My next fic disappearing from Ao3 is another speculation fic from before season six featuring Hyde as the bad guy in a Prince Humperdink scenario. It’s kind of silly, to be honest.
Summary: Mr. Hyde is forcing Emma Swan into marrying him. But Hyde has never seen the Princess Bride. Emma has. She knows how this ends.
In this day and age of modern, independent women, you would think dreams of princesses, castles, and balls wouldn’t even enter girl’s minds anymore. And yet … how does one explain the continued popularity of Disney princesses? Sure, maybe some parents are playing into gender stereotypes, but plenty of moms in sensible suits making six figure incomes are more than willing to plop down 75 bucks for one of those top of the line dresses at the Disney Store. And even if some women try to deny otherwise, why are so many women still swooning over Mr. Darcy? (Or, secretly, Flynn Ryder, smolder and all.)
Emma Swan was no different. By day she hunted down scum bags in sensible knee high boots. But by night … Well, let’s just say she was no stranger to Ben, Jerry, or Mr. Darcy. (As for Flynn Ryder, she would deny that one to her dying breath. She had no kids, so she had no excuse for watching Tangled to begin with).
But Emma’s favorite was The Princess Bride. Sure, Buttercup sometimes got on her nerves (What?! NOW you choose to pick up the damn branch! Help the man, girl!), but Emma couldn’t help but be moved by Westley’s utter devotion to her. Every time Westley declared to Buttercup that even death couldn’t stop true love, Emma would pause with her breath caught in her throat, spoonful of rocky road paused halfway to her lips. If only men like Westley were actually real.
Then she found out Disney princesses were, in fact, real. So were their princes. There really were fairy tales with true love and happy endings. But a real Westley? Doubtful. Until … there he was, the man in black. Lopsided grin, mesmerizing eyes, and a quick-witted tongue. She tried to suppress the schoolgirl fantasies, swearing even when she hauled him in for a kiss that it couldn’t possibly be as good as she dreamed. But the kiss was. And he was. What she had dreamed. “As you wish,” and everything. Even “death can’t stop true love; it can only delay it for a little while.” Yes, even Westley was real. Only his name was actually Killian Jones. And his more colorful moniker, instead of Dread Pirate Roberts, was Hook.
If she was living out her little fantasy, Emma should have anticipated a Prince Humperdink and a forced marriage at some point. Yet she hadn’t. They had done the whole death thing. A Prince Humperdink seemed rather anticlimactic. However, enter from stage right … Mr. Hyde.
Yeah, figures. Her Prince Humperdink was Mr. Freakin’ Hyde. I’ll take psychopaths for two hundred, Alex. Apparently, there was some prophesy about the child of the savior, so Hyde wanted to father it with her. Thankfully, his Victorian sensibilities required marriage first. Thank god.
Emma knelt in front of the door of her locked room, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she attempted to pick the lock with a hair pin. She may be Princess Buttercup in this little drama, but she wasn’t just going to sit around and wait. She had already tried her magic. Her non-existent magic, apparently. She wasn’t sure what Hyde had done, but she wasn’t able to use it. Just when Emma thought the lock had clicked open, a jolt sent her falling backwards onto her rear. Emma swore under her breath as she got to her feet. So much for picking the lock. She turned instead to the window. Bars. It was a stark reminder that she was being held captive in an asylum. No castles for Emma Swan. No sir. For her story, it was an asylum. Fitting.
Emma stood and began pacing; gnawing on her fingernails as she racked her brain for a plan. As she did, the door swung open. Emma lowered her hand quickly and squared her shoulders. No need to let Hyde see any nervousness or fear. Yet it’s a servant girl, not Hyde who shuffles into the room, a white wedding dress draped over her arm.
“Pardon me, Miss,” the maid says shyly. “I’m to get ye into yer gown and fix yer hair.”
Emma crosses her arms smugly over her chest. “I’m not putting that dress on because I’m not marrying the psycho.”
The maid – Mary, if Emma remembers correctly – looks around nervously. “The master told me ye would say that. He says he’ll put it on ye heself if ye refuse me help.”
Emma narrows her eyes, marches forward, and snatches the dress out of Mary’s hand. She knows, unfortunately, Hyde’s super-human strength from her run-ins with him in Storybrooke. “I’ll put it on myself,” Emma mutters. She stomps behind the dressing screen in the corner. “It also doesn’t mean I’m marrying him.”
Emma puts the dress on as quickly as she can, but needs Mary’s help in buttoning up the back. As the maid works the buttons, Emma speaks, a tilt to her chin. “Killian is coming for me anyway.”
Mary says nothing at first, simply steering Emma towards the vanity. Emma examines the dress as she sinks onto the velvet stool. Hideous. Huge. And the bows! What is this? My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Mary begins deftly working on her hair, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. “Yer pirate is rather dashing, Miss.” Emma meets Mary’s eyes in the mirror. The maid ducks her head before continuing, a blush coloring her cheeks. “Eyes like the sea after a storm …”
Emma gasps. This maid has never been to Storybrooke. So that means … Killian is here! This Mary girl has seen him (hence the blushing). Emma’s hand goes to her breast without thinking. Resting there, hanging from a chain around her neck, is the garnet ring Killian gave her in Camelot as well as the engagement ring he gave her just a week ago in Storybrooke. Emma had feared Hyde would take it, so she had slipped it onto the chain with the other ring. Luckily, the high Victorian neckline of the dress conceals them well. Emma smiles and exchanges a glance with the maid. He’s here!
Mary finishes with Emma’s hair. Though the dress is an over the top mess, Emma’s hair, thankfully isn’t. Mary has expertly pulled a little back from the sides and top with pins, letting the rest cascade in soft curls down her back. Mary lifts something from a mahogany box atop the vanity table and sets it on Emma’s head. A crown. Not a tiara. A full-on crown. Just like Princess Buttercup’s in the movie.
“Um … “ Emma wets her bottom lip. “Don’t you think it’s a little … much?”
“Oh, law, Miss!” Mary exclaims. “Yer a princess, Miss! And a bride. A princess bride.”
Emma suppresses a chuckle. The girl would think she was making fun of her.
Mary suddenly stiffens as Hyde strides into the room. She curtsies quickly, mumbling that the bride is ready, and hurries from the room. Hyde stands behind her, awkwardly placing his hands on her shoulders. “Nervous, my dear?”
Oh, so he wants to play out the whole scene? Fine. Emma knows it by heart.
“Why? Should I be?”
“I’m told bride’s often are.”
Okay, now this is just getting downright eerie. Still, Emma plays along. She rises smugly from the stool, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“I do not wed tonight. My pirate will come for me.”
Emma wonders at the crowd in the asylum chapel. Are these people here by force? Do they know she is marrying Hyde against her will? She tries to catch someone’s eye as she walks down the aisle, looking for a familiar face, or perhaps an ally. But everyone averts their eyes, avoiding her gaze.
When the priest steps forward, Emma half expects “Wuv, twue wuv” to come out of his mouth, but it doesn’t. He does wax on a little long about the sanctity of marriage. Rather ironic, if you ask Emma. Halfway through his spiel, Emma thinks she hears shouts in the corridors of the asylum. A grin lights up Emma’s face. She turns to Prince Hump – er – Hyde.
“There is my Killian, now.”
Hyde’s face, as usual, remains stony and impassive. “Impossible.”
Emma is really getting into the scene now. “Then why is there fear behind your eyes?”
“Do you have the rings?” the priest interrupts, and Emma can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up from her throat. She could have sworn he said “wings” instead of “rings.”
The sounds outside of the chapel grow louder. Not just shouts, but the sound of clanging steel. Perhaps the “woosh” and “twang” of arrows? A vein in Hyde’s forehead twitches. “Skip to the end.”
“Do you, Emma Swan –“
“Man and wife!” Hyde snaps through gritted teeth. “Just say man and wife!” The priest shrugs. “Man and wife.”
Emma grins and winks at the priest as Hyde grabs her by the elbow and hauls her out of the chapel’s rear door. They head down one short corridor and Hyde opens the door to a room more opulent than anything she has yet to see in this dark, foreboding place. The honeymoon suite, apparently. How nauseating. Hyde shoves her inside. Emma stands in front of the doorway, smirking.
“You’ve never seen The Princess Bride, have you?”
Hyde practically growls in frustration, slams the door, and locks it. She hears his heavy footfalls echoing away down the hallway.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Emma falls to her knees in front of the locked door, pulling a hair pin out of her wedding ‘do. She has just begun fiddling with the lock when she hears a voice behind her.
“Need a hand with that, love?”
Emma hasn’t even turned around yet when she cries out his name. “Killian!” She rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck and covering his mouth with hers. She then peppers kisses across his face. “I knew you would come!”
Killian leans back with a smile on his face that quickly fades to a look of concern. “Am I too late?”
Emma laughs and shakes her head. “Hyde has obviously never seen The Princess Bride.”
A grin spreads across Killian’s face. “Ahhh, I see. Forgot the vows, did he?”
Emma beams up at him, her Westley. “Yeah. He’s a regular Prince Humperdink.”
Killian gives her his best smirk, pulling her even closer against him. “Well then, lass, to the Jolly Roger, shall we? If you wouldn’t mind.”
Pounding is coming from the other side of the door.
“But Killian, Hyde is blocking my magic somehow!”
Killian cocks an eyebrow. “You doubt me love? That was Regina’s mission. Now, poof away.”
Emma isn’t sure if the best line is “As you wish” or “I will never doubt again,” so she says neither and just flicks her hand. Sure enough, when the smoke clears, they are on the deck of Killian’s ship. She’s quickly enveloped in hugs from her parents and Henry. Regina shows her affection with snark, as usual. “What took you two so long? Were you testing out the bridal chamber?” Emma just rolls her eyes, smiles at Regina, and thanks her.
As they sail away, with the sun setting in the distance, Killian comes to her side. As he takes her in his arms, she’s reminded of a scene at the very end of The Princess Bride.
In the history of kisses, there have been five rated the most passionate, the most pure.
Summary: Lucy tries to convince Officer Rogers that he is Captain Hook and that the blond woman in the storybook is his wife.
Rating: G
Note: One of the things I am interested to see this season is Rogers’ relationship with Lucy. I would love to see something like this happen. I hope you enjoy it! ~Steph
…Trust Your Heart: Part 1/1...
Rogers tossed and turned all night long. He couldn’t rid himself of the image of the beautiful blond in the storybook. Why did she seem so familiar? Why did the sight of her make his heart race? Why did the mere thought of her make it hard to breathe?
He considered reading the book and looking at the rest of the pictures, but finally scolded himself for being silly. There was no curse. None of these people or their stories were real. This was fiction. It had nothing to do with the real world. It had nothing to do with him. And the beautiful woman was nothing more than a character in a book.
But still he couldn’t force himself to dispose of the book as Ivy had instructed him. Something told him to hold onto it. So the following morning he placed it in his locker at work.
…
“Excuse me,” the desk sergeant heard.
He looked up but saw no one. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and saw Lucy.
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m here to see Officer Rogers.”
“It’s Detective Rogers now. And who are you?”
She smiled brightly. “Lucy. His granddaughter.”
He stifled a chuckle. This was the kid he’d heard about.
“His granddaughter? He’s a bit young to have a granddaughter, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “Well, step-granddaughter actually. And he only looks young. He’s actually a centuries old pirate.”
The desk sergeant burst out laughing at that one. He shook his head and mumbled, “Rogers always attracts the crazies.”
“I’m not crazy!” Lucy shouted, her brow furrowing angrily.
Just then, Rogers appeared by the desk.
“Hey, Rogers, this little girl says you’re her grandpa.”
Rogers stared at Lucy for a long moment. What was she talking about?
He walked over to her. “What are you doing here, love?”
“You have something that belongs to me.”
“I was told to dispose of it.”
“But you didn’t, did you?” she asked, tilting her head.
He lowered his eyes to the floor.
“I knew it. You know something’s not right. That’s why you didn’t get rid of it,” she said excitedly.
“I saw no reason to dispose of a perfectly good book. I am going to donate it.”
“Did you look through it?” she asked.
He dropped his gaze from hers again.
