Okay, it's later in the day than I had hoped, but I want to get back into the habit of doing recs for CS Fic Rec Monday. There are SO MANY amazing writers and stories in this fandom. It's literally a treasure trove worthy of our favorite pirate!! So I really want to do my part to sing the praises of stories of enjoyed, both new and old, and maybe bring them to others' attention as well. :)
First up this week: "Somewhere Out There" by: @kmomof4
I don't know how I missed discovering this fic back when Krystal first posted it, but it is INCREDIBLE! In just a two shot, she manages to do so much, and do it well. I couldn't put it down!! We get so many things I really wanted in canon too: a CS TLK, the cliffhanger of 3a ending with them all in the EF, surprise twists, adventure, steamy romance, and of course, a happily ever after. :)
If you haven't read this one, definitely check it out!!
A two part fic about baseball, the friend zone, and what happens when your unresolved feelings bring you home after five years away. Inspired by the song 'The Outfield' by The Night Game.
Okay, here’s part 2! Sorry for the delay, but I decided to finish this and then do a third part that will be like a smutty outtake of sorts. Thanks for your patience, friends! Hopefully the next one won’t take as long. Enjoy! :) [Read Part 1 Here]
Word Count: 4.8K
Rating: Still T for now
"Emma….hi."
It was almost like the world stopped spinning as Killian braced himself in the swiveling desk chair. He silently willed his legs or mouth to move, but both were definitely far too difficult with the way she was standing so nonchalantly in the small office's doorway. He'd allowed himself to dream of this moment once or twice since they exchanged conflicted goodbyes all those years ago, but his imagination had clearly fallen short.
Seeing Emma again wasn't something he could have ever prepared for - and his wide eyes and timid smile gave him away in an instant. Then again, maybe she'd always noticed how he looked at her. It's not like that had changed in the time they spent apart.
"Hey, I….didn't mean to interrupt, but I heard you were back," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I guess I had to see for myself."
She hadn't changed much since they'd last seen each other, but Killian allowed himself to take in the beautiful details that made up this woman like it was the first time. Her hair was slightly shorter, but still hung in loose waves over her shoulders. She was dressed a bit beyond casual - jeans that were more tailored than the ones she used to wear and a detailed white top paired with a gray jacket - which made him feel a bit self conscious about his worn out denim and zip up hoodie. Her suede flat shoes certainly rivaled his laced up Nikes and he wondered briefly just what was causing her to dress so differently these days.
People change, he silently reminded himself - and while the idea tugged at his heartstrings, he couldn't help how he felt so elated to see her. He hoped desperately that she felt that way too, but the anxiousness written all over her face was definitely giving him pause.
"Aye," he nodded, standing slowly and rocking on his heels a bit. "Haven't been here long yet. I'd planned on seeing if you were still….well, once I got settled."
He didn't finish his reply, not knowing exactly how to admit that she'd been on his mind since he landed back in town. He'd kept in touch enough with David to know that Emma had never left Storybrooke, but he'd never dared inquire why. He had always believed she was destined for big things and it made him a little sad to hear that she'd never opted to explore life beyond small town Maine.
"Good," she answered, her smile a bit bolder. "I mean it's good to see you."
He smirked at that, her words sinking in and shoving him right back into a world where all he wanted was to see her happy. He'd never stopped wanting that for her, even when he had partially convinced himself that she didn't need him to be part of it anymore.
Yes, it was only a partial belief….because on some level, a life where they were little more than a memory to each other would never make total sense to him.
"And you as well," he agreed softly. "I wasn't sure….I, uh, didn't know if-"
"If I'd want to see you?"
He nodded, shoving his hands nervously into his pockets. It wasn't a lie - he had wondered just what this reunion might ultimately be like. Did she actually want to run into him again? Could they pick up where they'd left off?
"Well, I can't say I expected that I'd have to track you down in the haunted part of the high school," Emma replied, moving a bit further into the room. "But you aren't the worst sight for sore eyes."
Her eyes watered a bit as he breathed a sigh of relief, his lips parting without words. There was so much he knew he should say in that moment - so many explanations that she deserved to hear and so many things he wanted to tell her. He was in the middle of summoning any courage he could and trying to decide where to begin when his efforts were halted by her knee-weakening smile. He couldn't help the way his arms moved, widening as she rushed into them. Her embrace was tight around his neck and he hugged her fiercely as everything seemed to right itself. He could have stood there for hours, holding her close and breathing in her presence without a care in the world - if only the world would have allowed.
"Oh….sorry to barge in," Principal Hopper said from the doorway, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Just wanted to make sure you're all set here, Killian."
Watching a slight blush color Emma's cheeks as she pulled back and avoided his new boss's eyes, Killian felt his heart turn a quick somersault in his chest. He wasn't sure what the reaction meant at first, his old insecurities regarding the woman standing before him sneaking back in. As she bit her lip fast and rolled her eyes the tiniest bit, Killian peered toward the school's principal with realization. They obviously knew one another - and he wondered how as he nodded.
"I think so," he answered with a kind smile. "That team meeting is tonight, right?"
"Six o'clock sharp," the man reminded him with an entertained tilt of his head. "The turnout should be great. Lots of parents and players are excited to hear what you've got planned for the season. I take it you'll be there to take notes for the Mirror as well, Emma."
"Uh, yep," she replied quickly. "Planning on it."
Principal Hopper offered them both a grateful expression before departing and Killian couldn't contain the sheer amusement in his gaze as his sight turned back to her. He felt a semblance of their old banter tingling on his tongue as she gave him a warning stare.
"So that's what you've been up to-"
"It's a new thing," she mumbled with a sigh. "Unexpected but….not the worst job. Just temporary though. I don't plan on making a career out of writing about who wins every Friday night high school football game."
He didn't dare tell her that he still received the regular copies of their hometown paper or that he'd actually caught a glimpse of her first article. He didn't tell her that he knew she'd be as phenomenal at this as she was at everything else, even though she definitely deserved to hear that.
There were a lot of things Killian knew he should have said over the years to the green eyed girl currently giving him a humored smirk, but as his thoughts began to straighten out, he realized in there was really only one thing he wanted to say.
"So I have a few hours before I need to get stuff set up for tonight," he started slowly, scratching behind his ear. "Do you maybe want to…."
"Yeah….I'll call-" Emma cut in, digging her phone out of her pocket and batting her eyelashes teasingly. "-but you're paying, Jones."
Killian bit back a laugh as he listened to her rattle off their typical Granny's Diner takeout order via phone. It had been years since they'd done this, but as he looked at her across the desk, he almost believed nothing had changed at all.
It didn't take long for him to realize that one thing definitely hadn't changed - he was still a heartsick fool when it came to Emma Nolan.
If he was being totally truthful, he'd known it the moment he finally laid eyes on her again. All it had taken was a glimpse of that long blonde hair and those bold green eyes for him to fall right back into the same mindset he'd held tight to all those years ago - the one where she utterly captivated him in more ways than he could ever explain.
It wasn't wise to stroll right back down the narrow path of being her friend - especially when he'd likely always want more - but he couldn't resist. The simple lunch and catch up conversation they'd set out to have that afternoon quickly evolved into hours of sharing stories and reliving the past. Emma's laugh still sounded the same and the way it made his heart pound was the only thing distracting him from watching her wandering fingers as they snatched a few fries from his plate - not that he truly minded.
After all, it wasn't the first time.
It was almost strange the way they landed right back in that specific sort of togetherness that was so characteristic of them. It was that same comfortable yet nerve bending relationship - the kind where he was elbowing her teasingly one moment and studying the smooth appearance of her lips the next. It wasn't just friendship. There was something more.
There had always been something more - well, at least for him - and he was trying desperately to table that idea the following night when she dropped by his office again. She looked so perfect strolling through the doorway with two hot cups of coffee in hand that it was difficult to imagine either of them to exist anywhere but with each other. Maybe it wasn't enough, but it was something - and if he still couldn't have her, he could have this. Even after years apart, he realized how much he still needed some part of her in his life.
He'd have to take what he could get for now - and perhaps always.
"I remember this," Emma said suddenly, reaching across the desk and snatching the copy of his first player picture from his minor league days. "I didn't believe it until I saw you in a Pirates uniform."
"Hmmm," he answered with a rather foolish tilt of his head. "Didn't believe what exactly?"
"That you were….gone-" she replied, swallowing hard as she ran a finger over the crisp photo. "-or that you'd actually made it I guess. I mean, I always knew you could, but I think I always kinda hoped you'd turn up back here one day after you lived that dream."
Killian felt his shoulders slump at the realization - the idea that Emma believed his aspirations ever meant to discredit their friendship. He'd spent years of his life loving the game that brought them together, but she'd unintentionally become his dream somewhere along the way too.
