Summary: Princess Emma has gone missing and with the kings promise of a special reward for the one to bring her home safely her friends plan to be the ones to do just that.
A/N: The Rescue is a one shot fic I wrote for Captain Swan January Joy 2021 before that it was a prompt from a Wander Over Yonder episode for a good couple of years. Though I do like my one shot version I will admit I rushed the ending so I am now writing it as a multi chapter on AO3.
Emma’s life is solid. She has her few friends, a job that pays decently enough, and a schedule that works for her. She doesn’t want any of that to change. But when she gets a call saying she’s been left a house in Storybrooke, Maine, she ends up leaving Boston intending to deal with the house and then return to her life like nothing has changed.
Intentions never quite work out, however, especially when she runs into a blue-eyed bartender who just might entice her to stay.
Rating: Mature
a/n: This story is the result of late night baby feedings, leaving plot notes on my phone in the middle of the night, and then not understanding what the heck the notes section on my phone means when I wake up in the morning. Thanks to the ladies at @csjanuaryjoy for bringing some joy to January 💙
Found on AO3 | Here |
-/-
Thick bunches of trees with deep green leaves line the road. They’re on each side of the concrete, dark gray with a faded yellow line in the middle, and she can’t see anything in the woods through the fullness of the forest. She’s never seen anything like this, not that’s so natural, and the darkness of the sky and the gentle rain falling down make it almost haunting.
She’s not lost, but it sure as hell feels like it.
“Keep going for another five miles,” her GPS says in the British accent she can’t figure out how to change.
“Yeah, yeah,” Emma huffs, turning up her radio and increasing the speed of her wipers. “I got it.”
In a split second, the rain turns from gentle to harsh, water beating down against Emma’s old bug’s windows so hard that the glass may break, and if she could see the sides of the road, she’d turn off the road and wait the storm out. She’s got a bag of Chex Mix and several bottles of water in the back. She could definitely wait it out. But she’s also ready to get to where she’s going and out of this car, so she pushes through and keeps driving until she reads the sign in front of her.
Welcome to Storybrooke.
Finally.
Emma’s phone rings in her passenger seat, and she reaches over to press it, hitting the buttons to put it on speaker.
“Hey, Rubes.”
“Emma Swan,” Ruby huffs out, “where the hell are you? I got home from work expecting you to be here so we could eat entire gallons of ice cream, and I do mean gallons and not pints, but you were gone. I thought tonight was our pity party night.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m…going on a trip.”
“You have never gone on a trip that wasn’t with me.”
“I like to try new things.”
“You’re a liar. You hate new things. Seriously. Where are you?”
“Storybrooke, Maine.”
“What the hell is a Storybrooke?”
“I don’t know,” Emma huffs, peering forward to try to see where she’s going. Buildings are starting to come into view, short ones all pressed together like some kind of Hallmark movie downtown where they decorate for every holiday with an insane budget that’s not at all realistic. Maybe this is the place where they shoot those movies. The name of it sounds made up enough. “It’s just somewhere new.”
“I repeat: you are a liar.”
Emma hums as she tries to ignore Ruby and look for a place to stay tonight. It’s only ten o’clock, but everything seems to be closed, all the storefront lights turned off to cloud the town in near darkness.
Of-freaking-course.
“Look, can I tell you about it later, okay? I don’t really want to get into it. I should be home next week.”
“Next week? How are you going to be – ”
Emma ends the call and switches her phone onto silent. Ruby is going to keep calling until Emma answers again, but she’s too tired to explain it tonight. All she wants is a warm bed and possibly a shower. She probably should have looked up hotels in this town before she came, but it was a last-minute decision fueled by the need for a change of scenery.
She pulls into a parking lot between two buildings and then stares up at the neon sign on one of them. It might be the only light on. “Who names a bar The Rabbit Hole? This town keeps getting weirder.”
There she goes talking to herself again. Maybe she’s the one who is getting weirder.
Sighing, she shuts off her car, grabs her phone, wallet, and keys before running inside the building, only getting slightly soaked. The lights inside are dimmed and it smells of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. Sweat is also likely in the air, but it’s better if she doesn’t think too much about all of the disgusting things that have been spilled in this place. The bar isn’t full, only a few people playing pool or throwing darts, and Emma ignores them to walk up to the bar and sit down on a stool.
“Can I have a glass of whatever your strongest whiskey is?”
“That’s like asking to light a fire in your stomach.”
“Whiskey,” she repeats, tapping her nail against the bar top.
The bartender hasn’t even turned around to look at her, but he nods his head, reaching up on a shelf to grab a bottle and then pouring her a glass. She doesn’t bother looking at him either, simply taking the glass and downing half of it so that it easily burns, most likely lighting a fire in her stomach. She should be asking about a hotel room and getting out of here, but the reality of the past few days is starting to hit her enough that she needs a drink.
Boyfriend cheated.
Couldn’t catch her skip that would have paid rent for the next two months, something that’s been happening a lot lately.
Received a call from a lawyer saying her foster mom from when she was fifteen left her a house in Storybrooke, Maine.
That woman had been crazy. She’d been Emma’s best foster parent, one that genuinely cared, and then one day she pushed Emma into the street when there was oncoming traffic because she’d believed Emma had magic or some bullshit like that. The woman was declared mentally unstable, and yet somehow her lawyers have allowed her to give a vacation home to Emma, someone she has no relation to when Emma knows the woman had family. Sisters, she thinks.
Walsh cheating and the skip being elusive suck, obviously, but they haven’t quite shaken her to her core in the same way.
Her past is her past, and she doesn’t want to relive it.
So why the hell is she here?
“Are you passing through, or are you visiting?”
“Hm?”
“Are you waiting out the storm, love?” the bartender repeats in a deep, foreign accent. He sounds like her freaking GPS. “Or are you visiting the town?”
Emma finally looks up from her drink to see him. The light in here is so poor that she can’t quite make out his face, but there’s a hint of ginger in his beard covering a sharp jawline. A quick glance down shows her muscles under a tight plaid shirt, and that has her looking back up. He’s got dark, messy hair that’s been tousled one too many times, but mostly, all she can see is the blue of his eyes.
Damn.
“I could be from here,” she sighs, running her finger of the rim of her drink.
He scoffs and tilts his head to the side, tongue running over his bottom lip. “This is true. About twenty-thousand people live here, and while I don’t know each and every one of them, I do know that this bar really only sees regulars in here. It’s not often that I get to see someone new.”
“So you’re guessing I’m new on a hunch.”
“Ah, well, that and the fact that your t-shirt says ‘Boston Bail Bonds’ on it. I’m assuming that can only be found in one place.”
“Maybe I just collect t-shirts.”
The man clicks his tongue. “Maybe. Can I get you anything else, Boston?”
Emma rolls her eyes. “Another glass of this and directions to the nearest hotel.”
“That I can do for you, love.”
“Not your love, buddy.”
“Pity that.”
She downs the rest of her drink before he refills her glass and then slides a piece of paper in front of her, quickly drawing a map of downtown and where she can find a hotel. It’s a bed and breakfast behind a restaurant, and Emma commits it to memory because there’s no way this piece of paper is going to make it through the weather outside.
After she pays her tab, Emma makes her way out of the bar with the umbrella the bartender gave her, and quickly hops in her car to drive the few feet to the bed and breakfast only to find that there’s no parking and she has to park back at the bar and run across the street in this New England monsoon.
This town makes no sense.
And she could totally be staying in Ingrid’s house for free, since it is her house now, but that’s creepy and disturbed on so many levels.
Then again, so is all of the floral wallpaper at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast.
“Welcome to Storybrooke, Emma Swan,” the old woman says as she hands Emma the keys to her room.
-/-
Emma sleeps until two in the afternoon.
She doesn’t mean to, not really. She was supposed to meet with Ingrid’s lawyer about the house at noon, but apparently she can’t be a responsible adult and make her appointments on time. The moment she wakes up and realizes it, she calls the law firm and tries to reschedule only to be told that she’ll have to wait at least two weeks because Mr. Nolan has gone out of town for vacation.
He has got to be kidding her.
He’s not. He’s going to Nevada to visit his wife’s family.
Emma groans and falls back onto the springy bed. What is she supposed to do now? She wanted this over with, and as much as she deals with the law on a regular basis, it’s more dealing with scummy guys not paying child support or assaulting someone. It’s not real estate law or anything having to deal with what happens when someone leaves you a freaking house.
Her phone buzzes next to her.
Walsh Osbourne: Can we talk?
Walsh Osbourne: It wasn’t what you think it was.
Walsh Osbourne: Please, baby. I just want to talk. I love you.
Emma could vibrate out of her skin she’s so angry to see texts from him. What a douchebag. Real scum of the earth, that one.
Emma Swan: I hate when you call me baby. You should know that. I pointed it out every fucking time. We’re over, Walsh. I don’t deal with cheaters.
The little bubbles pop up, but she doesn’t wait to see the message. Instead, she blocks his number and keeps herself from having to ever hear from him again.
Asshole.
Food. She needs food. It’s too early to have another drink, but food sounds like a great idea.
After showering and getting dressed in a pair of jeans and a white sweater, she runs downstairs to the diner attached to the bed and breakfast. There’s only one other person in there, and it doesn’t bode well for Emma not getting food poisoning from the food. But the grilled cheese and onion rings end up being good, the hot chocolate even more so, and when she’s finished, Emma tips her waitress and asks her for directions to the police station.
If she’s going to be here for two weeks – because there’s no way in hell she’s going back and then doing this drive again – she might as well see if she can make some money. She knew getting licensed in Maine would come in handy eventually.
“What can I help you with, lass?”
“Um, yeah, my name is Emma Swan, and I was wondering if you guys were in need of a bail bondswoman.”
“Graham Humbert,” he says, sticking his hand out for her to shake. “We usually deal with bonds in the neighboring country. They have an office already, though, so if you’re thinking about setting one up, I’m not sure you’ll have much business.”
“I do more of the tracking down than the office work.”
He cocks his head to the side and softly smiles at her. She’s only seen two men in this town so far, and both of them have been attractive and had foreign accents.
They’re in rural Maine. That makes no sense. None of this does.
“So more of a bounty hunter then?”
“It’s a mixture. So do you have any jobs? Short-term probably.”
“Do you know how to mix a drink?”
Emma turns to where the familiar voice is sitting. It’s the bartender from last night, and in the light of day, he looks much the same but with clearer features. It’s just those damn eyes – they’re even bluer in the sunlight, and they have to be contacts or something.
“A few.”
“Well, Swan,” he sighs, her name curled on his tongue with his accent, “I’m looking for an extra hand at the bar if you’re going to be in town for awhile. If Sheriff Humbert doesn’t have something for you, of course.”
“I’m sorry, lass. I don’t think I do. You’d have to go to Easton and ask them there.”
Emma sighs and turns to the other man. “You’d hire me just like that? You don’t want to run background checks or call my references?”
He waves her away, standing from the desk and sliding over paperwork to Sheriff Humbert. “No, I’m good. I can train you this afternoon, and then if you’re dreadful, I’ll let you go.”
“Do I get to keep tips?”
His smile curves up on one side. “Of course. Killian Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you, milady. Or, rather, to make your acquaintance again.”
Great. The guy who’s giving her a job is also some freak who talks like he’s from another century.
(Or maybe just likes he’s British.)
Killian finishes up whatever business he had in the police station, talking to Graham for a few minutes, before he asks her if she’s ready to go. They walk the few blocks back to The Rabbit Hole, which looks far seedier in the light of day, and Killian unlocks the door before holding it open for her.
“So are you a gentleman or something?”
“I’m always a gentleman, love,” he says, leaning into her and lowering his voice. “Though, don’t feel special. I do like to hold the door open for most anyone, just as I call most people ‘love.’”
Her cheeks flush red, memories of her grumbling about his term of endearment last night. “Well, I’ll try not to be too disappointed.”
He chuckles and keeps walking through the bar, flicking the light switches until the place is illuminated. It’s actually much cleaner on the inside than it was last night, the haze of the night gone, and she can see where all of the chairs are resting on the table and the floor has been freshly mopped.
“So, it’s pretty simple. We open at four and close at two. Weekdays are calm, just a few regulars who almost exclusively drink what’s on tap, and then on the weekends we’re usually a little more packed with everyone trying to unwind or find a date.”
“People come here to find dates?”
“It’s the only bar in town, so if that’s how you’re looking for a date, yes.” He stares at her, but when she doesn’t say anything back, he nods his head and keeps walking through the bar. “Restroom is back down that hallway as well as the utility closet. The kitchen is directly behind the bar. My old buddy doubled as bartender and cook before he moved. Can you do both?”
“Not unless you want your customers to get food poisoning.”
His eyes crinkle with his smile. “We’ll figure something out then, Swan.”
-/-
Her first night at the bar is hectic.
There’s a bachelor party from two towns over coming in on a Wednesday night of all things, and every one of them hits on her. They don’t do it well either. How one of them is getting married is a mystery to her because he both doesn’t know how to flirt and obviously has no respect for his future wife. Killian asks her if they’re bothering her, she tells him she can handle herself, and they move on with their night and their jobs.
That’s pretty much the only time they talk the entire time unless he’s giving her some kind of instruction. Being behind the bar is a completely different experience than the two of them being on opposite sides.
It’s quieter, much quieter.
At least she thinks that it is until it’s six nights in, a rainy Monday evening much like the one when she got here, and they have no customers.
None.
He asks why she’s in town, she evades the question again, but eventually the quiet begins to get to her, and she huffs and starts talking while focusing on getting a stain off the bar top.
“Just wanted to get away.”
“Ah, so relationship problems.”
She turns to him then. “Wait, just because I’m a woman means my only problems can be relationship problems?”
His brows arch. “I simply meant any relationship. Romantic, familial, friendship. I find most everybody who’s running from something is running for one of those reasons. I’ve never known too many people to leave a place because they were upset over a job.”
“Yeah, well that seems like something a personal thing. People run for all kinds of reasons.”
“Fair enough.” He tugs the sleeves on his flannel shirt up, rolling the cuffs until they’re at his elbows, and Emma gets a glance of toned forearms and angry red scars inching up his left arm. She wants to ask, but it’s none of her business. And asking him questions means he’ll feel more entitled to ask her the same things. “Your business is your business. Simply figured you might want to make a little conversation since we don’t have any business.”
“Nope,” Emma sighs, “I’m good.”
The next night is better, and the night after that. Though, Emma does realize that she’s now fascinating to the town as a new person, which they apparently don’t get a lot of. It’s obnoxious, but it also means the bar starts getting a steady stream of people who are curious as to who she is and what she’s doing.
At least they give good tips. She’s all about the tips.
“You’d think you had magical powers for how they’re all staring at you,” Killian mumbles as he walks past her with a tray of drinks.
“It’s creepy.”
“It dies down. Trust me.”
For a moment, she wants to ask, to get to know more about him, but she doesn’t want to open that can of warms. It’d be too difficult to close.
-/-
“This place is a piece of shit.”
“It’s certainly got character,” David Nolan says, obviously uncomfortable with her language. He is not what she expected Ingrid’s lawyer to look like, but he’s what she’s got. A forty-year-old wearing a flannel shirt and dirty boots while meeting a client is definitely unlike any attorney she’s ever met, but so far, she doesn’t mind him. “Ingrid was never here. I only met her once or twice. I think this was her aunt’s house, so it’s definitely on the older side.”
Emma nods and presses her foot down on the porch only for the wood to start cracking underneath her. The foundation of the house is probably falling apart, the windows are broken, roof shingles are falling off, there’s some rot on the columns, and she hasn’t even gotten to go inside.
“Did she not hire someone to do maintenance?”
“What do you think?”
Emma scoffs and presses against the front door until it’s opening for her and revealing dust-covered furniture and more decay. It’s not as bad as the exterior, but it’s not good. “So, what exactly do I do here? Can I refuse the house?”
“You can.”
“But if I do keep it, what happens then?”
“Well, it’s yours, and you’re responsible for it and for paying property tax. It’s not much, but honestly, I think your best option is fixing the place up and then putting it on the market. It’s basically free money.”
“There’s no such thing.”
David laughs, and she can’t help but feel like he’d be someone who would be good to have around in life. “Think on it, okay? You have some time.”
-/-
“Do you know anything about house repairs?”
“Pardon, love?”
“Home repairs,” she repeats, tipping back her bottle of water. “You look like you’re…handy. Do you know how to repair things like windows and floors or putting a hinge back in a cabinet?”
“Well,” Killian starts, “window frames I can do. Window glass repairs require a professional. Hinges I can do, though. I think I’d have to know what kind of floor repair you need. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
Killian quirks his brow. “Believe it or not, Swan, but I’m actually quite perceptive. You’re not asking for no reason.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
“Oh, so you’ve been watching me then?”
“I’ve been working with you every single day for two weeks.” Emma rolls her eyes at his smirk. “I notice things.”
“Funny, so do I. You’re more of an open book than you think.”
With that, Killian walks away to move across the bar to tend to a group of linemen sitting at the table in the back. They all go by some kind of ridiculous nickname, and she can’t remember any of them at the moment despite them always being in here. But the asshole probably said that line and walked away just to annoy her. He seems to like to do that, getting some kind of reaction out of her and then walking away.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? She’s an open book?
Killian’s words nag at her all night, his accent curling around each of them in her memory, but he goes on as if everything is normal. Nothing about her life is normal right now. She’s living in a strange town, sleeping in a bed and breakfast with flowers on all of the walls, and working at a bar all the while avoiding everything about her life.
“Someone left me a house in town,” Emma blurts out two hours later. They’ve only got seven people in the bar now, and she can’t distract herself by flattering men so they give her more tips. “That’s why I’m here. I had to deal with it, and then the lawyer was out of town for two weeks because apparently that’s a thing he does. But I went and saw the house today, and it’s a disaster. That’s why I asked about the home repairs.”
Killian’s mouth curls from one side to the other, and she wants to smack it off of his smug face. She also kinds of wants to kiss it.
Woah. Where did that thought come from?
(Probably from having her life turned upside down and losing her boyfriend and being left a house by her crazy ex foster mother.)
(And staying in this town instead of going home and calling her boss about her not being available for jobs.)
(Not having Ruby to complain to likely doesn’t help.)
“Are you planning on living here then, Swan?” He leans forward and props his chin in his palm while his brows reach his hairline. “Did you find me that irresistible?”
“Shut up.”
“You have a way with words.” Emma groans at him, and Killian keeps on smirking. “Look, I’ve been renovating this bar and the apartment above it for about a year now, so I know a thing or two about home renovations, as I told you. I can take a look at the house for you and answer any of your questions.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“You were asking for advice earlier.”
“But I don’t need any help!”
He holds his hands up and steps away. “I apologize, love. I seemed to have misread the situation. I won’t do it again.”
Shit.
She messed up, didn’t she? Of course she did. Why is she always so rude to people who are trying to help her?
“Killian?”
“Mhm?”
“Would you like to come look at the house with me tomorrow before work?”
He turns to her and smiles again, a little glint in his eyes. “Meet me here at noon.”
-/-
Killian tells her the place isn’t in as bad as shape as she thinks it is. Emma can’t imagine that as a giant spider crawls across the living room, but he swears that it’s true.
He also offers to help for no cost to her other than the supplies.
“Why would you do that?”
“I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me, and I enjoy the work.”
And for some insane reason, she makes the decision to stay in this weird as hell town and fix up this house so that she can sell it and leave this whole thing behind her. Her life was going to shit in Boston, and she needs a break from that. She needs some kind of change and purpose, and maybe she’ll end up being able to fix this house up and sell it for enough money that she comes into an actual savings account for the first time in her life.
What a thought.
On slow nights at the bar, Emma watches videos on the best ways to paint window trim and how to buff hardwood floors. She looks into the electrical stuff too, but that seems like a recipe for disaster. Or death. Really, it looks like a recipe for her death.
Definitely.
Killian will walk by, muttering comments under his breath about the videos she’s watching and how absolutely inane some of the people are, but she ignores him and keeps trying to learn. Fixing up a house, even a rotting pit like this one, shouldn’t be too hard. It’ll be fine.
It starts with having all of the wiring inside the walls stolen, which is decidedly not fine.
“Who the hell steals electrical wiring?” Emma huffs as she and Killian walk through the house, cold morning air nipping at their extremities. “What’s the purpose of that?”
“They sell it.”
“For how much?”
“Not much, but it’s something.” He hits his hammer against the hole (one of them, at least) in the drywall. “I can call Scarlet and have him fix your wiring, but we’ll have to fix the walls ourselves.”
“I can’t afford an electrician right now.”
“Don’t worry about it, love. He owes me a favor.”
“A favor to rewire an entire house?”
He winks. “Trust me.”
“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second, Jones.”
He freaking bows, throwing in an exaggerated wink too. “I would despair if you did.”
The entire month of September is spent the same way. She and Killian meet up at the house at noon with takeout from Granny’s for lunch (which is really breakfast for them since they wake up at eleven most days) and work on the house until they have to go to the bar. They’re the only two people working there right now, which has got to be against some labor law, but Emma doesn’t mind not having the days off. She likes the money and likes keeping busy. When she asks Killian about it, though, he simply hums and says that he hasn’t taken a day off since he bought the place.
She had no idea he was the owner. She thought he was the manager or something who happened to be living there.
(Not her brightest moment.)
How does a British man end up owning a bar in a small town in Maine?
She almost asks, but it’s not her business. None of his life is.
But that doesn’t keep her from learning that he’s got a penchant for rum and for double-stuffed Oreos. There’s a dirty joke there, and Killian most definitely makes it. He’s also got a penchant for making a dirty joke or sliding an innuendo into every possible situation. It’d be creepy if it wasn’t so damn charming sometimes.
But it’s not charming. Nope. It’s just…it’s who he is. That’s all. And it’s something she’s got to get used to since this is apparently the man she’s going to be spending all of her time with. It would scare her because in a situation like this, she’d usually have already had sex with him and then have some kind of meltdown. She doesn’t know why she does stuff like that, but she does.
(That’s a lie. She definitely knows why.)
Emma is not going to sleep with him, though. It’s not going to happen. Ever. She is not going to be doing the whole dating – or not dating – thing again anytime soon. Or forever.
It’s October when she starts to feel like maybe this house has hope. It’s still a mess, but it’s making definite progress.
It’s also when she realizes that maybe she doesn’t hate this town so much. It’s still weird and kooky and doesn’t quite make sense, but it’s also full of good people. David, Ingrid’s lawyer, ends up pitching in a hand on window repairs, and his wife Mary Margaret may be one of the sweetest people Emma has ever met. She bakes food for Emma and talks paint colors and cabinet stains and always has a smile on her face. Will Scarlet is always lurking around, even once the electrical work is done, and as obnoxious as he can be, Emma kind of likes him. He’s helpful and kind of funny and he beats Killian’s ass at pool at the bar every single time they play.
Killian pouts and mopes around after he loses, and Emma gets an infinite amount of joy out of it.
“You look pathetic, Jones.”
“I do not look pathetic.”
“You do.” She turns around behind the bar to tease him as he grabs a bottle of his favorite rum off the shelf and pours himself a small glass, gulping it down. “You should really learn not to be such a sore loser.”
His brow arches. “Oh, and you wouldn’t be a sore loser?”
“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t lose.”
Killian exhales with his laugh before putting his glass down and inching closer to her until his back is behind hers, warmth from his body covering her so that little bumps pop up over her skin and her breath hitches. It takes everything in her not to shiver while her stomach flips.
“Is that so?”
“It is,” she whispers, trying to keep her breath steady.
“Well,” Killian whispers right back, his scruff brushing up against her cheek and sending a shiver down her spine, dammit, “I do love a challenge.”
With that, he moves away so quickly that his heat immediately evaporates, and if it wasn’t for the swirling in her stomach, Emma would swear it was all a dream.
What the hell just happened?
There’s a low whistle across the bar. “Emma fucking Swan.”
Emma whips her hair toward the sound, and her jaw may literally drop. “Ruby?”
“Oh, so you remember me,” Ruby scoffs. She’s smiling, but there’s fury in her eyes. “I figured you’d forgotten since we only talk on the phone and you’re not living in our apartment anymore.”
“What are you doing here, Rubes?” Emma asks as she leans over the bar to hug her. At least Ruby hugs back. She doesn’t have to, and Emma appreciates that.
Ruby settles down on the stool in front of her, and Emma realizes the entire bar is staring at the two of them. “I took off for your birthday, remember? We were going to binge watch TV and stuff our faces with junk food and feel no guilt about it.”
“Shit happened.”
“And by shit you mean Walsh cheating, your job sucking, and then this crazy lady leaving you a house even though she tried to kill you when you were a teenager?”
