Let-It-Raines

Icon by @carpedzem

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (40/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’ve written a lot of words - it’s actually a ridiculous amount - but some stories worm their way into your heart. This one definitely goes in the top five of that for me. I don’t know if it’s because this was the first story I managed to write after getting some pretty harsh words sent my way or if it was because this story was something I wrote throughout my pregnancy. Did you guys notice how much food was involved? That’s why. Haha. Nevertheless, this is a special one. Thanks for coming along for the ride ⚾️

Thanks to you @resident-of-storybrooke​ for all of her hard work with me on this one​! I’ve kept this epilogue a secret from you as your gift for being a spectacular human being, so I hope you enjoy it ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current 

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-/-

“What are you wearing today?” Ruby asks her over the speaker on her phone.

Emma hums in response as she thumbs through the clothes in her closet, passing by sweater after sweater that Killian has organized by color despite her consistently messing up his organizational system for their closet. Miraculously, it always gets fixed, heels going on the shelf and white sweater moving to its section instead of chilling with the red jackets on the other side of the room. She didn’t need a closet this big, not really, but if this is what came attached to the master bedroom in their brownstone, Emma is certainly going to fill it up with clothes and boots and far too many hats.

She’s simply not going to organize them the way that her husband wants her to.

“I’m not sure yet,” Emma tells Ruby while running her hand runs over a black turtleneck sweater that might look good with her plaid skirt and the thigh-high boots that she owns three pairs of now since she wears them so often. It’s not a problem no matter how much Killian says it is as he places them on the shelf. “It’s cold outside, but it’s going to be sunny. Maybe my plaid skirt with the black sweater. What are you wearing?”

“Jeans and a sweater, but it’s not my big day.”

“It’s not my big day either.”

Ruby sighs, and Emma can imagine the exasperated look on her face and the way that Graham is likely sitting on the bed behind her reminding her to be gentle or something similar. He should know better after so many years with Ruby – she’s not gentle when she’s in a teasing mood, and she’s definitely in a teasing mood.

“It is your big day,” Ruby corrects. “Your husband could be retiring from baseball today. That’s a huge fucking deal.”

Emotion lodges itself in Emma’s throat, and if she could swallow it down and get rid of it for the day, she would. Quickly, she turns around to look and make sure Killian isn’t standing in the closet or the bedroom. He’s not, at least that she knows. He could be hiding in that blind spot near the bathroom. He’s got weirdly quiet footsteps, and she can very rarely hear when he’s moving in this house.

“Killian wants to think about it as any other game. He’s told me approximately five hundred times that this isn’t a big deal.”

“And you believe him?”

“Hell no,” Emma scoffs as she unties her robe and hangs it on a hook before pulling the plaid skirt off of its hanger and slipping into it as most as she can without having someone tug the last little bit. It’s got this stupid hook that never does quite right. “He hasn’t slept in days. Like, actual days. I wake up in the middle of the night to find him reading or running his fingers over me or something. Killian doesn’t want to admit it, but baseball is in his bones. He’s never going to be able to fully leave it behind. He just…they’re down three games to none in the ALCS and even if they win tonight, they could lose tomorrow. I don’t – I want him to win tonight, but I think if that happens, he’ll just keep holding onto the hope that it’s not over yet.”

“It’s never over until it’s over.”

“You sound like Killian.”

“I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time with him in the past six years. It was bound to happen at some point.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who was supposed to start picking up his mannerisms, not you.”

“We’re sister wives, baby.”

“Um, no,” Emma laughs as she clasps her bra together behind her back, “we are not sister wives. I love you, but that’s not true.”

“Ah whatever.” Ruby scoffs. “Is the jersey going to go over that sweater well?”

“Yep.”

“The plaid may not mix with the stripes.”

Emma clicks her tongue, a protest on her lips, but then there’s a high-pitched squeal followed by small legs lacking pants running into the closet. It’s not like she can judge. She doesn’t have a shirt on.

“Mommy,” Jace squeals, still giggling and running toward her until he’s slamming right into her calves and wrapping his fingers around her legs while his dark mop of hair brushes up against her thigh. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” “What, Jace?” she questions with a small laugh before scooping him up and resting him on her hip. She swears that he gets bigger every single day, and it kind of freaks her out. Then again, most things about being a mom to a two-year-old kid are terrifying. But also weirdly rewarding. She’s been reassured by Mary Margaret, Elsa, Ariel, and Anna that it’s normal, but she’s not sure she believes that quite yet. “What’s got you running in here out of breath?”

“Daddy funny,” Jace giggles, and like he was summoned by the laugh (he probably was), Killian walks into the closet with a small smile on his face and the slightest shake of his head.

Handsome as ever.

“Daddy is funny,” Emma agrees, leaning down to press her lips against Jace’s forehead, “but we can’t tell him because his ego might get bigger and then you and I won’t have any room in the house.”

“Ems,” Ruby interjects, “I’m going to let you go so that you can continue to tell lies about Killian being funny.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. I’m wearing the plaid skirt.”

“It’s not going to go with the stripes,” Ruby says before the line goes dead.

“You’re hysterical, love,” Killian grumbles, walking toward her and placing his hands on her waist. They’re warm and rough, callouses that she’s grown used to scratching up against her skin, and he tugs her zipper up without her asking. He’s going to have to undo it when she puts her sweater on, but it’s sweet that he realized she needed a bit of help. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Where are our son’s pants?”

He arches a brow before waggling them both across his forehead, a smirk stretching across his lips. “Touché, darling. Touché. Jace seemed fit to not stop squirming around so that I could tug his jeans up.”

Jace smiles at her, a toothy grin, and it’s almost not fair how much he looks like Killian. Genetics are not supposed to work this way. There is supposed to be some of her in him. She didn’t carry him in her body for nine plus months for him to not at all be like her.

There’s supposed to be some kind of payback or reward or something.

(Unconditional love or whatever, probably.)

“Baby, did you not let Daddy put on your pants?”

“Nope.”

“Would you let me put on your pants?”

“Nope.”

Emma rolls her eyes and looks up at Killian who simply shrugs his shoulders. “Well, I guess you won’t wear any pants, and I won’t wear a shirt. Daddy will have to go without shoes.”

Killian shrugs. “All in all, I think I’ve gotten the good deal here.”

“You have,” she promises, pressing up on her toes to quickly brush her lips over Killian’s. He needs to leave soon to go to what may be his final practice (she swears that she’s not thinking about it too much), but they were all going to ride over to the stadium together. “I’ll get him dressed, okay? You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Swan, no. You’ve still got to get ready. I’m perfectly capable of dressing him.”

“His lack of pants suggests otherwise.”

Killian opens his mouth to say something, but then his lips are pressing together and he’s reaching forward to run his fingers over Jace’s stomach while his other hand comes to rest on her ass, squeezing enough that she jumps.

“I’ll dress him,” he continues. “We’ve got to have a go at the jeans again. He might want the light wash instead of the dark. The kid is particular.”

“Just like you,” Emma sighs before handing Jace off to Killian. “I’ve only got to curl my hair and then finish getting dressed, okay? It shouldn’t take me more than thirty minutes, and then we can go.”

“There’s no rush, my love. Take your time.”

Killian walks out of the closet talking to Jace, murmuring little nothings that Emma can’t make out but that she’s sure are sweet and funny and probably ridiculous. It makes her heart swell, which isn’t good for how emotional she is today. She told herself that she wouldn’t be sad, that she would believe Killian’s lies about today not being a big deal, but Killian is a liar. Anyone that says today isn’t a big deal is a liar.

She’s a liar.

And she’s standing in the middle of her closet holding her hand against the chain around her neck staring at shelf after shelf of Yankees t-shirts and sweatpants and uniforms. This sport and this team are so intertwined with their lives and nearly everything that they do, and Emma’s not sure how she’s going to function commentating on games where Killian isn’t playing. When she got the promotion, she knew this would happen eventually. It was at the back of her mind, and it was supposed to stay there.

This wasn’t supposed to come so soon.

Killian is only thirty-three, and Emma always thought that they’d have more time.

Dammit. Why is she letting herself spiral like this when she’s supposed to be curling her hair and putting this sweater on and not freaking out?

Taking a deep breath, Emma grabs the black sweater, a pair of socks, and her boots before tugging them all on, taking each task one at a time while she gets ready. It’s fine. It’s simply another day and another baseball game. There’s nothing happening today that’s any different. They’re going to go to the stadium, drop Jace off with Ariel, Killian will go to practice, and Emma will go up to the booth to review her notes and do the pre-game show. Then the game will begin.

It’s all normal and just what they’ve been doing for almost every home game since Jace’s birth.

(Except it’s not normal.)

(She’s going to act like it is.)

When they get to the stadium an hour later, Emma and Jace both fully dressed despite the complications, the hallways are full of people – publicists, players, family members, coaches, vendors. Anyone Emma can think of is flooding the walkways, most of them waving hello and giving Jace high fives that Emma knows Killian will sanitize later simply because he’s a germ freak now, and there’s a particular look in each of their eyes, a tightness in all of the smiles, that make it especially hard for Emma to pretend that today is a normal day.

“Jace Jones,” Ariel yells out when she comes into view. “What’s up, my man?”

“Ariel,” he screeches out, squirming in Killian’s arms until Killian puts him on the ground and he runs toward Ariel. He’s a blur of pinstripes and the number twenty-nine running in a miniature version of Killian’s jersey. Emma’s got her version hidden away in her purse.

“I was always jealous of other guys who got this.”

Emma twists from where she’s standing to look over at Killian as he softly smiles at Ariel and Jace, the crinkles around his eyes much more prominent than they’ve ever been. “What?”

He nods his head before turning to face her as well. Killian puts his hands on her hips, tugging her a little bit closer to him, and she lazily slings her arms around his neck so that she can smile up at him and his stupid blue eyes. Emma talks for a living. She should be able to find a better way to describe how much she loves Killian’s eyes, but that’s not really in the job card for baseball commentators.

Killian’s lips tick up to the right, the crinkles showing up some more, and he can’t seem to decide between looking at her or Jace. “That,” Killian repeats, nodding at Jace. “I used to be damn jealous of all of the guys who got to have their kids watch them play and got to wear their numbers on their backs. He’s not…fuck, Emma. He’s not going to remember that I did this, that I got to be this really cool guy who lived out my dreams and brought joy to a lot of people, and it’s so idiotic – ”

“Hey, hey, no,” she whispers as her hand keeps running through the hair at the nape of his neck and her own eyes fill with water, “don’t go there, twenty-nine. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Jace may not remember seeing you play professional baseball, but he’s going to know that you did. And he’s going to have a million other memories that are going to be so much cooler than this, yeah? Today isn’t an ending, babe. It’s a new beginning.”

Killian sniffles, his jaw still tense, but it softens a little bit when he dips his head down to hers and starts running his lips across Emma’s jaw and down her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that light her entire body on fire and make her cant her hips up into his until Killian has her pressed into a concrete wall. It’s not unusual for them to find a spot to make out in this stadium, not at all, but it’s unusual for them to be this open about it. Their relationship has been a public one without their permission, and they try to keep it as quiet as possible.

Right now, Emma doesn’t care.

Not at all.

Until there’s a whistle and Ariel speaking. “I know you guys are probably going to try for another one of these munchkins during the infamous baseball mating season, but here is really not the place to do it.”

Killian chuckles against Emma’s jaw, his scruff brushing into her skin while his smile is tattooed there, and of all of the things Emma is going to miss, she thinks this might be at the top of the list. She guesses that they’ll simply have to do it at home…or Killian can come visit her at work. They have their options.

“Daddy kisses Mommy a lot,” Jace explains to Ariel in his broken speech, which only makes Killian snicker into her skin even more before he pulls back.

“I bet I can kiss you more than I kiss Mommy,” Killian challenges as he swipes Jace out of Ariel’s arms and peppers kisses across his face and down his arms.

Emma’s heart is never going to function normally again, and their insurance is not going to cover this.

“You guys are ridiculously cute,” Ariel sighs before walking up to Emma and wrapping her up in a hug so that she can whisper in her ear. “It’s all clear for you to come down after the game. Will and Eric are under strict instructions to keep him in the dugout instead of letting him go back to get his PT and hide out away from the field.”

“Thank you, A. You’re the best.”