“You did.” She paused and said softly, “And you saw her.”
Rogers head snapped up. “What?”
“You saw her. The blond woman in the red leather jacket. She’s the savior. Emma Swan.”
Emma. The name rolled around his head and then slipped from his lips as it had done a thousand times before.
“Emma,” he whispered.
“She’s your wife, your true love,” she said with a smile.
Wife? Is that why she evoked such a reaction in him?
“My wife?” he mumbled to himself.
“That’s right. She’s the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. You fell in love and got married. Henry is Emma’s son and my father. You’re his stepfather. And that makes you my step-grandfather.”
Rogers shook his head, a nervous chuckle flowing from his mouth. “Do you have any idea how bloody mad that sounds?” He paused and asked, “And so who am I? Robin Hood?”
Lucy laughed and shook her head. “No, silly. You’re Captain Hook!”
She said it so loud that everyone in the station turned to look at them. Rogers felt his cheeks begin to burn. With a groan, he gently guided her by the elbow to the door and they stepped outside.
“Look, you seem like a good lass with an avid imagination, but that book isn’t real. The characters are not real. It was all made up.”
“That’s the curse talking. It made everyone forget who they are. You’re Captain Hook. But since you turned into a hero you’re known as Killian Jones.”
“There is no curse,” he said.
Lucy reached out and took his right hand. She placed it over his heart.
“What are you doing?” he asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
“Emma,” she whispered.
Rogers felt his heart begin to race beneath her palm.
“What do you feel when you hear her name? When you look at her picture?” she asked softly.
Rogers shook his head sharply and gently brushed her hand away.
“I have to get back to work.”
“Trust your gut. You know something is wrong. Deep down, you know I’m right. When you believe in something, you never give up. You never gave up on Emma or your love. And I won’t give up on you.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked away. Rogers watched her go, his heart only now returning to normal.
...
Hours later, Rogers walked out of the precinct and started in the direction of his apartment. Her voice stopped him in his tracks before he made it a few yards.
“Your shift was over an hour ago,” Lucy said.
Rogers sighed and turned around to face her. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I won’t give up on you. I won’t give up on our family.”
“You’re wasting your time, lass. Go home before it gets dark.”
Lucy reached into her backpack and pulled out the storybook. “Bet you’d be wondering where this went to soon enough.”
His mouth dropped open. “How did you get that? It was in my locker.”
She shrugged. “Turns out your police station doesn’t exactly have the best security.”
Rogers reached out to take it from her, but she snatched it away from his grip.
“It belongs to me anyway,” she said.
“Your grandmother...”
“Step-grandmother,” she corrected.
“Your step-grandmother does not wish for you to have it anymore. She said it’s caused too much trouble. I’m inclined to believe she’s right.”
“Trouble for her because she knows I’m right. My mother is Cinderella and she’s her evil stepmother. And I think she had something to do with casting the curse.”
“Lucy, it isn’t healthy to believe in things that aren’t real.”
“Tell that to the kids who still believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny,” she countered with a shrug.
“That’s different,” he replied weakly.
“That’s right. It is. Because they really aren’t real. But these stories and these characters are. You just don’t remember.”
Rogers shook his head. “It’s getting late and I’m tired. I need to get home and so do you.”
He began to walk away when she flipped open to a page in the book and held it up to him.
She pointed. “Look familiar?”
With a heavy sigh, he lowered his gaze to the picture. He felt his breath catch in his chest at the illustration. It was him. With guyliner, dressed in leather, wearing a hook and operating a ship, but definitely him. There was no mistaking it.
“That’s Captain Hook. That’s you.”
He slowly forced himself to shake his head. “Do I look like I wear guyliner and leather?”
Lucy gestured to his hand. “You’re missing a hand, aren’t you?”
Rogers pulled off his glove and revealed his prosthetic hand. “But no hook.”
Lucy groaned in frustration. “Of course no hook. You’re cursed!”
Rogers finally tore his eyes away from the illustration. “It’s just a character in a book who bears a resemblance to me. That’s all.”
“But-...”
“Goodbye, Lucy,” he said, cutting her off, and then turned on his heel.
“If you won’t trust your gut, then trust your heart. It’s never wrong,” she called after him.
He paused and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, before continuing on.
…
Rogers suffered through another sleepless night. He couldn’t get the image of the woman and the man that looked just like him out his head. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them. And Lucy’s words kept rolling around in his head.
Soon, it was morning and no amount of coffee could give him the energy he needed to get through the day. He stepped outside his apartment and almost tripped over a pair of legs.
Rogers eyes grew wide at the sight of her. “What are you doing here? How did you know where I live?”
She stood up and faced him. “I followed you home yesterday. You know, if you’re going to be a detective, you might want to be a little more aware of your surroundings.”
“There’s a word for that. It’s called stalking,” he said.
She shrugged. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Would you believe professional development day for the teachers?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Okay, then I won’t even try.”
“I’m taking you to school. Come on.”
Lucy didn’t budge. “You have a wife out there who is missing you. Don’t you want to get back to her?”
Rogers sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a wife.”
Lucy pulled the book out and flipped to a page towards the end. She pointed at an illustration of the man that resembled him and the blond woman kissing after getting married.
“Then what about this? This was your wedding day. You were both so happy.”
Rogers felt his hand lifting automatically and he ran it across the picture.
“You feel something, don’t you? What you two have is true love. No curse can take that away. It’s still inside of you. You’re connected forever.”
He dropped his hand and said softly. “It’s just a story.”
Lucy flipped back in the book. “One of the best love stories ever.” She began pointing at pictures. “Here’s you two on the beanstalk after you met. And having your first kiss in Neverland. Here’s your first date. Here’s when you died but Emma went to the Underworld to try to save you. She couldn’t, but you still found a way back to her. Look how happy you two are. Nothing can keep you apart. And here’s when you proposed twice and then here’s your wedding again.”
Rogers stared at the pictures, his heart beating more quickly at each one. They looked so happy, so in love.
Lucy went on. “And here is when the Black Fairy took Emma’s memories. But when she saw your picture in the storybook she knew you. In her heart, she knew you. Just like right now in your heart, you know her. She fought to get back to you and I know you’ll fight to get back to her now. You always have.”
Rogers shook his head. “Stop it. Please.”
“But I-...”
“No, I can’t listen to anymore of this. I need to get to work and you need to get to school. Let’s go.”
Lucy’s face fell, but she followed after him.
…
After most shifts, Rogers liked to go sit by the water. It helped calm him and clear his mind. He always sat on the same bench. But today he found his bench occupied by a familiar face.
With a heavy sigh, he sat down beside Lucy.
“You’re relentless,” he said.
She turned to him with a smile. “It’s a family trait. Trust me.”
“So, I assume you’re still following me then.”
“Nope, just a lucky guess. I figured you’d be drawn to the water.”
He stared at her for a long moment and then slowly bobbed his head. “Ah, yes, of course. I was the captain of a ship.”
“The Jolly Roger. And you were the best there ever was.”
They lapsed into silence for a few moments as they stared at the water.
“Why is this so important to you?” he asked, turning toward her.
“Because it’s my family. My parents belong together and they don’t even remember each other. And you belong with Emma.”
“Sometimes, lass, we want something so badly we make ourselves believe it. I know you want a father.”
“I have a father. And I’m going to convince him I’m right. Just like I’m going to convince you.”
Rogers smiled. “I admire your determination.”
“He’s not the only one who doesn’t remember his child, you know,” she said softly, meeting his gaze.
“What do you mean?”
“You. You and Emma have a daughter.”
Rogers eyes widened. “A daughter.”
“Her name is Leia. She’s six years old and I know she misses her daddy.”
Leia. The name rolled around his head and made his heart race just like Emma’s.
“I have a daughter,” he whispered.
Lucy nodded. “Yes, and you and Emma deserve a chance to raise her together.” She paused and swallowed roughly. “I know this all sounds crazy. But if there is even the smallest part of you that feels something, then you owe it to yourself to investigate it. You’re a detective now. Start detecting.”
Rogers shook his head and groaned, “This is bloody ridiculous.”
“Here,” Lucy said, placing the book in his lap. “Read your love story. It will make you believe.”
He paused, slowly running a hand down his face. “Hypothetically, let’s say I believe you. What do you want from me?”
She shrugged matter-of-factly. “I want you to help me break the curse and reunite our family.”
With that, she stood up and walked away.
Rogers sighed, shaking his head and muttering, “Oh, is that all?”
…
Rogers endured another sleepless night, but this time it was because he spent it reading the storybook. He read the entire thing from cover to cover. He read about every important moment Captain Hook and Emma Swan had shared. And there was no denying it. He felt that connection deep in his heart and soul. It didn’t make any sense, but he couldn’t deny how he felt.
He wasn’t surprised to find her sitting outside his door again that morning.
“Another professional development day for the teachers?” he asked with a wink.
She grinned up at him. “How did you know?”
He chuckled and sat down beside her. He turned to her. “So...how do we break the curse?”
A huge smile spread across her face and she threw her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his shoulder.
“Thank you, Grandpa,” she whispered.
Rogers laughed and pulled back, shaking his head. “Perhaps we can ease into the whole grandpa thing. This is still new to me. It will take some time to adjust.”
Lucy nodded. “You got it.”
Rogers stood up and extended his hand to her. “Come on, lass. We’ve got work to do.”
Lucy grinned as she slipped her hand in his.
...THE END...
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I’d love to know what you thought. ~Steph
Just a quick little story, because I have a lot of feelings after yesterday’s episode. Here’s my take on how I’d like the revelation of Killian’s secret to go. Tagging a few people who may be interested:. @snowbellewells @flslp87 @laschatzi @linda8084 @hellomommanerd @kmomof4
“And I’d no idea who the unfortunate man was until your friend the puppet handed me these pages,” Killian said, voice breaking on the last word. He dropped his eyes and sighed deeply before raising his head once more. “Swan…I know what I did is unforgivable. I know I’ve no right to expect your affection any longer. I know I should have told you the sordid tale before proposing, but gods help me I…I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to see the joy leave your eyes. I couldn’t bear to see your love for me shrivel up. Just know that I have no expectations. If you wish to return the ring I gave you, I know that it is no more than I deserve after the heinous wrong I did to your father, to your entire family.”
Killian and Emma had spent a blissful night cocooned in their love following his abrupt proposal. For a few hours, Killian nearly forgot what he’d done, what he was, but in the cold light of day, Killian knew what needed to be done. She deserved the truth. She deserved to know the depths of depravity reached by the man with whom she planned to spend her life.
And so, he’d made her breakfast, sat silently as she chattered on about dresses and bridesmaids and plans for the reception until he thought he’d go mad with the pain of it. Perfect happiness was stretched out before him, but pirate though he was, he couldn’t accept it under false pretenses.
“Swan,” he’d stopped her finally, “there’s…something I need to tell you.”
Something in his tone of voice seemed to bring her up short. She closed her mouth with a pop, concerned eyes turning his way. He’d taken a deep breath, closed his eyes for a long moment, and then unfurled the entire story.
Now he sat, feeling like the condemned expecting his sentence to soon be passed on as he waited for her to speak. As the silence dragged on, he finally raised his eyes from the crumb on the kitchen table he’d firmly focused them on, and finally met her eyes.
She looked…devastated, a stricken look on her face, tears in her eyes, one tracking lazily down her cheek. Killian felt his heart drop. He’d have done anything in his power to spare her this pain. He’d have cheerfully removed his other hand at the wrist if he thought it would wipe the sadness from her eyes.
Killian knew not how long they sat there, silent, motionless, but slowly she reached over, pulled the ring free from her finger and placed it in his hand. The tears rose up in his throat as his entire world crashed in around him. It was no more than he deserved, but he’d hoped. Oh, he’d hoped she could find it in her heart to forgive him.
“I just have one question,” she said thickly, getting to her feet and standing before him.
“Aye love,” he said in a choked voice, looking up at her. “I’ll tell you anything.”
Slowly she lowered herself until she was on one knee. Reaching up, she took his hand. “Killian Jones, will you marry me?”
His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “Pardon, love?”
“I said, will you marry me?” she asked, enunciating each word.