“Ruby,” Emma hisses, “shut up. Everyone can hear you, and I don’t want everyone knowing my business.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Emma doesn’t dare look over at Killian to see if he heard all that. She doesn’t need to. She knows that he heard it all. It’s that whole perceptive thing. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? You must be so tired after the drive.”
“The biggest glass of wine you have. You know what I like.”
Emma nods and turns around to their wine selection before Killian walks up behind her again, this time putting more distance between them. It still feels like he’s right there though, like he never really left.
“You okay, love?”
“Just dandy.”
“Well, your use of the word ‘dandy’ makes me think otherwise.”
Emma rolls her eyes and looks up at him. His eyes are stupid concerned and stupid blue, and who does he think he is being so concerned about her when he barely knows her?
“I’m fine.”
“Hey, hot guy who’s flirting with my friend,” Ruby yells out. Killian’s brow raises at her as his eyes glance to the side. He’s silently asking her for permission to talk to Ruby, and her resolve deflates immediately. She nods and steps away with the wine, leaving him to Ruby. “What’s your name?”
“Killian Jones. Are you the infamous Ruby Lucas?”
“Ah, so you’ve heard of me. That’s funny because I’ve heard nothing about you.”
“You’re obviously much more interesting than me.”
Ruby takes a sip of the wine Emma pours for her before Emma is called to the other end of the bar to deal with some of the cops who are here after their shift. Her ears never leave Killian and Ruby’s conversation, though.
“I mean, obviously,” Ruby agrees, leaning forward so her boobs are nearly falling out of her dress. Emma almost drops a beer glass. “What exactly do you think you’re doing with Emma? She doesn’t need some knight in shining armor to rescue her just because she’s a little vulnerable right now. I mean, you obviously ran a background – ”
Emma’s grip loosens until the tray of beer glasses she was holding slips out of her hands and falls to the ground, glass splitting off into shards and covering the floor.
Shit.
“Don’t move, Swan,” Killian calls out, immediately moving away from Ruby and coming toward her, glass crunching underneath his boots. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she croaks out. In truth, she doesn’t know. her heart is in her throat, and she can’t really breathe. “I’m fine.”
His eyes scan over hers, but he doesn’t dispute her words. “I’m going to clean this up, okay? Why don’t you go sit with your friend? Be careful. I’m not sure how thick your shoes are.”
All Emma can do is nod, and she’s basically a robot as she walks toward Ruby, who is still sipping on her wine and tapping away at her phone. Emma loves her, but sometimes she doesn’t think before she acts. Half the time it works out, and half the time it means Emma is stuck cleaning up Ruby’s messes.
(While Killian seems to be stuck cleaning up Emma’s.)
“What the hell?” she hisses, trying to keep quiet. “You’ve been here for ten minutes, and you’re already telling everyone shit they don’t need to know.”
“I didn’t mean to! I mean, I figured he did know since you’re obviously sleeping with him as well as working for him.”
What the hell?
“I’m not sleeping with him. I’m not sleeping with anyone. And he didn’t run a background check on me. Killian’s a good guy, and he’s doing me a lot of favors, okay?”
“If you’re not sleeping with him, he definitely wants to sleep with you. Like, he’s having eye sex with you right now.”
“You’re gross, and you have the mind of a teenage boy.”
“I’m speaking the truth,” Ruby nods while her mouth opens with a long yawn.
“Rubes, why don’t you go back to my hotel room, okay? It’s late, and you’re tired. I’ll meet you when my shift is over.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Emma nods, “and we can talk about what we’re going to do for my birthday tomorrow.”
Ruby smiles, and Emma tries to let some of her anger fade away. This is her best friend, and she’s got her own faults just like Emma does. Hell, Emma pretty much ghosted her for two months, and Ruby isn’t even really mad. They’ve both got their issues. It’s fine. It’s life. Ruby has never done anything to purposefully hurt Emma.
Ruby takes Emma’s hotel key and leaves, and for the rest of her shift, Killian tiptoes around her. He’s timid and not making any of his jokes. There’s almost no personality to him, and for a few moments, she starts to believe that he’s mad at her. In actuality, he’s probably just realized he’s been working with someone with a criminal past for two months.
“Hey, Killian? Can we talk?”
“Swan – ” he hesitates, holding the chair he was about to put up.
“No, just, please let me explain some of this, some of what Ruby said.”
His lips are pressed tightly together. “You want to come upstairs? I have coffee there.”
“Coffee sounds great.”
They stop what they’re doing, and Killian turns on his heels to walk up to the second floor of the bar to where she knows his apartment is. She’s never been up this staircase, never even thought about it, but she follows him without question. His apartment isn’t much. It’s clean, which doesn’t shock her for how Killian is, and all of the appliances have been updated. Other than that, though, it’s pretty bare bones – brown leather couch, television mounted on the wall, coffee table full of books that should be on the tall bookshelves against the wall, and a bed with a deep blue comforter pushed back against the wall behind a half-wall.
Oh, and a coffee machine. An actual one. Not a Keurig.
That’s where Killian starts puttering around, not bothering to tell her to make herself at home or not to touch anything. His words can be flowery sometimes, but oftentimes he doesn’t say anything at all, simply letting her decide what she wants.
She kind of likes that.
Except for right now when she’s freaking out.
“So,” she begins.
“You want milk in your coffee right? I’m afraid I don’t have your preferred creamer.”
“Milk is fine. So, Killian, I – ”
“Look,” he starts, his voice gruff, “I don’t care about your past. We all have one, myself included, and it’s not great. So unless you’re a murderer or are going to rob me blind, I don’t need to know.” He turns to her as the coffee percolates and raises both brows, wrinkles appearing on his forehead. “Are you a murderer or are you going to rob me blind?”
“No,” Emma quietly admits.
“Then I know everything I need to know unless you really want to tell me why I would need to run a background check on you.”
She bites down on her lip, her stomach twirling. She never wants to tell anyone this, but the words are at the tip of her tongue. “I was sixteen, had just been taken out of Ingrid’s custody, and I was dating this older guy. I loved him, thought he loved me too, but then he stole some watches, framed me for it, and got the hell out of dodge. I went to jail for it, but I promise I didn’t do it. I’m not going to rob you blind. The only things I’ve ever stolen were some keychains and food when my foster parents didn’t give me dinner.”
Straightforward and only the facts. That’s the only way she can talk about Neal without hurling.
Killian’s brows furrow, and she wonders if he can express every emotion with just his eyebrows. It almost seems like it. “He’s a bastard. So is the bloke who cheated on you, by the way. A bloody fool.”
“I agree with that.”
Killian breathes out and turns around, opening up a cabinet to pull down a coffee mug, pouring milk and coffee into her cup before pouring black coffee into his. He hands hers over to her, and she immediately takes a sip while Killian stares down at his mug, tapping his fingers on the countertop.
And then he’s pulling up his Henley’s left sleeve until she can see those familiar red scars.
“I was in the Navy in England,” he begins. “I thought it was my calling. I loved everything about it, and then there was a damn mechanical misfiring that caused an explosion and tore up my arm and part of my torso. Hurt like hell, and I don’t know…I guess I kind of lost the passion for serving, and when my contract ended, I didn’t reenlist. Then I moved here. I’ve got dual citizenship. Mum was an American.”
“I thought you said people don’t run because of jobs?”
“I did say that.”
“Isn’t that what you did?”
“I ran because of my girlfriend ending our relationship to go back to her husband I didn’t know about and my brother’s death,” Killian corrects. The job simply happened to give me the push.”
Emma’s got a million questions, but she doesn’t think she should ask them. It’s probably best not to. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Aye,” he laughs, scratching his ear. “It does. Life sucks, as you put it. That’s why I don’t judge you. That’s why I’m so willing to help you out with the job and with your house. You looked like you needed some help, and I know what it’s like to be in your position.”
Oh.
No one has ever done something like that for her, not really, and Emma thinks to herself once more that under all of his gruff and brooding and penchant for getting angry at customers, he’s a good man. She gets up and walks over to him, pressing up on her toes to lightly brush her lips over his cheek. His scruff burns against her lips, and she gets a stronger whiff of cologne than she ever has as her own cheeks heat up.
“Thank you, Killian.”
He scares her, in more ways than one, but weirdly, she almost craves that little jolt of fear, one she feels in the tingling of her lips far after she leaves his apartment.
-/-
Things shift after that night. It’s not in some monumental, earth-shattering way, but there’s definitely a difference in how Emma and Killian interact. Ruby spends the weekend with them, touring the house and sharing her opinions on what it looks like now and how it should look in the future. Ruby doesn’t get why Emma is staying in Storybrooke, doesn’t understand why she can’t get rid of the place and come back to Boston, but she still supports Emma. It’s what friends do unless they’re making batshit crazy decisions.
Ruby’s words. Not hers.
Besides, Ruby is convinced that Emma is staying for Killian, which actually would be batshit crazy. She’s not staying here for him. She’s staying here because she needs to fix up this house. She needs to fix up this house to prove she can, sell it, and wash her hands of anything and everything that Ingrid left behind.
Killian gives her the night off for her birthday, tells her to go out and have fun, but since there’s only one bar in town, they hang out at the Rabbit Hole and drink fruity drinks Killian hates making and eat onion rings he made specifically for her, mumbling something about how he knows that she really wanted to spend her day at home in pajamas eating junk food instead of hanging out at the place where she works.
She doesn’t mind, not really. Especially when Killian tells her that he’ll cover her tab for the night, throwing her a downright dirty wink and whispering in her ear that he’d take tips in other ways.
Ridiculous man. Such a cocky asshole sometimes.
When Ruby leaves town and heads back to Boston, she tells Emma to stop being stupid and to do something good with what she’s got here. If she’s going to be here, she needs to make it worth it.
Emma tries to do just that. She really does, but as the months pass and the house gets closer and closer to being presentable (and functionable) enough to sell, all Emma can think is that she’s got an apartment back in Boston and a job that will take her back if she begs just enough.
Boston is safe. Boston is…home. In Boston, there’s no man with blue eyes and a sharp wit who makes her stomach swirl like she’s got damn butterflies fluttering around in there.
Leaving Killian makes her heart ache, but admitting that to herself is something she’s barely capable of. Admitting it to him would be damn near impossible.
-/-
“Swan,” Killian calls out as she walks into the bar, “come help me get these blasted lights up. I thought it would be nice to make it a little festive in here for Christmas.”
He’s standing on a chair up against the wall, box after box of white lights scattered around his feet, and as capable as Killian is, this seems like a disaster waiting to happen. She takes a step toward him, a step toward his bright smile and slightly overgrown beard, but then she stops. She was supposed to be in and out, just like that. She wasn’t supposed to get attached.
She can’t stay.
“I sold the house, Killian.”
He drops a string of lights to the ground, small shards of glass scattering everywhere.
Shit.
“You what?”
“I’m going to sell the house,” she corrects. Her heart is beating faster than it ever has. “I got an offer from a couple from New York who wanted it as a vacation home and are going to finish the renovations and add on an extra room. I don’t really know. But it’s money that I need and that will help me out back in Boston.”
“Emma – ”
She hates when he says her first name. It makes her throat tighten and her stomach ache, and no matter how many times he says it instead of calling her by one of his many names for her, she’ll never get used to it.
She swallows the lump in her throat.
“You’re leaving?” Killian asks, obviously devastated. She hates that she knows the looks on his face and knows how he feels without even a word now. She nods. He knows her looks as well. “Stay, Emma.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Why can’t you stay?”
“I don’t live here. I have a life back in Boston. I have friends, a job, a – ”
“A what?”
“I don’t know,” Emma groans, hot tears pricking in her eyes. When did any of this happen? How did it happen? How did she allow herself to have so many feelings? “I don’t know, but I can’t stay here. It was only supposed to be a day, maybe a week. It wasn’t supposed to be months. It wasn’t supposed to be this.”
She motions between the two of them, speaking the words that neither of them have spoken over long days working at the house, long nights working here, and too quick of times watching movies in his apartment or grabbing lunch at Granny’s or even racing each other on their runs.
She knows. He does too.
“You can see a future here, and that scares you,” Killian tells her, stepping close.
“Oh, let me guess, with you.”
“Aye,” Killian says as he steps into her space, the now familiar scent of his cologne surrounding her while the warmth of his hands presses through her jeans and then her sweater as his hands move from her hips to her shoulders. “You and I both know – ”
“We don’t know anything!”
His jaw clenches, and she knows he’s holding back. She knows him well enough to know he’s pressing down the fire within him.
“Emma,” he whispers, and her heart does that thing again that’s got to be medically impossible, “you have been the best part of my life for the past four months, and I know that I can’t ask you to stay. I have already, but I can’t honestly be selfish enough to think that you’ll stay just for me. What I can’t do, darling, is let you go without telling you how I feel.”
Her heart may be in her throat now because she can’t breathe. Not at all. Why the hell are his eyes so blue and earnest? Why is he so earnest?
She nods again, and he smiles this soft little smile that makes his eyes crinkle.
“I am rather fond of you, Emma Swan. I’m fond of the way that your smile shifts from small to absolutely beaming and the way that you laugh at your little comedy podcasts we listen to while we’re working. I’m fond of the way that you call me out on my shit and the way that you help me every day, even if you don’t know it. I’m fond of the smell of your perfume and the way I find long blonde strands of hair on all of my clothes even if I didn’t wear the shirt around you. I’m fond of the way you’ve weaved your way into every part of my life so seamlessly while I’ve had to carefully take a hammer to the bricks you built up around your heart.”
His hands trace up her neck, shivers running down her spine and bumps rising up over her skin. “I like you,” Killian continues, “and I don’t want you to go back to Boston thinking that you don’t have a life here. Everyone in this town would welcome you with open arms, but I’d be standing at the front waiting for you.”
Emma’s never been good with words, has never been an expert at expressing how she feels, but she has been good with actions. It’s why she wraps her arms around his neck, fingers tickling along the nape of his neck and into his hair, and kisses him.
She kisses him.
His lips are soft, softer than should even be possible, and his beard brushes against her skin much like it did when she kissed his cheek a few weeks ago while Killian quietly grunts into the kiss. They don’t move much, mouth pressed against mouth, but Emma finds herself getting lost in it. She imagined what it would be like kissing Killian Jones, something she would never admit to anyone else, but it was nothing like this. She didn’t feel it all over her, didn’t feel emotions swirling in her stomach and spreading over her skin, and she definitely didn’t think it would make her this happy.
She’s not sure when or how this happened, how exactly he hammered down the bricks around her heart, but she’s infinitely glad that he did.
Piece by piece and stone by stone.
“I don’t know if I can stay,” Emma whispers when she pulls back from the kiss, her forehead resting against his while her heart beats too fast. “I don’t – ”
“You don’t have to stay, darling. I simply ask that no matter your decision, you still allow me to be a part of your life, however you decide.”
Emma nods in affirmation before kissing him again, hungrily gliding her lips over his while heat curls between her thighs at the feel of Killian pressed up against her. The first kiss was soft, gentle, and while this one could still be described that way, there’s a fire simmering underneath her skin that comes to the surface with Killian’s hearty growl and the way that he starts backing her across the bar until her back is against the wall next to the staircase. Killian captures her gasp with his mouth, and she melts into him some more.
They should talk more. They really should, but they’ve talked for four months, and when Killian asks her if she’d like to go upstairs, she gladly says yes.
They shed their clothes the moment they’re in his apartment, tugging at shirts and pants as Killian finds the skin of her neck and leaves warm, open-mouthed kisses there while it takes everything in Emma to keep running her hands over his sides, feeling the warm skin and slightly marked up places. She’s already warm everywhere, gooseflesh rising, and her breathing is uneven as Killian keeps touching her.
It’s amazing.
And he’s beautiful. It’s all dark skin and lean muscle, someone who doesn’t work out much at the gym but is active, and he’s got dark patches of hair covering his chest and stomach, some of the black hiding the tattoos he has scrawled across his skin. She thinks most of the ones on his torso are there to cover up the scars from his accident, and Emma takes the time to trace her finger over the ink and over the scars, making sure to occasionally watch Killian’s face as she does so.
Of all of the times Killian has looked at her with admiration in his eyes, it’s never been quite like that.
She is so screwed.
When they reach the bed after Killian slamming his lips back into hers and whispering absolutely filthy things into her ear, his hand easily finds where she’s sensitive. He runs his fingers there, making her gasp and moan and whine that she needs more. Killian gladly gives her more.
There’s a push and pull, whispered words of want shared, and she gets lost in it.
He’s warm and thick when he buries himself inside of her, and his moan is one of the most delicious sounds she’s ever heard. His blue eyes are almost completely black now, but they’re no less beautiful. Everything about this is intimate, from the way that Killian kisses her to the controlled movement of his hips, sliding in and out in a slow rhythm that she knows is for her. A part of her wants more, wants faster and harder, but the other part of her is still catching up to the fact that this is real.
This is happening.
And she’s happy.
That might be the most shocking part of the entire thing. Emma is happy, which kind of snuck up on her without her really realizing it, and for the first time in a long time, if not ever, she can feel herself smiling during sex.
Is this what this is supposed to be like? Is this what it’s always supposed to have been like?
Killian smiles right back at her, letting his brows unfurrow from how they were folded in concentration, and then he’s dipping back down to move his teeth over her lips, a light graze that means almost everything to her all the while his hand dips down to where they are joined, the movement making her see all of those metaphorical stars.
Or, at least, something similar in blue orbs and a kind smile.
This is good. This is how things are supposed to be.
Happy.
“Killian?” she asks later. Sweat has dried on her skin, her hair curling around the temples, and she’s folded herself into Killian’s side while her legs are tucked between his calves. Her fingers can’t stop moving through his chest hair, untangling the patches, before moving down to trace over his tattoos and scars once more. She likes the way the red mixes in with the colors of ink.
“Yeah, Swan?”
She nearly giggles at the deep set of his voice, at how it’s harsh and soft all at once, kind of like him.
“I’m rather fond of you too. I thought you should know that.”
“The sex kind of clued me into that.”
“No, I meant. I – you…”
“I know exactly what you meant, love,” he promises as his head dips until his lips press into hers. “I was teasing you. You don’t have to tell me that.”
“I know, but I still want to. You deserve to hear the words as much as I do.”
-/-
She ends up selling the house to the couple from New York.
She puts away the money into her savings account, which was really nothing more than pennies and a few dust bunnies, and for the first time in her life, she has options.
Go back to Boston. Go anywhere.
Or stay in Storybrooke.
Stay in Storybrooke where the people are kind and know her by name, where the beach is nearby and often empty, where she could have a bit of quiet in her life, something that’s also been a novelty for someone who has never really had a quiet she liked. They’ve always been too haunting. This is comforting.
Stay in Storybrooke where there’s a man with blue eyes and the devil in his smile.
Only in the best way, of course, and she can’t keep her own smile away when thinking of him.
Of this life here.
So she stays. It’s what she feels in her heart is right, even if it means leaving her life in Boston behind. And she’s not staying for Killian. As great as he is and as happy as she is that she’s going to be around him, this is all for herself. After Emma tells Ruby her decision, Ruby is disappointed at first, but she promises to visit and still annoy the hell out of her. Emma doesn’t doubt it for a second.
Killian helps her find a place of her own after she tells him that she’s staying. The smile on his face has never been brighter, even when she rejects his offer to stay in the spare room behind the bar that he can renovate into a bedroom. It’s a kind offer, and she imagines she’ll be there often to spend time in Killian’s apartment, but she needs to do this on her own. It’s a new adventure, and she likes a challenge. Besides, if she and Killian keep flirting and making out like teenagers, she imagines one day she’ll be fine living with him.
Who has she become? Being so hopeful like that.
She likes it.
It’s a year and a half later when she and Killian sign the deed to a house on the shoreline, shutters falling off and porch rotting.
“So, Swan, you ready to fix up our new home?”
His fingers tangle into hers while her lips press into his jawline.
SUMMARY: This is my take on How And When Emma And Killian Got Together.
Three moments in time inside S3, three turning points on their road to each other.
Also known as my entry for @csjanuaryjoy, and my very first foray into canon.
.
AO3
.
A/N: Well. i used to say i can’t write fluff. Or smut. Or canon. @profdanglaisstuff has disabused me of 2/3 of these notions, and is working hard on eradicating the last one. (So, yes, @kmomof4, i might write smut someday. i said SOMEDAY!)
Honey, i owe you everything, but never more than this fic, i swear. ❤
.
THANK YOU @csjanuaryjoy and the discord for the event and the support and the everything! And @ohmightydevviepuu & @shardminds for being the amazing people you are. Especially when you do not laugh at me when i go and have crazy notions.
And most importantly: love and hugs to ALL OF YOU reading The Stories, yes, ALL OF YOU, because you are the wonderfullest and i still cannot believe i was lucky enough to stumble into this fandom. i love you lots, you know.
.
If you want on or off this tag list, let me know! (And seriously - if it’s ‘off’ please don’t worry. Absolutely no hard feelings.)
There are many ‘nevers’ in Neverland. They have to do with the fact that time passes without being spent, the fact that things always stay the same, indefinitely, eternally.
The madness in the eyes of the Lost Boys is not just the madness of the disenfranchised. It is also the madness of lessons not learned, of experience not gained, of lives lived on repeat, lives which never move forward.
He has that look in his eyes sometimes, she has seen it. The look that both guides and enslaves the Lost Boys under the yoke, under the tyranny of the everlasting present. The power of youth is the unquestioning knowledge that life is eternal and you are invincible, and it is the fact that neither is true which gives youth its power.
But in Neverland life is eternal, and it turns this power into oppression, into subjugation, into the iron choke-hold of infinity.
She has seen it in his eyes, now that they are back here in this cursed land; flashes of fear in the face of this fantasy. He is no longer under its spell, but he is afraid.
.
There is the ‘never’ of A One Time Thing. (We will never do this again.)
The ‘never’ of I Never Thought I’d Be Capable Of Letting Go Of My First Love. (I have never been so wrong.)
And the ‘never’ of I Have Yet To See You Fail. (You will never be found lacking.)
She holds on to that last one with both hands.
Until she gets to that tree.
.
.
Neverland is never quiet. It’s not so noticeable during the day, but at night the jungle explodes into the cacophony of creaking branches and calling nocturnals and chirping crickets. Millions of crickets.
It’s a wall of noise.
She climbs up to a bluff above their clearing, away from the people sleeping below her, because doubt and confusion and despair are playing on a loop inside her head, and the wall of noise just amplifies her worry, and the crickets are deafening, and she is losing her mind .
She looks out over the edge of the cliff, down into the endless valley below, black and pulsing with wildlife and danger, and when she turns around, she sees a tree in the clearing,
just a tree,
and she simply steps forward and starts to punch it.
Hard.
With both fists, like it’s a heavybag, like it’s a Lost Boy, like it’s Pan.
.
It’s excruciating and liberating and immensely satisfying and then suddenly a voice from behind her says, “Swan. Stop.”
It’s not loud, his voice. It’s not horrified or startled or accusatory. It’s quiet and soft. “Please, Swan. Stop.”
The moment she drops her hands the pain becomes nearly debilitating. Her hands are bloody and he catches her wrist with his hook and leads her away, makes her sit down at the edge of the bluff. Sits down next to her, and gently takes her other hand.
Puts it on his thigh and then carefully inspects it with the slightest of touches. And then looks up.
“Swan,” he says. “This is serious. Can your magic heal this?”
She shrugs.
“Because otherwise I think I have to go and fetch Regina.”
She’s in pain now, real pain, but somehow the soft touch of his fingertips on her abraded skin and the honest worry in his eyes come together, unlock something inside her, and golden light erupts past agony and doubt and uncertainty. It is so effortless, the way her magic flows when he is near, all warmth and energy and perfect balance, and she has to force herself not to lean into his touch.
When the light fades the pain is gone, and her hands are undamaged.
He smiles. “Well done, love.”
And then he falls silent.
He does not ask whether she is all right. He does not ask what this was all about. He doesn’t pry and he doesn’t intrude.
Just nods and then looks back out into the dark valley below. Still holding her hand.
She looks at his profile and he smiles again, and then turns back to her.
“I know it seems daunting,” he says. “But you will prevail. I know it.”
.
How does he do that?
How does he know her so well that he can just sit here and say the perfect thing, the only thing worth saying; at the edge of this cliff, surrounded by jungle and wilderness and Lost Boys and dark magic and and a tree smeared with her blood behind them?
How?
.
Something inside her clicks into place, a realization of how they fit together, of how he somehow always gives what is missing, a knowledge that cannot be put into words.
Yet.
But it can be put into action.
She leans forward, presses her lips to his, pulls him closer by the lapels, just like the last time, just like the first time, but this time he doesn’t respond, stays rigid before her.