“Yo, Professor Jones,” Will calls out from down the corridor, and everyone’s eyes glance over toward him. “I know you’ve got that fancy college degree now and could actually be a professor, but you’ve still got to show up to practice.”

“I’m right outside the door to the clubhouse, Scarlet,” Killian yells back.

“Outside isn’t inside, man. I bet Jace knows that, and he’s only two.”

“Give me three minutes, and I’ll be there.”

“Al is going to have your head.”

“He can have it.”

“My boy,” Killian sighs as he brushes Jace’s hair off of his forehead, “will you be good for Ariel so that Mommy and Daddy can go to work?”

“Nope.”

That is undeniably the word of the day.

Sending Killian off to practice and the game is a little bit more difficult than usual. The words are lengthier, the hugs longer and tighter, and the final “good luck” and “I love you” weigh heavier on Emma’s mind as she walks away from the clubhouse and to the elevators so that she can go and do her job.

It’s a hard day, but it is simply a day.

And a ballgame.

-/-

Before Killian’s first pitch, he looks up to her in the commentator’s booth and taps his fist right over his heart.

She does the same thing back before holding her hand to the ring that still rests against her sternum.

“You’ve got this, twenty-nine,” she whispers, not caring that the microphones are going to pick it up.

-/-

The Yankees lose, 3-2, and the loss definitely stings. The season is over, but Killian’s career is also finished, the bookend closing on the mound and his time there.

A beginning, she told him. It’s an ending but also a beginning of him not spending half of the year with a crazy schedule. Her schedule is crazy too, but at least she won’t be traveling with the team anymore.

It’s a new beginning for her too.

Chants of Killian’s name ring out around the stadium, a melody that sends chills down Emma’s spine, and Killian walks around the bases waving. He looks like he both loves and hates it, and Emma chuckles as she waits in the dugout, hidden away from him until he steps back on the mound one final time.

The man she loves is so intertwined with this game and this field, but she knows he’s also so much more than any of this.

He’s everything.

“You ready to go support Daddy, kid?” Emma asks Jace as his little blue eyes look around at all of the noise. He’s not used to this.

“Yes,” he says, and Emma sighs in relief at finally getting that word out of him.

It’s not a long walk, not at all, but it feels that way as she passes by all of Killian’s teammates, past and present, to get to him. When he sees the two of them, he immediately moves toward them. His strides are long, almost quick enough to be a run, and Killian wraps his arms around them so tightly that Jace protests and tries to move. He can’t, though, especially when Killian slams his lips into hers and kisses her deeply enough that every thought that Emma had disappears into the continuing chant of the crowds.

Killian. Killian. Killian.

It’s overwhelming but in the best way, and every thought that Killian has about it is felt in the kiss that leaves her breathless and with barely working limbs.

Falling in love with Killian was like this, overwhelming, unexpected, terrifying, and thrilling all at once, and she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

“Easy tiger,” Emma laughs when Killian finally pulls back, “we’ve got company.”

“Are we talking the kid we just squashed or all of these people?”

“I’m talking Jeff and the camera that’s on our face. I’m supposed to interview you right now.”

The smile that breaks out on his face is beatific, and he kisses her again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Killian grabs onto Jace and pulls him into his arms. “You too, kid. You ready to watch Mommy work? She’s really good at this even if it isn’t her job anymore.”

“She play baseball?”

“Something like that, lad.”

Emma barely remembers the questions that she asks Killian. It’s a blur of laughter and funny questions and maybe one or two actual questions about baseball. It all gets interrupted by Jace’s talking, most of it tired babbling, and then Liam, Elsa, and the rest of Killian’s family coming out onto the field. The stands don’t empty out, the constant buzz of the stadium staying around, but Emma doesn’t bother looking around up there when she’s got so much going on down here.

It’s absolutely everything.

Even more so when Killian takes Jace’s hand and walks him around the bases, the two of them laughing together in the way that they always do whenever they’re together, and Emma is most definitely scouring the internet for those pictures tonight.

But far too soon, the moment is over, reality coming back to everyone, and Killian has to go inside to do his press conference just like so many of his teammates. There are still articles to be written and deadlines to be met, and the world doesn’t resolve around them.

Emma’s world revolves around the two guys wearing the number twenty-nine.

She gets Jace back from Killian when they go inside, and the two of them hide out in the corner of the back of the press room as Killian settles down behind the table and all of the journalists and photographers sit in their seats. It starts mostly with the game, Killian’s stats as well as his team’s. It’s standard, just like any other post-game press.

Until it isn’t.

“You threw a one-hundred-and-one mile per hour pitch out there eighty pitches in. And it was accurate. Why are you hanging up your glove when you have some good years left?”

Emma flinches at the question, but it’s one she knew he would get. It was pretty much inevitable.

Killian’s hand reaches up to rub over his eyes, the blue sparkling against the red rims from where he’s cried and tried to hide out. “Look,” Killian starts while staring down at the baseball cap in front of him, signatures from every single teammate marking it up, “I get that I’m only thirty-three. That’s not old in life, but on occasion, it’s old in sports. The fact that I’ve played this game professionally for twelve years for the same team is a wonderful honor, especially when you consider the issues I’ve had with my shoulder. I think…it feels damn good to be able to throw an accurate strike like that one you mentioned, but it feels better to be able to hold my son without pain. It feels better for me to be able to embrace my wife or keep my arm around her shoulder while we watch a movie. Those are things I might not be able to do if I keep playing and screw my arm up a little bit more.”

Emma adjusts Jace in her arms, careful not to rouse him since he’s probably about five minutes from sleep. The kid has no idea the declaration of love his dad just made for the two of them, all of the declarations he’s been making, and he has no idea just how lucky they are that the sweet man having to talk to strangers about a huge part of his life ending is also the dumbass who thought it would be a good idea to ask her out on television.

It’s a good thing that Killian has learned from his mistakes and that she knows how to forgive.

“So you’re retiring because of your family? Lots of guys play with families.”

Killian rolls his eyes. Emma does too.

“I’m retiring because it’s my time,” Killian corrects with a forced smile on his face. “I love this game and everything that it has given me. I’m never truly going to leave it. I think I’ll likely take a few years off, maybe spend a hell of a lot of time making another kid with my wife, and then I’ll come back somehow. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get into the commentator’s booth with Emma. I think we’d make a hell of a team, and there’s nothing I’d love more than working with her again. Maybe I’ll be a coach for an MLB team or for a college or for my kid’s little league team. I don’t know yet. I haven’t exactly gotten it figured out.”

“One more question,” Ariel calls out, and Emma swears that she’s not crying. Nope. It’s not a thing that’s happening.

Except that she’s definitely crying and far too emotional, and she doesn’t want Killian to be up there by himself for his last press conference question. So as there’s a loud chorus of questions with every reporter’s hand raised, Killian still trying to pick someone to ask a question, Emma moves around the side of the room until she’s stepping up on the stage, her heels clacking against the platform, until she’s gently sitting down on Killian’s lap.

He rolled back in his chair in anticipation of her walking this way.

And his hand is warm on her arm and around Jace’s back, and just the slight touch is enough to make her emotional all over again.

Killian deserved to go out winning the World Series again. He deserved for his Hall of Fame career to have a big bang for an ending instead of a quiet fizzle, but life doesn’t work out that way. If this is what he wants, this is what he wants, and it’ll be perfect for him.

“Lawrence,” Killian calls out, nodding to the reporter who took over Emma’s job at ESPN.

“In all of your career, what’s been your favorite moment? Do you have one?”

Killian snickers at the question before turning to the side and pressing a kiss against her forehead. “World Series 2019, game seven. That was the year that changed every aspect of my life, and that game was incredible. I don’t think I’d ever experienced such an adrenaline high before. I don’t know if I have since in terms of baseball. I just…that was a special win for me because I got to do it with my mates, a lot of whom have retired since then or been traded to other teams, but I also got to do it with Emma. I know that I…God, I know that I sound like a sap right now, and I – ”

Killian tilts his head to the side and buries his face in her hair while his arm tightens around she and Jace. She can feel his body shaking the slightest bit.

“It’s okay, Killian,” Emma promises, whispering in his ear while Jace twitches in her arms, waking up the slightest bit. “You’re doing great, twenty-nine.”

“I was a fucking liar when I said that today wasn’t a big deal.”

“I know.”

He chuckles, that same chuckle she’s heard almost every day for six years, and when Killian pulls back from the two of them, he’s got a smile on his face.

“That year was the first time I had a partner in my life outside of my brother that I knew was always going to be by my side, no matter what happened, and I think baseball wise, that moment is always going to be my favorite. I’ve loved almost every minute of this journey, even having to deal with all of you guys hounding me about every move that I make, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ve got a toddler who is fast asleep and needs to go home.”

Emma twists her head to look at Killian, and he throws her a wink before leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss while applause fills the room, an echo of the standing ovation Killian received while out on the field. He doesn’t stay to listen to this one, though. Instead, he encourages her to stand from the chair, and the two of them walk out of the room with his arm looped around her waist to the sound of people cheering for Killian.

He deserves every single clap.

They don’t stick around the stadium much longer. Killian runs into a few people who want to say goodbye, mostly those who won’t see him in their personal lives, but they’re able to leave pretty quickly. Their families have already gone home per Killian’s request of not making a big deal out of today. They’ll have some kind of celebration next week, one full of food and laughter and joy that isn’t so bittersweet like today.

When they get home, Jace is completely out, the car ride having knocked any remaining wakefulness out of him, and instead of waking him, Emma tells Killian to go take a shower while she changes Jace into his pajamas. He protests, like he always does, but eventually he relents and walks out of the room and down the hall to their bathroom so that he can shower. Emma figures that he likely needs a little time alone anyway.

It’s a weird day.

Once Jace is asleep, his arms wrapped around Will, the stuffed lobster toy that Jace named after Will Scarlet, Emma quietly turns on the baby monitor and closes the door behind her before making her way to the bedroom. The water in the shower is running, a constant hum of a stream, and Emma really does intend to let Killian be and let him have his moment alone where no one will bother him while the warm water beats against his skin. But Killian left the door to the bathroom open, pretty much inviting her inside, and she doesn’t think that he’ll mind even if her plan is simply to stand underneath the water with him and have her makeup fall down her face until she’s left looking like a terrifying clown.

Slowly, she steps into the room, the tile cool against her feet, and strips out of her clothes, picking them up off the floor and throwing them into the hamper. Killian hasn’t noticed her yet, the water pressure too high for him to hear her, and he’s got his back turned to her so that she has a view of strong legs and a firm ass that looks a million times better like this than in baseball pants.

She’s lucky for a lot of reasons. The muscles that stretch up Killian’s back and his arms tick off some of the more superficial ones.

Steam escapes the shower door when she opens it, a little bit of water too, but then she’s quickly pulling the clear glass door closed and stepping onto white tile so that she can wrap her arms around Killian’s waist, her finger threading into the patch of hair over his stomach, and her cheek nuzzling between his shoulder blades. Heat curls between her thighs at the feel of him, at knowing just how much she loves him, but instead of acting on any of it, she presses her lips to his back, laying soft kisses wherever she can while Killian’s hand comes to rest over hers.

“I thought you had banished me in here so that I could be alone,” he finally says as the water continues to pound down on them.

“Do you want to be alone?”

“I want to be with you.”

Emma hums and moves her arms from his stomach, sliding them up his body until her hands come to rest on his arms. Killian grunts something unintelligible, a mixture of pleasure and relief, and she’s barely even begun to work out the knots in his shoulder. He didn’t get his post-match massage, none of his usual recovery happening, so his shoulders are particularly tense. She knows exactly what to do, which muscles to apply pressure to and which to knead. It’s a rhythm and a practice that they’re been doing for years now to make sure Killian’s shoulder doesn’t get too stiff in the middle of the night.

Running her hands from his shoulders to his neck, she kneads the straining cords there while Killian reaches forward to press both of his hands against the tiled wall. His head drops, chin practically touching his chest, and his groan is almost more than Emma can handle.

“Fuck, love. I don’t...this feels so damn good, but if I don’t get to touch you soon, I’m going to lose my bloody mind.”

The heat she feels at his words, spoken in a deep and gravely tone, is almost dizzying, and Emma is ready to let him touch her, to let him bring her to life in the way that he always does. But today is Killian’s day, whether he wants to accept that or not, and instead of letting Killian turn around and kiss her, Emma wraps her arms around his waist again, dipping lower and lower until she can feel him straining warmly against his stomach.