Killian slid from the chair until he was kneeling beside her. “Of course, my love. Without question. Of course I’ll marry you.”
“Good,” she said, reaching up to cup his face in both of her hands, “because I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I will continue loving you for eternity. Nothing you’ve ever done will change that. Nothing, do you hear me? You’re not that man anymore, and the fact that you came to me, told me everything even when there was no way I’d find out the truth on my own…that says a lot about just what an amazing guy you are.”
“But I killed your grandfather, love,” Killian said in a small voice, hardly daring to hope. “How does one move past that?”
“It’s…” she said, “probably gonna take my dad a bit to come to terms with it, but Killian, I know you. I know your heart. I can see how much guilt you carry over this.”
Leaning forward she kissed him. He waited a beat, and then returned the kiss wholeheartedly. After a long moment, she pulled back, her thumbs drawing lazy circles on his cheeks. “A pretty smart guy told me something once,” she said.
“Yeah?” he asked, “and what was that?”
“He said all sins can be forgiven when you have someone who loves you,” she said softly, “and I do love you, Killian; you have no idea how much.”
Killian leaned forward and kissed her again, feeling tears slide from his eyes. After a moment he dropped his forehead to hers. “You’re bloody brilliant, Emma,” he murmured, “and I’ll never in my life deserve you.”
Emma sat back, and then pulled him to his feet. “I think we deserve each other. I think we deserve a little happiness after all we’ve been through. I just have one last question.”
“Aye?”
“Can I have my ring back now?”
Chuckling, Killian slipped it back on her finger, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face as the gates of paradise opened before him once more.
I don’t know why I’m even bothering to post this this weekend, but it’s been sitting on my computer--finished, apparently--since last year so...it’s waited long enough. I started this back after 6x05--but ended up rewriting the whole thing once 6x06 aired (for the obvious reason that my original fic involved Killian & Henry deciding to hold onto the shears). Anyways, 6x05 raised the question--what could possibly make Emma change her mind about using the shears. And this happened. As always, this has been added to “The Lost Get Found” over on ff.net if that’s you preference. And also, as always, you know I love getting yelled at. (Though this maybe doesn’t qualify as angst???)
Word count: 3.3k
Normally, Emma loved that her kitchen could fit her whole family comfortably.
Tonight, though, all those people just made her head throb worse as they talked back and forth about the object she held in her hand. All of them so caught up in the excitement of finally having the shears back in their possession that none of them had noticed her silence.
"We could put them in the vault." Regina paused her pacing. "No one can get in there unless I let them."
"That spell has been broken too many times," her dad shoots back. "We need something better. Somewhere no one will think to look."
"Maybe it's not a somewhere that we need," her mom said, her finger tracing the rim of her mug. "Maybe it's someone. Namely, all of us."
"What are you getting at?"
"The Evil Queen didn't make her move until the shears were no longer in anyone's possession," Snow said, sitting forward. "Maybe if someone's holding onto them, no one can steal them."
David nodded. "So we all share the burden of holding onto them and she has no way to know which of us has them."
"Or she could just knock all of us out at once and search our bodies at her leisure." Killian's hand on Emma’s shoulder tightened a little, tension radiating down his arm even as his thumb rubbed circles on the back of neck.
"Do you have a better idea?" Regina snapped.
Emma closed her eyes, her grip around the shears tightening. Before anyone could say anything else, she stood, her chair screeching against the tile floor.
"Guys, that's enough."
Everyone but Killian flinched like she'd slapped them.
Emma sighed. "Look, Killian and I will figure out what to do with these. If we need your help, we'll let you know. Okay?" She willed her hand not to shake, gritting her teeth with the effort.
"Okay," Snow said. Her mom stood, gathering the mugs of cocoa sitting on the table and carrying them to the sink. She worked quickly, efficiently to load the used cups into the dishwasher as her dad ran upstairs to get Neal from the pack-n-play in the spare bedroom. Regina went to the closet and grab her coat.
Henry's mouth became a thin line when she returned with his in hand as well. "Mom, I know it's your week, but..."
"No," Emma said. "It's fine, Henry. No reason to upset the schedule."
"But..."
Emma looked to Regina, imploring her, but it was Killian who stepped in first.
"Emma's right, lad, the shears are with us now, there's nothing to be worried about." He clapped his hand on Henry's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Henry's eyes narrowed, as though he suspected a trick.
"I won't do anything without letting you know first, kid," Emma said. "You know that."
David, holding a groggy,fussy Neal, came tromping downstairs as Snow turned on the dishwasher. The dull thrumming added another layer to Emma's headache. Her parents held her close for an extra moment each when they hugged her goodbye, but finally, it was just her and Killian in the house and she felt she could breathe again.
Gentle fingers glided down her arm, closing over her hand and the shears.
"Why don't you let me take care of these for now," Killian said, "out of sight, out of mind. You can decide where to hide them in the morning."
"No." The shears moved in her hand, their blades scraping against each other. "No, I—we need to decide what to do with them. Tonight."
"Hey. It's okay. It's okay." He ran his hand up and down her arm, his hook curling around to pull her closer. "We have them, Emma. No one else is getting ahold of them tonight. We have time."
But they didn't have time. That was exactly the point. That was exactly why she couldn't let go of the shears.
Seven days they had haunted her and here they were in her hand, finally. And she wanted to use them so badly. She wanted to use them right now and be sure, be safe. Know that that the future she could see so clearly right now could come to pass. She knew, deep down in her soul, that it would be a selfish choice, one that would likely haunt her for the rest of her life.
But couldn’t live with the alternative. Literally.
"I shouldn't have asked you to hide the shears," she blurted out. It’s only one of the things that weighed on her all week, but it's the least nerve-wracking.
Killian flinched and of course, of course he took it the wrong way. "Aye, I am sor—"
"No, I didn't mean it like that," Emma said. "I meant—" She sighed. "I mean, I'm sorry I asked you to do that. Without even talking it over with you first."
He shrugged. "It's your decision."
She gripped his arm with her free hand. "But I could have at least heard you out, given you a say." She looked down at their shoes, feet spread so their feet interlock almost. Swallowing, she continues, "I'm still figuring out this whole functional relationship thing. So I'm sorry and I don't want to do this on my own again."
"You're not on your own, love," he said. "And you never will be again." He pressed his lips to her temple, lingering. "I forgive you. You were just trying to do the heroic thing."
"Screw heroic," Emma muttered.
Killian drew in a quick breath, his body drawing tight as one of her mother's bowstrings.
"What happened to fighting?" he asked.
"I can't fight if I'm dead."
Killian stepped back, shaking his head. "So you want to use the shears now?" He raked his hand through his hair. "Emma, I know this has been weighing on your mind the last few days, but this means parting with your magic for good. Are you sure that's what you want?"
Her breath caught in her throat. No, it wasn't what she wanted, but it was looking more and more like the best chance open to her.
"I'm not willing to pay the price anymore," she said. "I want to live."
"You will," he said, his voice hard and sharp as a knife. "We'll find a way."
"Maybe this is the way," she shot back. Her control from early vanished, her hand trembling. "Besides, you're the one who kept them the first time. You can't tell me you think it's a terrible idea."
“I kept them as a contingency, love,” he said. His hand brushed down her arm, fingers curling over hers and trapping the shears. “It seemed foolish to dispose of such a powerful object before we found any other alternative, but, Emma, I do believe there is an alternative.” He smiled, a barely there smile that showed mostly in his eyes. This time, she let him pull the shears from her grasp and set them on the table behind him. He laced his steady fingers with her increasingly unsteady ones. He ducked down, his eyes holding hers as easily as he held her hand. "Emma, what changed your mind?"
She swallowed. Here was the crux of the matter. Weeks weren't long enough anymore. Months weren't long enough. Years, she needed years, as many of them as she could rip away from that bitch called Destiny. Tugging him away from the kitchen and into the living room, she made a beeline for the couch. Killian sat beside her, turned slightly so his knee brushed her thigh, his presence comforting.
Emma took a deep breath, fighting back the feeling that things were moving too fast. It was all moving too fast. It was one thing to know that they were true love, to know he wasn't leaving, that this wasn't like every other relationship in her past. That he was here to stay. But it suddenly felt like all of her time was evaporating right in front of her. If she had known, if she had guessed all those weeks ago, she wouldn't have thrown the shears away. But how could she have known?
It was all happening so fast.
"Hey," Killian said, squeezing her hand and offering his gentlest smile. "I'm not going anywhere."
It required an inhuman effort to push back the tears, but she managed.
"It's not just about me, anymore…" Emma started.
Like a Band-Aid. Quick, like a Band-Aid.
"I'm pregnant."
Killian blinked. "What?"
Emma rushed on, the words pouring out of her now that she had pulled the plug. "I've been meaning to tell you all week." She shrugged. "But you know how things have been lately and I just could never find the right time or the right way. And I wanted to do things the right way this time, since, you know, I never got the chance to with Henry. I mean, he was eleven by the time Neal knew and...but none of that matters, none of that matters because I have no idea what's coming tomorrow and I just—"
"Are you sure?" Killian asked in a hoarse voice.
She nodded. "This isn’t exactly my first time at this rodeo."
His eyes clouded for a moment as he tried to figure out the reference, but it only distracted him for a few seconds.
"We are going to have a child," he said. Then he added, "A baby."
"That is generally what pregnant means," Emma replied. Her lip caught between her teeth as she waited for the news to sink in, for him to react.
"Oh." He stared at her, with all the reverence and care that he had in Camelot, that he had the first time she told him she loved him with no other reason than that it was true. Maybe a little more dazed. She had just hit him with the Mack truck of life events. It would have been hilarious if her nerves weren’t already vibrating at a mile a minute.
“You okay there, captain?” She forced herself to breathe, reminded herself that she wasn’t alone this time.
“I—” Killian shook his head, the glazed look fading a little. The tears in his eyes when he met her gaze again were the only warning she got. His hand jumped to her cheek and he surged forward, pressing his lips gently to hers.
Emma chased the kiss with a sigh, her fingers finding purchase on the lapels of his vest. She didn’t have to ask twice for more. His fingers slid into her hair as he deepened the kiss and she lost herself in several slow, languid minutes, his gentleness and love chase away the proverbial sword dangling over her head, even if it was only for a moment. Killian moved as he ended the kiss, kneeling in front of her as she opened her eyes, his forehead solid and warm against hers.
"I love you, Emma Swan."
He said it like a prayer.
She didn’t bother to correct him. "So, better than okay?"
"Aye," he whispered. Chocolate and cinnamon and a little bit of rum was on his breath. He sat back on his heels, still staring at her with the kind of adoration that should be reserved for deities and spectacles of nature. His fingers found hers, slipping between them with practiced ease. "Are you?"
Emma laughed. "Yeah, fine, I'm—"
Killian shook his head. "No, I meant—" He sighed, ducking away from her searching gaze. "Apologies, love. Of all things I expected to hear, good news was not one of them. Let alone this."
"As evidenced by the lack of your characteristic eloquence."
Good news. He called it good news.
They hadn't exactly talked about this in so many words. She hadn't even been sure that she wanted another kid. Not until she saw that little plus symbol on the pregnancy test. Killian's reaction had been her one spot of uncertainty. Sure he got along with Henry, loved him, but that was a far cry from starting from scratch with a baby that wouldn't be able to tie sailor's knots or perfect a parry for years. She suspected on more than one occasion he had thought about it, especially considering the size of the house he picked out, but he never brought it up and she wasn't comfortable discussing it until she had a better grasp on her own feelings.
And fate or destiny or whatever had simply laughed at them.
"You're absolutely sure," he said again, his voice tremulous.
"Yes," she said. "I peed on a stick and everything."
"What?" His nose scrunched up and his brow furrowed.
Emma laughed. "Not a literal stick," she clarified. "It's a test we have here. I'll show you later..." Emma sighed, running a hand through his hair, less to calm him than to calm her. "Do you see now why I want to use the shears? I don't know any other way to be sure..."
He nodded solemnly. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, his hook a comforting weight on her thigh.
She'd had no idea that someone's eyes could hold so much joy and sadness at the same time.