God, how he wished he could tell her that.
"I came to see you once," Emma blurted out. "In New York….I came to one of your games."
"You….what? When?"
"It was your second season," she explained with a nervous smirk. "The fourth home game I think. It was against-"
"That little triple A team from up north - the Arendelle Icebreakers," he cut in, finishing her sentence with a disbelieving gasp. "Emma, why didn't you tell me? I would have….I….I never even got to see you."
"That was kind of the point," she replied quietly, looking up at him timidly. "Moving to New York to play baseball was one of the only times I've ever seen you do something for yourself. I never wanted to make it about me. I just….wanted to know you were alright. I wanted to make sure you were happy."
"I wasn't."
Killian nearly bit his tongue at the unexpected admission. He wasn't sure why he said it. Sure, he hadn't been entirely blissful living in the city and falling out of touch with her, but he'd managed to get along fine. Her eyes went emerald with a mix of sadness and understanding, a sight that made his jaw flex with tension.
"Neither was I."
Whoa, he thought as his eyes widened. He certainly wasn't expecting that.
"Everything was just so different after you left," she said with a shrug. "Like, they closed the ice cream shop on Main and the baseball team became terrible….I mean, really terrible. Then I gave up on the idea of law school and then everything with Neal and I just-"
Her words hung heavy in the air as he tried to process them, his head spinning with everything she'd just divulged. He knew he should be sad about the fact that he could no longer meet her at Any Given Sundae for a scoop of Rocky Road and his breath shuddered at the thought of her heart breaking without him around to keep count of the pieces. She was telling him so much and while he was thrilled that her sincerity regarding their conversations was obviously still a point of pride, he felt the subtle prod of his old insecurities.
She was being honest with him. He owed her at least that much too.
"I left," he acknowledged quietly. "But I'm here now."
"Yeah, you are," she nodded. "But does that change things?"
He paused briefly, wondering what the right answer was. He knew what he was hoping for, but as for what Emma wanted….well, he'd never truly been able to pin that down.
"It doesn't have to," he finally offered. "I know the store bought stuff isn't as good as the slow churned ice cream from that little shop, but it's decent - and Cassidy was a fool for messing things up between you two."
"Maybe it was me who ruined it-"
"Don't even try that, love," Killian grinned, shaking his head. "He was always a moron."
"Hmmm," she laughed with a slight blush. "And what about the Storybrooke Knights, Coach?"
"I'm working on it, darling," he chuckled, scratching the scruff on his jaw. "Just gotta give them a chance."
Emma's lips rose into a smile that made his heart ache as she held eye contact for several more moments. The request he'd just given her was ironic and Killian realized quick enough that there was a bit of a double meaning to his words.
Give me a chance, he thought silently as he held back a deep breath.
The baseball team he'd come to supervise wasn't the only thing that deserved some time to prove its worth and telling her so was something he would get around to doing one day.
Eventually, he reminded himself - or at least that was his plan for now.
It was something he kept promising himself he'd bring up during the week that followed. He tried to convince himself it was time to come clean - to tell her that though baseball had taken him away once, it wasn't the only thing that brought him back - and he was still attempting to work up his nerve when she knocked on his old house's front door the night after the first team practice.
He had never sold his childhood home - not after his father finally passed away and not even after he left Storybrooke behind. There was something about the creaking porch swing and dimly lit living room that made him hope he could come back to it someday. Seeing her beneath the porch light all wrapped up in a leather jacket with a nostalgic smile made him instantly believe that he'd made the right choice in keeping the place in his name.
Letting her in was as easy as it had always been - both literally and emotionally. She settled into the couch cushions as they filled in the blanks from the past few years with conversation and a few photos she located in a box on the coffee table.
It was almost like she'd….missed him. Lord knows he was hoping she had.
"Awwww," she gushed, grinning at the sight of him in an action picture from his first season in New York. "You look so cute here."
"Hey, love, I prefer-" he countered with an eyebrow raise. "-devilishly handsome."
"You know, you never changed - at least not to me," she told him softly as her eyes dropped down to the picture again with fond familiarity. "Same old smirk and messy hair. Same stupid ability to get anyone to adore you….and that scar."
"Not my fault, if I recall correctly," he smiled with a glance down at the left hand Emma's older brother had once cleated by accident. "Dave wasn't always the most graceful bloke-"
"Not that one," she returned, leaning in to brush her thumb over his cheek. "This one."
He tried not to flinch beneath her sudden touch, the feel of her hand gentle and even a bit caring. Her eyes flickered with embarrassment as she nearly pulled back, but he somehow slowed her reaction with a reassuring half smile.
"Sorry," she blushed, skimming his jaw lightly. "I just….I guess I've had a hard time actually believing….this."
"This?"
"That you're here," she clarified with a nervous sigh. "That you came back."
He noticed it then, his focus zoning in on her watery eyes and loose wavy hair. She had missed him.
"I always wanted to," he admitted. "This place, it's…."
"Home?"
With a nod, his mind became clear with what he should have said. You are my home, he thought.
"Aye," he smiled. "Something like that."
It was the first inning of their third varsity game when Killian realized just how much hadn't changed since the last time he stood at the edge of his hometown field. The sun had barely dropped in the sky and the cool feel of the spring night air was halted by the black windbreaker he'd just pulled on. It was similar to the one Emma used to steal from him, back when she used to grin at him from the stands and long before she had a boyfriend who wouldn't stand for her wearing some other guy's jacket - even if that other guy was nothing more than a friend.
Friends, Killian thought with a furrowed brow as he glared toward the bleachers. That's what they were and as he watched his old teammate take the empty seat next to her, he decided that perhaps that's all they'd ever end up being.
He didn't even know Neal was still living in Storybrooke - well, not that he'd taken the time to ask. Discussing the whereabouts of that git hadn't exactly been a priority for Killian since he'd started rekindling his friendship with Emma. They'd spent hours bantering and reminiscing since the first night she'd stepped into his half unpacked office and while they'd certainly recounted dozens of memories, Killian had made sure to steer clear of those that involved her old flings and boyfriends.
Ex-boyfriends, he thought as he zipped up his jacket with a hard tug. That's what he wanted to believe Neal was, but as he watched the pair of them engage in a quick hug, he wasn't optimistic about his assumption.
"Game on, Coach," his third baseman - a quirky sophomore named Roland - greeted as he exited the dugout. "You ready?"
Peering back up toward the girl who'd never lost her hold on him, Killian let out a shaky sigh. She was there - right there - and yet as he took in the way she smiled at the man sitting next to her, Killian couldn't help but think about just how far away she really was.
A game, he pondered silently. That's what this was - and he was finally down to his last out.
They'd lost that night. Well, to put it more accurately, they'd been completely annihilated by the seventh inning. When they'd all taken the field for the customary stretch and small town rendition of 'Take Me Out To The Ballgame' - a baseball tradition that Storybrooke never failed to honor - he'd chanced a glance towards the stands. It took only a second to notice she was gone and his face had grown hot when he realized Neal was too. The small crowd was in the middle of chanting something about peanuts and Crackerjacks when he felt his hopes fall fractionally.
She hadn't left the other two games early. In fact, she'd arrived early to the first one and talked him out of his very nervous frame of mind almost too easily. She'd stayed late at the second game, even helping him haul the bag of aluminum bats and crisp baseballs to his car afterward. Emma had always been his most consistent fan and while he knew it shouldn't, her absence made the team's loss that much more frustrating.
He knew he probably didn't have the right to feel annoyed about something so trivial, but convincing himself of that was proving to be very difficult as he read through his game notes in the lowlights of his office.
"You always were ridiculously studious."
He jumped a bit in his seat, his sight jerking up to meet the eyes of his visitor. He definitely wasn't expecting such an intrusion and his heart thumped rapidly in his chest as he bit his lip.
"Aye," he answered, setting down the stack of papers. "I suppose it's true what they say about old habits."
"Admirably consistent, Jones," she smirked. "I've always liked that, you know."
God, she was beautiful, and even more so in the article of clothing she'd put on since he last caught sight of her - his well worn windbreaker from all those years ago. She'd kept it, he realized as his eyes admired her tangled blonde hair and cautious green gaze. That had to mean….something.
"Nice jacket," he said softly, his eyebrow raising. "Though I should apologize that our current team might not deserve such kind support."
"It wasn't that bad, Killian….and I'm sorry I missed-"
"You shouldn't be," he lied. "I know you've been….busy."
His response sounded clipped and the way it made her shoulders straighten immediately made Killian wish he'd spent a little more time picking a casual way to answer her. She moved into the room, her arms folded as she finally paused near the edge of the desk. He wasn't sure why, but she looked….nervous?