She wants to tease him, to draw this out and make him go crazy with want now that they have actual alone time together, but Emma’s never been very good at being patient, especially not when it comes to this man wanting her. Killian’s the patient one, the one who is willing to wait until things are right, but his shallowed breathing and stuttered words make her think that he’s not very interested in being patient right now.

“Emma,” he breathes out, a mixture between a plea and a promise.

“You do this thing,” Emma begins as her finger traces underneath him, tracing a line in the vein in his length that Killian loves for her to do, “with your arms that make your veins more prominent. It’s just, like, all of the time, and your forearms are ridiculous. I get distracted staring at them. You’re a very distracting man.”

She wraps her fingers around his cock now, slow and steady as Killian’s knuckles practically go as white as the tile, and moves it in long strokes. Killian is very obviously trying to keep from thrusting his hips, the tenseness in his body back in full force, and all Emma can do is continue to stroke him and let him find more pleasure than pain as the water falls down around them and causes the hair on Killian to mat together and for the hair on her head to tangle.

“Sometimes I worry that I don’t let you know how much I love you,” she continues while Killian’s feet move and his hips begin to pump, aiding her hand in its work. “You’re so good with words and affection, with letting me know how much I mean to you, and I wish I could do the same with you. You deserve that.”

Killian’s step falters once more, and Emma thinks that he’s on the precipice of coming until he turns around, her hand falling from him as Killian’s hands come up to grip her face, kissing her with something approaching desperation. His tongue is sinful, hot and wet mixing in with hers, and Emma can feel his all the way down to her toes. There have been times over the years when they’ve gone through rough patches, when things weren’t always great between the two of them simply because of busy schedules or disagreements, but they’ve always worked back from those and come back to this.

Come back to this and everything else that makes up the two of them: baseball games, late-night baking sessions that never go right, attending far too many weddings and baby showers, having their own wedding at a courthouse on a random Wednesday, racing each other through Central Park as they run, laughing at the other as they trip over a pair of socks, sharing the depths of their hearts while under the covers, the lights of the city surrounding them.

Sobbing at a false positive on a pregnancy test. Sobbing at the accurate positive.

It’s a whirlwind, their life, and none of that can encapsulate it all.

Emma’s eyes are shut tightly as Killian continues to kiss her, his mouth insistent, and there’s no stopping the curl of heat now. Absolutely none. Especially when Killian moves his left hand and turns the water off, the stream immediately stopping so that chilled air hits the heat of her skin, gooseflesh rising. It’s cold, that’s undeniable, but Emma doesn’t care as her desire roars and Killian slowly backs them out of the shower with water dripping down both of their bodies.

“I swear if you let me trip, Jones,” Emma mumbles out as her feet hit against the cloth of the mat in the bathroom.

“You’ll what, Jones?” He enunciates the last word with a flick of his tongue against hers before he’s pulling back so that her nipples are no longer brushing against the thick patch of hair on his chest. Emma whines, her thighs too slick with wanting him to even care how desperate she sounds, and all Killian does is grab a towel from the shelf to wrap around her body, the soft cotton nothing compared to Killian’s touch. Even if he’s being an asshole right now. “I know you’re capable of a myriad of things darling, but I think you’re too desperate for me to do any of them.”

“You’re pretty confident in yourself, aren’t you?”

The towel tugs tighter around her waist, pulling her back into Killian so that his straining length brushes the inside of her thigh, and his lips are so close to her ear, breath heavy, that she’s not sure if she can handle any more of this. “Extremely. You usually like that about me.”

“You’ve had a lot of people complimenting you today. I wouldn’t want it to get into your head.”

“Of course. You’re here to keep me humble.”

“Exactly. I’m very good at my job.”

“Mhm,” Killian hums as the towel drops around them and Killian’s hands find the globes of her ass, kneading both of them while he continues to back them up into the bedroom. His lips are on her neck, her shoulder, back to her lips. “I love you, you know? It’s ridiculous how much.”

“Funny thing, I feel the same way.”

“Good.”

Once Emma falls against the mattress, they come together quickly, easily, like they have thousands of times before. Killian knows each inch of her skin intimately, knows just where to kiss and to touch and how to thrust, and it takes absolutely no time for her to begin to feel that desperation of needing him seep into her bones and settle there like it’s going to make a permanent stay. He’s fully seated in her, a heavy and thick drag that is like nothing else, and she can feel all of him hovering over her, heat and strength surrounding her he takes his time with his thrusts.

They’re slow, languid, and so damn breathtaking that Emma can’t even speak. She’s not sure that she wants to. Sometimes sex is just sex, a simple release of desire and passion to physically feel good. Other times it’s words of affection written with each kiss and feelings of love enunciated with each thrust and swirl of a thumb over a bundle of nerves.

Right now is the second one, and every word that Killian spoke to her earlier – in the hallways, on the field, in the press room – is echoed back to her as he moves within her and over her, his lips writing his love while Emma holds on and attempts to write the same words back.

Her heartbeat is thundering, a sound so loud that it blocks out nearly every other noise, and then she’s there, falling apart with a plea and a whisper, pleasure shaking over her body faster than she thought it would.

Holy fuck.

“Fuck,” Killian repeats back, almost as if he heard her thoughts. “Fuck, love. You’re exquisite.”

“So are you. You planning on finishing anytime soon?”

“I’m an old man. I’ve got to catch my breath.”

Emma barks out a laugh that Killian captures with a resounding kiss while his hips snap into hers, a perfect fit that is like nothing else in the world, and as his fingers intertwine with hers and he pulls them up above both of their heads, Killian joins her in her bliss, his body tensing up as his words become breathless, a mess that gets carried away with the thrum of the ceiling fan.

They collapse against the mattress, a tangle of sweaty limbs and wet hair, and when Killian pulls the comforter up over them, Emma turns on her side until she’s snuggled against Killian’s chest with her cheek resting against his heart and his hands in her tangled hair.

“We’re going to have to take another shower.”

Emma laughs with unbridled joy before pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Tell me the truth. Did I have mascara running down my cheeks this entire time?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“Totally worth it.”

“Tell that to sheets that have little black marks.”

“I think we can wash them.”

“Possibly,” Killian sighs. His hand moves down her back until it’s resting on her ass once more. “But your mascara is damn stubborn. Ruined one of my favorite shirts that way.”

“It did not.”

“No, no, it did. I swear.”

Emma huffs and reaches around to pinch Killian’s side. He doesn’t even flinch. “Would it be so terrible for the two of us to go downstairs and make some brownies and then eat all of them so that we don’t have to share with Jace?”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.” Killian winks, trademark smirk curling on his lips. “Besides asking me out. That was a pretty bold move on your part, Swan. You had no idea that I had feelings for you. It’s not as if I’d given you any inclination.”

Emma laughs again, uncurling herself from her husband and sitting up in bed with a sated, goofy grin. “I had a pretty good idea, my love.”

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @dorisquinn​ @onepunintendid​ @authorarsinoe​ @stunningswan​ @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog​ @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ @carpedzem​ @tornadoamy​ @397bartonstreet​ @snowbellewells​

[wellhellotragic]

You know when you have a fic idea that you really want to read but you don't want to write?

Like I really want something where Emma and MM and Ruby are all standing around talking about Emma's all consuming feelings her her best friend Killian, and he walks up and hears the tail end about Emma and her crush. Killian teases her asking who it is (while being completely surprised because this is the first he's heard of it.) She panics not wanting him to know they were talking about him so she blurts out the first name she could think of, August Booth. So now here she is, fake dating August so Killian won't know she's head over heels for him... How do we go about getting @let-it-raines to write it for us? Do we start a campaign on change dot org?

[resident-of-storybrooke]

Hi there! Where do I sign? @wellhellotragic

[wellhellotragic]

I think we just need a third person and the motion can pass?

[blackwidownat2814]

I third!

[let-it-raines]

@wellhellotragic How are you just gonna pull me into writing something by calling me out in public like that? 😂🙈😜

[let-it-raines]

Hello, friends! I 100% wrote this after @wellhellotragic called me out and asked me to, and then I never posted it because I am now horribly bad at balancing all of my things. I shall link it for you all here:

It's a (Fake) Date

Also, Happy Halloween eve 🎃

[wellhellotragic]

I’m so happy I don’t even have the words yet.

[let-it-raines]

I missed the Leslie Knope compliments 😍😭😍😭

[wellhellotragic]

You know when you have a fic idea that you really want to read but you don't want to write?

Like I really want something where Emma and MM and Ruby are all standing around talking about Emma's all consuming feelings her her best friend Killian, and he walks up and hears the tail end about Emma and her crush. Killian teases her asking who it is (while being completely surprised because this is the first he's heard of it.) She panics not wanting him to know they were talking about him so she blurts out the first name she could think of, August Booth. So now here she is, fake dating August so Killian won't know she's head over heels for him... How do we go about getting @let-it-raines to write it for us? Do we start a campaign on change dot org?

[resident-of-storybrooke]

Hi there! Where do I sign? @wellhellotragic

[wellhellotragic]

I think we just need a third person and the motion can pass?

[blackwidownat2814]

I third!

[let-it-raines]

@wellhellotragic How are you just gonna pull me into writing something by calling me out in public like that? 😂🙈😜

[let-it-raines]

Hello, friends! I 100% wrote this after @wellhellotragic called me out and asked me to, and then I never posted it because I am now horribly bad at balancing all of my things. I shall link it for you all here:

It's a (Fake) Date

Also, Happy Halloween eve 🎃

[let-it-raines]

Walking the Baseline (Year: 2015-2016)

Summary: Emma is exhausted. She’s actually always exhausted because of travel and time changes and the constant wear and tear on her body, but this is a new kind of exhausted.

She’s a mom now, which still shocks her, and this is a new kind of exhaustion. She has to conquer training and parenthood, balancing everything as it threatens to all topple over and crush her.

Watching Killian get to live out his dreams while she’s stuck at home certainly doesn’t help.

a/n: Surprise? lol. Or not really as I told some of you guys I would try to write it, but that was months ago. Oops. But here we are with some more detail into Emma’s comeback even before the Olympics that started this whole thing 🎾 

ao3: 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 (1) | 2015 (current) | 2016 (original one-shot) |

Tumblr: 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 (1) | 2015 (current) | 2016 (original one-shot)|

-/-

July 2015.

“Keep going!”

“Fuck you, David!”

“That’s the spirit!”

Emma holds her hand up and raises her middle finger at her brother, who has the audacity to laugh at her, and she keeps going, putting one leg in front of the other as she sprints across the court. Her sneakers squeak at each turn, and she wants to burn them so she never has to hear the sound again.

So she never has to do drills again either.

Back home, it’s over one hundred degrees out, humid too, and if she were having to train there, she’d be dead on the court, her body sweating and withering away into nothing. In London, it’s a pleasant seventy-five, but she feels like she’s in Florida.

It’s miserable.

Or maybe she’s just that out of shape. Yeah, she’s definitely that out of shape.

Keep reading

[spartanguard]

UGH I WANT TO RAIL AGAINST THE PATRIARCHY FOR EMMA. AND CURSE WHOEVER PUT THOSE THOUGHTS IN HER HEAD. 

thank goodness she always has Killian, though <3

[let-it-raines]

Feel free to rail against the patriarchy for Emma because I think a lot of people will be joining you! She’s a badass, and I’m glad she knows it!

(And that she has Killian)

[qualitycoffeethings]

To celebrate the today’s final Roland Garros this beautiful fanfic of the marvelous @let-it-raines

[let-it-raines]

@qualitycoffeethings you know I was watching it…and every other match I could these past two weeks 🎾💜

[let-it-raines]

I feel like you should know that your fics have helped me through very difficult times because I read them and then I feel like maybe love is real and everything's gonna be okay.

You make a girl’s heart glow 💕

I do so genuinely love writing and love that I’ve discovered that’s a passion of mine, but my favorite part is hearing things like this and knowing it helps people get through both good and bad times. You have always been so kind to me, and I cannot express enough how much I appreciate that and this. Oh my this. It’s so sweet and surprising and genuine, and thank you for sharing this with me because you didn’t have to.

Everything is going to be okay, maybe not right now and maybe not in the way that you want it to be, but it’ll all be alright. I hope you find that in your life.