"One of these days, Emma," he said, "you are going to realize that you are worth saving all on your own."
"You think that's what this is about?"
He tilted his head, smiling sadly. "I think you haven't a selfish bone in your body."
"I can be selfish," she said softly.
“Really?” One of those ridiculous, dramatic eyebrows winged up, mirth lighting his eyes. “Because as I recall, you spend most days chasing monsters and fixing other people’s problems.”
“I’m the savior,” she said, “it’s what I do.”
“I know. I know, love. I just don’t think you—”
“We.”
"We, then.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I don't think we should make any hasty decisions. Especially not out of fear."
Emma snorted.
"Don't deny it, Emma," he said.
"I'm not," she shot back. "On a scale of one to ten, I've been a twelve all week."
"Yes, I know." One of his knees popped as he pushed back up onto the couch, though if it hurt, he didn't show it. "Which is why I think this needs careful consideration. As far as we know, this is permanent."
"So is having a kid." She shoved off the couch. Their moment had passed and the same restless energy that had consumed her since she first started seeing the visions returned. "So is me dying."
Killian didn't move, but his eyes blazed. "I'd find a way to bring you back."
"Killian..."
He shrugged. "Don't tell me it can't be done."
Emma bowed her head, fingers massaging her temples. Soft footsteps came up behind her and his hand ghosted over the back of her neck for a moment before he started digging into the tension there.
"This is me being selfish," she said softly.
A long pause followed her words, tense with the weight of his thoughts.
"You'll find very few people that think a mother wanting to protect her child is selfish." His lips brushed against her ear with every word, sending chills down her spine.
She shook her head, turning to face him. "If this was just about that, it would be easy. I'd only have to postpone my fate for what..." She closed her eyes as she did the mental math. "Seven months."
"I thought..."
"By the time you realize you're pregnant, you're usually past the first month," Emma said with a shrug. "And I've been distracted, so I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been." She held up her hand when he started to ask something else. "The point is, if protecting this—our kid was the point, I'm pretty sure it'd be fine as soon as it was born." She took a moment to appreciate the flicker of a smile that crossed his face at the word 'our'. She wanted nothing more than to go back to that happy, little bubble with him and live there forever. "I want more than that, Killian. More than a few months or even years. I want decades. I want this..." She gestured between them. "I want to grow old with you and watch our kid or kids grow up and have families of their own. And as long as I'm the savior that isn't going to happen."
The muscle in his jaw jumped and she knew he was dying to say something, but he knew she wasn't finished, so he kept his lips pressed tight. She loved him a little more just for that.
"So yeah," she said. "Wanting to use the shears is selfish. It means I'm giving up my ability to help people for something I want. All those people who might need me one day are going to be left in the lurch and that kills me, but I am not letting another one of my kids grow up without me." She pressed a hand to her still flat stomach, glad she no longer had to suppress the urge.
"You won't," he said, low and serious. "Emma, I swear you won't." He held her close, his hand moving to cover hers. “You’re forgetting one very important fact though, love.”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t need magic to help people.”
“So you agree with me,” she said, pulling back to look him in the eye.
Killian smiled. “It’s an option. And I don’t think it’s the end of the world, but Emma…” He pursed his lips, brow drawing low as he carefully considered his words. “While I think we should hold onto them until we find an alternative, if there is one thing I’ve learned from you heroes—” He cut off, glancing away from her intense glare. “From becoming a hero, it’s that there is almost always an alternative. As a former villain myself, I find it hard to trust the word of other villains.”
Emma took a slow breath. “So…you don’t think I should use the shears?”
“I think we should go to bed,” he said, “and think on it in the morning when we have clearer heads.” He kissed her softly again. “I’m with you whatever you want to do, Emma. I told you I’d never stop fighting and I meant it. We’ll find a way to keep you safe.” He grinned. “Both of you.”
She couldn’t help it, those eyes and that smile were too much, so she stretch up on her tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn’t a particularly spectacular kiss, neither of them could stop grinning long enough for that.
“Okay,” she said.
He followed her upstairs and they fell into their usual nighttime routine. As they were brushing their teeth, their skin still damp and tacky from an extended shower, Killian remembered the test and they lost a few minutes as he stared at the little bit of plastic, asking questions about its mechanics that Emma couldn’t answer for the life of her.
Finally, she coaxed him out of the bathroom—convincing him to leave the test behind was no small feat—and into bed. The warmth of the blankets and soft pillows accepted her exhausted body as one of their own and she hadn’t been curled up with her pirate more than five minutes before her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. She dozed, the gentle motion of Killian’s fingers tracing looping patterns across her stomach the only thing anchoring her to consciousness.
“You’re sure you’re alright with this,” he said, his voice feather light.
Emma hummed in agreement.
“Hard to believe that there is a child in there.” Killian’s hand pressed flat against her stomach.
“Give it a couple of weeks.”
Silence blanketed them again and Emma was almost asleep when Killian sucked in a sharp breath.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
Emma lifted her head, trying to make out his features in the darkness. “What? What’s wrong?”
just a bit of wish world/6x11 spec that I’ve had in my head since stumbling across the picture of wish world!Killian. I haven’t seen any spoilers other than that, so this is just how I imagine their meeting going; takes place within the same spec realm as all rise for the captain. ~1200 words of fluff-ish.
It was a stroke of luck that they found August in that tavern, after Belle and the ship turned out to be a dead end. He’d agreed to take them to the Blue Fairy, so they regrouped with Robin and set off in search of her the next morning.
Despite the number of times Emma had now found herself in the Enchanted Forest, she never quite got used to the quiet of the forest roads; they sounded so empty compared to what she was used to. But it did make it easier to hear if something was coming.
She was the first to catch the sound of someone stumbling through the foliage along the path, and whispered a harsh “wait!” to her companions. Hearing the noise, they all glanced around; Regina reflexively summoned a ball of fire and Robin drew his bow.
With a crash, the individual fell through the brush onto the dusty road in a heap of worn leather and a mop of gray hair. The sword he held clattered to the ground with him and he coughed as he struggled to stand.
Instinctively, Emma moved forward to help the old man up, but had hardly taken a few steps before August called out a warning. “Don’t—it’s a trap. He does this all the time.”
Emma looked back at him, cocking her head in question, only time to hear a very familiar—albeit gruff—voice call out. “Really, lad? Are you going to ruin all my fun?”
Slowly, Emma turned back around. Years of castle living had been kind to her parents, and though Belle and her crew were worn from years at sea, they too had aged well. But, oh, Killian—she hardly recognized him.
He was back on his feet, sword leveled at the group. Shaggy gray hair hid his much of his face, but she could make out the whitish beard covering his jaw. His leather duster had seen better days, and he was more heavyset than she would have expected (though, given his love of rum, she probably shouldn’t be surprised by his paunch).
But his eyes—those hadn’t changed one bit, and while the years here had added lines around them, they were still the same piercing blue and as sharp as ever.
“It’s bad form to interrupt a man while he’s at work.” Killian was glaring at August; part of her wanted to laugh at the fact that he wasn’t a fan of the “wooden man-child” in this reality, either.
“Last I checked, your kind of employment was robbery, which is illegal. And what kind of pirate are you without your ship?” August snarked.
Killian’s jaw clenched and she could tell he was trying to stand taller. Clearly, this was going to take some level of diplomacy; at least her fake memories from this realm had taught her that much.
Hands raised, she slowly stepped forward, despite every bone in her body aching to run to him. “We don’t want any trouble; we’re just trying to find our way home.”
His blade didn’t falter, but he studied her intently as she approached. “And where is home?”
“Storybrooke.” So far, no one from this reality seemed to have any knowledge of the real world, but she had to see if it had any affect on him.
He snorted; it didn’t. “How quaint. And just how were you planning on getting there, Princess?”
She winced; of course he would recognize her. But she continued. “We were going to ask the Blue Fairy for a bean; maybe she can help you out, too?”
He lowered his weapon and laughed, but she immediately recognized it as an empty one. “And just what is some fairy going to do to help an old pirate like meself, eh? I’ve dealt with enough their kind to know they won’t give me my happy ending. No one can.”
Anyone else would have only heard anger in his tone, but she easily picked up on the edge of heartbreak and loneliness that crept into his voice and features. She was in front of him now, close enough to touch. He had a few more scars on his face and could probably use a bath, but it was still him, and her heart broke.
Regina was whisper-yelling her name, but Emma ignored it; instead, she reached up to cup his cheek, hating how he flinched at the contact. “Killian, what happened to you?” she whispered.
He breathed sharply and furrowed his brow. “How do you know my real name?”
She gave him a sad smile. “I’d know you anywhere.”
He studied her, curiously raising a wild gray eyebrow. “Have we met before?”
“You could say that.”
Something a lot like longing flitted across his face before being replaced by that old flirtatious smirk that still cut a dimple in his cheek. “I’d like to think I’d remember meeting a lass as fair as you.”
“Trust me, you would. I wouldn’t let you forget.”
He kept smiling for a moment, but then his face fell, deepening the lines on his forehead. She knew that dark look all too well—the past was rearing its ugly head and threatening to drown him, but moreso now than she’d ever seen. In this realm, it had probably been centuries since he’d known love and decades since anyone had given him a second look—partly based on his status in society (whether that was pirate or drunk was up for debate), and partly because she knew just how few allies he had before he’d met her. Cora and Regina were non-factors here, and with Rumple locked up, he likely had no more cause for revenge. She thought back on the vengeful, almost suicidal pirate he was when they met; it was no wonder this life had led him here.
Their conversation in the diner so long ago about being part of something ran through her head. Even if this reality wasn’t real, she didn’t have it in her to let any version of him go so unloved or unwanted. Whatever the course of his life, this was more her Killian than even the Author’s timid version, and though she’d really only been away from her True Love for a few hours, she missed him and would be damned if she let him out of her sight for the remainder of her time here.
“Come with us,” she told him, taking his hand in hers. He stared at the point of connection for a moment with an all-too-familiar look of awe.
“Why?” he breathed. “What on earth could you want with a broken old pirate?”
“Because deep down, I know there’s a man of honor, even if you’ve forgotten him.”
He glanced up at her through his eternally thick lashes, assessing her offer. “I suppose it would be bad form to let the Princess wander through the forest without protection,” he commented. “Wouldn’t want a thief to come after her.”
“Yeah, probably.” She could almost hear Regina rolling her eyes, but Emma couldn’t help it—it seemed that no matter the realm or situation, her True Love brought out the flirtatious side of her, and vice versa.
Killian gracefully sheathed his sword, age and drink apparently having no affect on his smoothness, and offered her his arm. “Might I be allowed to escort Her Highness on her way?”
She took his elbow, and beckoned for the others to follow. “You may. And please, call me Emma.”
“As you wish.”
tagging a few people who I know have at least seen the pic: @kat2609 @captainswanismyendgame @shipsxahoy @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @fergus80 @cocohook38
(and to the anon who requested post-wish world smut....HERE YOU GO)
As I’m weeding out my obnoxious amount of fics on Ao3, the first ones I’m deleting are ones like this that were originally speculation fics that canon has now blown out of the water. Even though I knew this spec fic would never actually happen since it closely follows the plot of a Smallville episode by the same name. This was also written before we knew Colin would be playing Wish!Hook. I loved making the creepy pic set for this, which ended up being pretty perfect for Halloween week. I also was struck by how much Andrew J West and Colin look alike. This is a Captain Cobra fic all the way with adult Henry, so that realization gave me massive feels.
Many are a little sad that I’m deleting some of my fics on Ao3, but just remember that they will now be here on tumblr as well! This just means that new readers finding my fics on Ao3 won’t be so overwhelmed and my very best ones will be easier to find.
Summary: One moment, a curse is bearing down on him, and the next Killian Jones wakes up in a mental hospital. They say every thing he has ever known to be true is a fantasy. But surely that's part of the curse . . . right? Inspired by the Smallville episode of the same name. No need to have watched Smallville to get this story. However, there are some fun easter eggs for Smallville fans.