She pulls back and his eyes are wide, and unhappy.
He very gently pulls her hands off his coat.
“No, love,” he says. “Not like this.”
Tears spring to her eyes, whether of sadness or frustration she cannot tell. Probably both.
“Emma,” he says, and wipes her cheek. “Please don’t cry.”
She shakes her head.
“You must know that I do not mean I don’t want you , love. Surely you know by now that nothing could be further from the truth.”
Her voice is a whisper. “It feels like it.”
“Emma.” He looks at her and smiles. It looks sad. “Please listen. Please hear me when I tell you that in a perfect world I would take you right now and show you just where 300 years of experience can take you.”
He cups her cheek.
“But not like this.” His voice is now a whisper as well. “Not as an outlet for fear and anger. Not to release pressure.” His shoulders sag and his thumb brushes her jawline so gently she fears she might break from the sheer reverence behind it. “I need it to mean something.”
.
.
-/-
.
.
It’s not standing at the bow of a ship that brings them together, a league above the choppy waves of an unfamiliar ocean, sailing through thin air on the whim of a shadow, parents and former lovers and a son below deck.
He’s quiet in the moonlight, pensive and silent, just looks to the waters below, black and teeming with wildlife and danger. And then he turns.
“Swan,” he says, and then watches her, studies her, while time grinds to a halt. When he finally speaks, his voice is low. And gentle. “What are you thinking?”
“What am I thinking?” She repeats to herself. And then sighs. “So many things.”
Images rise before her mind’s eye, of Henry, of her parents, of Neal. Of the swirling mess her life has become.
Will become.
She exhales a long breath. “I’m thinking about how I don’t like complication. I think I prefer danger, even.”
He looks at her for a long time before he says, “You prevailed, love. You succeeded. You saved your boy, and your friends, and your family. You left no man behind.” He puts his hand on her arm, squeezes it briefly, and then lets it go. “Take comfort in that.”
.
You left no man behind. She thinks of David. But she is not the reason David is here, on this ship. The man before her is.
He’s also the reason Henry is here, and the reason they have a way home, and the reason she didn’t go stark raving mad in the jungle.
The last one weighs the most.
.
She looks up, thinks of him on the island, always a hundred percent in her corner, ready to listen and to fight and to die, and for what? The fact that they keep needling him, keep making jokes at his expense, keep calling him a pirate as if it were a character flaw? As if it made him less of a person? When he keeps proving them wrong.
When in the end, he is the most decent of them all.
.
“Hook.” She takes his hand. “I need to----”
It is unsettling, his full attention. His eyes focused on nothing but her, his expression so open, his hand so warm in hers.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for my son, and my parents, and-- everything.”
Her eyes are wet, but she blinks it away.
He just looks at her, a small, grateful smile on his lips, and she promises herself to never use the word ‘pirate’ as a denigration again.
.
.
-/-
.
.
They stumble through brush and brambles, lost in the woods at night again, but this is not Neverland. This is not a humid abyss of dangers unknown, no--- this is the Enchanted Forest inside an epic lapse of history, and if they don’t fix this mistake Emma will never be born.
.
It has rattled her cage much more than she’s let on, this guillotine over her head. The prospect of losing everything she has never quite had; all these promises made but never fulfilled, all these endless possibilities always just out of reach, and worst of all, best of all, the realization that---
“He wasn’t you.”
He looks up, stops hacking the underbrush for a moment. “Who wasn’t me?”
She plunks down in the middle of the roughly-cleared space and shakes her head. “Hook. The other Hook. He wasn’t you.”
He sits down next to her, puts down his sword. “Of course not, love. I’m here, after all.”
Emma shakes her head.
“That’s not what I mean,” she whispers. “You warned me, even. You told me that that man wasn’t-- wasn’t you.”
He nods slowly. “I know. This--- it was a long time ago.”
“When I looked into his eyes,” she shudders and he simply takes her hand, starts to rub it gently, but it is not the cold that is making her shudder. “When I looked at him, he was--- he was---”
“Broken,” he says. “Full of old pain and new wrath, consumed by vengeance?”
She nods.
The Hook at the tavern could not have been more different from the man before her. The pain in his eyes was still wrapped in fury, the seduction practised and empty, his charm callous and calculating. She had been a conquest and a distraction, something to while away the dead of night when memories threaten and past ghosts roam free. He had looked at her but not seen her at all, and it had nothing to do with drinks taken.
Not like the man before her now.
He has seen her, seen her , from the first moment on, seen all of her and never feared any part of it. Read her like an open book, time and time again, and believed in her, without hesitation, without doubt.
Liked her for who she was, always.
He stepped aside when he sensed his presence caused her pain, he stayed even when there was nothing for him to gain, he fought and bled and nearly perished beside her and for her, over and over, without getting a shred of hope, of validation, of gratitude in return.
He saw her and loved her and asked her for nothing.
.
He takes her other hand, traces his fingers very gently across where she shredded her skin back in Neverland. There’s nothing to see, not even a shadow of a scar, but his fingers follow the paths of damage from memory.
“Yes, well,” he says quietly, “That man at the tavern, he….”
His voice trails off, and he doesn’t finish. They sit in silence for a long time.
Finally Emma leans forward, catches his eye. “He what?”
She has to know.
Here, in this awful mess she has gotten them into, in this nameless clearing inside a re-forged timeline which might lead her to ruin, she has to know. Her whole life has been building to this point, this point. This one answer.
.
“He what?” she asks again.
And he looks at her, smiles that small, wistful smile of his, and shrugs. “He hadn’t met you, yet, love.”
.
And there it is.
.
She leans forward and presses her lips to his and his frame once again grows rigid under her hands.
She pulls back and looks at him, all iron resolve inside hopeful expectation, and she cannot do this to him again. Never do this to him again.
“Killian,” she whispers, cupping his cheek, and at the sound of his name, his real name, his eyes flutter for a moment. She lets her hand wander to the back of his neck, tangle in his hair, and waits until he’s looking at her again.
It’s still unsettling, his undivided attention.
The way he sees her.
“Killian.” This time a smile spreads across his face, wide and grateful and so, so glad. “It means something now.”
His eyes are storm clouds over a vast ocean, and he slowly runs his hand up her arm, leans his forehead against hers.
“What does it mean?” His voice is shaky and choked and gods help her-- afraid .
She has done this.
She has put fear into this man.
But not anymore. It’s time to stop being afraid. For both of them.
“Everything,” she whispers, and she feels the truth of it as she says it. She has never meant anything as much as this one, small, innocuous word, that weighs more than both of their lives put together. “Everything. ”
.
His mouth comes down on hers, gentle and urgent and desperate and soft and hard and just like the first time, just like the first time,
but better,
but more,
and she feels herself responding and oh god, it’s so perfect.
They fit.
She knew they would.
She has always known.
.
.
And it’s not in the way he slowly takes off her clothing, and not in the way she pulls at his; not in the way he enters her and she’s so ready and they come together as if they’ve been waiting for this all of their lives--- no
It’s in the way he curls himself around her afterwards, shaking and spent and with tears in his eyes, the way he wraps them into her cloak and holds on to her and doesn’t let go---
It’s in his soft kisses to her neck, and the way his hand keeps running up and down her side, and the fact that his hook is still untethered next to them, and he lets her hold his stump, shudders as she kisses it softly and then pulls it to her heart---
It’s in all this that she knows,
knows,
that this is her timeline to write, too, and that she wants to write it
Some future fluff for my first @csjanuaryjoy entry, complete with a Killian turning silver fox and a playfully teasing Emma and toddler Hope. Sorry that it’s evening on my day, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it!!
“Adorable Old Man”
By: @snowbellewells
“Swan!” Killian’s rich voice, more than a bit overloud in their quiet house, boomed within the enclosing walls as if he still thought he was on his ship upon the rolling waves that slapped against its wooden sides. She had talked before about being able to hear him without his bellowing, but as he added, sounding rather out of sorts, “Can you help me for a moment, Love?” she just shook her head affectionately, well aware that some habits were hard to break.
As she neared the living room, she could also hear Hope giggling from where she had set her daughter up on the floor with the coffee table as her work space to spread out paper and crayons. It wasn’t an unusual arrangement, as Killian’s favorite reading spot was the chair in the corner where a window overlooked the harbor, and Hope always wanted to be following her papa around or settled near him.
Emma would not have thought it possible for anyone to be as enamored of her husband as she herself was - but their little girl could give her a run for her money. Hope looked at Killian as though he brought the sunrise and made the waves roll under the ship they both loved. Their little girl was every bit her father’s daughter, and much more pirate than princess. Not that Emma minded - the same could be said of her, despite how royal she might be by birth.
Even at four, Hope had a determined mind of her own - knowing what she wanted and determined to get it, regardless of what might stand in her way. They had tried to make her a permanent drawing table and organized drawers of supplies in her own room, but their wayward miniature buccaneer kept dragging all her paper and markers and crayons out to whatever room Killian settled in and had long since decided it was a battle not worth fighting about.
As Emma came down the last few steps to the first floor and entered the living room, she looked at both her husband and child for a moment, wondering what had amused Hope so much. Her eyes followed her preschooler’s gaze over to where Killian was fiddling with the wall thermostat in agitation. Even from across the room, she could hear him muttering to himself, more audibly than he probably realized. “Bloody cantankerous monstrosity! Can’t be blasted simple and straightforward to control…. Why aren’t you working?”
She tried valiantly - really she did - but it didn’t take long before she was biting back her own humored response to his exasperation. Moving into the room and over to her pirate, Emma winked at Hope conspiratorially and put a finger to her lips, not intending to have Killian catch them both laughing at him.
“Need a little help there, Babe?” she tried gently, a note of jest in her tone despite her best effort. He was simply too adorably flustered to resist teasing. She wasn’t sure why he was trying to crank up the heat anyway; it was unseasonably mild outside for January, not that cold at all. But there he was wearing a wool cardigan that made him look like a professor or an enticing reiteration of Mr. Rogers, bent over the thermostat dial as if he might start shivering and his teeth go to chattering if he didn’t master its function soon.
“Apparently so, Love,” he sighed wearily, taking a step back so she could see what the issue might be. “I’ve turned it up several degrees, and still have yet to hear that wretched furnace come to life.”
She shook her head once again upon seeing that the digital read was at nearly 76 degrees already. “Babe,” she sighed herself. “It’s not an instantaneous reaction. A sensor tells it when the house temperature has fallen below what we’ve set, and then it kicks on to regulate it back to that degree. Are you really still cold? I don’t think it’s fallen below the read out.”
Huffing in indignation, Killian turned those disgruntled baby blues on her mournfully, as if deeply betrayed she hadn’t taken his side. Rather than distracting from the entrancing power those eyes had always held over her, the bifocals he was prescribed about a year ago only seemed to make his glances twinkle all the more - with mischief, fire, or deeper emotion.
Running her fingers back through the tinged grey hair at his temples and scratching them through his scalp, she offered him a small half-smile. The action made a low rumble escape his lips, his forehead fell to rest on her shoulder as the tension in his own relaxed. She could feel him chuckling lightly, realizing how silly it all probably appeared. “My poor old man,” she crooned playfully, unable to resist a bit of teasing at her pirate’s expense. “Circulation failing you after 200 some years?”
With a snort, he pulled back, squinting at her behind those dark frames, mouth falling open at her unexpected jab. “Oi, Swan, watch who you’re calling old!”
He almost set her giggling once more with the knowledge that he had to pull back to focus on her better - just as he had taken to holding the newspaper further from him and back, along with his folio volumes of Yeats poetry and nautical adventure novels.
“Give it up,” she admonished, shaking her head at him as she patted his chest and pulled him over to the couch to sit curled together facing where Hope is still seated cross-legged and watching them rather than her forgotten drawing. “I’ll cuddle and keep you warm.”
Nodding in agreement, Killian wrapped his arms around her as she leaned against his chest, nuzzling her nose into his collarbone. “Bad form, teasing a man about things he cannot change,” he murmured into her hairline, briefly tickling her waist, but as she yelped and wiggled, he stopped, clearly preferring to hold her close.
Hope watched the whole exchange between her parents avidly, a wide smile on her mischeivous face. When her papa looked up briefly to waggle his eyebrows at her and chide her teasingly, “That goes for you too, you little heathen.”
She chortled, “Silly Papa!” her voice unabashed and not in the least put off. She nodded her head, enthusiastically committed to her story now. With a peal of laughter, she gestured at him excitedly as she proclaimed, “Yes, yes...like Mr. Frederickson!”
“What now?” Killian’s brow furrowed in confusion, not understanding the reference and thinking Hope meant a person in town he hadn’t met. He shot Emma a curious look, even as he asked, “Who’s that, Little Love?”
Emma however sputtered with mirth when she realized Hope meant the elderly Pixar character in the movie they watched a few nights back. Her shoulders were shaking in silent laughter, even as she bit her lip against the guffaw struggling to break free. Gaining control after several seconds, she managed to turn to her husband and elaborate. “The cartoon, Babe.... You know, with the house carried by balloons…?”
Her pirate’s eyes widened with surprised recognition, before his head fell forward in playful defeat. So then, he took her as much by surprise as Hope when his face suddenly shot back up as he lunged forward to tickle her wildly. “You take that back!” he threatened humorously. Soon the two of them were on the floor; Hope squealing, Killian growling, and the both of them tickling and pouncing as they rolled across the living room in a tangle of arms and legs.
Eventually, they stopped to catch their breath, and Emma hauled both of them back up onto the couch with her. Lounging comfortably again, Emma mumbled against his cheek, “I hate to say it, but she has a point. All you really need are the hearing aids,” knowing all too well how it would rile her husband up again.
“That’ll be the day, Wife,” he muttered lowly, voice brushing against her ear in a way that made her shiver deliciously and drop all pretense of teasing. Then he was on her and tickling as mercilessly as he had done with Hope.
When she finally escaped and headed for the kitchen to find something for dinner, his pleased retort followed her from the room, “As you can see, I’m still more spry than that Frederickson fellow!”
And that night in their bed, Emma more than conceded that despite his complaints of the cold throughout the day, her pirate generated more than enough heat to keep them both warm until morning.
AN: The final entry of @csjanuaryjoy I'm so happy to be a part of it for the fourth year. Thank you for all the people who contributed to it and all the readers who showed there support.
Thank you @profdanglaisstuff for beta reading this! I am so sorry I forgot to mention it earlier! I really appreciated your help!
Continuation from Part 1: Ao3 FFn
Bad Times, Good decisions
Emma hasn’t had the best holiday season. If she’s honest, it’s been pretty rough.
She was forced to go to Thanksgiving with Mary Margret and David as an apology for completely ghosting them for Halloween. Honestly, looking back, Emma doesn’t know what she was thinking.
Emma knows that they just want the best for her, so avoiding the party and spending the night and day with a complete stranger was just stupid. He could have been a real creep.
“Did you at least have a good time?” Mary Margret asked. “Ruby said you were having a good time.”
Emma nodded. She had, It had been great. “But it’s over. It was just a one time thing, a spur of the moment friendship.” She insisted. Because that’s all Emma can handle. David puffed out his chest in a bit of protective instinct. Mary Margret had simply taken Emma’s hands.
“Emma, those walls of yours...” She says trailing off. “They may keep out pain, but do you think that they might also keep out love too?” She asks. “Maybe this guy is worth lowering your walls for?”
Emma hesitates, considering it, but eventually shakes her head.
“I’m sorry.” She says instead, wishing she could, wishing she had the strength to do as she asked, to be normal for a change. “I don’t think I can.”
But what Emma did have the strength to do was find her bail jumpers, so from Halloween to Thanksgiving, she threw herself head first into her work, so when Thanksgiving came, she welcomed the break to go to Mary Margret’s father’s house for the weekend. She didn’t have to worry about being set up this time as the person Mary Margret had tried before actually wasn’t available.
“He had a girlfriend.” Mary Margret admitted as they’re packing up her pies. “He didn’t realize I was setting him up, apparently she’s not ready for introductions so he was keeping her a secret.” She shakes her head. “I kinda feel bad for trying to set you up with someone not available.”
Emma shakes her head. “It’s fine, you didn’t know.” She says. It would have been a disaster had she come.
Anyway, Mary Margret promised not to invite anyone extra to David’s mother’s Thanksgiving. She thankfully kept her word, and it was just their immediate family. It was sweet and nice, but honestly Emma felt a bit like an outsider there, but she tried not to let it show.
It wasn’t their fault that Emma was so guarded, so defensive against this kind of stuff. It wasn’t their fault Emma couldn’t help but think back to Halloween and wonder how Killian was spending his holiday.
//
Christmas was considerably worse than Thanksgiving. She hadn’t wanted to spend another with Mary Margret’s family, so when her boss offered her a skip the night of Christmas Eve, she took it without hesitation.
The guy was looking for a date on Christmas Eve with his children in a foster home, alone, practically orphaned because of his blatant disregard for their well being. It enraged her to no end.
Perhaps that’s how the guy managed to realize that there was something off with her, and made a break for it.
It ended with her dress torn, the guy handcuffed on his way to jail and an emergency room visit with a busted ankle and broken ribs.
She didn’t see anyone she knew on Christmas, just nurses filtering in and out of her room. The hospital food was a bit better that day, but besides that she spent most of the day sleeping off the pain meds they had given her
David showed up the next day and took her home. He must have apologized a dozen times for not being there, for not being able to get her yesterday, but Emma waved him off.
“You were spending time with your family.” she reminded him. As soon as she gets to her floor and unlocks her door, Emma practically limps on autopilot to her bed. She hears David moving around in her kitchen, no doubt trying to do some cleaning.
“Leave it!” She called, barely able to lift her head she was so tired. “It’s fine...go home...”
“Fine.” David said, approaching the entrance to her bedroom. “But promise you’re going to be there at our New Year’s party?” He asks. Emma furrows her brows.
“Then will you leave?” She asks.
He nods.
“Fine.” She murmurs into her pillow. “But no set up.”
“No set up.” David repeats.
//
The last thing Emma expects is to see Killian is on New Years Eve.
Even further from that, is the call she gets from him two days before New Years Eve. Emma hadn’t recognized the number, but was so bored on her medical leave for her ankle that she’d picked up the phone.
“Emma Swan?” He asked. Emma had gasped at the familiar accent. “It’s Killian. Killian Jones from Halloween.”
Emma nodded dumbfounded, then recalls that he can’t see her. “Yeah, I remember you...what’s up?” Then she kicks herself for saying what’s up like an idiot.
“Well...um...I got myself in a bit of a situation.” She can practically see him scratch behind his ear nervously.
“Do you need bail?” Emma says instinctively.
“What? No.” He responded. “Why would you think that?”
“I’m a bails bond person.” She reminds him. “It’s kinda my job.”
“Right yes, but no. I’m not in jail.” He clarified. “But I do need your help.” He replied. “It’s actually stupid really, but well, are you busy New Year’s Eve?” He asked.
“I’m supposed to go to a party-” She starts.
“Ok, no worries, sorry to waste your time-” He says quickly, interrupting her and seeming very nervous if Emma’s honest.
“Wait, Killian, what is it?”
“Um...well....how would you feel about coming to a party my friend is throwing and pretending to be my girlfriend?” He asks very quickly. It catches Emma completely off guard.
“It’s stupid, I know. Sorry to waste your time-”
Yet again, Emma stops him from hanging up. She definitely needs more details.
“Stop trying to hang up.” She says stubbornly. “And tell me what you’re talking about.”
There’s a long sigh. “Do you remember my friends that tried to match me up with some girl on Halloween? Well to get out of any future setups,I may have told them I had a secret girlfriend?”
Oh my God.
“And I managed to get out of Thanksgiving and Christmas, but now they are insisting that I come to their New Years Party and to bring my girlfriend.”
“Who doesn’t exist.”
“So you see my problem.”
She did, she definitely did.
“I’m sorry to even ask this, honestly I don’t know how I even got into this mess...” He admits.
“Probably has to do with that girl you got snowed in with during Halloween.” She says with a smirk. “And if it helps keep your friends off your back, I can help.” Although Emma doesn’t know why she’s helping, it seems crazy. Absolutely crazy.Besides, she has her own party to go to and if she cancels on David, they are literally going to kill her.
“I just have to make it to my party at some point before midnight.” She tells him.
“I can work with that.” Killian says. He sounds relieved. “How about you come by my apartment around 7, we can prep and then I’ll drive us over.” He offers. “We can get a bite to eat before we head over.”
“Sounds perfect.”
//
The last thing Emma expects is to see Killian is on New Years Eve, and yet here she is knocking on his door.
She hears something crashing in his apartment. “I’ll be right there!” He calls, before pulling the door open.
Killian looked good, that was the first thing Emma noticed, a black button down, even darker jeans. His hair was a little messy but in a way too attractive way.
Emma suddenly remembered why she slept with him before. Twice.
He looks up at her with those blue eyes, bright and happy. “Swan.” he greets, smirking. “You look...”
He is looking her up and down and seemed at a loss for words.
She smirks at him, satisfied that she looked as good as she felt. “I know.” She replies, maybe a bit too smug but it makes Killian grin wider. He steps aside and welcomes her in.
The apartment looks pretty much the same as it had before, but she could definitely smell something absolutely wonderful in the oven. “What is that?” She asks.
Now he’s the one that looks oh so smug.
“Chicken Parm.” He responds, going to the kitchen to check on things as Emma takes a seat at the kitchen island. “I hope you’re hungry.”
(she tries not to think about having breakfast here oh so long ago, or the thoughts that she could get used to a beautiful man cooking her food)
Instead, she just pulls the end of her black dress down and crosses her heels under the stool. “So tell me about this party?” She asks. “And how long have we been dating?” She knows better than anyone that they need to get their story straight before they get there.
“Just a few weeks before Halloween.” He admits. “And they’re my co-workers friends really, but the second they met me they thought I was perfect for a friend of theirs, honestly they’re very nice people.” He insists.
Emma can tell that it pains this man to lie to them, but Emma totally understands the feeling.
“And what do you do?” Emma asks. “Because after all the time we went through, I don’t think I caught your job.”
“Oh, I work at the engineering firm down by the dock.”
Emma nods. It seemed fitting for Killian, he seemed a very organized person.
“Alright Dinner’s ready.” Killian announces, pulling out plates and serving the chicken from the oven, as well as some sauce and pasta from a pot on the stove.
Honestly, the moment Emma tries it she’s blown away. It tastes great.
“You said you work in Bail bonds?” Killian asks after a few bites.
She nods. “Mostly in the recovery.” She specifies. She never really had the eye for the business part of it. She left that mostly for Chloe.
“The recovery...”Killian repeats. “Hold on, you’re a bounty hunter?” He asks in amazement. She shrugs.
“Bail bonds person.” Emma clarifies. “There’s a difference.”
“How does someone get into that line of work?” He asks. It’s an honest question.
“Rough childhood, even rougher early adulthood, I had a...minor infraction with the law...” Emma admits, keeping her eyes on him to see if he was bothered by that detail.
He doesn’t seem to be, he seems completely focused on her, warmth and understanding radiating off of him in waves.
“And a bail bonds person caught me, but I didn’t make it easy.” She’d given Chloe hell before she was finally caught. “After I got my shit together, she offered me a job.”
“Wow Swan, I knew you were a tough lass, but I wasn’t expecting that.” He admits sheepishly.
“I live to be the unexpected.” Killian laughs at that, but by then she’s just about finished her plate. “Alright so I’m guessing you drive us to your party, then about 10 you drop me at mine?” Emma asks.
Killian nods. “Perfect love.”
//
“I have friends who live around here.” Emma admits as they get out of his car.
“Oh?” She nods.
“Would you believe my party is in the same building?” She responds. “I bet there’s a lot of New Year Parties happening tonight.”
Killian nods. “Maybe we can see each other after then?” He asks. “After the ball drops.”
Her breath catches in her throat at the offer. It makes her think that maybe, just maybe the thoughts and feeling she had weren’t one sided “Maybe.” She responds once her voice works properly. “Let’s just get to the party.” Emma states. His head dips and she gets this sudden feeling like he’s disappointed.
Emma suddenly has this feeling like she’s said something wrong but she’s not sure what.
“Aye, shall we?” He says, holding the door to the apartment building open for her.
“Are we good?” Emma says.
“Of course Swan.” He replies all too calmly. Now that was a telltale sign of things being not fine at all. Emma was not going in there with him being all not fine on her. Fake girlfriend or otherwise, it would be a disaster. So once the elevator door closed behind them, Emma made her move. She took a step towards him, stepping into his space
“Spit it out Jones.” She snaps.