Thanks again, lovely. May you always have things that bring you joy in your life 😊💜♥️💙

[snowbellewells]

CS Fic Rec Monday: “What Would We Do Without the Internet?” by: @let-it-raines

This lovely two shot (two separate chapters in @let-it-raines one shot collection “If You Ask Nicely”) is just too wonderful and lovely to resist. Killian and Emma are both teachers at a boarding school - with very little internet access and a thriving gossip mill instead. ;) All their students are even rooting for them to get together, but both are afraid to mess with the great friendship they have going. This is funny and sweet and surprising, and all sorts of stupendous joy to read, but I don’t want to say too much more for fear of spoiling some treat within this modern au. You’ll want to discover all of them for yourself, trust me!

(I hope you’ll enjoy my little attempt at some cover art, @let-it-raines​ !)

“What Would We Do Without Internet?”- @let-it-raines​ 

[let-it-raines]

Marta! This is so sweet and cute and I love, love, love the art for it! And the quote within the art??? You make a girl smile!

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[let-it-raines]

Really missing your Captain Swan stories, even though you’ve already given us so much!

I was wondering if you’d consider writing a Neverland related tale? I don’t think I’ve ever read any of your non-Modern AUs, so maybe you’ve done it already, or maybe you just didn’t like that storyline. Anyway, something different might spark your muse!

If not, I’ll always love and re-read your stuff (don’t delete a single one!). Hugs to you!

Hi, hey, hello! 👋

You are too sweet, and I really, really appreciate it! I know I'm not exactly around much anymore as I don't really have the time, but from time to time, I check notifications and see comments and messages and am so overwhelmed with the love you guys continue to show me. It makes me happy that you guys get enjoyment out of old words!

Anyhow, I LOVE Neverland. It's great. A top tier arc. I am simply incredibly bad at canon/non-modern things. I think I've written maybe one or two short prompts in that theme, but I am hard pressed to find them.

This is the closest I could find in a quick glance!

All of that said, I don't have any plans to write a Neverland related tale, but I did sit down and start this that @wellhellotragic tagged me in and asked me to write. Maybe I'll actually finish it and get it out to you guys sometime soon. I just have to dust off all the old cobwebs.

But cheers, you guys! I hope everyone is doing well! ❤️😘

[let-it-raines]

To one of my favorite people on the best friend day of the years!

The way it's five days later and I'm just now seeing this 🙈

Happy (belated) Galentine's Day, my noble poetic land mermaid!

[let-it-raines]

CS JJ Day 13: The Spectacular Ms. Swan (1/1)

1959. New York City.

Women aren’t supposed to have their own voices and opinions, and they certainly aren’t supposed to be funny. Emma Swan, however, has a lot of opinions and is damn funny. She also doesn’t care what anyone thinks. 

Except maybe Killian Jones, a comic who has been her supporter since the day she bailed him out of jail after one of his comedy routines. 

Rating: Teen (language mostly)

a/n: I wrote this one-shot last month after watching the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and told @shireness-says that I was determined to get it finished before my baby showed up, and she said that baby girl would probably show up early out of spite. She didn’t and @shireness-says doesn’t get bragging powers about being prophetic or something. ❤️

Thanks to the admin at @csjanuaryjoy for keeping this GREAT event running!

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

It started on accident.

Really, most things in her life do.

There was the getting pregnant at seventeen and then having to get married because it was 1952 and all sins could be forgiven if she was married to the man she slept with.

“He’s a good man,” her mother had said. “A wealthy man. You’ll never have to work a day in your life. Think about the child. Think about your reputation.”

Then there was being a mother and learning that she actually liked it even if she did have things she wanted to do with her life beside spend her days cooking and cleaning and reading every book in existence to Henry until she had to begin making up her own stories to fuel her son’s seemingly never-ending creativity and imagination.

There’s nothing and no one in the world who Emma loves more than Henry, and that will never change.

But he certainly wasn’t in her plan.

Keep reading

[csjanuaryjoy]

@let-it-raines gives this fabulous fic of CS meets Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Absolute perfect mix of two great things!

[let-it-raines]

Look at that. It’s this thing’s anniversary, and I am still waiting on that next season of Mrs. Maisel 😜😊

[wellhellotragic]

You know when you have a fic idea that you really want to read but you don't want to write?

Like I really want something where Emma and MM and Ruby are all standing around talking about Emma's all consuming feelings her her best friend Killian, and he walks up and hears the tail end about Emma and her crush. Killian teases her asking who it is (while being completely surprised because this is the first he's heard of it.) She panics not wanting him to know they were talking about him so she blurts out the first name she could think of, August Booth. So now here she is, fake dating August so Killian won't know she's head over heels for him... How do we go about getting @let-it-raines to write it for us? Do we start a campaign on change dot org?

[resident-of-storybrooke]

Hi there! Where do I sign? @wellhellotragic

[wellhellotragic]

I think we just need a third person and the motion can pass?

[blackwidownat2814]

I third!

[let-it-raines]

@wellhellotragic How are you just gonna pull me into writing something by calling me out in public like that? 😂🙈😜

[let-it-raines]

MERRY CHRISTMAS, RAINES!!!

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 works, in no particular order are

Single Riders Won’t Remain Single (big surprise there, I know 😜), Walking the Baseline (another surprise, I’m sure), Black Velvet, What a Wicked Game, Catch Me If You Can, and Betting on the Bullseye.

Merry Christmas, babe! Love ya!

Merry Christmas, Krystal!!!

Thanks so much for your kindness and taking the time to do this for me and for so many others. I’m well aware of your love for those particular stories and am always very appreciative of that! Those are some of my favorites too! ❤️❤️❤️

[let-it-raines]

spent the day reading a bunch of your cs fics - they’re amazing and I hope you feel inspired to write more in the future!!

Oh my goodness! You make a girl’s heart grow three sizes. This is too sweet and kind and all of the good things. It still blows my mind that you guys read my words and that you feel compelled to leave me nice things about it.

Thank you so much again! I may have some stories left in me. We’ll have to see ❤️😊

[let-it-raines]

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

She leans back into him, letting her body press into the planes of his. It’s an indulgence she doesn’t get as often as she’d like, the act of simply standing with him like this, and she really has to find opportunities like this more often.

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“Aye, love, I do.” His hand moves hers away from her stomach, and his fingers undo the work she just did on the flannel. “I also know neither of us have to be anywhere until tonight.” His hand trails down her bare stomach as his lips brush against the shell of her ear, and God, the man knows how to work her. “So why don’t you take this off and get back in bed with me?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

It’s more like twenty minutes, even with the lazy way they go about it, but it does take them the next forty minutes to shower, dry their hair, and get dressed. It’s cold outside, Boston in autumn in full effect, and Emma puts on at least three layers. She’s cold-natured, though, and the chill in the air still nips at her nose. When she complains about the cold, Killian pulls her beanie down her head, the knit material blocking her vision for a moment, and she elbows his side when he starts laughing.

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

They go to their favorite diner, a hole in the wall place that serves the best breakfast in town, and Emma eats too much. But it’s good and she feels good, so it doesn’t matter that she eats too much or that she’ll have to go for a run tomorrow morning before work.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

“Well, look who the cat dragged into town.” Both Emma and Killian turn to the side and see Will Scarlet, a somewhat shared friend, standing over their table. Perfect timing, as always, Scarlet. “How long are you around for this time, mate?”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

There’s a package outside her apartment on Christmas Eve. She knows who it’s from before she opens it. It can’t be from any of her friends here in Boston. They’ve already exchanged gifts and are all off visiting their families for the holidays. It’s what happens every year, and Emma is good with that. Once, several years ago, she traveled with Mary Margaret to her hometown in Oklahoma, and Emma has never wanted to spend the holiday with family that isn’t her own again.

She doesn’t have any family, so spending it alone in her apartment with all the takeout she can eat works perfectly fine for her. If she could, she’d work and get the overtime pay, but the office is closed.

Dammit.

Emma picks up the box and carries it inside. She drops it on her kitchen counter and grabs a knife to open the tape. Inside is a black sweater and a plaid shirt. Cologne wafts off them, and Emma laughs to herself before pulling her phone out of her coat pocket.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

“Ass,” Emma laughs. She sent him pictures one time as a drunken joke, and she has never lived it down. He’s right. They’re great pictures, and Emma knows Killian is the only one who’s ever laid eyes on them. Emma pulls the flannel out of the box. She slips it over her sweater and lets it hang off her arms.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“Why won’t you go out with this guy?” Mary Margaret sighs. Emma rolls her eyes and stuffs another cracker in her mouth. “He’s nice, he has a good job, and he’ll treat you well. One date. What’s the harm?”

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Ruby glares at her, and Emma sinks a little further into the couch. She needs wine. And lots of it. This is not how she wanted this night to go, but she should have figured it’s what Mary Margaret wanted when she asked if Emma wanted to come over tonight.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

“So, go out with Graham,” Mary Margaret suggests. “You’ll like him. And he’s here. He’s not off in Italy or Germany or South Korea. He’s here in Boston, full-time, and maybe it’s time that you allow yourself to be happy for more than the few days a year when Killian comes home.”

“I’m not pathetically pining for Killian. I have a life. I have a busy job, friends, hobbies. I don’t sit up at night wondering if he’ll call me. He and I have an arrangement, and it works well for us.”

It’s all true. She works overtime every week because the legal field is a bitch. She has friends who are always wanting to get dinner or go to a farmer’s market. She likes running and reading and watching a hell of a lot of TV. She doesn’t need to add in a full-time boyfriend on top of it.

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“It’s weird as hell is what it is.” Ruby tops off her wine and then does the same for Emma. Emma both hates and loves her right now. “He comes home, what? Three or four times a year before he takes an assignment somewhere else. You two screw, have your fun, and then you both go off and live your separate lives?”

“The part that doesn’t make any sense to me,” Mary Margaret says, “is the way they’ll both casually date other people in between his assignments and then, miraculously, those relationships end before Killian steps foot on Boston soil.”

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Screw both of you.” Emma downs the rest of her drink and gets up from the couch to get more. She’s going to be hungover tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have to go anywhere tomorrow. “Since when were the two of you so judgmental about my dating life?”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Emma’s torn apart her entire closet. She has tried on every dress, has combined every top and pair of jeans she owns, has even pulled out the few jumpsuits she has despite them making having to pee a nightmare.

Nothing looks good.

Okay, that’s not true. A lot of it looks just fine. Emma picks the off-shoulder red dress off her floor and zips herself back into it. It’s a good date night option. It’s tight but breathable, and she can wear boots with it so she’s not stuck in stilettos.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

God, she does not want to go out tonight. It’s cold and raining, and all she really wants is to go to bed early. Maybe she doesn’t have to go. Maybe if she can’t find the right pair of shoes, she can call and say she’s sick.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

She needs to have a little fun. She’s been going from home to work to the gym to home for months now, only switching it up when she needs food or has to talk to someone who does not pay her to do work for them.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

“Coming,” Emma yells when there’s another knock. She smooths her dress down once more and takes a deep breath before stepping into the hallway and toward her front door. Emma undoes her locks and swings the door open. “Hi – ”

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

Killian laughs at her as he steps inside her apartment and closes the door behind them. His duffle drops to the ground, and Killian immediately moves toward her, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him until his lips are moving over hers. He’s smiling. She is too. And that makes it all the sweeter for awhile until Emma’s heel clicks against the ground, and she remembers where she’s supposed to be.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

“I – I can’t, not right now. You’re not supposed to be here yet and we have an agreement and…and I didn’t want to, but I felt like I needed to, you know? To prove a point to Mary Margaret and Ruby and, hell, even myself. I just – ”

Killian sighs into her skin, his breath warm, and then he pulls back. She can’t stand to look him in the eyes right now. She’ll go back on her word, she’ll stay here with him, and she can’t do that.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

And Emma hates it. She hates it because of course he’s a good guy who isn’t a total asshole. He’s respectful and sweet and really handsome. He didn’t even try to kiss her at the end of the date. He wanted to. She could tell. But he’s too nice to make a move that fast.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

Why did she let herself go? She could have stayed. She could have stayed with Killian and cancelled on Graham, but she…she what? She wanted to prove something to her friends, to prove that she was fine, that her relationship, or lack thereof, was fine.

