magic. They are, in every way, the forests she remembers of her youth.
In this dream, the curse has not happened. What a thing.
The curse had left such a mark on her soul, she’s never before dreamt of the lands she was meant to rule unravaged by it. They’d been destroyed in her imaginings ever since.
But now, she finds them strong and pure and as utterly magical as she remembers them.
She walks them in a gown of white silk and feathers that she remembers from another time, awakened from another sleeping curse; her hair flowing down her back in a cascade of long midnight curls.
She is every bit the princess just out of the coffin of glass.
And as she clears the tree line to come to the lake, she somehow, impossibly, finds the prince.
She’s frozen, entirely frozen.
He’s there. Just there, right in front of her. Sitting, his back to her, looking out at the lake.
They got engaged here, she thinks inanely. Just right here.
And now they’re there. Just right there.
It’s a dream, she thinks, telling herself it desperately. It’s just a dream. And she should walk away now, so as to make it hurt less.
But she hasn’t seen him, hasn’t been with him in so long. She cannot walk away. Not from him. She’s never been able to, not really - not unless it was to save his life.
And there’s no life saving needed here.
It’s not real, she thinks, even as she finally feels herself start moving forward.
But then again, she thinks, when it comes to her and Charming, stranger things have most definitely happened.
Of course this is all in her head… but that doesn’t mean it’s not in his too.
“Charming,” she whispers, when she gets close enough for him to hear.
He stiffens. He does not move, does not turn, but she’s spent forever studying him, and she knows he’s heard, knows he’s holding himself tenser than he was before.
He seems frozen still. She knows the feeling.
He starts shaking his head. “Not real,” she hears him mutter.
She’s thrown herself in front of him, down on her knees, hands strong on his face before she can even register moving.
“I am,” she cries. “Charming, I’m right here, I’m with you, it’s me.”
“That’s not possible,” he breathes, even as he stares at her almost hungrily, as if trying to take every bit of her in, her face, her eyes (her open, awake eyes).
(Again, she knows the feeling).
“This is not possible,” he repeats. “I know I’m dreaming, and I never dream of you anymore. The curse won’t let us have even that.”
She wants to laugh, wants to cry, seems to be doing both and neither.
“It can when we find the loophole,” she tells him. “I can’t believe we went this long without trying it…”
“Trying what?” he demands.
“I fell asleep,” she laughs, thrilled with a delight she hasn’t felt in far too long. “And I didn’t wake you up. I didn’t want to. I wanted to sleep with you again, so I just crawled into bed with you without waking you first. We’re both dreaming right now. That’s why we can be with each other like this.”
The grin has worked its way onto his face slow and sure, and she knows he believes in this now.
“Love true enough to pop you into my dreams?” he teases.
“We share a heart,” she reminds. “Stranger things, and all.”
“Thank Gods for it,” he says, serious now, wiping at her tears.
Her smile falls. “It’s gotten us cursed.”
“I don’t give a damn about the curse. We’ll find a way out, we always do. Especially now that we know we can do this, we know there’s a way for us to talk and see and be with each other. Never regret it, Snow. Never regret our heart. It’s kept me alive, kept me with you, and it’ll keep us together forever, even through the worst.”
“I love you so much,” she tells him, desperate with it. She feels like she could explode out of her own skin, loving him so much, needing him so badly, and she throws herself into his lap, legs wrapping around his waist. He catches her with ease, in rhythm with her immediately, as always, and his hands are tight and strong at her back, gripping and holding her tight, and Gods, Gods, Gods she wants him, and she finally, finally lets herself kiss him and…
Light explodes.
Her eyes fly open, and she sits straight up, suddenly wide awake.
And her tears are immediate and fierce.
“No,” she sobs. “No, no, no, go back to sleep, go back to sleep…”
“Snow.”
She freezes.
The arms around her are tight and sure, and given the hands rubbing soothing circles on her back, belonging to a man very much awake.
Charming is awake.
And so is she.
The laughter is startled right out of her, a fiercely abrupt switch from the tears, and he is quick to join her in it. It’s desperate and more than a little hysterical, and theirs, theirs, theirs.
“Oh my Gods,” she gasps. “Charming…”
Whatever she was going to say, it’s lost to his kiss.
So hey, in writing Golden Waters so far, I’ve been finding that I’m needing actual images for the pictures in my head. Which means my readers get actual visuals, at least for Emma’s Sports Illustrated cover, as described in the just posted first chapter.
So here you go, then. Clockwise from top left, the elements of Emma’s SI Cover Photo:
Emma’s pose
Emma’s dress
Emma’s facial expression
Emma’s hair and makeup
I actually had so much fun finding these, so if there’s other parts of the story that I think will be aided by showing you all what I’m picturing in my head as I write, well more visual aids for you then. And hey, be sure to let me know if anything comes up in the story that you want to see what I’m picturing.
She’s America’s Sweetheart, the ‘royally inbred’ gymnastics star who’d spent her whole life dreaming of winning Olympic gold just as her parents both had. He’s the British bad boy who’d only turned to tennis as an escape from his painful past, and somehow found himself named to the Olympic team anyway. Suffice to say, they’d never seen each other coming. But you know what they say: What happens at the Olympic Games… changes your whole life?
*****
Emma Nolan had officially never known she could look quite like that.
She’d stared for an awfully long time, trying to find something that looked off, looked wrong, but no. They’d abided by her one condition: absolutely no Photoshopping or editing of her image.
(Gymnastics pretty much required an unrealistic body type as it was. She wasn’t going to be responsible for promoting a gymnastics body that had been heavily computer enhanced.)
No, this was definitely all her.
Looking almost inhumanly beautiful, a Siren calling. She looked strong and gifted, ready to take on the world, ready to take flight.
The Olympic ideal, caught in mid motion of one of the moves she’d become famous for, one of the moves that the whole world expected to make her into a champion. Granted, a personal hair and makeup team made a world of difference - no wonder all the movie stars always looked so incredible at premieres and awards shows - and the stylist that had presented her with no less than the most stunning dress she’d ever laid eyes on, that helped too. Add in one of the most gifted sports photographers in the business, and she’d had a hell of a team to work with.
Still, it was all her. Her body, stretched and flexed, as far and pointed as possible within the limits of human capability. Her face, caught fierce in her focus.
She made one hell of a picture.
Which was good, cause God only knew how many thousands - millions? - of people were going to see it.
She was on the freaking cover of Sports Illustrated.
The Olympics Preview issue, to be precise.
It was a hell of an honour, one she hadn’t been sure she deserved but had ultimately decided she couldn’t decline - who turned down SI? Not her. Not when they were essentially announcing to the world that they thought she was the closest thing to a sure thing that the American team was going to have in Rio. She may be a first time Olympian - the nature of her sport and its short competitive window - but Sports Illustrated was betting on her. They expected her to medal. They expected her to win.
It was a hell of a lot of pressure, but she’d been preparing for that her whole life. She wanted it, wanted the expectations, wanted the goal.
Had wanted Olympic gold from the moment she’d known it was a thing.
And she’d known earlier than most kids, her parents both Olympic champions themselves from back at the Barcelona 1992 games. She’d spent much of her childhood carefully - always so carefully - trying on Mom’s archery medal, and Dad’s fencing gold. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, and imagining, imagining.
She’d eagerly tried countless sports, anything but her parents’, pretty much. As much as she’d always known she wanted to be an Olympic champion, so too had she always known she wanted to forge her own path to the gold. The daughter of two Olympic champions, if she made it to the Games herself that was always going to be a huge part of her story. Obviously so, because it was all kinds of awesome. She accepted it, even agreed with it, excited for the chance to further her family’s legacy, but she’d never wanted to take it too far by competing in the same sport as one of them. Following in her parents’ footsteps was one thing, but she’d always wanted to make her own tracks.
Gymnastics had just took.
She’d adored tumbling and flipping around even when she was really young, and as she’d grown older, so too had her love of the sport grown with her increased understanding of it. Gymnastics offered her, as few sports could, the opportunity to combine athletics with artistry. The obvious importance of the aesthetic, of beauty, of the details in every extension, curve, and line of her body… she’d loved it. Loved the creativity involved in designing her routines. Loved telling stories and painting pictures with her body alone, working in time with the apparatuses.
Loved being able to both dance and fly everyday of her life.
She’d been in her early teens when one of her coaches had really recognized how much joy she took in the artistry of the sport, and thus encouraged her to invest her free time in exploring different forms of dance and what they could add to her gymnastics.
Ballet had been a revelation.
And it had made her truly great.
She was far from the first or the only gymnast to ever use ballet to advance her gymnastics, but she might well be the best. It just worked for her, really, really worked; clicking with her in that magical way that all athletes dream they’ll have something click. And in an era where so many gymnasts - so many of her competitors - were all about the power, all about increasing the degree of difficulty, fighting for every tenth of a point they could add there… Emma Nolan had an artistry that they could not match. Her DODs had grown astronomically over the years as she’d learned new skills and bigger moves, but so too had her execution scores. She was constantly seeking absolute perfection in even the tiniest details, not just a big base value. And in striving for perfection, she found herself getting closer to it than anyone else was.
It made her elite, made her a contender, made her a true threat. It won her medals, championships. It made a name for her, garnered a reputation. The gymnast who’d been scouted by major national ballet companies, she’d found herself being nicknamed The Swan by NBC’s gymnastics broadcast team, and watched bemusedly as it stuck, stayed with her for years.
She’d won the Junior National All Around championship just over a year after really focusing on ballet. It’d been the greatest triumph of her her life to that point, and she’d been walking over to her beaming parents in the crowd, gold medal in hand, wanting to share the moment with them as soon as possible, when she’d been stopped in her tracks by a rival club coach wanting to speak with her for a moment.
He’d told her then and there, in his straight-up sort of way, that if she kept at gymnastics the way she was going, she would be going to the Olympics in five years.
She’d never forgotten it, barely ever let it out of her mind. The words had constantly repeated in her head for those five years, like a mantra.
Rio 2016. Rio 2016. Rio 2016.
Rio 2016.
It was happening, it was almost here.
And she was going.
She was an Olympian.
She was ready.
And holy shit, she was on the freaking cover of Sports Illustrated.
(As her best friend kept very kindly reminding her.)
“The freaking cover, babe! You are on the freaking cover of the SI Olympic preview issue! Do you know what a big deal that is?”
Emma groans, mostly for effect, watching as Ruby’s eyes go huge and yup, there’s the effect.
“Emma Ruth Nolan, please tell me you know what a big deal that is.”
Unable to help it, Emma laughs. “Yes, Rubes, I promise I know what a big deal it is. I still can’t believe it, even though I’ve had the issue in my own hands about a hundred times by now. It’s pretty much the biggest honour I’ve ever had, you don’t have to tell me.”
Looking relieved, Ruby nods, staring down at the magazine once more. “Looking like some kind of a rock star gymnastics goddess queen of course, because my BFF don’t do things by halves.”
“Come on,” Emma scoffs, grabbing the issue out of Ruby’s hands and tossing it aside. “And stop staring at it, you’re making me feel self-conscious.”
“In what universe do you have anything to be self-conscious about?”
“I don’t actually look like that!”
“Except you look exactly like that, on account that it’s you.”
“Yeah, made up to high hell.”
“Made up to fabulousness,” Ruby sighs. “Do I need to tell you how gorgeous you are? Shall I prepare a PowerPoint presentation?”
The idea amuses Emma about as much as it horrifies her. “Nah, Drama Queen, I think we can skip the theatrics this time around.”
“Hey, I only stoop to theatrics when absolutely necessary,” Ruby says primly, managing to hold a straight face for a solid five seconds before dissolving into giggles. Her self-awareness has always been one of the very best things about Ruby.
“Seriously though, Em, how are you feeling about all of this?”
(As is how much she cares.)
“I mean, it’s just cool, you know? A little bit surreal, sure, but my parents have totally been there and know what’s going on, and can sort of keep me grounded. They can help me, and that’s all I really need. As long as I know what to expect, I’m fine. I always am.”
“Ah, the benefits of the royally inbred, huh?” Ruby teases.
“Shut up!” Emma scolds, with zero sting in the words given the irrepressible grin they’re delivered with.
(She’s proud of who her parents are. Always has been, always will be. And as she’s not unaware of the advantages of being their daughter, it’d just be stupid and shallow to pretend to be.)
“They’ll be flying to Rio just before the Games start?” Ruby asks, sobering suddenly.
“Yeah, my agent managed to snag them tickets to the Opening Ceremonies, so they’ll be coming in time for that. I’m so happy they’re going to get to see me - us - march in.”
Ruby nods, but in biting her lip, looks unusually cautious, and Emma raises a brow in curiosity.
“It’s just… Em, we could fly in with them, closer to the Games. We don’t have to go this early.”
Leaning back in her chair, Emma stares at her best friend and teammate. “Where’s this coming from, Rubes? We’re literally about to board a flight in forty-five minutes, it’s a little late to second guess our plans. I thought you wanted the extra time to get used to the Village and the arena, and to explore Rio a bit, same as me?”
“Hey, I’m with you no matter what, you know that. If this is what you’re doing, it’s what we’re doing. I just worry about you a little bit, as is bestie privilege. There’s going to be a lot of attention on you from the moment we set foot in Rio, between the SI cover and the whole legacy thing with your parents, let alone you being one of the favourites for the All Around. And it’s our first Olympics, and that’s a crazy experience for anyone. This is going to get overwhelming, Em.”
Emma smiles gently. “I know. And I’ve been preparing for that overwhelming my entire life. So have you. We’ve got this, Ruby. We’re Olympians. We’re freaking Olympians. I’ve wanted that forever, and I just… I want to soak in every possible moment of it. So hell yeah, I want to go down a week before the Opening Ceremonies. Because I’m ready. And I want to just live this.”
Ruby shakes her head slowly, grinning all the while. “You’re crazy, but I’m with you all the way. So let’s live this then.”
Holding out a fist, Emma winks. “Rio?”
Ruby bumps it. “Rio.”
“Then let’s go!”
*****
“Remind me again why we’re on a plane to Rio a full week before the Games even begin?”
Groaning, Killian Jones closes his eyes, hoping that if he just ignores her hard enough, his agent/assistant/all around handler and best friend to boot will just disappear and allow him to spend the lengthy flight in peace.
He gets an elbow in his gut for his troubles, and grunts at the impact.
Kristina Bell, upon whom he’d bestowed the nickname ‘Tink’ the moment he’d met her, beams innocently at him when he opens his eyes to glare sardonically.
“Don’t ignore me, and I don’t assault you, them’s the rules,” she announces cheerfully. “Now answer the question.”
Knowing from experience it’s always better to let her have her way than suffer the consequences, he huffs. “I am on a plane to Rio because I’d rather just take the 10 hour flight from Toronto to Rio now than to have made the seven hour flight back to London only to turn around and have another 12 hour flight across the Atlantic a few days later. You were free to do as you wished, and quite inexplicably apparently decided to stick with me.”
“Well really, what would you do for ten hours if I weren’t here to annoy you?”
“Heaven only knows.”
“Damn right. Fortunately, I came prepared to keep us both entertained, completely raided the shops. I have books, snacks, magazines - I’m done with this Sports Illustrated, do you want to read it? It’s the Olympic preview issue.”
Peering over at the magazine she has on her lap, he raises an eyebrow. “Any tennis coverage?”
Tink snorts. “The men’s? No. You know the Americans aren’t expected to be major medal contenders there, so that answers that question. Serena got a blurb as one of the biggest gold medal favourites. But nah, the feature articles went to the usual suspects. Phelps, Ledecky, and the swim team, some of their athletics stars, a puff piece on how the utterly revamped basketball team with all the Zika withdrawals is still gonna clobber the world. Oh, and the cover went to one of the gymnasts who’s apparently favoured to win the All Around title.”
He rewards Tink with a glance at the cover when she holds it up for him. “Pretty girl,” he offers, meaning it. She’s gorgeous.
“Bloody knockout,” Tink agrees. “God, the things I’d do for that dress.”
“Planning on repping the red, white and blue now are we?” he laughs, imagining it.
“Hey, same colours. I can be patriotic for a dress that looks like that.”
“Mmm. They still do all the medal predictions?” he asks, vaguely recalling some Olympics issues past.
She nods distractedly, still staring at the dream dress.
“Who’ve they got? Djokovic the gold, certainly…”
“Mmmhmm, Murray the silver…”
He huffs, just slightly, but enough to have Tink finally look away from the dress to glare at him. He stares back unrepentantly, waiting for her trademark smirk. It eventually comes, but delayed enough that something in his head sets off warning alarms, thinking that there was something considering in her look that he didn’t quite like.
“And the bronze, they’ve given to Federer,” she finishes, moving past the oddity.
He is sufficiently distracted.
“Oh, have they then? So he hasn’t withdrawn?”
“Did you expect him to? The Olympic gold in singles is literally the only thing he hasn’t won at this point, he’s got to give it another try.”
“Of course he does,” Killian agrees. “I’d simply been curious if he’d be another Zika withdrawal, family man and all. I don’t know if he and Mirka want more kids. I’ve seen him in the locker room with the little ones, he’s fantastic. Wouldn’t blame him if he wanted more. But if they have yet another set of twins, I swear I’m calling witchcraft.”
“Killian.”
“You must admit, him being Harry Potter’s second cousin would explain a lot.”
“Killian.”
He shrugs, closing his eyes once more. “Obviously on James’s side,” he mumbles.
She sighs, wondering possibly for the millionth time why she puts up with his antics. “So was that a ‘no’ on wanting to read SI then?”
He grunts his agreement, wanting nothing better than to fall asleep.
“Good.” She rolls the magazine up into a tube, and promptly whacks him over the head with it.
“What the bloody hell was that for?”
“It’s not nap time yet, Captain. We’ve something we need to discuss.”
He truly does not like the sounds of this.
“I’m listening.”
“It hasn’t been officially announced yet, but Jamie Murray’s withdrawing from the Games. Not sure if it’s Zika or an injury or what have you, but it’s happening.”
“Alright?” he prompts, not sure what this could possibly have to do with him.
“He was supposed to play doubles with Andy.”
Realization dawns. “No, no, bloody… no!”
“Killian.”
“I’m not doing it!”
“If we could just discuss this like mature…”
“It’s not happening, Tink. Why the devil they even thought they’d ask me, I don’t know. I’ve never played a doubles match in my life.”
“So says half the tour! None of the big names play doubles until it’s time to go for something big, and a double chance at a medal in the Olympics counts. Come on, you know no one expected anything out of Federer and Wawrinka in Beijing, and boom, they go and win gold, taking out some of the best regular doubles players in the world in the process.”
“Because of the bloody witchcraft!” he hisses.
Tink’s eyes nearly roll out of her head. “Because they’re both great tennis players, and they combined to make a great team.”
“As happens sometimes when two people adore each other. You and I both know they’re each other’s best friend on the tour. Andy and I are not.”
There are red blotches of skin on Tink’s face, a sure sign that she’s truly annoyed, but fighting to keep her temper. “If you could just tell me what the problem is between you two, I could probably arrange a meeting where we can figure something out…”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“He’s actually a good guy, Killian.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“Then what’s the problem?” she demands.
“The problem is, I don’t want to do it. Tell Team GB they can give a spot on the Olympic team to someone else.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll just do that,” Tink scoffs. “Any nominations? Come on, Killian, you know that British tennis is basically the Murrays and you right now. So what do you want me to do? Tell them they need to call up a junior and throw him into the Olympic fire? Nobody else is prepared for this, and Team GB had gold medal aspirations for the men’s doubles…”
“So they call up Mo Farrah and tell him they need him to squeeze an extra gold out to meet their quota, I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige.”
Bright red now, Tink glares furiously. “Yeah, that’ll do it. Grow up, Killian. This is a chance at Olympic gold we’re talking about here. You’ve had your little fit, and I’ve allowed it, but that ends now. You’re doing this.”
He feels a muscle tick in his jaw. “You make my decisions for me now?”
“You made this one yourself years ago. Going as far as you can go, remember? Guess what, Killian, this is the next step you’re taking this. You don’t have to like it, but you’re sure as hell going to try.”
He shakes his head, defeated. “This won’t go well, you must know this.”
“Flame out in the first round for all I care, if that’s what you want to do. It won’t be. I know you, Killian. You’re going to set foot on that court, and whatever the hell it is that happens to you out there that turns you into a competitive force of nature is going to happen, and you’ll be fighting like hell for every point. Just as you always do. Only difference is going to be this time you’re going to have someone out there with you.”
“Hell of a difference,” he grumbles.
“Now you’re just being petulant.”
“Can I take my nap now?”
“Yes,” Tink sighs, “you can take your nap.”
“Good.”
Blessed silence reigns between them for approximately five minutes, which is all it takes for Killian to fall into a fitful sleep, one that will surely last him up until they’re preparing to land. He could sleep like the dead when he wanted to.
Tink shakes her head, watching over him. “Guess I’ll see you in Rio, then.”
Ever since she was a little girl, Emma Nolan had dreamt in gold.
It was only to be expected, really. Her parents, Olympic champions both, were the ultimate Olympic power couple, dream team, true love romance, whatever you wanted to call it. They’d met at the Games, falling head over heels in love with each other in between winning gold medals over the course of a whirlwind sixteen days in Barcelona. It was the stuff of freaking fairy tales, and indeed, they’d been offered millions of dollars on book advances and made-for-TV movies, none of which they’d accepted.
They’d wanted to build a life together as normally as possible, and had with their typical sensibleness decided that cashing in on their story was not the way to do that.
Eventually the furor around them died down, the country’s fascination moving on to the next big thing, and Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan had gone on to make that quiet, private, absurdly blissfully happy life together. Small town living, solid post-sports careers, folksy - and all the more charming for it - home.
And the bouncing baby girl who never grew out of the bouncing.
Mary and David, they’d never made a big deal of their Olympic pasts, God no. They simply weren’t that kind of people. They didn’t brag, never pressured. But they never lied to her either, never hid their past. She’d grown up knowing it as the same sort of simple fact as their jobs. Mom’s a teacher. Dad’s a cop. And they both had been to the 1992 Olympics and won gold medals there.
It was an integral part of their story, hell it was the damn beginning of their story, and so it was and always had been her history.
Emma Nolan was the daughter of two Olympic champions.
And so, Emma Nolan had grown up dreaming of an Olympic gold of her very own.
She was going to get the chance. Taking both the floor exercise and balance beam event finals at the US Olympic Trials, as well as winning - freaking winning - the All Around title, she’d been automatically named to the American Olympic gymnastics team.
She was going to the Olympics. Just like she’d always dreamed.
Now, she just had to win there.
As long as he could remember, Killian Jones had dreamt of blue.
The brightest, the purest of blues imaginable, the kind that’s only really possible on the water, in that magical point on the horizon where the sea and sky meet, the kind that you can look at and know and see but never quite reach.