So he kisses her. And oh my god Emma forgot how good of a kisser Killian was, and maybe it was better now. Now that she’s not drunk or sad or anything but ready to be a fabulous fake girlfriend for this man.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for the better part of three months.” He says into her neck because that’s where his lips ended up. Her hands were in his hair, his very very soft hair and-
The elevator door opens.
She hears a shriek. Emma opens her eyes and freezes. Killian jerks away but nothing can hide the mess Emma made from his hair, or the bit of lipstick smudged in his lips.
“Emma?!” It’s Ruby. “You’re Jones’s girlfriend?”
Emma looks at Killian, and then back at Ruby, then at the floor number. She was on Mary Margret’s floor.
Oh my god. Emma realizes, she sees the horror on Killian’s face.
They were going to the same party. Where Emma had made David swear not to set her up with anyone because she was chronically single, while also having to pretend to be Killian’s secret girlfriend.
“And Emma’s supposed best friend.” Ruby says, arms crossed. “Emma, why didn’t you tell me you were dating Jones? How did you even meet if you both ditched the set up.
Emma hadn’t even thought about that, hadn’t even considered...
Too much, too much information, too much attention and she desperately wanted to keep kissing Killian. So Emma did the only thing she could possibly think about doing.
Looking Ruby dead in the eye she pressed the ‘close door’ button on the elevator and then randomly pressed another button.
“We are screwed.” Killian said in a breath.
“Absolutely.” She agrees. It doesn’t stop her from continuing to make out with Killian. Not one bit.
“You know we’re going to have to come clean to everyone right?” He says after a moment.
“Yeah.” she says. “But we’ll give a hell of a start to 2020.”
A/N: My second contribution to @csjanuaryjoy ! This is 300% pure Lieutenant Duckling fluff, with Emma being sick and tired of hiding her relationship and Killian being very much in love with her. Special thanks to @shireness-says for her incredible input and letting me bounce ideas off of her, and @ultraluckycatnd for offering another set of eyes. Enjoy!
Summary: Unbeknownst to her parents and her kingdom, Princess Emma of Misthaven has been in love with Naval Lieutenant Killian Jones for a while now, the two of them in a secret relationship that only a few know about. But when The Jewel of the Realm is attacked, Liam and Killian need to spend some time in Misthaven to recuperate, just as King David and Queen Snow take a trip... Is this the perfect opportunity for Killian and Princess Emma to make their courtship public?
Rated T for almost-smut, 11k words
Also on AO3!
Not for the first time, Emma asks herself why she even has to be here. These council meetings are easily the most boring thing she has ever had to endure, none of it ever involving her and none ever of interest to her. Trading with other kingdoms, news of where the wars are taking place, disputes between nobles.
And Emma, Princess of Misthaven, cares about none of it.
Instead, with the words of the nobles around her barely registering in her mind as it wanders, she is thinking about all the things she would much rather be doing right now. She could be in the library, curled up with one of her favorite books, or out riding one of her horses across the pasture. She could be eating lunch, she realizes as her stomach rumbles, pack herself a nice picnic and take it down to the beach, using it as an excuse to go down and watch the ships come in, waiting for her perfect blue-eyed sailor to return from his voyage. Turning back towards her mother near the head of the table, she realizes that her brown eyes are staring right back at her as if she has realized that instead of paying attention to the council meeting, she is focused on something else entirely.
Some one else entirely.
But then her father says something that grabs her attention: “ The Jewel of the Realm has taken some damage and some of the naval officers on board have been injured,” King David says, and Emma feels her stomach flip at the words.
The Jewel of the Realm is the Jones brothers’ ship.
Suddenly, she is very interested in what her father has to say. “They made it to our infirmary today, but it might be a few weeks before some of them are back on their feet, especially the young Lieutenant Jones, who seems to have taken the worst of the injuries.”
It takes everything she has in her to not jump up at his words, leave behind this stupid council meeting and sprint down to the infirmary where Killian is sitting, bleeding, wounded, waiting for her, probably wondering why she hasn’t come to see him yet.
The only thing that keeps her in her seat is the fact that her parents do not know that she is so well acquainted with Lieutenant Jones, that she has been sneaking out of the castle on nights when he is portside for two years, had given herself to him months ago.
That she’s been in love with him for almost a year now, since he showed up at the ball to celebrate her seventeenth birthday as his own surprise, complimented every aspect of her appearance and swept her, quite literally, off her feet and across the ballroom.
And Emma has been careful to make sure her parents know about none of it. The only people that do are the two of them, Emma’s handmaidens, Ruby and Ariel, and most likely Killian's older brother and Captain, Liam.
“This is a rough blow on our royal navy. The Jewel of the Realm is our greatest asset, and Captain Liam Jones is one of the best our navy has. It will take a few weeks to get everyone back on their feet, but then hopefully they will be back at the helm and we will be back as the strongest navy in all the realms.”
King David stands up, pushing his chair away from the table, and the meeting is adjourned. “That’s all I have today. As always, thank you for your time.”
As calmly as she can, Emma stands up from her seat at the table and leaves the council room, but as soon as she is out of any unwanted eyes, she hitches the skirt of her dress up and takes off down the long hallway that leads the back way down to the infirmary. She feels like the journey takes forever, down long, echoing hallways and steep, dark stairways, but as soon as she pushes through the infirmary doors, her breathing heavy and face red from exertion, Mrs. Blue, who runs the infirmary, meets her at the door with a curtsy.
“Good morning, Princess Emma. What brings you by this morning?”
This is, of course, not something Emma had thought about in her rush down to the infirmary. So, as quickly as she made it down here, she comes up with a plan and paints a smile across her face.
“I was told about the naval officers here, so I decided to come down and see what I could offer them by means of assistance. Do you know where I could find them?”
Mrs. Blue smiles at her. “Of course I do, your highness. The Captain and his brother have their own room. Would you like to start there?”
“That sounds perfect.”
Blue leads her between the rows of beds lined against the wall, and she tries her best to smile at each of the men in them as she passes, though many of them are asleep or still being tended to by nurses. Following Blue through the door to their private room in the corner of the infirmary, she sees him lying there, propped up by pillows, his attention locked on to the book on his lap. She wants to run to him, wrap her arms around him, nurse him back to health.
But, again, there are people watching. People that, were she to act on her desires, would not only learn her secret, but would probably give her away to her parents.
So, instead of running towards the Lieutenant, she approaches the bed of Killian's older brother, Captain Liam Jones.
“Good morning, Captain,” she says, smiling down at him, and flashes her eyes towards his brother, whose eyes snap up at the sound of her voice.
“Princess,” Liam says, a smile to match her own growing on his face. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I just heard about your unfortunate injuries, so I figured it was only fitting for me to come down and see what assistance I could offer you and your men.”
“As much as I appreciate your offer, Princess, I think this is a matter much better suited for you and my brother to work out,” Liam replies with a wink and a knowing smile.
Killian must have informed him of some part of their relationship, hopefully no more than necessary. Emma really isn't that surprised—Killian had told her that his brother was his very best friend and hiding their relationship from him was one of the hardest things he ever had to endure, so after his surprise arrival at her birthday ball, he was finally able to reveal his feelings about her to Liam.
“Thank you, Captain,” Emma says as courteously as she can. “Please do let me know if there is anything I can do for you, though.”
“Of course, ma'am.”
Then, trying to keep the smile on her face from growing too large, Emma turns to face the younger Jones brother, Killian.
Her Killian.
“Princess?” Mrs. Blue asks, and Emma tears her eyes from Killian to turn towards her voice. “I'm going to go back to my work, please do not hesitate to let me know if you require anything from me.”
“Thank you, Blue,” she says, turning back towards the door to smile at Mrs. Blue, who gives her one last smile before turning away from the door to their private room and closing it most of the way behind her.
Emma lets out a sigh of relief before sitting down on the bed beside Killian, running her fingers through his dark hair to push it off his forehead.
“Killian,” she breathes, and it takes everything in her not to lean forward and kiss him the way she wants to, but even behind the closed doors of their private room, she has to hold herself together.
“Hello, darling,” he replies, his voice weak, but the smile that forms on his face is still dazzling, reaching his shining blue eyes as he raises his hand up to cup her cheek. She's instantly reminded just how much she loves the smile lines that form around his sparkling blue eyes, the deep dimple that forms in his cheek next to her hand.
“I came as soon as I heard the news, but you should have let me know sooner.” She turns to Liam, who has turned back to his book but still raises his eyes to her over the pages. “How are you? What happened? Is everyone okay?”
“We took some enemy fire not far from the Misthaven territory, and then found ourselves stuck in shallow water unable to avoid being boarded.”
“And unable to use our bloody cannons,” Killian interjects. “Then theirs took our mast down and there was nothing left for us to do but fight.”
“Thankfully, that's something we are fairly decent at, so we held our own well enough, though it wasn't long before another Misthaven ship rescued us.”
“Bloody miracle that was, at least. But they couldn't get there soon enough to save my hand,” Killian says, and when he pulls it out from under his blanket, Emma notices for the first time that it is missing, removed from just below the wrist and wrapped in crisp white bandages.
“Oh, Killian,” she sighs, carefully taking the stump of his arm in her hand, running her thumb over the end of it. “I'm so sorry.”
The corners of his lips try to form a smile, but it only lasts for a moment before it disappears.
“Thank you, Emma, but really, it—it could have been worse. Thankfully it seems to be the worst injury any of the men have taken.”
“Of course, the best fighter has the worst injuries,” Liam says matter-of-factly, flashing a proud smile at his younger brother, one Killian is more successful at returning than the last.
“Thank you, Liam, but I—”
“Don't even try to deny it.” Emma is the one who cuts him off. “You know you are an incredibly skilled fighter, and if anyone can come back from an injury like this, it would be you.” Taking his hand in her own, she mimics his favorite motion and pulls his knuckles to her lips, pressing a soft kiss against them. If she cannot kiss him the way she wants, she would have to make do with other options.
“At least they didn't knock the handsome out of me,” Killian adds, wagging his eyebrows at her, and if Emma had more information about his injuries, known that it would not have hurt him, she would have hit his chest with the back of her hand.
“No one is that powerful,” she says with a smile, tightening her hand around his own, and is about to reach up again to run her fingers through his hair when the door behind them bursts open, causing her to jump to her feet.
“Captain Jones, Lieutenant,” King David announces, a proud smile on his face as he enters the room followed by his wife, but it quickly disappears when he realizes that the Jones brothers are not alone.
“Emma? What are you doing here?” her mother asks.
Emma can feel her face turning red under the sudden scrutiny of her parents, and she quickly pulls herself together enough to answer him without giving anything away. “When I heard that the men on the Jewel had been injured, I came down to deliver my apologies and ask if there was anything I could do to assist them.”
Her father's questioning eyebrow slowly lowers itself down to its regular position, but the rest of his face stays unaltered. “Funny, I was planning on doing the same. How did you get down here so quickly, though?”
“I don't know what you mean, father?”
“You were at the same council meeting I was, in the same location, no more than a handful of minutes ago, yet you seem to have made your way down here fairly quickly to have beaten us by so much.”
“A woman on a mission, I suppose,” she tries with a shrug, hoping her father will drop the subject.
It works.
“You know Captain Liam Jones, then? And his brother, Lieutenant Killian?”
His question catches her off guard, though she does not know why. Her father knows of the few times they have met formally, but that does not stop her from wanting to spill everything right here, to tell him that she is in love with the Lieutenant and wants to spend the rest of her life with him, beside him on his ship and no longer bound to the boring life the castle brings her.
Of course, she can do none of that.
“If you will, sir,” Killian saves her, almost as if he can tell that her words are trapped in her throat. “The Princess and I met at the ball you held in honor of her birthday just over a year ago, and we have met through the court a few times since then.”
“Of course, of course, how could I forget?”
Too overwhelmed by the situation, worried that she could crack at any moment and spill her secrets to her father, Emma takes a few steps towards the door.
“Emma, wait,” Snow says, reaching out to take her by the arm and stop her from leaving. “I actually—since you’re already here, your father and I have something I would like to discuss with you and Captain Jones.”
Intrigued, Emma turns back towards the room, the skirts of her dress flowing around her. “Of course,” she says, the look on her face just as confused as the one on Liam’s.
“Your mother and I have to take a trip to Arendelle to be with Princess Anna as she delivers her child and stay for her introduction. Because we have decided to journey over land after the attack on the Jewel , we may be a few weeks, depending on how long it takes Anna to deliver the child.” He has said most of this to the Captain, but turns towards Emma to ask, “Will you be alright, princess?” calling her not by her title, but by the name he has called her since before she was born.
Sighing, she smiles at her father. “I’m eighteen years old. I’ve been regent more than a few times, father. I’m sure I will be okay.”
And then, King David says perhaps the most amazing thing he has ever said to his daughter, turning back towards Liam: “Captain, I’ve been told your injuries are much better than were originally assumed, so I was hoping to ask you and your brother, the Lieutenant, to assist the Princess while we are gone.”
Trying to hide her excitement at this statement, Emma only allows the beginnings of the smile she feels coursing through her veins show itself on her face.
“Of course, your Highness,” Liam answers, bowing as much as he can from the hospital bed, and Killian mirrors the gesture, trying to hide the smile on his face.
“I appreciate that, father. I'm sure they will both be very helpful.”
Her mother turns to face her, smiling across the room at her before sharing a knowing glance with David. Queen Snow fills the space between her and her daughter, wrapping her in a tight hug. “And who knows, sweetie,” she whispers in Emma's ear, though loud enough that she suspects the whole room hears. “A stronger alliance between us and Arendelle may build itself before we return.”
The smile on the Queen's face tells Emma that she thinks this is the greatest thing in the world, but Emma cannot even begin to explain how much she disagrees. But, looking up at her mother, Emma comes to one conclusion: before her parents return to Misthaven from their journey, she will make her courtship with Killian public, and hope that her father agrees when he returns.
“If you will excuse me,” she says, her hand on the doorknob. “I must continue on with my day. As I said, if there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask.” Smiling at all of them, then widening it as much as she can when she meets the stare of her blue-eyed sailor, she slips through the door and makes her way back through the castle and into her chamber, trying not to think too much about what her mother said.
After she sees her parents off the next morning, she is sitting in the library when Liam comes to visit her, knocking softly on the large wooden door before letting himself in.
“Hello, Captain,” she says, a soft smile spreading across her face.
“Princess,” he greets. “Your maidservant, Ariel, told me that I could find you here.”
“Well, she was right.”
“Aye, that she was.” She watches his Adam's apple bob quickly as he scrubs his freshly-shaven face with his hand. After a moment, he speaks again, his words coming slowly. “I spoke with your parents before they left on their journey, and they mentioned forming an alliance with Arendelle, though to the best of my knowledge, there is no one in that kingdom that would make sense to pair you with.”
Emma drops her pen on the table, then rests her head on the book in front of her, groaning. “Not to mention anyone that I actually want to be with.”
Liam can't keep himself from smiling. “That's a different story entirely, princess. I know that you only have a heart for my brother.” Emma groans again, her forehead still pressed onto the pages. “Which is why I've come to help you.” Emma snaps her head up, meeting Liam's sharp blue eyes.
“What?”
“Your parents will be away for a few weeks, and I would like to use those weeks to make my brother's courtship of you public.”
“I—how did—” she tries, but she can't manage to string any of the words together. So she decides on a single one: “Why?”
Liam fills the space between them, sitting at one of the chairs across the small table from her.
“Why?” he repeats, allowing his smile to take over his features. “Because my little brother loves you, that's why. You have held his heart for a while now, and all I have ever wanted was for him to be happy. So, if you are the answer to it, then I'm going to do all I can to make sure he can be with you as he wants to.”
“Thank you, Liam,” Emma says after a moment, still overwhelmed by everything that has happened so far today, and it's not even dinnertime. “Does Killian know about this?”
Liam's smile widens. “Actually, I figured that he would like it better coming from you.”
“I can't—I can't thank you enough. Is he still in the infirmary?”
“Aye, he is. And I was planning on spending some time in the library.”
Jumping up out of her seat, Emma kisses Liam quickly on the cheek before leaving him in the library, the smile still on his face.
Once again, Mrs. Blue meets her at the entrance to the infirmary and greets her with a curtsy.
“I'm here to see the Jones brothers,” Emma says, trying to stay as professional as possible.
“The Captain left a while ago to run some errands, since his injuries are not as bad as we originally intended. But the Lieutenant is resting in their room, if you would like to go talk to him. If you’ll excuse me, madam, I'm very busy.”
“Thank you, Blue. I appreciate all that you are doing for us and for the kingdom.”
Before the head nurse can reply, Emma takes off down the aisle of the main room, knocking softly on the door of Killian's room before letting herself in. Closing the door behind her, she finds him asleep on his bed, the book he was reading still spread open on his lap. Not for the first time, Emma is taken aback by how perfect he looks when he is asleep, the shadow of a smile spreading across his pink lips and his dark lashes prominent against his cheeks. He looks much more peaceful than he ever does when he is awake, not overwhelmed by the pressure of the navy, of his position, of keeping the kingdom safe.
She sits down beside him on the bed as softly as she can, trying not to wake him. She ghosts her fingers across his cheek, covered with the softest layer of stubble from the past few days, and smiles as he unconsciously leans into her touch. Leaning down, she presses her lips against his forehead, and at this touch, he begins to wake. After a moment, his eyes open, rather confused as he takes in her face, until she sees the flash of realization cross his features and he smiles.
“Emma,” he whispers, reaching up to place his hand over hers on his cheek.
“Hi,” she says back, giving him a smile of her own. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrible, to be honest,” he says softly. “But your being here makes everything better.”
She turns back to the door, making sure she has closed it behind her, and once she is pleased with the answer, she curls her hand around the back of his neck, kissing him as she has wanted to do since he left Misthaven six months ago.
It is everything she remembers his kisses being, though even the memories of them do no good. His lips are soft and gentle against her own, and she can feel his smile form. His hand slides off her shoulder and into her hair as he pulls her closer to him, and though she wants to show him exactly how much she missed him, she is still worried about his fragile state, so she pulls away before either of them can do something they regret, or something that makes his injuries worse.
“I love you,” he whispers as soon as their lips part, rubbing his nose against hers as he slides his thumb across her cheek.
“I love you, too.”
Both of them keep their eyes closed, and stay that way for a few moments, happy to simply be in the presence of the other after the long months since Killian left. But then Emma remembers why she came down here in the first place, needing to tell Killian about his brother’s plans for their courtship.
“Have you talked to Liam recently?” she asks after a moment, pulling away from him just as much as she needs to watch his face, her hands still wrapped around his between them.
“No, he was gone by the time I woke this morning and has not returned since. Why, love? What’s going on?”
She fills him in, tells him about her parents’ trip, her father asking Liam to assist her while they are gone, and her mother’s plan to marry her off to someone in Arendelle, though none of them can quite figure out who.
She watches his features fall at this part of the story, thinking that this is the moment he has been dreading since he learned of her identity two years ago, the moment Emma tells him that yes, she loves him, but her station would never allow them to be together—a fear that he never confessed to his princess, but that kept him awake for nights on end during his journeys. Emma must see something flash across his face—fear, anger, jealousy, sadness—but stops him before he can say anything:
“And that’s why your brother wants to help us. Wants to make our courtship public, and help you get my parents’ permission to finally be with me.”
Whatever emotion was spread across his face, it disappears with her words, quickly replaced with just one: bewilderment.
“What?”
“By the time my parents come back from their trip, we should be able to be practically engaged.”
“Emma!” he says, jumping forward to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug. “This is—this is incredible!” Unable to contain his excitement, he kisses her cheek once, twice, three times.
“It’s all thanks to your brother, actually. And he makes it sound like he has a plan to get it all to work.”
“Well, where is he?”
Emma pulls out of his embrace, setting her hand against his cheek as a knowing smile grows on her face.
“Your brother is in the royal library, conducting some research for the time being.”
His stubble scratches her hand as he flashes her a smile to match her own, catching her drift.
“Sometimes, he proves that he's not always a pompous ass.”
“Just sometimes?”
“Aye, more often than not, that's exactly what he is.”
“You know that it's just because he cares about you, right?”
Killian leans back to cross his arms over his chest. “You've had a few heart-to-heart discussions with my brother recently?”
"AII I have to do is watch the way he looks at you. He has the same caring, overprotective eye that my father always has. He's raised you, Killian. He just wants the best for you."
Sighing, Killian shakes his head, then chuckles. "I know, I know. He loves me, he just wants to protect me, wants to make sure I get the best out of life. But on top of being my brother, he's also my Captain. I know I've said it all before, but I would follow that bloody idiot to my death if it was what he thought was best.”
Emma laughs at his words, though Killian's right: she's heard it all before. But there's something she hasn't heard before. “Killian?” she asks, then waits for him to turn his eyes up to her before she continues. “I know about your hand, but will you— will you tell me about the attack? About what happened to you?”
The corner of his cheek pulls up in a flash of a smile, but it disappears as quickly as it formed. “The Jewel of the Realm is the fastest ship in the realms, so how they caught up with us so quickly is beyond what any of us can comprehend. But as quickly as we saw them come up behind us, they were upon us, running us into the shoals so they could render our cannons useless and board us. I fought off a bunch of them, pushing some off the railing, simply doing what I had to do to defend myself and the men, when this—this thing appeared in front of me, suddenly, in a cloud of smoke. I'd never seen him before, but I'd heard more than enough stories to know that he was the Dark One. We sparred a bit, and he used his magic to tie me up against the mast. I thought—I thought he was going to kill me, but instead, he just laughed, cut off my hand, and disappeared. Him, the enemy, their entire ship. It was all gone, as if it were never there. But my hand was still missing.”
“Oh, Killian,” she breathes, moving to wipe the tears from her cheeks, but Killian's arm moves faster than hers. The only problem is, the arm that he raises is the one that's no longer complete, so his hand never reaches her face. It can't. She reaches out and wraps her fingers around the bandage as gently as she can, smiling at him as softly as she can. “Come here, darling,” she whispers, opening her arms to him, and he leans into her embrace. They stay that way for a while, Killian's breath evening out as Emma takes the opportunity to comfort him, an opportunity that she doesn't get often.
After a few minutes, Killian leans back, pressing his lips against hers as a smile forms. “Do you— do you know anything about dinner, love? I'm starved.”
Emma can't help but smile at him. “Well, you did sleep through lunch. Lucky for you, I'm the princess, so I might be able to scrounge something together for you.”
It takes a week for Killian to heal enough for Mrs. Blue to feel comfortable moving him into a room in the same hallway as the Princess. It is a long week for Killian, only able to see Emma when she comes down to visit him or when Mrs. Blue gives him permission to dine in the Great Hall with her (which is, actually, quite often), but Mrs. Blue is true to her word, and the rooms are prepared for them and ready within the week.
Liam had been in the Misthaven castle before, but never really paid attention to how it was structured; so when he learned that all of the bedrooms beside the King and Queen's we're in the same general location, suddenly his plan wasn't as difficult to enact as he had originally expected.
But getting Killian to write to the King and express his desire to court Princess Emma? That was a little more difficult.
Killian always has had a penchant for overly dramatic vocabulary usage, but apparently, that all went out the window as soon as he picked up a quill to try to compose his letter to King David and Queen Snow.
“Why can’t Emma just write a letter to her parents? Tell them everything, that she wants to be with me, instead of this need to beg for their permission.”
Liam rolls his eyes at his brother, letting out a long, heaving sigh. “I was hoping she would be up for that, but not quite yet. First you must get her parents’ permission to court her, give it a little bit, then she can tell her parents that your feelings for her are reciprocated.” He lets his head fall into his hands as Killian sits at the desk in his new room, which sits directly across the hallway from the Princess's room—just their luck.
“You really have put a lot of thought in this whole scheme, haven’t you, brother?”
“As always, little brother, I just want to watch over you.”
“ Younger brother,” Killian corrects, but continues anyway. “And suddenly, watching over me includes helping me get permission to marry the woman I love?”
Sighing, Liam scrubs his hand at his stubble, his eyes dropping to the floor. When he does start speaking again, his voice is quiet. “This is the least I can do for you, Killy. You lost your hand because of me, an injury far worse than any even I have succumbed to during my time as a sailor. I may never know why that cretin chose to attack you over me, but I do know that I will do all I can to make it up to you.”
“Oh, brother,” Killian breathes, reaching across the space between them to set his hand on his arm. “None of this is your fault. I chose to follow you to the ends of all the earths, and nothing that happens can change that.”
A beat passes between them, sharing identical half-smiles across their faces.
But then, as if too overwhelmed by emotion and embarrassed by it, they turn away from each other, looking around the room to avoid eye contact with the other and both ending set on the paper in front of Killian
“Just describe your emotions , Killy,” Liam says.
