Summary: She remembers a time when her reputation had never been worse. And yet there he'd always been.
Rating: T
Warnings: references
AO3
A/N: I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my noggin for a bit and @csjanuaryjoy has given me the perfect opportunity to bring it to life! The fic was heavily inspired by a combination of Taylor Swift’s ‘Delicate’ and this stunning Killian manip! I would like to thank @capthamm for doing wonderful work beta-ing for me. And I hope you all enjoy!!
----
It was while on the hunt for a picture for her soon-to-be sister-in-law that she found another photo entirely. The sight of it had Emma gasping as if she’d woken up from a hazy, unsettling dream. One that she could hardly remember the details of, but knew she’d very much been a part of all the same.
It jolted her back to a time when her life had been a bit up-in-the-air, to put it mildly. In full truth, she’d been living through an active trainwreck, much of it her own making and her own mistakes. Mistakes that she had pretty much run away from when she’d left Storybrooke, her adopted home since she’d been a pre-teen, without much warning and showed up on her brother’s apartment doorstep in Boston.
He hadn’t been happy to see her, protective Big Brother Mode kicking in at the site of his barely legal little sister standing at his front door with a duffle bag and a waning, pathetic smile. It took every ounce of Emma’s persuasive abilities to stop him from calling up their mother, Ruth, and escorting her back to the bus station she’d just come from.
But she’d managed to pull it off, just barely, and had found herself crashing on David’s couch as she tried to nurse the wounds of a broken heart and broken life. Only just eighteen, only just out of juvie, only just on the other end of a thievery charge that was never hers to begin with. Everyone had warned her to stay away from Storybrooke’s bad boy Neal Cassidy, but Emma was stubborn and did what she wanted.
Even if it ultimately ended up biting her in the ass.
She’d been sitting there, thinking of that proverbial ass-biting and how she’d likely just fucked up again, when a heavy weight had thrown itself down next to her on the couch.
“Don’t worry that pretty head of yours too much, love,” Her brother’s then roommate said, amusement coloring his British accent. “David must always have a patronizing cause to be arrogant about. You just happened to be it today.”
“You don’t mind if I stay?” She had asked quietly, hesitantly in return. She had turned her head to look at him, at Killian Jones, her green eyes wide and sad.
He lowered the bottle of beer he had brought with him over to the couch from his lips, swallowing as he took her in. She remembered the squirmy feeling that stirred in her belly– those intense blue eyes gazing at her, assessing her.
Killian had answered with a shrug, passing the bottle her way. “Us lost ones have to stick together, aye?”
Amid all the chaos, all the fuck-ups, all the mess that her life had become then, Emma could so easily recall the warmth that had spread across her chest at the unapologetic acceptance Killian had given her then. She’d only met him a couple of times before that day, and yet he had embraced her so openly. Like he saw her beyond all the mistakes.
She remembered that day. And many of the days after when Killian had been there for her like nobody else wanted to be. She remembered him letting her rant about her latest argument with David over her life. She remembered him stepping in between her and her brother, sometimes even physically. She remembered the strain it had put on his friendship with David. She remembered so much of that time.
And yet, the details surrounding how such a picture of Killian had ended up on her phone. How she couldn’t possibly forget something so…
Emma let out a frustrated sound and rose from where she had been sitting on her bedroom floor. Papers were scattered all about, notes and clippings and receipts that only a bride would entrust to her maid of honor. She tipped-toed her way around the mess and out of the room. Determined, she marched down the hall and right out the back door, out into the damp drizzle that had been coming down all morning. Right into the boathouse that sat at the back of the property.
“When was this?”
There was a thump from the half-finished wooden hull sitting a few feet from where Emma had stopped. “Bloody hell, love…” Killian straightened himself up, rubbing at the back of his head. “It’s customary to announce yourself before screaming random questions…” He gave her a glare that held no heat as he tossed the scrap of sandpaper in his other hand onto the table near where he was working.
“Hi, I’m Emma…” She curtsied sassily before stomping towards him with her phone held up. “And I wanna know when this was!”
Killian was staring at her feet as she got closer to him. “Emma, where are your damn shoes?! It’s practically freezing out here.”
“Don’t look at my feet,” Emma waved him off, shoving her phone right up into his face. “Look at the phone and tell me about this picture
Blinking and jerking his head back, Killian sighed as he took the phone from her and gave the screen a glance. He smiled softly and chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he looked back up at her with amusement. “Ah, yes…” He reached up and brushed some damp hair behind her ear. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember this one.”
“You still didn’t answer the question!”
Killian laughed again and took her hand in his. “Come here…” He sighed as he pulled her over to the wooden chair sitting a few feet away. Throwing himself down into much like he had all those years ago on that couch, he pulled Emma down into his lap. She settled easily there, wiggling just a bit to emphasize she was ready for his story time.
“You see, this was the night…” Killian held the phone out to her so she could take one end while he continued to cling to the other. “A fiery lass I’m quite fond of got her GED and we were celebrating the occasion.”
Emma blushed as to the reality of why she couldn’t remember the picture settled in. “Oh.”
“Oh indeed.” Killian teased as he brushed his nose along her cheek. “Still just shy of being able to go out and imbibe legally, we decided to have a grand celebration in our apartment. She was quite into her cups when she took this photo. Was mumbling something about me having a pretty head too and wanting to document the moment, so she’d always remember.”
“That’s…” Emma shook her head. “Well, you did...do… have that… a pretty head, I mean.” She could feel the embarrassment bubbling up in her gut.
“She also said, just before the whole pretty head remark” Killian continued. “That she loved me because I had always been there for her, even when nobody else could stand her, and she wasn’t sure if that was ‘cool’ to say, but she was gonna say it anyways.”
Emma looked at him, her eyes wide. “I… did?”
“Aye,” Killian nodded sagely before he shook his head and frowned. “She then proceeded to vomit all over our balcony after taking this picture…” He pursed his lips in mock-disgust.
Groaning, Emma went to shove off of his lap but he held her firmly in place. “Ah ah, I’m not quite finished…” He pressed a kiss to her cheek even as she pouted down at the phone. “You know what I think about when I see this picture?”
“Me barfing cheap wine coolers into your lap?” Emma quipped petulantly. She was already thinking maybe she should delete the picture…
“How much I was ready to marry you that night.” Killian whispered to her.
It was Emma’s turn to make a disgusted face. “You can’t be serious.”
Killian nodded when she looked at him incredulously. “Oh I very much can be. And I am. I knew, right in this moment,” he tapped at the screen. “That Emma Swan was the woman I was going to marry. And even after she was ‘barfing cheap wine coolers into my lap’ and was crying pathetically on our living room floor,” Emma sighed again and rolled her eyes, looking away from him. He nudged her a little to get her attention once more, letting the phone rest in her lap so he could take up her left hand, his thumb brushing over the wedding band there. “I knew.”
Emma stared at him, tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. “Us lost ones stick together?”
Killian grinned, pressing a kiss lightly against her lips. “That’s right.” He continued to smile as he pulled back.
Sniffing loudly, Emma smiled softly and looked down at her phone. “That’s gross… and romantic.” She wiped at her eyes and glanced back at him. “You’re really fucking cheesy, you know that?”
Quirking an eyebrow again, Killian shrugged. “You married me.” He patted at her thigh, hoisting her up to her feet. “And as your cheesy husband, I believe it’s my job to haul you inside and into a nice warm bath before you catch your death,” He sighed as he looked at her still bare feet and shook his head, taking her hand in his and he started to lead her out of the boathouse.
“No bloody shoes,” He muttered as he tugged her back towards the big blue house they’d only just move into a few months before. “Impossible woman.”