The dreams have always been so completely vivid that he’s always thought - always known - that they must be memory.
He thinks his father may have been a sailor or something like, had spent most of his time working on a boat. Thinks he must have spent a great deal of time there with him, when he was small.
Before he’d been left. Before his father had left him, him and his brother, left them alone to fend for themselves for the rest of their lives.
He never remembered too much, really, not anymore. He’d been too young, and it had happened too long ago. And Liam had never talked about it, never told him anything at all, before it had been too late and Liam was gone too.
And he’d been left alone again.
He’d been four, almost five when his father abandoned him, just barely sixteen when Liam died.
He’d wanted to forget. Didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel.
It’d’ve been easy, perhaps, to have turned to any number of less savoury coping mechanisms, but ‘easy’ had never and would never apply to his life.
No, Killian Jones had turned to sport.
Better to react and adjust and attack. Better to move, keep constantly, always moving. Better to act, than to think and remember and feel.
Yes, sports had undoubtably been his solution, his salvation.
Long and limber, deceptively strong, and with a fire inside of him that could not be contained, he’d proven to be a gifted enough athlete at any number of sports. Football and track mostly, and he’d made a fair golfer too.
But ultimately, he’d ended up sticking with tennis, for more reasons than he cared to count, but most of all because for all the surfaces one had to master, the playing ground mattered in tennis perhaps more than in any other sport, and he’d loved that. Loved how vital solid ground was to the game.
Blissfully about the land, as one could get from water.
Tennis had been it for him, and he’d known from the very beginning of his playing career that he’d go as far as he could with it. Turning pro, making the top fifty, getting into the singles draws at all the Grand Slams, even making it all the way to the Round of 16 at Roland Garros, none of it he’d seen coming, but he kept that promise he’d made to himself, and kept taking it as far as he could go.
And took it right to a nomination to the British Olympic tennis team.
He’d never expected to be an Olympian, had never even thought of it.
But hell if he was going to turn down the chance.
She’s America’s Sweetheart, the ‘royally inbred’ gymnastics star who’d spent her whole life dreaming of winning Olympic gold just as her parents both had. He’s the British bad boy who’d only turned to tennis as an escape from his painful past, and somehow found himself named to the Olympic team anyway. Suffice to say, they’d never seen each other coming. But you know what they say: What happens at the Olympic Games… changes your whole life?
Hey everyone! So I’ve pretty much spent the last few days essentially flailing over everything that’s coming out of CS AU Week, because the talent in this fandom is utterly absurd. And it made me want to join in, even though I’ve never in my life written a ~ true AU ~ - canon divergence, hell yes, but not a full freaking AU - and so I was utterly terrified. But I was innocently sitting there trying to think of what I would do if I did get a little bit brave, and with Rio coming up in a few weeks just waiting to feed my personal Olympics obsession, freaking Olympians Emma and Killian just came strutting into my head fully formed.
And all I could think was ‘God damn it, now I actually have to try and write this, don’t I?’
Well, that’s up to you guys. I’ve put this little prologue/preview of what this story COULD BE together, and now I just need you all to tell me if it’s something you’d actually want to read. If it is, we’re going full steam ahead. If it’s not... well, we probably are going full steam ahead anyway, because I’m getting that giddy feeling of a story waiting to be told that I haven’t had in ages.
But y’know. I’d love to have some readers for it. So let me know, okay?
He’d stared up at that damned elevator until he couldn’t see her anymore, stared until even the bottom of her boots were out of sight, but the second that tiny last blessed glimpse of her was lost to him, he’d turned away, unable to bear the emptiness left behind.
He’d turned away, and just started walking, wandering. No destination in mind; no purpose, not anymore.
He just simply cannot stay in the place where he’d lost everything, lost Emma, any longer.
It’s strange, how much it hurts. He’d not expected anything more than what ended up happening.
But he’d… he’d hoped. For Emma, because of Emma, he’d hoped.
What a wonder it was, what a wonder she was that she could have given him such a thing. That she could - would - make someone like him hope, give him reason to, give him that gift.
She’d been a miracle to him. One he’d not been sure he’d ever deserved, but one he’d been granted anyway.
He’d been determined never to lose sight of how grateful he’d been for his miracle, his light, his hope, and he hadn’t, never, not for a second, but he’d lost it, lost her anyway.
Given his life, and with it, his love.
His love.
Bloody buggering hell, their love had been true.
He should be grateful still, he knows. Grateful to have that knowledge, grateful to have had one last adventure with her, grateful to have had the time, the extra days that even the admittedly miserable Underworld had given them. Grateful for how she’d saved him, and kept on saving him, so many times and in so many ways.
And he is. He is grateful. More than words will ever be fit to say.
But hell, he hurts. Hurts in a way that Hades had never managed, would never have even dreamt of being able to.
And damn if right now, that pain - like carving his heart out of his chest with his own hook - doesn’t feel more real than anything else to him.
At some point, he just collapses; body and mind, heart and soul all together giving up and giving in to the agony they’re wrecked with, taking the small relief the loss of consciousness brings.
Perhaps he could have just faded away, ceased to exist there, lying broken in the ashes of that last desperate hope, the Underworld releasing him from this last suffering, dues finally fully paid.
Still, something of him remains. Some piece of him, spirit perhaps, that belongs not entirely to him alone, but also to the ones he’s lost, and who’ve lost him, and a connection like that does not break, not for all the worlds or through all the realms.
With them, with her, it stays. (He remains.)
He’s aware.
More there than here.
Wanting Robin and Regina to go to his children, demanding Dave do the same - he’d been away from the little one long enough, and Snow, Gods, thirty seconds apart was too long for those two.
The little ones must be the priority, before anything else, before Hades. His friends had given up enough time with their children for him, he will not stand for them to lose another second.
He wants, he wants to fix everything, but nothing is happening, no one is listening, no one is hearing him. They’re all frozen, waiting, watching…
Emma.
Rushing past everyone else, trying to get to her, not moving fast enough when she just drops, drops to her knees (the bottom drops out.) She makes a noise, caught somewhere between a scream, a wail, a cry, and he’d never known Emma Swan could make such a sound, never wanted to know. Wrapping around her, it’s alright love, it’s alright he’s there, but she is not hearing him, not feeling him, he’s not there enough, not there for her.
The boy, their boy - his boy? - pulls away from one mother to go to the other, wrapping his own arms around her, around them damn it, and he feels it, he feels it, but they cannot, and at least they have each other, at least she has him, holding each other crying for him, for him, Gods, Gods…
He startles awake, shaking and crying both, just as the two he’d been with, been holding but not.
He is in the Underworld, still; always - no. No. There’s a way.
There is a way, for even now, as he stands up amongst the crumbled remains of Ambrosia, something in him is still agonizingly aware of what is currently happening in Storybrooke. He can sense it, can hear Emma’s sobs and Henry’s sniffles as the son tries to get the mother to stand, tries to pull the both of them together.
Some small part of his consciousness has stayed with Emma, returning to the world of the living with her, and so something in him is alive still. Not all here, he must too be there.
And if he can find it, find the way, he must surely be able to return to it, to home. To them, to her.
She’d given him hope before, and for her, he finds it again now, finds more than it now.
Certainty. That’s what he feels now.
There’s a way, he knows it, and he bloody well will find it.
If ever there’s a choice between the blessed and the damned.
Magic doesn’t work the same way in the Underworld.
Oh, she can feel it, the same way she always can, the pulse of it still dancing in her fingertips.
It’s still there, still hers.
She just can’t call upon it the way she usually can. None of them could.
Not here. Not in this realm, bent so entirely to its master’s will.
And Hades’ will is dangerous, for the cunning of it.
Why take away their magic entirely, when instead he can allow them to keep it, to feel how entirely it still belongs to them, but brutally limit its effects.
Embers dancing in the palm, where a fireball should be.
She can cast all the locator spells she wants, in this realm, they aren’t going anywhere.
It’s such a clever taunt, fit for a God. It’s working too, driving Regina and Rumplestilskin to fury, and to far more important distraction.
She is not so easily distracted.
She came here for one reason, and for one reason only: to tear this Hell to shreds with her bare hands if need required in order to get Killian back.
Hades cannot understand that.
He may know something about obsession, maybe even about passion, but he knows nothing about the love - true love - that she shares with Killian.
And so, he cannot understand how entirely he has erred in allowing her to keep any kind of a hold on her magic.
She is the Saviour still; a child of true love, caught up in the grips of a true love match herself - birthed of and wielding both the most powerful magic ever known. So too is she a surviving, reformed - but still once - Dark One, having retained all the knowledge and control of power that gave her.
There has never been a being like her.
There has never been anyone more powerful than her.
She doesn’t need any of the countless spells Hades may have thought to handicap.
Pure power alone is enough for what she has in mind.
In mind.
Killian knows the feel of her magic. Killian knows her touch.
Killian knows the hope she gives him.
Finding him and getting him home, that’s the ultimate goal, but for now, for right this moment, giving him that hope back is enough.
It’s been all she could think about since the disastrous attempt at the communication through the grave, since they first gained idea of their magic’s limits here, since they saw how absolutely Killian was suffering.
He was suffering. He was being tortured, brutalized.
God or not, she would destroy Hades for this.
But first, she needed to help Killian. And the best way she can think to do that right now is to make sure he knows that she’s here.
Until they can save him completely, she needs him to know that she’s come for him.
Hades thinks he’s taken away all ability to get to Killian.
Hades is wrong.
Because Killian knows the feel of her magic, and her touch, and the hope that comes with both, that comes with her.
And so she closes her eyes, focuses the thrum of power in her on her love for Killian, on the way that love had so long ago started to feel pure and vibrant and pulsing, pulsing the way the way the rest of her magic did, because it was magic too.
A magic that links.
She doesn’t need to know exactly where he is. She doesn’t need her locator spells to work.
She is True Love, and he is hers. She is magic, and magic is theirs.
They are connected.
And being able to feel that connection is enough.
Because through it, she can feel him too.
And through it, she sends her magic to him.
She’s gentle about it, that first ghosting of her magic’s touch, like a hand to his cheek. She does not want him to be afraid, not ever, and especially not now when there’s so much else to fear.
She feels it when he does, when he startles just slightly enough to show his recognition of a change in his circumstances, before he settles.
He knows her magic. He knows her touch.
She gasps aloud when she feels him nuzzle into the comfort offered.
He knows it’s her. Immediately, without question, and he takes all she can give him eagerly, desperately.
She is wildly moved, and can feel the tears she cries marking paths down her face, but she does not relinquish her hold on her magic for anything.
She lets it wrap around him fully now, like an embrace.
And feels it when he grabs hold of it, tight, clenching in a way that tells her he won’t let go.
He knows it’s real.
He knows she’s with him.
He knows she’s come.
And that’s enough, for now.
For they both know she’ll find him. They both know she’ll save him. They both know she’ll bring him home.
It may only be through magic that she can do this for him now, but magic can do a lot. Through magic she can touch, through magic she can reassure, through magic she can promise.
Through magic she can love, and have them both know that she couldn’t have done this if their love itself wasn’t the magic she’s wielding, and that only the truest of loves is magic.
And true love - the kind that brings magic - is hope.
She’s given Killian his hope back. The biggest, greatest thing that Hades’ realm had been designed to take away is Killian’s once more.
It’s theirs once more.
And with it, they can do this.
She is not surprised when she feels Killian laugh now, overcome by the sudden influx of so much positive feeling overtaking the pain and bleakness.
“The bloody flame-coiffed bastard ought to have known better than leave Emma Swan with her magic,” he whispers to the wind, to the magic, to her with far greater cheer than she would have thought even him capable of, given the circumstances.
She can’t help but gasp at the way her magic flares up with the amount of sheer adoration she feels for him now, and knows he feels it too in the way he almost seems to melt into the warmth the depth of her feeling offers.
“Swan,” he sighs.
“He did,” she tells him, hoping he’ll somehow hear it, hoping her voice will come through with her touch. “He just failed to take True Love into account.”
Killian freezes so entirely that she worries for a moment, until his grip on the magic somehow, impossibly, tightens. “Aye,” he breathes. “That’ll be his downfall then?”
Finding herself laughing through the tears at the hopefulness in his voice, she has to agree - with an amendment. “Taking my true love was,” she tells him, amazed by the lack of fear in it. “He’s done, Killian. Just as soon as I’ve got you back.”
“A multitude of things to look forward to, then.”
“You’ve got my word, Captain,” she says, teasing and promising both. “I’m here. I’m coming for you. I love you so much.”
“And I you,” he swears. “To the end of all the worlds.”
“To the end of every world,” she repeats, before finally letting the connection drop with no small regret, but so too with a focused intent.
She needs to get going now. Touching him through magic is not enough. She needs him, needs all of him, everything with him.
The Here and Now by @icingsfanfic ( @destinypanics )
Her parents may have fallen madly into true love in a day, but in the real world, these things take time. And it’s a long way from feelings for someone to true love. Even when he’s already fallen.
Oh my gosh, this is SO cool. Thank you SO MUCH for picking my fic as your fic of the day! Means the world to me. The Here and Now has always been such a joy to me, because it was my first time ever writing an entirely Captain Swan piece, and the CS fandom was so unbelievably kind to me about it, I still can’t quite find the words to describe it. Apparently that continues well over a year after I first wrote it. All I can say is THANK YOU.
In the light of day, he constantly sees the Dark Swan.
Awake, the memories of her twisted seductiveness haunt him, to the point that he cannot think of anything else, unless he’s got something to distract him - usually the research, the plan, or the precious, precious boy.
He’s got nothing to do now though, the research at a momentary standstill as he waits for Belle to dig up more resources to search through. The Camelot plan too is at a delicate phase, one the Charmings have taken complete charge of. It has been gently pointed out to him that a furious pirate waving a sword about - demanding answers or else - would not help proceedings, and so he’s taken a step away from that front. And Henry is at home with his adopted mother.
He has but not a single thing to distract himself.
So he can’t not think of her.
She’s Emma, but she’s not her at all. The darkness had swallowed her up, taken control, and brought about someone he didn’t know. But recognize, oh yes. She’s Emma’s face, Emma’s body; if painted over starkly pale and draped in black robes.
But Emma, her heart, her soul, her lightness, that’s all missing.
And she’s left behind this taunting creature who knows all his weak spots and does not hesitate to go for them.
She walks around him in a small circle, slow and leisurely, as if assessing him from all sides. A tiny smirk plays at her lips, and it’s so unlike Emma that he just wants to grab the creature and shake her until she gets that expression off his Swan’s face.
“Not sure what it is about you,” she finally deems; assessment apparently found lacking. “Pretty enough, certainly, but pretty doesn’t explain the attachment.”
She steps right up to him then, all in his personal space, grabbing at the lapel to his jacket, and he hates this, hates every last second of it, but he can’t breathe to move, can’t do anything against this Emma-but-not.
He won’t harm her. Not when his Emma is in there somewhere.
“Pretty,” she muses again, “but a pretty pirate is still just a pirate.”
She might as well have hit him.
“Though I suppose,” she continues, tightening her grip on him in physical response to his recoil, “even pirates have their uses. Particularly pretty ones. How about it, Captain? Shall we take you for a spin?”
She’s only a whisper away from kissing him now; they’re breathing each other’s air, and he just feels sick.
“You want her, your Emma,” she taunts. “And she wanted you back. It’s close enough, is it not, to have her body?”
That’s it.
Whatever this creature is, it’s not Emma. The darkness had done something to her, and it’s enjoying it, enjoying tormenting him about it.
He won’t have it.
He grabs her waist, watches her eyes light in triumph, only to darken immediately back in fury as he uses his grip to push her off of him, to give him some space yet.
“You go to hell,” he hisses. “And you will go. I’ll get her back out of this if it takes my dying breath.
The Dark Swan bares Emma’s teeth. “So be it, then.”
She vanishes in a cloud of magic before him.
It’s all he can do to stay on his feet to turn away, when all he wants to do is go down to his knees.
As cursed by the Gods and all the damned, yes, all he can think about during the day is the Dark Swan.
But at night, all he sees is Emma.
She comes to him in his dreams without fail, and she is always, always her, always his Emma. Fierce and bold and vibrant and glowing and always looking at him as if he’s some kind of delightful surprise, some kind of miracle.
She’s usually wearing a ragged grey gown and cloak when he dreams of her; the significance of which is lost on him, but it’s such a beautiful difference from the bleakness of the Dark Swan’s black robes that he cares not.
Cares not, but notices certainly, so it’s a notable thing when she shows up on this night, a vision in pure, beautiful white. Her hair loose and curly, her makeup so faint he’s not altogether certain she’s wearing any at all, this Emma could not be more opposite of the stark Dark Swan if she tried.
He wonders if he’s being delivered with his own personal angel.
She’s glorious, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
He’s always thought of her as his light in the darkness.
But like this, she might well be the sun.
He feels caught in a fog, befuddled and bewitched; even more so than usual for his dreams. It’s oddly pleasant, not having to think at all, not even having to feel, really.
All the pain is gone.
There is only her.
And he would follow her into the dark, into the abyss, into nothing and everything.
So when she reaches out her hand to take his, motioning for him to follow her with that blessed smile of hers, he goes without question, hand in hers, following her into the mist that is the depths of this dream.
It all blurs together, perhaps more than it should, but it feels right and good and safe, feels like a fairy tale, feels like home.
It’s all fairy lights and rose bushes everywhere, and he finds the most perfect bloom, a beautiful pink that just says Emma to him, the Emma who blushes so prettily when he looks at her, and he plucks it and presents it to her with a bow and a flourish, and she lights up like his sun, glowing within and without.
And they’re in the Enchanted Forest, and they’re horseback, and she is in all white in contrast to his black but for the splash of red that comes from the vest that his his most formal of wear. And someone is speaking but he can’t hear the words, not when Emma is looking at him like that, all hopeful and bright, and then she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her, and it’s perfect, perfect, perfect.
And he shoots up in bed with a start, and runs his hand over his face and feels it come away wet and vaguely recognizes that he’s crying, because now he knows what it feels like to marry Emma Swan.
It’s a pain beyond anything he could have ever imagined.
He loves her as a wife.
And even still, wherever she is now, he cannot reach her.
——————
It has come to the point where he has started making contingency plans for what he’ll do if his Mom and Robin just never go to sleep again.
It’s as if they’re waiting around for him to sneak out, which is insulting on so many levels, namely that he’s never snuck out this late before, and also, he was very careful to keep his temper at dinner so they wouldn’t think he was planning to.
(He is planning to.)
It takes until about one in the morning, but the house is finally silent and still, and that’s all he needs to make his escape.
He knows this house like the back of his hand after all, knows it better than his Mom could ever dream of knowing it, having spent his childhood exploring it while she was off being the Mayor. She may think she has every exit point covered, but she’s wrong about that.
And Henry Mills can be very resourceful when he wants to be.
It’s not as if he enjoys disobeying his mother like this. But she just doesn’t understand, not anymore.
And so he goes to the one person who does.
It doesn’t take long to make the walk from Regina’s mansion in the fancy part of town to Granny’s Bed and Breakfast, even in the dark. He’s done it almost everyday since childhood - usual daylight notwithstanding - and he’s fairly sure he could probably do it with his eyes closed, if not for the slight risk of cars.
So too does he know exactly what room it is that he’s going to, and so there’s never any need to go in by the front desk to grab the attention of whoever Granny has working it, and thus there will be no alerting Granny, and finally no immediate phone call to Regina, which would just defeat the purpose of all his hard work.
No, he’s going in the back entrance that all long term residents are granted access to, and sneaking up that way.
He doesn’t bang on the door too loudly, conscious of sleeping guests, including the one to whom he’s making the late-night visit, but his light, quiet knock is answered almost immediately, which suggests to him that he’s not the only one who needed this particular visit.
He goes barrelling straight into Killian Jones’ arms, and the slight ‘oof’ in response is the only hint of the man’s surprise, as his arms come up immediately to wrap him in a hug as if this is something they’ve ever done before.
“It’s bloody late, mate,” Killian points out after a few moments, and from literally anyone else it would sound scolding and infuriate him, but from Killian, it just sounds concerned. “You want to tell me what happened to bring you here at 1:30 in the morning?”
He huffs. “Mom was on alert. Stayed up for ages making sure I didn’t sneak out.”
“And so you waited her out and made a break for it the moment the opportunity struck? On a whim? Come now, kiddo, you know I know you better than that.”
Shrugging, Henry maneuvers his way out of Killian’s grip and wanders deeper into the room and throws himself into a ball on the floor, sitting with his knees up by his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs.
It’s a slight reassurance, but one nonetheless, when Killian shuts the door behind him, signifying his acceptance that this is going to be a long visit.
“If you need yell or throw things around, feel free,” Killian says, coming to sit down on the floor next to him, “but you are going to tell me what happened.”
“Robin moved in.”
“Ah.”
“They’re happy. They’re really ridiculously happy. This is their happy ending, or whatever, and I’m glad for it, I’m glad my Mom has found this, found him, but they’re so freaking happy, and my other Mom is gone, and nothing’s okay, and I can’t pretend it is, and it feels like a giant insult to me and my Mom that they can be like this when I don’t have her!”
He exhales, feeling better for having said it, and yet somehow feeling worse for having said it all at the same time. Feelings suck. “I know it’s stupid and I’m horrible.”
“It’s not stupid and you’re the least horrible person I’m quite certain I’ve ever met,” Killian corrects. “True happiness is an elusive little bugger, and it’s a cruel temptation to boot. And I know well how hard it is to watch others have it when you don’t.”
The exhaustion in Killian’s voice with this last admittance has Henry looking up from where he’d been staring at his feet, and he feels guilt stagger him at how absolutely wrecked the older man looks.
“You dreamt of Mom again, didn’t you?”
“Aye,” Killian mutters, barely audible.
“Was she… was she doing okay?”
He knows Killian doesn’t think so, but something about the pirate’s dreams of his Mom just seems more to him, more than a dream, but like a connection, as if somehow, someway he’s able to reach her.
Killian stares up at the ceiling. “She was glorious.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Nor do I, kiddo,” he sighs. “It was different from all the others I’ve had. We were back in the Enchanted Forest. We were happy.”
Henry stares him down for a long while, trying to read him, but all he is getting out of Killian is that same wrecked look that he is doing a terrible job of hiding, and dark shadows under his eyes that indicate he’s not sleeping well for reasons besides haunting dreams and surprise middle of the night visits.
It worries him.
“I’m staying here tonight,” he declares.
“Ah, and leave your mother and her beau to find an empty bed in the morning?”
“I left a note,” he mutters, petulant.
“Ah, a note, of course. That ought to keep your mother from killing me and grounding you for the rest of your life, surely? Why didn’t I think of that?”