“My emotions do not have very much experience in telling my King that I want to marry his daughter,” Killian says through gritted teeth, just as exacerbated with this activity as Liam.
Suddenly, Liam bolts up in the chair, resting his hand on Killian's healing arm, struck with an idea. “Then don't write to King David,” he says, a smile growing on his face as if this makes the most sense in the world.
“Is that really supposed to help me, Liam?” Killian asks, impatient, but it doesn't phase Liam.
“Instead, write to the Queen. Tell her about your feelings, your want to care for her daughter. Forget about writing to the King, if that's what overwhelms you. Write from the heart. I know you know how to do that.”
Liam waggles his eyebrows at his brother with the last sentence, but Killian doesn't even see him. Suddenly, he knows what to say, how to say it.
He has already won Emma's heart, he just needs to win her parents’.
Her Majesty, Queen Snow,
To say that I am thankful for all the assistance my brother and I have received through your court at Misthaven is nowhere close to the sentiment I wish to extend to you. Since my brother the Captain’s ship was attacked and boarded by the enemy, we have been given nothing but the best treatment by the members of your court. While the injury I sustained during the attack on the Jewel of the Realm is far from the first I have taken in the name of the Royal Navy, it is certainly the worst, and though I will forever be without my left hand, Mrs. Blue has extended the most thorough care I have ever had the pleasure to receive.
But without a doubt, the greatest part of the care I have received during my time here is the time I have been able to spend with your daughter, Princess Emma. She is the most caring, passionate, and incredible individual I have ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with—and, given this, I hope that you understand my quickly growing affection for her. The time that I have been able to spend in her company has been the highlight of my days, and, given that she returns the same affection, I would like to ask your permission to court her and spend the rest of my days with her by my side.
I know that I may not be the royal connection you may have hoped to forge with her, but I do hope that you would be able to see the benefits of having your daughter marry an officer in your own Navy, who has always been loyal to your kingdom and your cause. If I am given permission to act on these desires and marry your daughter, I can assure you that I will carry that same loyalty and passion into my devotion to her.
Again, my brother and I cannot begin to express our thanks to you and your husband for all you have done, and continue to do, for us and our men in this time of healing.
Awaiting your response,
Lieutenant Killian Jones
After Emma reads the letter the next morning at breakfast, he sends it off to Arendelle via courier, telling him to take his time, he will be paid for four days’ travel so he should take all four.
Three days later, however, Ruby finds Emma in the dining hall with a letter from her mother, delivered her normal way: via bird, who let itself into the open window of Emma’s chamber. The letter is not a very exciting one, just informing Emma that they made it to Arendelle just as Anna was going into labor, so it will be only two days until his formal introduction and they can return home.
It’s less time than Emma was hoping for, so she decides at dinner that night that she will be composing her own letter to her parents, telling them that she has accepted Killian’s advances and allowed him to begin courting her.
But when she sits down at her desk that evening, all she wants to do is tell them the truth.
Killian must sense that she is having difficulty, and he pushes himself up off her bed to cross the room to her desk, where he kneels beside her.
“Emma, love,” he says softly, reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand. “Tell me what you want to tell them, and we can work together to continue on from there.”
Emma throws the pen down on her desk, splattering ink over the top piece of paper, and holds her head in her hands. “I want to tell them the truth, Killian. I want to tell them that no marriage alliance they can bring back from Arendelle will do any good because I already know who I want to marry, who I want to spend the rest of my life with, whether they like it or not.” Her words spew out, much faster than she wanted them to, and then she spins in her chair to face him. She opens her mouth to speak, but when she meets the brightness of his eyes, her words are stuck in her throat.
He smiles at her, a perfect, marvelous radiance that Emma is entirely sure could be the only sense of light for the rest of her life and she would be perfectly content.
“What I want,” she says finally, her words much softer this time, reaching out to wrap her arms around his neck. “Is to tell them that I love you.” The last words come out as a whisper, and she leans forward to press her lips against his cheek. “That I have loved you for longer than even I know,” she continues, kissing his other cheek before she adds, “And there is nothing they can say to change my mind.” Pressing her forehead against his, she rubs the very tip of her nose against the tip of his, and in the softest whisper yet, says, “I’m yours, Killian. All yours, and only yours.” By the end, her words are not more than a breath, soft against the skin of his cheek.
Tightening her arms around his neck, she crashes her lips against his, showing him every drop of the passion for him that she has held since she first saw him in the infirmary two weeks ago.
Since she said goodbye to him before the last time he took off six months before, leaving him in his cabin on the Jewel when she had to return to the castle before suspicion arose on her absence. When she was finally able to show him just how strong her love for him was.
Since her birthday ball just over a year ago, when she realized that she was completely and absolutely in love with him.
“Emma,” he mumbles from beneath her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and he stands up to bring her with him. He pulls her body flush against his, too many layers of clothing between them as he tightens his arms around her, his left pulling her waist against his and his right finding its way into her hair.
Their kiss deepens, finally allowing them both to show the affection they've been holding back since the moment Emma locked eyes with him in the infirmary, and the feeling of her tongue sliding against his is enough to send Killian's heart pounding out of his chest—and his blood pounding to other parts of him.
“Gods, how I've missed you,” he says, though his lips never leave hers, his voice a low growl against her skin. “I have never stopped thinking about you, not for a single moment.” He runs his lips against her jaw, pressing soft kisses between each word, but it's not enough. Yes, they're together, she's back in his arms, but it's not enough . He pulls away from her enough to look her in the eye, and seeing the look on her face, her deep blush and her darkened green eyes, lips beginning to swell from all he has done to them already, he can only imagine the similar look that must cover his own face.
“Emma,” he whispers, his voice suddenly a different timbre of wanting, filled with sincerity and vulnerability instead of sheer passionate desire. “Emma, love, tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Everything I am is yours, I have been only yours since the moment we met.”
Somehow, though she can still feel the hard ridges of his body against hers (one particularly harder than the rest, and more prominent), she watches the darkness of his lust-filled eyes soften when he speaks, the sincere sparkle returning as he bears all of the heart he has to give to her.
“ Please , Killian,” she whispers, one hand pressed against his cheek while she uses the other to pull herself closer to him, longing to feel him against her, beside her, inside her after what feels like forever, then presses her lips against the skin just below his ear. “Take me, show me I'm yours,” she says, her breath hot against his neck, then kisses his jaw again, her lips running soft kisses down his neck as her fingers find the buttons of his shirt, and pushes him back towards the bed one step at a time.
He finds her mouth with his again as he reaches behind her and begins to undo the buttons of her dress before he remembers that he has one less hand then the last time he had to loosen buttons. She feels him falter for a moment, a flash of worry passing over her face, and though it caught him by surprise, he is quickly able to learn that he only needs one hand to undo the buttons, unlike the opposite, and smiles devilishly at her as he makes his way down her back.
“No worries, love,” he says, but has no idea how he manages to get his voice to sound even. “Nothing can keep me from those perfect breasts of yours.”
Rolling her eyes at his comment, she laughs, but as if on cue, he releases enough of the buttons that he can pull her dress down and off her chest, revealing the perfect breasts in question.
“See?” he asks but gives her no time to respond before flicking his tongue against one of her quickly-hardening buds before taking it in his mouth. Though every movement of his tongue makes it harder for her to concentrate, she manages to finish unbuttoning his shirt and pushes it off his body just as the back of his knees hit the bed, and he spins them around quickly to put her on the bottom, pulling her dress the rest of the way off before climbing up beside her.
“You're bloody beautiful, darling,” he says, his teeth finding her earlobe as his fingers slowly crawl across her breasts and down to her stomach, but no further than that. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”
As much as she appreciates the sparks his fingertips send through her body, the way her skin heats up as he slides his lips down her neck, across her throat and onto her breasts, covering every inch of them with hot, wet kisses before using his teeth to play with her nipples, which he quickly learns drives her mad with need— it's not enough.
“Killian,” she begs, tightening her fingers around his hair, and he turns his eyes up to hers but keeps his mouth on her. “ Please , Killian, I need you.”
Now he releases her, but only to smile at her, watch her reaction as his hand leaves her chest and slides painfully slowly down her stomach to where he knows she is aching for him. “Uh, uh, uh,” he says, shaking his head with each syllable. “I've never been able to fully worship you the way I long to before, and now that we have the time and no fear of interruption, I intend to take my time with you.”
Intrigued but confused by his words, she has no idea what he is talking about, but she does know that the few times they were able to be together before this one they were pressed for time and only in a semi-private cabin on a naval ship. She shudders at his words, her excitement growing without even knowing why, but it gets lost when his fingers dip down between her legs and cover themselves with her wetness before running slowly through her folds. She has only ever done this to herself before, following written instructions from Ruby that she asked for in an especially embarrassing conversation, but feeling Killian's fingers against her is better than anything she had ever done herself.
Every movement he makes against her skin moves her closer to ecstasy, but it is not until she feels him dragging slowly inside of her that she sees stars. With his hand between them assisting her, she comes quickly, his name as whisper on her lips, and he follows quickly behind her.
Once they settle in against each other, it does not take long for Killian to drift into sleep beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and her head on his chest, and she can feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath under her hand, the soft beating of his heart in her ear.
She runs her fingers across the dark hair covering his chest, trying to match his long, slow breaths with her own, but her mind is moving at a mile a minute.
For two years, she has been avoiding the reality of having feelings for a sailor, knowing in the back of her mind that one day, her responsibilities would catch up with her and she would have to give up the fairy tale she was secretly living. Marriage for the Princess of Misthaven was to formulate allies, to strengthen relationships with other countries, but never for love.
Until her parents, that is. Her mother had become Queen as a young teenager when her mother passed away, had ruled on her own for ten years before her counselors even dared to bring up the prospect of marriage. Snow just laughed at them and asked if anyone had any concerns that she actually cared about. Snow met David a few years later, a shepherd who came to the palace in an attempt to settle a land dispute, and it was love at first sight. Queen Snow was the first woman in the history of Misthaven to marry for love.
But even still, Emma never imagined that she might actually be able to follow in her mother's footsteps. She and Killian spent two years avoiding the reality of their situation, foolishly falling deeper and deeper in love every time they saw one another.
Killian mumbles something in his sleep, turning his head until she can feel his breath hot on the top of her head, and she decides that she doesn’t care. There’s nothing that her parents can do now that would change her mind, nothing her mother can say in response to Killian’s letter that will make her able to love anyone other than her Lieutenant, the one that she has already given her whole heart to.
When she wakes up in the morning, she tells herself, the slow beat of Killian’s heart finally lulling her to sleep, she is going to write the letter she wanted to write tonight, no matter what. She is going to tell her mother that she has already decided on her future, and there is nothing either of her parents can do to change it, Princess of Misthaven or not.
Emma has always been the one to sneak away in the middle of the night, pressing a soft kiss to Killian’s temple before sliding off the bunk and padding across the wood floors of the room and of the deck in her bare feet until she got back to the dock. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to wake up next to him in the morning: in truth, she wanted nothing more than just that. But she was still the princess, and still had duties she needed to see to in the morning.
So when she wakes up and rolls around to nuzzle closer to Killian, she’s incredibly surprised to find the other half of the bed empty. Pulling the covers further up over her, she lets out a soft groan and stretches out her legs.
“Good morning, darling,” she hears from across the room, soft words just above a whisper, and she slowly opens her eyes, letting them adjust to the morning sun.
Slowly, she looks around the room, her vision still blurry from sleep, and it takes a few moments before she finally finds Killian, who has perched himself in a chair under the open window, a book spread open across his thighs.
“Are you always up this early?” she mumbles, her words barely coherent, but he closes the book and makes his way back to the bed.
“Aye, love,” he says, sitting down next to her and pushing her hair off her forehead. “It’s something you grow accustomed to when you grow up on the seas as I did.”
“Good to know,” she replies, scooting herself across the mattress to nuzzle her face into his stomach, reaching her arm up to scratch her fingernails through the hair covering his chest—both of which, thankfully, he has left uncovered.
“Also, I got a letter this morning?” Killian says, though the question in his voice is unmistakable. “A, uh, bird delivered it to the window?”
At this, Emma sits up, pulling the covers up against her chest, and Killian stands up again to find the letter on her desk where he left it.
“From my mother.” Unlike Killian, Emma’s voice has no question in it. No one else delivers letters by bird. “But she… delivered it to you?”
“It had my name on it, but yes, it came to this window.”
Emma sighs, running her hands through her hair to push her curls out of her face. After a moment, she asks, “Did you read it?”
“Of course I bloody read it! It had my name on it! However, I am unsure of what to make of it.”
“What does that even mean?”
His eyebrows raised halfway to his hairline, he shakes his head quickly a few times while handing her the letter. “Just take a look yourself, love.”
She can't help herself: she reads it out loud. “Lieutenant Jones, my husband and I are exceptionally grateful for your formal request for permission to court the princess. In response to this, there is really only one thing we can say: good luck .
“Our daughter is nothing if not hard-headed, but I can say with full confidence that if anyone would be able to get through to her, it would be you, since I have a feeling that any approach made by you would be excitedly accepted.
“On a less formal note, Lieutenant, my husband and I hope that you and your brother are healing rapidly and well. We are looking forward to discussing our plans for the future when we return to Misthaven within the next few days.”
After reading her mother's last words, Emma drops her jaw and the letter to her lap, turning her eyes up to Killian, who is standing next to the bed and eagerly awaiting a response.
“What… does this mean?” Emma asks, the words coming out slowly and dripping with disbelief, but she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face as she realizes what it does mean.
It means Emma and Killian do not have to hide their relationship anymore, and they take advantage of that in every way over the course of the next week. All their meals are shared in the company of one another, whether they be with others or not. On two different occasions, Killian packs them a picnic and takes her out to the fields beyond the castle; and three days in a row, Emma convinces him no, of course she’s not needed in today’s council meeting, they should absolutely take the horses out for a ride through the wood.
They walk through the market hand in hand, Killian wearing the new trousers and shirts that Liam insisted on buying for him so he could wear something other than his uniform, especially now that he will be spending more time in the court. Killian introduces himself to the shop owners who smile so sweetly at Emma.
To the knowledge of far fewer people, Killian spends every night in Emma’s chambers, sometimes worshipping her with his fingers and his mouth before finally taking her, sometimes simply wrapping his arms around her and holding her against him until the sun starts to peek through the windows.
And then, it happens. Eight days have passed since Killian received Queen Snow’s letter, and they are down in the kitchen putting their own lunches together when the courier rushes in. Will, her father’s personal courier, pushes through the doors to the kitchen, fully out of breath and his face as red as his tunic, and Killian and Emma both turn towards him.
“Princess!” He gets out between deep, heaving breaths as he leans against the doorway. “Your parents will be home in thirty minutes. They sent me ahead to see if you and the Jones brothers would be available for lunch with them in the garden.”
“Of course,” she says slowly, still trying to come to terms with the reality of actually having to talk to her parents about her relationship with Killian.
Because there’s no hiding from it anymore, no avoiding it. The moment of truth is just thirty minutes away, so close she can feel it on the tip of her tongue just as much as the grape she ate moments before.
“Emma, love?” Killian asks softly, his hand finding the small of her back, and as she turns her eyes up to him, she realizes all her worry must be painted on her face.
Turning back to Will, she nods a few times, then smiles. “Of course,” she says again. “Thank you, Will. I will make sure we have everything we need for their return.”
“Thank you, Princess,” he says quickly, his breath still heavy, but bows quickly and turns away from the kitchen, disappearing through the doorway.
Emma gives him a few extra moments to make sure that he is out of earshot before turning quickly to Killian, and she can only imagine the state of bewilderment spread across her features.
“Half an hour?!” She throws her hands in the air as she begins pacing in the small space around her in the kitchen. “Half an hour,” she repeats. “Nothing at all from them for eight days, no response to my letter that I poured my heart into, and then they give us half an hour before they come home? That’s not nearly enough time! We need to think , we need to figure out what the hell we’re going to do —”
Turning to Killian, her words stop completely, her mouth still open with the rest of her ramblings, but seeing him standing before her, coolly leaning back against the counter with an apple in his hand and a smile on his face, the words stop suddenly, her anxiety quickly replaced with confusion.
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you freaking out, Killian?”
In no hurry whatsoever, Killian sets the apple back down on the counter, then fills the space between them with two long steps, reaching out to cup her face with his hand before softly pressing his lips against hers.
“Because,” he whispers, his forehead resting against hers. “I love you, and you love me. We have your parents’ permission. Nothing can take that away from us. There is nothing for us to worry about, darling.”
Closing her eyes, she takes a long, deep breath, snaking her arms around his neck as her face finds the crook of his shoulder.
“You’re right,” she whispers, then smiles against his neck. “You’re always right. I just—sometimes I forget that we’re actually getting the outcome I have been dreaming of since we first met, the outcome that I never thought would become a reality. It’s still taking some getting used to.”
“Aye, love,” Killian agrees, pressing his lips against her temple as his fingers play with the ends of her hair low on her back. “But we’re getting it , you need to remember.” He wants to reassure her more, wants to tell her just what he and Liam have planned for their dinner with her parents— damn, he would kiss every inch of her if he thought it would make her feel better.
But she is right about one thing: they don’t have enough time for that. So instead, he pulls her tighter against him for the few moments he knows they can spare, then pulls his head back to look at her. “I have some things of my own that I need to take care of before your parents arrive, but I can meet you outside your room in twenty minutes and we can walk down to the garden together?”
Though the lines on her face make her stress obvious, she still manages to smile at him before pulling his lips down to hers. “Sure, that sounds perfect.”
He kisses her again, a lingering press against her lips full of excitement for their future together, before turning on his heel and leaving her there.
By the time Emma and the Jones brothers climb the stairs that lead to the pavilion in the garden, Emma can swear that only a few moments have passed since Will approached them in the kitchen and not the full half-hour, but her parents are already waiting there, lunch spread out before them courtesy of Ariel and one of the kitchen servants.
For the most terrifying of moments, Emma’s arm tightens around Killian’s when she notices the harsh gaze of her father, but when she focuses instead on her mother, the Queen’s face covered with a smile so wide the tip of her nose crinkles up, she feels her stress almost melt away, and she rushes across the space between them to wrap her in a tight hug.
“Welcome home, mother,” she says at the same time Snow whispers, “Congratulations, sweetheart.”
David shakes both Killian and Liam’s hands, then trades places with his wife to hug Emma.
While they begin preparing their plates with the food spread in front of them, a thick, nervous air settles over the table. But, to no one’s surprise more than Emma’s, David is the one to break it.
“Anything of note happen while the Queen and I were away?”
Liam clears his throat, stifling a laugh, and shares a glance with his brother before turning back to the King, and Emma knows that her mother watches as she smiles at Killian.
“Just the, uh, regular, every-day happenings of a kingdom,” Liam says, followed by a quick sip of his water, then nudges Killian’s arm as he glances over at him again. “Right, brother?”
“Yes, that’s, uh—that’s r-right,” he sputters, then realizes he has been slouching and adjusts.
The Queen chuckles under her breath, just loud enough for the rest of the table to hear before trying to cover it with her glass of water.
A moment passes between the table, Emma and Liam both letting out breathy, knowing laughs, but Killian stands up after this moment just as David asks, “Okay, did I miss something?”
As if avoiding David’s question—or, more likely, failing to hear it, Killian blurts out, “I would like to marry your daughter.”
“Finally,” Snow says, at the same time as David’s “I beg your pardon?”
Emma’s eyes go wide, staring across the table at her smiling mother, but Killian’s gaze is locked on the King, who can’t decide who to look at. “What?” they say in unison.
All Liam can do is laugh.
“Your-your daughter…?” Killian says, though it almost comes out as a question. “You— or, your wife , she— she said that I could—”
“Come on, David,” Snow says, stopping Killian’s words both with her own and with her hand reaching across the table to set it on his arm. “We saw this coming.”
The King finally sets his gaze on his wife, but when she sees the serious expression covering his face, her smile falters for just a moment.
“I thought you knew,” she says softly.
Liam’s nervous laugh taking over the table once more, and when Killian sits back in his chair, Emma’s hand quickly finds his under the table.
“Why would I know?” David asks, finally realizing that, while he may have missed something, his wife has not.
Snow just shrugs, but after a second, her dam breaks and she begins to laugh. “Everyone else knew. I assumed you did, too.”
“Why would you just assume I know? Why haven’t you said anything?”
Emma laughs at this, but when David’s head snaps towards her, she stops.
“How long has this been going on?” he asks, but before she answers, she turns to Killian for just a moment.
“Two years,” she says—
But, at the same time, her mother says, “Since her last birthday.”
A moment too late, Emma realizes her mistake. “My last birthday,” she tries to correct, but her mother heard her own answer.
“Two years?” Snow asks. “When did you meet him? I thought you met at the ball.”
“We met a few times before then,” Killian answers when he realizes that Emma has been struck silent with her last answer. “Saw each other through court appearances and around the town. But it wasn’t until her birthday ball that we really realized our feelings for each other.”
Nodding slowly, David turns to Liam, then back to his wife. “And you knew about this, Snow?”
“Of course I knew,” she says quickly, trying to dispel the nervous embarrassment that is painted across both Killian and Emma’s face. “I thought everyone knew. I thought it was obvious, just seeing them together, and I suppose I just assumed that you noticed the change, as well.”
David nods again, his deep breath obvious in the rise and fall of his shoulders, but he finally leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. After a moment, though, his expression shifts back to confusion, and he turns to his wife, his tongue slowly wetting his bottom lip, and his mouth hangs open for a moment before he finally asks what is on his mind:
“I thought you said there was someone in Arendelle you wanted her to marry?”
Snow laughs, a soft, bright thing, and turns to her husband, her laughter showing her disbelief in learning just how oblivious he really is to the whole situation. “Who in Arendelle did you want me to marry her to? One of Kristof’s cousins? The new prince ?”
David just shrugs, a dark pink hue quickly taking over his face when he realizes his mistake. “I figured you had some sort of plan, I was just going to go with it.”
This perks Liam up, and he finally speaks: “What was your plan in Arendelle, your majesty? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Snow turns to the older Jones brother, a large, radiant smile taking over her face. “Of course I don’t mind, Captain. My plan was to get Emma to confess her true feelings by making her believe I was going to come home with a marriage arrangement. Before I received your letter, Lieutenant, I was planning on writing one of my own trying to convince my daughter that it was time to think about who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, hoping that you would be her answer.”
Looking around the table, Snow finds everyone a little dumbfounded by this, both Liam and Emma’s mouths agape, and David scrubbing his hand against his face as he tries to put everything together. Killian alone seems to understand, his hand sliding out of Emma’s and into his pocket, smiling across the table at the Queen.
“So, this means…” he says, and Snow nods across the table at him.
When he stands and kneels next to Emma, her mouth snaps shut, her bewilderment replaced with pure, incandescent happiness, especially when he holds up the ring that he had in his pocket. Emma recognizes it from the one Liam wore around his neck, given to him by their mother before her death.
“Well, then,” he says, a smile slowly growing across his face, which is still painted with nervousness. Emma notices his hand is shaking, and she reaches out to take it, but not before he can begin to ask: “Emma, will you do me the greatest pleasure of becoming my wife?”
“Of course!” is all she can say in response before Killian leans into her and crashes his lips against hers, forgetting for a moment that Emma’s parents and Liam are watching them, before pulling away just enough to find her hand and slip the ring on her finger.
It all happens so quickly—their engagement announcement to the kingdom, their small wedding just a month later, the King and Queen’s gift to them being Killian’s promotion to Captain and his very own ship, which they take on a voyage through the realms as a honeymoon that doesn’t have an end date, no reason for Killian and Emma to return with Liam back at the helm of the Jewel and the Dark One in a cell in Camelot.
Only a few months pass before Emma learns she is pregnant, returning home for the last few weeks before their very own daughter is born, and they are back on the sea in time for her first steps, raising their little Margaret— Maggie, my sweet cygnet , as Killian liked to coo to her as he rocked her to sleep.
Sure, one day they will have to return to Misthaven, Emma as the Princess and Killian as Prince and Captain in the Royal Navy; some day beyond that, they would have to return as King and Queen. But for now, all they have to be is Emma and Killian, happy, together, and terribly in love, finally having everything they ever dreamed of having.
A/N: Here she is, folks! My (not so little) contribution to this year’s CS January Joy. First, several thank you’s: to the mods over at @csjanuaryjoy for hosting the event and allowing me to interact with some pretty spectacular people. Speaking of which, a massive shoutout to everyone I’ve had the pleasure of meeting through the JJ Discord chat; I’ve so enjoyed making new fandom friends and having the most random conversations that never fail to make my day. Third, much love to @wellhellotragic and @ultraluckycatnd for beta duties and helping me come up with an end result I’m super proud of. You’re all fantastic humans.
