AO3 Links: 1 Overture, 2 Think of Me, 3 Angel of Music, 4 Poor Fool, 5 All I Ask of You
Note: Again, some violent imagery in this chapter, though this time it is self-harm. Nothing lethal, but avoid paragraph 4 if reading about someone intentionally injuring themselves will cause you unease.
Summary: This time, we shift narrative perspective to follow the struggle for dominance between Killian and the Dark One. A glimpse into the world as seen from behind Dark Killian's eyes.
He’d broken everything. The tenuous trust forming between them, the connection he’d felt when at long last he’d given in and allowed himself a moment’s pleasure at the brush of her lips--all of it discarded with the crumbling of that loathsome stagehand’s heart. Though the other fools who prowled the halls of his theatre might remain oblivious, he had no doubt Madame Lucas would make the connection. Given her maternal feelings toward Emma Nolan, the ballet instructor would undoubtedly caution the young woman against seeing him again.
Not that she would choose to see you anyway, a voice slithered through his mind, the unwelcome intrusion that had snaked its way back into his consciousness at the sight of the viscount down on one knee.
A murderer, chastised the voice. A jealous wretch who dwells underground, who hides from the light like the demon they all know you to be. What did you think would happen? That they would forgive your crimes? That she would stay with you in this bleak pit?
“She deserves more,” Killian mumbled, pacing the length of the cavernous space. “But he doesn’t deserve her. Now get out of my head.” Gritting his teeth, Killian hauled back, slamming his fist against the stone walls of the cavern again and again. His knuckles now bleeding, he carefully unfurled his fingers, throbbing echoing through his hand as he cataloged his injuries. Likely he’d fractured a knuckle on his middle finger, several lacerations from his rings cutting into his skin, inconsequential abrasions from the rough stone walls, but all of them might be worth it. Sometimes pain drove the darkness back to the inner recesses of his mind. A broken bone here or there often provided him a measure of freedom for a time.
Unfortunately, it did not appear to work this time. As the dust he’d kicked up drifted through the air, catching the soft firelight from the many candles whose warmth Killian sneered at, the oil-slick voice wormed its way through his consciousness. The poor misguided hero, it crooned. Locked away in a tomb of his own making, fighting against his very nature after his fall from grace.
Killian caught his reflection in one of the many mirrors meant to reflect and amplify light in this dank dwelling. His eyes were wild, his hair a chaotic tangle, and more than anything he resented seeing his own lips move as the other voice filled the chamber and his mind. What would dear Liam think? To see you now: thrumming with hatred, and pining for someone pure and true as the North Star? Though using the Dark One’s magic left no physical trace, Killian wiped his hand on his trousers and knelt by the underground lake, attempting in vain to wash both hand and hook of the violence he’d earlier committed. The cold water brought some numbing relief, but the unseen filth of his actions and loss of control remained.
“It’s your fault,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “You took the man’s life, you forced me into this position.” A small part of him knew he was rationalizing, attempting to avoid blame after the Dark One brought up Liam. His brother would be beyond ashamed to see him now, he would be disgusted by what Killian had become--had been forced to become. It wasn’t as though the damned dagger came with instructions. If he’d known the sacrifice required of him…would he still have gone through with it?
He paused, hearing the high lilt of her voice as it trickled through the stone to reach this place. Taking a slow, steadying breath, Killian rose from the lakeshore and waited. The other voice inside him was silent now and Killian had the strange impression of it listening, head cocked in curiosity. Even the Dark One couldn’t resist the heart-shattering beauty of Emma’s clear soprano.
Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime.
Let me lead you from your solitude.
Say you need me with you, here beside you,
Anywhere you go, let me go too,
Love me, that's all I ask of you
She was working on another piece, the one he’d written with her in mind. It was meant to be a duet, really. He’d meant to bring her here, to practice alongside her. She didn't know the whole piece--he hadn’t finished teaching her since so much of her time was taken up practicing for the season’s shows--but as she repeated the stanza they’d worked on together, the presence of the other voice within him began to fade. It clawed at his mind, grasping to get a foothold once more, but the darkness was no match for Emma’s light. As pure and true as the North Star indeed, and now it guided Killian back to himself.
He let himself remember her expression when she found the trove of sheet music he’d written. He filled his mind with her gentle laugh and the slight pout she wore as she asked repeatedly for him to play something for her--” Anything, really. Please, Killian?” How could he deny her? And so he’d shared a few stanzas of the piece he was working on, had listened to her humming along the second time through as she harmonized with him, and later that night he’d kissed her.
Letting the memory of that night fill him, Killian shoved the darkness back into its cage, locking the space in his mind before bringing himself to the doorway disguised as a mirror in her room. She sat at her vanity, hair unbound and falling down her back in a waterfall of shimmering gold. He drank in the sight of her, hungry for every detail as though her mere presence might wash away the atrocities of this night. She wore only a nightgown of palest blush pink, and when her eyes flicked over to the mirror he watched their emerald depths widen in surprise before her brow knitted in concern.