Despite himself, Henry feels himself start to smile, amused at the thought.
“Look at me,” Killian orders, squatting to a height where they can look each other right in the eye. “I am not going to give your mother reason to keep you away from me, alright?”
Feeling warm, Henry nods. “Okay.”
“And that means I’ve got to get you home to her. And you may want to consider cutting back on the sneaking out in the dead of night. I am here if you need me, no matter the time, but if it is the middle of the night, I have my talking phone that your Mom got me, and I even think I know how to answer it. And if you really need to see me when it’s late, I think it might well be a better bet to awaken your mother and tell her, rather than sneak out all the time.”
Henry shrugs. “I guess. She just… she won’t understand!”
Killian smiles gently. “She’s your mother. She loves you. She’ll understand more than you think.”
“I know you understand though. You understand everything.”
Something about that seems to leave Killian stricken, but he manages a weak smile. “I try.”
“You promise you’re not going to bail on me?”
Killian shifts, balancing himself, and reaches out to put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “I give you my word, Henry. I’ll never ‘bail’ on you. If you have need of me, I’ll be there.”
It feels like the first genuine smile he’s had on his face in days, but it’s there. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, my boy. Now buck up. We’ve a mother to inform of your antics. Time to face the music, as I believe they say.”
Henry groans.
Wincing in sympathy, Killian glances at his phone. “Best to just show up at your house, or call with advance warning, d’you reckon?”
“Call her. If we’re waking her up either way, we’re better off giving her time to calm down before she kills us.”
“Quite,” Killian agrees, looking as if walking off the plank would be a much more preferable option to making this phone call.
And indeed, when he does make it, Henry can hear Regina yelling through the phone, which does not bode well.
It’s just as well anyway.
For he’s got a new plan that will likely get him into more trouble than he’s ever been in his life, so he might as well be in buckets of trouble already.
He’s got to do it though. He’s decided.
For himself, and more importantly, for Killian.
It’s time for him to go see his Mom.
Or, the Dark Swan that’s taken over her body, at any rate.
——————
The Darkness is satisfied.
There is simply so much more damage that can be done with this host than with the last.
So many people care about Emma Swan, there’s so much love for her. It’s easy, so wonderfully easy to wreck them all with it.
Not that there’s no challenge, no. Swan puts up a delightful fight against the dark. Her hate and her fury of the force that’s overtaken her, they’re powerful.
Intoxicating to stomp out.
Still, she does not give up.
The Darkness respects it. Even fashions itself a fancy new name to honour the one fighting.
The Dark Swan.
They all fear it, the creature that Emma Swan has become. Fear that they’ll never be able to get their Emma back.
(They’re right to.)
Emma Swan is powerful beyond measure in her own right. In her, the Darkness has found itself a worthy host such that it had not had in many millennia.
It does not intend to give her up.
Though she is welcome to put up one hell of a fight.
There is fun to be had, after all.
——————
Even grounded for the rest of his natural life, it’s easier than he thought it would be to sneak out of the house again.
Regina kind of has a lot going on after all, between working with his grandparents on the Camelot plan to the usual mayoring of Storybrooke. She cannot very well sit and stare at him all day, much as she may wish to.
No, his mother is out doing whatever she needs to do today. She’s left Robin standing guard, of course, but Robin has a young and hyper son who happens to be on a sugar rush and running around the house.
And Henry Mills knows an opportunity when he sees it.
Robin runs upstairs chasing after his son, and Henry just strolls right out the front door.
He knows what he’s doing, he decides as he walks. Or at least, he knows where he’s going. His family might be doing their best to keep him out of everything that’s going on, but he’s not ignorant, nor is he naive.
He knows his Mom’s yellow bug just showed up in front of that house across town one day a couple weeks ago.
It’s not exactly a stretch to come to the conclusion that the Dark Swan has taken refuge there.
You know, given the fact that it’s both helpfully abandoned and also vaguely familiar to Emma.
So, she’s there. He’ll go there, find her, confront her. It. Whatever.
It’s… something of a plan.
Not a good one, mind, and he thinks he knows that.
It’s just something that needs to be done. For Killian.
He needs to get her to leave him alone.
If that means doing something he knows is dangerous, well, that’s worth it to him.
Because he just cannot handle seeing that wrecked look on Killian’s face anymore.
————————-
Checking in with Belle everyday has become habit, an ingrained part of his daily routine. He says hello, he asks how she is, and he accepts any new resources that she has managed to dig up for him to research.
Many days, she doesn’t have anything new for him, and he accepts that too. She is trying, he knows. She is trying her best.
She looks worn out, actually, and he can’t blame her for that.
He might have hated the crocodile for centuries, but she loved him.
He actually can’t help but wonder which of their situations is worse. Loving someone who is lost to them; or loving someone who is present and close but trapped within their own body.
It’s a painful thing to ponder, he thinks, pitying the woman before him now.
“I’m sorry I don’t have anything new today,” Belle says, stumbling over the words. “I got distracted with something that I thought could’ve helped Rumple… it turned out to be another dead end, but I’d thought, I’d thought maybe…”
“Belle,” he sighs, “have you gotten any sleep at all?”
“I… Some. Awhile ago,” she tries.
He just looks at her, scolding.
“Not last night. I will. Soon. I just wanted to try a few more references. I’m so close to finding something that could help…”
“Belle.”
“I sleep for a couple hours whenever I find something. I just haven’t found anything in awhile, I can’t sleep yet, but soon. It’s enough. I’m getting enough.”
“You’re not getting near enough, Belle. You’re dead on your feet. You need to go get some sleep.”
“How can you ask that of me?” she demands, a wildness to her expression that if anything only confirms how sleep deprived she is. “I haven’t found anything new for you in days. I’m letting you down, I’m letting Emma down, I’m letting Rumple down…”
He seizes her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “You are not letting anyone down. You are doing your best. We all know this. But killing yourself over it does not help anyone. You. Need. To. Sleep.”
She stares at him. “You really have changed.”
Seeing that she seems to have snapped out of whatever panic attack she’d been having, he backs off, removing his hand from her shoulder to rub at his head, a nervous tic. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“The man you once were would not be here demanding for me to sleep. He’d be here wanting answers, wanting to know why I haven’t found anything to save Emma yet. And he certainly wouldn’t have accepted me splitting my time between researching for her and for Rumple.”
He exhales, flustered. “He’s your husband, Belle. It would not be right of me to expect you to just abandon him. Besides that, I can see the use in extending effort to awaken him. No one knows more about the Dark One than he.”
Belle’s lips twitch into a tiny smile. “As I said. Changed.”
He huffs, but does not deny it. “Go to bed, Belle. Get some real sleep. And take a day or two away from the Dark One research. I’ve no right to ask you to step away from the research for your husband, but for Emma, I’m telling you to take a step away. I’ll go over every detail of what I already have for the next couple days. We can regroup for more once you’re better rested.”
“Thank you, Killian. You’re a good man.”
At this, he smiles. “Try saying that in front of ‘Stilskin. If anything is going to wake him up, that would do it.”
He takes his leave, with relief, to the sound of her laugh.
Just as the door closes behind him, his cell phone goes off with the noise that tells him he has an incoming call.
His groan only worsens when the caller identification tells him it’s Regina.
He ponders ignoring the call, then stiffens, angry at himself. Likely, if the once evil queen is bothering to call him, it must be about Henry.
And he’d made that boy a promise he has no intention of breaking.
“Regina?” he answers.
“Is Henry with you?” she demands, cutting right to the chase.
“What? No! I just left a meeting with Belle. I haven’t seen Henry all morning.”
“Damn it! If he’s not with you then where the hell is he? He just ran out when Robin was distracted with Roland, and we both figured he’d just gone running back to you…”
He turns into a run towards the B&B. “Perhaps the boy is simply waiting for me back at my room. I’m heading back there now to try and find him. Let’s not panic until we have to.”
Regina hangs up with no further word, and he knows that she is as worried as he is.
Because Henry knows him, knows the schedule he’s been keeping. He would have known that he would be out at Gold’s shop meeting with Belle at this time of day. If Henry had truly run off to find him again, he would have gone to his grandfather’s to meet up with him.
He hadn’t.
He has no idea where his boy is.
And that much is a terror such that he has never felt before.
——————————
He doesn’t wait or delay, when he gets to the house. To do so would be only to talk himself out of the whole thing.
No, he steps up to the door bravely and without hesitation, knocking at it a couple times as if anything about this is a normal situation and the Dark Swan would just open its door to anyone coming by to call.
Man, his life is absurd.
Laughing at himself, because it’s easier to do that than cry or run, he reaches for the door handle, finding it unlocked, to his surprise.
A deep breath, in and out, and he pushes the door open.
“Hello?” he calls out, jumping slightly at the way that his own voice echoes in the huge empty space.
“Is anyone here? Mo..” he catches himself before he can finish the word, cutting off with a wince. This is such a mess.
If it was his Mom, she would be with him and Killian. She would not have left them. No, it’s the Dark Swan he’s looking for, and he has to remember that.
But damn if he’ll give it the satisfaction of using its chosen name, his mother’s bastardized name, to call for it.
“Dark One!” he snaps, finding his anger, far more comfortable with it than the fear. “Show yourself!”
No response, which is frustrating. He just wants to get this over with.
Maybe he should have stolen the dagger from Grams. It’s not like he could be in more trouble. And it would make calling the Dark Swan a lot easier.
Too late now. Plus…
Henry shakes his head. He knows better. He doesn’t want the dark power of the dagger in his hands.
He just wants this to be as easy as possible. He wants it to be done, so he can go home.
…Or go to see Killian, which he knows is what he’ll actually be doing. While he’s out, and all.
Something good to look forward to, after this unpleasantness. That’s the plan, then.
He gazes around the front room with curious, yet wary eyes. It’s so dark and empty now, the way that the Darkness has taken over it. Stark and cold and grey, it’s a miserable place to be. It bothers him. It bothers him deeply, knowing how absolutely his Mom would hate it. Emma, wearer of red leather jackets and driver of yellow cars, she is colour. Emma, the Saviour, the wielder of the purest magic, she is light.
She would hate this, and he hates it for her, he thinks, blinking back furious tears. He hates all of this for her.
And for him too. He hates everything so much, so fiercely, that he’s not at sure he can hold it all inside of him. It feels too much, like he could just actually explode at any moment.
KillianKillianKillianKillianNeedKillianGoToKillian, he thinks, wild and desperate, and he frantically spins around to the door behind him.
Only to watch it slam shut.
And the Dark Swan step out from behind where it had been.
For a long time, they stare at each other in silence, and Henry feels his panic grow every second of it.
Killian had been holding back, he suddenly realizes. Had been trying to protect him, whenever he spoke of his encounters with this menacing… thing.
It wears Emma’s face and body, but there is nothing of his Mom’s soul in her eyes. None of her warmth, none of her love.
This was monumentally stupid, he understands now. Coming here was a colossal mistake. No one knows where he is.
And he is not safe.
———————
“Well, well,” the Darkness hisses. “I’d been wondering when I’d get to meet the prodigal son.”
The boy has his hands up in the air, defensive posture. “I just want to go,” he says, and the Darkness supposes Swan would be proud of the way his voice stays steady. The kid is clearly terrified, but brave too.
It’s intriguing.
“I know I shouldn’t have come,” he continues.
“No,” the Darkness agrees. “You should not have come. And so very alone…”
The panic writ large across the boy’s face becomes clearer, more potent. “My Mom’s boyfriend knows I’m here,” he threatens. “He’ll come for me. You don’t want… you don’t to mess with him when it comes to me. Just let me go, and no harm done.”
My, my, but the boy thinks quickly.
If not quite quickly enough.
“The pirate let you come here alone? I think not. I think no one knows you are here, Henry Mills. I think you’re a little liar.”
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out of it.
Swan’s body is shaking. It feels strange, out of control, but the Darkness determines that it’s just the body shivering in reaction to the joy, the ecstasy of tormenting the child. Terror, pure, unadulterated terror, is such an intoxicating emotion.
It wants more, yes, it must simply want more.
“I’ve never liked lying,” it muses, directing Swan’s body towards the boy, stalking, ignoring its stiffness, the way it doesn’t move properly. “I’ve always seen it as something that must be punished.”
Now right in the boy’s face, the Darkness basks in its triumph. “Are you afraid now, little boy?” it demands, wanting to know, wanting to hear it, as it raises an arm to hit the child.
Something goes wrong.
Pain, pain as if something is broken, something is splitting apart in its head, and it is agony, agony, the body won’t do it, the body will not harm this child, and control is lost, no, no, no…
—————————
Something is happening, and Henry doesn’t know what, but he knows this is his chance, he knows he should be running, but he just can’t freaking make himself move, only stare in horror as this thing shudders before him.
Her face suddenly twists into a murderous rage more terrifying than even the hand raised to him, frozen in place. “Lay one hand on my kid and I will end you!” she bellows.
Henry blinks; for a long moment it’s simply not possible to comprehend what she’d just said, until it is, until it sinks in.
“Mom?” he breathes.
For her part, Emma Swan seems stunned, staring down at herself as if she can’t quite believe she’s in control of her own body.
Which, Henry realizes quickly, is probably exactly what’s going on here.
Because this is her. Really, really her.
His hands, reflexively balled into fists out of fear while the Dark Swan threatened him unclench equally as fast as they balled up in the first place. He flexes his fingers once, twice, three times, swearing that he can feel absolute joy infusing every last extremity of his body. It’s like he’s melting, or puddling or something, whatever, it doesn’t matter.
Emma’s all that does now.
“Mom!” he cries again, running full tilt at her, throwing his arms around her neck.
Emma catches him, perhaps more by reflex than anything else, but she does. She’s always caught him, he thinks, if often right when he needed it more than anything.
She still seems in disbelief, movements slow and sluggish, but her arms come up to wrap around his back eventually, and she holds him tight.
He’s almost as tall as she is, now. He wonders when that happened. He hadn’t thought it had been that long.
He’ll overtake her, soon, if this growth spurt he’s been having continues at its pace. He looks forward to it. The taller he gets, the bigger, the better off he is at keeping her safe.
He hopes someday he’ll be so big no one will ever dare mess with her again, for fear of him.
Emma exhales, a little hum of a sigh, and her hand moves up from his back to cup the back of his head, just for a second, before she lets go of him completely, taking a single step away from him, far enough that he can see her glare.
He’s not worried. It’s still Mom. This is a Mom glare.
(He never thought he could be so happy to see a Mom glare.)
“What the hell kid?” she demands. “What are you doing here? Have you any idea how dangerous this was for you?”
“I figured out quick,” he admits, sheepish.
“You think?” she asks, dryly, and for a moment, it’s as if nothing had changed at all, she sounds so perfectly normal, so exactly his Emma, his Mom, and he knows she must realize that too, because her face just crumbles.
None of this is normal.
“You could’ve been hurt. You would have been hurt if…”
“I wasn’t!” Henry interrupts, voice cracking in his desperation. “You wouldn’t let it happen. You came back, you protected me, the way you always do.”
“I’m not me right now, Henry! The darkness, it is powerful, and it is intense, and we both got really lucky that I was able to fight it off for awhile when I saw you in danger.”
“Fight it off for awhile? But… you’re you again! Right now, you’re my Mom, you’re right here in front of me, it’s over!”
The raw devastation on her face twists his stomach up in knots.
“Isn’t it?” he asks, voice tiny.
“I really wish it was, kid,” she sighs, and he swallows roughly with the realization that his Mom is trying really, really hard not to cry.
(Parents aren’t supposed to cry.)
“I wish it were that simple,” Emma continues. “But the darkness, it’s still there, it’s in me. I can feel it right now, every second, pushing at me. It wants the control back. It’s angry that I took it. And I’m not going to be able to hold it back for too much longer. So as much as I’m really… I’m so happy to see you again, kid, so glad I got to hold you again, but I’ve got to get you out of here.”
She’s not the only one trying not to cry anymore.
“Maybe… maybe I should stay. With you, all the time, I should stay. I got you out of the darkness, Mom, maybe if I’m here you’ll stay out of it. I should just never leave.”
Emma’s already shaking her head. “It’s not safe, kid. It’s my job to protect you, remember? Even if that means protecting you from me.”
“But I need you!”
“And I need you, Henry, more than you’ll ever know. Which is why I need you safe. We can’t be together right now, not when I’m a risk to you. I’m gonna… I’m gonna call Regina, get her to come get you…”
“No!”
“Henry…”
“If I’ve got to go, can’t you at least take me, so we can spend a little more time together? You have no idea how hard it’s been without you, how much I’ve missed you.”
Emma’s hands shake before she can hide them behind her back, and he thinks he’s got her.
He’s known it for a long time: if it’s in Emma’s Swan’s power to give, she’d never deny him anything.
“Okay, kid. We can do that.”
———————————
It’s a little strange, getting into her old bug in the Dark Swan’s heavy black gown, but she hadn’t been willing to waste what little time she has left as herself in order to change into something normal. No, the priority is getting Henry home safe.
She can hold on that long.
She has to.
Henry is quiet as he joins her in the car, and she swears she feels her heart clench.
She’d never wanted to do this to him. Never. But what choice had she had? Either way, he’d have been losing a mother to the darkness and she…
Well, everyone was well aware that she probably had a better chance at fighting the darkness than Regina would have had.
But God, the last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt her son, and yet that’s all she seems to be doing.
The look on his face when she’d told him he had to leave… that kind of pain does not belong on the face of one so young. He’d looked wrecked, well and truly wrecked, and she’d felt about as awful as she ever had in her life.
All her kid wanted was to be with his Mom. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t have that, that she couldn’t let him have that.
Her poor boy was obviously having such a hard time.
She doesn’t want to know. But she needs to.
“Can you tell me about how things have been… since I’ve been gone?”
Henry shrugs. “Mom and Robin are in a good place. He and Roland have pretty much moved in. They really love each other. It’s cool. Zelena seems to have gone into a depression or something, pretty much just given up. I’m not supposed to know that, but I eavesdrop on everyone a lot so I can actually find out what’s going on. Mom goes over to see her a lot to make sure she at least takes care of herself enough to keep the baby healthy. She says the baby is part of Robin, so of course she cares about it. I think that made Robin really happy. But other than that, Zelena’s not bothering anyone at all, so that’s good. And Mom spends a lot of time over at the loft with Grams and Gramps, working on the plan to save you. They’re all trying to negotiate with Camelot, apparently there’s some kind of magic that could help… I think they’re trying to get in to see Merlin or something. Which, not so easy to do. But they’re really trying. Grams and Gramps, they really miss you a lot. They’re spending all their time either taking care of the baby, or working on the plans to get you back, so they’re not taking any time for themselves. I think it’s been hard on them, even though no one says so to me. But the baby’s fine. Growing like crazy. He tries to talk a little bit, but he hasn’t figured out how to say my name yet, other than ‘En’y’ which is pretty funny. I try to stop by to see Leo…”
“Leo?” Emma interrupts.
“Oh… I guess that’s new to you? I keep forgetting how long you’ve been… gone. Um, yeah, calling the baby ‘Neal’ was always a little weird for me, because of Dad, you know? And I just… I don’t know, I don’t seem to have a filter lately, I just say what I think. And I just… I asked Grams if I could call the baby by his middle name, because I’d be more comfortable with that. She was fine with it. But ‘Leopold’ seemed like a big name for a little baby, so I just started calling him ‘Leo’. And it kind of grew on everyone. We all kind of just call him Leo now. It’s like the one good thing I’ve done lately.”
“Henry…”
“It’s okay. It is, Mom,” he sighs. “But yeah, like I was saying, I want him to know me, so I try to stop by the loft to see Leo at least once a week. Grams and Gramps too, of course. I don’t know… I don’t know if it helps them to see me, or if it hurts, if I’m just a walking reminder of you. I hope it doesn’t hurt. I don’t want… I don’t want to hurt anyone else, you know? I hurt enough myself.”
He sniffs, introspective for a moment, before forcing a smile. “And that… that’s the family. That’s the update.”
He gets quiet again after all that, though his mouth was open for a second as if he was going to say something else.
“And?” she prompts. He’d been quick and eager to talk to that point, the words just spilling out of him, so it’s odd that he would just suddenly clam back up.
Unless whatever he was going to say next, he thought might hurt her.
She closes her eyes, just for a second.
Henry hadn’t had any qualms over telling her how hard it’s all been on him, so for him to not want to say anything now…
“Killian,” she sighs, and it sounds like a prayer even to her own ears.
Henry wraps his arms around himself, a protective stance if she’s ever seen one, but still doesn’t say anything. She winces.
“The darkness… it was cruel to him. Vicious. He was hurt…”
“Yeah. He was.”
She winces at that, at Henry’s flat agreement, but knows it’s no less than what she deserves. “How is he?”
Henry smiles, a bitter, mocking smile that she has never seen on her son’s face before. “You haunt him. That’s why I showed up, I was angry about what you were doing to him, and I didn’t think, and I just stormed over. I wanted you to stop, I wanted you to leave him alone. Because during the day, he constantly relives what the Dark Swan does to him, and at night, he constantly dreams of you. No escape. He’s not good, Mom, but he keeps it together for me, because he’s been so busy keeping me sane.”
She’d been carefully staring out at the road as she drove, but at this last comment, she can’t help but look over quickly at her son.
He takes the cue.
(Start talking.)
“I haven’t… I haven’t been alright since you disappeared. I’ve been really angry, and I haven’t been able to control it that good. And you know, Gramps and Grams, they understand the feeling, I know that, they’ve been just as scared and feeling useless and mad about it, but they can’t fall apart. They have the baby that they have to keep it together for. And I know Mom’s been there with those kinds of feelings, so she obviously gets it, she understands, and she’s worried about you too even if she doesn’t say it so much, but she’s got… she’s got this family, and this life that she’s starting to put together, and it’s really starting to look like she’s found her happy ending. And I’m happy for her, I am, but she doesn’t feel the hate anymore, doesn’t let the bad feelings touch her, and that’s a good thing, except now I feel all this ugliness inside of me and it’s like I can’t even be around her anymore or I’ll infect her. She’s happy, she’s good, and I’m not.”
“You feel like she can sympathize but not empathize,” she suggests softly.
Henry shrugs again. “I guess.”
“But Killian’s different?”
“He doesn’t give me the disappointed look when I freak out. He lets me yell, encourages it actually. I threw a fit in front of everyone one day, and Killian, he just got me out of there, made me walk it off with him, but he didn’t get angry at all. He said that we’re all going through hell with this, but you and I were so close, that I’m the most important person in the world to you, so of course it’s even worse for me than anyone else can imagine or understand, and I’m thirteen years old while I’m at it and that just makes everything even more messed up. He said sometimes I’ll need to yell, and it’s probably better to do that, to let it all out, and that I can go to him when I need to freak out.”