Killian Jones smiled as he brought his cup of coffee to his lips, gazing out of the bay windows to the view of the sea. He could hear Emma’s footsteps above him as she padded across the nursery on the second floor. Through the baby monitor on the coffee table, he could hear her coo a good morning to the baby. His smile widened when little Chloe babbled a response. The voices of the two lasses he loved most in this world quieted on the monitor as the rocking chair began to squeak. In his mind’s eyes, he could see Emma holding Chloe to her breast as she nursed her, rocking slowly back and forth. She would smile down at their wee one, touching a finger lightly against the baby’s soft cheek.
The family’s golden retriever bounded down the stairs, its claws click-clacking on the hard wood floor. The dog nuzzled against Killian’s hook, giving the cool steel a lick.
“Morning, Shelby,” Killian chuckled, giving the dog a pat of greeting.
The dog sat on her haunches, contently waiting by Killian’s side for him to finish his morning coffee. She waited there patiently, and then Killian would rinse out his mug and fill her bowl with kibble. It was their daily routine.
But suddenly Shelby whimpered, turning her head towards the front door. She rose onto all fours, fur bristling as she stalked forward. She stopped directly in front of the door and let out a low, deep growl. Killian arched a brow.
“What is it, girl? You hear something I don’t?”
Killian set his mug on the coffee table and went to the dog who was now scratching at the door, whimpering once again. Killian opened it, and Shelby bounded on to the front porch, barking wildly. Killian stepped out cautiously, hook raised. He had a bad feeling about this. He strode to the top of the porch steps, his eyes widening as he saw what was barreling down the street straight for the house. He turned and raced back inside.
“Emma!” he screamed.
His wife was at the top of the steps, clutching the baby in her arms. Chloe was wailing, her cries different than any Killian had heard before. Cries of fear.
“Killian! Behind you!” Emma screamed.
He turned as the billow of crackling smoke poured through the front door. This curse was different than all the rest, pounding against him like a physical force. With the names of his wife and daughter on his lips, Killian fell backwards, his head smashing against the floor.
Still on his back, Killian’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked at the harsh fluorescent light swinging overhead. Two men he didn’t recognize were leaning over him. One had a round face, soft with fat and sprinkled with red facial hair. The other had a long, thin face and large ears. Both had dull, unfocused eyes and laughed maniacally.
“Did the curse get you?” chuckled the chubby one.
“Yeah,” the other one said, giving a high-pitched giggle, “which realm did you wake up in?”
Killian sat up, utterly confused, to find himself on a cold, linoleum floor surrounded by a group dressed in white. They were seated in folding chairs in a circle around him. Killian scrambled to his feet, taking in the room. This made no sense. It was a large, colorless room. Industrial, with bars on the windows. Everyone was dressed in plain white pants and shirts. Kilian looked down. Including him.
“Where am I?” he muttered. “Where are Emma and Chloe?”
“Gentleman please sit,” a cultured voice asked gently, and the two men shuffled to chairs and dutifully sat. Killian refused.
“What the bloody hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, Captain Hook,” the man with the red beard chuckled, “but this ain’t the Jolly Roger!”
The man’s words rose in hysterical volume as he spoke, and the others in the circle joined in his laughter.
“What realm am I in?” Killian roared, “What did this curse do?”
“Which curse,” giggled the thin one, “the one that the Queen of Hearts protected you from? Or the one you cast when you were a dark one?” The man used air quotes around the final title.
“Oh, oh, I know,” the chubby one squealed, clapping his hands, “it was the one that separated him from his true love.”
Killian’s anger rose as a hand rested on his shoulder. He turned to a man with a white beard, dressed in a tweed suit. “Killian,” he said softly, “why don’t you sit back down.”
Killian stumbled away from him, “What happened to me? Who are you?”
The man raised his hands in supplication as if Killian were a wild colt who might kick him in the head. “I’m Dr. Hudson. You were just telling us about your dog barking and the smoke coming. Then you blacked out for a minute.”
Killian noted the man giving an almost imperceptible nod over Killian’s left shoulder. He whirled instinctively as two muscular orderlies stepped forward. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he warned, lifting his hook aloft. Then he started. There was no hook at the end of his left arm. Just a stump of flesh. Not even the end of his brace. Just a scared, mutilated stump. Fairly fresh, like the days and weeks right after Milah’s demise.
“No,” he gasped in a shuddered breath.
When the orderlies grasped him by the arms, he fought, or tried to. Tried to think of Emma and Chloe and the fact that he needed to find them before something horrible happened. But in his haze of confusion, his reflexes just weren’t what they should have been. And soon he was being dragged down a sterile hallway and thrown into a padded cell.
Killian was pacing his cell when a face appeared in the tiny barred window in the center of his door. He commanded that Killian step back. Killian obeyed, but planted his feet in readiness. When the orderly stepped through, Killian charged. The man easily tossed him across the floor, and Killian groaned. His body felt so sluggish. As if he had been asleep for a century. Dr. Hudson strode through the room shaking his head. He gestured to two more orderlies, and before Killian knew what was happening, they had him in a strait jacket and seated in a chair. Dr. Hudson paced in front of him.
“Killian,” the doctor sighed as he wiped his glasses on a handkerchief from his pocket, “you really must stop all this fighting. Let me help you.”
Killian jerked against his bonds, “Where is my family?”
The doctor sighed, then in resignation set a manila folder on the table before Killian. He took out a photograph and help it up for Killian to see. Killian’s vision blurred with tears to see the smiling faces of his wife and daughter. But then he shook his head. The photo was one of those cheesy ones taken in a studio at a department store, with the three of them seated together with Killian’s hand resting awkwardly on Emma’s shoulder. The kind Emma always made jokes about. The photos in their home were all candid shots. He narrowed his eyes as he looked closer – and that was his left hand.
“That picture is fake.”
“No,” the doctor said softly, “it isn’t.”
He pulled another item from the file – a newspaper clipping. The headline read, “Young Mother and Infant Die in Fatal Crash.” Killian leaned over it, confusion marring his brow. There was a picture of a car wrapped around a tree and a smaller photograph of a laughing Emma blowing a kiss onto Chloe’s cheek.
“No,” Killian argued, shaking his head, “that never happened. It was morning. We were all just waking up, and the curse came –“
“Killian,” the doctor interrupted, splaying his hands across the top of the table, “you must pull yourself out of this fantasy world you’ve created. Your wife and daughter were killed, and you lost your hand. Ever since, you’ve been in this mental hospital, thinking you’re Captain Hook and everyone you know and love are story book characters.”
“I’m not crazy!” Killian cried out, wincing when he realized his voice sounded exactly that.
The doctor stood and strode to the sink in the corner of the room. He picked something up as he spoke, “Your wife wasn’t Emma Swan, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming.”
He turned and in his hand was a bottle of hand soap – “Swan Soap” it said on the bottle. He walked across the room and set the bottle on the table. Killian blinked as he stared at it, his mind flipping over.
Dr. Hudson resumed his seat across from Killian. “Her name was Emma Nolan, before she married you, and her parents were two ordinary people named David and Mary Margaret Nolan.”
“What about Henry?”
The doctor smiled. “You mean Henry Mills? Our janitor?”
The doctor gazed at Killian intently with hazel eyes that seemed to swirl with multiple colors. The room seemed to spin and Killian felt suddenly dizzy. Then there was a knock at the door, and Killian jerked as if suddenly awakened from a dream. A nurse bustled in with a clipboard in her hand. The doctor scribbled something, and the nurse glanced hesitantly at Killian with the same look he had seen on the face of all the orderlies. A look of fear and disgust. Killian blinked when he saw the nurse’s nametag – Regina.
“You see, Killian,” the doctor continued, standing to his feet as the nurse left, “you’ve taken bits and pieces of the things around you to create this fantasy of yours. But it isn’t real. Your wife and child are not out there waiting to be rescued. They’re dead.” Dr. Hudson reached under Killian’s mattress, pulling out a well-worn book. “The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can get well.”
He tossed the slender volume onto the table before Killian and left. It was a copy of J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.
Killian shuffled forward in the medication line, feeling a hopelessness he hadn’t felt since the days of seeking revenge against the Crocodile. If those days were even real. Killian wasn’t sure any more. At least now he was out of the strait jacket. He had decided to at least play nice.
“Don’t take the medicine they give you,” hissed a voice behind him.
Killian ignored it. If he wasn’t crazy, everyone else here was. Best to keep a low profile and ignore the other patients.
“You’re not crazy – Hook,” the person continued.
There was something about the voice that sounded clearer, more steady than the voices of the other patients. He turned tentatively to see a young man in his twenties with brown hair and eyes smiling at him. Something about the face seemed familiar to him. He narrowed his eyes to study the man more closely.
“Henry?” he said tentatively.
The young man’s eyes lit up, “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here to rescue you.”
Killian shook his head to clear it, trying to process this latest development. He had looked in the mirror since waking up in this place, and he could clearly see he hadn’t aged at all. How was Henry . . .
Before he could complete that thought, two orderlies came up behind Henry and grabbed him. “Believe in yourself!” Henry shouted before the men jabbed a syringe into his neck. They then dragged him through a heavy, locked door. It all happened so fast, Killian was rooted in place for a moment.
Then suddenly, Henry’s words surged through him. Believe in yourself! He wasn’t crazy, and he wasn’t weak. He was pirate Captain Killian “Hook” Jones, and his family needed him. He scanned the room as he stepped out of the medicine line. He saw a janitor unlocking the supply closet with a huge ring of keys. He grinned to himself in delight as he remembered all the times he had watched Star Wars with Henry. He couldn’t do the Wookie prisoner gag alone, but he could at least pose as a Stormtrooper . . .
Killian stumbled across the snow with Henry leaning heavily against his shoulder. Not only had they heavily drugged the lad, but they had also beat him pretty severely. Henry had a gash across his forehead that was currently trickling blood down the sleeve of the janitor’s uniform Killian was wearing. And based on the way he kept wincing and holding his side, Killian was pretty sure Henry also had a few cracked ribs.
Shouts sounded behind them, and Killian knew the hospital guards were gaining fast. He didn’t know why his body was so weak, but it was, and the added weight of his boy didn’t help. Killian prayed to whatever gods would listen for intervention. They needed a miracle.
Suddenly, a sedan spun to a stop in front of them, tires squealing. The back door opened, and a dark-haired little girl leaned out. “Hurry! Get in!” she cried.
“Lucy,” Henry groaned, his voice laced with affection. Whoever this little girl was, apparently, they could trust her. And, Killian hoped, whoever was driving.
Killian shoved Henry into the backseat as gently as he could under the circumstances, then slid in himself. The driver turned to face him, her familiar penciled eyebrows arched and a half smile on her lips.
“Good to see you again, pirate.”
“Regina?”
“Um, can everyone catch up later?” the little girl interrupted. “Cause those guys have guns.”
She didn’t have to tell Regina twice. The queen put the petal to the metal just as shots rang out. She flew through the gates of Dreamshade Mental Hospital – Killian rolled his eyes at the irony – and turned on two wheels onto a residential street. Then she sighed and visibly deflated. For the first time, Killian noticed the head of gray hair in the front passenger seat. He groaned when the passenger himself turned to glare at him.
“I believe a thank you is in order for rescuing you, Captain.”
“Thanks, Crocodile,” Killian bit out through clenched teeth.
“Calm down, Captain Guyliner,” Regina grumbled, “at least you didn’t wake up thinking you were married to him.”
Killian couldn’t help the grimace that crossed his face, and an awkward silence descended. The little girl – Lucy - wrapped her arm around his left bicep and leaned into him. He started a bit at the sudden affection.
“Grandpa!” she enthused. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”
“Grandpa?” Killian’s eyes shifted to Henry in surprise.
“Yes,” Henry chuckled, then winced at the pain in his ribs, “she’s my daughter. Let’s just say I was up to more in the Enchanted Forest than just looking for a way to break this current curse. Good things happened to.”
Killian noted the obvious affection in Henry’s voice and the tenderness in his gaze. Killian looked down at Lucy, who still clutched his arm and beamed up at him. How could you love someone so much whom you just met? The thought immediately took his mind to his own daughter. He swallowed thickly as he regarded Lucy.
“How old are you?”
“Ten.”