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

Emma doesn’t mean to continue not to call him. She really doesn’t. She means to eventually call him, to send the text, but after a few weeks, it’s such a big deal in her head that she can’t find the courage to do something she’s done hundreds of times.

She used to text Killian everything, even if she knew he wouldn’t see it or be able to respond to it. He is never in an actual line of duty anymore, hasn’t been for most of the time she’s known him, but with the time changes and how busy he (and she as well to be honest) can get, it’s normal for them to go long periods of time without speaking.

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

She tries to bury herself in work, but there’s only so much she can do to keep herself occupied sitting at a desk staring at a computer screen all day. Being buried under paperwork that needs proofreading can get a little lonely sometimes, and when it comes second nature to her, her thoughts can stray to things she’d rather forget.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma looks up from the table. That’s not what she expected to hear tonight. It’s July. It’s hot out, heat waves moving over them and causing sweat to drip down Emma’s back. There’s at least a slight breeze on the roof of Mary Margaret and David’s building, but it’s not enough.

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

The first photo on the page is Killian sitting in the garden with his nephew on his lap. The kid looks just like him, even has some marker drawings on different parts of his arms to match Killian’s few visible tattoos, and when Emma zooms in, she notices some drawings scribbled on Killian’s arms as well.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

Emma does something stupid and taps to Killian’s profile. His last picture is of the coast in Italy in December. That was months ago, and the last picture before that is of her silhouette in his hotel room window. It could be anyone, but she knows it’s her.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

Emma snorts, and suddenly the anxiety washes away. It’s been months of not talking, months of not knowing what’s going on, but this, this is Killian. This is why they’ve stayed in touch over so many years. Something about it, about them, works.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Emma quickly closes out her phone and stuffs it in the back pocket of her jean shorts. She can’t deal with this. She doesn’t know how. The feelings are too much, too intense, and she’s pushed them down for so long.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

Summer melts into the beginnings of autumn. The heat lingers on, though, not wanting to completely fade away as the leaves begin to turn and fall to the ground. It’s as if it’s holding onto something it cannot bear to let go, the last remnants of the freedom of summer staying until all that freedom is gone.

Summer is gone, however, and even if the heat lingers on for a little while longer, September fades into October, and October fades into November. Eventually, the weather cools, and the leaves all fall. Emma cannot so much as walk down the sidewalk without leaves crunching underneath the heels of her boots. Soon, snow will come with them.

She kicks at one particularly pesky one stuck on her boot. It refuses to knock off and join its friends on the ground, so Emma stops and leans up against a building to pick it off. Usually, she’d leave it, but today has been a hell of a day. She could scream or burst into tears at the slightest irritation. The last thing she needs is to lose her footing because of a wet leaf on her heel skidding across the polished floor of her apartment’s lobby.

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

Emma pulls the wet leaf off her heel and tosses it to the ground. She checks her boot to make sure nothing else happened to it – she spent way too much money on these boots – and when all is good, she looks up. She’s not in a busy part of the city, just the area around her place. It’s got a few small restaurants, shops, and one too many pharmacies, but the foot traffic in the middle of the day is as low as it’s ever going to get.

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Emma blinks, then blinks again, but he’s still there, running his hand across the top of a table. She starts walking before she can fully think things through. They’ve been talking on and off for the past few months. It’s mostly been through text, but on occasion, when she has a glass of wine in her, she’ll call.

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

Yet she knows him better than anyone in her life, better than even the people she sees on a daily basis, but seeing him back in her neighborhood without telling her makes her wonder if she really knows him at all.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

The door triggers a bell when Emma steps into the shop, and Killian looks up. He’s more shocked to see her than she was to see him, and that’s saying something considering he knows she lives two blocks from here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It comes out louder than she meant it to, and Emma’s cheeks blush when she realizes everyone in the place is staring at her. God, she wishes this place was bigger. What she wouldn’t give to be in a Walmart or something right now.

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

“Turns out,” Killian says, tapping his fingers on the table and stepping closer to her. He looks the same. Mostly. But his hair is longer and his beard is more than stubble. She likes it. “Turns out that when you’ve established yourself like I have, they do occasionally let you choose to stay in a place of your choice.”

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

Emma laughs, and this time it’s her turn to step into him. It’s so natural, the two of them, like she’s known how to be with him since they met. She’s just never allowed herself to truly be with him. He always leaves just like everyone else has.

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

Killian steps into her and reaches up to hold his hand against her cheek. There’s that warmth again. “I’ve always had the ability to stay, darling,” he whispers as he leans into her and rests his forehead against hers. “I’ve simply never known that you wanted me to.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“I want you to,” Emma begins. She was brave that night. She can be brave today. “I want you to stay. I’m terrified and confused and don’t really know what the hell we’ve been doing for…for a long time, but if you can, I want you to stay.”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @resident-of-storybrooke @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

[gloriousfemaleworrier]

incredible, as always. you’d think after a while the amazement would fade away, but it just...nope. you’re incredible. this is art.

[let-it-raines]

@gloriousfemaleworrier I think you are genuinely the sweetest thing, and I never have the words to thank you enough for your kindness. Your tags on your reblog??? Oh my God. That's the most flattering thing in the world, and the little real book author in my heart feels very flattered right now ❤️❤️❤️

[let-it-raines]

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

She leans back into him, letting her body press into the planes of his. It’s an indulgence she doesn’t get as often as she’d like, the act of simply standing with him like this, and she really has to find opportunities like this more often.

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“Aye, love, I do.” His hand moves hers away from her stomach, and his fingers undo the work she just did on the flannel. “I also know neither of us have to be anywhere until tonight.” His hand trails down her bare stomach as his lips brush against the shell of her ear, and God, the man knows how to work her. “So why don’t you take this off and get back in bed with me?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

It’s more like twenty minutes, even with the lazy way they go about it, but it does take them the next forty minutes to shower, dry their hair, and get dressed. It’s cold outside, Boston in autumn in full effect, and Emma puts on at least three layers. She’s cold-natured, though, and the chill in the air still nips at her nose. When she complains about the cold, Killian pulls her beanie down her head, the knit material blocking her vision for a moment, and she elbows his side when he starts laughing.

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

They go to their favorite diner, a hole in the wall place that serves the best breakfast in town, and Emma eats too much. But it’s good and she feels good, so it doesn’t matter that she eats too much or that she’ll have to go for a run tomorrow morning before work.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

“Well, look who the cat dragged into town.” Both Emma and Killian turn to the side and see Will Scarlet, a somewhat shared friend, standing over their table. Perfect timing, as always, Scarlet. “How long are you around for this time, mate?”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

There’s a package outside her apartment on Christmas Eve. She knows who it’s from before she opens it. It can’t be from any of her friends here in Boston. They’ve already exchanged gifts and are all off visiting their families for the holidays. It’s what happens every year, and Emma is good with that. Once, several years ago, she traveled with Mary Margaret to her hometown in Oklahoma, and Emma has never wanted to spend the holiday with family that isn’t her own again.

She doesn’t have any family, so spending it alone in her apartment with all the takeout she can eat works perfectly fine for her. If she could, she’d work and get the overtime pay, but the office is closed.

Dammit.

Emma picks up the box and carries it inside. She drops it on her kitchen counter and grabs a knife to open the tape. Inside is a black sweater and a plaid shirt. Cologne wafts off them, and Emma laughs to herself before pulling her phone out of her coat pocket.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

“Ass,” Emma laughs. She sent him pictures one time as a drunken joke, and she has never lived it down. He’s right. They’re great pictures, and Emma knows Killian is the only one who’s ever laid eyes on them. Emma pulls the flannel out of the box. She slips it over her sweater and lets it hang off her arms.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“Why won’t you go out with this guy?” Mary Margaret sighs. Emma rolls her eyes and stuffs another cracker in her mouth. “He’s nice, he has a good job, and he’ll treat you well. One date. What’s the harm?”

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Ruby glares at her, and Emma sinks a little further into the couch. She needs wine. And lots of it. This is not how she wanted this night to go, but she should have figured it’s what Mary Margaret wanted when she asked if Emma wanted to come over tonight.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

“So, go out with Graham,” Mary Margaret suggests. “You’ll like him. And he’s here. He’s not off in Italy or Germany or South Korea. He’s here in Boston, full-time, and maybe it’s time that you allow yourself to be happy for more than the few days a year when Killian comes home.”

“I’m not pathetically pining for Killian. I have a life. I have a busy job, friends, hobbies. I don’t sit up at night wondering if he’ll call me. He and I have an arrangement, and it works well for us.”

It’s all true. She works overtime every week because the legal field is a bitch. She has friends who are always wanting to get dinner or go to a farmer’s market. She likes running and reading and watching a hell of a lot of TV. She doesn’t need to add in a full-time boyfriend on top of it.

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“It’s weird as hell is what it is.” Ruby tops off her wine and then does the same for Emma. Emma both hates and loves her right now. “He comes home, what? Three or four times a year before he takes an assignment somewhere else. You two screw, have your fun, and then you both go off and live your separate lives?”

“The part that doesn’t make any sense to me,” Mary Margaret says, “is the way they’ll both casually date other people in between his assignments and then, miraculously, those relationships end before Killian steps foot on Boston soil.”

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Screw both of you.” Emma downs the rest of her drink and gets up from the couch to get more. She’s going to be hungover tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have to go anywhere tomorrow. “Since when were the two of you so judgmental about my dating life?”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Emma’s torn apart her entire closet. She has tried on every dress, has combined every top and pair of jeans she owns, has even pulled out the few jumpsuits she has despite them making having to pee a nightmare.

Nothing looks good.

Okay, that’s not true. A lot of it looks just fine. Emma picks the off-shoulder red dress off her floor and zips herself back into it. It’s a good date night option. It’s tight but breathable, and she can wear boots with it so she’s not stuck in stilettos.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

God, she does not want to go out tonight. It’s cold and raining, and all she really wants is to go to bed early. Maybe she doesn’t have to go. Maybe if she can’t find the right pair of shoes, she can call and say she’s sick.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

She needs to have a little fun. She’s been going from home to work to the gym to home for months now, only switching it up when she needs food or has to talk to someone who does not pay her to do work for them.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

“Coming,” Emma yells when there’s another knock. She smooths her dress down once more and takes a deep breath before stepping into the hallway and toward her front door. Emma undoes her locks and swings the door open. “Hi – ”

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

Killian laughs at her as he steps inside her apartment and closes the door behind them. His duffle drops to the ground, and Killian immediately moves toward her, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him until his lips are moving over hers. He’s smiling. She is too. And that makes it all the sweeter for awhile until Emma’s heel clicks against the ground, and she remembers where she’s supposed to be.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

“I – I can’t, not right now. You’re not supposed to be here yet and we have an agreement and…and I didn’t want to, but I felt like I needed to, you know? To prove a point to Mary Margaret and Ruby and, hell, even myself. I just – ”

Killian sighs into her skin, his breath warm, and then he pulls back. She can’t stand to look him in the eyes right now. She’ll go back on her word, she’ll stay here with him, and she can’t do that.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

And Emma hates it. She hates it because of course he’s a good guy who isn’t a total asshole. He’s respectful and sweet and really handsome. He didn’t even try to kiss her at the end of the date. He wanted to. She could tell. But he’s too nice to make a move that fast.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

Why did she let herself go? She could have stayed. She could have stayed with Killian and cancelled on Graham, but she…she what? She wanted to prove something to her friends, to prove that she was fine, that her relationship, or lack thereof, was fine.

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

Emma doesn’t mean to continue not to call him. She really doesn’t. She means to eventually call him, to send the text, but after a few weeks, it’s such a big deal in her head that she can’t find the courage to do something she’s done hundreds of times.

She used to text Killian everything, even if she knew he wouldn’t see it or be able to respond to it. He is never in an actual line of duty anymore, hasn’t been for most of the time she’s known him, but with the time changes and how busy he (and she as well to be honest) can get, it’s normal for them to go long periods of time without speaking.

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

She tries to bury herself in work, but there’s only so much she can do to keep herself occupied sitting at a desk staring at a computer screen all day. Being buried under paperwork that needs proofreading can get a little lonely sometimes, and when it comes second nature to her, her thoughts can stray to things she’d rather forget.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma looks up from the table. That’s not what she expected to hear tonight. It’s July. It’s hot out, heat waves moving over them and causing sweat to drip down Emma’s back. There’s at least a slight breeze on the roof of Mary Margaret and David’s building, but it’s not enough.