She swallows, several times in a row, but God if it doesn’t feel like she’s got cotton in her throat.
She’d known he loved her, but this… doing this for her kid is on a whole other level.
“So that’s what you do, then?” she asks, voice rough. “You go to Killian to yell and freak out?”
Henry shakes his head. “No. I mean… yeah, I go to him when I’m in a rage, but it’s like… the second I see him, I just calm right down because he gets it. He doesn’t have a baby depending on him to keep him together, or a happy ending right in front of him to make everything okay. He lost just as much as I did when you disappeared, if not more, because even though I can’t really deal with any of them right now, I still have all this other family, and he just had… you. Sometimes he opens the door, and he looks like a mess, like someone who’s had everything and just had to watch it disappear. He’s not happy, not even faking it, and that helps me. I can just talk to him. I don’t have to yell, because I’ve got nothing to be mad at him for. He understands all of it. And I don’t know, but it feels like I help him too, because I’m the link to you. And it’s not even just that he’s taking care of me because he knows you’d want him to, it’s because he wants to. He actually talks to me, tells me a little about what’s going on, and he listens to me, and we sit on the floor of his room at Granny’s for hours sometimes, missing you together, and I feel like I’m actually supposed to be there. And I’m not angry anymore. I’m not happy either, obviously. But the anger goes away for a little while, and I can just be.”
For a long moment, they just sit there quietly, her staring out at the road trying to ignore how her hands shake on the wheel, and Henry looking out the window.
“Plus, he sneaks us down into the kitchen sometimes and makes me pancakes like you taught him,” he adds suddenly, almost sounding cheerful about it.
God, she is going to burst into tears right here, isn’t she?
Her boys. Her poor, beautiful, broken boys.
She’d known she’d be wrecking them, but… she’d somehow never imagined them being wrecked together.
Nor had she ever imagined an eventuality in which they would be the ones putting each other back together, until now.
Henry might not see it yet, but she can, clear as day.
They’re becoming family.
And she’s not there.
—————————-
His Mom is struggling. She’s doing her best to hide it, but he knows her. He knows her so well.
He knows her well enough not to say anything, not yet. She needs to work out how she feels about everything, so he sits quietly, and waits.
They’ve made it back to Regina’s house and the car has been parked out front for a couple minutes before Emma finally says anything.
“I’m glad you and Killian have each other,” she finally murmurs, so quietly he has to lean towards her seat to hear it. “I’m glad you can be there for each other like that.”
“Me too. I never… I never expected it. I was always… I accepted him for you. That was it. But losing you, from the moment you disappeared… he tried to call you back right away, with the dagger, you know? And you didn’t come, you were really gone, and he looked over at me, and he looked as destroyed as I felt, and it was like we suddenly understood each other. And that just didn’t stop. We’re both messed up, Mom, without you… but we both get it. We just keep on understanding each other. I don’t… I don’t really know what I would have done without him.”
“Don’t find out,” she whispers. “Keep… keep going to him. He’s always had my back, kid, and now he’s having yours for me. You both need that. And I… I need to know you have it. It will help me to know that you two are there for each other.”
Tears blind him, choke him, so suddenly his throat burns with it and he feels like he could be sick. “You’re saying goodbye now, aren’t you?”
Emma, crying too, stares at him, so intently he feels sure that she’s memorizing his face. “Yeah, kid,” she tells him, “I’m not going to be able to hold the darkness back much longer. It’s going to take me away again soon. You need to go now.”
“And you need to fight,” he says fiercely, not even bothering to fight the tears anymore. “You need to fight, Mom, because we all need you back. Grams and Gramps and the baby and Killian and me, we all really need you. We need you to come back to us. So you need to fight. You need to fight like…” he cuts himself off, realization sickening him. “… Like you said you would when you first took the control away from the Darkness, when it was going to hurt me. You said you would ‘end’ the Darkness.”
She closes her eyes. Something tells him she’d hoped that he wouldn’t have caught that.
“Mom,” he says warily. “How did you plan on doing that?”
Emma won’t lie to him. Not anymore. He knows that.
Eyes still closed, she mutters. “Tear it to shreds from the inside out.”
“What would that do to you?” he asks, sure that he doesn’t want to know, but needing to anyway.
Emma says nothing, and that’s his answer.
“Mom!” he cries. “No!”
Opening her eyes back up, the look in them is intent and fierce. “I’m your mother, Henry. If it’s a choice between you and me, it will always, always be you. I will fight. I promise you, I will fight to come back from this. I’m not giving up. But you need to keep yourself safe. Because it’s you, kid. It’s always going to come down to you.”
Sobbing, beyond words, he throws his arms around his Mom.
She holds him back just as tight, and for a moment, even when his world is crashing down around him, he feels safe.
But Emma shudders and stiffens in his grip, and he thinks that no good thing can last.
She pushes him away then, gently, so he knows it’s still her, but he’s not sure how much longer it will be.
“Go!” she yells at him, and hearing the desperation, he listens, he flings his door open, runs out of the car, runs away from his Mom, and hates himself for it.
“I love you!” he screams, hoping she hears it, not daring to look back to see if she does. “Fight, Mom! Fight! I love you. I love you so much.”
He runs, he loves, and oh God, he hurts.
———————
The Darkness is in a fury.
Emma Swan’s willingness and ability to fight had far exceeded expectations, and her efforts had not only saved the boy, but had left the body exhausted and weak. Nothing could be done until it recuperated.
The Darkness does not like being forced into retreat.
Swan will pay. She will suffer.
But somewhere deep in there, Emma knows she will not give up. That she can fight, and triumph.
If this is a war, she just took a battle. She and the Darkness both know this.
But the Darkness does not understand love, and so it cannot comprehend that not only did she win the battle, so too did Emma Swan just take an ammo drop.
I love you! Fight, Mom! Fight! I love you. I love you so much.
She heard him. Her beautiful, amazing, strong boy. She has one hell of a kid, she knows. And she’s not going to lose him.
I love you too, Henry. It always comes down to you.
The Darkness is a terrible force to be reckoned with.
But so is a mother protecting her child. So is Emma Swan.
And unlike the Darkness, she’s got cavalry.
———————————
He’s not entirely sure how he manages to get himself inside the house. He only just does it, dragging himself inside the front door, closing it, and then promptly collapsing back against it as his legs give out.
He thinks he needs to scream, thinks maybe he should go find Killian, but cannot even imagine finding the strength to pick himself up and go do it.
Maybe he’ll just sit here forever and wait for someone to find him.
And as if that thought conjures him up somehow, Robin immediately comes running out of the other room, fury and worry and relief all mingling together in his expression.
“Where on earth have you been?” he demands. “Have you any idea…”
Not able to deal with it, Henry stands up, picking himself up with a strength he didn’t know he had, wipes his face clear of tears, and cuts the older man off.
It takes effort, effort to look at Robin evenly, effort to keep his voice steady, effort to not explode, but he does it. “Robin,” he says carefully. “You’re a good guy. You love my mother. I respect that. I respect you. But you need to leave me the hell alone right now.”
And he knows that Robin stares after him, blankly stunned, but when Henry runs up the stairs and into his room, thank God, he does not follow.
———————————
Having progressed straight to panic when, as expected, Henry was not waiting for him at his room at Granny’s, he’d begun a frantic search of what seemed like half the town, with no luck. Regina had had the unenviable task of surreptitiously checking with the Charmings, in the unlikely situation that Henry had run off to them, somehow without letting them know that there was a problem, for they did not want to worry the boy’s grandparents until they had to. Quite frankly, Snow and Charming already had enough on their plate with a suddenly granted audience with King Arthur to prepare for.
Again as expected though, Henry had not been at the loft. With neither of them successful in finding the kid, he and Regina had just met up to coordinate who would search what next when Regina gets the call from Robin telling her that Henry was back at the house, safe, but obviously devastated over something and refusing to talk.
This, of course, had resulted in nothing less than a mad dash by both of them to get back to the house, to Henry.
The advantage in pure foot speed had him there first, throwing the front door open against the wall with a massive crash that he could not find it himself to give one damn about, running straight past a startled Robin without a single word, and pounding his way up the stairs, and busting his way into Henry’s room without bothering to knock.
The boy looks up, startled, from where - his heart clenches - he’d clearly been crying into his pillow. And for a second or two, Henry only stares at him blankly, as if not able to reconcile that it’s actually him, but just when Killian found himself beginning to worry that the boy was in shock, the moment ends, and Henry charges off the bed and flings himself into his arms, just in time for Regina to arrive and see it all over his own shoulder.
For his part, Henry does not seem to notice his mother’s arrival, but then, it would be difficult to, considering he’s busy clinging to him and sobbing into his shoulder.
At a loss, Killian can only rub the boy’s back and murmur soothing nonsense into his ear.
“It’s alright, I’m here, it will all be alright, I’m not going anywhere, I’ve got you, you’ve got me, I’m here.”
“You can’t ever leave,” Henry finally chokes out. “You have no idea how much I need you.”
“I’m not leaving, kiddo. I promise you. It’s you and me in it together, right?”
With a loud sniffle, the boy nods his head, and Killian thinks he might finally be calming.
“Come now, lad. Let’s you and me go and sit down.”
Henry follows him over to his bed willingly enough, and he’s able to get him situated back against his pillows, but when he goes to take a seat on the bed himself, just in front of Henry, seconds later the boy had scrambled over to sit beside him and, to his absolute shock, rest his head upon his own shoulder.
He refuses to let himself stiffen in his surprise, and his reward for his restraint is feeling the boy go boneless as he finally relaxes somewhat, and snuggles in closer.
Turning his head just slightly to glance back at the door, he finds Regina absolutely frozen in shock, and Robin just behind her, clearly stunned himself, but reaching an arm out to touch his true love’s shoulder in connection, in comfort.
Killian feels for her, truly, but there’s nothing he can do for her now, but to do the best that he can for her son, and if that means being the one Henry turns to to be soothed, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.
“I’m so tired,” Henry says softly. “I wish this would all end. That we could just do something and make the hurt go away for all of us.”
Worried, he looks down at the boy now resting, eyes closed, on his shoulder. He truly does look exhausted, like he’s just ready to give up completely, and that scares him. He does not like the look on such an innately hopeful boy.
Something has happened, he knows, something awful. And as much as he suspects he does not want to know, the role he’s in now as someone Henry has decided to trust - his confidant - demands it.
Furthermore, Regina is not going to let this slide without answers, and something tells him Henry is far more likely to talk if he’s the one asking the questions.
“Kiddo?” he prompts. “You’ve got to talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
Henry lifts his head up but says nothing, only glances warily back at the door towards Regina and Robin, shaking his head and staying silent as he leans back down onto his shoulder.
“No, don’t do that,” he scolds lightly. “Your mother and Robin, you know they’re here for you too, just like I am. They want what’s best for you. They don’t like seeing you like this anymore than I do. But whatever has happened here, we can’t fix it unless you tell us about it.”
“They’re going to be mad,” Henry mumbles. “Everyone is gonna be so mad. Maybe even you.”
“I think I’m going to have to ask for you to tell me, and let me decide for myself, kiddo. But I’ll tell you what, it doesn’t matter if I am angry. I’m still going to be here. I promised, remember? And I always keep my promises, because a man’s word is everything. It’s you and me, kiddo, no matter what.”
Henry stares up at him for what feels like a very long time, likely attempting to ascertain his own sincerity. Whatever he sees seems to convince him, because he finally swallows nervously, closes his eyes, and mumbles, “I went to see Mom.”
Killian goes absolutely still, as if in a dream, trapped, unable to move. It feels that way, somehow. Feels as though reality has become blurred, as though nothing said or done here and now could possibly be real.
“You did what?” Regina demands.
Henry flinches.
“How dare you do such a thing?”
“Regina!” Killian snaps, finding his voice for Henry’s sake as the boy presses himself deeper against him as if trying to disappear. “You are not helping!”
“I’m not trying to help,” she hisses, slapping away Robin’s hand as he tries to calm her, pull her back. “My son is long past help right now. What in the hell were you thinking?”
Henry is obviously trying not to cry anymore, but seems to be fighting a losing battle as he looks up and makes eye contact with his mother. “I was thinking I wanted to see my Mom. I needed to see her.”
“And that’s it, then? No thought given to the danger you were putting yourself in, to what it would do to me if you’d been hurt?”
“You don’t have to tell me this,” he mumbles. “I’ve already heard it all from Mom.”
This time, all three of them freeze.
Perhaps sensing that Regina is beyond words and Killian may never speak again, Robin snaps out of it first. “What do you mean, you heard it all from your Mom, Henry? Do you mean… was the Dark Swan protective of you somehow?”
Henry shakes his head. “The Darkness was awful. Threatening and vicious. It would have hurt me. Mom didn’t let it.”
“This is absurd,” Regina mutters.
“I’m telling the truth!”
“Then you were in danger,” Regina says, voice shaking. “Danger that you walked straight into, with none of us having any idea where you were. You just walked out of this house - when you were grounded - and decided to just pop a visit to a known dark villain who would try to hurt you.”
“It wasn’t that bad…”
“Tell that to the hysterical breakdown I just watched you having!”
“I was crying for Mom!” Henry snarls, clearly past his breaking point. “I was crying because Mom saved me but I wasn’t able to save her. I wasn’t able to do anything! She didn’t let the Darkness lay a hand on me, she got me out of there, she got me home safe. She talked to me, and held me, and for a little while, I was able to have my Mom back and it was wonderful. But she couldn’t hold the Darkness off for long, and she told me to run and it made her disappear, and what could I do for her after everything she did for me? NOTHING! I just left her, I let the Darkness take her again. I just ran away. From my Mom. So, you know what, do your worst. Ground me for six life sentences, never let me leave my room again, I don’t care, I don’t care, because nothing you can possibly do to me would ever make me feel worse than I already feel for what I did to my Mom.”
“Your Mom wouldn’t want you thinking like that,” Killian finally murmurs. “You know how much you mean to her. She would do anything for you, kiddo, and she wouldn’t want you thinking that you need to repay her somehow for it.”
“But she basically said she would die for me. She said that if it came down to a choice between her and me, it would always be me. She said that, those words!”
“She’s your Mom, kiddo. Of course she did. That’s what parents do. I rather think Regina here would say the same. That’s why she’s so scared and so angry right now. Because parents should be willing to do anything for their children. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“But…”
“There’s no ‘but’ about this one, Henry. I know it scares you. I know you don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about it. But she’s the parent, you’re the kid, and it’s a parent’s job to put their children first. That’s what Emma’s trying to do right now.”
“You believe me, then?” Henry asks, something akin to hope coming back into his voice. “That I’m not making it up, that Mom really did come back for a little while?”
“I do not believe that you could ever lie about something like that. But beyond that, I know you don’t lie to me, period. We need to have trust between us, you and me. That’s how this works. Aye, of course I believe you.”
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Killian manages at least a half smile, for the boy’s sake. “Always. But, lad, I think you ought tell us everything that happened today. Every detail. Perhaps there’s something that could help us help your Mom.”
Henry shrugs. “There’s really not much more to tell. I snuck out of here when Robin was distracted with Roland, I walked ‘cross town to get to the house, I walked in, called out asking if anyone was there. No one answered, I started to get creeped out, realized it probably wasn’t my best idea ever to be there. I just wanted to go to you, so I turned to leave, and the Darkness was suddenly just there, in front of me. It wouldn’t let me leave, it was threatening me, and it lifted an arm to pull back and hit me, and then it went all weird. It was like it was in terrible pain or something, but nothing was happening, it was all in its own head, and then… Mom was there. She had the control, not the Darkness, because Mom was not going to let it hurt me.”
“What did she say?” Killian asks quietly.
“It was like she was talking to the Darkness. She yelled that she would ‘end you’ if it touched me, and that’s when we both froze, because it was Mom and neither of us could really believe it. I guess I snapped out of it first, and I ran to give Mom a hug, and she hugged me back.”
“I reckon that felt good?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. She was there, she was real, she was holding me, and it was like for the first time in ages everything was good. I mean, she was mad at me too, but that was okay, because of course she’d be mad at what I did, risking myself. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“Then what?” Regina jumps in to ask, the temper finally out of her voice. “Because somehow you managed to back here, safe, if emotionally devastated.”
“Mom drove me. She said I couldn’t stay with her, because it wasn’t safe for me. I wanted to. I thought if I just stayed with her forever, I could make everything better. Because she fought off the Darkness for me, so I thought if I was just always with her, it would never come back. But it wasn’t like that. She could feel it, inside of her, wanting to take control again. She said it was really angry at her. It didn’t like that she’d fought it off. But she kept fighting it off anyway, long enough to get me back here, long enough for us to talk for awhile, to say some things we needed to say to each other.”
Henry’s face falls then, so completely he looks near tears once more. Killian squeezes his hand, trying to encourage him, even when he knows beyond a doubt that he does not want to hear what came next.
“Mom told me she’d tear the Darkness apart from the inside out if she had to. She said it with certainty, like it was something she had no doubt she could do. It would destroy her, Killian, it would destroy her too. And I told her she couldn’t do that, not to us, but that’s when she said that in a choice between her and me, she would always choose me. I didn’t… I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t ever want to leave her. But I had to, because the Darkness was taking over again, and she held on long enough to tell me to run, and I did. I ran, and I didn’t look back, because I didn’t want to see what happened. But I told her, Killian, I promise. I told her I love her, I told her to fight, I told her we needed her.”
“I know you did, kiddo,” he whispers.
Henry nods, then, clearly spent, closes his eyes and rests his head back on his own shoulder once more. “I don’t know what happened to Mom after that,” he mutters. “I’m sorry.”
Shaking his head, he pulls the boy in even closer and wraps him in a tight hug. “Not your fault.”
“The car is still outside,” Robin interjects, “but it’s empty. I went out and checked. There’s no sign of Emma or… the Dark Swan. It’s as if she just completely disappeared. Again.”
Killian can only stare at the other man blankly. He hadn’t even noticed him leave. Nor, now that he thought about it, had he noticed the yellow bug when he arrived, though if he’s being honest with himself, he’d had rather tunnel vision for Henry at the time.
“That’s just great,” Regina scoffs, “very helpful, as always. She’s vanished into thin air, left our traumatized son behind…”
“Do not berate Emma right now,” Killian says evenly, but with a warning note so obvious in his voice even Henry tenses against him.
To her credit, Regina takes a moment to gather herself before speaking again. “What am I to do with the car?”
“I think by rights that should be Henry’s call,” he replies.
“I don’t want it here,” Henry says immediately. “Not without her. Can’t we just… take it back to the house? No one has to go in to see her… the Darkness. Just drop the car off out front.”
“The keys are there,” Robin volunteers quietly. “It would be easy enough for someone to do.”
“Then we’ll do that,” Regina decides. “I’ll take it over, or we’ll get one of the Charmings to do it. We’ll get it out of here, Henry.”
“Thank you.”
The gratitude in Henry’s voice is sincere, but listless, and Regina’s face falls slightly, the worry taking over. She rallies though, clasping her hands together, perhaps taking on a bit of a Queen’s mask as she turns back to Killian and announces, “Well, now that we’ve got everything sorted regarding Emma, it’s a family matter now, so if you would show yourself out…”
Rolling his eyes, but acquiescing to get up off Henry’s bed anyway and prepare to take his leave, he is once again caught wildly off guard when Henry lunges forward and throws his arms around his own waist.
“No!” the boy yells, clinging to him.
“Henry?”
“I want to go with you,” Henry tells him, voice breaking just enough to make it sound the next thing to a whimper. “Please, Killian, can I stay with you?”
He hadn’t thought anything could stun him more than the news of Emma’s temporary re-appearance, but this does it.
The boy is serious, he knows, as he stares down at him, feeling how tightly he hangs onto him. His eyes are pleading with him, and Gods, does he ever look like Bae did at that age.
He tries hard not to think about how much it gets to him that this boy wants him.
He could be that person, he knows. He’d wanted to be that person for hundreds of years now.
But is it his place to be that person for Henry? The boy had family, had parents every which way. Biological and adopted and let’s be honest, soon-to-be step. Parents whose relationship to his own self varied from loving (she’d said it, she’d said it, she’d said it) to disliking and distrusting to ridiculous levels of complicated. Bloody hell, he was Bae’s son.
Henry had parents to spare.
And then he has him. And what is he to Henry, besides the man who loved Emma too?
But is that what Henry needs right now anyway? To be with the person who loved Emma as much, as desperately, as he did?
And truthfully, it’s not even just about Emma. It hasn’t been for a very long time.
Oh, he loved her, of course. With everything he had in him. To the end of the world.
He’d just never expected to love her son too.
But Gods, he did.
He’d thought of him as ‘his boy’ only hours earlier, hadn’t he? The second he’d known Henry was missing, that had been his only thought, only purpose. He’d had to find his boy.
Was it truly any wonder that Henry would get attached to him the way he had to the kid?
And what is he supposed to say to him, now, when he doesn’t even know what to think or how to feel?
“Kiddo,” he tries to start.
“Don’t answer that,” Regina hisses, looking about as uncomposed as he’s ever seen her. “Don’t you dare. This is not even a question. Henry is my son. He belongs with me. And you need to leave.”
“Not without me,” Henry interjects. “Please, Killian. Mom. I can’t… I just can’t anymore.”
“What is this even about, Henry?” Regina demands. “I thought we were in a good place, I thought…”
“We are, Mom,” Henry insists. “And I want to stay that way. I don’t… I don’t feel like me right now. I’m a mess, and I know that, and I’m going to wreck everything. I’m going to hurt us both, if I’m here. And I don’t want to do that. I’m not asking this of you to hurt you, Mom. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
“Then why?”
“Because when I’m with Killian I feel like I’m on solid ground,” Henry says softly. “And I feel like I might actually be able to put one foot in front of the other. I don’t feel that way anywhere or with anyone else anymore, since Mom’s been gone. Just him. That’s why I keep running to him. And I’ll keep running to him if you make me stay here. But I’d like to think you won’t, that you’ll understand, that you’ll let me do this. You’ll let me go. It wouldn’t be forever. Just… just give me time to feel okay again.”
The devastation on Regina’s face is so painfully obvious that Killian wants to turn away, wants not to be looking at it, to see it. It’s too private, too hers, too raw. Robin too looks wrecked, unable to do anything to fix this for his True Love and her feelings besides be there for her, be with her.
Yes, he wants desperately to look away, but for the first time, Regina turns away from her son to glance over at him, and in practically the same moment from the corner of his eye, Killian sees a wild kind of hope enter Henry’s expression.
And he knows what he must do.
He clears his throat, but cannot keep the emotion out of his voice when he finally says, “The lad will always be welcome with me. Should he have your permission, I would have no problem with Henry coming to stay with me.”