Killian closed his eyes, immediate pain washing over him. “I missed it,” he choked out. “My baby girl. I missed everything.”
“No, you didn’t, Killian,” Regina assured him. The words were a balm to his wounded heart. Regina only used his name when she was completely sincere.
Henry struggled to sit up as he addressed Killian, “Don’t worry, Dad. Mom and my little sister are exactly as they were when you last saw them.”
“Where are they?” Killian asked, his nerves sparking in agitation to do something.
“A place that isn’t easy to get to,” Rumpelstiltskin explained with vehemence in his voice, “but believe me, we will get back those we love. No matter the cost.”
Lucy picked up a duffel bag from the floor and handed it to Killian with a huge grin on her face. “I thought you might be missing this.”
He opened it to find his brace and his hook. He turned to Lucy and smiled, placing a kiss to her temple. “Thank you, lass.”
“Killian, do you remember all those times you whined about your true love kisses never working?” Regina quipped as she pressed harder on the gas. “Well, pucker up, pirate. Because your lips are our only hope.”
Summary: Trapped in Storybrooke, Emma learns Killian is cursed in Hyperion Heights with a new identity and no memory of her or their daughter. She decides to send her shadow to visit him, hoping that it will trigger memories of her.
Rating: G
Note: Thanks for the responses to You Have the Right to Remain Sexy. This is something that I would love to see on the show in season 7. I just really need them to find ways of keeping CS connected and Killian sensing Emma. I hope you enjoy it! ~Steph
...Every Little Thing: Part 1/1…
Emma stared at their wedding photo, as her thumb swiped across her husband’s face.
“I miss you,” she whispered, wiping at a tear on her cheek with her other hand.
It had been nearly a month since Killian had been taken from her. She was trapped in Storybrooke and she now knew Killian, along with the others, were in Hyperion Heights in Seattle. It took a while and some fancy spells, but she was able to learn they were cursed with new identities and no memory of their former lives. Killian was a cop named Officer James Rogers. He had no memory of her or their six year old daughter, Ellie.
The thought made her heart ache. But Emma knew that she and Killian were deeply connected. No matter what happened, no matter how far apart they were, they would always be a part of each other, always sense the other.
Even though he had no memory of her, she needed him to know that she was doing everything in her power to get to him and the rest of their family. Emma knew she needed to send him a message and hoped that it would trigger memories of her. She thought back to when Killian was trapped in Neverland and had sent his shadow to deliver the Black Fairy’s wand to her. And that’s when she decided she would do the same.
Emma lifted her eyes from the picture frame and stared at her shadow that hovered before her. It hadn’t been easy removing her shadow and it had been even harder making it so it was only visible to Killian. It could only remain separate from her body for 24 hours.
Emma turned the frame over, removed the back, and lifted their wedding picture out. She placed the photo in the hand of her shadow.
“Find Killian,” she said. “Find my husband. Help him remember. Let him know I’m always with him.”
And with that, the shadow flew out of the window.
Emma stared at her wedding ring and then squeezed her eyes closed. “I love you,” she whispered.
…
The first time Rogers saw the shadow he was certain he was dreaming. He was lying in bed late one night, staring up at the ceiling, but sleep wouldn’t come. Sleep was a rarity for him. He would toss and turn all night long. He could never fully understand why he couldn’t sleep, but he knew something felt like it was missing. Even stranger, he found himself sleeping on the left side of a queen size bed, staring at the empty side as if it should be occupied.
He was in hour three of trying to sleep when a black figure swept in through his open window. It hovered above his bed, looking down at him. Rogers’ mouth hung open in shock as he stared at it. He squeezed his eyes closed, sure it was his imagination. But when he opened them, it was still there.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “It must be a dream.”
But he knew better. He knew sleep hadn’t yet come. Rogers’ gaze swept across the slim figure. Why did it seem so familiar?
It was then that he noticed it was holding something. It reached out and Rogers hesitantly lifted his hand, his fingers brushing against those of the shadow. He felt a spark sweep through his arm as he took the photo from it. The moonlight shone on the photo, illuminating the smiling faces. Rogers couldn’t believe his eyes. It was a wedding photo and he was the groom. And the bride? The bride was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. Blonde with a smile that could light up a room.
“Who are you?” he whispered. “What is this?”
Rogers had never been married and had certainly never met the beautiful woman. He knew he would remember her if he had. But yet he couldn’t shake this feeling deep inside of him that he knew her. None of this made any sense. He shook his head and looked up at the shadow, but it had disappeared.
He looked back at the photo, positive that in the morning this would be nothing more than a delusion born from sheer exhaustion.
…
Rogers felt something touch his cheek, as the sun warmed his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He backed away quickly, nearly falling out of bed when he was met with the sight of the shadow again. It...she, he decided, had been caressing his cheek as she lay beside him in bed.
“What the devil is going on?” he muttered as he scrambled out of bed and away from the shadow.
It was then that he saw the photo lying on the floor. He picked it up and stared at the woman, his thumb running across her face. He blew out a frustrated breath and then set the photo down on the night table. Rogers decided that he would simply ignore the shadow and the strange events, and get ready for his day.
…
But the shadow had other ideas. Rogers entered the cafe where he ate breakfast every morning. He never strayed from his normal order and never even looked at the menu. It was the same every time. Chocolate chip scone and black coffee.
Karen, his regular waitress, smiled as she approached his table. “I know. Chocolate chip scone and black coffee. Coming right up.”
Rogers shook his head as the shadow suddenly sat down beside him. It pointed at the menu.
Suddenly, a boy’s voice filled his ears. “I’ll go make you some hot cocoa.”
“Wait,” came a woman's voice.
The voice sent chills down his spine. He knew that voice. He knew it deep in his heart and soul.
“I know, with cinnamon,” the boy said.
“You okay?” Karen asked, as he stared ahead, slack jawed.
But Rogers didn’t hear her. The voices filled his mind again.
“Something smells delicious,” he said.
“It’s just from a box,” her voice said.
“I’m not talking about the pancakes,” he replied.
Rogers sucked in a breath and shook his head free of the voices, as he finally lifted his gaze to Karen’s.
“Actually, I’ll have pancakes. And hot cocoa...with cinnamon,” he found himself saying.
Karen raised her eyebrows. “Well, aren’t you an adventurous one today. And cinnamon on your hot cocoa? That’s a new one for me.”
“Aye, me too,” he replied softly, as he tried to ignore the shadow’s presence beside him.
…
Rogers walked by the same boutique on his way to work everyday. He had never once gone inside. He’d never even paused to look in the window. He never had a reason to. It was filled with women’s clothes and accessories. But that morning he found himself stopping abruptly in front of the window. His eyes moved to a mannequin that was clad in a red leather jacket. He stared at the jacket, sensing he had seen it before.
“Yeah, I like the red leather jacket,” he heard his own voice say inside his head.
“I have a closet full of red leather jackets in my closet. I feel like I can make some space for some black leather,” a female’s voice echoed in his ears.
It was the same voice from before and he felt like he’d heard it a thousand times.
He looked to his left and found the shadow standing by his side. The shadow turned and moved through the door just as a customer left the store. Rogers shook his head as he found himself following her inside. The shadow moved to the window where the jacket was and Rogers came to stand before it.
“It’s unique, isn’t it?” he heard behind him.
He turned around to find a woman of about fifty.
“Aye, that it is,” he replied.
“I’m sure it would look lovely on your wife.”
Wife. Rogers’ gaze moved down to his hand, his eyes focused on his ring finger. He’d always felt like something was missing from it. He’d often found his thumb running over it absentmindedly.
He shook his head. “I don’t...uh...have a wife.”
“Oh, well, then a gift for a girlfriend perhaps?”
“No girlfriend.”
“Maybe for a sister?” she asked with a shrug.
Rogers simply shook his head. “No, I don’t have anyone to give it to. But thank you.”
And with that he exited the store, as the shadow followed after him.
...
The shadow continued to follow Rogers wherever he went. He began to think he was going mad. He tried to ignore it, but it's not easy ignoring a shadow sitting beside you in your patrol car while you're trying to do your job.
Rogers was a creature of habit. His fellow officers loved to tease him about it. Just like for breakfast, he would go to the same place for lunch everyday and always ordered the same thing. Roni’s was a bar near the police station.
Rogers entered the bar and sat down at a table. He tried to ignore the shadow as it sat down beside him. The shadow pushed the menu towards him, which, again, he had never even looked at. It was always a bacon cheeseburger and fries. He didn't even have to place an order. Roni usually had it waiting for him. The shadow nudged the menu again.
“Grilled cheese, just the way you like it,” he heard his voice say.
And then the same familiar female voice. “Fries?”
“Onion rings,” he replied.
“Oh good, I was just testing you,” she said.
Killian shook his head. “Bloody hell.”
“Your food will be out in a minute,” Roni said as she approached his table. Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. “Hey, are you okay?”
The shadow tapped the menu.
“Grilled cheese and onion rings,” he suddenly blurred out.
Roni stared at him. “What?”
He met her eyes. “That's what I would like today. Grilled cheese and onion rings, please.”
“Well, now I know something's not right with you. You never order anything but a bacon cheeseburger and fries.”
Rogers shrugged. “Perhaps it’s time for a bit of change.”
Roni eyed him for a long moment and then sighed. “Okay, whatever you want.”
And then she walked away. Rogers turned to the shadow and spoke through gritted teeth.
“Go away. Get out of my bloody head. People are going to start thinking I am mad. And perhaps I am because it certainly isn't normal to have a shadow follow you around. It's also not normal to hear voices in your head. My voice saying things I’ve never said to a woman I've never met. Her voice saying things to me. And now you're making me change the way I do things. Just go. Please.”
But the shadow just stared at him and then slowly leaned forward, placing her hand over his.
Rogers felt waves of comfort wash over him, as the gesture felt so familiar to him.
“You know talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, right?” Roni asked as she placed the grilled cheese and onion rings down in front of him.
Rogers forced himself to tear his hand away from the shadow, ignored her comment, and began to eat.
…
After his shift, Rogers always went to Lincoln Park. He liked to sit on a bench and watch the sunset. He’d watch the ripples on the water. And it always brought him peace. Right now, he needed peace more than ever.
The shadow followed him as he found his favorite bench and looked out at the water. He tried to focus on the water and ignore the dark figure sitting beside him. The sun was beginning to set and the sky was a brilliant canvas of colors.
He looked over at the shadow and got this overwhelming feeling that they’d done this before. They’d sat and watched the water before.
“I hope it's my job to protect your heart,” he heard his voice say.
The shadow reached over and placed her hand over his heart. Rogers felt his breath catch at her touch. Slowly, he lifted his hand and covered hers with it.
And as he did, a swan flew down and landed on the water. Rogers stared at the majestic creature. He came there everyday, but he had never seen a swan. He’d heard they showed up every so often, but he had never been fortunate enough to see one. Until today.
“Swan,” he whispered, as he turned to look at the shadow.
She tilted her head to the side and he imagined her smiling.
Rogers swallowed roughly, his voice emerging softly. “It’s you, isn't it? You're the woman from the wedding photo. You're my...wife.”
The shadow nodded, as Rogers shook his head in disbelief.
“Emma,” he heard his voice say in his mind.
“Emma?” he asked softly and the shadow nodded again.
“Killian,” he heard her voice echo in his ears.
“Killian,” he whispered to himself.
That name felt so familiar, so right, when James Rogers never had.
“None of this makes any bloody sense,” he mumbled, as he shook his head sharply and moved away from the shadow.
He then stood up, looked down at the shadow once more, and then stalked back to his car.
…
“Daddy, can we go to the park tomorrow?” he heard the little girl who lived in the apartment next door ask her father.
They had arrived home at the same time. Rogers didn’t even know their names. At best, he had a nodding and waving relationship with his neighbors.
“Sure, sweetheart,” her father responded, as they entered their apartment.
Rogers paused, the key in the door, as a new voice filled his head.
“Daddy, take me sailing on your ship tomorrow. Please,” a little girl’s voice pleaded.
And there it was again. He knew this voice too. It set his heart aflutter.
“Sure, love,” his voice responded. “Anything for my little princess.”