Emma smiled as she let herself be pulled along. “You married me.” She quipped back, smiling even bigger as Killian mumbled about ‘must’ve lost my damn mind’. She looked down at her phone in her other hand, tapping at the little heart at the bottom of the picture still taking up the screen.
It was a memory she wasn’t going to forget again anytime soon.
Some future fluff for my first @csjanuaryjoy entry, complete with a Killian turning silver fox and a playfully teasing Emma and toddler Hope. Sorry that it’s evening on my day, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it!!
“Adorable Old Man”
By: @snowbellewells
“Swan!” Killian’s rich voice, more than a bit overloud in their quiet house, boomed within the enclosing walls as if he still thought he was on his ship upon the rolling waves that slapped against its wooden sides. She had talked before about being able to hear him without his bellowing, but as he added, sounding rather out of sorts, “Can you help me for a moment, Love?” she just shook her head affectionately, well aware that some habits were hard to break.
As she neared the living room, she could also hear Hope giggling from where she had set her daughter up on the floor with the coffee table as her work space to spread out paper and crayons. It wasn’t an unusual arrangement, as Killian’s favorite reading spot was the chair in the corner where a window overlooked the harbor, and Hope always wanted to be following her papa around or settled near him.
Emma would not have thought it possible for anyone to be as enamored of her husband as she herself was - but their little girl could give her a run for her money. Hope looked at Killian as though he brought the sunrise and made the waves roll under the ship they both loved. Their little girl was every bit her father’s daughter, and much more pirate than princess. Not that Emma minded - the same could be said of her, despite how royal she might be by birth.
Even at four, Hope had a determined mind of her own - knowing what she wanted and determined to get it, regardless of what might stand in her way. They had tried to make her a permanent drawing table and organized drawers of supplies in her own room, but their wayward miniature buccaneer kept dragging all her paper and markers and crayons out to whatever room Killian settled in and had long since decided it was a battle not worth fighting about.
As Emma came down the last few steps to the first floor and entered the living room, she looked at both her husband and child for a moment, wondering what had amused Hope so much. Her eyes followed her preschooler’s gaze over to where Killian was fiddling with the wall thermostat in agitation. Even from across the room, she could hear him muttering to himself, more audibly than he probably realized. “Bloody cantankerous monstrosity! Can’t be blasted simple and straightforward to control…. Why aren’t you working?”
She tried valiantly - really she did - but it didn’t take long before she was biting back her own humored response to his exasperation. Moving into the room and over to her pirate, Emma winked at Hope conspiratorially and put a finger to her lips, not intending to have Killian catch them both laughing at him.
“Need a little help there, Babe?” she tried gently, a note of jest in her tone despite her best effort. He was simply too adorably flustered to resist teasing. She wasn’t sure why he was trying to crank up the heat anyway; it was unseasonably mild outside for January, not that cold at all. But there he was wearing a wool cardigan that made him look like a professor or an enticing reiteration of Mr. Rogers, bent over the thermostat dial as if he might start shivering and his teeth go to chattering if he didn’t master its function soon.
“Apparently so, Love,” he sighed wearily, taking a step back so she could see what the issue might be. “I’ve turned it up several degrees, and still have yet to hear that wretched furnace come to life.”
She shook her head once again upon seeing that the digital read was at nearly 76 degrees already. “Babe,” she sighed herself. “It’s not an instantaneous reaction. A sensor tells it when the house temperature has fallen below what we’ve set, and then it kicks on to regulate it back to that degree. Are you really still cold? I don’t think it’s fallen below the read out.”
Huffing in indignation, Killian turned those disgruntled baby blues on her mournfully, as if deeply betrayed she hadn’t taken his side. Rather than distracting from the entrancing power those eyes had always held over her, the bifocals he was prescribed about a year ago only seemed to make his glances twinkle all the more - with mischief, fire, or deeper emotion.
Running her fingers back through the tinged grey hair at his temples and scratching them through his scalp, she offered him a small half-smile. The action made a low rumble escape his lips, his forehead fell to rest on her shoulder as the tension in his own relaxed. She could feel him chuckling lightly, realizing how silly it all probably appeared. “My poor old man,” she crooned playfully, unable to resist a bit of teasing at her pirate’s expense. “Circulation failing you after 200 some years?”
With a snort, he pulled back, squinting at her behind those dark frames, mouth falling open at her unexpected jab. “Oi, Swan, watch who you’re calling old!”
He almost set her giggling once more with the knowledge that he had to pull back to focus on her better - just as he had taken to holding the newspaper further from him and back, along with his folio volumes of Yeats poetry and nautical adventure novels.
“Give it up,” she admonished, shaking her head at him as she patted his chest and pulled him over to the couch to sit curled together facing where Hope is still seated cross-legged and watching them rather than her forgotten drawing. “I’ll cuddle and keep you warm.”
Nodding in agreement, Killian wrapped his arms around her as she leaned against his chest, nuzzling her nose into his collarbone. “Bad form, teasing a man about things he cannot change,” he murmured into her hairline, briefly tickling her waist, but as she yelped and wiggled, he stopped, clearly preferring to hold her close.
Hope watched the whole exchange between her parents avidly, a wide smile on her mischeivous face. When her papa looked up briefly to waggle his eyebrows at her and chide her teasingly, “That goes for you too, you little heathen.”
She chortled, “Silly Papa!” her voice unabashed and not in the least put off. She nodded her head, enthusiastically committed to her story now. With a peal of laughter, she gestured at him excitedly as she proclaimed, “Yes, yes...like Mr. Frederickson!”
“What now?” Killian’s brow furrowed in confusion, not understanding the reference and thinking Hope meant a person in town he hadn’t met. He shot Emma a curious look, even as he asked, “Who’s that, Little Love?”
Emma however sputtered with mirth when she realized Hope meant the elderly Pixar character in the movie they watched a few nights back. Her shoulders were shaking in silent laughter, even as she bit her lip against the guffaw struggling to break free. Gaining control after several seconds, she managed to turn to her husband and elaborate. “The cartoon, Babe.... You know, with the house carried by balloons…?”
Her pirate’s eyes widened with surprised recognition, before his head fell forward in playful defeat. So then, he took her as much by surprise as Hope when his face suddenly shot back up as he lunged forward to tickle her wildly. “You take that back!” he threatened humorously. Soon the two of them were on the floor; Hope squealing, Killian growling, and the both of them tickling and pouncing as they rolled across the living room in a tangle of arms and legs.
Eventually, they stopped to catch their breath, and Emma hauled both of them back up onto the couch with her. Lounging comfortably again, Emma mumbled against his cheek, “I hate to say it, but she has a point. All you really need are the hearing aids,” knowing all too well how it would rile her husband up again.
“That’ll be the day, Wife,” he muttered lowly, voice brushing against her ear in a way that made her shiver deliciously and drop all pretense of teasing. Then he was on her and tickling as mercilessly as he had done with Hope.
When she finally escaped and headed for the kitchen to find something for dinner, his pleased retort followed her from the room, “As you can see, I’m still more spry than that Frederickson fellow!”
And that night in their bed, Emma more than conceded that despite his complaints of the cold throughout the day, her pirate generated more than enough heat to keep them both warm until morning.
hello love (a silent kiss from a wish) / CS January Joy
part one of two for the @csjanuaryjoy
AO3
When Elsa admitted that she had no control over the ice swirling around and seeping into Emma’s bloodstream, Emma knew fear unlike any she’d experienced yet.
She just--she wanted to believe that everything was going to be okay.
And that they would all live, happily ever after.
--
thanks to @thisonesatellite, @profdanglaisstuff and @optomisticgirl for encouragement and love.
special birthday shoutout to @distant-rose <3 <3 <3
(i would like to note that @optomisticgirl’s epic “Days of Future’s Past” inspired part of this story) (you should read it)
the time-slip is a classic and i would be remiss if i did not point other other gems (that i am aware of) in this fandom:
a seed of hope by @unfolded73
in time by @justanotherwannabeclassic
i jumped across from you (oh what a thing to do) by @bemusedbicycle
--
this story was inspired by an old sailor moon fic called quirks by vievre (on FF dot net)
one.