Regina closes her eyes, pained, but opens them back up immediately when Henry leans forward to grab her hands.
“Mom,” he whispers, “I love you. But right now… I need him. Please.”
Regina stares at her son for a very long time, before she finally looks up to pin Killian with a glare.
“If we do this,” she starts, suddenly sounding like herself again, harsh and regal, “there are going to be conditions.”
He keeps his face stoic, but still he wonders if they know, if Henry and Regina and even Robin can tell, if they can see, the desperate and absolute joy that flows through him now, such that he hasn’t felt since they’d lost Emma.
He doesn’t have her.
But he’s got their boy.
———————
He has to have dinner at his Mom’s three times a week and call home to check in every single night just before he goes to sleep, so she’ll know he’s safe in bed. To that matter, he has a newly set bedtime of 9:30, which is just one of many facets to the truly spectacular grounding he had not been able to escape - not that he’d expected to.
He has conditions and rules and privileges revoked going every which way.
And he doesn’t care.
He’s with Killian. That’s all that matters to him.
The room at the bed and breakfast that Killian had been staying in had been magically transformed into a small two bedroom apartment, in Regina’s efforts to get the place, in her words, ‘habitable’. Still, their place is tiny, especially compared to the mansion that he grew up in, and even compared to his grandparents’ loft that he’d spent so much time in. Where he’ll be staying now, it’s literally just their two bedrooms, a washroom to be shared between them, and a small shared living space including a kitchen.
Henry adores it.
While Regina had gone wielding magic around the space ensuring that the kitchenette had the basics and the important extras - you’re having a dishwasher, I can’t see either one of you making any great effort to wash the dishes regularly by hand and there’s no way my son is going to be living with stacks of dirty dishes everywhere - a shellshocked Killian had been staring at the room that Henry would be calling his own and quietly asking what colour was Henry’s favourite so they could get properly coloured linens for his bed.
Regina had of course later magicked up a comforter and sheets in his preferred blue. Shopping wasn’t needed when a parent could make everything appear out of thin air.
There’d been a brief flicker in Killian’s eyes, something akin to regret, before he’d smiled and thanked Regina for everything she was doing. Regina had of course pointed out that she was doing it for her son, but Killian still kept that smile on his face and said he appreciated it nonetheless.
Henry had forgotten all about it, until he came back from school on his first Monday living with Killian, and found a bedroom with walls now the perfect blue of the ocean, and a pirate covered head to hook to toe in specks of paint.
He’d done that for him.
He hadn’t known what to say, besides thank you, and Killian had come over quite red at that, saying that it was nothing.
But there was no denying how pleased the man had looked when he’d told him that he’d somehow picked his very favourite shade of blue.
Mine as well, he’d mumbled under his breath, perhaps not intending for Henry to hear at all, but he had, and he’d grinned.
Tiny thing though it is, it’s something else they share.
——————
Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into a month.
Eventually, the months turn into a year, the years turn into a lifetime.
The passing of time was once something he never paid attention to. Hell, if he had, he probably would have lost his bloody mind. The years, after all, had turned into centuries for him. Centuries with nothing to keep him going but a desperate thirst for vengeance.
That’s not anything to live on, or for.
It had changed, when he came to Storybrooke. Maybe even before that, if he’s being honest with himself. Since he’d met Emma. Because as much as he’d felt betrayed at the time by what she’d done in the giant’s lair, Gods, he’d felt alive too.
He’d felt that way ever since. He’d started living again. The desire for revenge had still been with him, oh, yes it was, but it stopped feeling like he could just kill the imp and then die happily. No, he wasn’t done living yet, not now that he’d been reminded what it felt like to truly do so.
And so time got meaning back.
And days turn into weeks, weeks turn into a month.
They’re putting together a life.
It’s not permanent. They both know it.
But damn it, it feels like something that could be.
They’ve found something here, built it, the two of them, together. Something good, something big, something beautiful.
Something that they’d both needed, more than they could have known.
Henry had wanted to be back on solid ground. And in asking for that, he’d grounded both of them.
He’d brought them home.
The loss of Emma is still felt fiercely, of course. Things had not gone as well as they would have hoped in the Charmings’ work with King Arthur. They’d gotten along brilliantly, of course, the prince and princess being two of the most absurdly likeable people he’d ever encountered in any realm, and King Arthur had immediately become fond of Charming in particular, but it’s not the King that they have to convince. It’s Merlin, and the Mage is not one to grant favours just because the King asks him nicely. It’s progress, of course, to have made this connection with the Camelot regent, but there is still so much work to be done.
Snow and Charming remain optimistic, but the bottom line, for Killian and Henry, is that they still don’t have Emma back. They both miss her something desperate, to the point of panic at times, but it helps them both to have each other, especially during those hardest times. Henry sometimes comes home from school to find him sitting on the couch, head in his hand out of grief for another failing in the plan to get his love back, and the boy will just dump his backpack on the floor and join him on the couch, hand on his shoulder. And more than once, the boy has come running into his own room in the dead of night, leaving him to hug and hold and soothe. The last time, Henry had actually fallen asleep, right there in his arms, head on his shoulder.
Three hundred years, and he doesn’t think he has a memory more precious to him than that one.
They never seem to talk, really, during these times of comfort. They don’t need to. There’s just such a simple trust between them, that they only really need to be there, for each other. They understand, they get it. There’s no shame. No shame in showing the pain, the hurt, the devastation of it all.
They’ve seen each other cry. It’s made no difference in their relationship, save perhaps bringing them closer, because they both know without question that it’s okay to show that side, to be that wrecked around each other.
They’ve both got a safe place here.
———————
The imp wakes up.
Belle’s audible message on the talking phone - voicemail Henry tells him, equal parts exasperated and fond - is a mess of disbelief, something akin to panic, and damn near incoherent joy, but she babbles something about Emma, Rumple was with her at times, like a mentor, like he’d do with Regina, that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. As distasteful as he finds the crocodile - so much more pleasant unconscious - he decides that this is not something he can ignore, and so a visit must be paid.
He hadn’t counted on the boy insisting upon coming with him.
“You know I’m not grounded anymore,” Henry says, grinning, the cheeky bugger. “I can go where I like now. So I really could just follow you there, and there’d be nothing you could do about it.”
“And find yourself promptly grounded again for going against my wishes? Doesn’t sound a solid plan to me, mate.”
“You would ground me for visiting my ailing grandfather, who just came out of a months long coma?” Henry asks, purposefully making his eyes go huge and sad, even when he can hear the damn playful teasing in the boy’s voice. “I don’t think that’s very fair at all.”
“Bloody hell, kiddo,” he groans. “You’re really going to make me do this?”
“It’s news about Mom, Kill,” Henry replies, serious now. “If you really don’t want me to go, I won’t, but you know I’d only make you tell me everything the moment you got home. Isn’t it easier if I just go with you to get it first hand?”
He stares up at the ceiling, beaten. “You know, I truly think you may be turning me into a pushover.”
Genuine surprise lights up the kid’s face. “So I can go?” he demands.
Grabbing the boy by the back of his shoulder and pulling him up against him, playfully roughhousing, he growls, “Come now, let us go before I change my mind.”
He tries very hard to ignore Henry’s laughter as he locks the door behind them.
———————
Rumplestilskin is tense when they arrive, even struggling against Belle’s attempts to keep him in bed, trying to get up to stand, glaring fiercely at Killian. Henry can’t help but think that his grandfather doesn’t even notice him, so intent is his furious focus on the pirate.
“Come to take me out while I’m down?” he hisses upon finally giving up, collapsing against the mound of pillows. “How very typical.”
Killian rolls his eyes, on the face of things entirely at ease, but Henry can feel his tension in how tight of a grip the man keeps on his own shoulder, as if on guard. “Rest easy, Crocodile,” he declares, “I am only here because Belle seems to think you have information about Emma. Should that not be the case after all, we’ll take our leave.”
“You expect me to believe that’s all?” Rumplestilskin scoffs. “After all your failed attempts at assassination, you’re just going to let this golden opportunity go? I know you better than that, pirate.”
A muscle tics in Killian’s jaw. “Do you have anything to share about Emma or not?”
Wild laughter escapes Rumplestilskin, and Henry finds himself wondering if his grandfather had come out of the coma entirely sane. His weakness and frailty had been scary in of itself, but this… this is just disturbing. Killian seems half ready to abandon the whole thing, grab him and run, getting him the hell out of there, and Henry just knows that Killian is fiercely regretting allowing him to come.
That being as it is, Henry takes a step forward, even as Killian’s grip upon him somehow impossibly tightens.
“Grandfather,” he murmurs, gently as he can. “Please. If you know anything about my Mom, you have to tell us.”
Rumplestilskin stares at him so blankly it’s almost as if he’s looking right through him. Frightened, he allows Killian to pull him back, positioning his own body in front of his, a blatantly protective stance.
“You were the bloody Dark One, Crocodile. You must know something.”
“Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years you waited to kill me,” he mumbles, shrill and manic. “You’ll do it now, oh yes you will… you’ll finally be that murderer you waited so long to be. Will Milah feel vindicated then? And so the crocodile shall be slayed, tick tock, tick tock.”
“ENOUGH OF THIS!” Killian finally explodes. “You were sane five minutes ago, enough of the act. For once in your life, man up, be a grandfather, and abide by your grandson’s request.”
“And answer all your questions in turn?” Rumplestilskin asks, craftiness back in his eyes. “Whyever would I do that?”
“Because in this, crocodile, you can’t separate what I want, and what your grandson wants. We both want Emma back. Mother to your grandson, remember? Are you prepared to finally do right by her, by him, by Bae in turn? Or shall you stab them all in the back once more, in pitiful attempt to get a knife at me?”
Fury flares in the older man’s eyes. “You…”
“Yes, me. Nemesis for countless lifetimes over. But here’s the difference between you and I: I’ve actually changed. And I don’t care, are you hearing me Crocodile, I don’t care anymore. I’m done. You can live, or you can die, but it won’t be by my hand. I will not risk losing what I’ve gained here. Consider this a declaration of ceasefire, if you will. Now I will ask you one more time. Do you know anything about Emma?”
The sheer loathing in his grandfather’s expression as he stares at Killian is startling, but when he glances over and makes eye contact with himself, it shifts into something like guilt, and Rumplestilskin finally starts to speak.
“There has never before been two surviving ‘Dark Ones’,” he says. “The history of the power - of the dagger - has always been to kill for it. That Ms. Swan has obtained the power without killing for it seems to have created a link, a connection. A thin thread, if you will, not at all reliable, easily broken, but there. While I was in the coma, it allowed a version of me to communicate with a version of her, through dreams on my end, though I cannot say whether it was the same on hers. Somehow, I think not.”
“Mom didn’t tell…” Henry starts to whisper.
“Hush, Henry,” Killian mutters, cutting him off, to Henry’s immediate understanding and embarrassment for not thinking.
(Grandfather or not, Rumplestilskin is not one to be trusted.)
Rumplestilskin watches their interaction, clearly considering its meaning and implications, even as he continues his explanation. “I believe the version of me that was in this dream realm was able to follow the Darkness’s path to her, to whatever remains of Emma Swan’s soul within the body of the new Dark One. She’s combative. She fights the Darkness, when she needs to embrace it. She’ll remain something separate until she does, and in that case, there is little I can do to help her.”
“She’ll never embrace it,” Killian hisses. “She’ll keep fighting.”
“Then she may well find that in time she’ll simply cease to be. There’s no declining being the Dark One, once the Darkness has made its claim.”
“You’re wrong about that. We’ll find a way.”
“We shall see.”
“And that’s all you know?” Killian demands. “That’s it? The bloody Dark One for centuries and that’s all you have to tell?”
Rumplestilskin smirks. “All I care to share, at any rate.”
“Bloody useless,” Killian snarls. “Come now Henry, we’re leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere with my grandson!”
“Rumple,” Belle chides, wisely quiet until now, having not wanted to get in between the two men. “You’ve been in the coma for months, I haven’t had time to tell you everything yet. Henry is in Killian’s custody for the time being. Of course Henry will be going with him.”
Blank shock is plain on the imp’s face. “How is that possible? What happened to Regina? She would not stand for this.”
Abruptly furious that his grandfather would think that he could speak for his mother, Henry steps around Killian to glare, “My Mom allows it because I needed her too. Because she does what’s best for me.”
“What’s best for you?” Rumplestilskin scoffs. “An alcoholic, crippled, thieving, cheating…”
“SHUT UP!” Henry screams, feeling near hysterical with rage. “You know nothing…”
Killian’s grip on him is only loose enough to not bruise. “Kiddo, we’re going, let’s go, it’s alright…”
“What did you not understand about my grandson not going anywhere with you?”
“Hear this, Crocodile,” Killian hisses. “I may be done with half cocked plots of revenge for Milah. But if you try to take the boy away from me, we are going to have a problem.”
Finding himself calmed by Killian’s steadfastness and all that he doesn’t say in words (Mine, he hears, and thrills at), Henry steadies himself enough to be able to speak calmly when he says, “Better listen to him, Grandfather. It won’t end well for you if you don’t.”
And with the satisfaction the last word always grants, Henry finally allows Killian to pull him out the door.
They leave the shop and walk down the street in silence for awhile, but before long, Killian slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him up against him in a half hug even as they continue walking forward and growls, “Next time your grandfather comes out of a coma we’ll just skip him and go for ice cream instead.”
It startles the laughter right out of him.
They might have learned nothing new - nothing useful anyway, and the visit might well have been hell, but it’s easy enough to shake off when he’s right back where he started the afternoon.
Laughing happily at his favourite person.
——————
Henry’s birthday sneaks up on him.
He’d known it, of course, had even vaguely been making plans for it somewhere in the back of his mind, but time does its ‘suddenly having meaning and thus actually passing’ thing to him again and Regina is declaring that Henry will be spending the entire day with her to celebrate the date of his birth. A reasonable request, to be certain, and one he readily agrees to, largely because it gives him time to figure out what the bloody hell he’s going to do for the boy once he gets him back for the day after his birthday.
Gifts and cake, he believes, are customary in this realm, as is some form of preferred foodstuff for dinner. Henry’s favourite is cheeseburgers, he knows, but they go down to the diner and puppy-dog eye Granny into cooking for them so very often, there is nothing special in that. No, he must prepare the meal himself. A cheeseburger. There cannot be but anything to it, right?
… He’ll get Granny to do the cake, just to make sure they have something edible.
——————
It had been a strange experience, spending almost an entire weekend back at his old home. It had felt, truly, like something out of his past, giving him an eerie sense of deja vu for most of the time he was there, even with the new additions of Robin and Roland.
His mother, of course, had taken the opportunity to spoil him ridiculously, and he was certainly happy with the additions to his video game collection, as well as his new ice skates; and his birthday dinner of spaghetti carbonara had been fantastic, but all told he was kind of relieved when his Mom dropped him back off at Killian’s on Sunday, as requested just before 6:00, for his ‘birthday part two celebrations’.
He’d walked in the door with a happy call of ‘Killian, I’m home!’ and it had stunned him how natural, how right it felt to say it.
This was home now.
Killian’s head pops around from the kitchenette, looking some kind of flustered but cheerful enough. “Hey kiddo! Happy birthday!”
“Belated birthday now,” Henry corrects, tossing his bag into his bedroom as he walks past it.
“I prefer to think of it as an extended birthday, myself,” Killian muses. “Makes it so I still get to be part of it. How was your time with your mother?”
“Good,” he allows, with a tiny smile. “She got me a whole bunch of new video games.”
“Just as well, as I lack expertise on that particular matter.”
He has to laugh at that. “We’ll get you there. I happen to be an excellent video game teacher. I even managed to get Mom to know what she was doing when we were living in New York and she was hopeless when we started.”
“Ah, well if your Mom can learn such a thing, then surely I could manage.”
Henry grins. “That’s the spirit.”
Obviously amused, Killian tells him to go ahead and sit down at the table, that dinner is - he thinks - just about ready.
“What are we having?”
“Your favourite, my boy. ‘Least, I hope.”
Playful, but still genuinely amazed, Henry lets his jaw drop. “You… made cheeseburgers?”
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves, lad. I made an attempt at cheeseburgers. Not altogether sure how that attempt worked out.”
As it turned out, wonderfully. The cheese is perfectly melted to gooey goodness, the toppings are fresh, and the burger itself is even cooked to Henry’s slightly unusual preferences, crisped to the point of being burnt around the edges but normal in the centre. He keeps feeling the need to tease Killian about why they ever bother bugging Granny for a burger if he can make one like this himself, and delighting in the way the tips of Killian’s ears go red in embarrassment.
Seriously though, Killian’s pancakes were expert, and he could manage eggs and bacon now after a great deal of practice, and his grilled cheese was top notch because once we get your Mom back it’ll need to be, but that had been the extent of Killian’s cooking skills so far as Henry had known.
But this might actually be the best cheeseburger he’d ever had in his life.
The rest of the evening passes by in a blur of absolute contentment; a delicious chocolate cake that Killian hilariously tries to steal the credit for (he knows Granny’s work when he tastes it), and a few small gifts that still feel special, particularly the last, a battered book that Killian tells him had been his own favourite when he was his age - an anthology of legends and fables of the sea - and the declaration that it’s time the stories touch a new young boy with a giant imagination.
Later in the evening, Henry even manages to convince Killian to take a try with one of his new video games, as they sit together drinking cocoa - with cinnamon, obviously - and ends up laughing himself silly at the way the pirate hoots with pride when he finally manages to go up a single level.
Just before he’s to go to bed, he collects the accumulated garbage of the plastic wrap from the new games he had opened, and he goes to dump it all in the kitchen trash, when Killian’s somehow embarrassed sounding “wait, I’ll do that!” comes just a split second too late after Henry opened the lid.
And found himself staring at at least a half dozen hamburger patties that clearly weren’t cooked to his own ridiculous preferred way of eating them, as they’d been burned all the way through or not cooked enough.
He looks up at Killian, who’d gone a particularly bright shade of red and was rubbing at the back of his head. Defeated, he sighs, “I’d wanted it to be perfect.”
So he’d kept trying and trying until it had been. For him, he’d done that.
It seems ridiculous, Henry thinks, that this should be the best thing anyone’s ever done for him, but it is, and he steps forward, throwing his arms around Killian in the biggest hug he can muster.
He has no idea what to say, which is probably why he starts speaking without thinking, and thus finds himself stumbling accidentally over something huge. “It was the best. Ever. I can’t believe you put that kind of effort into it for me, I really can’t. Thank you, Da… Damn, this has been the best birthday ever.”
Killian’s eyes are warm and fond as he scolds him, “Language, kiddo. But you are very welcome. Now, to bed with you. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
He’s curled up, warm in his bed, lights out, but still, he lies wide awake as he stares at the ceiling.
Killian hadn’t caught the stutter, but he certainly had.
And it scares him. Scares the hell out of him.
Because when he hadn’t been thinking, too overcome with gratitude and love, he’d very nearly called Killian ‘Dad’.
————————
He needs to see his Mom again.
There’s just no question about it.
Because it’s been a few days now, and now that it’s thought it, he can’t get his stupid head to stop calling Killian ‘Dad’, and it’s almost slipped out a few times, and one of these days he is going to say it without thinking and ruin everything and he’s worked himself into a panic and he needs to talk to someone, and Killian is the one he talks to about everything from Mom to school to the pretty girl who had come to Storybrooke with all the Camelot people, and Killian is brilliant to talk to about all of those things, but this, this he can’t. This, he needs his Mom.
And so he ignores the absolutely nauseating feeling of guilt he has in his stomach about sneaking around on Da - Killian! - and about using a little kid who absolutely hero worships him, and he quietly instructs Roland one night when they’re playing a game together before dinner that on the next night that he’s supposed to come for dinner, he needs Roland to cause a distraction right around the time he usually arrives.
The little boy’s eyes are solemn and adoring as he agrees to his ‘mission’, and Henry does his damnedest not to let tears come to his eyes as they shake hands. God, but he hates this.
But it’s got to be done.
He needs to see his Mom.
He just hopes Killian will forgive him once he finds out about it.
—————————
The plan works better than he could have imagined it would.
As always, Killian walks him to his mother’s house, watching him until he’s safely inside the front door (they’d always joked that he was a known flight risk worthy of the secure treatment, he remembers with a particular surge of that terrible guilt), before he leaves to go and meet with Belle, or Snow and Charming, or to do whatever it is he needs to do that night, usually something to do with saving Emma.
Henry usually then goes to the kitchen to say hi to his mother and Robin, and to see what it is they’re cooking for dinner, before making his way to Roland’s playroom to play with the little boy for a half hour before they eat.
But on this night, the moment he walks into the house, he can hear from upstairs the absolute racket of a child throwing a massive - one for the record books - temper tantrum, the efforts of both Regina and Robin to soothe and determine what’s wrong be damned.
He waits as long as he dares, standing in the front entrance of his former home, before he opens the door a crack, peers around outside, assures himself that Killian is in fact long gone, and then takes off running.
The benefit of a tiny town, it’s not a long run. The downside of a tiny town, there’s always the risk of running straight into someone he doesn’t want to run into, including - God forbid - Killian.
He sees a couple of the dwarves along the way, but diving into a convenient alleyway, manages to escape them unseen, and continues on his run without further issues.
He’s damn near doubled over and panting by the time he just lets himself inside the house, which he knows is not an advantageous position to be in when strutting into the lair of a dark creature, but he knows and trusts his Mom. She’ll come for him.
And indeed, when the Dark Swan appears, it only has time for its eyes to go big in surprise before something flickers and changes in them.
“Really, kid?” Emma Swan demands.
For the first time in days, Henry feels himself genuinely grin.
“Hi Mom.”
————————
He’d been settled in at the loft, making small talk with Charming and grinning at the babbling toddler in Snow’s arms as they waited for Belle to join them (the imp most certainly not invited), when his cell phone had rung, bringing with it an immediate sense of foreboding.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, he’d thought, damn near screaming it in his head as he’d seen the caller identification prove what he already knew, that the only one who’d be calling him was Regina.
“What is it?” he demands as he answers the call.
“Hello to you too,” Regina scoffs, haughty as ever. “I can’t say I appreciate your tone, when you’re at fault here. Did you forget tonight’s my night with Henry?”
“Gods damn it,” he swears vehemently, mindlessly hanging up the call without further response, flying out of his chair and helping himself to Charming’s sword, usefully sheathed by the door, and leaving at once, ignoring the startled exclamations of both Charmings, and Belle, who he’d just run straight into at the door.
There’s no time.
Because if the boy had snuck out on him and Regina, there’s only one place he would be.
—————————
She could kill the kid.
If she wasn’t busy hugging the living daylights out of him.
“What. The. Hell. Were. You. Thinking?” she demands, emphasizing each word with a tap to the back of his head.