"I didn't intend to leave," she started, her teeth worrying her lip. "I just….needed to take care of something."
"With Neal?"
Shit, he thought as his heart raced. Why did he even bring up that jerk? Why did he even care?
"You saw that?"
"I, uh, yeah," Killian stammered, trying to avoid her eyes. "But it's okay, Emma. You don't have to-"
"Killian, I wanted to explain-"
"You don't have to," he cut in, rising to his feet. "Whatever's going on with you and Neal, Emma….it's none of my business-"
"But that's what I wanted to tell you, Killian, there's nothing-"
"He let you walk home, Emma," he blurted out, watching confusion fill her eyes as he shook his head. "I mean….that night of the dance - the Sadie Hawkins dance. After your date, he let you walk home by yourself. I know that because you were freezing by the time you got to my house and your feet were obviously sore from walking in those shoes you never wanted to wear in the first place."
Emma's lips parted slightly, a slight sense of bewilderment filling her stare as she listened to him ramble. He steadied his breath as their eyes locked and it didn't take long for the words he'd never said to resuming rushing out of his mouth.
"Then when you got sick the next week, he didn't bring you the notes you missed in World History or get you chicken soup from Granny's," Killian listed, his face hot with frustration. "He gave you roses for your birthday, Emma, even though you don't like them because you think they're a cliche. Oh and he doesn't like The Princess Bride - something he flat out told you the third time he got you to bail on movie night."
Her eyes were glassy as she listened, his rant obviously causing something to stir in her. Killian knew this was different for her - he'd never been quite this bold about how wrong he thought Neal was for her. Maybe this was wasn't how it was supposed to go. Maybe telling her that Neal didn't deserve her wasn't his place, but Emma was his best friend….and he'd spent far too long pretending that was enough.
"I know Neal….he's-" Killian said, biting his lip with a huff. "-but he's not…."
"He's not what, Killian?"
Her eyes were nervous yet permissive as whatever she was about to say faded into a charged silence. He could feel his nerves vibrating as he tried to be remain calm and rational. This was it though - the moment he'd been searching for since they were kids. It was that single instance he'd been waiting for since long before he chose to give her the space he'd assumed she once wanted.
He had to say something.
"He doesn't know….that you like bearclaws."
Yes, something - but not that, he thought as he began to mentally berate himself.
"That I like….bearclaws?"
"Yeah, the ones from the diner," Killian started, finally allowing his eyes to soften. "It's what I'd always bring you the morning after a tough loss - and not because you couldn't stand to see the Storybrooke Knights get their asses kicked, but more because it cheered me up to see you so happy about a morning pastry."
She laughed softly, a pink blush warming her cheeks as he stepped a few paces in her direction. He had no idea where his confidence was suddenly coming from, but as a small tear rolled down her cheek, he resolved not to question his instinct to wipe it away.
"He probably doesn't know that you're an outstanding writer either….and not just small town news either, love - I mean fiction stories and book reviews," he continued, giving her a nod. "The only girl who could convince eighteen year old me that Peter Pan was worth reading."
"It was," she sniffled, her smile weak. "But I-"
"He doesn't know that you don't like apples and that you can't dance, but you're pretty cute when you try," he smirked. "Or that you know more World Series trivia than any woman or man honestly should."
"Mmmm," she teased, raising an eyebrow. "Still bitter about that I see."
"You're patient, Emma - and passionate," he carried on. "You love traditions and sappy movies and appreciating the sweet things in life like that stupid discount cinnamon you always put on your hot cocoa."
"It's the best kind."
"Aye," he said, his eyes hopeful and his smile honest. "So are you."
The air hitched hard in her throat, his fingers grazing hers as they intertwined and Killian lifted her hand to his lips. She gasped at the contact and he took comfort in the way she shifted forward the tiniest bit.
"So why does it matter so much to you that the guy I am not and will not be dating-" she subtly clarified before forming her question. "-knows all of this?"
“It matters to me that you know, Emma.”
"You want me to know that you're….observant?"
"No," he said slowly, allowing the feelings he'd pushed away for years to surround him. "I want you to know that I don't want you to be with Neal because….I want you to be with me."
It took what felt like ages for a slow grin to spread across her face, the years he'd spent avoiding the truth melting away as she placed her hands on the sides of his jaw. It was like a dream when her thumb ran over the scar that had been beneath his eye for quite some time now and Killian closed his eyes briefly while he awaited the reply he could only pray she'd give him.
"Took you long enough, Jones."
He chuckled slightly as her forehead fell to his, the moment pulling them into a careful first kiss he'd almost believed he might never receive. It was pure and easy as her lips moved against his own, the quiet space of his office ignored and insignificant as his fingers wove their way through her hair. He could have dissolved into thin air as the kiss broke after a few minutes, but when his gaze returned to her beautiful one, he was beyond grateful that he didn't.
"So," she breathed, leaning into his gentle caress. "Now what?"
"Well, I guess-" he began with a smile that felt permanent. "-we take it a base at a time?"
"Hmmm, maybe," she countered, tilting her head from side to side. "-or how about we agree on no baseball puns and I let you take me out anywhere except a ballgame?"
He laughed a little harder that time, placing a soft kiss on her head as she nuzzled his chest. The game he'd been focused on earlier that evening had ended in exhausting defeat, but this….this was the real victory he'd been hoping for.
This two shot was a spec fic I wrote during the summer between seasons 4 and 5, when we didn’t really know where Emma had disappeared to after taking on the Darkness, or what would happen next, or how the rest of them would find her again or get her back. Though it didn’t end up playing out this way, I still had fun writing it, and thought it might be fun to revisit and give some art as well. Hopefully someone else out there may enjoy seeing it again as well...
Summary: Killian and Henry will go to any length find Emma and bring her home again. There's nothing in all the realms more powerful than True Love, and they're counting on that to help them no matter what they face.
Also available on AO3 or ff.net, if one of those is your preference
by: @snowbellewells
1. you never said goodbye
“and in between the soul and the sky…
I know we can make through the night,
‘cause you never said goodbye…”
The metallic clang of the heavy silver dagger striking concrete still rings in his ears like the door of a prison cell slamming shut around his heart. Killian Jones feels his legs give – his muscles water as all the strength drains from him – and he falls to his knees in the middle of Main Street mere feet from where his Swan has vanished. He is unable to turn his eyes from the empty space where she last stood, nor from the curved edge of the infernal blade now bearing her name on its cursed surface, and all that now appears in the place she has vacated. At first, the stricken pirate doesn’t even realize that a guttural noise akin to the cry of a wounded animal is escaping from his own throat; then, Killian senses a presence near him. He feels a strong hand that must be the Prince – her father’s – clamp firmly on his shoulder. Killian’s mouth snaps closed in surprise at the gesture of comfort from this man who has now lost his cherished daughter a third time, and when his teeth clack against each other and the keening ceases, he realizes the wail must have belonged to him.
His head bows, and shame momentarily stains his face, before he raises his visage, and glances over his shoulder to gaze into his friend’s pained royal face. Only 300 years of struggle and accustoming to hurt allow Killian to bring his features under control and to nod at Dave in assurance that he has mastered himself again.
Oh, it will be a fleeting calm; he knows this all too well. Torment still churns and surges just beneath the surface, under his skin. He may be a fearless captain, intrepid adventurer, and survivor; he may have an image to uphold and a reputation to maintain, but he has never felt pain, fear, or anger equal to this. In his long, long life and all his loss and brushes with death, nothing has rocked him to the core and left him as helpless as he feels in this moment. His love, his true anchor, is gone, and what is more, Emma has taken on a curse that may do gods know what to her before they can reach her. That she did it to save them all is as selfless and brave as he has always known her to be, but it leaves him feeling even more impotent in his inability to aid or support her in her sacrifice. It is only realizing he is not alone, that others have lost her too and are also grieving, that enables him to shoulder his agony and stand again on shaking limbs, at least until he can indulge his agony again in private. He has a duty now – to her family as well as Emma herself. Gods help him, she has made him part of something as she offered to do when he took them to Neverland and began his ascent out of villainy following his golden-headed angel. He will stand by her parents and her boy (Henry, his heart squeezes at the thought of what this will do to Henry) and together they will find her in the darkness and bring her back.
As he had feared and yet anticipated, the lad he has grown to care for as he once did his father too, is crushed by her loss. Killian can see the creases of pain and undeserved guilt on Regina’s face as the boy leans into her embrace at the end of her labored, halting explanation. He, the Charmings, Robin and Regina, staggered wearily back into Granny’s dining establishment where they had left Henry regaling Roland, Archie, Marco, August, Leroy, Ruby, and Belle, who is holding his gurgling young uncle, with the tale of his time within a story – a hero in his own right – with success and pride, and a twinkle of mischief that is all Emma. None of them want to ruin his happiness, but neither can they keep him in the dark, nor lie to him.