She was on her feet, closing the distance between them and taking his hand as she gently tugged him into the room. Her eyes searched his, and Killian had to drop his gaze, ashamed of the worry and bafflement he saw written there. As he did, he realized the ring he’d glimpsed earlier was nowhere to be seen. Her long pale fingers remained unadorned.
“Killian?” She spoke softly, ducking to try and catch his eye. He frowned at the floor, realization hitting him with far more force than his earlier self-induced punishment. A punishment she now seemed to notice. A featherlight touch brought his attention to his hand. It looked far worse than he’d thought, his middle finger at an odd angle, his knuckles swollen and bloodied. “Killian, what happened tonight? Where were you?”
Even now she was willing to give him a chance, was willing to listen where he’d only allowed himself to cower in darkness and lash out. He felt his unworthiness as keenly as he felt the warmth of her hands and so he slipped out of her grasp, taking a step back toward the door and squaring his shoulders.
“I was on the rooftop as planned,” he explained blandly, slipping his hand in his pocket. “As were you, it seems; though apparently mine was not the company you sought.” He arched a brow at her, warring emotions of fear and rage masked by feigned indifference. This was the one gift the Dark One had given, the one aspect he appreciated within the accursed fate he’d brought upon himself. The passion of his youth, the fact his heart was on his sleeve and emotions writ large across his face for all to read, was no longer. They had been replaced by a mask of control and lethal calm.
Without giving her a chance to interject, he went on. “Once I left the two of you there, I ran across that abominable stagehand. As he was, yet again, leering at your friends and peers, and as he has chosen time and again to fabricate all manner of tales about me, I chose to end his storytelling career a few pages early. It is no great loss, I assure you.
“Tell me, Emma, are glad tidings in order at this sudden betrothal?” He leaned in, tucking a finger under her chin and tilting her head so their lips were a mere breath apart. “Am I to be nothing but a fond memory as you sit by the fire, working at embroidery while a troupe of children play on the floor at your feet? No doubt, your valiant viscount will be away often. We could make other arrangements if that pounding heart is any indication of your desires.”
He knew he was pushing, knew she flushed not merely with want but with the shame of that want. Emma had been schooled as a proper young lady and here he was insinuating some torrid affair, but he had to know. That dark thing within him rubbed against his mind, a cat luxuriating in the warmth of his suggestion. He waited and watched expectantly as she mouthed a reply, clearing her throat twice before her words were finally audible.
“I said no.”
“What?” He hadn’t dared hope. Had assumed her reply had asked for time or proper courting, that perhaps the ring hadn’t fit, or she’d simply removed it when she called him to her side. His beautiful brilliant siren.
She straightened, the muscles in her throat working as she gulped down whatever emotions had caught there. He watched as her chest heaved with a deep sign. “I told Graham I cannot marry a stranger,” she admitted after a moment’s silence. “Just because we knew one another as children does not mean he knows me now. To think he can ask this of me when he’s not taken the time to truly know who I am now--” She chewed at her bottom lip and Killian fought the impulse to close the small distance between them.
With a shake of her head, Emma led Killian to the small loveseat in the corner of her room and sat, patting the space next to her in invitation. He complied, feeling more than a bit off kilter at this strangely domestic scene: the two of them sitting in her room, neither dressed for company. Taking both his hand and hook in hers, Emma spoke softly.
“I need more than to become a dutiful housewife. I don’t want to be a viscountess whose sole purpose is to bear children and run a household staff. I was born to two artists, Killian.” His heart ticked up at the sound of his name. “While Ruby may dream of the latest fashions and hosting a gaggle of her female friends for parties each weekend, that’s never been my dream. My best friend is more suited to that life than I’ll ever be.”
Thoughts wheeled through his mind in rapid succession, trying to decipher the intention behind her words, seeing multiple divergent pathways depending entirely on his reaction here and now. In his experience, a life of luxury, safety, and comfort defined the wants of women. Objectively, the viscount was handsome, he was certainly well-off, and he had a lingering devotion to the woman who now sat knee to knee with Killian. Why should she be any different from the rest?
She isn’t. The voice spoke from behind the locked door within his mind. She’s an opportunist and will use you to gain fame before she uses him to gain fortune. They’re all the same.
Pocketing the thought for another time, Killian chose the simplest route forward. “Then what is your dream, Emma Nolan?”
“No one but Ruby’s ever asked that,” she mused, lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. “I want to make a name for myself. I want to not simply be ‘David Nolan’s orphaned daughter’, but to be known for my own talents, my hard work.” She fidgeted with the rings on his fingers, bringing his hand to her lips and brushing them softly across his knuckles, avoiding those that were most injured. He saw the question in her eyes but waited for her to continue.