Emma Swan was freezing.
She had never, in her entire life, known it was possible to be this cold. She thought she’d understood cold--had endured cold, had survived cold, living on the streets in Minnesota in the winter, camping out in the backseat of her unheated Beetle in Boston, shivering in a jail cell in Phoenix.
She’d been wrong.
“If I could just--lay down for a minute,” she panted, letting Elsa help her to the ground.
“Emma,” Elsa said. “Emma--talk to me. Tell me more.”
Emma wasn’t sure if she was going to survive this. She heard her father’s voice on the other side of the ice wall and knew that he would be disappointed in her. She tried to imagine him saying something supportive and ridiculous and cheerful and exhorting her to have hope, but she--she couldn’t. Hope had vanished at least 20 degrees ago.
Emma was too damn cold for hope.
“Parents don’t always help,” Elsa murmured, but Emma was having difficulty following the conversation from one end to the other. She could hear the static squelching on the walkie from the other side of the ice wall and knew that David Nolan was doing everything in his power to get her out of here. And Hook--
“That has to be very lonely,” Emma said, but the movement of her lips did little to help her stay warm.
Emma wasn’t going to think about Hook, about how she’d refused to let him break down her walls--metaphorically speaking--and how she was now trapped behind a literal wall, made of ice, and wasn’t that one hell of a metaphor?
But she knew that he was probably trying just as hard to break that one down, too. She tried to imagine the pair of them, the prince and the pirate, just to make herself laugh, to move her muscles, but it was cold--too cold for anything to be funny.
“Were you born with magic, or cursed?”
She’d seen some weird shit in her life, and even weirder shit in the year and change she’d lived in Storybrooke. She’d eaten chimera and killed a dragon and led a mutiny of Lost Boys. She’d seen a flying monkey in New York City. But when Elsa admitted that she had no control over the ice swirling around and seeping into Emma’s bloodstream, Emma knew fear unlike any she’d experienced yet.
Fear of loss--because, for the first time in her life, she had something to lose.
Her parents, her family. Henry. Hook.
“I’m very sorry I trapped us here,” Elsa said. “I didn’t mean it.”
Emma knew that, she did--she just wished that she knew everything was going to turn out all right.
That they were all going to live, happily ever after.
She was barely conscious and did not see the glow of the wishing star in the ice underneath her.
two.
He came awake all at once.
Two hundred years shipboard made a man a very light sleeper, and in the years since, Killian Jones had been content to be awakened most mornings by the movements of his still-drowsing wife. She would breathe against his skin, tickling him. He would feel her lips against his back in light butterfly kisses along his spine or her fingers as she traced the designs inked into his arm. He would feel the gentle pressure of her body as she pulled herself closer to him, and hear her whisper: “For heat.” And then he would nod, allowing her the simple fiction and enjoying the way she fit perfectly against him as he watched the sun rise through the filmy curtains of their east-facing bedroom.
He was unaccustomed to the sight that greeted him on this morning, however. He was cold and stiff--”Getting old, babe,” she would say, giggling--and when he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was a portable heating device on the floor of the Charmings’ old loft.
The loft that no one in their family had occupied for years.
It came to him in phases: the awkwardness of sitting on the floor; the pain in his shoulder and neck; his arm, oddly positioned behind him and over his shoulder. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Something-- someone --was holding his arm in place.
Instinctively, Killian twisted--he needed to check, he needed--
When he tried to pull his hand from her grasp, she turned, though she didn’t wake. Emma Swan was curled up on the old too-small couch in the old too-small family loft, his old greatcoat pulled up to her chin and his hand wrapped tightly in hers.
He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. Neither was she.
three.
Killian examined himself in the mirror.
He was wearing one of his linen blouses and a pair of leather trousers, his waistcoat discarded on the wash basin. The boots lined up next to the couch had pointed toes instead of rounded and buckles instead of zippers. Though he always protested to his wife that he still ‘retained his youthful glow’, the reflection that greeted him was younger, and harder, and Killian suddenly missed the laugh lines and crow’s feet he had begun to accumulate.
With a sigh, Killian pulled his shirt up by the hem, already suspecting what he was going to see. His skin was largely unblemished, except for his tattoos; the scar he carried from Excalibur was missing. He had not yet been wounded. Killed.
He had not yet asked--begged, pleaded--she had not yet--
Killian closed his eyes and for an instant, he could feel his wife’s fingers tracing the pale silver line in the dark, the way she did on the nights where it still, sometimes, all felt like too much, when one or both of them was restless, when the only thing that kept the darkness at bay was the light they created together. He exhaled, scrubbing his hand down his face.
The sliding door separating the washroom from the living area still stuck--of course it did, he reminded himself, no one had ever bothered to fix it--but he maneuvered it gently, hoping not to wake anyone, least of all the baby. The cot was in its old spot by the alcove and if he had to postulate, his brother-in-law was--at most--three or four weeks old and still well into his screaming phase.
Killian would bet gold doubloons on unloaded dice that there was sleeping Arendellian royalty in the bed at the top of the ladder.
Which meant that the Emma Swan curled up on the couch, under his coat, was not his wife.
He examined her, taking in the gold of her hair in the early morning sunlight, and saw that the strands of silver that had begun to twine around the gold were missing. She appeared to be relaxed--he doubted anyone else would notice--but his Emma slept with complete abandon, and Killian could see that even in repose, in her family’s loft, this Emma was on her guard.
He wanted to touch her. His fingers practically itched. He wanted to smooth away the worry line on her forehead, to run his palm across her cheek, to wind his fingers into her hair. But this Emma still had walls that were miles high, and would not welcome his touch or his breaching of her carefully-constructed boundaries, no matter that he had, once upon a time, literally attempted to tear down a wall between them. He had bruised his shoulders, had blunted his hook on the solid ice and been rewarded with the feeling of the weight of her in his arms for the first time.
And when he’d carried her back to the loft, wrapped in his coat, she’d pulled his hand into both of hers and didn’t let go, clasping and unclasping their fingers, tracing the metal of his rings. He remembered it, they way her hand had felt, small and cold; the way her eyes had softened when she wouldn’t let him leave.
That was last night, unless he missed his guess, and just as he had the realization, she opened her eyes.
Emma startled very slightly--another thing that his Emma had not done in years--and relaxed infinitesimally as she saw him. “Hook,” she said, and smiled. Her eyes were sleepy but crinkled at the corners as she met his gaze; she laughed at him every time, but Killian always swore that the morning sun made them glitter a particularly vibrant shade of green.
And that’s when his breath caught, in that moment, when all he saw was the woman he had married. His True Love. (“Capital ‘T’, capital ‘L’,” she always said, as if he could possibly forget.)
“Good morning, Swan,” he said, kneeling to put their eyes at a level. He tried, and failed, to hold back, restricting himself to brushing a lock of hair out of her face. “Have you warmed up at all?”
four.
The shower at Granny’s was worse than he remembered.
Killian wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of the water, or the fact that he missed Emma’s open shampoo bottles and the scent of her around him while he bathed. Maybe it was that the shower in their home was big enough for both of them, a circumstance they frequently took advantage of. Killian reached for his old black dressing gown that was still brand new in this time, and had not been appropriated by his wife. He stepped out of the bathroom, thumbing the scar on his abdomen that wasn’t there, and took in the room: the corners of the sheet tucked in with military precision, the hand-drawn map of Storybrooke tacked to the wall, his books stacked precisely on the wooden desk in the corner.