Summary: Consumed by grief after the deaths of his brother and fiancée, Killian Jones has spent the past three years on the verge of being a recluse until a late night encounter with his next door neighbor and her dog changes his life in ways he didn’t think were possible.
Rated T |no major TW’s, although some excessive drinking and discussion about death
AO3
Killian Jones considered himself to be a lot of things. A Brit, for one; that fact was made obvious by both his accent and his habitual use of phrases such as “rubbish,” “knackered,” and “car park” despite having lived in the States for over three years. A professor who spent most of his afternoons during the week lecturing freshmen and sophomores on British lit during the twentieth century. A Sagittarius, although he had no idea what that dictated outside of his date of birth. A borderline alcoholic who often had to force himself away from the bottle when memories of his late brother and fiancée became too much to bear.
But one thing Killian was not, was an animal person.
Don’t get him wrong, he had no desire to see an animal hurt or hungry. But he’d never been the kind of person who always wanted to have a pet or to fawn over other people’s (when he spent time with other people, that is.) He just didn’t see the appeal in having a companion around who couldn’t fend for themselves and had to be taken care of on a regular basis. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that his father hadn’t allowed pets when he and his brother were growing up, and even if they wanted one, they wouldn’t have been able to afford it after he and Liam were on their own.
He could tell that his neighbor, however, did not share his feelings on animals. Killian had actually never met the woman who lived in the apartment next to his in the six months since she’d moved in, aside from briefly glimpsing her one night when he was struggling to unlock his door after a few too many drinks and she’d stuck her head out to see what all the noise was about just as he stepped in and shut the door behind him. But the signs were there all the same: a mat in front of her door that read “Hope You Like Dogs,” the presence of paw prints all over the ground outside whenever it rained or snowed, and the high pitched barking he heard when there was any kind of noise or commotion out in the hallway. Whoever this woman was, her dog desired to keep her well protected.
But she, like most of the people Killian was surrounded by on a regular basis, remained a mystery to him, one he never tried to crack or even look into if it required any type of interaction on his part. The isolation had started after Liam’s passing, but increased drastically after he lost Milah a year and a half later. The friend groups and social gatherings he’d once found enjoyable soon became painful reminders of everything he’d lost, memories of their presence around old friends and at the local pubs they frequented the most no longer tolerable. It was the biggest motivation behind his leaving everything in London behind and moving across the pond less than two months after Milah’s death. He’d found himself in Boston in a small apartment big enough for him and his books, where he still remained.
His primary interactions in the three years since had been limited to his colleagues and students at the university (and only in the moments when his job required it) and the bartender at a local pub who now prepared his preferred rum as soon as he walked in the door and placed it in front of him without comment. Killian was more than aware that his existence had turned into a depressing one, but he often lacked the desire or motivation to make any changes. Making new friends was a foreign concept to him now, as was dating; even if he felt comfortable with the idea of being with someone who wasn’t Milah, he wouldn’t know what to say to a woman over dinner or drinks now if his life depended on it. Which is why he kept to himself in the apartment, leaving mostly just for his weekly lectures, trips to the store, and visits to the bar that he made a slight effort to minimize now and then. It was better that way- at least, that’s what he told himself on nights when the loneliness began to make its way back in. It was better he keep from burdening anyone else with his grief and evident lack of current social skills thanks to everything he’d lost.
It was New Year's Eve that threw a wrench into his life and made a bigger change than he ever could have bargained for. Killian arrived home from the bar in an Uber just after two, not quite plastered but not sober enough to trust himself behind the wheel. He dragged himself up the stairs and to his door, and, as he did on many nights like this, struggled to tell which key was the right one. It shouldn’t have been hard considering there were only a handful on his keyring, but they all looked alike and he never remembered to mark this one with something to identify it from the rest.
He was on his third try, mumbling something about the “damn bloody keys” when the door next to his opened and out popped his neighbor, wearing pajamas and square-rimmed glasses, blonde hair pulled into a knot on top of her head.
“Everything all right out here?” she asked, green eyes shining with emotion. Whether it was anger or concern would have to be reassessed when he was sober.
His reply was cut off by a loud bark coming from inside her apartment. “I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking that question to, lass.”
She ducked back into the apartment and came back with a still barking dog squirming in her arms. “Sorry about that. You were kind of making a lot of noise, and Wills doesn’t get that not everyone who breathes out here isn’t out to get us.” The dog, Wills, he presumed, was on the small side, more so stature than in weight. His fur was a golden blonde color a few shades darker than his owner’s. It looked at Killian incredulously as if assessing whether he could be trusted. “It’s just Killian. You can calm down,” she told it, scratching the fur behind his pointed ears.
“Pardon me, but how exactly do you know my name?”
“Your mail has ended up in my box a few times, and there’s only been one marked as K. Jones when I’ve gone to put it in the right box.”
“Oh. Erm, that’s very nice of you, Miss, um…” he trailed off, feeling somewhat embarrassed that this woman knew his name and he didn’t have the slightest hint of hers.
“Emma Swan. And this is Wills.” She shifted the dog to one arm and held her free hand out to him. Killian took it awkwardly, letting go after what seemed appropriate only for the dog- Wills, he supposed- to start licking his hand excitedly. The odd feeling of the dog’s cold tongue on his hand caught him off guard and he stepped back, pulling his hand away and wiping it dry against his jeans.
“Chill out, kiddo. Not everyone’s as affectionate as you are,” Emma said to the dog, who then began licking her cheek with the same fervor. “I’m sorry,” she told Killian, “he loves people and tends to get a bit carried away when he’s excited.”
The random affection from his neighbor’s dog was more personal than any interaction he’d had in years, not to mention whatever kind of conversation he was having with her. “Yes, well, if you’d excuse me, I’d best be turning in.” He turned back to his door, and, after finally selecting the right key, disappeared into his apartment without another word to Emma Swan.
Killian woke the next morning with an awful hangover and an inkling that his neighbor and her dog were not his biggest fans. He couldn’t say he blamed them.
His next semester of classes began without preamble, welcoming new groups of students that were either excited for the course materials, or couldn’t care less; he’d guessed that there were few in between. He spent the first week going over the syllabus, trying to familiarize himself with the new faces, and telling annoyed students in his eight a.m. lecture class that yes, they would have to come to class in the morning to receive attendance credit. (It was tempting to tell them he didn’t bloody like the chosen class time any more than they did.) Emma and Wills Swan were seldom on his mind in the midst of the chaos, although he still heard the barking now and then through their thin walls and often felt a sudden pang of guilt he couldn’t explain.
The start of February and the latest snowfall caused his next run in with Emma and her dog. The snow had just began when Killian left for his morning lecture, but had increased in severity so much over the next few hours that all remaining classes were cancelled by the university, sending him back home instead of to his one-thirty class. He was walking up to his building when he heard what had to be paws on the snow and turned to see Emma and Wills, the latter of whom was wearing a bright red harness attached to a leash that Emma struggled to hang on to as he ran up to Killian.
“You know, not everyone likes to sporadically run as much as you do,” Emma said, the dog panting as he hopped up on his hind legs and used his front paws to brace himself on Killian’s knees, a grin on his face. Was Killian supposed to pet him, he wondered? He didn’t think he’d pet a dog since he was a child.
“Wills, get off of him!” Emma tugged on the dog’s leash and he hopped off of Killian, only to jump right back up again leaving faint wet paw prints he could feel through the fabric of his trousers. “I’m sorry,” she apologized to Killian. “The snow has him excited.”
Killian had multiple reasons to be annoyed: he was far from an animal fiend, but the knees of his trousers were slightly damp and dirty now, and all he wanted was to be up in his flat with a hot cup of tea and the book he was reading, not outside in the snow talking to this woman he barely knew. But, to his surprise, he wasn’t. Wills seemed to be decent enough, his clothes would need to be washed anyway, and the book would still be waiting for him if it took a few minutes longer to get up to his apartment. “It’s all right, Swan.” He reached down and stroked Wills between its ears like he’d seen Emma do that night in the hallway. The dog sighed appreciatively and licked Killian’s hand before jumping down and returning to her.
He’d almost forgotten about the weather until snow began to fall again as the wind speed increased. “I guess we should get inside if we don’t want to get blown away.” Emma laughed and pulled the white beanie she was wearing farther down over her ears.
“Aye. That would be most unfortunate.” Killian held the front door open for Emma and Wills who followed him up the stairs to their floor.
“I should have known living in a complex with no elevator was a bad idea with a dog,” she muttered on the second floor. “Wills makes me get in more than enough exercise as is.”
Killian contemplated what to say in response. Should he joke that the dog wanted to make sure she stayed in shape? No, that might come across as him insinuating that she needed to stay in shape. Something told him Emma might not react well to that.
She must have taken his silence as disinterest because she didn’t speak again until they’d come to the doors of their respective apartments. Had he become so antisocial that he was incapable of having a normal conversation with a woman?
“Uh, take care, Swan,” he tried as a last minute effort to patch up things as she unlocked her door.
Emma gave him the slightest hint of a smile. He took that to be a good sign. “You too. Hey, there’s a bunch of leftover pizza in my fridge from a work thing yesterday if you don’t have anything to do for dinner tonight. It’ll take me forever to eat by myself, and this guy can’t have any, despite how much he wants it.”
Killian couldn’t recall the last time someone had invited him to, well, anything. Sure, he’d gotten occasional dinner invitations from colleagues and a few people in their apartment building when he’d first come to Boston, but these invitations stopped coming as soon as people understood that the chances of him accepting were slim. Perhaps saying yes to Emma’s offer wouldn’t be a horrible idea. It wasn’t as if he had prior plans for his own dinner and one night away from his book on the couch for a few hours wouldn’t be the end of the world.
It had been so long since he’d been alone with anyone for an extended period of time, though. He had no idea how to talk to someone like Emma Swan, even in the most platonic of circumstances. She didn’t need Killian and his antisocial tendencies making things awkward between them.
Emma took his silence as a rejection. “Or not. Don’t feel like you have to or anything; it was just an offer.” She unlocked her door and slipped inside the apartment with Wills as Killian watched, wondering how he’d become so far gone.
He spent the better part of the afternoon on the couch with his book, just as he’d intended, but stuck on reading the same sentence over and over as he recalled the earlier moment in the hall with Emma. He’d blown it with her. She probably thought her neighbor was rude and antisocial. Maybe he could work up the nerve to show her she was wrong on the former if nothing else.
Tossing his book to the side, Killian got up and left before he lost his nerve. He stood in front of Emma’s door and took a deep breath before knocking on the paneled wood. There were no sounds coming from inside. Maybe, he considered with a pang of disappointment, she wasn’t home thinking he wasn’t interested in her offer and had decided to brave the weather. But then he heard a familiar bark and paws scratching up against the door.
“Oh, Killian,” Emma gasped when she answered the door. She looked much like she did on the night they met- glasses, plaid pajamas, hair pulled up and out of her face.
“Uh, hello, love. I was wondering if that offer of yours from earlier still stands?”
“Of course. Come on in.”
Her apartment, not surprisingly, was laid out much like his own, same foyer, kitchen, living room, hallway to the bedroom and bathroom back and to the left instead of the right. There were few similarities elsewhere. His rooms were neat and pristine, every coffee mug and book in its designated place. Here, there were shoes by the couch, hair ties on the coffee table, Emma’s red leather jacket thrown over the back of a kitchen chair, and dog toys scattered on the floor. It wasn’t messy, per se. It looked like a place that was actually lived in and enjoyed.
“Ignore the mess,” Emma said, noticing his eyes wandering. “I try to keep things neat, but I’m not exactly the tidiest person ever and it’s been a busy few days.”
“No worries, love.”
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a cardboard box with a logo he vaguely recognized from a local pizza parlor a few blocks from their building. “I have cheese, ground beef, and some weird supreme thing with mushrooms and olives that coworkers sent with me despite knowing I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole.”
He realized a moment too late that he was probably supposed to laugh at that remark. “Uh, anything’s fine love. I don’t mind mushrooms myself.”
She wrinkled her nose. “In that case, have all you want.” She turned on the oven and placed the pizza box on the top rack to be heated. “Make yourself at home,” she told him, gesturing to the living room. “This should only take a couple of minutes.”
Killian took a seat on the couch, feeling awkward. Wills, who had been trailing Emma around the kitchen, darted into the room and jumped up next to him. He rolled over onto his back and rested his head on Killian’s lap.
“He’s a big baby,” Emma called from the kitchen. “Feel free to move him if you want, but there’s probably gonna be dog hair on your clothes just from stepping into the apartment at this rate.” Sure enough, Killian noticed a few stray white hairs on his jeans and the ends of his shirt sleeves. He wasn’t thrilled about it by any means, but it was tolerable.
Wills stared up at him with his big brown eyes, looking unsatisfied with Killian’s lack of affection. He’d seemed to like being pet when they were outside earlier, he remembered.
“Okay, pizza’s done!” Emma sat down on the other end of the couch with the pizza box and a stack of paper plates and napkins. “Sorry, dude,” she told Wills as he caught a whiff of the pizza and looked at her with what could only be called longing. “You can’t join in.” Seeming to understand, the dog jumped down and went to his small bed over by Emma’s TV, where he curled up and went to sleep.
“So.” Emma grabbed a slice of cheese pizza and curled up into the corner of the couch. “Tell me something about yourself. All I’ve been able to gather so far is that you’re clearly not from around here.”
“Er, there’s not a lot to tell.” It had been so long since he’d had a reason to talk about himself. “I moved to Boston from England three years ago. I teach British lit at the university. Not much of a people person, honestly,” he admitted, “but you might have gathered that by now.”
She nodded. “I got the feeling the night I met you in the hallway. That’s okay though. Some people just suck.”
“Aye.” Or just talking to people at all is more of a struggle than it’s worth. Something told him not to add that. “And what of you, Swan?” He wasn’t so far removed socially that he’d forgotten you were supposed to ask those kinds of questions back. All that he knew about Emma was limited to the dog sleeping in the corner.
“I work in bail bonds. Tracking down people who’ve skipped bail and dragging them back to court,” she explained in between bites of cheese and pizza crust. “Or to jail, depending on how much trouble they give me. I got a black eye just before Christmas from a guy who was trying to get out of paying child support.”
“Sounds like a bloody prat,” he muttered, earning him a laugh from Emma.
“I’m not entirely sure what that means, but judging by your tone of voice, I have to agree.” She told him a few similar stories about people she’d dealt with in her line of work as they finished what was left of the pizza. Killian was grateful she was willing to lead the conversation, keeping him from having to more than sit back and listen. The things she dealt with in bail bonds made his job seem much simpler.
As if he knew they had finished eating, Wills darted across the room and back onto the couch, planting himself on Killian’s lap.
“I think someone likes you.”
“He’s...nice.” There wasn’t much else he knew to say about a dog. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with him either. “What kind is he?”
“He’s a chihuahua and corgi mix. Do you have any pets?”
“No.”
An awkward silence set in, Emma likely interpreting his apprehension for disinterest again. He was quite interested, but not knowing what to say to her made things complicated. This was the most time he’d spent with a woman, colleague or otherwise, since Milah. He could still vividly remember the last day they’d spent together before her accident, cooking one of her favorite pasta dishes together in his flat and falling asleep together on the couch halfway through The Matrix.
The memory made his heart sink. He’d spent enough time with Emma Swan for today, “It’s getting a bit late,” he said. It wasn’t even six o’clock. “I suppose I should get going.”
She held out her arms for Wills. He jumped up and moved to her lap, saving Killian from the dilemma of how best to move him from his own. “Thanks for dinner, love.” He stood and gave her what he hoped looked like a smile.
“Don’t mention it.” Emma got to her feet as well, the dog curled up like an infant in her arms. “I’m glad the pizza didn’t go to waste. Maybe we’ll see you again soon?” Wills’ ears shot up at the suggestion. “I guess that’s his way of saying he wants to see more of you.”
“Perhaps.” Or perhaps not if memories of his lost love were going to resurface again when he spent time with her again. “Goodnight, Swan.” He saw himself out without listening for her response.
Killian threw himself back into his routine with unusual fervor over the next few weeks, planning lectures out weeks in advance and grading assignments as soon as they were in his hands. He’d gone without running into Emma and her dog since the night in her apartment, and as terrible as he felt about it, he was relieved. He couldn’t think about either of them for long without his thoughts heading in a downward spiral he didn’t have the emotional strength to conquer.
Things seemed to be looking up (as much as they could, anyway), until the one day in March he’d grown to dread more every year. He cancelled both of his lectures, sending students an email stating he was under the weather, and spent the day the same way he always did: alone, replaying that awful phone call on repeat until five, which, for some reason, was the time he deemed acceptable to give in and head for the bar. Rum wouldn’t make him forget the pain, nothing could, but it usually dulled the sting enough to get him through the night in one piece.
“Usually” being the key word. Killian wasn’t sure how much he’d had to drink, but it should have been long enough to at least distort the words of the naval officer who’d called him that night: I’m so sorry. There’s been an accident. Lieutenant Jones didn’t make it. Tonight, he remembered every word as if he’d just heard them for the first time.
The sentence was running through his mind for what had to be the hundredth time when something hit his left shoulder. Killian turned to see a man stumble into the bar stool beside him. “Sorry about that,” he apologized. “Guess I’ve had more to drink than I thought.”
“Perhaps you should be more careful about what you’re doing then,” Killian spat. He was in no mood to deal with the bloke or his excuses.
The guy shot him a dirty look. “Dude, I said I was sorry. No need to be an asshole about it.”
“What did you just say to me?” Killian clenched his jaw and felt his hand ball up into a fist. He didn’t realize what he was about to do until he felt someone grabbing him by his raised arm and yanking him back. It was the bartender, who’d come around the counter to stop him.
“You don’t want to do this, mate.” Killian realized for as long as he’d been coming to the bar that he’d never taken the time to learn the man’s name, odd since he was the first fellow Brit he’d come across in Boston, although he vaguely recalled hearing someone refer to him as Robin before. “Trust me, the wanker isn’t worth spending your night in a jail cell for.”
He nodded, shame and regret both getting to him almost as much as the rum. “Apologies. I think it’s time for me to leave.”
“Good idea. I’ll call you a cab if you’d like.”
“Please.” As Robin left, Killian turned to look for the guy he’d almost taken out, but he’d disappeared. It was probably for the best; he doubted he would have taken Killian’s apology well considering how the almost fight had started in the first place.
He all but stumbled into the cab when it arrived, thinking he should have left Robin a bigger tip for the incident he’d caused. The bartender, however, was soon forgotten. Liam would have been ashamed of him - getting worked up over something inconsequential and almost harming another person because of his anger. In truth, his brother would be ashamed over quite a few things in Killian’s life. Liam was full of life, the guy who had many friends and was constantly going out of his way to do things for other people. He wouldn’t have stood for the borderline recluse Killian had allowed himself to become over the past few years.
By the time the cab pulled up to his apartment building, Killian felt sick, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol. He tossed the driver a handful of bills, not caring if it was more than his fee, and dragged himself up the stairs to the third floor. It was when he got to his front door and pulled out his keys he realized he’d never marked them after the last time so he’d know which one was for the apartment.
Liam wouldn’t have had this issue. The thought was all it took for him to let out a loud string of obscenities and hurl his keys at the door. They hit the wood with a loud thunk. Drunk or not, he shouldn’t have been surprised by the barking coming from Emma’s flat next door.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, bending down to pick up his keys. He needed to unlock the door and get inside before Emma came out and found him like this.
Killian was trying the first key when he heard a door open and saw a familiar blonde head out of the corner of his eye.
“Hey. Everything alright?”
“‘M fine.” He didn’t look up from the door handle. The second key was no use either. “Just a bloody wanker.”
“Killian?” She stepped out into the hall, Wills trailing out behind her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I told you, I’m fine.”
Emma frowned and folded her arms over her chest. “I know when someone is lying to me, Killian. It may very well be none of my business, but yelling and throwing your keys at the door doesn’t sound like “fine” to me.”
Even drunk, he couldn’t help but notice she was wearing the same pajamas as the night they met in the very same place. They barely knew each other, he reminded himself. But he needed to tell someone, anyone; he’d kept it to himself for so long now.
“He’s gone,” Killian whispered, his voice breaking.
Her facial expression softened. “Hey. Who’s gone, Killian? Is there something I can do?”
“There’s nothing to do! My brother’s gone and I can’t do this without him. It gets worse every year. But it’s not supposed to happen like that, is it? Isn’t it supposed to get easier over time?” Killian wasn’t sure what he was saying now. “But it’s been three years without both of them and none of it’s easier. I can’t even unlock my own bloody door.” Tears welled up in his eyes but he blinked them away before Emma noticed.
There was a long moment of silence. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you come over to my place for a bit? I’ll help you unlock your door later, but I think you could use a different kind of drink for now.”
All Killian wanted was to crawl into bed and forget any of this had happened. But he nodded and followed her into the apartment. “Sit,” she insisted, pointing to her couch. “I’m pretty sure there’s a bag of decaf around her somewhere.”
He lowered himself onto the couch and didn’t object as Wills trotted over and took a seat in his lap once again. He soon found himself rubbing the dog’s back the way he’d seen Emma do before. Wills gave a contented sigh and curled up tighter against him. It was how Emma found them when she came into the living room holding two steaming mugs with a bottle of cream and a box of sugar packets tucked under her arm. “I didn’t know if you liked cream or sugar in your coffee, so I brought both.”
“Both is good.” He drank it black in the mornings, but the extra calories surely wouldn’t hurt him after everything else tonight. After adding enough cream and sugar for his liking, he took a long sip of the drink, not caring if it burnt his tongue. “Thank you, love.”
“Don’t mention it. I think the concept of coffee sobering you up is a myth, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try anyway.”
They sat in silence drinking their coffee, Killian continuing to pet Wills without thinking much of it, until Emma must have felt it safe to broach the reason for his outburst in the hall. “Did you wanna talk about any of it?” she asked. “Y’know, the stuff you mentioned earlier. If you don’t, that’s fine,” she added when he didn’t respond. “Just thought I’d offer.”
“I suppose I should.” He gulped. “Today is the anniversary of my brother Liam’s death. I rarely spend it sober.”
“I’m so sorry, Killian. How did it happen?”
“He was in the Navy. There was an accident; something about the ship he was on colliding with an oil tanker.” Picturing the scene was always the worst part. “I’m not sure about a lot of the specifics. I really didn’t want to know more than necessary.”
Emma nodded. “That’s understandable. I can tell he meant a lot to you.”
“Aye. Our mother died when we were young, and father bolted as soon as Liam turned eighteen and could take responsibility for me, so he was the only parent I had for most of my childhood.”
“Tell me about him. What was he like? What were his interests?”
Killian told her everything. How Liam never parted his hair correctly, how he liked to dip his pizza in wing sauce, about the time he followed Killian to the movies on his first date and attempted to hide a few rows behind him wearing sunglasses and a rain hat. He wasn’t sure if it was the rum or his pent up loneliness that caused him to pour his heart out so freely, but he had no qualms with telling Emma everything there was to know about his brother.
“It sounds like he really looked out for you,” she said once she’d stopped laughing over the date story. “That’s what big brothers are supposed to do.”
He nodded. “Liam was an insufferable arse some days, but he always wanted what was best for me.”
“Can I ask you something?” she asked after a moment.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Out in the hall, you said something about being without both of them. Was there someone else too?”
Killian had forgotten about that. Despite everything else he’d shared, that was one subject he wasn’t ready to delve into. “Aye, there was. But I’m not sure I feel up for discussing her tonight.”
“That’s okay. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by mentioning it.”
“No apologies needed. Although I feel as if I owe you one for interrupting your evening.”
“Yeah,” Emma scoffed, “you really threw a wrench in my watching TV on the couch with Wills. Seriously, it’s fine.” Hearing his name, the dog sat up from Killian’s lap and wagged his tail, barely missing his coffee cup. He had to admit he found himself warming up to Wills the more time he spent around him. He was still far from an animal fanatic, but he had grown to see the appeal of having a pet around for company.
“I suppose it’s time I turn in for the night.” Killian wasn’t looking for an excuse to leave this time. He could feel his eyes growing heavy and knew he needed to sleep before dealing with the inevitable hangover he’d be nursing tomorrow.
“You sure? You’re more than welcome to stay a bit longer if you want.”
He shook his head and quickly drained the last of his coffee. “I’m afraid not.” The dog moved from his lap as they both stood and she took his empty mug. “I can’t thank you enough, love. Not just for this,” he gestured to the coffee, “but for allowing me to, well, vent. It’s been so long since I spoke to anyone about my brother.”