“A season as the lead soprano, maybe even two.” Her voice was wistful and she stared at the flowers filling the small dressing table nearby. “Some time to show Paris what I know I can do, and maybe later...to show the rest of the world.” Her sigh was resigned and Killian knew she saw this merely as a dream, not a goal, not something achievable. His heart went out to her, he knew the pain of desiring something without any possibility of having that desire fulfilled. Hell, he was looking at it now, if he was honest for a moment.
“I was angry earlier,” he said, nodding toward his injured hand. Honesty. Let it be honest between them always, even if it hurt. “There are times when I’m...not myself. Tonight was one example. In attempting to free someone I loved long ago, I instead bound myself to the darkness that once held her captive. That once kept her from rising to be the magnificent woman I knew she was capable of becoming.”
It tore at an old wound, speaking of the loss of Milah and the loss of his own independence. He’d sought to free her from her atrocious husband, to marry her and live a proper life together, but their plans went to hell the moment he’d killed the man she’d shackled herself to.
“I hadn’t known, Emma, I swear it. I’d thought the dagger would simply end his life and rid us of the darkness.” He scoffed at his own ignorance, hearing Milah’s scream in the back of his mind, the final sound her voice had made before her husband ripped her heart from her chest. Fighting the tears pricking behind his eyes, and knowing this made little sense to the woman whose green eyes burned with curiosity as she sat with him, he laughed bitterly. “I should have known nothing could be so simple. Instead, I am as you see here before you: a man cursed to live a life of eternal damnation and darkness.”
The quiet of the space consumed them. Killian counted their breaths, counted the moments that passed in utter silence. He was a killer and a sorry wretch of a man. He waited for her to dismiss him.
“That’s not true,” were the first words to break that silence. Spoken with clear conviction, her face set in stern resolution.
“Forgive me for disagreeing, love, but it is. I have killed without remorse, I could not defend the woman I loved, and I am host to a parasitic darkness that will dwell in my mind forever. I’m the villain.”
“Not to me,” was all she said before gracing him with a kiss. This one was filled not with fire and need, but with sweetness and comfort. She was the first breath of spring that thawed the icy dark of winter, the golden sunlight come to wake the world from its long slumber. In that moment, Emma Nolan was everything, and he drank down every bit of light and warmth she offered.
Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this piece, and @lonelyspectator12 for being an encourager and brainstorming partner. And a special thank you to @teamhook for keeping me going on this (even when I try to chicken out).
That moment when you realize Emma Swan and Rose Tyler have similar blue leather jackets, so your brain starts making a mashup adventure through time with these two badass blondes…
He’d been skeptical at first, had questioned Emma’s sanity just a bit when she suggested purchasing a home out in the country. At first, even Henry had been on his side, but once they took that ski trip and the young lad learned how much closer he’d be to wild adventures that had nothing to do with evil and magic and everything to do with hiking mountains and climbing trees that had been it. He’d been fully on board, which left Killian completely outnumbered.
Emma had wanted a bit of quiet—a place to rest after all they’d been through, and while he understood, it also felt rather intimidating. A ship was one thing to tend, you had a crew and everyone knew their role aboard, but here there was so much to do and only their own hands to tend it. He hadn’t really understood the appeal, had simply gone along with it because it brought Emma and Henry such joy. Even the chores—Henry did them without complaint—held some peace for the two of them. So Killian Jones went along with it.
It hadn’t been until that first real snowstorm that he’d finally seen the farm with the same sense of wonder he’d seen in Emma’s fiery emerald eyes. The bright red farmhouse stood in sharp contrast to the unbroken blanket of snow that winter’s morning. The soft rises and dips of their field now undulating, gentle waves of crystalline white that sparkled in the dappled sunlight of the morning. When he stepped outside the world held a strangely muffled quality, everything coming to him in hushed tones from the twittering birds that hid within the massive pine trees on their property to the rustle of restless animals coming from the barn.
Henry had insisted on horses, on learning to ride like a proper gentleman of the Enchanted Forest. Killian had been happy to teach him, and felt fortunate to have the opportunity. Logically, the boy’s grandfather would have taught him, but out here it was Killian’s good fortune instead and the two had spent significant time together as Henry learned not only to ride the animal, but to care for and build trust between them.
Now as Killian took the first step, his boots sinking halfway to his knees in the snow, he found he was unable to keep from smiling. The satisfying crunch of those first steps where no one had yet walked, the imprint of only his footsteps as he tracked toward the barn from their cheerful red farmhouse, all of it was so startlingly beautiful and the weight of it hit him all at once. This was his home. Emma and Henry were his family. All of these people and animals, this place, all of it was interconnected and depended on their little network to keep working together in order to maintain. The joy of it warmed him through and he was too lost in his thoughts to notice the soft crunching steps that now followed him.