“Was thinking I felt like a visit,” Henry shrugs, and Jesus, the kid had somehow gotten cheekier in the time they’d been separated.
She does not think that’s a good thing.
“Honestly, Henry, after what happened the last time…”
“What, you appearing the moment you thought I was in any trouble?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it! You know better than to put yourself into this kind of danger again! You would have been here every single day if you truly thought it was safe, but it’s not and you weren’t, because you knew it.”
“You’re repeating yourself, Mom.”
“Maybe I’m hoping if I say it enough times, it’ll smack some sense into you! Honestly, what the hell are you trying to accomplish? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Henry pulls away from her, insulted. “Of course not! I knew you’d keep me safe, and I needed to see you!”
“Why?”
“I just… I needed to talk to you about stuff.”
“What ‘stuff’? You told me last time that you talked to Killian about things, so I don’t…”
“I can’t talk to him about this!”
“About what?” she asks, unable to help herself but to immediately soften when she saw how upset Henry was getting. “Henry, what is it?”
Her boy looks truly miserable, refusing to make eye contact with her. “This was a bad idea,” he mutters. “You’re going to think I’m terrible.”
“Will you let me make that call? I would never think you’re terrible. There, call made. You’re my kid, kid. I think you’re wonderful, always. So what the hell is bothering you so much that would sneak out here to come to talk to me about it?”
Henry looks up at her, finally, but he’s teary eyed when he does. “Dad,” he whispers.
Of all the things that she’d been thinking, that hadn’t come up. “You’re missing Neal?”
If anything, Henry only looks more devastated, with an additional flicker of something that comes far too close to self-loathing for her liking. Her son swallows, then finally rushes out, “It’s not about him, Mom. It’s… it’s Killian.”
“What?”
Henry’s lower lip trembles obviously with the effort of not crying. “He’s become ‘Dad’ to me, Mom. I don’t know how it happened. I know it’s not fair to Dad… but I didn’t know him, not really. We never got to be father and son for long enough. But D… Killian and I have gotten that chance, for him to be a father to me. I’ve been living with him, Mom. He and Mom agreed to it, because with you gone, I felt so much better when I was with him. So I’ve been with him for months, ever since the last time I saw you. It’s home. It’s really home to me now, so much so that when I do spend the night over at Mom’s, it doesn’t feel right. I don’t belong there. I belong at Killian’s. He’s home. And… and he’s my Dad.”
She waits until she is certain that Henry has said all he needs to - all he’s going to, at any rate - before stepping forward and placing her hands on her son’s face, a mother’s comfort in the connection.
“I know, kid,” she murmurs.
“You… you know?”
“I saw it in you the last time we saw each other. I guess I saw it before you did. The way you talked about him, Henry… the two of you had become family to each other. And you know, I was upset - not because I thought it was ‘terrible’ or ‘unfair’ to Neal, but because I wasn’t there to get to see it. And I wanted to be. Getting to watch the two people I love most, become family? Henry, that’s not wrong. That’s beautiful.”
The tears in Henry’s eyes spill over. “You should be there. We could be a real family then.”
“Oh, Henry. I think, I really think, you and Killian are a real family now. And I’m part of it, right? I’ll always be part of it. Love is family, kid, and family is love. I love both of you with all my heart, and you both love me. That’s still family, even when I’m not with you.”
“You are working on it, right?” he asks, sounding just like a little boy. “You’re trying to come back to us? You promised.”
Her own tears come. “I’m working on it, kid,” she agrees. “You saw how fast I was able to take over when I realized you were here, right? I’ve been practicing. The Darkness doesn’t like it… or me… very much. But when I want to, I can seize control almost instantly now. I can make it last for awhile too. Longer than I could when we were with with each other last.”
“That’s good, Mom.”
“Yeah, it is,” she tells him, smiling through her tears. “I kept thinking I should just do it one day, just take control, and go and see everyone. You, Killian, my parents, my brother. I’ve missed you all so much. But I’ve been so scared too, kid. I’d be ready to leave, to go and find you, and then I’d think, ‘it’s not good enough, you should wait, wait until your control is stronger’. I’m so afraid of putting you all in danger. It’s my biggest fear that the Darkness will let me get close to someone I love, to everyone I love, and then just explode out of me and hurt you in order to keep me in line. I couldn’t risk it, so I stayed hidden here.”
“Until I show up to force your hand.”
“Yeah. Until then.”
“I shouldn’t do this anymore, huh?” he asks, sounding about as miserable at the suggestion as she feels. “I should leave it up to you, when you feel ready to come see me?”
She sighs, placing a kiss on top of his head. “This is an awful situation. I don’t ever want you feeling like it’s wrong to need me, to need to come talk to me. But I don’t know what else to tell you. Without knowing that you’re 100% safe… I feel like I can’t risk it, kiddo.”
To her surprise, Henry smiles. “Dad calls me that.”
“Kiddo?”
He nods. “He says ‘kid’ is yours. Yours and mine, and he didn’t want to take that away from us, but it was so entrenched in his head because he’s heard you call me it so many times. So it was just coming out one day… but he didn’t want to upset me, so he turned it into ‘kiddo’, and it stuck. He calls me it all the time.”
“You like that?” she asks, smiling knowingly.
He nods, almost shyly. “It makes me feel special. Like maybe I mean as much to him as he does to me.”
Pulling her son close to her, she kind of huffs out a laugh. “Henry, I think you probably have no idea.”
And in a case of timing so perfect, she’d think it was magic (you never know in this town), Killian Jones chooses that exact moment to kick the door in.
————————
It probably says something about the terror that he’d been in that at first, he does not see her.
He only sees the boy, safe and unharmed, if looking a little stunned.
“Henry,” he growls, “get over here. Now.”
Henry stands up, but rather than walking over to him as requested, he stays where he is. The boy opens his mouth as if to say something, stops, swallows, and tries again. “Killian, it’s okay, it’s Mom.”
It’s at this that he finally glances over at her, and there is no doubt.
He sees her.
Her eyes are huge and teary as she stares back and forth between him and her son, and she seems not to know what to do.
He wants to run to her, to pull her into his arms and never let go. He wants to cry, to laugh; wants to scream, wants to pray to any God who will listen to just give her back to him.
He doesn’t do that any of that. Instead, he locks his legs to keep himself from collapsing to his knees right then and there.
“Emma,” he breathes.
She attempts a smile. It’s shaky, and broken, and the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Killian.”
She’s still got a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and it hits him that they’re both right there in front of him, everything he’s ever wanted, a family of his own.
It’s so close and so far away all at the same time.
Hope is a wretched thing, he thinks. And hopes nonetheless.
—————————
He doesn’t know what to say.
His Dad - because after talking to his Mom hadn’t corrected whatever switch had flipped in his head, Dad it was - looks about as wrecked as he’s ever seen him, and his Mom does not look much better.
It’s unfair, he knows, that everything that they all want, all need, is so close they could literally reach out and touch it, but it can’t last. This moment, the three of them, a real family, it’s as transient as smoke, as fragile as a bubble. They’ll have to leave soon, him and Dad, go back to a life where his Mom is a haunting presence, but not a real one.
Not a present one, anyway.
No. He does not know what to say. He just looks back and forth between his parents, while his Mom keeps glancing between him and his Dad, and his Dad simply stares at his Mom, before the spell finally breaks and his Dad turns to glare at him.
“I believe I told you to come over here,” Killian says, the warning obvious in his voice, and afraid of the tone, this time Henry listens, scampering over to his father’s side, wincing at the feeling of his Mom’s hand slipping off his shoulder.
“I’m sor…” he tries.
“We’ll talk about this at home,” Killian cuts him off, harsh but still somehow gentler than Henry feels he deserves.
“I didn’t hurt him, Killian,” Emma says softly. “I didn’t let it hurt him. I would never…”
“I know, love,” Killian softens. “Are you… are you…”
“I’m okay,” she murmurs, understanding the stumbling. “You can take him. I’ll be okay.”
Henry stands there and watches his Dad’s face fall completely. “I hate keeping him from you,” he admits. “I hate it, darling. He’s your son.”
Emma shakes her head. “He’s our boy. You’re only keeping him safe for us. You’re doing a wonderful job with him, Killian.”
“How would you know?”
Emma nods over at him. “I’ve talked to Henry. I know all I need to from that. I know, Killian. And I need to thank you. Thank you for taking care of my son.”
“Always,” he whispers.
Emma’s smile changes, becomes more real, shining bright like the sun. “I know,” she tells him.
“You’ll be alright?” Killian asks, the pain obvious in his voice. “When the Darkness comes back, you’re alright?”
A shadow crosses over Emma’s face, and in a breath, Henry knows that he and his Dad both know that she will not be alright.
“Emma?” Killian demands.
“I’ll be punished,” she admits, and Henry’s stomach twists so violently he’s surprised he is not sick to his stomach right there. “There’ll be nothing you can do, so don’t try,” she says sharply. “What I’ll need from you is for the two of you to be safe, and get as far from here as you can. I’ll be alright. I’ll live. I always do.”
“Mom…”
“No, Henry,” she snaps, so unlike her. “I’m not messing around on this one. You’ll go. You’ll leave, because there is no other choice.”
Looking for a moment like she was going to say something else, Emma suddenly shudders, and as if he’d been waiting for something like that to happen, Killian grabs him almost as quickly.
“Go!” she breathes. “Go now!”
“Mom!” he screams, struggling against Killian’s grip, kicking out at nothing as his father had immediately lifted him up from behind as if he weighed nothing, fear clearly lending him strength. “No! Mom!”
“Get him out of here, Killian,” Emma demands even as she starts to cry out in pain, “get him out!”
Henry fights like hell to be released, but with the nearly supernatural strength of a panicked parent, Killian manages to transfer Henry’s weight onto his shoulder and run.
The struggle going out of him as soon as he’d been removed from the house, Henry collapses against his Dad, buries his face at the crook of his neck, and sobs.
Killian adjusts his grip just enough so that his hand cups the back of Henry’s head.
Still, he runs.
———————————
He gets them back to Regina’s, where everything promptly disappears in a blur of yelling people.
His abrupt exit from the loft had apparently - unsurprisingly - sent Snow, Charming, and Belle into something of a panic. Belle had notified the imp. They’d all gone over to Regina’s to find out if she knew what was going on, at which point Regina had connected the dots and flown into a horrified fury.
Probably ignoring her dozens of additional phone calls didn’t help matters either. Probably.
They’re all over there. They all yell, they all scream. It sounds as if Henry might have reached his breaking point, giving as good as he gets. He lets him.
What good would anything else do, anyway?
They’ll take him away from him, he thinks. They will, and he has no right to him, not really. Loving the boy like a son doesn’t make him his son. They’ll take him away, he’ll lose him, just like he lost Emma, and then he’ll have nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Vaguely, he wonders if he’s going into shock.
The yelling quiets, though the multitude of voices don’t stop completely. Henry’s still there. Henry is beside him, holding his hand, and refuses to be pulled away. His grip is tight on his hand, until his arms are wrapping around his neck, and the boy is hugging him, whispering right in his ear.
The words make no sense.
Don’t let me lose you too, come on, come back. Dad, Dad, I need you, Dad.
Because they’re all he’s ever wanted to hear.
They’re not going to take me away, I won’t let them. I won’t ever let them. It’s you and me, Dad, like we promised. I’d run to you, and I’d keep running to you. I love you, Dad. Dad.
———————
I’m alright, Killian.
Emma?
Yes, baby. I’m not gone. I’m not lost to you. I hurt for a little while, but then it ends. You’ll be able to save me, Killian. You will. I’m waiting here for you. But right now, our son needs you more.
Our son?
Yes, our son. Baby, can’t you see how absolutely he is yours too? You’re the family he chose for himself. That’s such a beautiful thing, Killian. He’s waiting for you.You need to go back to him. Come out of this. Get him, then get me. We’re both waiting, Killian. Your family is waiting for you.
I love you.
And I you. Now go. Go to Henry. Then come and get me. You know what to do. You always have.
I don’t…
You do. Just love me, Killian.
——————————
Life comes back into his Dad’s eyes slowly, but it’s there, when before they’d been empty.
Henry’s breath stutters shakily, the relief of it potent and intoxicating.
He doesn’t think he could have gone on, if his Dad hadn’t come back from this. He feels quite certain that he would just cease to be, unable to keep going, unable to pick himself back up.
He would have given up, he knows. That would have been it.
The relief when Killian breathes his name is even more staggering still.
“Hey,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”
“I saw your Mom,” Killian smiles.
Henry feels his brow furrow in confusion. “We did together, remember?”
Killian shakes his head slowly. “No. In a dream. Connected, right? The same way you’d always thought. She’s okay, kiddo. She’s waiting for me to find the way to free her. She trusts me to find it. I need you to trust me too.”
“Always.”
Dad, he thinks but doesn’t say.
“Then let us go home.”
————————————
It’s not quite that simple. Not simple at all, rather.
For while Robin, Belle, and Snow sit quietly, watching warily, Regina, Charming, and the bloody imp all argue loudly over each other about why Henry’s custody should transfer over to each of them.
Judging from the look on his face, the boy in question considers this all a rather infuriating waste of time, finally jumping up onto a couch to grab everyone’s attention and announcing, “If you’re all quite through trying to decide my life for me, I’ve had enough. It doesn’t matter which of you you try to stick me with, I’ll find a way to run off to Killian. Just ask my Mom. If her magic couldn’t stop me, I don’t think anything else any of you could come up with would. I want to go home. I am going to go home. And my home is with Killian.”
He feels his lips twitch into a smirk as everyone turns to stare at him. “What the boy said.”
Henry seems like he’s trying hard not to laugh. “We’re going home, and we’re going to come up with the way to save my Mom.”
Snow interjects. “Henry, we’ve got that under control. Camelot is about to agree to open a portal for us to finally go see Merlin. He’s all-powerful. He’ll be able to do this for us.”
“At what cost, Grams?” Henry demands. “If all magic comes with a price, what kind of price are we going to have to pay for Merlin to do some hocus pocus to make one of the darkest curses in the Enchanted Forest’s history just vanish out of Mom?”
“Arthur says…” Charming starts.
“Can we trust Arthur?” Henry asks flatly. “Can we trust any of them, really? Isn’t it just a little too convenient that half of Camelot showed up in Storybrooke right when you both decided that Merlin was our only hope? Come on, Gramps. No one new ever comes to this town with good intentions.”
“Elsa and Anna…”
“Elsa nearly froze my Mom to death, and Anna must’ve been the result of a unicorn getting hit in the head with the pot of gold at the end of a freakin’ rainbow and magically transforming into a human - no one is actually that nice! And if they’re the only examples you can come up with…”
“We can trust Lancelot, Henry,” Snow tells him.
Henry closes his eyes in exasperation. “Right. Great. So to save my Mom we’re putting all our faith on the guy who somehow came back from the dead after my psycho grandmother successfully impersonated him well enough to fool you and a bunch of people who’d been living with him for years? And this actually sounds like a good plan to anyone else?”
Charming turns to glare at Killian. “You allow this kind of attitude?”
Hand and hook thrown up in the air, he shrugs innocently. “Has he said anything untrue here?”
“You’re the guardian!”
“And well he knows that I’d cuff him upside the head if he were lying. He’s not. I’m not going to punish him for pointing out the flaws to this plan. It’s why I’ve been working with Belle for months researching the history of the Dark One, trying to find another way. Because I’ve never had faith in going with Camelot. Emma trusts me to fix this. Not bloody Merlin.”
“We’re doing the best we can to save our daughter!”
“I know you are, Dave,” he sighs. “Just as I must do all I can to try and save the woman I love. And for now, that means looking after her son, as she trusts me to. I am taking Henry home. You would all do well not to test me on this.”
And finally, finally, they do all let them go.
———————
They’re both quiet as they enter the little apartment at Granny’s. Too quiet, for Henry’s liking.
Killian going into shock followed by a vision of Emma had been quite the distraction, as had the confrontation at Regina’s, but there remains a very great deal left unsaid between the two of them, and the guilt and shame of it all eats at him.
He’s certain he will never forget the look on Killian’s face when he’d first kicked that door in. Anger and loss and betrayal and a fear so potent it was visceral.
They need to talk this out.
So when Killian quietly and tiredly tells him to go to bed, Henry stands his ground.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No,” he repeats. “I’m not going to go to bed with this still hanging over us. I broke your trust. I put myself in danger. So if you need to yell, scream, whatever, let’s hear it.”
Killian shakes his head, turning towards his own bedroom. “I’m not doing this right now, Henry.”
“I’m not going to stop until we do this,” Henry retorts.
Abruptly furious, Killian finally spins on him, eyes flashing.
—————————
“You want to do this right now?” he demands, glaring at the boy, arms held tight at his side in order to resist the urge to reach out and shake him. “Fine. You tell me right now then. How could you do that to me?”
“I…”
“No, don’t try to answer that! There is no answer. You had no right. Are you hearing me, Henry? You have no right to run off like that, to put yourself into that kind of danger when so many people care about you. What was I to tell your mother if you’d been hurt? Your grandparents? What of Emma? What of your Mom, trapped in the darkness, having to witness her body used to hurt you? What could I have said to her that would ever make that better? And yes, what about me? One minute, I’d watched you safely into your mother’s house, the next I’m getting a phone call demanding to know where you are. Have you any idea what it did to me in that moment, when I realized where you must have gone? I already watched you come out of that miserable house absolutely emotionally destroyed once, and bloody hell, that was the bright of it! That was lucky. Wrecked, but at least unhurt. And do you know what it was like for your mother and I to have seen you like that? Knowing that we could not fix it for you? You would go in and do all of that again, risking far worse happening? For what, Henry? You tell me why!”
The boy is in tears, but he refuses to let that soften him the way it had so many times before.
“Answer me!” he demands.
“I needed to talk to my Mom,” Henry whispers. “I know I shouldn’t have. But it’s like I get into this state of mind where there’s no other solution but to go talk to her.”
“You’re supposed to talk to me. That was the deal here!”
“I couldn’t. Not about this.”
“About what?”
Henry says nothing, staring down at his feet, refusing to answer.
He feels like his head may well explode in fury. “You wanted to talk, Henry! So let us talk! Quit avoiding and tell me what the hell it is that you couldn’t come to me about even after everything we’ve been through together. Unless none of that mattered to you.”
The boy’s eyes shoot up to meet his, anger flickering in them for the first time.
“Of course it matters,” Henry hisses through his teeth.
“Doesn’t seem that way.”
“I NEEDED TO TALK TO MY MOM BECAUSE ALL OF THE SUDDEN, EVERYTHING IN ME WANTED TO CALL YOU ‘DAD’,” he finally explodes. “AND I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST GOING TO SLIP OUT AND I WAS GOING TO CALL YOU DAD WITHOUT THINKING AND I WAS GOING TO SCARE YOU OFF BECAUSE YOU NEVER SIGNED UP FOR HAVING A MESSED UP KID. BUT THE MORE I TRIED TO THINK OF YOU AS KILLIAN, THE MORE SOMETHING IN MY HEAD INSISTED YOU WERE DAD. SO I RAN OFF TO MOM. IT WAS ALL KINDS OF IDIOTIC, I KNOW, AND I’LL REGRET IT FOREVER BECAUSE OF HOW BADLY IT HURT YOU, BUT I NEEDED TO TALK TO SOMEONE, AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN AGES, I COULDN’T TALK TO YOU.”
At a loss, he can only stare. Stare at the red of Henry’s skin, brighter than he’d ever seen it; at the watery dark of his eyes; at the way the boy shudders, shaking so hard he can see the tremors even from a distance.
Dad. Dad. Dad.
“It was real,” he mutters absently, not really intending for Henry to hear, so of course he does, and the boy looks stricken.
“What?”
He shakes his head rapidly, as if trying to clear it, feeling both like he was drunk and like he was hit far too hard in the head and nothing makes sense any more.
“You… you thought you could scare me off?” he asks blankly. “You thought there could ever, ever be a time when I would not want you?”
Henry stares back at him, looking about as blankly stunned as he feels. “I…”
He takes the smallest of steps forward, towards the boy. “You’re my kid, Henry. You’ve been my kid for ages, even if we hadn’t said it until now. There is nothing, nothing you could do that would ever change that.”
“But I… I ran off. I tricked you and Mom, I snuck out to see Mom, even though I promised I would never do that again…”
“And I am so furious with you for all of that I can barely think straight,” he tells him, figuring honesty to be his best bet, especially right now, in this moment. “That doesn’t mean I don’t love you, kiddo. I do. I always will.”
He doesn’t have but a moment pass before his arms are full of teenager, Henry having apparently crossed the tiny apartment at a dead sprint, damn near barreling them both over.
“I’m sorry,” Henry tells him, desperation ringing true in his apology. “I’m so, so, so sorry.”
Exhaling, he allows himself the pleasure of wrapping his arms tight around the boy, pulling him into an even closer hug, cupping the back of his head with his hand to soothingly stroke his hair. “You and your Mom are my whole world, kiddo. My whole world. You don’t ever get to risk that. What would I have done if I’d lost you, hmm? What would I have been supposed to do then?”
“I don’t know,” Henry admits, mumbling the words into his own shoulder. “I messed up. Bad.”
“Too right you did,” he agrees, “and believe me when I say you will be punished for it. If you thought your last grounding was bad…”
“Whatever it is, I’ll deserve it, and I’ll take it without complaint,” Henry says seriously, wiping at his face with his hand, undoubtably finding it come away soaked with his own tears.
“I’m glad to hear it. But I think it is a matter that we can save for discussion for tomorrow morning. It has been a terribly long day, kiddo. We both need to sleep. Everything else we need to talk about can wait for the perspective of a new day.”
Henry nods, thankfully accepting of his decree. Relieved, he nods to himself, turning back towards his bedroom once more.
“Dad?” Henry asks, so quietly, so shyly, that it sends his own heart pounding.
Dad.
Dad, Dad, Dad.
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“Is it… is it really alright if I call you that from now on?”
He smiles. “What did I just say a few moments ago, Henry?”
“You said… you said I was your kid.”
He nods. “You are. You’re my kid, Henry. And I suppose that absolutely would make me your father, would it not?”
Henry’s smile starts out small, but eventually grows to light up his whole face. “I think it would.”
Letting himself let go of the tension of the day, Killian grins. “Come here, kiddo.” The boy does not hesitate, throwing himself into the hug again. “It would be my honour, Henry. My absolute honour, and joy, for you to call me Dad.”
“You’re my Dad,” Henry breathes, somehow wonderingly. “I have a Dad.”
“I’m your Dad,” he agrees, delighting in it. “I will be your Dad forever.”
Forever.
Dad, Dad, Dad.
—————————
His dreams blur together in a mix of joy and sorrow, guilt and pain, fear and loss, before the same scene starts replaying on repeat.