As Henry finishes recounting his tale, he looks up at the group who have re-entered the diner and spares them having to find a way to broach the difficult topic by asking, “Where’s Mom?” curiously.
Snow’s pretty face falls and she buries her face in David’s shoulder, trying to hide her tears. Regina’s eyes fall to her feet, unable to meet her son’s until Robin places a gentle, steadying hand on her arm and she steps forward and finds a way to begin.
Killian never lets his gaze stray from the lad, watching the emotions flicker over Henry’s face: the hurt, the confusion, the bitterness over the fact that his mom is once again caught up in a fight she did not begin or deserve to weather. Then Killian sees something take over Henry’s face, an expression he did not know he had needed to draw on until it had appeared. Steely determination, and the unwavering hope which has carried them all this far, takes over the boy’s features, and the lad speaks firmly after clearing his throat and setting his shoulders. “Then we’ll find her,” Henry says simply, looking up at each of them in turn, as if swearing them to his quest. “That’s what this family does.”
Dave lets out a choked sounding bark of a laugh, but then nods, letting Henry know that of course he is right.
Killian hates to overstep his bounds, but he knows that Henry has included him with his words, both in his family and in this venture. “Aye, Lad,” he affirms, speaking gruffly past the lump in his own throat. “That is exactly what we will do.”
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The next morning finds Killian and Henry bent over the desk in his captain’s cabin, studying the numerous maps of the realms that he has collected in his centuries of travel and exploration, realizing what a frustrating and daunting task they have set for themselves. Killian brushes an agitated hand through his already disheveled dark hair, staring down at the particular aged piece of parchment currently holding their interest. The map is of Camelot, which seems the most practical place to search for the famed sorcerer Merlin; however, there is no guarantee that it will lead them any closer to Emma. Granted, she had admonished them to free her from the darkness just before she vanished, and according to the Apprentice, Merlin is the key to them doing so, but doing anything that does not directly bring them closer to her is the opposite of what either he or her boy want.
Nevertheless, he is diligently attempting to show Henry how to map a course, and finding with a pleased sense of pride that Emma’s boy is proving to be a natural. The lad is sharp, inquisitive, and has an excellent memory for all that Killian has previously shown him. They are presently embroiled in finding the best way to reach King Arthur’s legendary castle once docking in his kingdom, and seeing that it may take much more time than either of them would wish, when Henry suddenly clutches the map in his hands, as if to rip it in two.
The young man’s shoulders shake silently as he leans forward to brace himself on the desk, head bowed as if hiding his emotion from the pirate. Though the tears that must be falling make no sound, the lad is obviously trying to hold onto his control for all he is worth. Killian wants to reach forward, to gather him into a masculine embrace and offer comfort of some sort, but he does not know if it will cause the lad more pain or if it will do any good at all, when his comfort is certainly not what the boy truly needs.
Finally, Henry draws in a heaving breath, and the words coming rasping from his throat in great gasps, “She’s gone….Killian…My mom…she’s just gone! She brought…all of you…all the way…to Neverland…to save me…when I was taken. …And we…we’re just waiting! …Not going after her…she could be hurt…she could be dying! ...We need to find her!”
Unable to stop himself, Killian pulls Henry in and holds on tight, clutching the lad against his chest awkwardly, but in a hopeful attempt to soothe, rubs his good hand over the boy’s shoulders. “We will, Lad. I swear it. She will not be lost from us forever – no matter where she is, we will reach her.”
2. bring me home
‘will you let me follow you
wherever you go,
bring me home…”
“Emma, no!” the hoarse cry is ripped from his chest before he can think, and is echoed in Henry’s pained exclamation behind him. Killian is already moving, dashing toward her in the next instant, even as the very fabric of the forest glade around them and the air they breathe seems to ripple and wave with expelled energy. It may be only because he is in motion that it doesn’t knock Killian off his feet. He hears Henry stumble, but as concerned as he is for his young compatriot, he cannot take his focus from his Swan now. They have come too far, and she is finally within reach. He knows without question that her boy feels the same.
His vision goes hazy for a moment as the sky above them darkens, wind whips up in buffeting crescendo, and thunder rolls overhead. Even as he is about to touch Emma, something stops him. Killian watches in a near trance as she gives him one last, quick look, then closes her eyes and does as Merlin had instructed her. He sees her lips moving fervently, though he cannot hear her words, and then is shocked when an immense, foreboding black cloud is expelled from her mouth. It rises quickly, and he recoils a bit in apprehension. However, unlike the grasping, hungry ropes this darkness was in Storybrooke when Emma offered herself and it wrapped her in its talons, this cloud is disintegrating, disappearing into nothing before his astonished eyes.
The old wizard was right after all. The key is in the recipient of so much tempting, intoxicating power willingly giving it up after not taking it on in an evil way that adds to its hold. He knew his princess was strong and true, but that she has done what no others could bring themselves to since the Dark Curse’s creation is mind-boggling. Every time Killian thinks he cannot possibly love her more, or be more astounded by her, Emma proves him wrong again.
He is so thrilled by this moment of triumph that he almost manages to forget his concern at the warning Merlin had given along with his advice. Emma has done it! She has freed herself of the darkness and defeated it so it can never be visited on another in such heinous fashion. Surely, she is safe now and they can go home.
Killian’s eyes turn back from the sky to his love, already speaking to her with joy and relief. “You did it, Swan! Bloody brilliant, Lass, as always…” but the words die on his tongue at the sight of her.
Emma gives him a brief, tremulous smile, a gentle sheen of tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Killian…” she breathes out hoarsely, her voice rough and raw, but hers again, not the horrifying rasp it had been when they first found her in true Dark One form in Camelot’s forests, hiding where she would not come into contact with anyone she might harm while she sought control over herself. She doesn’t continue though, and Killian reaches his hand out to forestall her, to make her save her strength. She is deathly pale, trembling like a leaf in a stormy gale, and almost seems to fade away in front of him.
Her eyes roll back in her head, and her breath whooshes from her body. Killian barely manages to dive forward and catch her in his arms as she crumbles lifelessly. He gathers her shockingly light form to his chest, trying desperately not to think of Merlin’s dire warnings now racing through his brain. Henry is at his side in the next instant, reaching out to touch Emma and whispering, “Mom?” so hopefully it nearly breaks the pirate’s ancient, scarred heart.
Emma looks as though the very life has been drained from her along with all the darkness and excess magic. He can only bury his nose in her golden hair, breath in a strengthening whiff of her comfortingly familiar scent, and carry her back the way they have come, hoping against hope there will be something Merlin can do. She has to hold on just a little longer; she must. All her bravery, her sacrifice, her fight to survive, cannot be in vain. He will not survive without her.
“It is as I feared,” the learned mage of Camelot sighs, sitting back in his chair from where he had been leaning over Emma’s frighteningly still form. Though his eyes hold the knowledge and experience of the ages, his face and body appear almost youthful – nearly as handsomely well-preserved as Killian himself, despite how long Merlin has truly lived. “So much leaving a person at once takes an immeasurable toll. She has truly conquered the Darkness, which none have ever been able to achieve. Yet, as others have found, the human thirst for power, control, and influence feeds on such power. It wove itself into the very fibers of her being; she expelled it, but as these powers have never been rejected before, it is hard to know if the damage can be survived. The force of the Dark Curse has been feeding on evil and desperate souls for ages.”
Killian bows his head, fighting to retain control, if only for the sake of Henry sitting across from him holding his mother’s hand. The very real desire to attack one of the world’s most powerful magicians almost overwhelms him, but it will do no good. Moreover, even if he had stressed the risks before giving Emma the possible solution, Killian knows within himself that it would not have changed her course of action. He bites his lip, holding back harsh, disparaging words or howls of pained despair. She is still hanging by a thread; her light is not snuffed out completely, and so he cannot give up hope.
“There must be something you can do,” he grits out in a tone that manages not to be overtly hostile. “Are you the fabled Merlin of Camelot or no?”
Henry’s big brown eyes rise to seek his, incredulous that the pirate would question such a legend, and then flit over to Merlin as well, pleading in them if there is any possibility the wizard is holding back.
The wise, knowing eyes show deep sympathy, not wanting to hurt this man and boy who have come so far for this heroic, self-sacrificing woman, this Savior. He is truly impressed by their faith and belief, the sheer force of the love that has carried them this far. He does not dissuade them to injure; he only wants them to understand the very real chance that it might be too late, beyond what any of them can do.