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

The first photo on the page is Killian sitting in the garden with his nephew on his lap. The kid looks just like him, even has some marker drawings on different parts of his arms to match Killian’s few visible tattoos, and when Emma zooms in, she notices some drawings scribbled on Killian’s arms as well.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

Emma does something stupid and taps to Killian’s profile. His last picture is of the coast in Italy in December. That was months ago, and the last picture before that is of her silhouette in his hotel room window. It could be anyone, but she knows it’s her.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

Emma snorts, and suddenly the anxiety washes away. It’s been months of not talking, months of not knowing what’s going on, but this, this is Killian. This is why they’ve stayed in touch over so many years. Something about it, about them, works.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Emma quickly closes out her phone and stuffs it in the back pocket of her jean shorts. She can’t deal with this. She doesn’t know how. The feelings are too much, too intense, and she’s pushed them down for so long.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

Summer melts into the beginnings of autumn. The heat lingers on, though, not wanting to completely fade away as the leaves begin to turn and fall to the ground. It’s as if it’s holding onto something it cannot bear to let go, the last remnants of the freedom of summer staying until all that freedom is gone.

Summer is gone, however, and even if the heat lingers on for a little while longer, September fades into October, and October fades into November. Eventually, the weather cools, and the leaves all fall. Emma cannot so much as walk down the sidewalk without leaves crunching underneath the heels of her boots. Soon, snow will come with them.

She kicks at one particularly pesky one stuck on her boot. It refuses to knock off and join its friends on the ground, so Emma stops and leans up against a building to pick it off. Usually, she’d leave it, but today has been a hell of a day. She could scream or burst into tears at the slightest irritation. The last thing she needs is to lose her footing because of a wet leaf on her heel skidding across the polished floor of her apartment’s lobby.

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

Emma pulls the wet leaf off her heel and tosses it to the ground. She checks her boot to make sure nothing else happened to it – she spent way too much money on these boots – and when all is good, she looks up. She’s not in a busy part of the city, just the area around her place. It’s got a few small restaurants, shops, and one too many pharmacies, but the foot traffic in the middle of the day is as low as it’s ever going to get.

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Emma blinks, then blinks again, but he’s still there, running his hand across the top of a table. She starts walking before she can fully think things through. They’ve been talking on and off for the past few months. It’s mostly been through text, but on occasion, when she has a glass of wine in her, she’ll call.

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

Yet she knows him better than anyone in her life, better than even the people she sees on a daily basis, but seeing him back in her neighborhood without telling her makes her wonder if she really knows him at all.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

The door triggers a bell when Emma steps into the shop, and Killian looks up. He’s more shocked to see her than she was to see him, and that’s saying something considering he knows she lives two blocks from here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It comes out louder than she meant it to, and Emma’s cheeks blush when she realizes everyone in the place is staring at her. God, she wishes this place was bigger. What she wouldn’t give to be in a Walmart or something right now.

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

“Turns out,” Killian says, tapping his fingers on the table and stepping closer to her. He looks the same. Mostly. But his hair is longer and his beard is more than stubble. She likes it. “Turns out that when you’ve established yourself like I have, they do occasionally let you choose to stay in a place of your choice.”

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

Emma laughs, and this time it’s her turn to step into him. It’s so natural, the two of them, like she’s known how to be with him since they met. She’s just never allowed herself to truly be with him. He always leaves just like everyone else has.

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

Killian steps into her and reaches up to hold his hand against her cheek. There’s that warmth again. “I’ve always had the ability to stay, darling,” he whispers as he leans into her and rests his forehead against hers. “I’ve simply never known that you wanted me to.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“I want you to,” Emma begins. She was brave that night. She can be brave today. “I want you to stay. I’m terrified and confused and don’t really know what the hell we’ve been doing for…for a long time, but if you can, I want you to stay.”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @resident-of-storybrooke @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

[let-it-raines]

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

She leans back into him, letting her body press into the planes of his. It’s an indulgence she doesn’t get as often as she’d like, the act of simply standing with him like this, and she really has to find opportunities like this more often.

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“Aye, love, I do.” His hand moves hers away from her stomach, and his fingers undo the work she just did on the flannel. “I also know neither of us have to be anywhere until tonight.” His hand trails down her bare stomach as his lips brush against the shell of her ear, and God, the man knows how to work her. “So why don’t you take this off and get back in bed with me?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

It’s more like twenty minutes, even with the lazy way they go about it, but it does take them the next forty minutes to shower, dry their hair, and get dressed. It’s cold outside, Boston in autumn in full effect, and Emma puts on at least three layers. She’s cold-natured, though, and the chill in the air still nips at her nose. When she complains about the cold, Killian pulls her beanie down her head, the knit material blocking her vision for a moment, and she elbows his side when he starts laughing.

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

They go to their favorite diner, a hole in the wall place that serves the best breakfast in town, and Emma eats too much. But it’s good and she feels good, so it doesn’t matter that she eats too much or that she’ll have to go for a run tomorrow morning before work.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

“Well, look who the cat dragged into town.” Both Emma and Killian turn to the side and see Will Scarlet, a somewhat shared friend, standing over their table. Perfect timing, as always, Scarlet. “How long are you around for this time, mate?”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

There’s a package outside her apartment on Christmas Eve. She knows who it’s from before she opens it. It can’t be from any of her friends here in Boston. They’ve already exchanged gifts and are all off visiting their families for the holidays. It’s what happens every year, and Emma is good with that. Once, several years ago, she traveled with Mary Margaret to her hometown in Oklahoma, and Emma has never wanted to spend the holiday with family that isn’t her own again.

She doesn’t have any family, so spending it alone in her apartment with all the takeout she can eat works perfectly fine for her. If she could, she’d work and get the overtime pay, but the office is closed.

Dammit.

Emma picks up the box and carries it inside. She drops it on her kitchen counter and grabs a knife to open the tape. Inside is a black sweater and a plaid shirt. Cologne wafts off them, and Emma laughs to herself before pulling her phone out of her coat pocket.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

“Ass,” Emma laughs. She sent him pictures one time as a drunken joke, and she has never lived it down. He’s right. They’re great pictures, and Emma knows Killian is the only one who’s ever laid eyes on them. Emma pulls the flannel out of the box. She slips it over her sweater and lets it hang off her arms.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“Why won’t you go out with this guy?” Mary Margaret sighs. Emma rolls her eyes and stuffs another cracker in her mouth. “He’s nice, he has a good job, and he’ll treat you well. One date. What’s the harm?”

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Ruby glares at her, and Emma sinks a little further into the couch. She needs wine. And lots of it. This is not how she wanted this night to go, but she should have figured it’s what Mary Margaret wanted when she asked if Emma wanted to come over tonight.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

“So, go out with Graham,” Mary Margaret suggests. “You’ll like him. And he’s here. He’s not off in Italy or Germany or South Korea. He’s here in Boston, full-time, and maybe it’s time that you allow yourself to be happy for more than the few days a year when Killian comes home.”

“I’m not pathetically pining for Killian. I have a life. I have a busy job, friends, hobbies. I don’t sit up at night wondering if he’ll call me. He and I have an arrangement, and it works well for us.”

It’s all true. She works overtime every week because the legal field is a bitch. She has friends who are always wanting to get dinner or go to a farmer’s market. She likes running and reading and watching a hell of a lot of TV. She doesn’t need to add in a full-time boyfriend on top of it.

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“It’s weird as hell is what it is.” Ruby tops off her wine and then does the same for Emma. Emma both hates and loves her right now. “He comes home, what? Three or four times a year before he takes an assignment somewhere else. You two screw, have your fun, and then you both go off and live your separate lives?”

“The part that doesn’t make any sense to me,” Mary Margaret says, “is the way they’ll both casually date other people in between his assignments and then, miraculously, those relationships end before Killian steps foot on Boston soil.”

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Screw both of you.” Emma downs the rest of her drink and gets up from the couch to get more. She’s going to be hungover tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have to go anywhere tomorrow. “Since when were the two of you so judgmental about my dating life?”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Emma’s torn apart her entire closet. She has tried on every dress, has combined every top and pair of jeans she owns, has even pulled out the few jumpsuits she has despite them making having to pee a nightmare.

Nothing looks good.

Okay, that’s not true. A lot of it looks just fine. Emma picks the off-shoulder red dress off her floor and zips herself back into it. It’s a good date night option. It’s tight but breathable, and she can wear boots with it so she’s not stuck in stilettos.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

God, she does not want to go out tonight. It’s cold and raining, and all she really wants is to go to bed early. Maybe she doesn’t have to go. Maybe if she can’t find the right pair of shoes, she can call and say she’s sick.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

She needs to have a little fun. She’s been going from home to work to the gym to home for months now, only switching it up when she needs food or has to talk to someone who does not pay her to do work for them.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

“Coming,” Emma yells when there’s another knock. She smooths her dress down once more and takes a deep breath before stepping into the hallway and toward her front door. Emma undoes her locks and swings the door open. “Hi – ”

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

Killian laughs at her as he steps inside her apartment and closes the door behind them. His duffle drops to the ground, and Killian immediately moves toward her, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him until his lips are moving over hers. He’s smiling. She is too. And that makes it all the sweeter for awhile until Emma’s heel clicks against the ground, and she remembers where she’s supposed to be.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

“I – I can’t, not right now. You’re not supposed to be here yet and we have an agreement and…and I didn’t want to, but I felt like I needed to, you know? To prove a point to Mary Margaret and Ruby and, hell, even myself. I just – ”

Killian sighs into her skin, his breath warm, and then he pulls back. She can’t stand to look him in the eyes right now. She’ll go back on her word, she’ll stay here with him, and she can’t do that.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

And Emma hates it. She hates it because of course he’s a good guy who isn’t a total asshole. He’s respectful and sweet and really handsome. He didn’t even try to kiss her at the end of the date. He wanted to. She could tell. But he’s too nice to make a move that fast.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

Why did she let herself go? She could have stayed. She could have stayed with Killian and cancelled on Graham, but she…she what? She wanted to prove something to her friends, to prove that she was fine, that her relationship, or lack thereof, was fine.

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

Emma doesn’t mean to continue not to call him. She really doesn’t. She means to eventually call him, to send the text, but after a few weeks, it’s such a big deal in her head that she can’t find the courage to do something she’s done hundreds of times.

She used to text Killian everything, even if she knew he wouldn’t see it or be able to respond to it. He is never in an actual line of duty anymore, hasn’t been for most of the time she’s known him, but with the time changes and how busy he (and she as well to be honest) can get, it’s normal for them to go long periods of time without speaking.

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

She tries to bury herself in work, but there’s only so much she can do to keep herself occupied sitting at a desk staring at a computer screen all day. Being buried under paperwork that needs proofreading can get a little lonely sometimes, and when it comes second nature to her, her thoughts can stray to things she’d rather forget.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma looks up from the table. That’s not what she expected to hear tonight. It’s July. It’s hot out, heat waves moving over them and causing sweat to drip down Emma’s back. There’s at least a slight breeze on the roof of Mary Margaret and David’s building, but it’s not enough.

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

The first photo on the page is Killian sitting in the garden with his nephew on his lap. The kid looks just like him, even has some marker drawings on different parts of his arms to match Killian’s few visible tattoos, and when Emma zooms in, she notices some drawings scribbled on Killian’s arms as well.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

Emma does something stupid and taps to Killian’s profile. His last picture is of the coast in Italy in December. That was months ago, and the last picture before that is of her silhouette in his hotel room window. It could be anyone, but she knows it’s her.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

Emma snorts, and suddenly the anxiety washes away. It’s been months of not talking, months of not knowing what’s going on, but this, this is Killian. This is why they’ve stayed in touch over so many years. Something about it, about them, works.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Emma quickly closes out her phone and stuffs it in the back pocket of her jean shorts. She can’t deal with this. She doesn’t know how. The feelings are too much, too intense, and she’s pushed them down for so long.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

Summer melts into the beginnings of autumn. The heat lingers on, though, not wanting to completely fade away as the leaves begin to turn and fall to the ground. It’s as if it’s holding onto something it cannot bear to let go, the last remnants of the freedom of summer staying until all that freedom is gone.