He keeps seeing his Dad’s explosive entrance into his Mom’s house. Over and over, and over again, he sees that door being kicked in, and his Dad stomps in, sword in hand.
Sword in hand.
Dad had had his Gramps’ sword. And he’d looked terrifyingly prepared to use it.
He wakes with a start.
The dreams stay with him.
Dad came with a sword.
He throws himself out of bed with the intent of going running right into his Dad’s room, but ends up freezing in place as soon as his own bedroom door is open, finding Killian standing over the stove in the kitchen, working away on pancakes.
“Morning, kiddo,” he greets sleepily.
“Dad,” he whispers. “You had a sword.”
Killian closes his eyes, regret and fatigue playing equally on his face, before he takes the pan off the burner, turning it off with a flick of his wrist, and turning to face him.
“Yes, I did.”
“What… what were you going to do with it?”
“Whatever I needed to,” Killian says seriously, even though it obviously pains him. “I’d have done whatever I needed to, to keep you safe.”
“But… Mom.”
“Aye,” Killian agrees. “Do you see now, Henry? When you snuck off to your Mom like that, you very nearly forced me to have to make a terrible choice. You or your Mom. And kiddo… it is always, always, no matter what, going to be you for me.”
“Mom said something like that too.”
Killian nods. “I remember. It’s part of the deal, kiddo. You’ve got your Mom… both your Moms… and I as your parents, you’ve got to accept that you’re the priority. You come first. That will never, ever change.”
“But… if you had to fight the Dark Swan for me… if you’d had to take on Mom…”
“It would have destroyed me completely, Henry. There’d have been no coming back from that for me. I’d have done what I needed to do to get you out of there… but it would have broken something inside of me. You need to understand that. You need to understand how very close you came to losing both of us. I would never have been alright again. Nor would you, I think.”
He hadn’t thought he could possibly feel guiltier than he had last night, but he was wrong. Honestly, he feels like he could collapse under the sheer weight of this.
“You should take away all my things and lock me in my room for the rest of my life,” he says, quite seriously. “I can’t… I don’t deserve… I can’t believe I almost did that to all of us.”
Killian shakes his head, inexplicable fondness still showing on his face as he wraps an arm around his own shoulders. “You weren’t thinking, kiddo. You were caught up in a panic and you did something immeasurably stupid because of it. You’re not the first, and you certainly will not be the last.”
“I think you’re being too forgiving,” Henry admits, eying his father warily.
“Perhaps,” Killian agrees, suddenly cheerful. “But I do believe that’s a parent’s prerogative.”
He can’t help but smile at that, in delighted awe of how absolutely Killian had embraced the change in how he sees him.
“Now, let us have breakfast and get ready for the day. I’ve a meeting with Belle, so…”
“Can I come?” he asks without thinking, then immediately blushes. “I mean… sorry. I’m grounded, aren’t I?”
“You are indeed. Grounded to me.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, you didn’t really think I would be letting you out of my sight any time soon, did you? Of course you’re coming with me. No choice in the matter, I’m afraid. You can distract your grandfather for me, cut the number of attempted-murderous-looks-that-could-kill that I have to deal with…”
With Killian’s back turn, his focus back on cooking the pancakes, Henry can’t help but grin.
Stuck with his Dad. He could think of far worse things.
—————————
“There has to be something,” he says, staring at the piles and piles of references that Belle had accumulated, gone through, and promptly declared useless. “What kind of curse is foolproof? There’s always a weakness.”
The disappointment of it all hurts. He’d been so sure that they would find something…
Henry sits next to him, devastation pouring off the boy in waves, to the point where even the Crocodile, standing next to Belle, seems for once in his miserable life to have no snide commentary to add.
“How can there be nothing to help Mom in all of that?” Henry asks, voice wavering in that way of his that’s an immediate tell for him fighting tears. Hearing it, Killian wraps an arm around his boy’s shoulders, the best comfort he can give him. “How can there be no way to fix this? Grandfather… you were the Dark One for hundreds of years. Don’t you know anything?”
The expression on the imp’s face is strange, for Killian truly doesn’t think he’s ever seen true regret there before. He stares at Henry for a long while, before turning back to glance at his wife.
“You can actually trust me when I say I’m well aware of the irony here,” he speaks up to declare. “After centuries spent trying to destroy one Dark One, I’m desperate to save another. Bloody, miserably ironic, yes, but it’s the state of things I find myself with. Now I know there’s a way. I know I’m to be the one to save her. So take heart, Crocodile. Enjoy this. Because this is me begging. Tell me what you know.”
Belle takes a step forward, ignoring her husband’s hand reaching out to grab her. “There was a time, once, back in the Enchanted Forest, when I almost freed Rumple.”
“Belle!” the imp says harshly.
“No, Rumple! We’ve got another chance here, you and me. I’m not going to deny the same for Killian and Emma, and your grandson in turn. Killian… I was young, and naive, and I thought of the Dark One’s power as just any other curse. I thought it could be broken the same way any other could.”
“True love’s kiss,” Henry breathes, wild hope in his voice, scaring him.
(He didn’t want his boy to be let down.)
He sighs. “That won’t work…”
"It could," Belle corrects, sounding excited now. "It was, for me and Rumple. It was working. I kissed him, and the curse was lifting. It wasn't until he realized what I was doing, and panicked, and fought me on it, that it started to fail. Rumple valued the power over anything. He didn't want to let it go. He was addicted to it. Emma's not. Emma's been fighting it, this whole time. She doesn't want to be the Dark One. She's remained something separate from the blackness. This could… this could be it, Killian! I can't believe I didn't remember, didn't think of it until now…”
“It won’t work!” he yells, the agony in his voice clear even to him.
“What do you mean, Dad?” Henry asks, forgetting in the moment that he was supposed to be calling him ‘Killian’ in front of Rumplestilskin, though in a lighter-hearted moment, he would have to laugh at the way the imp looks like he’s going to faint dead away. “Of course it could. You and Mom love each other.”
Gods, he wishes they were anywhere but here, having this conversation.
“We do, kiddo,” he agrees. “But it’s not… I’m not your Mom’s True Love. I’d hoped… I’d thought once… but it didn’t work.”
Bewildered, Henry stares at him. “You… you’ve tried True Love’s Kiss on Mom before? When?”
Rubbing at the back of his head, he sighs. “When I found the two of you in New York. I’d thought… I’d thought maybe… if she felt the way I did… I’d thought I could make her remember. I couldn’t. It didn’t work.”
To his sheer disbelief, Henry’s face doesn’t fall, rather, it lights up like the freaking sun, hope and joy blatant across his features.
“Of course it didn’t, Dad!” his boy exclaims. “The same thing happened once with Grams and Gramps. Didn’t you ever read my book? Grams took a potion so she would forget Gramps, because her heart was broken that they couldn’t be together. But Gramps went after her, he found her, and he kissed her to make her remember. But it didn’t work, because of course it couldn’t! She didn’t feel anything, because she didn’t have her memories. Just like Mom! It wasn’t until later, when Grams started to fall for Gramps all over again, and she kissed him, it brought her memories back then. True Love’s Kiss won’t work when one person doesn’t remember, but it could work this time, because Mom remembers you now! And she loves you! This is it. This is how you save her! Dad, we have to go! Let’s go!”
He does not want to hope, he thinks, as he glances over to see how the imp and Belle watch them.
“We’ll talk about this more once we’re home,” he decides.
“But Dad!”
He freezes Henry with a single look, feeling quite pleased with the ability to do so (it feels very parental). “Do you really want to test me on this right now?”
“No,” Henry mumbles, petulant.
“Then let us go,” he declares, before glancing back at his friend and her terribly unfortunate choice in husbands. “Thank you for all you’ve done to try and help.”
“It was my pleasure,” Belle says softly. “And Killian?”
“Yes?”
Her eyes are intent on him. “Do not give up. Not on love. It’s worth too much.”
At this, he can only nod.
————————————————
He cannot believe that they actually went back to the apartment.
“Dad, come on!” he exclaims, incredulous, as his father marches him straight into his bedroom. “This is ridiculous. We finally, finally have something we could actually go on. And we’re not even going to try?”
“That’s right,” Killian agrees, sitting him down onto his bed and then promptly disappearing into the other room, only to come right back moments later, something in his hands.
“Why?” he demands.
The grin that flashes onto his father’s face in that moment is unlike any he’s ever seen there before - and he’s seen a lot of them, having been responsible himself for countless of them. He is suddenly, forcefully reminded that oh yes, his Dad is quite the pirate.
Especially when he finds himself lying flat on his own bed, his arms tied to his headboard in seconds flat.
“Because I’m going to try,” Killian declares, wildly, fiercely cheerful. “You’re going to stay right here, where I know you’re safe.”
“WHAT?!” he explodes. “Dad! You can’t… you can’t do that! What happened to me not leaving your sight?”
“I’ve reconsidered,” Killian grins at him, with the infuriating add-on of the tiniest of winks. “Parent’s prerogative.”
He actually dares to laugh, wave his freakin’ hook in farewell, and leave the room, calling behind him, “Be good, kiddo! Be back soon - love you!”
And to his sheer disbelief, he hears the door close and lock only seconds later.
He actually left.
With a wordless cry of rage, he struggles with the ropes binding him to his own bed.
They won’t budge.
Of course they won’t.
“Is this what I get for hand-picking a pirate to be my father?” he bellows at no one.
… Damn, does he ever wish he didn’t kind of feel like laughing right now.
—————————
Marching his way to the house the Dark Swan had taken residence at, he ignores the press of nerves in his stomach, the terror in his heart, and the self-hating voice in his head that keeps yelling Won’t work, won’t work, who could ever love you?
Henry does.
And he owes his boy this, every bit as much as he owes it to himself.
It doesn’t take him long to make it to the house, moving as fast as he was.
He doesn’t let himself pause, knowing that if he did, he’d never find the courage.
Instead, he explodes into the house, much as he did yesterday, if lacking the sword. He supposes he probably makes quite the picture in doing so… no wonder the boy had been thinking of it from the moment he had awoken that morning.
Oh well.
The Dark Swan appears almost immediately, that same stark cruelty blaspheming his Emma’s beautiful face, though something flickers in its eyes and pain strikes its features, and he takes a thrill of satisfaction at knowing that Emma is in there, clearly fighting hard for him.
That’ll make this easier.
“You!” the creature hisses.
He struts straight to the blasted thing, grabbing its face. “Shut up,” he says between his teeth, then forcing himself to think only of Emma, he closes his eyes and kisses it, fierce and determined.
The change in her is slow-coming, but he swears he can feel it, a tingle in his fingertips, goosebumps popping up along his body, the telltale sign of magic in the air.
And then her kiss changes. Softens, then deepens.
She gasps against his mouth.
Her taste, her touch…
Her.
It’s her.
She pulls away, only just far enough to see him, to look up and meet his eyes.
“Killian?” she whispers.
Gods, it’s really, really her.
It actually worked. Months of hell without her… and the solution was so simple.
How typical.
He grins at her, just cocky enough. Reassuring her that it really is him.
And it really is her.
So he tells her what he’s wanted to for months.
“I love you too.”
—————————
It doesn’t hurt anymore. There’s no… there’s no shadow that she can feel, encroaching on her very soul. No darkness haunting the back of her mind, waiting, waiting to take the control back, to make her pay for thinking she could take it to begin with, to make her hurt.
Her body is hers, and hers alone. Her heart and mind always had been.
It’s over. Oh God, it’s really, really over.
She throws her arms around his neck, screaming, a wordless rush of joy and relief, and she laughs wildly as he lifts her up in the air, spinning them both wildly around. He joins in, laughing with her, laughing as they play, as they kiss.
For the first time in many months, she is safe. For the first time in months, she is truly happy.
She is free.
“You did it,” she breathes into him.
“It took me long enough, I know,” he says, still so cruel to himself sometimes.
They’ll work on that, she decides. They have time. They have all the time in the world now for her to help him finally see the best in himself.”
She shakes her head at him. “You’ve been busy. Taking care of our boy. I’ll owe you forever for that.”
It’s his turn to shake his head now. “There’s no owing me for that, love. Taking care of him, it’s just an inherent fact of my life now, I think. It feels natural, feels like it’s what I’m supposed to be doing. He’s… he’s mine.”
From where he still holds her, high up in the air, she beams down at him. “Hell yeah he is.”
There’s so much wonder in him now, she thinks as she looks at him. Such possibility for joy. Henry had changed him, so entirely for the better.
“You know he calls me Dad now?” he asks, and yes, she can see the thrill in his eyes and in his still slightly stunned smile.
She nods. “He’d mentioned something about it when I saw him,” she reminds, slightly teasing. “I hadn’t thought he’d admit it to you so quickly though. He’s gotten so very brave, since I’ve been away.”
“He’s amazing,” he agrees, before colouring slightly. “Speaking of him, though… I think we ought get you home to him. Our boy has been missing his Mom something fierce.”
She agrees quickly, eager to see her son now that she no longer has to be afraid, and Killian sets her on the ground, careful with her to ensure she keeps her balance.
“I’m actually really surprised he’s not here. How did you manage to keep him away?”
His colour absolutely, spectacularly deepens, and he immediately starts rubbing at the back of his head. “I, er… may have tied him up?”
She whips her head around to stare at him, and seeing the truth of it in his face, immediately bursts into a wild, beautiful fit of giggles.
Killian crosses his arms, mock glaring at her, even as a self-deprecating smirk starts playing at his lips. “It was all I could think of in the moment,” he admits.
She absolutely beams at him, wrapping her arms around his neck once more. “Pirate,” she breathes, teasing him.
“You know it.”
“That I do,” she agrees. “And I love you, so much.”
His eyes go soft, in a way she would even dare to describe as adoring, and she shivers with the pure pleasure of it.
“I will never tire of hearing you say that,” he tells her.
“Then I’ll just keep having to tell you,” she declares. “I love you. I love you, I love you.”
“I love you too. Gods, how I love you.”
They say it together, like a chant.
Henry can wait a few more minutes.
———————————
They take the time for Emma to change back into herself, doing away with the Darkness’s ideas on physical appearance. The stark make-up is washed off, her hair released from its tight knot into her own preferred flowing waves, and they both take a very great deal of satisfaction of tossing the black robes into the fireplace and watching them burn. Her new clothes, a long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of jeans that he’d run out to the store for are nothing special, meant for comfort more than style, but they’re her, and that is how she intends to see her son.
As Emma, as Mom, not as the miserable dark creature who’d haunted him.
He delights in her smile, and in her thank-you kiss, when he presents her with the leather jacket he’d been unable to help himself but to purchase. It’s not red, but it’ll do.
The woman before him now is absolutely, completely, and entirely Emma Swan.
And being as she is, eagerness shows plain in her expression as she tells him, “Let’s go see our son.”
Ours, ours, ours.
It doesn’t take them long, to make it back to the apartment. He’d been pulling her along, in a cheerful rush, or maybe she’d been pulling him, or they’d been pulling each other until they were both basically running, laughing all the while.
They get there, they arrive, and then they both stare at each other, as if they’re not entirely sure what to do.
She shrugs, he grins, and unlocks the door, walking into the apartment, making sure Emma stays well behind him. She’s distracted anyway, he can tell, as she looks around the space with huge eyes.
“Dad?” he hears Henry yell from his room, and even as annoyed as the boy sounds, he can’t help the constant thrill of joy he gets every single time Henry directs that beautiful word at him.
He pokes his head in the door, playful. “You bellowed?”
His boy’s eyes go huge and threatening, and he’s pretty sure that father or not, Henry’d be trying to end him if he had the option right now. “Really?” the kid hisses, sounding so exactly like his Mom that he only barely manages to hold back the guffaw.
“Oh, right,” he says cheerfully, walking over to carefully cut the boy loose with his hook. “The ropes. Sorry about that, kiddo. Had to be careful.”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Henry chides, though he seems quite happy to be able to stretch his arms back out.
“Oh?”
Henry glares at him, one of the boy’s patented ‘get real’ looks. “Well?” he demands.
And having clearly been waiting for the perfect moment, Emma pokes her head in the door right on cue. “Nice place you got here,” she deadpans.
“MOM!” Henry cries, scrambling off of the bed, very nearly kneeing Killian right in the head in the process.
Emma laughs, delighted, catching her son as he flings himself into her arms, giving his mother one of the massive hugs he’d been on the receiving end of himself so very many times.
He sits on Henry’s bed and watches, grinning all the while, as mother holds son, swaying back and forth slightly, as if rocking the boy.
Family, he thinks as he watches.
His. Finally.
They pull back after what seems a long, beautiful time, both of them turning to grin over at him, and in sync as if they planned it, they both reach out a hand to him, as if telling him to join.
He does not need telling twice.
He holds them tight to him, his True Love, and their son, and he feels free.
————————
Her boys wrestle around joyfully as they walk.
Henry struggles valiantly, but Killian, so much stronger even than she’d remembered, is quite the match for her gangly son, and manages to get their boy lifted up into the air and over his shoulder, hanging halfway down his back, upside down.
He’s laughing so hard it’s a wonder he can breathe.
“Dad!” Henry demands between giggles, “Put me down!”
Killian pretends to think it over, then promptly shakes his head. “Nah,” he decides. “I like you like this. Far less trouble than usual.”
“You’re no fair!”
“I am plenty fair, thank you,” he says, playing at being offended. “And for saying such a terrible thing to your poor, innocent, very handsome father, you can stay where you are and think about what you’ve done.”
“All the blood is rushing to my head!” Henry laughs, starting to pound his fists on Killian’s back.
“All the better for thinking with!” Killian declares cheerfully. “And you can attempt to beat me up all you like, mate, my back’s seen far worse than you. Pirate, remember?”
“Unfair advantage!” Henry cries, wildly ineffective as he’s now wheezing so hard he can barely be understood.
“What’s that now?” Killian asks. “Didn’t catch that. More’s the pity.”
They continue like this all the way to her parents’ loft, and she finds herself laughing just about as hysterically as her son is.
Do they know how beautiful they are together, she wonders. Do they know how well they fit?
They’re so absolutely each other’s. Henry is Killian’s, Killian is Henry’s. They’re family of their own merit.
She’d known, way back then, that they would have cared for each other because she loved them both, and they both loved her.
But now there’s an absolute love between the two of them, that’s all theirs. It’s a connection she’ll never be able to touch, she knows, and she would never want to. This, what she’s watching now… it’s a kind of magic, in of itself.
The magic of family, the magic that is a parent’s absolutely pure love, returned completely.
She’s got that both ways now, she thinks, as she walks into the loft, leading one half of her family in to the other, into her mother’s shocked scream of joy, and her father’s stunned laughter, and her little brother’s - so big now, God - babbling of her name, as Snow hugs her tight, and Charming tearfully explains that they showed Leo pictures of her every night, so he wouldn’t forget, all the while trying to keep the toddler from gripping at her hair.
Family. Love. Home.
She who had once had nothing, finds herself so very blessed with it all now.
She takes her brother from her father, holding the little one close for the first time in so very long, her Mom hugs her, and her Dad wraps his arms around them all, a group hug of four.
There’s space just enough for her to peek around her father’s head, and see Killian and Henry grinning at her, Henry having shifted himself around enough to wrap his legs around Killian’s middle; still carried, but now in something of a piggy back hold.
It’s an absurd image, the once cutthroat pirate giving a piggy back ride to a gangly teenager quickly gaining on him in height, but it seems somehow just right all the same.
It’s the picture of a father and son. A picture of a family.
Snuggling the baby closer to her still, and nuzzling in with her parents, she closes her eyes in pure joy.
I just re-read Freedom Love (one of my fav stories ever) and wanted to send you some love. You're an amazing author and I adore everything you write, though I'm especially grateful for all the wonderful Snowing fic. Best wishes to you! :)
You are the actual kindest, and this made my whole day. I hope I’ll be getting a Freedom Love update to you at some point in the next couple of months. I’ve been struggling with writer’s block all year, but I’m working away on a new one-shot that seems to have my creativity actually working again, so I’m hoping that once I get that done, Freedom Love will come to me far easier.
Thank you for this message! Never doubt how much hearing from readers makes a writer smile.
I read "the here and now" a few hours ago and I'm still just stuck thinking how wonderful it was. Loved the dynamics - they felt so genuine! The balance of drama with touch of humor and a lot of heart was just absolutely perfect. I loved killian's relationships with David and Henry especially. Thank you for writing! :)
Thank YOU for this lovely message. Made my whole day. It brings me such joy that The Here and Now still inspires such a wonderful response in my readers over a year after I wrote it.
Hi! I'm new to the fandom and I really want some good fanfiction! Do you have any you recommend that involve Emma & Killian being together? I like AU and normal. Mature content is perfectly fine. Please help!!!!
Ooooh… welcome to the fandom first of all! :D I’m REALLY bad at remembering titles of fics, but you can check out the CS fic rec tag on my blog for the ones I love and remembered to reblog (I’m TERRIBLE about not reblogging fanfic, eeep). And I’ll link you to some authors, and if you go to their blogs, there’ll be links to their fics. I’m sorry in advance, by the way, because I KNOW there’ll be some awesome talented folks I’ll miss.
killians-dimples
i-love-you-swan
msgenevieve447
totheendoftheworldortime
i-know-how-you-kiss
qqueenofhades
montanarosalie
hooklineandswan
seastarved
captain–kitten
haleigh91
navykillian
jadeddiva
misslizanne
oncertwice
hookwillalwaysfindemma
Like I said, there are probably some wonderful writers I’ve missed, so if anyone has any recs to add, please please feel free to do so!
Those of you who can - one of my wonderful friends here in OUAT fandom, Angie aka purplesequin, has been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer. She starts chemo today. Please send her some love and positive thoughts and encouragement. It would mean a lot to me if you could.
She loves dogs, figure skating and Snow/Charming, so if you have any cute links related to any of that, I am sure she would love those too.
Thank you.
For Anon - Snow and Charming play one of their “games” but this time Snow loses AKA “In Love and War”
It was an innocent thing, truly, when she she started teasing him about how very often he threw his sword around. She didn’t mean to start anything. She’d simply felt playful and giddy after another battle won; the two of them, together - always together - having defeated another hideous monster.
Completely in sync always, she knew that she and her husband were a fearsome duo, that their reputation the kingdoms over was starting to approach legend. They both knew each other better than they knew their selves, and it was an extraordinary advantage in battle. Being able to read each other the way they could, they could cover each other in the rare instance that they got in trouble. Any weakness, hidden by the other’s strength.
They were a team, partners in every sense of the word. And it made them formidable.
The Enchanted Forest had not yet presented a creature that could defeat them.
This one was simple enough. You almost had to feel sorry for it. She had the demon distracted, stumbling around as it tried to avoid taking one of her arrows in the eye, and it was paying positively zero attention to Charming.