It was clean. None of the photographs Snow had started gifting them, which multiplied on what felt like a weekly basis, cluttering every surface. None of the detritus his Emma left in her wake wherever she went. When he’d walked through the door and didn’t immediately trip over Emma’s boots, which she would leave wherever she happened to take them off, it felt wrong.
She’d sent him “home”, and that felt wrong, too, but Killian knew there would be no changing her mind and no reason for her to think any other way. Especially not when she’d allowed his touch and then immediately pulled back into herself. Emma had merely thanked him for spending the night, shooing him out the door, and he had gone.
“I’ve slept in far worse places for less worthy reasons, love,” he’d said, conscious of Snow--of Mary Margaret--and David trying not to watch them from their alcove. They were destined to be forever watched, always interrupted, and they’d long ago given up changing the locks. “Far be it for me to deny a beautiful woman such a simple request.”
He’d been there for her, and she’d allowed it, and he had never forgotten how that felt.
But now, in the Spartan room he’d once maintained as his own, there was much else to consider. This wasn’t time travel, nor was it another reality--two things he, unfortunately, had practical experience with. He had not gone through a portal, or been transported by other magical means. It did not match Emma’s and Regina’s descriptions of waking up in the Wish world, or being sent through the looking-glass.
To his best approximation, he had merely woken up in the body of his younger self, on a day that he had already lived.
That left him with two questions: why?
And--perhaps more importantly--where was the Killian Jones that had been meant to live this day?
five.
The bed was warm, and it was that as much as anything that alerted his senses and pulled him fully and completely awake. The bed was warm, and strange, and there was filtered sunlight coming in through flimsy window coverings. He was wearing neither hook nor brace--nor shirt--and he wasn’t alone.
Hook lay sprawled on his stomach, and there was on his back the weight of another person, their arm draped across his neck and a cheek against his shoulder. He tried to remember the last time he had woken up with someone in his bed in the daylight, and when he lost count of the years, he rolled over onto his back.
Emma Swan followed his movement, mumbling to herself as she re-settled her head on his chest, and Hook froze.
Bad joke, that, he thought to himself, when he had just last evening been surrounded by literal miles of ice--when Swan had nearly frozen to death in a spell gone awry.
She was anything but cold at the moment, her breath tickling his skin. Her hair was tied up at the top of her head in some kind of knot, and he had a delicious view of the skin at the back of her neck and the silver chain she wore. They were tangled together in a web of soft sheets and he could feel, from where she pressed against him, that she wore little or nothing beneath her sleeping shirt.
He didn’t belong here.
Though he had often fantasized about what he and Emma Swan could do, should they ever find themselves in bed together, her present reaction to this manner of company would likely end poorly. Emma Swan had carefully constructed boundaries, and this was a violation of all of them.
He didn’t belong here, and Hook knew this couldn’t be a dream. It was too real; he could feel the weight of her against him, and the softness of the mattress under him, and the warmth of the sunlight against his skin. There had been no portal that he was aware of, no other means of magical transport. He did not know what else it could be, other than a curse, and though he would happily kiss her--
Hook exhaled a laugh through his nostrils.
His previous attempts at curse-breaking had not been successful. He would rather enjoy this feeling for a few minutes longer than endure another knee in the groin for his efforts.
But.
He had thought of her, every day of the year that they had been apart, and dreamed of her every night, and this was--
He remembered carrying Emma back into her parents’ loft last night, under the worried and watchful eyes of her family, and of Elsa. He had been easily persuaded to stay, just by the look in her eyes that told him she needed him. Hook knew she couldn’t verbalize it, not yet, but she needed him, and he could be there for her.
And now, Hook found himself in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place, with a very familiar yet unfamiliar woman pulling him closer with every breath she took.
Her hand moved, and he saw it: the slender silver band around the fourth finger of her right hand as she absent-mindedly traced the tattoo along his collarbone. Hook watched her, mesmerized by her obvious familiarity with the intricate design, the way the light reflected on the ring, and he noticed something else.
He wore one, too.
six.
Killian stood in his rented room, letting the weight of his greatcoat settle on his shoulders, and realized there was another question he needed to account for.
What now?
Zelena was clearly not an option in this time. Regina was still avoiding as much of the Charming clan as she could as often as she could rationalize it. The crocodile was, for obvious reasons, out of the question. Mary Margaret and David would undoubtedly panic, and then work to convince him that his discarded solutions were viable possibilities, and all of these years later he still stayed away from the convent and its inhabitants whenever possible.
They had forgiven him, but he still had not. Killian felt a pang as he thought of all of the ways he could attempt to change what was about to happen, and the chain of events that would follow. Few knew better than Killian Jones the cost of meddling with the past, however. And there was too much that would be put at risk if he even tried.
But--in the meantime--what if he just enjoyed this quiet moment, and spent a day with Emma Swan? He was turning the key in the lock and on his way down to the diner before he even completed the thought.
“Good morning, Captain.” Granny Lucas greeted him with an appreciative grin, and Killian could not help but smile back as he ordered his coffee.
“Coffee?” Granny’s eyebrows quirked upward. “Finally starting to rub off on you, are we?”
“You know that you can...rub…wherever you wish, Mrs. Lucas,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in the way that she liked.
She flicked her towel at him. “You watch yourself, boy,” she said, the way that she always did, before turning to pour out a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?” she said.
“Ah,” he said, caught off-guard. Emma drank coffee, Emma and Dave, who made a pot every day at the station, and he had first gotten into the habit of bringing her a morning fix in the weeks after she had restored his heart to his body. “Black,” he said.
Before that, he had drunk tea.
He checked his phone for the time while he waited for Granny to hand the cup over, and looked up to see her watching him. “Sheriff won’t be here for a few minutes yet,” she said.
“Aye,” he agreed.
“You doing okay with that thing?” she asked, gesturing at the device.
Killian ran his finger over the keypad, hovering over the ‘Emma’ button. He shrugged. “Needs must, and all of that,” he said. “Have a hot chocolate ready?”
Granny smiled. “Sure,” she agreed, watching him take a sip. “You know I’m rooting for you two.”
Killian nearly spat out his coffee before turning to face her, one eyebrow raised.
The bell over the door rang and Granny gave him a wink. He put his mug down. “Faint heart never won fair lady,” she said, handing him a cup of cocoa doused in whipped cream.
He turned back toward the door. When Emma spotted him, their eyes met for a moment before she relaxed into a small smile and gave him a little wave, pointing to a booth. Their booth. The one where they ate breakfast every weekend, had family dinner at least once per week, afternoon coffee breaks after quickies in the restroom and the time he had persuaded Ruby and Dorothy to close early, commandeering the old jukebox and dancing with her in the middle of the diner.
Killian waited for her to sit before handing her the mug, careful not to spill, and mindful of the way her hands immediately encircled it and how she touched her pulse points against the heat of the beverage for warmth. “Still cold, love?” he said, wishing he could pull her hands into his, rub his own thumb across her wrist, trace the five-petaled flower tattoo with his finger.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. She gave him another small smile and a shrug. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Only mostly dead, then?” Killian smiled at her, affecting a calm he knew his other self had not felt.
Emma paused mid-sip and looked out the window. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “I guess I should be glad you didn’t go through my clothes, looking for loose change.”
Killian chuckled. He understood that reference--
--and he shouldn’t.
Emma noticed. Of course she noticed. Half a dozen emotions flashed across her face before she settled on the easiest one, and Killian would swear she was wishing for another dagger to hold against his neck--bad joke, that--as she asked: “Who the fuck are you?”
seven.
It was a wedding band.
It was a wedding band .
He--
She--??
Hook sat up, dislodging both the dozing woman and the sheets. She muttered a curse under her breath and grumbled as she rolled over to the other side of the mattress, and he saw the ornament on the chain he had just been admiring, and he swore.