He shook his head for the thousandth time that day. Was it possible? Did he have a daughter?
...
That night, he stared at the photo as he sat on his bed. He swept his fingers across her face.
“I feel as if I know you. In my heart, I know I do. I can hear your voice and when the shadow touches me…” his voice trailed off.
The truth was that his life had never seened like his own. He felt as if he was living someone else’s life. His memories felt like someone else’s.
But these words that he heard in his head, these voices, these memories of moments he had shared with the woman in the photo, felt real. They felt like his own. They felt right.
Rogers lay back on the bed, clutching the photo to his heart. And then the shadow was there, lying beside him in bed. Rogers turned and faced it. For the first time that day, he was glad to see it.
“All day, I wanted nothing more than for you to leave me be. I thought I was going mad. But I realize now you're a part of me. I don't know how it’s possible. I can't even begin to explain it. But you’ve always been with me. I can feel it.” He paused and whispered, “I don't want you to go.”
The shadow lifted her hand and caressed his cheek. Killian leaned into her touch, allowing the familiar sensation to sweep through his body. He closed his eyes and image after image of the blonde woman stroking his cheek filled his mind’s eye. It was the first time he had seen her in anything but the photo.
“Please don't leave me,” he whispered.
“I will always find you,” he heard her say.
“I will always, always be by your side,” his voice echoed in his ears.
He felt her touch leave him. He opened his eyes and the shadow began to head toward the window. His heart sank.
“Wait,” he called out desperately.
Rogers reached over to his nightstand and picked up a pen. He flipped the photo over and wrote on the back. His hand seemed to move automatically, the words flowing out of him naturally.
Emma, you found me. One day, I’ll be by your side again.
He hoped his words could give her hope and bring her some comfort. Rogers then stood up and walked over to the shadow. He placed the photo in her hand. The shadow leaned forward and brushed its mouth across his. And then it was gone.
Rogers brought his hand up to his lips and smiled.
…
“Mommy?” Ellie asked, as her mother sat beside her on her bed and finished reading her a bedtime story.
“Yes?” Emma replied.
“When is Daddy coming home?” she asked, her blonde hair falling over her forehead and her blue eyes sparkling with tears. Everytime she looked in her eyes, she saw Killian.
Emma sucked in a breath. “I don’t know, honey. But I’m doing everything I can to bring him home to us soon.”
“I miss him,” she said softly.
Emma wrapped her arm around their daughter’s shoulder and pulled her close. She placed a kiss on her hair.
“Me too. So much,” she whispered.
...
Emma’s shadow was only allowed to leave for 24 hours, so she knew it would be returning soon. She only hoped it would bring good news. She was lying awake in bed when it swept in through the window. It dropped the photo onto the bed beside her before re-entering her body.
Emma felt her heart racing as she picked up the photo and flipped it over. Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of his familiar handwriting. Tears filled her eyes as she read his words. It had worked. The photo and shadow had triggered something in him. He could feel her. He could sense her. And she knew it was only a matter of time until they were reunited.
Emma held the photo close to her heart, as she closed her eyes and pictured her husband.
…
Rogers lay awake in bed long after the shadow had left.
“I’ll never stop fighting for us,” he heard his voice say.
He squeezed his eyes closed.
“I’m trying to get back home to you. And I won't ever stop until I do,” he heard the words in his mind and then felt them leave his lips.
“I promise,” he whispered.
He had always felt a sadness deep within his soul. He had always felt as if something was missing, but he didn't know what. Now he did. Somehow, someway, he had a wife out there, a soulmate, and they shared a daughter. And he knew in his heart he wouldn't stop until he was back by her side.
...THE END…
Thanks for reading! I’d appreciate a reblog if you have a sec. I hope you enjoyed it. I’d love to know what you thought. ~Steph
Summary: Officer Rogers doesn’t know who the blonde woman is that he found lying unconscious in front of his apartment building. And he certainly can’t explain the immediate connection he feels towards her or why he feels the need to visit her in the hospital everyday.
Rating: G
Note: This was written for the prompt The Girl With No Name from the CS Hiatus Challenge on Tumblr. It contains a few general spoilers for season 7. I have a feeling that Killian’s new identity won’t have the same accent (boo!), but for this fic he does. I hope you enjoy it! ~Steph
...While You Were Sleeping: Part 1/1...
Officer Rogers walked down the sidewalk toward his apartment, a yawn overtaking him. His shift had ended several hours earlier and he was exhausted, but he found himself heading to his favorite bar for a few drinks anyway. The truth was, he hated coming home to his empty apartment and often used any excuse to avoid it.
He stopped as he made it to the stairs leading up to his building. His brow furrowed at the sight before him. On the landing, lay a woman. His eyes widened, as he ran up the stairs and dropped down by her side. Her blonde hair was sprawled out on the concrete. Her red leather jacket, gray t-shirt, and black jeans didn't show any signs of a struggle. She didn't exhibit any obvious signs of injury, but her eyes were closed. Officer Rogers pressed two fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. She had one, although it was a bit weak.
“What happened to you?” he whispered. He brought his hand to her cheek and stroked it gently. "Don't worry, love. I'm going to get you help."
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. “This is Officer Jason Rogers. I need an ambulance to my building. 1129 Delancey Street. There's an unconscious woman on my steps. Thank you."
Officer Rogers hung up and looked down at the woman. "Help is on the way."
His eyes scanned her beautiful face and he felt his heart jump in his chest. She seemed so familiar. There was something about her.
He searched the pockets of her jacket and pants for any identification, but found none. He wondered what she was doing on the stairs to his building. Had she had too much to drink and passed out? Was it possible she lived there too? He had never seen her before, but it was a big building and he mostly kept to himself. He was certain that if he had ever crossed paths with her then he would have remembered her.
He took her hand in his and gently squeezed it. As he did, he had the strangest feeling that he'd held her hand a thousand times before.
"Everything is going to be fine," he whispered, as he quickly brushed the feeling aside.
The ambulance arrived a few minutes later and began to treat her. The EMTs loaded her into the ambulance and didn’t argue with him when he insisted on riding with her to the hospital.
...
Officer Rogers entered the mystery woman's hospital room. They were running tests, but could find no outwardly signs of what had caused her to lose consciousness. The doctors were thinking it was possible that she was battling some infection, but they wouldn't know more until the test results came back.
Officer Rogers sat down beside her, his eyes drifting up to her face. She was breathing on her own, which was a good sign.
"Who are you, love?" he asked softly.
He'd already called into the station to pull up any recent reports on missing females, but they had come up empty. Maybe she wasn't from around here or hadn't been reported missing yet.
In a city as big as Seattle, many women went missing. Most were runaways or prostitutes, their high risk lifestyle making it difficult to work their cases. And then there were the women who just wanted to disappear. They had an abusive spouse or just needed a change. It wasn't a crime for an adult to leave of their own accord.
Officer Rogers leaned forward and stroked her hair. "What's your story?"
He moved his hand to her left one and lifted it, noticing for the first time that she was wearing an engagement and wedding ring. The nurses had failed to remove them. He ran his thumb across the metal and stone. He stared at them for a long moment, as he felt another pang of familiarity wash over him.
He turned her arm over, as he kept their hands entwined. She had a flower tattoo on her left wrist. Jason removed his hand and picked up her right arm to see if she had any other identifying marks. His brow furrowed at what he saw on her right wrist: a tattoo heart with the name Killian inside.
"Killian," he whispered, as his fingers swept across the heart.
And there it was again. That pang of familiarity. What was that, he wondered.
A moment later, he was ushered out of the room by a nurse who needed to take her vitals. Officer Rogers stared at the woman through the glass, unnerved by the instant connection he felt towards her.
She was married and the name Killian was tattooed on her wrist inside a heart. He wondered if Killian was her husband. Either way, there was a man out there wondering where his wife was. He didn't know her story, but he knew he would do everything in his power to help her.
...
Officer Rogers didn't sleep a wink that night. He couldn't get the mystery woman out of his mind and he certainly couldn't explain the strange connection he felt towards her.
Once at work, he spent hours searching through missing person reports from all over the West Coast. Nothing matched their Jane Doe. Maybe her husband wasn't looking for her. And maybe she didn't want to be found.
His heart ached at the thought. Could she really be so alone that no one missed her? That no one cared enough to file a missing person report? It was still possible that she was from farther away. So Officer Rogers entered her information into their national database for missing persons. He spent the rest of his shift searching through the reports of women who matched her general description. But none of them were her. Any report surely would have included the heart tattoo on her wrist with Killian, along with the flower one on her other wrist.
It was official. As of now, she hadn't been reported missing.
...
"How is she?" Officer Rogers asked Dr. Truman.
The older doctor shook his head. "Not well, I'm afraid. We can't find the cause for her condition. And this morning she slipped into a coma."
Officer Rogers felt his heart sink into his stomach, as he slowly nodded and turned away from the doctor. He walked into her room and sat down beside her bed. He took her hand in his again.
"I'm Jason," he said. "My friends call me Jay."
The name never seemed to leave his lips easily, as if he felt it didn’t truly belong to him.
"I wish I knew who you were. I wonder if you have people out there who love and care for you. It seems you have a husband. Do you have children? Parents? Friends? I'm afraid I haven't found any missing person reports that fit your description. I'd hate to think of you being all alone in this world, love."
Although he certainly understood how that felt.
...
Weeks passed with no change. Jason continued to monitor new missing person reports that came in, but none matched her. He found himself visiting her everyday. He would visit her before his shift or after. Sometimes before and after. Visiting the mystery woman had replaced frequenting the bar after his shift. She gave him a reason to avoid his lonely apartment.
He would spend hours talking to her, telling her about his life. Not that there wasn't much to tell. He had no family and his friends were relegated to the officers he worked with. He worked so many hours that he didn't have much time for a personal life.
Despite his good looks, he didn't even have a girlfriend. He wanted a wife and children, but he was beginning to wonder if it was in the cards for him. He dated occasionally, but no woman ever captured his interest enough to make him want more than a couple of dates with her. His fellow officers teased that he was too picky, but he knew better. He knew that when you have a connection with someone, you feel it immediately. When you know, you know.
He stared at the beautiful, blonde woman. He couldn't deny the immediate connection he felt towards her. Jason shook his head. It was ridiculous. How could he feel a connection to a woman he'd never even met? A woman who was unconscious, who had never spoken a word to him?
Jason sighed heavily, silently scolding himself. But he realized in that moment, that he’d spoken to the woman lying in the bed more than he’d ever spoken to any woman he dated. He had told her more about himself than he had ever told anyone in his life.
…
Officer Rogers placed the vase of flowers on the end table beside her. He had taken to bringing her flowers every Sunday. He was the only visitor she ever received. Other patients had flowers and cards and Get Well balloons that filled their rooms, but all she had was what he brought her. He hoped that somehow she could hear him talking to her and knew that she wasn't alone. He wanted her to know that there was someone out there waiting for her to wake up.
Jason sat down beside her bed and took her hand in his, just as he had done everyday for weeks. Sometimes he didn't talk. Sometimes he just admired her. He admired her beautiful lips and wondered what her smile looked like. He admired her long eyelashes and imagined what her eyes must look like. And he pondered for hours on end what her voice might sound like.
He wondered what her job was and the kinds of things she liked to do. He imagined the kind of personality she might have and her likes and dislikes.
The other officers had started to ridicule him about spending so much time with a complete stranger. They told him that there were no signs of any foul play. Without a missing person report and no leads, there was no case to investigate. He had done his duty. But Officer Rogers insisted that it was his job to help people and he wouldn't rest until he had helped her.
Of course, he would never admit that there was something inside of him that just couldn't leave her.
His thumb brushed across the skin of her hand as he held it in his.
“I know what it feels like to be left all alone. My father abandoned my mother, brother, and me when I was just a lad. My mother died shortly thereafter and my brother passed right after I turned 21. He was killed during a mugging gone awry. I moved to the states and joined the police force one month later. I knew I didn't want other families to go through what I went through. I wanted to help people, try to make the world a bit safer.”
Even as he said the words, Officer Rogers couldn’t quite shake the feeling that his memories weren't his own. He always felt as if he were relaying someone else's life whenever he spoke of his past. There were parts that felt more real to him, like his father abandoning him and losing his mother and brother, but the rest often felt like he was telling a story.