Sighing, he passes a hand over Emma’s brow, his forehead wrinkling in thought as if he reads something below the surface which cannot be heard aloud. “Alas, it is not up to me,” he states gravely, meeting and holding both pirate and young prince’s gaze in turn. “Whether she will wake again rests entirely upon Miss Swan.”
Emma stirs restlessly in her unconscious state, head tossing from side to side on the flat feather pillow of Merlin’s cot. She murmurs ceaselessly, eyelids twitching as though she sees things moving behind them at all times, but nothing that either Henry or Killian can decipher as they keep vigil by his side. They can’t know that within her own mind, Emma is seeing one distressing, horrible scene from her history after another – scenes that she had hoped never to revisit…
She is three years old and looking on as Beatrice Swan hugs her goodbye, regretful sadness in her eyes, but still firmly turning away from the little girl she had professed to love, leaning into her husband’s side and resting her hand unconsciously on her stomach. Even at three, Emma feels a stab of jealousy at the unborn being stealing the closest she’s ever had to parents and a place to belong; her foster mother’s hand rubbing that slightly distended area seeming to mock her even as they already do the most hurtful thing they could. They’re leaving her behind – alone – as people always do. And once they get in the car and disappear down the driveway of the group home, Emma stands a long time before she goes in, not wanting anyone to see her until she’s sure they won’t see her cry.
She’s six and lies curled up in her bed, the single blanket covering her is threadbare and doing little to keep away the chill in the room she shares with four other girls. The others already don’t like her, a few years older and already buddied up when she’d come to this home a few months back. They are sleeping soundly in the bunk beds, oblivious to the way she tosses and turns on her cot in the corner. At this moment, it doesn’t even occur to her to be bothered by the fact that she’s always left out, always expected to make do with what’s left over. The cold that keeps her shivering this late November night isn’t even what is stealing her sleep. They sent her to bed without anything for supper again. She hadn’t meant to talk back; she’d only been trying to explain herself, but a slap across the mouth and the gnawing hunger she’s suffering now makes her bite her lips against the whimper that keeps trying to escape. It feels as though her stomach is twisting around trying to eat itself. She will live – these particular foster parents aren’t stupid enough to starve them for long enough to attract attention – but she’s still growing and the lack of food is a particularly cruel form of torture.
She is twelve and hiding in a middle school bathroom stall as her two supposed friends giggle and cackle over how easy she has been to fool, how naïve she is for thinking they could really want to be seen with her, how pathetic she looks in her thick, ugly glasses and patched, borrowed clothes…
She’s fourteen and cringing in the closet of her bedroom, hoping the drunken lumbering footsteps of the monster she’s been assigned to this time will pass by her closed door…
She’s seventeen and handcuffed in the back of a police cruiser, shaking with fear and knowing that this time there won’t be any running, any escape, knowing they’re taking her to jail where they’ll lock her away where no one can be bothered with her inconvenient presence anymore. Even Neal has left her behind; she knows without the proof the next few years will bring that he isn’t coming back for her…
Merlin, Henry and Killian can see her agitation growing worse; even as Emma lingers in a nether world they cannot see. Her brow creases, soft, whines of distress escape her, and tears run in rivulets down her cheeks from under her closed eyelids. As much as her son and her love want to offer comfort, she still seems unaware of them, and they are helpless to bring her back.
Another flashback washes over her…this one more heartbreaking than all the others. She is barely eighteen and she watches, clinging to the last vestiges of her will and courage, fastened to a prison hospital bed, as they take her little boy away. She barely saw the top of his head, covered with the barest wisps of soft brown hair and already his cries are fading as he is carried from the room. She couldn’t bear to look on him, knowing her resolve to give him his best chance would crumble if she let herself see his innocent face. Still, to never know what her little boy will look like, what he’ll be named, hear his voice…It isn’t just his tiny body that has been pulled away from her; it feels if it a piece of her soul has been ripped out as well…
The endless, nightmare rush of images ceases at last. Lost in a dim fog, Emma doesn’t really know where she is or what has caused the change, only that she is vaguely aware of a comforting pressure on her left hand, when before she could feel little else, and a similar warm press at her forehead touches her for a lovely, fleeting moment. She draws in a shuddering breath, then another, and slowly, surely feels a bit more of herself coming back into focus. For the first time in the seemingly endless floating eternity she has been lost in, Emma wants desperately to open her eyes. If only she could make them obey…
A coaxing voice reaches her ear, wrapping her up, urging her to come back to the speaker with beautiful, lilting tones. She wants to desperately to reach him, can feel the desire rising within her, even as his face remains frustratingly beyond her reach. Another joins, younger, more hopeful, but no less convincing. This one calls her ‘Mom’ and she feels her heart flutter, not understanding for a moment how to reconcile that with the terrible memory that fleeing darkness had just forced her to relive.
Suddenly Emma finds she wants desperately to return to the people who own these voices, to herself, to her life, even if the visions which have been visiting her are a part of its past. Struggling mightily, she begins to move, enough so that those watching over her can see her valiant effort.
“Killian!” Henry exclaims, breathless excitement in his voice and joy on his face. “Look! She’s starting to wake up!” He clutches her hand tightly in his again, calling to her more urgently. “Mom! Mom! Can you hear me?!”
Killian leans forward, watching his Swan avidly as more animation begins to flit across her face than he has seen in the several days they has spent at her side. He hardly breathes, barely daring to hope. He wants those lovely green eyes looking back at him, to see her again, more than he can remember ever wanting anything before. “Emma?” he asks, so softly only she would be able to hear him.
She shoots upward as she finally claws back into reality; her eyes flying open and scanning everything around her, chest heaving wildly as she draws in quick, fevered gasps of air. Her worried movements only still when she sees first her little boy – not so little anymore – and then her pirate. Their faces are both marred with fatigue and worry, but all the same looking awestruck with happiness to see her again. Her memory rushes back to her; she knows where she is, what she was fighting against, and how far they must have traveled to be sitting on either side of her. The painful reminders of her lost childhood settle back into their places as the rest of her life and the good that have begun to temper the bad return to her as well.
Shakily, she raises a hand to lovingly rest in Henry’s hair, then trace along the side of his face, biting her lip at the sheer love that wells up in her, seeing him safe and well and with her. Killian doesn’t begrudge her the moment with her boy, doesn’t interrupt, he simply bends his head to rest against the crown of hers, as if he’s content to simply have her awake and to breathe her in.
However, it doesn’t take long before that’s not enough for Emma. Gathering Henry to her side, she turns to study Killian, wanting to look on his beautiful face after so long apart. She sucks in a breath, not sure what to say, how to express the ache missing him has been, how to tell him that holding onto he and Henry in her mind is all that kept her sane, all that kept her from letting the Darkness take her over once and for all.
In the end, she doesn’t say anything before he swoops in and captures her mouth with his in a firm but tender kiss. “I love you as well, Emma Swan,” he affirms, having had to wait too long to say it back to her.
There is no response she can make to that without falling apart, so instead she nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, relishing the feel of both of them in her arms at last after so long alone. None of them notice the gentle, approving smile on Merlin’s face as the old sorcerer stands to leave them, knowing all will now be well.
“I hoped it…but I was afraid I’d never see either of you again…” she murmurs, trying not to let her voice crack. The reunion still feels so sweet that she doesn’t want to spoil it with what she has been through.
Killian interrupts her, smoothing her hair back from her face and soothing her with his quiet voice and gentle touch. “Don’t think on that anymore, Love. Not now. We’re together once more…and we’re going home.”
CS Fic Rec Monday: “The Placeholder” by: @wellhellotragic
Oh my goodness, this story was just wonderful!!! @wellhellotragic had my hgeart breaking for Ema, relating to her struggle and loneliness, rooting for she and Killian, and rejoicing at the way it all turned out. This two-parter is complete, and I swear you’ll just want to devour it from start to finish. It’s rare that stories have me wanting to cry both tears of angst and then tears of joy too, but this one did.
I even tried to make a bit of cover art for it, that I hope is okay with you @wellhellotragic :
If you haven’t read this one yet, definitely check it out!!
CS Fic Rec Monday: “What Would We Do Without the Internet?” by: @let-it-raines
This lovely two shot (two separate chapters in @let-it-raines one shot collection “If You Ask Nicely”) is just too wonderful and lovely to resist. Killian and Emma are both teachers at a boarding school - with very little internet access and a thriving gossip mill instead. ;) All their students are even rooting for them to get together, but both are afraid to mess with the great friendship they have going. This is funny and sweet and surprising, and all sorts of stupendous joy to read, but I don’t want to say too much more for fear of spoiling some treat within this modern au. You’ll want to discover all of them for yourself, trust me!