Summer is gone, however, and even if the heat lingers on for a little while longer, September fades into October, and October fades into November. Eventually, the weather cools, and the leaves all fall. Emma cannot so much as walk down the sidewalk without leaves crunching underneath the heels of her boots. Soon, snow will come with them.

She kicks at one particularly pesky one stuck on her boot. It refuses to knock off and join its friends on the ground, so Emma stops and leans up against a building to pick it off. Usually, she’d leave it, but today has been a hell of a day. She could scream or burst into tears at the slightest irritation. The last thing she needs is to lose her footing because of a wet leaf on her heel skidding across the polished floor of her apartment’s lobby.

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

Emma pulls the wet leaf off her heel and tosses it to the ground. She checks her boot to make sure nothing else happened to it – she spent way too much money on these boots – and when all is good, she looks up. She’s not in a busy part of the city, just the area around her place. It’s got a few small restaurants, shops, and one too many pharmacies, but the foot traffic in the middle of the day is as low as it’s ever going to get.

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Emma blinks, then blinks again, but he’s still there, running his hand across the top of a table. She starts walking before she can fully think things through. They’ve been talking on and off for the past few months. It’s mostly been through text, but on occasion, when she has a glass of wine in her, she’ll call.

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

Yet she knows him better than anyone in her life, better than even the people she sees on a daily basis, but seeing him back in her neighborhood without telling her makes her wonder if she really knows him at all.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

The door triggers a bell when Emma steps into the shop, and Killian looks up. He’s more shocked to see her than she was to see him, and that’s saying something considering he knows she lives two blocks from here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It comes out louder than she meant it to, and Emma’s cheeks blush when she realizes everyone in the place is staring at her. God, she wishes this place was bigger. What she wouldn’t give to be in a Walmart or something right now.

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

“Turns out,” Killian says, tapping his fingers on the table and stepping closer to her. He looks the same. Mostly. But his hair is longer and his beard is more than stubble. She likes it. “Turns out that when you’ve established yourself like I have, they do occasionally let you choose to stay in a place of your choice.”

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

Emma laughs, and this time it’s her turn to step into him. It’s so natural, the two of them, like she’s known how to be with him since they met. She’s just never allowed herself to truly be with him. He always leaves just like everyone else has.

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

Killian steps into her and reaches up to hold his hand against her cheek. There’s that warmth again. “I’ve always had the ability to stay, darling,” he whispers as he leans into her and rests his forehead against hers. “I’ve simply never known that you wanted me to.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“I want you to,” Emma begins. She was brave that night. She can be brave today. “I want you to stay. I’m terrified and confused and don’t really know what the hell we’ve been doing for…for a long time, but if you can, I want you to stay.”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @resident-of-storybrooke @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

[let-it-raines]

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

She leans back into him, letting her body press into the planes of his. It’s an indulgence she doesn’t get as often as she’d like, the act of simply standing with him like this, and she really has to find opportunities like this more often.

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“Aye, love, I do.” His hand moves hers away from her stomach, and his fingers undo the work she just did on the flannel. “I also know neither of us have to be anywhere until tonight.” His hand trails down her bare stomach as his lips brush against the shell of her ear, and God, the man knows how to work her. “So why don’t you take this off and get back in bed with me?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

It’s more like twenty minutes, even with the lazy way they go about it, but it does take them the next forty minutes to shower, dry their hair, and get dressed. It’s cold outside, Boston in autumn in full effect, and Emma puts on at least three layers. She’s cold-natured, though, and the chill in the air still nips at her nose. When she complains about the cold, Killian pulls her beanie down her head, the knit material blocking her vision for a moment, and she elbows his side when he starts laughing.

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

They go to their favorite diner, a hole in the wall place that serves the best breakfast in town, and Emma eats too much. But it’s good and she feels good, so it doesn’t matter that she eats too much or that she’ll have to go for a run tomorrow morning before work.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

“Well, look who the cat dragged into town.” Both Emma and Killian turn to the side and see Will Scarlet, a somewhat shared friend, standing over their table. Perfect timing, as always, Scarlet. “How long are you around for this time, mate?”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

There’s a package outside her apartment on Christmas Eve. She knows who it’s from before she opens it. It can’t be from any of her friends here in Boston. They’ve already exchanged gifts and are all off visiting their families for the holidays. It’s what happens every year, and Emma is good with that. Once, several years ago, she traveled with Mary Margaret to her hometown in Oklahoma, and Emma has never wanted to spend the holiday with family that isn’t her own again.

She doesn’t have any family, so spending it alone in her apartment with all the takeout she can eat works perfectly fine for her. If she could, she’d work and get the overtime pay, but the office is closed.

Dammit.

Emma picks up the box and carries it inside. She drops it on her kitchen counter and grabs a knife to open the tape. Inside is a black sweater and a plaid shirt. Cologne wafts off them, and Emma laughs to herself before pulling her phone out of her coat pocket.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

“Ass,” Emma laughs. She sent him pictures one time as a drunken joke, and she has never lived it down. He’s right. They’re great pictures, and Emma knows Killian is the only one who’s ever laid eyes on them. Emma pulls the flannel out of the box. She slips it over her sweater and lets it hang off her arms.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“Why won’t you go out with this guy?” Mary Margaret sighs. Emma rolls her eyes and stuffs another cracker in her mouth. “He’s nice, he has a good job, and he’ll treat you well. One date. What’s the harm?”

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Ruby glares at her, and Emma sinks a little further into the couch. She needs wine. And lots of it. This is not how she wanted this night to go, but she should have figured it’s what Mary Margaret wanted when she asked if Emma wanted to come over tonight.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

“So, go out with Graham,” Mary Margaret suggests. “You’ll like him. And he’s here. He’s not off in Italy or Germany or South Korea. He’s here in Boston, full-time, and maybe it’s time that you allow yourself to be happy for more than the few days a year when Killian comes home.”

“I’m not pathetically pining for Killian. I have a life. I have a busy job, friends, hobbies. I don’t sit up at night wondering if he’ll call me. He and I have an arrangement, and it works well for us.”

It’s all true. She works overtime every week because the legal field is a bitch. She has friends who are always wanting to get dinner or go to a farmer’s market. She likes running and reading and watching a hell of a lot of TV. She doesn’t need to add in a full-time boyfriend on top of it.

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“It’s weird as hell is what it is.” Ruby tops off her wine and then does the same for Emma. Emma both hates and loves her right now. “He comes home, what? Three or four times a year before he takes an assignment somewhere else. You two screw, have your fun, and then you both go off and live your separate lives?”

“The part that doesn’t make any sense to me,” Mary Margaret says, “is the way they’ll both casually date other people in between his assignments and then, miraculously, those relationships end before Killian steps foot on Boston soil.”

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Screw both of you.” Emma downs the rest of her drink and gets up from the couch to get more. She’s going to be hungover tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have to go anywhere tomorrow. “Since when were the two of you so judgmental about my dating life?”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Emma’s torn apart her entire closet. She has tried on every dress, has combined every top and pair of jeans she owns, has even pulled out the few jumpsuits she has despite them making having to pee a nightmare.

Nothing looks good.

Okay, that’s not true. A lot of it looks just fine. Emma picks the off-shoulder red dress off her floor and zips herself back into it. It’s a good date night option. It’s tight but breathable, and she can wear boots with it so she’s not stuck in stilettos.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

God, she does not want to go out tonight. It’s cold and raining, and all she really wants is to go to bed early. Maybe she doesn’t have to go. Maybe if she can’t find the right pair of shoes, she can call and say she’s sick.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

She needs to have a little fun. She’s been going from home to work to the gym to home for months now, only switching it up when she needs food or has to talk to someone who does not pay her to do work for them.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

“Coming,” Emma yells when there’s another knock. She smooths her dress down once more and takes a deep breath before stepping into the hallway and toward her front door. Emma undoes her locks and swings the door open. “Hi – ”

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

Killian laughs at her as he steps inside her apartment and closes the door behind them. His duffle drops to the ground, and Killian immediately moves toward her, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him until his lips are moving over hers. He’s smiling. She is too. And that makes it all the sweeter for awhile until Emma’s heel clicks against the ground, and she remembers where she’s supposed to be.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

“I – I can’t, not right now. You’re not supposed to be here yet and we have an agreement and…and I didn’t want to, but I felt like I needed to, you know? To prove a point to Mary Margaret and Ruby and, hell, even myself. I just – ”

Killian sighs into her skin, his breath warm, and then he pulls back. She can’t stand to look him in the eyes right now. She’ll go back on her word, she’ll stay here with him, and she can’t do that.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

And Emma hates it. She hates it because of course he’s a good guy who isn’t a total asshole. He’s respectful and sweet and really handsome. He didn’t even try to kiss her at the end of the date. He wanted to. She could tell. But he’s too nice to make a move that fast.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

Why did she let herself go? She could have stayed. She could have stayed with Killian and cancelled on Graham, but she…she what? She wanted to prove something to her friends, to prove that she was fine, that her relationship, or lack thereof, was fine.

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

Emma doesn’t mean to continue not to call him. She really doesn’t. She means to eventually call him, to send the text, but after a few weeks, it’s such a big deal in her head that she can’t find the courage to do something she’s done hundreds of times.

She used to text Killian everything, even if she knew he wouldn’t see it or be able to respond to it. He is never in an actual line of duty anymore, hasn’t been for most of the time she’s known him, but with the time changes and how busy he (and she as well to be honest) can get, it’s normal for them to go long periods of time without speaking.

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

She tries to bury herself in work, but there’s only so much she can do to keep herself occupied sitting at a desk staring at a computer screen all day. Being buried under paperwork that needs proofreading can get a little lonely sometimes, and when it comes second nature to her, her thoughts can stray to things she’d rather forget.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma looks up from the table. That’s not what she expected to hear tonight. It’s July. It’s hot out, heat waves moving over them and causing sweat to drip down Emma’s back. There’s at least a slight breeze on the roof of Mary Margaret and David’s building, but it’s not enough.

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

The first photo on the page is Killian sitting in the garden with his nephew on his lap. The kid looks just like him, even has some marker drawings on different parts of his arms to match Killian’s few visible tattoos, and when Emma zooms in, she notices some drawings scribbled on Killian’s arms as well.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

Emma does something stupid and taps to Killian’s profile. His last picture is of the coast in Italy in December. That was months ago, and the last picture before that is of her silhouette in his hotel room window. It could be anyone, but she knows it’s her.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

Emma snorts, and suddenly the anxiety washes away. It’s been months of not talking, months of not knowing what’s going on, but this, this is Killian. This is why they’ve stayed in touch over so many years. Something about it, about them, works.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Emma quickly closes out her phone and stuffs it in the back pocket of her jean shorts. She can’t deal with this. She doesn’t know how. The feelings are too much, too intense, and she’s pushed them down for so long.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

Summer melts into the beginnings of autumn. The heat lingers on, though, not wanting to completely fade away as the leaves begin to turn and fall to the ground. It’s as if it’s holding onto something it cannot bear to let go, the last remnants of the freedom of summer staying until all that freedom is gone.

Summer is gone, however, and even if the heat lingers on for a little while longer, September fades into October, and October fades into November. Eventually, the weather cools, and the leaves all fall. Emma cannot so much as walk down the sidewalk without leaves crunching underneath the heels of her boots. Soon, snow will come with them.

She kicks at one particularly pesky one stuck on her boot. It refuses to knock off and join its friends on the ground, so Emma stops and leans up against a building to pick it off. Usually, she’d leave it, but today has been a hell of a day. She could scream or burst into tears at the slightest irritation. The last thing she needs is to lose her footing because of a wet leaf on her heel skidding across the polished floor of her apartment’s lobby.

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

Emma pulls the wet leaf off her heel and tosses it to the ground. She checks her boot to make sure nothing else happened to it – she spent way too much money on these boots – and when all is good, she looks up. She’s not in a busy part of the city, just the area around her place. It’s got a few small restaurants, shops, and one too many pharmacies, but the foot traffic in the middle of the day is as low as it’s ever going to get.

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Emma blinks, then blinks again, but he’s still there, running his hand across the top of a table. She starts walking before she can fully think things through. They’ve been talking on and off for the past few months. It’s mostly been through text, but on occasion, when she has a glass of wine in her, she’ll call.