Colorfully, describing anatomically impossible acts in several languages and ending with an emphatic “bloody hell .”
She--Emma Swan--his wife --sat up immediately, her expression brimming with concern. “Killian?” She held her hand out, her right hand, putting her palm against his chest and spreading her fingers. She inhaled and exhaled, deeply, and “breathe, Killian,” she whispered. “It’s okay.” He felt himself falling into her rhythm, the metal cool against his skin, his eyes drawn to the ring between her breasts against the thin fabric of her sleeping shirt. They looked--she looked--different. Rounder?
Hook averted his eyes, embarrassed. She looked down at herself, her hand brushing her abdomen, and back up, guiding her face with his palm until he was looking at her again.
He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself leaning into the pressure of her hand against his cheek.
Shaking his head, Hook found he wasn’t quite capable of speech.
His eyes closed. “Killian,” she said, her voice gentle. “Killian, look at me. Did you dream about Excalibur?”
He shook his head again, still uncomprehending. “I don’t--Swan--I’m not--”
“Come back to me, Killian,” she said, and it was a command. “Here and now, babe, look at me.” Her hand was back on his chest, her breathing rhythmic and soothing. “Tell me something you know is true.”
He looked at her. Finally, he said, “I think we’re going to have a bit of a problem there, love,” and laughed.
The sound was more than somewhat unhinged, and Emma’s hand fell away. “Okay,” she said. Her expression had changed into something he was more intimately familiar with: suspicion. “Tell me the last thing you remember, then.”
Hook caught her hand in his, finding himself suddenly unwilling to let her pull away. She surprised him by immediately lacing their fingers together. “It’s okay,” she said. “You can tell me.”
“The ice wall,” he said. “Last night, you were trapped in a wall of ice and you nearly froze to death. We took you home, to your family’s loft, with a woman called Elsa. I didn’t want you to be alone, so I stayed. When I woke up--” he shook his head “--I was here.”
Emma’s mouth was open. For a minute, she said absolutely nothing, until the confusion on her face cleared. “Oh,” she said. “ Oh, oh, shit--”
She took a few deep breaths of her own, closing her eyes before she looked at him again. “Hook?”
He nodded, and her fingers tightened around his.
“Our second date,” she said, and smiled.
Hook laughed; this time, there was a trace of humor in the sound.
“Aye,” he said, rubbing his finger against the silver ring she wore. “I don’t suppose you ever found the champagne?”
eight.
Hook bathed--showered--letting the hot water steam up around him as he chased his own thoughts in circles. The shower smelled like her.
It was distracting.
Though it was far less distracting than the ring he couldn’t bring himself to take off.
“Swan, we should talk,” he’d said, and Emma laughed.
“I find,” she said with a smirk, “that when my husband says that to me, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”
He glared at her. “Poor form, Swan,” he said. “Using a man’s words against him.”
She’d called him ‘Hook’ as if there was a distinction. Perhaps there was; perhaps that’s what happened when a man woke up years into his own future. That’s what she’d said: “Oh, shit,” in her typical state of eloquence. “That was real--you really--” She’d laughed until she was nearly in tears, until he’d needed to steady her with his arm and she’d smiled at him, as though she expected nothing else. “You’re in our house,” she’d said finally. “In the future.”
Perhaps, in that instance, he was no longer the same man he once was. Hook wanted to know, and yet he didn’t. He rubbed the ring again--”It’s real,” she’d said, “I promise”--and thought maybe that was all he needed to know. That, and the way she’d smiled, as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.
“I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk after,” she’d said, his wife said, and smiled a smile that lit up the entire room. “You can use the shower. Pretty sure you’ll find everything you need.”
But he didn’t belong here.
Hook kept repeating that to himself, like a touchstone, but everywhere he turned, he was contradicted. There was his soap in the shower next to the open, flowery-scented bottles that were Emma’s. A razor on the wash basin, a straight-edge with a shaving brush, stood solitary amidst the cosmetics. Everything he needed, indeed. The soap was the same kind he’d gotten into the habit of using since the curse, from the washroom at the inn, with its clean scent of citrus and hint of spice.
It mingled well with the open bottles that smelled like Emma.
He wrapped himself in a towel, a luxurious sheet of soft fabric that covered him past his knees, and dragged his thumb against a six-inch scar bisecting his abdomen. The closet held boots and jackets and waistcoats; his brace and hook were on the table next to the bed. On the shelf was the chest he had carried with him on the Jolly Roger across the centuries.
And Emma Swan wore his brother’s ring on a chain around her neck.
There were pictures dotted on every surface, small miniatures depicting him or Swan or Henry or some combination of all three. Pictures of himself and Charming, of Snow White and Emma, of the four of them together, of the wedding-- his wedding. To Emma Swan.
Hook had never given much thought to the future. He had lived the majority of his unnaturally long life with only one goal and a single-minded focus on its achievement.
He had never seen a sunset so perfect.
Hook dressed himself, buckling his brace and selecting a blue shirt and a black waistcoat and, after a moment of hesitation, a jacket. Clothing was armor. It was the facade he chose to show to the world. He had never been less certain of what a day might bring in his entire life and he did not intend to face it in nothing more than the low-slung trousers of soft fabric in which he had awoken.
And a gentleman would never parade himself about in a state of undress.
“Hey, sailor!” Emma’s voice easily carried up to where he stood. In their bedroom. “Breakfast is ready!”
nine.
She was angry.
That was an emotion with which Killian was intimately familiar. Hers, and his--because the Darkness had left its mark upon each of them. Killian’s already-short fuse was, occasionally, shorter than it ever had been. Emma sometimes retreated behind walls that were taller than ever. They fought it as they had everything else--together--and kept the same rules, always: always talk to each other. If that didn’t work, then talk to someone else.
And when all else failed, there was Archie, who called it “post-traumatic stress disorder”.
“Fucking post-traumatic savior disorder, more like,” Emma always said, her body brimming with frustration. But her hand didn’t shake anymore and that was, itself, a victory.
Somehow, they got through it. Together.
But all of that was to come much later.
For now, Emma Swan was angry, and she repeated her question.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Killian watched her, calculating the best way to answer her question. Honestly, for a start.
“My name is Killian Jones,” he said, and her eyes narrowed, assessing him, until she nodded.
“Killian Jones who suddenly learned what Netflix is?” she asked.
It was her favorite movie. He could practically recite it as well as she could at this point.
“Killian Jones who has had more opportunity to familiarize himself with Netflix, yes.” He smirked. “And all of the pleasures of ‘Netflix and chill’.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“I’m not the Killian Jones with whom you are currently acquainted,” he admitted.
Emma’s hand went to her forehead. “What the actual fuck?”
He wanted to reach for her hand. He wanted to, but he didn’t. “I can’t properly say, but I woke up this morning in our--in your family’s loft. That is not where I went to sleep last night. I fell asleep in my own bed, in my own home.” With his wife, whom he missed more and more. It wasn’t--
She didn’t--
It wasn’t Emma , he realized. She was exactly as he remembered, and he loved her now just as he had done then It was the way his fingers itched, and his sudden understanding of why.
“Holy shit,” Emma muttered. “You’re--”
“From the future,” he finished. “Aye.” He rubbed his finger against his ring--the wrong ring--to stop himself reaching for her hand.
“When?” Emma said.
“I really shouldn’t say,” Killian hedged. “Several years from now.”
“You’re still in Storybrooke? You--you stayed, in Storybrooke?”
It was the Darkness again, or rather the magic that had come with it. Though he had no aptitude and even less interest, he retained just enough of it that he could feel her, his Emma, because of the bonds they shared. Like a warm sunlight against his skin, nothing more, but he had gotten so used to it that he felt chilly in the shade. The feeling was enhanced by physical contact.