(I hope you’ll enjoy my little attempt at some cover art, @let-it-raines !)
“What Would We Do Without Internet?”- @let-it-raines
So, this is the follow-up and conclusion to the first part of my @cssecretsanta2020 gift for @let-it-raines I never thought it would be nearly Valentine’s Day before I got this gifted, but I went through a major writing slump and just finally pulled it together a bit. @let-it-raines has been incredibly patient and understanding, and I do hope she enjoys a bit more fluff and a happy ending to her little EF Christmas story. May your 2021 have been brilliant so far, Raines! Thanks so much for being such a wonderful shipmate! :)
Part One is here - in case it’s taken me so long you need to refresh your memory!
"One Little Ray of Hope” by: @snowbellewells
Part Two
Nearly two months passed before Emma saw Captain Jones again - two of the longest months she had ever spent waiting for anything it felt to her, and the sameness and routine of her days blended into one seemingly long, endless stretch. She didn’t like to admit it; to be just one more heartsick woman in a harbor town waiting for her restless sailor’s hoped-for return. And yet, she was just that, much as she had tried to fight it.
The only difference she could claim was the man for whom she waited. She had known the Captain’s interest long before accepting her own in return, had been well aware of those brightly intelligent, deeply seductive blue eyes gleaming in the dim light of the tavern as he watched her work, the awareness of his attention shivering along her skin deliciously. She wound’t deny adding an extra sway to her hips or a swing of her hair in response, from time to time, enjoying his silently rapt notice.
This Killian Jones was a patient man; quietly determined and certain of what he desired. He was a man willing to wait if the prize was worth it, and honorable enough to make a vow and stand by his word. Emma had seen it in the way he dealt with his men, his crew; in the way he treated her employer and other tradespeople when he was in port, and when she herself had allowed their better acquaintance and all-too-rare private conversation and brief flirtations, in the way he treated her. Oh, he was tempting, drawing her to his flame inexorably, but despite the reputation of a pirate, she had tried him and found in truth that he was always in fact a gentleman.
While the February snows might still be falling outside, Emma didn’t feel a single doubt. Though she was anxious, she knew he would return. They’d had an interminable late chill this winter; icy conditions still kept many huddled indoors all through the Feast of St. Valentine the past week, when many went out with their significant others for a special evening. This year there had been few couples canoodling in corners of the tavern - most had simply stayed home by their fires (or in their beds) and the lonely who looked on hoping to find their mate at last had been forced to wait another year.
Few ships indeed had managed to make their way in and out to dock in Misthaven’s harbor due to the inclement conditions. Emma wanted to be glad the Jolly was not among them, as she had been watching carefully, worried to note that the Queen’s black guard seemed to be doing the same. Much as she could crawl out of her own skin with the desire to see Killian Jones standing before her, her hair stood on end with the image that had greeted her all too often of the faceless armored men patrolling the docks - as if somehow they knew. She couldn’t stomach the thought of Killian and his crew - meant to sail atop the waves wild and free from one place to another as the wind might carry them - shackled and chained, jailed or even killed. She would have him stay away for months more if it meant he evaded the clutches of the Evil Queen.
However, tonight, for the first time in ages, it looked as though they might have a full house at Granny’s. The wind still howled outside, bitterly cold against the bared skin of cheeks and noses and threatening to bowl over weary travelers plodding against it, but it seemed after so much time cooped up in their own homes, many of the townsfolk were braving the elements in order to drink and make merry and see some other scenery beyond their own hearths and four walls. If nothing else, possibly the sound and good humor all around her in close quarters would keep her busy serving customers and distracted from worrying about Captain Jones, his ship, and his loyal crew - where they might be, what might have held them up for so long, and what sort of threat might await them here if they did return.
The night wore on as it always did; Emma laughed with the regulars, thanking them kindly when they tipped her well for the warm food and good ale. The cozy atmosphere and bustling pace flushed her cheeks and almost did make her forget for whole minutes at a time how much she did miss one particular sailor, how much she ached to see that dark head of hair proudly leading his crewmen through the door, ready to let loose after a long voyage, his booming laugh making her pulse flutter and a smile tug at her own lips giddily. Even as she prayed in equal measure that he stayed away for his own safety, the yearning refused to be smothered.
Just then she heard the opening chords of a familiar reel - one that she had often noticed Jones’ cook and quartermaster and some of the younger men on his ship singing bawdily along with. Once she had even thought her ears detected Killiain’s smooth, rich tone singing the refrain as well before he had caught himself and merely listened silently - reclaiming the image of the ever-serious captain. Emma’s head turned sharply, eyes seeking out Mulan at the piano, wondering what she was about playing that song now rather than the slower ballads and love songs Granny had bade for their holiday festivities.
To her shock, wondering how she could have missed their entrance, Emma’s mouth fell open at seeing that their musical warrior was no longer the player coaxing such fine notes from the ivory keys. It was the quartermaster on Jones’ ship. But how? And did that mean…?
Even as she just dared to hope, she felt him drawing near; his presence close at her back, the fine hairs at the nape of her neck standing on end in response. The heat radiating off him warmed her from shoulder to heel, and she felt a grin splitting her face even as she fought to school her reaction and not fling herself into his arms before one and all gathered there.
His voice was a low, soothing rumble at her ear as he came closer still, calloused fingers trailing down her arm where gooseflesh broke out in his wake until he tangled their fingers together. “Mistress Swan,” he crooned, true ardency in his words, though she cut her eyes over just enough to note the smirk playing about his lips. “You look more beautiful than ever. Might I be so bold as to steal a dance with you, Love?”
Despite the feeling that every cell and nerve ending was quivering with excitement, unclear whether her wobbling knees would support her, Emma gave a small tease of a smile in reply. It took all her resolve not to melt into his arms and nod mute acquiescence. Somehow though, she heard her own voice managing the sort of banter the two of them had perfected - their own secret language of a sort. “I’m not at all sure you can handle that, Captain… but you’re welcome to try.”
She winked and tossed her hair as she baited him, but in the next instant, all breath fled her lungs as Jones swept her up, pressed tightly to the firm lines of his body, arms holding her in an embrace both graceful and desperate. “What shall see who can handle themselves, Darling,” he growled against her cheek.
Then they were whirling, spinning, flying through the paces of the jaunty tune with such all-consuming vigor and speed Emma felt her feet hardly touched the ground. For a time they were both lost in the song and the dance and the nearness of one another. As the notes finally subsided and a gentler melody took its place, they slowed, but Emma’s head still spun, fearing to pull away from Killian Jones. She gazed enthralled into the dark, kohl-lined crystal blue of his gaze, expecting a mocking tilt of his head and quirked brow as he asked just who it was who had been unable to handle their reunion. But Jones seemed equally breathless, at last stepping away only slightly to bend his head over her hand, clasping it in his and kissing the back of it reverently.
“You are such a sight for this poor sailor’s eyes,” he promised, looking up at her and causing what little breath she had gained to escape her once more. “Until the morrow?”
Emma nodded, wordless until she finally replied, “Aye, of course, Killian.”
He did not linger, heading back to his ship for the night, clearly not wishing them all to be seen enough to cause a stir or word to get around, but having left her with merely that chaste and gentlemanly caress of lips that now seemed seared into her skin, Emma could not help but watch him go, burning for so much more.
*** *** *** *** ***
On this voyage the Jolly managed to remain until the spring thaw, some weeks in fact. Luck - or Fate - was on their side and the bulk of Queen Regina’s forces, and her perilous focus, had been drawn elsewhere. Killian kept a tight rein on his crew. They roamed the village quietly and inconspicuously, blending in and inviting no trouble. The ship was docked in the harbor, a beautiful vessel one felt compelled to admire, and yet, with the monarch and her henchmen in other parts of the usurped kingdom, the Jolly went unnoticed by those who would mean her - or her occupants - harm. The last traces of winter were melting into spring, just as the frozen ground in the village and nearby forest turned soft with mud and brightened with new shoots of green grass.
The air had been soft and beguiling, teasing at Emma’s cheeks and the ends of her long hair as she had run errands for Granny in the marketplace that afternoon. She sensed a change in the breeze as it played about her, and that evening as she watched only Killian, Smee, and his purser, a young man called Scarlet, come to dine and settle into a darker corner quietly, Emma knew what that sense had meant. It was time for them to set sail once more. And, even with the tight mass of nerves balled in her stomach, she had reached a decision as well.
Making her way over to take their orders with a friendly smile, Emma tried to send Killian the sort of secretive seduction of the eyes that he had so often turned upon her. She knew he took her signal, mischief sparkling in his own irises in return, and yet his bided his time, tongue firmly planted in cheek.