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

Yet she knows him better than anyone in her life, better than even the people she sees on a daily basis, but seeing him back in her neighborhood without telling her makes her wonder if she really knows him at all.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

The door triggers a bell when Emma steps into the shop, and Killian looks up. He’s more shocked to see her than she was to see him, and that’s saying something considering he knows she lives two blocks from here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It comes out louder than she meant it to, and Emma’s cheeks blush when she realizes everyone in the place is staring at her. God, she wishes this place was bigger. What she wouldn’t give to be in a Walmart or something right now.

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

“Turns out,” Killian says, tapping his fingers on the table and stepping closer to her. He looks the same. Mostly. But his hair is longer and his beard is more than stubble. She likes it. “Turns out that when you’ve established yourself like I have, they do occasionally let you choose to stay in a place of your choice.”

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

Emma laughs, and this time it’s her turn to step into him. It’s so natural, the two of them, like she’s known how to be with him since they met. She’s just never allowed herself to truly be with him. He always leaves just like everyone else has.

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

Killian steps into her and reaches up to hold his hand against her cheek. There’s that warmth again. “I’ve always had the ability to stay, darling,” he whispers as he leans into her and rests his forehead against hers. “I’ve simply never known that you wanted me to.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“I want you to,” Emma begins. She was brave that night. She can be brave today. “I want you to stay. I’m terrified and confused and don’t really know what the hell we’ve been doing for…for a long time, but if you can, I want you to stay.”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @resident-of-storybrooke @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

[let-it-raines]

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

She leans back into him, letting her body press into the planes of his. It’s an indulgence she doesn’t get as often as she’d like, the act of simply standing with him like this, and she really has to find opportunities like this more often.

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“Aye, love, I do.” His hand moves hers away from her stomach, and his fingers undo the work she just did on the flannel. “I also know neither of us have to be anywhere until tonight.” His hand trails down her bare stomach as his lips brush against the shell of her ear, and God, the man knows how to work her. “So why don’t you take this off and get back in bed with me?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

It’s more like twenty minutes, even with the lazy way they go about it, but it does take them the next forty minutes to shower, dry their hair, and get dressed. It’s cold outside, Boston in autumn in full effect, and Emma puts on at least three layers. She’s cold-natured, though, and the chill in the air still nips at her nose. When she complains about the cold, Killian pulls her beanie down her head, the knit material blocking her vision for a moment, and she elbows his side when he starts laughing.

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

They go to their favorite diner, a hole in the wall place that serves the best breakfast in town, and Emma eats too much. But it’s good and she feels good, so it doesn’t matter that she eats too much or that she’ll have to go for a run tomorrow morning before work.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

“Well, look who the cat dragged into town.” Both Emma and Killian turn to the side and see Will Scarlet, a somewhat shared friend, standing over their table. Perfect timing, as always, Scarlet. “How long are you around for this time, mate?”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

There’s a package outside her apartment on Christmas Eve. She knows who it’s from before she opens it. It can’t be from any of her friends here in Boston. They’ve already exchanged gifts and are all off visiting their families for the holidays. It’s what happens every year, and Emma is good with that. Once, several years ago, she traveled with Mary Margaret to her hometown in Oklahoma, and Emma has never wanted to spend the holiday with family that isn’t her own again.

She doesn’t have any family, so spending it alone in her apartment with all the takeout she can eat works perfectly fine for her. If she could, she’d work and get the overtime pay, but the office is closed.

Dammit.

Emma picks up the box and carries it inside. She drops it on her kitchen counter and grabs a knife to open the tape. Inside is a black sweater and a plaid shirt. Cologne wafts off them, and Emma laughs to herself before pulling her phone out of her coat pocket.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

“Ass,” Emma laughs. She sent him pictures one time as a drunken joke, and she has never lived it down. He’s right. They’re great pictures, and Emma knows Killian is the only one who’s ever laid eyes on them. Emma pulls the flannel out of the box. She slips it over her sweater and lets it hang off her arms.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“Why won’t you go out with this guy?” Mary Margaret sighs. Emma rolls her eyes and stuffs another cracker in her mouth. “He’s nice, he has a good job, and he’ll treat you well. One date. What’s the harm?”

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Ruby glares at her, and Emma sinks a little further into the couch. She needs wine. And lots of it. This is not how she wanted this night to go, but she should have figured it’s what Mary Margaret wanted when she asked if Emma wanted to come over tonight.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

“So, go out with Graham,” Mary Margaret suggests. “You’ll like him. And he’s here. He’s not off in Italy or Germany or South Korea. He’s here in Boston, full-time, and maybe it’s time that you allow yourself to be happy for more than the few days a year when Killian comes home.”

“I’m not pathetically pining for Killian. I have a life. I have a busy job, friends, hobbies. I don’t sit up at night wondering if he’ll call me. He and I have an arrangement, and it works well for us.”

It’s all true. She works overtime every week because the legal field is a bitch. She has friends who are always wanting to get dinner or go to a farmer’s market. She likes running and reading and watching a hell of a lot of TV. She doesn’t need to add in a full-time boyfriend on top of it.

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“It’s weird as hell is what it is.” Ruby tops off her wine and then does the same for Emma. Emma both hates and loves her right now. “He comes home, what? Three or four times a year before he takes an assignment somewhere else. You two screw, have your fun, and then you both go off and live your separate lives?”

“The part that doesn’t make any sense to me,” Mary Margaret says, “is the way they’ll both casually date other people in between his assignments and then, miraculously, those relationships end before Killian steps foot on Boston soil.”

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Screw both of you.” Emma downs the rest of her drink and gets up from the couch to get more. She’s going to be hungover tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have to go anywhere tomorrow. “Since when were the two of you so judgmental about my dating life?”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Emma’s torn apart her entire closet. She has tried on every dress, has combined every top and pair of jeans she owns, has even pulled out the few jumpsuits she has despite them making having to pee a nightmare.

Nothing looks good.

Okay, that’s not true. A lot of it looks just fine. Emma picks the off-shoulder red dress off her floor and zips herself back into it. It’s a good date night option. It’s tight but breathable, and she can wear boots with it so she’s not stuck in stilettos.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

God, she does not want to go out tonight. It’s cold and raining, and all she really wants is to go to bed early. Maybe she doesn’t have to go. Maybe if she can’t find the right pair of shoes, she can call and say she’s sick.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

She needs to have a little fun. She’s been going from home to work to the gym to home for months now, only switching it up when she needs food or has to talk to someone who does not pay her to do work for them.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

“Coming,” Emma yells when there’s another knock. She smooths her dress down once more and takes a deep breath before stepping into the hallway and toward her front door. Emma undoes her locks and swings the door open. “Hi – ”

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

Killian laughs at her as he steps inside her apartment and closes the door behind them. His duffle drops to the ground, and Killian immediately moves toward her, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him until his lips are moving over hers. He’s smiling. She is too. And that makes it all the sweeter for awhile until Emma’s heel clicks against the ground, and she remembers where she’s supposed to be.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

“I – I can’t, not right now. You’re not supposed to be here yet and we have an agreement and…and I didn’t want to, but I felt like I needed to, you know? To prove a point to Mary Margaret and Ruby and, hell, even myself. I just – ”

Killian sighs into her skin, his breath warm, and then he pulls back. She can’t stand to look him in the eyes right now. She’ll go back on her word, she’ll stay here with him, and she can’t do that.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

And Emma hates it. She hates it because of course he’s a good guy who isn’t a total asshole. He’s respectful and sweet and really handsome. He didn’t even try to kiss her at the end of the date. He wanted to. She could tell. But he’s too nice to make a move that fast.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

Why did she let herself go? She could have stayed. She could have stayed with Killian and cancelled on Graham, but she…she what? She wanted to prove something to her friends, to prove that she was fine, that her relationship, or lack thereof, was fine.

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

Emma doesn’t mean to continue not to call him. She really doesn’t. She means to eventually call him, to send the text, but after a few weeks, it’s such a big deal in her head that she can’t find the courage to do something she’s done hundreds of times.

She used to text Killian everything, even if she knew he wouldn’t see it or be able to respond to it. He is never in an actual line of duty anymore, hasn’t been for most of the time she’s known him, but with the time changes and how busy he (and she as well to be honest) can get, it’s normal for them to go long periods of time without speaking.

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

She tries to bury herself in work, but there’s only so much she can do to keep herself occupied sitting at a desk staring at a computer screen all day. Being buried under paperwork that needs proofreading can get a little lonely sometimes, and when it comes second nature to her, her thoughts can stray to things she’d rather forget.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma looks up from the table. That’s not what she expected to hear tonight. It’s July. It’s hot out, heat waves moving over them and causing sweat to drip down Emma’s back. There’s at least a slight breeze on the roof of Mary Margaret and David’s building, but it’s not enough.

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

The first photo on the page is Killian sitting in the garden with his nephew on his lap. The kid looks just like him, even has some marker drawings on different parts of his arms to match Killian’s few visible tattoos, and when Emma zooms in, she notices some drawings scribbled on Killian’s arms as well.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

Emma does something stupid and taps to Killian’s profile. His last picture is of the coast in Italy in December. That was months ago, and the last picture before that is of her silhouette in his hotel room window. It could be anyone, but she knows it’s her.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

Emma snorts, and suddenly the anxiety washes away. It’s been months of not talking, months of not knowing what’s going on, but this, this is Killian. This is why they’ve stayed in touch over so many years. Something about it, about them, works.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Emma quickly closes out her phone and stuffs it in the back pocket of her jean shorts. She can’t deal with this. She doesn’t know how. The feelings are too much, too intense, and she’s pushed them down for so long.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

Summer melts into the beginnings of autumn. The heat lingers on, though, not wanting to completely fade away as the leaves begin to turn and fall to the ground. It’s as if it’s holding onto something it cannot bear to let go, the last remnants of the freedom of summer staying until all that freedom is gone.

Summer is gone, however, and even if the heat lingers on for a little while longer, September fades into October, and October fades into November. Eventually, the weather cools, and the leaves all fall. Emma cannot so much as walk down the sidewalk without leaves crunching underneath the heels of her boots. Soon, snow will come with them.

She kicks at one particularly pesky one stuck on her boot. It refuses to knock off and join its friends on the ground, so Emma stops and leans up against a building to pick it off. Usually, she’d leave it, but today has been a hell of a day. She could scream or burst into tears at the slightest irritation. The last thing she needs is to lose her footing because of a wet leaf on her heel skidding across the polished floor of her apartment’s lobby.

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

Emma pulls the wet leaf off her heel and tosses it to the ground. She checks her boot to make sure nothing else happened to it – she spent way too much money on these boots – and when all is good, she looks up. She’s not in a busy part of the city, just the area around her place. It’s got a few small restaurants, shops, and one too many pharmacies, but the foot traffic in the middle of the day is as low as it’s ever going to get.

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Emma blinks, then blinks again, but he’s still there, running his hand across the top of a table. She starts walking before she can fully think things through. They’ve been talking on and off for the past few months. It’s mostly been through text, but on occasion, when she has a glass of wine in her, she’ll call.

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

Yet she knows him better than anyone in her life, better than even the people she sees on a daily basis, but seeing him back in her neighborhood without telling her makes her wonder if she really knows him at all.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

The door triggers a bell when Emma steps into the shop, and Killian looks up. He’s more shocked to see her than she was to see him, and that’s saying something considering he knows she lives two blocks from here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It comes out louder than she meant it to, and Emma’s cheeks blush when she realizes everyone in the place is staring at her. God, she wishes this place was bigger. What she wouldn’t give to be in a Walmart or something right now.

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

“Turns out,” Killian says, tapping his fingers on the table and stepping closer to her. He looks the same. Mostly. But his hair is longer and his beard is more than stubble. She likes it. “Turns out that when you’ve established yourself like I have, they do occasionally let you choose to stay in a place of your choice.”

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

Emma laughs, and this time it’s her turn to step into him. It’s so natural, the two of them, like she’s known how to be with him since they met. She’s just never allowed herself to truly be with him. He always leaves just like everyone else has.

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

Killian steps into her and reaches up to hold his hand against her cheek. There’s that warmth again. “I’ve always had the ability to stay, darling,” he whispers as he leans into her and rests his forehead against hers. “I’ve simply never known that you wanted me to.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“I want you to,” Emma begins. She was brave that night. She can be brave today. “I want you to stay. I’m terrified and confused and don’t really know what the hell we’ve been doing for…for a long time, but if you can, I want you to stay.”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/

-/-

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