“I’m honored you felt comfortable enough to tell me about him. Feel free to come back anytime you need to talk again, or just want some company. The fur child and I would be glad to have you.” Wills rubbed his head against the side of Killian’s leg as if showing he agreed.
“I may have to consider that.” He took her free hand and brought it to his lips briefly before letting go. “Goodnight, love. And Wills,” he added, smiling down at the dog.
“‘Night, Killian.”
He successfully unlocked his apartment door on the first try.
When Killian awoke the next morning, it was with the hangover he’d expected, but also with the feeling that a weight had been lifted off of his chest. He knew it was because of Emma, or rather what she’d done for him. He wasn’t naive enough to think another person could come in and solve his problems, but maybe she could steer him in the right direction to do so himself.
He returned to work feeling better about his job than he had in months. Instead of bolting for the door the minute he finished a lecture, he was willing to stay behind and answer questions from students and even found himself making small talk with a few colleagues at the next department meeting. It felt strange trying to create a space for himself in that environment after keeping to himself for so long, but he also knew Liam and Milah wouldn’t want him living the same as he had been since he’d lost them. Something told him Emma would agree.
There was a knock at his door on a Saturday morning a few weeks later. The sound caught Killian off guard; it was rare that anyone came by his apartment unless it was the landlord, who called before his visits.
“Hello, Swan.” Emma stood at his door dressed in leggings and her red leather jacket, along with Wills on his harness and leash.
“Hey. I thought I’d take this guy for a walk since it’s nice outside today.” Wills began to pant, showing his approval. “I didn’t know if you’d be interested in joining us? If you’re busy, that’s fine, I know it’s last minute but-”
“No!” he interrupted. “I’d like nothing more. Give me just a moment to find my coat and shoes.” Thankfully he was already dressed, wearing his favorite jeans and a navy henley that Milah liked because it brought out the blue in his eyes. He tried not to dwell much on that last bit.
“All right, love.” He was back at his door five minutes later, double checking that it was locked before pulling it closed behind him. “Lead the way.”
He followed her down the stairs and out the door to their building. “There’s a park nearby with a place for dogs that Wills really likes,” she told him when they were outside. “Figured I’d let him run around there for awhile if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Sounds quite nice, actually.” In truth, Killian found himself so elated at the prospect of not spending yet another Saturday holed up in his apartment. That wasn’t to say he was becoming a social butterfly by any means, but taking advantage of Emma’s invitation wasn’t going to do him any harm.
And, he found himself thinking as they sat together on a bench in the park and watched Wills run around a playground made just for dogs, he liked spending time with her. A lot. The idea scared him for multiple reasons. For one, there were moments he wasn’t sure if he’d moved on from Milah. Even after so much time, he’d think about a memory of them together or see an advertisement from a band or show she liked and be hit with a wave of grief all over again.
Killian also couldn’t help but contemplate whether whatever it was he was growing to feel for Emma Swan was more so to do with her specifically or the fact that he hadn’t spent time like this with a woman since Milah. He liked to think it was the former. Emma was funny, kind, thoughtful, and, one thing he couldn’t ignore, beautiful. If he were being honest, he’d noticed it to some degree when they’d first met. But it was then, sitting on that park bench watching her laugh at Wills chase his own tail in circles that he got a glimpse of how stunning she truly was, blonde curls reflecting the sunlight and green eyes so vibrant and full of life. There were a few times he noticed her watching him with a look in her eyes he couldn’t describe, but he chalked it up to his imagination running away with him.
They spent most of the afternoon at the park and then at a local ice cream parlor Emma frequented because they made special treats for dogs.
“Thanks for coming with us,” she told Killian as they ate their ice cream cones on the walk back to their building, Wills long since having finished his own. “It’s mostly been just the two of us since my brother and his wife had a baby and don’t have much free time anymore. So the company is nice.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you for the invitation, Swan. You’ve actually done quite a bit for my social life as of late. I mean it, love,” he continued when she raised her eyebrows quizzically. “I’ll spare you another heavy conversation about my past for now, but let’s just say the majority of my social interactions over the past few years have been limited to explaining the themes in Lord of the Flies to bored students.”
Emma pursed her lips as if carefully considering her response. “I understand. After you’ve been through something traumatic, it’s easier to shut people out - look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt, right?” She continued without waiting for his reaction. “But, Killian, that’s not much of a life. You and I may not know each other all that well, so I’m sorry in advance if it feels like I’m overstepping boundaries here. But your brother and anyone else you’ve lost would’ve wanted more for you.”
He gave a reluctant nod. “You’re right, Swan. It’s something I’ve given much thought to as time goes on.”
“Oh?” Emma must have thought he’d be upset at her confrontation.
Killian considered going into detail on how she’d inadvertently caused this change of heart, but it all seemed too much for this level of their friendship. (And wasn’t that what they were now? Friends?) “Let’s just say I’m turning over a new leaf. Or trying to, at least.”
Spending Saturday afternoons in the park with Emma and Wills soon became a regular routine. The two of them continued to get to know each other, discussing everything from rom coms to favorite foods and bands they thought were overrated.
“You’re English and you don’t like The Beatles? Isn’t that, like, some kind of heresy?”
“I believe that’s pushing it a bit, love. For one, there’s no list of requirements, and I never said I didn’t like them. I just can’t comprehend the amount of people who would be willing to die for Paul McCartney.”
He was grateful that Emma rarely mentioned his brother or anything else he’d shared that night in her apartment. She’d also never pressed him for more details about Milah, something he also appreciated considering she was always involved when it came to sorting out his feelings for Emma.
The end of the semester came and went, with finals quickly approaching. Killian had spent the past few weeks caught up in grading papers, finalising his exams, and spending time with Emma and Wills that he didn’t take notice of the date on the first Friday in May until that evening.
He’d come home from work, exhausted after giving two exams and a staff meeting with the head of the English department. His phone vibrated as soon as he walked in the door, something that had been a rare occurrence a few months ago. Emma had taken a penchant to sending him different literary memes she found online, today’s being a picture of Bilbo Baggins with a caption that read, “I started walking around without any shoes, and it became sort of a Hobbit.”
Killian laughed and typed out a quick response, pausing when he went back to his home screen and saw the date on his calendar app. “Bloody hell.”
He jumped at the sound of a knock on his door. “Hey,” Emma said when he answered. “I was gonna send you another text, but I heard you come in just now and figured it would be easier to- what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Swan,” he insisted, trying not to meet her gaze. “Just a long day, that’s all. Now, what were you going to ask?”
Emma gave him a knowing look. “Uh uh. We’ve had this conversation before; you know you can’t lie to me and get away with it. I’m not gonna force you to talk about whatever’s going on if you don’t want to, but don’t even try to tell me everything’s alright when you’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one that makes it seem like you’ve lost your best friend.”
If Killian’s heart had sank when he realized the date, now, it had plummeted. “I suppose you can say I did.”
He watched as Emma’s expression changed from one of irritation to sadness. She took a step closer to him and placed a hand on his arm. “Hey. I still meant what I just said about not forcing you to talk about anything, but if you want to, I’m here.”
He nodded. “I’ll put on the decaf.” It was far from what he really wanted for this conversation, but he had no desire to go back down that road again. In fact, he realized as he turned on the coffee pot and waited for the water to heat, he hadn’t had a drink since that last night at the bar. Not to say there hadn’t been a few times he’d been tempted, such as now, but the regret over what he’d almost done and who he’d allowed himself to become when he drank always won out.
“Where’s our third member?” he asked, entering the living room with two steaming mugs, having added the cream and sugar to Emma’s the way he knew she liked it. It was the first time she’d been in his apartment, he noticed as she took her coffee from him. But anyone else wouldn’t have been able to notice; the way she sat back on the couch and curled her hands around the mug made it look like she’d been here and done this a dozen times before. Maybe that’s what happened when you got to know a person so well.
“At my place. I hadn’t planned on staying, plus I figured you wouldn’t want white fur all over your apartment.”
Killian shrugged. “I’m used to it now. Why don’t you go ahead and bring him over?”
“Sure thing. I know he’ll be excited.”
Excited was an understatement. Minutes later, Wills bounded into the living room and onto his lap. Unlike the first few times, Killian thought nothing of it now, even appreciating the dog’s affection. “Hey there, mate.”
There was a moment of silence as he contemplated how to start this conversation. “Do you, uh-” He forced down the lump in his throat. “Do you remember the night I told you about my brother? When you asked if I’d lost someone else?” Emma nodded. “I did. Her name was Milah. She was my, well, my everything. We met not long after Liam passed. I was struggling just to get through any given day without him, but she helped pull me out of that and reminded me what it felt like to live again.”
“I can tell she meant a lot to you.”
“Aye.” He quickly went through the story of how they met in a pub, she celebrating a divorce that had been a long time coming, him trying to numb the pain of Liam’s death. A night that could have ended in disaster led to falling in love. Their happiness lasted just over a year, until she was the only victim of a fatal car accident. One that happened less than a month after he’d proposed.
“Oh, Killian.”
“I hadn’t realized it was her birthday until just awhile ago. I always made a big deal out of the day, and she loved it, then I went and bloody forgot for the first time.”
“Killian, losing track of what day it is doesn’t make you a bad person or insinuate that you loved her any less. If anything, I think it means that you’re trying to move on, and she would have wanted that for you too.”
“Aye. It’s just that for so long, moving on seemed impossible, and taking a step in that direction feels…”
“Weird?” she finished for him.
“That’s putting it lightly.” Betrayal was more like it.
“Yeah, I’d suspect that’s normal. I’m really proud of you though.”
That was unexpected to say the least. “Aye? For what?”
“When you and I met on New Year’s Eve, you were drunk off your ass and hardly ever seemed to leave your apartment or speak to anyone. I can tell you’ve tried to change all of those things over the past few months, and that’s not easy. So, yeah, I’m pretty damn proud of you, and you should be too.”
It was odd, he thought later after they’d left and he’d started getting ready for bed, how Emma attributed so many of the changes in his life to his efforts alone. And while he’d certainly tried to do things differently, her own involvement was not to be ignored. So many things about her had changed him for the better.
Killian had an enlightening thought just before he fell asleep: befriending Emma Swan was without a doubt one of the best things he’d ever done.
As he thought on it though, he considered the idea that maybe what he felt for Emma was more than just friendship. He could easily admit that he felt a certain tenderness, but wondered if it was something more, something like affection. But feeling this kind of affection for her? Well, that was going to complicate things.
His friendship with Emma continued as normal as summer began. There were more trips to the park with Wills, dinner and movie nights in each other’s apartments, and a few outings with friends of hers that she’d invited him to meet when she thought he’d be up for it. It felt as if he’d already known David and Mary Margaret for months after hearing so many of Emma’s stories about them and everything they’d done for her over the years. Ruby came on a bit strong at first, but he liked both her and her girlfriend, Belle, as well as Elsa and Anna. He even found tolerating Will Scarlet to be easier than expected after Emma had warned him about the number of questionable things that were possible to come out of his mouth.
One night, their conversation took a different route when Emma let Killian in on her own past. Her childhood was less than pleasant, spending years bouncing around between various group homes until she had been taken in by David’s mother as a teenager. She’d also experienced her fair share of heartache. Her first love had set her up for a crime he was guilty of when she was only seventeen; she’d narrowly avoided a prison sentence because of it. The only other serious relationship she’d been in lasted less than a year when she found out the man had a wife and kids she knew nothing about.
“Please tell me you punched the bloke,” Killian had said after hearing that particular story. He was livid at the idea of anyone having the nerve to treat her so poorly.
“Sadly, no; I was too upset at the time to lash out at him. But he’s bankrupt now and his wife left and took the kids at least.”
“Still not nearly what he deserved.”
As their friendship evolved, so did his feelings for her. With every random meme or message she sent him, every late night conversation, everything that chipped away at both of their walls, he found himself inevitably falling in love. He also still continued to question whether his feelings were one-sided. There were times she would take his hand walking down the street without thinking much about it, hold his gaze longer than normal, or joke around with him in a way that might be considering flirting. There were also the nights when they fell asleep on the couch in the middle of a movie and he’d wake up with Emma’s head on his chest, one hand inside the neck of his shirt and the other over his heart as if she’d placed it there intentionally. He liked to think there was something to be said for these moments other than unintentional habits.
Summer ended just as quickly as it had began, and Killian started preparing for another semester of classes. There wasn’t quite as much on his plate at this time of year in comparison to finals week, but it was enough to keep him preoccupied. The Wednesday before classes began, he was so swamped with meetings and pre-course work that he hadn’t noticed there had been no word from Emma all day. In fact, he hadn’t thought to check his phone at all until it rang around four that afternoon. He normally didn’t answer calls from unfamiliar numbers, but figured it could be something important.
“Killian? It’s David.”
“Hello, mate. Everything all right?”
He could sense David’s hesitation over the phone. “Well, kind of. Emma’s bit in a bit of an accident.”
Killian felt his throat close up as his heart began to pound in his chest. “Is she-” he gulped. “Is she okay? What happened?”
“I’m honestly not sure yet. Her boss just called me; something about a skip getting rough with her. She’s in the ER now. I figured you would want to know.”
“What hospital?” His voice was starting to break.
“I’ll text you the address. It’s not far from the university.”
“Thanks.” Killian hung up and bolted out of his office, disregarding the papers or supplies spread out across the desk. He had more important concerns. Not trusting himself to drive coherently, he called an Uber and gave the driver the hospital address David had sent him.
He was unable to think straight as the car crept through mid afternoon traffic. His mind was going in a dozen different directions, thinking of every possibility. When had this happened and where? Had they apprehended the bloke who did this to her? How serious were her injuries?
Liam and Milah were gone. He couldn’t lose her too- no, he wasn’t going to think like that. Emma had done so much to help him move on; she wouldn’t want him to even consider the possibility.
A number of people were almost knocked down when he bolted through the doors to the emergency room and ran for the front desk. “Can you tell me where Emma Swan is?”
“Are you family?” the receptionist asked, not bothering to take his eyes off of the computer screen in front of him.
“Well, no, but-”
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re only allowed to disclose a patient’s information to relatives.”
Bloody hell. He should have expected as much.
“Killian!” He let out a sigh of relief when he saw David approaching. “It’s fine; he’s with me,” he told the receptionist. It was a nice gesture from a man he’d only met a handful of times. Perhaps Emma had shared more about their relationship with him than he’d assumed.
He followed David down a hallway of identical looking hospital rooms. “What’s going on? How’s Emma?”
“She’s okay for the most part. A few broken ribs, a black eye, and a couple bruises, but nothing too serious. They wanna keep her overnight just to monitor everything, but she’s already insisting to be discharged.”
That was a good sign- she was being as stubborn and feisty as ever.
“Here we are.” David stopped at an open door on the left. Emma was propped up in bed, wearing a standard hospital gown and white terrycloth robe. She didn’t look quite as bad as he’d prepared himself to see. The black and purple skin around her right eye stood out blatantly against her pale skin, and he could see a bruise peeking out from the sleeve of her robe, but those were the only visible injuries he was able to make out.
Mary Margaret stood by the bed, fluffing out her pillows. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want?”
Emma started to answer but froze when she saw him. “Killian?”
“Hello, love. I hear there’s someone out there who needs his arse kicked.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and I could’ve done it if he hadn’t caught me at a bad time.”
“Don’t worry, Swan. I know you’ll pay him back for it as soon as you’ve recovered.”
Mary Margaret took that moment to grab her husband by the arm. “David, why don’t we go get Emma something to drink?”
David glanced at the table by the hospital bed. “But she’s already got so-”
“Be back soon!” They were gone before Emma or Killian had a chance to question them.
She pointed to one of the chairs by her bed. “Might as well make yourself comfy.”
“Aye.” He took the one closest to her. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugged. “Okay. Kinda sore. Mostly pissed that the guy got away. He’s been skipping out on paying child support for months, and I thought I finally had him.”
“You’ll get him next time, Swan. I have nothing but confidence in you.” He chuckled. “Plus, I’m sure he knows better than to mess with you now.”
Emma started to laugh too, then winced. “Don’t say anything funny; it hurts too much to laugh. Hey, I thought you were swamped with work this week? Classes start back soon, right?”
“I left as soon as David called and told me what happened. Some things are more important than classes.”
She studied him for a moment, her green eyes pensive. “That was...Thank you, Killian.” She gave him a small smile. It was enough to break him all over again. Who knew the woman he’d lived next door to for months could show up with her dog and change his entire life?
Speaking of which- “Where is Wills at, Swan?”
“Shit!” Emma tried to sit straight up and winced again. “He’s at my place. Great dog mom I am, I hadn’t even thought about him yet. The poor guy is gonna go nuts when I don’t come home tonight.”
“He could stay with me. I know it wouldn’t exactly be the same, but he’s been to my apartment before, and I don’t mind having him there.”
“That would be great. I’ll give you my key before you go. The only things you’ll really need are his bag of dry food, and his leash and harness if he needs to go out.”
Killian nodded. “Doesn’t seem too complicated.” He’d seen Emma take care of her dog enough times that he figured he’d know what to do.
“You’re the best, you know that?” There was no hint of sarcasm in her voice.
His face broke out into a grin. He loved her so much. “I try my best.”
David and Mary Margaret returned soon after, followed by Emma’s doctor, who reminded them she needed to rest. Killian tried not to laugh when he saw Emma roll her eyes when the woman wasn’t looking. He had no desire to leave her, but it helped to know she’d be coming home tomorrow, and he’d be making things easier for her by taking care of Wills.
“The apartment key is on the key ring in my jacket pocket,” she told him, pointing to where her red leather jacket hung in the corner. “There’s a blue dot painted on it, so you shouldn’t get it mixed up like you always do with yours.”
He retrieved the key and tucked it away in the pocket of his own jacket. “No worries, Swan. I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, approaching the side of her bed.
“Yeah. I’m not sure what time it’ll be, but I’ll let you know. I’m ready to get my fur baby back.”
“I’m sure the feeling is mutual. I’ll take good care of him though.” Killian leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead on the side of her uninjured eye. “Goodbye, love.”
If Emma found his display of affection odd, she said nothing.
Wills all but knocked Killian down when he stopped by to retrieve him. He wasn’t used to being alone for so long since Emma was normally home earlier in the evenings. The novelty soon wore off when the dog realized Killian was alone.
“I know, mate. But don’t worry. She’ll be home tomorrow.” He wasn’t sure if he said it to comfort the dog or himself more.
The dog was familiar with Killian’s apartment by now, bolting into the living room and sprawling out on the couch. Killian knew he’d be vacuuming up white fur for the next month, but it was worth it. Wills laid there and watched as he straightened up around the apartment. Emma had always said he was the laziest dog she’d ever seen, and she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t move until Killian went to get ready to turn in for the night, curling up in the middle of the bed like it was his own.
Killian laughed and took a picture that he sent to Emma. It could make the night she spent in the hospital a bit more bearable if nothing else.
Her response came only seconds later. Looks like someone’s made himself at home.
Aye. I can tell he misses you. So do I.
The feeling is mutual. On both fronts.
Maybe his feelings weren’t too far fetched, he thought to himself later as he fell asleep with paws digging into his side.
Killian woke the next morning to Wills jumping on his chest and licking the side of his face. “C’mon, mate. It’s too bloody early for that.” The dog didn’t agree, though. He ran out of the bedroom to where Killian had left his leash and harness in the hall the night before.
“I’m guessing you want to go out, eh?” He knew it wouldn’t hurt to take Wills for a walk while the heat was bearable. “All right, let’s go.”
Killian put Wills into the harness the way he’d seen Emma do before and attached it to his leash before heading out with him. The dog shot out the door and down the stairs, with Killian almost struggling to keep up with him at times. They walked around the neighborhood for the better part of an hour before Killian had enough, his need for breakfast and caffeine winning out.
He spent the morning doing work on his laptop, answering emails and updating the syllabus for his first class. Wills stayed on the couch and either slept or watched him, only getting up now and then for food and water. Emma texted him just after lunch. Hey. They’re getting ready to discharge me and then David’s bringing me home. Any way you could bring Wills over? I had planned to come get him, but I’m pretty sore today and the doctor suggested I take my pain meds and go on to bed.
Not a problem, Swan. Just let me know when it’s best for you. He’ll be glad to see you again.
It wasn’t long until he heard footsteps in the hall and the sound of Emma’s door unlocking. Wills heard it too and began to bark frantically. “Easy there,” Killian told him. “Let’s give her some time to rest. She’ll be ready for you soon.” He was glad they’d gone out for a walk earlier. Hopefully he’d gotten enough exercise that he’d be calm for Emma later.
He got another message from Emma about twenty minutes later. Okay, I’m in bed and drugged. You guys can come over whenever you want, but no guarantees as to how long I’ll be awake.
Killian turned to Wills. “You ready to go see your mum?”
The dog bolted for the front door.
They found Emma just as he’d expected, propped up in bed wearing her favorite pajamas. Wills jumped onto the bed and Killian caught him just as he was about to leap onto Emma. “Woah, buddy.” Emma laughed and reached out to pet him between the ears. “I missed you too, but let’s take it easy, okay?”
Killian normally would have laughed, but he was too focused on his relief that she was all right.
“How are you feeling Swan?” He could tell she was tired, the events of yesterday and the painkillers both catching up to her, not to mention the black eye that had yet to heal.
“Eh. Pretty sore. I’m glad to be home though.” She held her arms out for Wills and he moved to curl up on the bed beside her. “I hope he was good for y-” she yawned mid-sentence.
“He was great. I’m gonna leave so you can get some rest, but let me know whenever you need something, all right? I can come back later to take Wills for another walk if he needs to get out again.”
“M’kay. Thank you, Killian.”
“Not a problem, love.”
“No, I mean it. You up and left work yesterday to check on me, and then had a sleepover with the dog. I know none of this is convenient for you, but you’re doing it anyway. So, yeah, thank you.”
“What are friends for?”
He returned to his apartment soon after, Emma half asleep before he’d even left her room.
A similar pattern followed over the next few days, Killian coming over in the morning and around dinnertime to take Wills outside. Either he or David and Mary Margaret tried to make sure Emma had access to meals that weren’t Pop Tarts or takeout Chinese, but she soon started insisting that it was unnecessary.
Despite her insistence that she needed less help over time, Killian still took the opportunity to both go next door and check in with her often over the following weeks even as his next round of classes began. He knew he was being paranoid, and Emma told him so constantly. It still didn’t do much to minimize his concern. What happened to her was minor in retrospect, but it was hard not to wonder if he could have come close to losing her too.
He also found himself unintentionally becoming more affectionate with Emma as time went on. The casual hand holding, snuggling, and occasional forehead kisses soon became common during their time spent together. Killian would catch himself placing an arm around her shoulders while they watched TV. If Emma thought it abnormal she never mentioned it, only scooting closer on the couch and tucking her head in the spot between his neck and shoulder she seemed to favor so much. It was those moments that made him contemplate if there was a chance she wanted something more between them as much as he did. But if that was the case, why had she never acted on it?
She’s waiting on you, idiot. The thought hit Killian in the middle of the night as he lay awake in bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was thinking on the night he’d spent out with Emma and her friends at a local restaurant just hours earlier. Emma had collaborated with Elsa and Mary Margaret to plan a night out celebrating Ruby and Belle’s engagement. She’d requested he come along despite his hesitation that he’d be intruding, insisting that he deserved to be invited just as much as everyone else and she was guaranteed to have a terrible night without him. Unable to tell her no, he’d tagged along and enjoyed himself more than expected. There had been a great dinner, drinks (which he avoided), and dessert, but what stuck with Killian most was when Ruby chose to ask him about his love life at random.
“So, Jones. I’ve never heard Emma mention you having a girlfriend before. You seeing anyone?”
Emma choked on her water.
“You all right, Ems?” David asked, oblivious to any tension between them that the question had brought on.
“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Guess it went down the wrong pipe or something.”
Killian noticed Ruby watching him curiously and realized he’d never answered her question. “Er, no, I’m not. Seeing anyone, I mean. Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “Just curious. That’s kind of surprising, if I’m being honest. A guy who looks like you do in your line of work, plus the hot accent? If Emma was crazy enough not to jump on that, I’d be expecting a lot of girls in line behind her.”
He glanced at Emma out of the corner of his eye. The color on her cheeks matched the red leather jacket she wore. “It just...hasn’t been the best time for me to consider having someone like that in my life, I suppose.” He knew better than to think Emma had shared details about his past with her friends, and wasn’t sure just how else to answer.
Emma, who had seemed to be enjoying herself before, was quiet for the rest of the night, occasionally sneaking glances at him and then looking away any time their eyes met. She’d had little to say during the cab ride home, and disappeared into her apartment as soon as they’d returned with no more than a quick “goodnight.”