Only this body had not yet been subject to the Darkness.
And this Emma did not--yet--love him. Not the way she would; not the way she did .
“Aye,” he said, looking directly at her. “I’m still in Storybrooke. My entire life is here.”
His Emma loved to touch; she needed it almost as much as he did. Their fingers intertwined, her body flush against him as they walked, her hand splayed against his chest as they lay on the couch or in their bed, against his heart. As though she needed to remind herself--to remind both of them--that it was still there, and still beating.
Her eyes widened for an instant before she looked away. She seemed suddenly uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat. “Listen to me, love,” Killian said. “You and I, we’ve done this part before. Just answer me: Am I telling you a lie? Because I’d rather not have to do the whole bit with the flying monkey and the brig to prove to you I am who I say I am.”
“David doesn’t have bologna,” Emma said, and Killian could hear acceptance in her words, perhaps with a hint of a smile.
“A fact for which I remain eternally grateful,” Killian said.
She smirked.
He smiled.
“So,” she said. “If you’re here, then my Hook--” She blushed and cleared her throat and started again. “The Hook from this time is--where? There? Where you came from?”
He shrugged. It was the most likely explanation.
“And you’re not, like, I don’t know,” Emma said, “worried? Upset?”
He shrugged again. “Why should I be?”
“And that’s it?” She was incredulous. “You’re just going to, what, stay here?”
“I could give you a ‘hope’ speech, if you want. I’ve got a fair few memorized by now.” He laughed. “Let’s just say, darling, that you and I always get back to each other in the end.”
In New York, in Camelot, in the Underworld, in Neverland.
Always.
That’s what it meant to be True Love--capital ‘T’, capital ‘L’--to not give up, to never stop looking. To always make the choice, and choose each other.
“You’re wrong, you know,” Killian said. “He is yours. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”
She bit her lip and looked out the window. “I believe you,” she whispered.
"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living." - Jonathan Safran Foer (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close)
Well here we are. The end of my final piece. For those who have joined me over the last few years, thanks for taking this ride with me. Thank you to the amazing @profdanglaisstuff for polishing this up last minute. @csjanuaryjoy
Summary:
She hated him. Okay, maybe hate was a strong word, but he was a dick when they met. So why did she tell him about the apartment for rent in her building? And why did she let him in; let him climb her walls? Why did she let herself trust him when every man she'd ever been with had betrayed her? Why did she think he'd be different?
And why, despite it all, did she still love him?
Part 1 can be found here.
If Ao3 is more your thing.
There was something to be said for a life not lived. The way people allowed regrets to build as easily as letters in an unchecked mailbox. Every day choosing to ignore the inevitable arrival of new opportunities. Hoping that by not acknowledging something, it meant that it simply didn’t exist. A road that ends at a fork, a path not taken, a challenge not accepted. But inevitably, everything becomes too much and in an instant, everything can topple. Fate finally spilling over. The choices made, the hearts ruptured. Regrets built on a toxic burial ground where hope went to die.
August had said it once. Quoted it from one of the hundreds of books he’d read. "Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living." A more eloquent way of telling her that she was missing out. That she was letting everything pass her by. She hadn’t understood it in the moment. Tensions were too high. But he was right. She’d spent her entire life running, building walls as high as her excuses. She wasn’t living, and now... Well now it might be too late.
“There’s been an accident.”
David repeated himself once more in an effort to be heard over the music. It took a few minutes to command the attention of the room, but with those four words, her entire world flipped on its axis.
That’s all they knew.
The apartment cleared out until only four remained. Then only one. The others already on their way in David’s old beat up truck. But Emma stayed, alone, picking up empty cups, trying to keep her mind occupied. No one even questioned whether she was going to join them. They already knew the answer. One year of silence wouldn’t easily be broken.
She couldn't go. Couldn’t face him. Couldn’t face them . If she didn’t go, if she didn’t care , then it wouldn’t be real. So she stayed. She stayed until every inch of the apartment was scrubbed clean. All of the food put away. The dishes dried.
The New Year came and went, just as it had every year before. And just as always before, she was alone. Her eyes stung as they blurred as she began to sob. Outside the window waited the mouth of hell.
The storm continued to rage, wind whipping through her hair. Tears fell from the heavens, camouflaging those on her face. She pleaded with the heavens above to spare a life. A prayer unanswered.
New Year’s Day: One year earlier
They didn’t exchange words. Upon hearing Ruby screaming his name, Emma bolted straight back to her own apartment. Graham called after her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing either of their disheveled faces emerging from the bathroom. Didn’t need to stay long enough to see the aftermath. To watch them sneak glances at each other all night. She needed out.
She saw him briefly the next morning as he emerged from his own apartment to head to work. He smiled at her as if nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t ruined everything only hours before. But then he saw her, really saw her. The hollow red eyes, puffy face, chewed nails. The smile changed, something small, something disingenuous. She ignored him, sparing him nothing as she took a wide berth to avoid bumping his shoulder. Despite her four mile run, her body was still unnerved, her emotions unbalanced. She was spoiling for a fight. One he nearly gave her as he tried to grab her wrist, asking her what was wrong.
She couldn’t hide it. The way she despised every fiber of his being written all over her face. He’d seen it, guilt etching it’s way across his brow. The corners of his lips tugging down.
“Emma?”
Nothing.
“You saw didn’t you.” His jaw clenched, muscles flexing.
Tears welled unbidden.
“Don’t touch me.” She made it five feet down the hallway before she turned back to him. “I trusted you. You know that? I thought- God, it doesn’t even matter. We, whatever this is, we’re through.”
He called after her.
“ Please, Swan, I can explain if you just give me a chance.”
She never turned back. There was no need. There was nothing he could say to make it better. She’d given him her heart, and he’d shattered it in return.
When they passed each other in the hallway two days later, he tried. He stood at his doorway, keys in hand after what she assumed was a long shift at work, and he just watched her, pleading with his eyes. He looked so small and weary. So guilty. She turned around right away and ran back into her apartment where she stayed for the rest of the night.
Instead of her intended stakeout that evening, she continued to do research on her skip, and if a few tabs on law schools opened themselves by mistake, she made no move to close them. It was time for her to move on. Nothing holding her back anymore. She’d been saving for years. The sole purpose of collecting skips to continue her education, and with her checking account issues finally resolved, her car paid off, and no more reasons not to, it was time.
Months passed as Emma readied herself. She studied for the LSAT, filled out university applications from coast to coast. The idea of picking up and leaving everything behind all too tempting. To leave behind the ghosts of her past, to leave behind the burdens on her heart. But then a letter appeared, properly placed in small white envelope.
Rejected.
The letter was more eloquent than that, but in summation, with very little by way of explanation, it said that once more, she wasn’t good enough.
Hope became harder and harder to hold on to as more of the tiny little letters appeared, all saying the same thing. We thank you for your interest. Rejection after rejection. Eventually the last one appeared.
Boston University, School of Law.
Rejected.
So with nowhere to go, she stayed. Friends’ Friday replaced with Emma Wednesday where the designated beverage was wine and wine alone. Dinner with the Nolans, with only the Nolans. Even the newest and smallest member. She still picked up the odd skip here and there, but with her future gone, there was little to look forward to. No reason to try.
Spring came, then summer. Snow melted and flowers bloomed. Somehow, despite her entire life standing still, the rest of of the world went on around her. Killian still lived down the hall, and from what Mary Margaret told her, Ruby was still sleeping her way through the greater part of Boston. She hadn’t spoken to either of them since January, almost seven months earlier.
Killian.
His number blocked and his knocks unanswered. His gifts returned unopened. She’d cut him out of her life like a cancer. Malignant. Destructive. Deadly. She had no choice. Not after New Year’s. After she finally gave herself permission to open her heart up to him, only to have it crushed in the process.