She turned to go, and suddenly she felt his strong arms wrap around her waist, pulling her backwards into his lap. A playful shriek of surprise escaped her as she landed abruptly, but none of the resistance, nor the punch or slap, she would have offered any other who tried to manhandle her so. Instead, she quickly turned toward him to burrow into his embrace - taking him more than a bit off guard with her enthusiastic response.
“You’ve worked out that we must be on our way, haven’t you, Lass?” he murmured in her ear softly.
Emma nodded, the lump in her throat strangling any audible response as she stared back at him, not even daring to blink and let him vanish from her sight. Leaning in to make sure his next words whispered with hoarse emotion were for her ears alone, Jones added, “Come with me, Emma? Come and be my Pirate Queen?”
He seemed genuinely uncertain, hard as it was for Emma to believe him not assured she would love nothing more. His tongue wet his lips nervously as he awaited her answer, which only made Emma further resolved in her choice.
Meeting his hopeful gaze, she offered a trembling smile before nodding vigorously, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. It was a soaring relief to be gathered closer as he swept in to capture her mouth - all hesitance long forgotten - and plunder it thoroughly in a kiss that nearly drowned her.
Emma would miss the other girls who had become her friends and sisters, the safety and familiarity of the home she had found at Granny’s, but she would gain an inestimable boon in return. Love - real and true and all-consuming. And when the Jolly Roger set sail with the dawn, she was at her Captain’s side.
Merry Merry Christmas @let-it-raines!!! Can you believe we ended up being each other’s Secret Santas?!? It was all I could do not to spoil the surprise yesterday when you posted your amazing story gift for me, but here I am finally with yours in return, and I truly hope you will enjoy it.
You mentioned that you like friends-to-lovers and mutual pining, which I genuinely tried to do to the best of my ability. However, I discovered neither of those things are actually types of fic I have done much. This comes out more like bantering crushes, and Emma-in-denial-finally-admitting-what-everyone-else-already-knows. I did set it in the Enchanted Forest for you, and I tried to mix in the humor and the feels so it has a bit of everything. And there are Christmas touches but it isn’t holiday overwhelming. I got to the stopping place I envisioned though, and it just wasn’t enough. I hope you will forgive me if I say this is only Part One and there will be a Part Two coming shortly once the holiday hoopla dies down. (In all honesty, I was anxious that my story was for you - I love your writing so much, and I am not at all sure this measures up! And then I read your gift and was even more blown away.) Still, here’s hoping this brings a smile to a shipmate like you who has been so friendly and kind and made me smile with your writing all year long! Part Two - and hopefully some fic cover art - to follow soon!)
“One Little Ray of Hope”
by: @snowbellewells
Though the fire in the stone hearth was blazing merrily, the lights from their lamps combatted the dark sky and frigid wind blasting flurries of snow outside their windows, and the jovial voices of many of their regulars mingled on the air to make things cozy inside the little inn and tavern, Emma Swan still shivered at the winter's chill. There, was some hint of frost that wouldn't go away, forming small icy crystals inside her chest - one particular voice that always stood out from the rest to her ears, was missing. She cursed herself for noticing, cursed him for being so unmistakable, and slammed an empty tankard onto her tray as she cleared the just-vacated table more violently than she had meant to.
Naturally Ruby would be passing by just then, on her way to wait on some exuberant new arrivals, and she playfully arched one of her dark brows with a teasing smirk. "Looks like someone's a little frustrated this evening."
From over her shoulder, where Emma hadn't even realized anyone was nearby, Tink tittered with a playful little giggle to Ruby, "Well, you know, we do seem to be short some of Emma's favorite guests this evening…" pirate was not her special anything. Honestly, she was just tired, overworked, overheated, and ready for some fresh air away from the evening crowd. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that Captain Killian Jones, with his unfairly blue eyes and his stomach-flipping accent wasn't here pestering her and getting in her way. What did she care if his farewell to her before he set sail nearly two months' back was that he would return in time for the Yuletide festivities? False hope and nonsense, all of it anyway…
And yet… tomorrow was Christmas day, her traitorous mind whispered as she plunked her heavy tray of dishes on the counter where the Widow Lucas - the proprietor of their inn, and 'Granny' to all of them - was serving up orders and Ashley was doing dishes as fast as she could to serve warm bread and hearty stew on them once more. Again, her approach was none too gentle, as she huffed out a breath of air and pushed her hair from her face impatiently.
"Careful there, my girl. Any dishes you break will be comin' from your pay," the widow threatened idly. Granny put on a tough front - one had to in a rough and tumble harbor town - and she meant business if she had to bring out her crossbow from where she kept it close to hand beneath the counter, but she was a soft heart beneath the necessary bluster and hard shell. She loved all "her girls" and most of her patrons dearly, wanting them to know they were welcome and cared for in her inn - and while many like she and her granddaughter had little in the way of blood-related family, she aimed to give them a feeling of home in her place.
Emma smiled slightly, acknowledging Granny's words without comment, despite knowing the older woman would do no such thing. She unloaded the dirtied tankards and bowls more carefully into the soapy water for Ashley and forced herself to draw a couple of deep breaths as Granny loaded her up with the next order.
Just as Emma moved to lift the tray and move off again, Granny placed her own hand over Emma's kindly, keeping her there until Emma met her eyes. "Don't let Ruby irk you. She means no harm," was the quietly offered advice, to which Emma nodded sagely, already knowing as much. It was only when Granny winked and added, "Of course, if you're awaiting some handsome sailor, I wager he'll be here soon," that Emma let out an exasperated huff and spun away to the sound of her boss and pseudo-grandmother's laughter at her back. Shaking her head, she seethed, 'Everyone thinks I'm waiting for Jones…. Well, I'm not!'
The night went on without much further interruption; the snow fell in continued flakes, swirled and eddied by the window and pilling up on the windowsills. Inside their crowded tavern, however, the cozy warmth continued to rise right along with the songs and laughter of those gathered within. Soon Emma found her face flushed, cheeks pinked from the heat and close quarters. Even as the gathered crowd began to dwindle, slowly trickling out the door and homeward in twos and threes, as she, Ruby, Tink, and Ashley began to wipe down empty tables and see to storing up leftover food and seeing drinks stoppered and sealed for the night. Granny had gone upstairs nearly an hour before as the midnight hour had come and gone, claiming her old bones needed the rest, and Mulan, who did not appear the musical type, but who had once confessed when more than a bit tipsy on dwarf mead that her parents had seen that she was learn all sorts of marriageable skills in the hopes of seeing her matched with a smart, dashing husband before she had left hoe to make her own way - had switched from plunking out bawdy sea shanties and reels for the gathered revelers and lighting begun pecking out chords to a few softer and slower Yuletide carols as a background accompaniment to the cleaning and the quieter murmurs of those who still lingered in conversation over their last drinks.
Not long after, Ruby silently slipped out the kitchen exit in back with the solemn huntsman who came every night to break bread and drink not at all other than to drink in her presence and bask in her company had stood and followed her like a silent shade as she beckoned from the doorway. Ashley had headed upstairs herself for some rest in her own apartments, as had Tink, saying the last town gazette's gossip section was calling her name. Mulan had paused at the door before heading to her own house a couple streets over, telling Emma she would make rounds of the block first, to see that all stragglers had gone home, and no trouble was lingering about them before she left.
Emma thanked the beautiful warrior sincerely, knowing that it was no more or less than the other woman did every night, determined that these friends who took her and all others at face value, welcoming all lost and weary travelers without trying to change them were safe and secure. She would see no harm come to the Widow Lucas and her adopted "sisters" on her watch; Emma knew Mulan took that charge upon herself as a sworn duty. The rest of them would never have put such weight on her shoulders, but each one of them also slept easier knowing Mulan was nearby. The slim build, shining curtain of silky black hair and delicate features could have long ago earned Mulan the hand of any prince, pirate, or nobleman who laid eyes on her, but those physical attributes all deceptively hid her strength, speed, and core of deadly steel if anyone threatened harm to those she loved.
"We'll be alright," Emma assured again, as Mulan bid her goodnight. "Everyone was in good spirits this evening. No fights, no trouble. Please rest easy once you get home. I can't imagine anything should happen until we see you again tomorrow."
"As you say," the raven-haired woman replied simply, and with a slight dip of her head in a bow, she turned and slipped into the night with such soundless agility and grace that she seemed to melt into the darkness - unseen in mere seconds.
Closing the door at last, Emma latched it securely, making certain the tavern and rooms above were locked properly for the night. She then began to move about the large, open main room, blowing out the candles still left aglow on scattered tabletops and snuffing out the wall sconces as well as she made a final pass around the main space. At last her final chores were complete, one last lit candle in her hand as she stood before the front window, looking down the moonlit street toward the docks for a moment longer. Captain Jones and his crew had yet to be seen in town, and while she could tell the others she didn't care - could even tell herself that in the light of day - here alone in the silent frosty night, Emma couldn't help wondering where he might be, and if he were well.