He sucked in a deep breath and then said, “I promise I won’t leave you.”
…
“Did I ever tell you I like sailing?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face appreciatively. “I don't have much free time, but the time I do have I like spending on the water. I have a small sailboat. I can spend hours out there, watching the waves. It's always helped calm me and distract me from whatever is occurring my life. I’d like to take you someday.”
Jason snapped his mouth shut and squeezed his eyes closed, as he ran his hand down his face. What was he doing? Making plans with an unconscious stranger?
But she didn't feel like a stranger. Truth be told, she never had. And the more time he spent with her, the more deeply connected he felt to her.
Yet he knew it was ridiculous. You can't have a relationship with a woman in a coma.
...
It had been almost two months when something occurred to Officer Rogers. His building had a security camera right above the stoop. He hadn't even thought to check it for clues about what might have happened to her because it seemed as if she hadn't met with any foul play. Still, he scolded himself for overlooking something so obvious. He knew that he had let his growing feelings for her interfere with him doing his job.
Luckily for him, the security tapes had not yet been erased. Officer Rogers found the one for that night and fast forwarded to an hour before he returned home. There was nothing until about 45 minutes in. Suddenly, she appeared at the foot of the stairs. His breath caught in his chest at seeing her conscious for the first time, even in grainy black and white.
He watched as she pulled a piece of paper out of a hidden interior pocket in her jacket, one he had failed to notice. She looked down at the paper and then back up at the building. He saw a small smile appear on her lips and he could have sworn she mouthed the name "Killian".
He continued watching as she stuffed the paper back in her pocket and walked up the stairs. She was just about to knock, when a flash of light appeared out of nowhere. His eyes widened as he watched her fall to the ground.
Officer Rogers must have replayed the footage fifty times, trying to determine what had happened to her. Had she been struck by lightning? Impossible. The weather had been perfect that night and the doctors found no signs to indicate that. In fact, they still couldn't find anything wrong with her. Not even an infection.
Jason's eyes lit up, as he realized that the paper must still be in the pocket of her jacket at the hospital. Perhaps it held some clue to her identity. He hurried to the hospital and requested her belongings. He dug the jacket out of the bag and slipped his hand into the interior pocket, smiling as he felt the paper. He pulled the paper out and unfolded it.
His eyes widened in shock at what he found written on the paper: Officer Jason Rogers. Hyperion Heights, Seattle. 1129 Delancey Street.
He shook his head in disbelief. She had come to see him. But why? They had never even met before.
A smile suddenly appeared on Jason's face as he stared at the paper. She had held it in her bare hands, which meant they could get her fingerprints off of it. The hospital had a policy against taking the fingerprints of incapacitated patients without a warrant, which he had tried and failed to get. But now he could get her fingerprints off the paper and run them against the national database. If she had ever been fingerprinted before, be it for committing a crime or for a standard background check, then her prints would be in there.
Officer Rogers smiled. Maybe he was finally about to find out who the mystery woman was.
...
He sent the paper to the lab and they were able to lift two clear thumb prints off of it. Officer Rogers plugged it into the national database and, moments later, got a hit. Her picture, a mugshot from when she was a teenager, popped up.
"Emma Swan," he read softly, a smile upon his lips at finally knowing her name.
And there it was again. Another jolt of recognition as the name left his lips, as if he’d said it a thousand times before.
His eyes scanned the record. She had been arrested for petty crimes before serving time in prison. There was nothing more recent.
Officer Rogers took her name and ran it through their national information database. It included criminal, marriage, death, birth, and employment records. He decided to try the marriage records. A hit came up. A marriage license issued in Storybrooke, Maine.
"Storybrooke," he whispered, trying to ignore that pang of familiarity again.
His eyes scanned the license. It was issued to an Emma Swan and Killian Jones. So the Killian from the wrist tattoo was her husband. Yet he hadn't filed a missing person report. He wondered if perhaps he was dead and the tattoo was in honor of his memory.
Officer Rogers ran his name through the death records, but nothing came up. On a hunch, he ran his name through the criminal records.
He smiled as he got a hit. He had been arrested in New York City years earlier. His mugshot suddenly appeared before his eyes and Officer Rogers nearly fell out of his chair.
The man staring back at him was...him. Yes, he had guyliner on and his hair was a bit different, but there was no mistaking it. It was him or someone that could pass as his identical twin.
Officer Rogers frantically searched the database for any other information about Killian Jones. But the only thing that came up were two birth records where he was listed as the father. He and Emma had two children: Liam, age 8, and Ella, age 6. That meant there were two children missing their mother.
And there it was again when he saw their names. Something felt so familiar.
He returned to his criminal record and looked at his fingerprints. His mouth dropped open at what he saw. There were only fingerprints for his right hand. A notation stated that he was missing his left hand. Officer Rogers stared down at the glove that covered his prosthetic hand.
His mind was racing. Could this be possible? Could he really be Killian Jones? Could his wife be Emma Swan, the mystery woman that had occupied his mind for two months now? Could he really have forgotten about a whole life? About two children he’d had? None of it made any sense.
But, then again, there were things about himself that had never felt quite right. His memories didn’t feel like memories. They didn’t feel like he had lived them. They felt like stories he had read or scenes from a movie he had seen or even vivid dreams. He stared down at his hand. Had he really lost it in a lawn mower accident at age 19? Because he couldn’t actually remember the pain he must have felt and when he replayed the memory in his head, it was like watching someone else. Every memory was like watching someone else’s life.
And this would explain why he felt such an immediate connection to Emma. It would explain why he felt a familiarity when he saw the name Killian tattooed on her wrist, when he heard the name Emma Swan, the town of Storybrooke, and the children’s names.
Officer Rogers ran his hand down his face, as he shook his head in disbelief.
…
He tossed and turned all night long. Emma’s face kept filling his mind. When he squeezed his eyes closed, he could imagine her smiling at him, her eyes twinkling in delight. He even felt like he could hear her voice saying Killian as she looked at him.
But it was impossible. It was his mind conjuring things. It had to be. He had never seen her smile or look at him or heard her say that name. Or had he?
“Bloody hell,” he groaned, as he covered his face with his hand.
…
Jason sat down beside her bed and took her hand in his.
“Emma,” he said softly.
He could have sworn he saw her eyelids flutter and felt her hand squeeze his at the sound of her name.
He had done a bit more research and found that she had grown up in foster care and had given a baby up for adoption as a teenager while serving time in prison. He knew now that she had known what it felt like to be abandoned and alone, just as he had.
She had switched gears after serving time in prison and had become a bail-bondsperson. He figured she must have used the skill set she acquired doing that job to track him down.
Jason shook his head, as he lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. “I can't explain it, but I felt a connection to you right from the start, Emma. And then I saw a picture of your husband, Killian. I look just like him. But it's not possible, is it? I couldn't possibly be your husband, could I?”
Jason gasped as he felt Emma squeeze his hand. This time, he was certain he wasn't imagining things.
His tongue slowly licked at his lips. There was only one way for him to be sure that the seemingly impossible was actually true. In his heart, he believed that if he kissed her, then he would know right away if his lips had ever touched hers before.
Yet his heart was at war with his head. Kissing a woman in a coma? Even if he did suspect he could be her husband, he wasn't sure it was right.
But then he thought of all of those fairytales he’d read as a child and the Disney movies he’d seen. The ones where the prince wakes the princess with a kiss.
He shook his head, scoffing at his own overactive imagination. This wasn't a fairytale. Life doesn't work like that.
He closed his eyes for a long moment and suddenly an image appeared. He was sitting outside at a table and Emma was sitting across from him, smiling. And then she was leaning forward and kissing him. Jason brought his hand to his lips, his fingertips brushing across them.
This was the first time that a memory he had experienced felt completely real. It didn't feel like a dream or like a scene from a movie or like it had happened to someone else. It was as if he could feel her lips on his.
Jason opened his eyes and his gaze flitted across her face again. Slowly, he stood and leaned down towards her. He hesitated a moment and then brushed his lips across hers. He pulled back and waited. He waited for her to open her eyes and smile at him. But nothing happened. He shook his head, feeling foolish for believing in such nonsense.
He let out a heavy sigh, realizing in that moment that he had become obsessed with this woman and that obsession had clouded his judgment. He couldn't explain why he so closely resembled her husband, but he knew there must be some rational explanation. They say everyone has a doppelgänger. Maybe Killian Jones is his. Maybe this was just a bizarre coincidence. Of course, that still wouldn't explain the fact that they were both missing their left hand or why she had shown up on his doorstep looking for him.
He took a deep breath and shook his head again. He needed to take a step back and clear his head. He needed a break from Emma Swan.
“Goodbye,” he whispered and then turned on his heel.
His hand was on the doorknob when he heard it.
“Killian.”
It was so soft he was sure he had imagined it. Slowly, he turned back around and found Emma staring at him, a huge smile upon her face.
“Killian,” she said again, this time in a stronger voice.
“Emma,” he whispered.
He didn't know what came over him, but he crossed the room in two steps and found himself cupping her face, as he pressed his lips to hers again.
This time, a flash of light appeared around them and his mind suddenly flooded with images. They were memories. Memories of his life with Emma and their children.
He pulled back and met her eyes.
“Emma,” he said again, a smile pulling at his lips.
Tears were now streaming down her face, as she lifted her hand to caress her husband's cheek.
“Killian, you remember me.”
The smile lit up his face as he nodded. “Hello, love.”
“I’m so happy to see you,” she whispered. Emma swallowed hard. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. I came to see you, but Lady Tremaine placed me under a sleeping curse before I could.”
Killian nodded, his eyes sparkling. “So that means true love’s kiss broke the sleeping curse.”
“And returned your memories,” she added.
“I thought it didn't work on memory loss.”
“It doesn't usually. Maybe this curse is different.”
Killian shook his head. “It doesn't matter. I’m just so glad to have you back and I’m glad to be back to myself. How are the children?”
“They're fine. Liam and Ella are with my parents in Storybrooke. They miss you like crazy though.”
“I can't wait to see them,” he said with a smile.
“We need to help our family first. Then we can all go home together.”
Killian nodded. “Aye, love. Nothing can stop us now that we're together again.”
“I love you,” Emma said, as he swiped at a tear on her cheek. “I missed you so much.”
“I love you, too. When I found you on my stoop, I felt an immediate connection I couldn’t explain. And I visited you here everyday for two months.”
Emma smiled. “You did?”
Killian nodded. “I couldn’t leave you. We’re true love, Swan. I think our souls would know each other anywhere.”
Emma entwined their fingers. “I couldn't agree more.”
Killian leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his wife's lips.
“How did you find me?” he asked, as he pulled back.
“It wasn’t easy. The locator spell didn’t work. I had to come up with a new one. Without Regina’s help, it took months.”
Killian squeezed her hand in his. “But you did it, Swan. You found me.”
Emma grinned. “Don’t you know by now, Killian? We’ll always find each other.”
He nodded and placed another kiss on his wife’s lips. They parted and he pointed to the tattoo heart with his name in it.
“When did you get that, love?” he asked, running his thumb across it.
Emma felt tears fill her eyes. “About a month after you were taken from me. It made me feel like a part of you was with me. Whenever I felt hopeless, like I might never see you again, I would look at it and think of you. I would think of how you never gave up on me, never gave up on us. And how you believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.”
Killian lifted her wrist to his lips and placed a kiss on the heart where his name was. “My belief in you is unwavering, as is my belief in us.”
“Come here,” Emma said softly, as she blinked back tears. “I just want you to hold me.”
“As you wish, love.”
He climbed into bed beside his wife and pulled her close to him. Emma rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, as he dropped a kiss onto her hair.
He looked down at his name badge. Officer Rogers, he thought with a shake of his head. He’d always known something didn’t feel right. He’d always felt like something was missing.
Then he found the beautiful, blonde mystery woman lying in front of his apartment building. And it was as if he had found something he didn’t even know he’d been searching for: the missing piece of his heart and soul.
...THE END…
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I’d love to know what you thought. ~Steph