She’d cut Ruby out of her life too, even if the latter had been too self absorbed to notice at first. A two week window passed before Ruby even realized that Emma was upset, much less with her. But after three missed Friday dinners, Ruby finally confronted her.
Emma, in a moment of complete frustration and poor judgement called her promiscuous and selfish. Ruby told her that she had a stick up her ass. That she needed to stop always playing the victim. Their friendship strained beyond the point of repair. That had been the end of that.
Despite Mary Margaret’s hovering, Emma’s solitude began to consume her. Alienated from half of her friends, it left her wanting for human companionship. To be touched. Wanted. Desired. Eventually her loneliness won out.
Dressed in that same skin tight dress she’d worn countless times before she found herself in a bar. A seedy little number near the edge of the city with her come hither lashes and kiss-me red lips. She’d found him right away. A guy at the end of the bar. He sent her a drink and she sent him back a note on a napkin.
They both snuck away to the bathroom at the back. Scummy. Grimy. Just like her conscience. His tongue twisted with hers, his moans filled her ears. She gave as good as she got, reveling in the feel of his hands on her back. But as one of his palms dipped down past her ass, trying to find its way under her hem, something snapped and she felt disgusted with herself. He called after her in shock and anger, calling her a tease as she ran away.
Emma showered twice that night and threw the dress away. It was sullied. She tossed and turned, sleep ever elusive. She felt rotten, inside and out.
Emma had never been much of a cryer, reserving her tears for truly awful events. She hadn’t cried when Neal left, not even when Walsh had cheated. In fact, from what she could recall, she’d only cried six times in her entire life. Seven if she counted the night a week later.
A song had come over her headphones as she sat in her car waiting for signs of her latest skip. The same stupid song that had played that night. The night they’d almost kissed. Neither had discussed it, pretending it never happened. It never came up, and Emma had pushed it to the back of her brain immediately after not wanting to admit to herself that it might have been nice.
It was a late August night. Killian was in rare form telling her humiliating stories from his childhood. Like that his first kiss had been at 16. There was a party and a bottle pointing at him. Apparently teenage Killian had been a gangly awkward kid with oversized glasses. When the girl leaned forward to kiss him, he’d nearly spunked in his pants. It wasn’t all fun though. There was plenty of complaining about her car, the lack of legroom, the hard seats. The way it stood out like a sore thumb, to which she’d replied that it wasn’t nearly as obvious as the yellow bug she’d had before. She’d then had to explain that the bug had been stolen (both times) which led to her telling him about how she’d actually met Neal. She’d always left that part out when they talked about him before. All while sitting in her little Mini Cooper. She hadn’t even invited him. He’d just heard the name of her skip, admittedly a big guy, and worried about her enough to tag along. Telling him about Neal had led to the story of how she ended up in foster care. A story she’d never told anyone . It wasn’t your fault, Emma. That’s what he’d told her as he held her chin in his hand, swiping his thumb across her cheek. Then he’d leaned in, a hair's width separating their lips and she’d been sure he was going to kiss her. Surprisingly, she hadn’t even pulled back.
Not until the car at the corner started blaring its horn at another driver. They’d moved apart so quickly. It had never come up again. Ingrid or the kiss. She wasn’t sure she’d even heard the song since, but as it played that night, tears fell.
Emotionally and physically spent, Emma headed home. Her skip had never shown. Nothing to show for her troubles. But when she arrived back to her apartment at four in the morning, she found her door unlocked and her kitchen lights on. She briefly considered running down stairs and waking up David, but considering how little sleep he usually got with baby Leo constantly waking up at odd intervals, she chose to let him sleep.
Grabbing a broom from the closet nearest the door, she headed from room to room, looking for signs of an intruder or missing items. Everything seemed fine though, and with a large sigh Emma flopped down on her couch, only to scream when her body came into contact with a large male form groaning underneath her. She shot up, searching from the boorm handle or any other large heavy object she could use to incapacitate the intruder.
“I’ve been meaning to bump into you.”
Emma’s eyes popped open at the recognition of his voice. One she hadn’t heard for months.
“Are you asking me out?”
“I hardly need to ask you out when I’ve already found my way in.”
Emma showed him to the edge of the sofa, allowing her space to sit down beside him.
“Why are you in my apartment anyway?”
He shifted over a little more, allowing him to turn in the table top lamp. He hair was longer than she’d ever seen it. Curlier. His eyes still blue but tired.
“Let’s just say Phuket is overrated. I missed the capitalistic consumerism of the good ol’ U-S-of-A.”
“You mean that you owed too many people money over there so you ran back home with your tail between your legs.” He laughed next to her, confirming her suspicions. “Well, to be fair, you lasted longer than I thought you would. And I know why you’re here in Boston, but that doesn’t explain why you’re in my apartment.”
They stayed up for another hour talking about life. August had gotten in that night and found her spare key in her usual hiding spot, taped to the inside top of the emergency call box in the elevator. He let himself in after waiting forty five minutes. Apparently the guy that had moved into his old apartment was concerned and told him he was loitering and needed to leave. That was his other problem. He no longer had a place, and hadn’t bothered making many friends in the city during his time there. Emma was the only person he knew that would let him crash on her couch for a night or two. A week tops.
A week turned into a month, and August started joining Emma at her weekly dinners with David and Mary Margaret, never correcting their assumptions about the nature of his and Emma’s relationship. Letting her friends believe she was taken had benefits. It prevented Mary Margaret from just barging into her apartment at odd hours. It gave her an excuse to bail on plans at the last minute. But mostly it stopped her friend from trying to set her up every time the saw each other.
Living with him, if that’s what she could call it, had its cons too though. August’s hours were just as irregular as she remembered, and his writing temperament even more erratic. He was messy, drank like a fish, and was constantly eating all of her food. Worst of all, he had a habit of leaving the toilet seat up. Emma found that out the hard way.
They bickered nonstop, and Emma couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it was like to have a sibling. An older brother to drive her crazy, while somehow simultaneously giving her comfort by making her finally feel like she wasn’t alone anymore.
During one particularly intense round of arguing, August had insinuated that she needed to get laid. The suggestion hadn’t been well received and she’d almost kicked him out right then and there. But then he’d explained himself. The Emma Swan he knew had always had a rather lascivious appetite for sex as a stress reliever. He wasn’t wrong. The Emma he knew had no issues putting on a skimpy little number and finding a man for the night. That was before Killian though. She’d already tried that and it had gone spectacularly wrong.
Fighting about her sex life had forced her to reveal things to August. Things she’d skillfully left out of prior conversations. Like how close she had Killian had really been. How she’d realized too late that she was in love with him. How he’d cheated on her. Even about the guy in the bar bathroom.
After she told him the entire story, he just whistled and sat there, taking in everything she’d said.
Finally, he spoke.
“So what you need isn’t to get laid. What you need is a date.”
Emma smacked him in the chest, but he continued.
“No, hear me out. It’s been what, eight, nine months now, right?”
Emma nodded.
“So it’s been all this time, and you’re still in love with the guy.” She opened her mouth but he cut her off. “And before you try to deny it, yes you are. You wouldn’t still be this upset if you weren't. Hell, you weren’t even half as hurt when Walsh cheated on you, and you guys were practically engaged.”
Emma sighed, slumping her shoulders in resignation. He was right. When she’d caught Walsh, she’d been pissed, throwing out everything in her apartment that belonged to him. But with Killian she’d sulked, drowning in her pain, unwilling to let it go.
“Emma, you’re never going to get over him like this. Hiding in your apartment every time you see him coming down the hall. Pretending he doesn’t exist. If you really want to get over him, you need to learn to put yourself back out there. You need to find someone new.”
“I’ll think about it.”