"Jones, if you're out there," she murmured, hoping only the snow and ice and the Christmas star would hear her, "Take care or yourself… and be safe 'til we meet again."
She had crossed the darkened room, placed her hand on the stair rail and was on the first step up to the second floor, when she heard the lightest rapping at the side door into the alley. Pausing there, Emma held her breath, listening uncertainly for the knock again, hardly daring to hope. She only had her candle in hand, the shadows long around her. Were Ruby and her huntsman still outside keeping each other warm despite the winter's chill? Could there be a prowler who had lain in wait until their self-appointed guardian had left for the night, or might it be the visitor she had been promised? The face she had looked for in anticipation every time the inn's door had opened to welcome a new patron that night? She would deny it to anyone, but those dark brows arched up into his windswept hair in challenge or jest, over eyes as blue as his beloved ocean, had been sorely missed; she had hoped to see him home again for Christmas more than she wanted to allow herself.
She drew nearer to the side entrance, not wishing to give any her presence if the person on the other side bore ill intent, but straining to hear all the same; seeking some sign she was right and to confirm the feeling she had about who awaited on the other side. Gathering her courage, Emma reached for the fireplace poker beside the large stone hearth. Its embers were now dead for the night, but only a short while ago it had been blazing hotly, heating the entire space. She was not some frightened child at any rate; she'd hold her own against any intruder if the opened door led to a nasty surprise.
Sure enough, the rapping came again, more firmly and with the added hushed entreaty, "Swan? Are you still about, Lass? Emma Swan! It's Captain Jones if you're still about and wish to see your sailor!"
Her concerns brushed aside at the tones of that voice she could not mistake, Emma let the metal of her makeshift weapon clatter against the stone as it dropped from her fingers. With an exuberant little cry, she was at the door and lifting the latch in a second. The candle in her hand flickered and nearly went out with the stunned breath that left her upon glimpsing his handsome form once again after so long away.
To his credit, Jones didn't tease; instead looking rather stunned himself as his gaze appeared busy drinking her in as well. Soon, he slipped inside out of the blustery chill and, seeing that her hand holding lighted taper was shaking considerably, he took it from her with care and reached to light the nearest sconce, casting their immediate surroundings with enough warm glow by which to see.
Finally, she regained enough of her faculties to speak, and Emma stuttered, "It seemed you were not coming, Captain. Ruby mocked me all day for my foul temper and Tink joined in of course to say it was due to my missing and certain pirate and his crew. The busybodies!" she scoffed. But then she reached across the space between hem to catch his hand. "I did worry you might have been arrested, or hurt, or wrecked…or lost…any number of things. Or perhaps I gave you no clear assurance, and instead you had moved on, not to return."
Killian shook his head just barely, looking troubled that she could even think he would abandon or fail her so easily. "Hardly Lass," he stated fervently, a sort of fiery glow in his eyes she had not seen before. I did say I would return by Yuletide, did I not? A pirate I might be, but I still have my honor. It would take more than the increased vigilance of the Evil Queen and her forces to keep me away."
Emma sucked in a worried breath at the cause of his delay. They all hoped to keep far under the notice of the usurper monarch - as cold and cruel as she was darkly attractive, she would end a life as easily as snapping her fingers, and at the slightest provocation, real or imagined. Life had been all the harder and more fraught with danger since Regina had wrested the crown from her kind and gentle stepdaughter Snow White, the rightful heir to the crown. If Killian were wanted by Queen Regina and had snuck back into her borders only to keep his promise, Emma could not bear to consider what would happen if he were discovered.
Now was the moment of truth, before anymore needless time slipped past. It was time she told him what she had realized while no teasing friends or rowdy onlookers were listening in. "I missed you," she finally managed to croak out around the lump in her throat. "Thank you… Killian…for keeping your word."
He dipped his head to look into her eyes where she had dropped her gaze to her feet. A strong, calloused hand, warm and gentle in its intent, tipped her chin back up to stare into his searching gaze. "Of course, Swan - Emma. All I could have wished for this holiday was…" he paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously and a hand coming up to worry the spot behind his ear - gesture she had long ago noticed signified nervousness. But he plunged on determinedly, "was to see you again, to see you and give you this."
Pulling a small pouch from some inner pocket of his long leather jacket, he held it out to her with sparkling eyes, appearing almost boyish for a moment in his eagerness to see her open his gift, and whispering "Happy Christmas, Emma," as he placed it in her upturned palm.
Emma's mouth formed a surprised "O", having not expected or hoped for anything more than his safe return. Opening the ties, she tilted the soft material until the item within spilled out in her hand. Holding up a long, golden chain with an exquisite stone of lovely pale green, near to jade in color, swinging from it, she was enchanted by the pendant he had brought her. "Oh, it's gorgeous," she breathed, rather stunned at how nice the piece of jewelry was. She wore (or even owned, to be honest) little of such finery.
"It's sea glass," Killian explained, taking the piece back in nimble fingers when she offered it, then turned, lifting her long hair so he could place the chain around her neck and fasten it for her. "Though sailors believe sea glass is good luck, that it keeps the wearer safe, and I would always wish you to be so, I knew it had to be yours because of the color. It reminded me vividly of your eyes…" Though the necklace was secured, his fingers still grazed featherlight along her skin, causing prickles of awareness to course throughout her body, and his own voice had turned decidedly husky.
At last, Emma turned to face him once more, breaking the trance between them, but needing to thank him, and for him to see how touched she was by his gift, even if her voice was breathless and her words trembled with emotion. "I don't know what to say. You shouldn't have, but I adore it all the same. I'll treasure it, Killian. Truly." And without further hesitation or pausing to think and second guess, Emma threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly to her. "Thank you," she whispered against his chest, breathing in the salty, spicy essence of him and nuzzling against his chest. She realized with a force that almost knocked her off her feet that she never wanted to let go.
She felt Killian Jones' fingers thread through her hair, stroking gently, reverently as they stood there wrapped up in each other, swaying slightly in the candle glow and the howl of the wind outside. Emma felt they might indeed stay that way forever, and that neither of them would mind at all, until more rapid knocking interrupted their silent moment. The door handle rattled urgently, and she heard a nervous voice she recognized as Killian's first mate's speaking in hurried words. "Cap'n, you told me to summon you when an hour had gone. I've already seen one patrol of black guard go by. If they notice the Jolly in the harbor…"
"Aye, Smee," he gritted out, stopping the anxious flow of words. "Head back and make ready to sail. I'll follow in a moment."
He sighed as he turned back to Emma, tracing his thumb over the apple of her cheek and pausing to caress the dimple in her chin as he cradled her face in his hand.
"You have to go," she acknowledged reluctantly; hating it, but understanding and wanting to see him safe, just as he did her. Her words were wistful, wishing he could stay there with her - or that she could run away with him - but it was too much, too quickly, no matter how she dreaded being parted again so soon.
"I must, for now," he affirmed, the regret lacing every syllable of his words. "But I hope that now you know I will return."
She nodded mutely, her mind trying to memorize every detail of his face, his voice, his touch, until she could see him again. "And I will be here waiting for you," she promised with equal intent.
Bending slightly, Killian brushed his lips against her cheek, his stubble tickling her skin and again making her shiver at the sensation. It was the lightest and most gallant of kisses, and yet it only served to make her burn for more - for him to take her in his arms, for those firm lips to kiss her everywhere, for him to take her to her own apartments, or back to his cabin. It would keep her burning for however long they might be kept apart.
As he had to leave, heading out again into the dark night, Emma stood at the door watching until the very second his vanished from her sight, no longer able to deny how anxiously she would await his return.
CS Fic Rec Monday: “On This Night and in This Light” by @welllpthisishappening
I just finished reading this amazing 2-part fic yesterday, amd I just couldn’t get enough of the world @welllpthisishappening created within it. Emma works at a service set up to help magical beimgs fimd real world, non-magical jobs. It has the flavor of a modern au, but there’s still that hint of magic to it, which was really fun. Not only that, but it was neat seeing how she fit different magical characters into the storyline and the jobs that Emma and Killian found to suit their skills/gifts.
Speaking of Killian, when he begins work at her same firm, Emma worries over his not being magical himself or having knowledge of that world. It’s only going to make things complicated, but she’s drawn to him all the same... And in a little bit of danger, lots of overly involved but supportive friends, lots of humor and banter, and you’ve got a story that you don’t want to miss!!
“On This Night and in This Light” by: @welllpthisishappening