“Welcome to a real Maine winter,” the smile was clear in her tone before he turned to take in the beauty of a very bundled up Emma. Her golden curls drifted like a halo, swirling in the gentle winter wind that set sparkling flakes dancing around them. “Thought you might want a bit of help.” She linked her arm in his, walking beside him toward the barn.
They tended to the horses and chickens, all of which seemed a bit put out by the weather. Once everyone was fed and watered, the ice broken up and heaters dropped in the troughs, they closed up the barn and turned to make the long walk back to the house. Killian’s mind wandered toward the fireplace and a warm mug in his hand—surely Emma wouldn’t object to adding a little nip of rum to their coffee, just to stave off the chill in the air? Besides, she got rather snuggly with a splash of rum in her, and a cozy fireside day was well in order. With Henry off in Sorrybrooke with Regina they had the next few days all to themselves.
Without warning, two hands shoved at his side and Killian Jones found himself half-buried in a snowdrift, Emma’s laugh now echoing across the open expanse of their field. “I’m sorry, you were just so out of it and I—“
Whatever she was remained unrevealed as he hooked his arm around her waist, dragging her into the snowbank as well. He cut off her yelp of surprise with a kiss, pulling her close in the drifting snow. “You’ll pay for that, Swan. Attacking a man when his defenses are down is bad form, love.”
She grinned up at him, wreathed in snow and looking like some brilliant goddess of winter and home and hearth. “Bring it on, Jones.” And quick as a flash she wriggled out from under him, the two taking off in a clumsy, stomping chase through the snow— each step bringing them closer to the beckoning warmth of the home they shared.
For Christmas this year, I’m going into the askbox of my fandom family and sharing with them my favorite of their works, whether fics or art. I love you dearly and I hope this gift gives you just a portion of the joy you and your works bring me!!!
My favorite of your fics are One Love, One Lifetime (I know, such a huge surprise, I’m sure… 😜) and Oathkeeper.
Merry Christmas, babe! Love ya!!!
You’re the sweetest! Merry Christmas you amazing encourager 💝
Hello all! In the CSMM community we have a love for more cake. More cake is synonym for more fics with that in mind I was happy when we extended the CSMM and made it year round. If you guys have written or would like to add any Movie AUs to the event message me but that is not the reason for this post. I’m very excited to announce the Captain Swan Netflix and Chill collection. It’s an addition to the CSMM. We will be accepting tv series and any streaming series to the collection including both new and preexisting fics are welcomed.
The Enchanted Forest doesn’t really have booty calls. Luckily, Emma and Killian are good at coming to understandings despite all their cultural differences.
Some kind of canon-divergence/AU around season 3, let’s not worry about the specifics. Inspired by this. Ridiculousness and smut with feelings.
My contribution to @csseptembersunshine. Thanks so much to @profdanglaisstuff for looking this over for me and to @thesschesthair for the inspiration!
Rated M, ~7,700 words | read on ao3
“Dating,” Mary Margaret says, setting down her wine glass. “So much easier back home.”
Ruby shoots her a doubtful look. “You mean when your parents find you a match?”
“That’s not how David and I got together,” Mary Margaret protests. “That’s not how it works for most people.”
“Right, you hit him in the face with a rock,” Ruby says, snickering. “So much easier than asking him out.”
Emma leans back, trying to hold back her laughter as Mary Margaret struggles to explain. She’s still not sure where she falls on the “Enchanted Forest vs Storybrooke” debate; her experience in the Enchanted Forest wasn’t exactly rosy.
Though it did admittedly have its good sides.
And it does sound kind of nice, the way Mary Margaret describes courting. Less predatory than Emma is used to. She’s under no illusion that the men of the Enchanted Forest are all perfect gentlemen, but not having to worry about how many days to wait until calling sounds like a definite plus.
Or it would, if she was the kind of woman to call.
* * *
“Hello there,” he said, smirk already in place on his features as she walked up the gangplank. “What brings you out here tonight?”
“Oh, you know.” She walked towards him, purposely casual. “Nothing on Netflix, had some time on my hands…”
“Nothing better to do than me?” he suggested.
She laughed and rolled her eyes, as if that wasn’t what she was here for. Pointless, really. He already knew what she was here for. There was nothing else out here but him.
"i could fix him" yeah? well i could accept him as he is. you don't like the murder? grow up. the atrocities are part of him and ive decided they're funny
No bombshells this chapter, but there’s some important stuff hidden here ;) I can’t wait for you guys to piece everything together. For those of you waiting for Killian’s return, sorry but you’re gonna have to wait a little bit longer. I promise it’ll be worth it!
Big thank you to @demisexualemmaswan for being my beta! You’re an amazing collaborator and I love bouncing ideas off of you! <3
The lullaby is from Albion, The Enchanted Stallion (which JMo has a small role in!)