Maybe his past had everything to do with it, he thought now, replaying those few moments over again in his mind. Emma knew how difficult socializing and opening up had been for him for so long. She probably knew well enough to assume the same applied to dating and relationships. If she viewed him as more than a friend, it made perfect sense that she’d keep it to herself. Which left him no choice but to act on his own feelings while he had the chance.
Killian spent the next few hours tossing and turning until his alarm went off. He had a busy day ahead between classes and appointments, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to think straight until he told Emma the truth.
He quickly dressed and went next door, thinking little of how early it was. She might hate me for this for a number of reasons, he thought as he knocked on her door, but at least she’ll know.
Emma was rubbing her eyes when she answered the door. “Killian?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep. Wills popped up beside her and stuck his head out of the door. “Why are you here so early? Everything okay?”
“Aye. I just needed to tell you something.”
“It couldn’t wait until the sun was up and I’ve had caffeine?”
“Well, no.”
She must have detected the sincerity in his tone. She straightened and fixed her gaze on him. “In that case, I’m listening.”
“Swan, do you remember the night we met?”
“Yeah. You’d been drinking and couldn’t unlock your door.”
“Right, well, I’ve changed a lot since then, don’t you think?”
She nodded. “Of course you have. You were depressed and in a really bad place, but you hardly seem like the same person now.”
“And do you know why that is?”
“Because you realized Liam and Milah wouldn’t want you to live like that any more.”
“Yes. I know they would’ve wanted better for me. But it’s also because of you.”
“Me?”
“Love, meeting you has changed my life in ways I didn’t think was possible; it may sound cliche, but that doesn’t change the fact regardless. You’ve showed me what it’s like to open up and start living again without letting grief consume me.” He took a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully. “The truth is, I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of the people I’d lost, of Liam and Milah...to believe that I could find someone else - that is, until I met you.”
There was silence as Emma stared at him, unmoving. When she still hadn’t moved or spoken after a long moment, Killian started to think that he’d blown it. “I’m sorry if I seemed out of line, Swan. We can act as if this never happened, or if you feel uncomfortable with our friendship now, I understa-”
He froze as Emma took a step toward him and her fingers brushed the side of his face. “Killian.” His train of thought that had been full of questions and concerns just seconds before was broken as her head slowly tilted and she leaned in, pressing her lips to his own.
It was a bit awkward at first- he hadn’t kissed anyone in so long, what was he even supposed to do? She sensed his hesitation and pulled away. “Shit, sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking but-”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish that sentence. The shock had worn off now and he pulled her back to him. Emma’s mouth was soft against his own as he kissed her again, one hand on her waist and the other cupping her cheek, her arms around his neck.
Killian wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that until there was a loud bark and something trying to wedge itself between them. They looked down to see Wills glaring at him and they both laughed.
“I think someone’s a bit jealous,” Emma said, her eyes bright and lips red.
“So it seems. Do you suppose I’ll have to approach him for permission first before I attempt asking you out? I mean it, love,” he added as she chuckled again. “I haven’t done anything like this in so long. Hell, I might be terrible at it, but you at least make me want to try.”
“Okay.”
“Really?”
He could tell she wanted to roll her eyes. “Killian, I kissed you first. Consenting to a date isn’t too far fetched.”
“Right. Yeah. Would I be redeemed if I said I was bemused by your illustrious charm and beauty?”
Emma snorted. “You still know how to charm a girl, don’t you?”
“So it seems. Are you free tonight, by any chance?” Killian saw no need to wait any longer than necessary.
“You’re in luck. Pick me up at seven?”
“I look forward to it already.”
There was a first date. And a second. And third. Killian had expected the amount of time he’d spent alone would make things awkward at first, but they weren’t, not really. There was something to be said for dating someone who already knew you better than you knew yourself.
Over the next few months, their lives mostly remained the same aside from the addition of more dates, more kissing, and other more enjoyable activities (that Killian soon realized were not as enjoyable if you forgot to ensure that the dog wouldn’t be observing.) So, when his lease ended in the spring, it only made sense that Emma suggested he move in with her and Wills.
He did, and soon began showing up for lectures with more white fur on him that he thought possible. It was worth it.
Fun fact: for those of you who don't already know (since he's the topic of 99% of my conversations), Wills is actually my dog irl! Here's the star of the show himself:
CS JJ, day 14: Another Cliched Mountain Lodge Romance Novel
Emma Swan, avid reader of romance novels, appreciates them for their vapid characters and incredibly unrealistic settings. She never imagined that she'd ever stumble into one—or that the man she'd find living alone in a mountain lodge would be the male lead in her own story. (Or how quickly it would escalate—and how okay with that she was.) (Inspired by this post, and thanks to @optomisticgirl for the beta!)
4.6k | AO3 | Rated M for Mountain Lodge Lovin’ | for @csjanuaryjoy
Though she was an avid reader, Emma wasn’t one for the literary classics. Those were far too stuffy and time-consuming for her and her life. But romance novels—the kind in the checkout line at the supermarket, covered with pictures of over-muscled hunks draped with busty maidens—those were her guilty pleasure, and she hated that she loved them.
Maybe it was the vapid characters that she never got attached to, or the fantastical love scenes that were physically impossible but still arousing, but there was just something so wonderfully fake and cheesy about them that made it the perfect escape from her simple, solitary life.
And she’d read more than enough of them to know that, like it or not, she’d somehow wandered right into one.
It was her own damn fault for getting lost in the woods, she supposed, but it had been a perfect, crisp fall day and the leaves were the most brilliant red-gold against the blue autumn sky.
Until it grew later, with the color of the sky increasingly matching the color of the leaves, and one wrong step had her twisting her ankle on a knobby root, and she was way too far off the trail to even begin finding it while limping.
The sound of chopping wood made her jump at first, but it wasn’t far away and she was willing to risk whatever lumberjack forest person she would find if it meant not having to spend a night in the elements. She knew how to handle herself, after all, and she just needed a ride to her car.
But when she hobbled to the edge of the clearing, she wasn’t at all prepared for the idyllic sight in front of her—not in reality, at least. There was a picturesque log cabin, a trail of smoke coming out of the chimney and light coming from clear windows giving it a homey character. An older but well-maintained pickup truck sat in the driveway. And next to the house, chopping wood, was who she assumed to be its owner.
He was a lumberjack alright, dressed in a plaid flannel, well-worn jeans, and work boots, but where she was expecting Paul Bunyan or the Brawny man, she got the cover of one of her boudoir fantasies.
Tousled, short-cropped, dark hair framed a face that could only be described as ridiculously pretty: large blue eyes, high cheekbones, full lips, and a sharp jaw covered in gingery scruff looked completely out of place in this setting.
The strain of his back muscles against that blue plaid when he hefted an axe said otherwise, though, and the flex of his bicep was visible even from where she was, yards away. The fit of those jeans only highlighted his assets, and when he stood to take a breather, resting his axe on his shoulder, she got a view of the dark hair dusting his chest via the fair amount of undone buttons on his top.
She’d hit her head when she fell, surely. This had to be a hallucination, because all this scene was missing was the scent of a Mountain Lodge candle.
“Can I help you, lass?”
Oh good lord, he even had a British accent, with a tiny lilt of something else. Now she knew she was fantasizing.
“Lass?”
Oh right, he was talking to her, and now taking cautious steps toward her. She shook her head to bring herself back to the real world, and gingerly shuffled forward.
“Hi! Sorry to barge in on you like this, but I got lost and couldn’t get back to my car, so I was wondering if you could give me—”
“Are you hurt?” he cut her off, concern coloring his tone and furrowing his brow. He tossed the axe to the side and took longer strides to her.
“Oh, it’s nothing, just twisted my ankle, I’ll be fi...” She trailed off when he reached her, kneeling to inspect the damage—which was pretty evident by the way she wasn’t putting weight on it, but she knew she’d be fine once she got back to her car and home with her ice packs and wine.
He rose back up to his full height, a hand or so taller than her, and met her gaze. She was surprised to see a gentle look in his eyes—which were even bluer up close, a bit grayish even—and an expression on his face she could only assume was care; she’d only seen it a few times in her life, so it was almost jarring to see it on someone she’d just met. “Nonsense. I know this is a bit forward, but if you’ll allow me, I can tend to that for you.”
She wasn’t good at letting people get close, physically or otherwise. But she’d never encountered someone who wanted to help her so badly; despite his chivalrous, polite tone, she could see a genuine desire etched in his features. And the longer she waited to reply, she saw something else slip in, something she knew all too well: the fear of rejection and acceptance of solitude.
How many times had she seen that exact hurt countenance in the mirror? And suddenly, she realized that she may not even know his name, but she knew him, and suspected they had an awful lot in common.
“Okay,” she quietly replied, and the trepidation on his features melted into an affectionate smile that cut dimples into his scruff.
Then he went into action, moving to stand next to her, wrapping a strong arm under hers, and pulling her into his side. She hesitated a moment, suddenly feeling awkward, but an encouraging smile from him was all it took to wrap her arm around his back and shift her weight into him. He was warm and solid, but there was a softness that seemed to permeate from his soul.
“I’m Killian, by the way,” he finally introduced as they slowly set off. God, even his name was enticing.
“I’m Emma.”
She was still sure she was going to wake up from a really good dream as they moved closer to the cabin. They hadn’t gone far before he concluded it’d just be easier to carry her, despite her protestations (“I’ve carried felled trees heavier than you, love,” he threw back as he lifted her into his arms). Once inside, he gently placed her on a well-loved but plush sofa, propping her injured ankle on the ottoman, and then everything became kind of hazy as he removed her boots and tended to her with all the care and precision of a nurse. It was then she noticed the prosthetic in place of his left hand, but it didn’t appear to hold him back so she didn’t pay it much mind.
And then, with a warm, firm squeeze on her bandage-wrapped ankle, it was all done, and he was gazing up at her with a friendly grin that she couldn’t help but return. It faded, though, and she was surprised at how quickly she missed it and wanted to put it back.
“I’m sure you have somewhere to get back to now; someone waiting for you—” he started, but she cut him off.
“I-I don’t.”
At first, he looked somber, but then the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Then, you’re more than welcome to stay here until you’re feeling up to heading back out.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, old foster kid tendencies kicking back in.
“It’d be my pleasure, love.”
He made cocoa and got a fire started in the hearth of the rather spartan cabin—with its lightly nautical decor on its wooden walls—and she just watched as he worked, in awe of his graceful movements that belied the strength under them, and keenly aware of both his presence and the things it did to her heart (and other places).
The light coming in from the many windows quickly faded to the inky blue-black of night, and he closed the navy curtains to prevent the incoming chill that surely accompanied those late-fall flurries she’d glimpsed. Those hadn’t been in the forecast, but then she remembered that she was partway up a mountain and not at her little seaside cottage—though her home was nearly as secluded as his.
Conversation over dinner, with both of them curled up on the couch, only confirmed what she suspected: he too had a rough life, involving growing up without parents; losing his brother, his hand, and his first love; and the decision to make a fresh (if lonely) new start in the States. She told him about her similar childhood, her broken heart and the child she had to give up, and her own selective solitude, save for a few friends.
“Why do you do that?” he asked her as he set about clearing the plates.
“Do what?” She was confused as she watched him move about the room, and felt her defenses instinctively rise at being challenged.
“Keep everyone at arm’s length,” he answered when he settled back on the sofa, closer than he’d been before. “They obviously care about you.”
“Why do you live by yourself in a cabin in the woods?” she lightly tossed back in a well-honed deflection, using a flirtatious tone that she was surprised to find was genuine for the first time in years.
“Fair point,” he conceded with an easy grin and a light chuckle. Then he swallowed. “But, if I did have people like that in my life,” he started, pausing to nervously scratch behind his ear, “I’d be loathe to stay closed off.”
She couldn’t hold back her response. “Even after all you’ve been through; everyone you’ve lost?”
“Aye.”
“You’re not scared?” She was speaking from experience, she knew.
“I live on a mountain by myself. Scared isn’t the least of it,” he answered, almost self-deprecatingly. Staring at floor, he finished, “I just don’t think that’s in the cards for me anymore.”
She was certain now she was dreaming: there was no way she just happened to stumble upon a handsome man with all the same issues she had. Surely the universe was playing a trick on her, or it had picked an odd way to teach her a lesson about her own use of emotional walls. Because seeing the way they were built up on Killian—someone who clearly had an immense capacity and desire for love—made her realize that while hers might keep the bad things out, they were also preventing the good from coming in.
So maybe it was time to take a risk and punch a hole through them.
She placed her hand on his arm, just above his prosthetic, drawing his guarded gaze back to her. Her heart raced at the physical contact, as innocent as it was, but if Killian’s quick draw of breath told her anything it was that he was impacted by it, too.
“That’s not true, Killian. You deserve to love and be loved.” The tense draw of his features softened as he absorbed her words, and that was enough to give her the courage to continue. She took a deep breath. “Maybe we both do.”
For a moment, they were both frozen, letting the weight of her words suspend between them. He was studying her with an almost inquisitive look, and she feared she’d overstepped her bounds, but then he slowly leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers.
It was tentative at first, from both of them; they were clearly out of practice. But his silken lips felt like heaven against hers, and she tilted her head to deepen the kiss. He instinctively moved closer, eliminating what distance had remained between them, and reciprocated by burying his hand in her loose hair.
She nipped at his lush bottom lip and slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders; when she squeezed, they felt warm and strong through the flannel. Ignoring her injury, she threw a leg over his lap to straddle him. She was worried he might protest, but when he wrapped his left arm around her waist, she could tell they were very much still on the same page. In no time at all, their tongues were as tangled as his fingers in her hair, and Emma’s hands were drifting down his firm chest to the top button of his shirt.
Slowly, not giving up her assault on his mouth, she undid the first closure and waited for a reaction. Her caution surprised her, but she really didn’t want to mess this up. The gentle pelvic thrust he gave in response, though, spurred her on, and in no time at all, the shirt was open and her hands were pushing the flannel down his broad shoulders and over his large biceps, and he leaned forward to help her guide it over the straps of his prosthetic, off his arms, and toss it aside. Her fingers traced the dips of his collar bones before trailing down to his pecs and pressing against the muscles there. Briefly, she let her hands dance in the hair that covered his chest; it was dark and coarse, but sparse enough that it felt smooth with the skin underneath.
She was glad she’d taken off her leather jacket when she first got in as Killian’s hand drew a line of fire down her back through her thin sweater. Following her move, his thumb worked its way under the hem to the skin of her stomach and began to slide up until he was palming her breast through her lacy bra. (Honestly, she’d only worn it because it was the last one clean; fate obviously had known something she didn’t.) Her shirt suddenly felt constricting and sweltering, so she reluctantly broke the kiss to tug it off and toss it across the room.
Once free of the garment, she took a second to breathe in the relief of the cool air on her overheated skin. Then she returned her attention to Killian, who was staring back in awe. The fire made his blue eyes sparkle—or maybe it was just the wide-eyed way he was looking at her, the fine skin around them crinkling with his smile, that made him seem so much more carefree and younger than only minutes ago. His eyes darted as he studied her, so she took the opportunity to do the same: he had the perfect dusting of hair across his chest and in a line down his abdomen. He wasn’t one of those chiseled body-builder types that tended to be the norm in female fantasies; he was obviously fit and solid, but also soft enough to cuddle up with later on—which, if she had her way, she’d be doing later rather than sooner.
“So bloody beautiful,” he breathed, shifting his hips and sitting up to wrap his arms around her waist and bring her closer. She felt his jean-clad erection brush against her core through her leggings, sending a jolt of heat straight through her and making her grip his sides to anchor herself.
“So ‘re you,” she murmured back, her raspy voice matching the flush that had started at her center and now surely covered her exposed skin, but she was too enraptured with the freckles on his cheeks and the way his fringe fell over his forehead to care. And at the same instant, they came back together in another searing kiss.
Soon, Killian’s attentions moved from her mouth, down her jaw, and sucked a line down her neck that had her head falling back, eyes closed in pleasure. She sighed as he moved across her collarbone, tugging her bra strap down as he nipped and kissed, stoking the fire within her just as easily he had the one in the hearth.
Seeking relief, she instinctively grinded into him. She chuckled when he groaned at the contact, and tucked herself into his neck, placing tiny kisses against his warm skin and breathing in his scent. He smelled familiar, like pine and cedar, with a hint of a spice she couldn’t think of. It was incredible and so perfectly him; they should bottle it. Or make a candle out of it. Wait—
“Oh my God, you even smell like the damn candle!” she exclaimed with her face still buried in the crook of his neck.
“The wha?” he slurred, pulling back from her. She sat up and he was staring at her, brow furrowed in confusion.
“The Mountain Lodge candle, from Yankee Candle,” she explained. He raised an eyebrow in question, but didn’t seem to know where she was going. So she babbled on, “It’s this candle that smells all and manly and woodsy and like the perfect stereotypical female fantasy. And you smell just like it.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he wondered with a slight smirk.
“No, not at all,” she answered, much calmer, but she was still convinced the universe was playing some trick on her. She dragged her hands back up to his shoulders, feeling every bump and curve and line in between as if to make sure he was actually there. At this point, she couldn’t bear the thought that he might not be. “Just...tell me that you’re real,” she entreated. “Tell me that this isn’t all some romance novel fantasy playing out in my head.”
He licked his lips in a move that should have been lewd, but the tender look in his eyes and soft smile on his lips made it something else entirely—something that should have scared her, and probably both of them, but just made her heart race even more: something bordering on loving.
In a low voice, he told her, “How about I show you?”
He slid his hand from where it had settled at her hips down over the curve of her rear and used both arms to guide her legs around his waist. She gripped his shoulders and squeezed her thighs as he stood, until he had her held tight against him.
As he carried her (yet again), she made quick work of her bra, letting it join her top wherever it had landed in the great room, and then laid herself back on him, chest to chest. The hair across his pecs tickled her stimulated nipples in the best way, and she let out a slow exhale at the sensation.
Because her life was a cliche now, there was a large fur rug in front of the fireplace. There, Killian knelt and laid her down; the coarse fur was surprisingly plush and felt smooth against her bare skin. He disappeared, and she sat partway up, worried, but he returned a moment later holding the throw pillows from the couch and wordlessly propped her injured ankle with one.
Seriously—she must have fallen and hit her head in the woods, and was presently dying of exposure for this to be her reality. Even as Killian started placing kisses at the hollow of her throat, trailing them down the center of her body until he reached the waistband of her leggings, and then continuing the line whilst slowly pulling off her pants and undies at once—even then she was pinching herself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Granted, “pinching herself” awfully resembled” stroking her nipples,” but it had the same effect.
She still couldn’t believe it as she watched him gently part her legs, guide the healthy one to a propped position, and lift her hips to support them with the other pillow, despite all the feelings stirred by his careful ministrations. It wasn’t until he took a first tentative lick at her entrance that she was thoroughly convinced this wasn’t make believe. Because there was no way she could even imagine anyone as talented as Killian going down on her.
It was all she could do to not rut against his face, and thankfully his warm hand was pressed low on her stomach, both holding her in place and keeping a comforting weight on her growing pleasure. She found herself gripping the rug as he lapped at her folds, varying the speed and depth at which his skilled tongue maneuvered. The brush of his beard against her delicate skin tingled in the most delicious way. Every swipe of his tongue brought her closer and closer to her peak, which she’d been fairly close to before he even started.
She tensed, trying to hold it off and vaguely aware of the way he himself seemed uncomfortable, but he noticed her hesitation. He glanced up at her from between her legs and, in a wrecked voice, practically begged, “Come for me, love.”
And, because she was finding that she couldn’t deny him anything, she did. A second later, she fell over the edge, climaxing with a shout as waves of pleasure ran through her body, rippling out from her core. Not even the dull ache from her ankle, which had moved during her release, could crash this high.
Killian, eternal gentleman that he was, licked her sex a few more times as she came down before sitting back on his haunches to readjust her ankle. He moved awkwardly, though, and she could the strain of his arousal still very evident, if not more so.
Careful not to move her leg, she slowly sat up. He tried to stop her. “Easy there; you don’t want to—”
But his protestation died with a low growl when the back of her hand brushed the fly of his jeans and the hardness beneath. She repeated the motion with the heel of her palm, eliciting an even deeper moan, his head falling back and spine arching at her touch. Again she stroked, and reveled in watching his chest heave; he was somehow even more beautiful when aroused and she could feel her own desire building once more, even so soon after the last.
“Emma—please—” he stuttered, reaching for and stilling her wrist before she could stroke again.
As best she could from her awkward seated position, she leaned forward and whispered in his pointed ear, “Your turn.” He sighed and nodded.
Quickly but carefully, she undid his fly and pushed down his boxer briefs to free his stiff cock, which was, of course, as attractive as the rest of him and ready to go. Gently but firmly, she grasped his narrow hips and tugged him forward, sliding her hands to his lower back as they moved and slipping his clothes over his firm ass. Bracing himself on his forearms while she leaned back on her elbows, he managed to shake off his pants and then, once free of the offending garments, hovered over her.
Lightly, she placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down to her; even if it had only been minutes since their lips had last been joined, that was much too long as far as she was concerned.
While their mouths resumed their earlier waltz, her other hand trailed down his back and circled his side down to his manhood and began to stroke. He was like smooth velvet and warm in her hand as she slowly pulled from the base to the tip of his generous girth. His whole body shuddered on the first drag, and he hissed and bit his lip; but it was back to kissing on the next, and eventually his hand wandered to her breast, caressing it while she did the same to him.
The longer she worked, the more his hips moved with her, occasionally brushing his hardened length against her core. If the way he was slowly coming apart under her touch wasn’t enough to renew her arousal, that did it for sure.
So when he pulled back, strained and panting and stuttering, “I—I need—,” she cut him off.
“I want you,” she whispered. “Inside.”
His eyes opened wide. “Are you sure, Emma? Do we need—”
She appreciated his train of thought, but it wasn’t necessary. “We’re good. Now, please,” she breathed, “get inside me.”
“As you wish.”
He placed his hand over hers on his shaft, keeping it in place, and knelt back a bit. She guided him, circling her entrance with the tip of his cock. And then he slowly slid in, stretching and filling her perfectly and wholly.
They only paused there for a second, overwhelmed by the feeling of being joined, when both started shifting at the same time.
Somewhat startled, she grabbed his waist as he slowly pulled part of the way out. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, gripping her side and using his left arm to support him. He quickly thrust back in as she arched her hips up to meet him. He smiled at her movement, and what could she say? She was impatient to have him back inside her when it felt so good.
They set a rhythm with their push-pull, in and out, plunging and thrusting, feeling every beautiful inch of him drag against her walls as her hands did the same along his strong back. They were constantly increasing the pace until the pressure built within her was even more than before. Killian’s halting movements told her he was close, too.
“Love, I’m about to—” “Got it.” She reached in between them, finding the nub of her clit, and she’d hardly even made contact before she was coming, her release gripping her as shocks consumed her body and her head fell back with a rapturous gasp. She was sorry that she couldn’t see the look on Killian’s face when he followed her not a second later, but she could feel him stilling and pulsing within and heard his cry of pleasure.
They let bliss consume them for an unknown amount of time, only aware of the high they’d reached together and the feel of one another within and around them. But eventually, Killian slipped out and collapsed next to her on the rug, keeping an arm around her.
“So,” he panted, “does that convince you I’m real?” She turned her head to look at him, unsurprised to see an amused smirk topped by an arched brow.
She hummed back. “Yeah, I think so. But,” she started, reaching over to brush his hair off his forehead, “you’re more than welcome to make sure I really know. Maybe a change in scenery is needed?”
He gave a devilish grin. “How about the bedroom? The mattress springs are rather loud; there’s no way anyone can sleep through that.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Sunlight and the sound of birds chirping awoke Emma the next day. She blearily blinked her eyes to see the frosty world outside the window, snow dusting the branches in contrast to the bright red leaves.
She was sore in all the right places, save for her bum ankle, and stretched under the thick down blanket covering the bed.
Arms tightened around her and the body behind her shifted in protest of her movement. More carefully this time, she flipped over, and there he was: just as warm and soft and solid as he was last night.
Killian cracked an eye open as she placed her hand on the smooth skin of his stomach, near the V of hips. “Everything alright, love?” he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.
“Perfect,” she whispered, then placed a small, tender kiss on his lips and tucked herself back into him, her head on his chest.
So what if the past 24 hours had felt like a romance novel? She never imagined her life would ever resemble a work of fantasy—especially one like this—but she couldn’t poke fun or complain here. All that mattered was that it was real.
Hope this warms some people up! tagging some friends who might be interested @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @its-like-a-story-of-love @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @flipperbrain @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @jackieorioncat