Which is an excellent way to get a sword thrown through one’s middle, as it happens.
So, yes. Charming dealt the fatal blow, this time around. But she did, like, 85% of the work on this one so it all works out.
Alright, so maybe she’s a bit competitive. He is too. It’s why they work so well as a team and as a couple. It’s also how they get into these situations.
She hadn’t been thinking about it. She just made some throwaway comment about how he almost seems to throw his sword more often than he actually fights with the thing. It’s not an insult… he’s amazing with the weapon no matter how he chooses to use it, but damn if the distance he can manage when throwing it isn’t impressive as hell.
She’s actually pretty sure he’s started intentionally backing away from the enemy, just to show off when he can still make increasingly farther throws.
And vocalizing that particular thought, that’s what does it.
He’s just as competitive as she is, after all.
“I’m just that good, my love,” he tells her mildly, as if stating the facts of life. “Why not throw it farther, when I know I can hit it?”
Cocky.
She figures it would not go well if she mentioned to him how attractive she finds it when he gets like this.
Though from the smirk on his face, he may well know it anyway.
“Uh huh,” she laughs, turning to start the long walk back to their castle, even as he stays planted firmly where he stands. “Well, talk to me when you can cover the same distance I can with a bow and arrow.”
“Who’s to say I couldn’t right now?”
She laughs again, incredulous this time, turning back around to face him. “Uh, me?”
He freaking saunters (for there is simply no other word for his peacock-esque strut) the few steps she had gained on him when she started walking, until he’s right next to her, close, and for a wild second, she thinks he’s going for a kiss.
But, no. He stops just shy of making contact, and calmly, so calmly - and cheerfully too, the bastard - murmurs right into her ear, “Wanna bet?”
It’s probably not normal for such a question to be asked with such suggestiveness.
Nor is her reaction - a full body shiver - probably altogether typical either.
There’s something almost animalistic about the two of them when they get like this, a kind of pure heat that overtakes them both, the urge to take, take, take, and Gods, she just wants to bare her teeth at him.
(Among other things).
“You want to bet,” she says slowly, as if pondering it. “On our ability with weapons?”
He flashes a grin, quick in both appearance and disappearance, and she knows it for what it is, a gauntlet thrown. “That is what I said.”
She can’t decide if she loves or hates the way he constantly keeps her fumbling for her bearings, the way she’s struggling right now. He’s got the strong hand here, and they both know it, and she desperately wants to seize some of the control back, not sure how he so entirely flipped the tables on her, so quickly.
“That kind of backfired on you last time,” she points out, tongue in cheek.
“Au contraire, my love,” he drawls. “I thought everything worked out excellently for me the last time.”
Damn it.
“You lost.”
His smile is slow to spread this time, but equally if not more effective. “Ah, but then we both won. Quite spectacularly, to my memory.”
Gods, hers too.
The images flashing through her mind at his words were freaking inevitable, and he knew it. Knows exactly what she’s thinking, what she’s remembering, what she cannot help but remember.
Him, stripped entirely naked, arms tied tight to their bedposts. Adrenaline still pumping through his veins, both a remnant from their sword fight and a precursor to her winner’s reward. Hard and tense. Wanting her, wild with it. Her, flushed and aglow with triumph, more vibrantly beautiful than anyone had the right to look straight after a fight - all messy curls and rumpled clothes.
She’d stripped out of her leggings, taken off her undergarments, shimmied out of the tie she’d used as a belt, leaving her bare underneath a royal blue tunic, his tunic. Having noticed the way his eyes had lit with interest and appreciation from the moment he’d seen her in it, she’d wanted to tease him awhile, rile him up just a little bit more, so she thought she’d take her time, strip out of it slowly.
But even when she’s got him at her mercy, he’s still her Charming, knowing exactly what he wants and how to go about getting it, and just as she’s got her hand at the tunic’s tie-front, he speaks up, voice rough as gravel, demanding that she leave it on.
Gods.
Even when she’s got all the control, the man can still drive her to insanity.
She likes it.
She lets it show, lets her smile turn fierce, thrilling in watching his eyes go wilder.
Excellent, then. They’re both wild for it, but he’s all tied up and unable to touch, while she’s completely free and able to do whatever she wants. So he can have this one thing.
He wants her like this, wearing his clothes, he can have her.
She finishes with the tie-front, pulling it to gape open. Charming being so much bigger than she is, open like this, the tunic is half falling off her, barely hanging on.
Just as she wants it. But just to check in…
“Like this, Charming?” she murmurs, slow and soft, as she lightly trails a hand over the skin the tunic now revealed. “You want me like this?”
He looks as though he’s forgotten how to breathe, which is pretty much what she was going for.
“Snow…” he tries.
He’s reflexively started pulling at his restraints, trying to break free, trying to touch her. They aren’t budging.
She raises an eyebrow at him.
“Please.”
She has never felt so powerful in all her life.
“Oh don’t worry, my love,” she tells him, crawling up on top of him, straddling his waist, delighting in the noise he makes. “You’ll get yours.”
He closes his eyes, overcome.
She rears up, pulling herself off of him, pleased that his eyes immediately fly right back open, desperate.
“Uh, uh, uh,” she chides. “Eyes stay open, Charming. You’re in for a ride, my love. And you’re going to watch.”
The way he is staring at her now, eyes a dark, unfathomable blue…
If she’s never felt so powerful, nor has she ever felt quite so desired.
He wants her. Desperately. Like he’ll go completely mad if he doesn’t have her.
Good.
So they’re even.
The jerk she calls husband is grinning at her. Quite knowingly, actually.
“You’ll understand, my darling, that I have zero regrets from our last sporting venture? Quite frankly, I thought it was a lovely time held by all.”
“Lovely? Is that what they call it these days?”
He shrugs, grinning; absolutely infuriatingly unrepentant. “Among other things.”
This would probably be going better for her if she could stop laughing, but then again, it’s not as if she could ever hide anything from him anyway.
“Lovely,” she repeats, shaking her head ruefully. “As well as anything, I suppose.”
He nods solemnly. “Simply splendid. Would try again.”
Oh, now he’s just winding her up. She starts walking again, pleased when Charming falls into step beside her this time.
“Oh, I bet you would,” she says, laughter still ringing in her voice. “Them’s the stakes, then? Shall I get my ropes ready for you now?”
“So confident!” he drawls, dragging out the words.
“It’s arrow versus sword,” she points out. “There’s no doubt over which is more aerodynamic. There’s no way you can outdistance me.”
“Ah, but that wasn’t the challenge now, was it? I don’t have to beat you to win. I just have to tie you. You, on the other hand, have to win outright in order to take the spoils.”
She watches him, wary of his confidence, but thinking back on exactly what they’d said, he has a point.
“Fair enough,” she concedes. “Target practice, then. Your sword, my bow and arrow, escalating distances. So long as we can both keep hitting the same distance, we continue. Contest ends when one of us can’t make a goal. You lose when I make a further distance than you do; I lose if you can match my furthest distance. That about cover it?”
“I do believe that covers all but the stakes, my darling,” he agrees.
That freezes her. “We had the stakes settled already. Round two at a tie-up.”
“Mmm, no. You automatically assumed, and I disregarded it for the moment, with more pressing priorities. Though it’s always good to know where your dirty mind’s at.”
“My dirty mind?!” she exclaims.
“Yes dear.”
She throws her hands up, running them through her hair, pleased and gratified when his eyes track the motion with interest.
Dirty minds, indeed.
“Then what are the stakes, husband?” she demands. “What does your dirty mind want out of this?”
Another quick to flash grin. “You.”
She huffs at him. “That’s a given. Try again.”
“I mean all of you, Snow. All that you are, all that you have. Everything you think, everything that you want. Everything you’ve got, my love. I want it, and I will have it.”
She feels her mouth fall open just a little bit. “I don’t under…”
He reaches out, touching her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, stroking lightly, and words are lost to her.
“It’s not going to be about who wins this time, my love,” he murmurs. “Rather, whoever loses has to tell the winner what they want, and how they want it… or they don’t get. Every kiss, every stroke, every tiny flicker of a touch, the loser has to specifically request.”
She swallows. It seems to be far more difficult to do so than usual.
“W…w…why? The loser gets what they want out of this… it’s like the prize goes to the person who doesn’t win, I don’t understand…”
“As with any of our games, we’re both going to win,” he agrees. “And that’s half the idea. But this… this is what I want. I want more of you. I want to know what you want, and I want to know what I do to you. I want to hear it. Stream of consciousness, no holds barred. When I’m having you, I want you to tell me every thought in your beautiful head.”
She has concerns she might have just whimpered.
That damnable smile of his flashes again. “Of course, that’s assuming I win this bet of ours. If you win, it’s the other way around. Tell me, my love. Does the idea of me telling you everything I want from you not have the slightest bit of appeal to you?”
For the love of all the Gods.
He’s got her, and he knows it.
It’s but a game, and she knows that, but the game started long ago, and she feels rather a need to get back into the play.
And so, she nips at the thumb he’s still got at her lip, pulling the very edge of it into her mouth playfully. At his quick intake of breath, she releases it with the tiniest of kisses and a triumphant glint in her eye.
Game on, husband.
“Why Prince Charming,” she declares, with the most radiant of smiles she can muster. “I do believe you have yourself a bet.”
——————-
He probably expects her to show up in one of his tunics again, just to mess with him, given his reaction to her - innocently - doing so the last time.
She considers it, actually, but writes it off almost immediately as far too easy.
Easy has no appeal.
He ought to know that about her by now.
There’s satisfaction in being able to surprise him still, and she knows she manages it when he walks into their training grounds to find her wearing one of her preferred light and flowy long gowns, with her hair down and loose, a mess of wild curls. Having come out early to get extra practice shots in, she’s armed already, bow and quiver in hand; barefoot in white, she knows she must make one hell of a picture. The bandit and the princess, always both.
And pleasure, always, in stunning her husband.
Tactically, she makes no mention of his reaction, slack jawed as it is. They both know exactly what she just did to him, and she’s sure she’ll reap the benefits later. For now, they have other business to attend to.
“Hey,” she smiles, quick and affectionate, as if this is their first greeting, and they hadn’t already had several long moments of silent staring pass between them. “Did you want to get a few practice shots in, or get right to the real competition?”
He eyes her suspiciously. “What are you up to?”
Startled, she laughs. “Excuse me?”
“You’re smiling at me, all friendly, like this is a walk in the garden.”
Understanding is glorious, and she nods, lit up with teasing. “Ah, you expected a different version of me. Game face on. Sorry to disappoint, Charming. It’s but a game, after all, right?”
His face transforms so quick, features transforming into a smirk that is far too sure of itself for her liking, that suddenly she feels the one caught off guard, which simply will not do.
“But a game,” he agrees, kissing the top of her head before she can even think to wonder what it is he’s up to. “Shall we begin, then?”
Immediate wariness. “You don’t want any warm-up throws?”
He shakes his head, still smirking at her. “Don’t need em.”
So cocky.
It’ll be his downfall.
“Your loss,” she shrugs.
——————
It’s not his downfall.
Which is really, really annoying.
He actually is just that good, which is kind of amazing.
She’d known he was good… but damn, she’d really thought the mere nature of their respective weapons would have ended this ages ago.
Yet here he is, still hanging with her, even as they’ve moved on to some rather absurd distances.
She might… might… be getting a little bit concerned, actually.
Especially because her husband looks like he can do this all day. Or all evening, anyway, as they’ve pretty much already been out here almost the entire afternoon.
She winces as he makes another throw easily, tying her yet again, covers it up when Charming walks back towards her, not even trying to avoid touching her as he walks past.
Stopping right by her side, he leans his head over her shoulder, breathing right into her ear, “You know, I have a proposition for you, my love.”
She scoffs, reaching into her quiver for yet another arrow. “If it’s ‘you can quit now and move onto the fun’, I’ll pass, thanks.”
Okay, him chuckling right in her ear like that is rude and unfair.
“Not what I was thinking, but as always, good to know where your head’s at, Snow.”
“You are so full of yourself,” she comments, probably sounding more entertained than she probably should.
“Well clearly we need to get moving on to the part where someone else is full of me instead.”
She shrieks, outraged, and terribly, terribly amused in a way she absolutely shouldn’t be; smacking at him lightly. “I cannot believe you just said that.”
“And yet, I don’t hear you complaining. Thus, on to my proposition.”
Pursing her lips, she sighs. “I’m listening.”
“If we keep going the way we’re going, just escalating the targets, and seeing that why yes, we both can still make them all, we’d be here all night. Clearly, neither one of us wants that.”
“Clearly,” she parrots, playfully.
“So, I propose we end this, right here, right now. Three shots. You take three shots, as far as you can shoot them. Your furthest counts. I then get to take three throws, all things being fair of course. If I can match your furthest shot with one of my throws, I win. If I can’t, you win. Sound good?”
“I’m trying to figure out the catch,” she admits.
He has to laugh at that. “No catch, my darling. ‘All’s fair in love and war’, and all. Do we have a deal?”
There is an eagerness to him that she can’t quite help but find exciting, even as she’s still somehow feeling like she’s walking into a trap.
Oh well.
“You have a deal.”
——————
Her first shot, she’s happy with. Her second shot, not at all… it just seems to have nothing to it and falls well shy of the first.
The third shot, however, is a thing of absolute beauty, possibly the very best shot she’s ever made in her life. The thing almost clears the field.
She’s pleased, when she turns back to face Charming. Pretty sure she could not have done better, she feels confident in what she’s done.
Charming stares at her for a very long moment.
Then, just as she’s about to demand to know what the hell he’s doing, he finally unsheathes his sword, and throws it almost immediately, so fast it startles her.
It hits the ground with authority.
Knocking over her third arrow in the process.
Charming wins.
————————
There’s a small building on the castle grounds where they store the gaming and sporting equipment when not in use. Once a spare stable, it had been semi converted into its current purpose during her father’s reign, he having been quite the sportsman in his youth. It’s full of all the sporting equipment one could possibly hope for, but at the same time, the building keeps the remnants of its original purpose; the floor still covered with hay, additional equipment for the horses still there, on hooks and shelves.
Charming likes having it. Prince and shepherd, he often tells her, just as she can never be one or the other between princess and bandit. Always both. This tiny building, strange as it seems, often helps him make sense of his life, as it is now. He likes spending time in it.
So she’d had a bench brought into it at some point. Hadn’t made a big deal of it, simply ordered it put there. Her husband liked to spend time there, so he ought to have somewhere to sit.
She sits there now, as they walk in together.
They’d both been quiet on their walk back, Charming a sporting winner, he hadn’t said anything about his rather absolute victory, though she could see the thrill in his eyes.
She wonders, silently, if the thrill was more for the triumph or for his prize.
She wonders how eager he is to collect.
She wonders if he can sense how eager she is to pay up.
Gods, she’d loved the idea of their stakes from the moment he proposed them. Either way, she’d figured, neither one of them could go wrong.
She’ll have to get him back at some point, she thinks. The idea of being able to make him tell her everything he wants has far, far too much appeal for her to let that one go any time soon.
But for now… for now, she’s got to get what she wants instead.
Not bad for a runner’s-up prize, all things considered.
It’s somewhat terrifying, of course, to think about being so damn honest with him about what she wants. No filter? Gods, she’s had a filter all her life. Hello, Princess.
But damn, damn, damn, the pay-off.
She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until she startles when Charming touches her shoulder, trying to grab her attention. Opening her eyes again, she finds her husband kneeling right in front of her, concerned.
“Are you alright, my darling?” he asks. “We were out in the sun all day, with all the activity… you must be exhausted. Do you want…”
Overcome, suddenly, by how entirely she loves him, she interrupts. “I want it right here.”
Gods she loves it when she can catch him off guard like that.
“Wha… wha… what?”
She tilts her head at him, and suddenly so very confident in what she’s going, rather feels the seductive smile spread across her face. “Your winnings, Charming. I do believe I’m to tell you what I want. All that I want. And so for starters, I’m telling you that I want it, you, right here, right now.”
Her husband appears as though he’s forgotten how to swallow, breathe, and exist, in that order.
And so, her confidence continues to grow. She’s got this. (Got him).
“Catch your breath, Charming,” she chides gently. “It does me no good if you’re to pass out on me.”
That steadies him, somehow. He almost seems to take it as a challenge. And as suddenly as she’d gained her confidence, the glint in his eyes tells her he’s found his.
“Here and now,” he says, voice rough. “That covers the where and the when of it, my love. But I’m more interested in the how. How do you want me, my Snow?”
Oh, good. He’s caught up. That didn’t take long.
“Let’s start with how I don’t want it,” she tells him, completely serious. “I don’t want it gentle. Not this time. You’re almost always so careful with me. But Charming, I’m not going to break. You don’t have to protect me, not here, not when it’s just you and me. I want all of you, my love, the same way you want all of me. I want it wild, I want it desperate. I want your hands all over my body, hard, gripping. I want you to take me, Charming.”
The man’s hands are shaking. She thinks this is going well.
“And to start off,” she declares, “I want you to kiss me like you mean it, before you lose your damn mind.”
She’s barely got the words out of her mouth before she finds herself flat on her back on the bench she’d just been sitting on, her husband on top of her, hands at the back of her head, having gone there to guide her head down gently onto the hard stone- protective instincts always staying strong, clearly - and his mouth on hers, hot and demanding.
Yes.
This is what she wants.
She’s not quite sure when her hands ended up under his shirt, but that works well enough for her and her intentions, as she digs her nails into his back and drags down, not hard enough to draw blood, but plenty hard enough to leave a mark. She wants him marked. She wants herself marked too, actually, come to think of it.
He pulls away from her, if only for a moment. “You’ve not told me what you want in the last minute, Snow,” he chides. “You’re to tell me everything you want, remember.”
Oh, right. Stream of consciousness. Well, then…
“My neck!” she demands. “I want you at my neck. Kiss my neck. I want to be marked, the way I just marked you. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
He does follow instructions well.
It’s not enough, not nearly enough, considering how crazed she feels right now.
He did say tell him everything she wants…
“Bite me!” she cries out, digging her nails into his back again.
She can feel that she’s startled him, in the way that he tenses, and he pulls away from her neck in order to take one long look at her. Whatever he sees in her eyes must satisfy him, because his expression grows darker, and somehow hungrier.
“I’ll be taking you at your word from now on, Snow,” he tells her, and good Gods his freaking voice is going to drive her to insanity with the desperation in it. “So when you ask for something, I need you to mean it.”
“Yes,” she promises. “Please, please.”
He lunges back for down her neck and bites, gently as he can, no doubt, but it’s absolutely enough this time, and she cries out wildly.
She’s wanted him all day, all freaking day. He’s challenged her and goaded her and made her flashback on freaking sword fight seductions and his freaking arms freaking tied down in their freaking bed and her freaking riding him while wearing his freaking clothes and Gods damn it all he is so absurdly attractive when he’s throwing that stupid sword around and maybe she could have shot an arrow further if she hadn’t spent the whole damn day soaking wet from wanting him.
“Gods, I’m losing my mind,” she gasps, nipping at his earlobe, at the scar on his jaw, at anything she can reach.
She’s pretty sure he’s never laughed like this before, strangled as it is. “Not to worry, my love. We’ll lose it together.”
“That’s fair,” she agrees, writhing beneath him, both to relieve some of the pressure and to drive him insane.
His groan is guttural. “What now, Snow? Tell me what now, or I swear, I’m just going to start improvising.”
“Oh, now, do tell,” she teases.
He actually growls at her. “Clothes need to come off. Right now. So tell me what you want off first.”
She shakes her head at him. “Nothing.”
His glare looks damn near black. “Have you missed the point of what we’re trying to accomplish here?”
She doesn’t quite know how she manages to smile at him so cheerfully, only that she does manage it. “You do recall, I believe, how much you wanted it when I had you while I was still wearing your tunic, yes? That’s what I want again, my Charming. I want us to get out of the way what needs to be out of the way, but everything else stays on. Because we’re both so damn desperate that there’s no time, right, no time for anything but for you to get yourself in me while we’re both still fully dressed. Right now, Charming. Right now!”
“Gods above,” he spits out, yanking at the ties to his pants with one hand while shoving up the skirt to her gown with the other, tearing off her underwear.
“Good?” he demands, waiting for her agreement.
All she can do is nod.
“Good.”
And then he grabs her by the waist, throws them both off the bench and into the hay, and buries himself inside of her.
Her scream is probably heard the kingdom over.
Oh well.
He’s still demanding to know what she wants with every breath, every thrust, and she has absolutely zero idea what she’s telling him, but it’s got to be something good, because his hands are all over her, and he keeps flipping and rolling them around so they keep taking turns on top and bottom, and her gown has fallen off her shoulders and his shirt is torn and hanging off him, and his mouth is at her breast, and then the other, and he keeps moving harder, faster, and his hand has moved to where they’re joined, and Gods, Gods, Gods.
“Make us both come. Together. Now.”
“Yes, yes, yes. Yes!”
———————
His hand is stroking through her curls. She’s pretty sure that can’t be doing much good for the sex hair at the moment, but it feels too good to care. Plus, at least he’s getting the hay out of it.
They’re tangled up in a pile of limbs and clothing that won’t ever recover, half torn off and half still on; sweaty and dirty and sated and she has zero idea of how they’re ever going to sneak back into the castle without someone catching them and knowing exactly what they’ve been doing.
And she doesn't give one single damn.
“We’re doing that again sometime,” she tells him the second she regains enough brain functionality to manage a complete sentence.
He just laughs. Has laughed a lot today, now that she thinks about it. So has she.
Gods, she’s happy. Happy enough, to give her husband some much deserved credit.
“You know,” she starts cheerfully, “it really is sexy as hell the way you can throw that stupid sword around.”
She swears he blushes at this, which is excellent, even as he playfully preens. “Thank you, my darling. I’m glad you approve.”
Snuggling closer to him, she sighs happily. “One of these days you’ll have to tell me how you manage to throw it so far, because I swear it makes no sense.”
His arm tightens around her, as he looks down at her, so warm, so affectionate. “Oh, that’s simple enough. I thought you knew. Every time I throw my sword, I imagine your life depends on my making the throw. And you’re everything, Snow. Everything. With that kind of motivation, it makes distances that should be impossible quite easy.”
She actually feels herself melt, right there in his arms.
“We should find some food,” she announces.
He looks bewildered by the sudden change in topic. “Sure. Why?”
“We’re going to need the energy. As soon as we can move again, I’m going to need to have you again for that.”
He laughs one more time, wild and open, the sound of a man who’s thrilled with his life.
You are so very welcome for following! The fanfics you write are so freaking adorable! The fanfics are basically everything I want and more from the TV show. Keep up the amazing work, you've got this! :)
You are lovely. Thank you thank you thank you for your kindness. Messages like these make me want to write more.