And that was exactly what she did. She went to bed thinking about Killian and her inability to get over him. The fact that even if she was willing to put herself out into the world, she’d still held firm to the idea that Emma Swan didn’t date. Except that she did. Or at least she had, and just hadn’t realized it at the time.
She thought about it the next week and the one after that. She thought about it at the store, on her morning runs. She even thought about it in the shower. But it wasn’t until she was bringing in her latest skip, so lost in thought that she forgot where she was going that the world had given Emma a chance to turn the idea of dating into a reality.
Graham. She hadn’t seen him since that night. Could still see the look on his face that evening. But on that particular morning, dragging Bobby McFarland in for skipping out on his fraud charges, Graham looked different. Happy even.
After she’d transferred her skip over, Graham struck up a conversation with her. They exchanged small talk, which turned to reminiscing, and somehow it had turned into an invitation for dinner. Emma accepted, thinking that it would be nice to have some time to catch up with her old friend. It hadn’t even occurred to her, until hours later when she talked to August about it, that it was a date. Or it was possibly a date. Graham hadn’t actually used that word, but the text he’d sent her asked if she’d been to Luciano’s, an upscale Italian restaurant.
She didn’t even pick out her outfit. After trying on every single thing she owned, Emma had screamed into her pillow. August ran into her room to find her entire closet on her floor and finally told her to just trust him. What he left out on her bed nearly left her in tears. It was that same pale pink dress that she’d hidden deep within her closet. The one that had only ever seen the light of day once.
She thought about throwing it away, just like the red dress, but quickly realized it was the only thing she had that nice enough for the restaurant. So she put it on, and then put on the biggest fake smile she could manage.
Graham picked her up a six, just as planned. The car ride there was fairly short, but the conversation was stilted. Both grappled for something to say. For anything. An odd turn of events given how easily they conversed only hours before. The ordering of their food and drinks went much the same. Both of them trying to start conversations at the same time, then stopping as soon as they realized it. As far as first dates went, it wasn’t her worst, but far from her best.
Finally, after the appetizers arrived, the two of them finally managed to settle into a groove. She discovered that Graham was studying for the Captain’s exam but wasn’t sure if he was going to take it or not. He’s taken a vacation recently and had fallen in love with a sleepy little town in Maine. He was still strongly contemplating a move there, knowing that the Sheriff was retiring soon and looking for a replacement. With his experience, he was a shoo-in.
She told him she that she’d considered leaving Boston at one point too, but fate must have had other plans. She left out the multiple rejection letters from different law schools though. It was humiliating enough without sharing that little tidbit with people.
Around dessert, things turned. Without realizing it, Emma placed her hand on Graham’s hand. It was an innocent gesture on her part, just a reflex after a joke. It immediately caught his attention though, and Graham smiled at her.
They both loosened up after that, staying until the bottle of wine they ordered was finished. Emma drank more than her fair share, knowing that Graham still had to drive home. She was still pleasantly buzzed when he dropped her off, making sure to walk her to the door.
There was a moment. A silly joke that resulted in Emma grabbing his arm as she unlocked the door. She hadn’t seen it coming. He leaned in and kissed her. His lips tasting of the chocolate cake they’d shared at dinner.
She froze.
Graham pulled back, taking a moment to study her.
“Emma, what’re we doing here?”
“What do you want to be doing here?” She did her best to sound coy, but the truth was that she was terrified.
If he rejected her, a cloud of humiliation would follow every time she saw him. But if he did want to move forward, she wasn’t sure what she would even be capable of giving him. Lingering glances, hand holding. Those were easy, but eventually he’d want more, and she didn’t know if she could give him that. Not if she couldn’t even let him kiss her.
“I- When I asked you to dinner, I think a small part of me hoped you would say no. Not because you aren’t a lovely person, but it felt inappropriate the minute the words left my lips. You’re one of Ruby’s best friends, or at least you were. And Killian, he still asks David about you all the time.”
Her gaze stayed focused on the small door knob in front of her, unable to make eye contact with the man across from her.
“Well he has no right to.”
“Perhaps not. Look, Emma, I’m not completely sure what happened that night. I mean, I don't know what led to them finding their way into that bathroom together, and I left right after you did. I’ve never brought it up with either of them, but I can tell you that when Killian came into work the next day, he was gutted.”
“What he was , was hungover. That’s all.”
“And you. I could tell how distraught you were. You still love him, don’t you.”
“Why does everyone think that. I’m over him. Have been for a long time.”
His head nodded slightly as his lips pursed, obviously not convinced.
“I think I’m going to take that job. It’s time for me to move on. Ruby, she’s never going to see me as anything more than a friend. I need to let her go. But you. You still have a chance. You just have to decide if you want to take it.”
Graham gave her a quick hug, and she understood it for what it was. A goodbye.
She gave up after that. It was a stupid idea to begin with. Thinking that a few dates would mend all of her broken edges. Emma was beyond repair. A small bout of depression set in. She slept more than usual, ate less. Yelled at August for everything, even things that weren’t his fault.
It all came to a head just before Thanksgiving. Emma was spoiling for a fight, and August took the brunt of her wrath. Spouting useless quotes like they were the elixir of life.
"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living."
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
They’d been going at it for the better part of an hour, and Emma was at the end of her tether.
“You’re not living, Emma. You’re just existing.”
“That’s crap and you know it.”
“Hardly. You run from everything. What kind of life is that? Did you even really let Killian in?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you really let him in. Or did you keep him at arm's length too, telling him half truths about yourself? God, Emma. You keep talking about how he cheated on you, but you weren’t even together!”
“Out.”
August was shocked, not expecting her to kick him out. Especially not in the middle of the night, carrying all of his belongings in a garbage bag. He pleaded with her to let him stay, just until he could find a place, but she was done. She was done listening to people telling her how to live her life. Done listening to people reminding her of all of her flaws. She was just done.
He left her with one parting thought.
“It’s so easy to hide behind those walls of yours. To block out pain and disappointment. The inevitable betrayal of those who were meant to care about you. And I know you think you’re protecting yourself from heartache, but all you’ve really done is to block out love. A life without love, well what’s the point of living?”
She slept through the holiday. A small bottle of tequila had ensured that. She called Mary Margaret the day before, telling her she was going out of town for work, then turned her phone off. Then she drank. She drank until the small bottle was empty, trying to drown out the sharp pain August’s words had caused. To drown out the look on Killian’s face on New Year’s Day. The sound of Ruby’s voice screaming his name. She drank until there was nothing.
The next day brought with it the worst hangover of Emma’s life. She slept all of Thanksgiving and most of Black Friday away. When she finally woke, it was to a pounding headache and a queasy stomach. So much so that she had to bolt for the bathroom, not even making it to the toilet before she heaved what little stomach content she had remaining in the sink.
She slid down to the tile floor where she continued to dry heave for the rest of the night. The sun rose hours before she finally felt human enough to crawl back into bed. Emma woke again five hours later, still sick, but extremely thirsty. Her body hated her. When she forced herself to trudge into the kitchen for a glass of water, she realized what had woken her.
Mary Margaret was hard as work cleaning out the contents of her fridge and washing dishes to make room for the full tupperware bowls she’d brought up.
“I have got to get that lock changed.”
Her friend jumped, clearly not having expected anyone to be home. Emma lied, telling her that she’d come down with a stomach flu, forcing her to return to Boston early. In an effort to help, Mary Margaret set to cooking up some chicken noodle soup for Emma. The latter tried her hardest not to vomit again at the smell, forcing down small bites as her own personal chef watched her with eager mother hen eyes.
Another two weeks passed before Emma realized that she’d be spending the next set of holidays alone as well. David’s mother was too old to travel but desperately wanted to be with them and baby Leo for Christmas. They agreed to travel to her house in New Hampshire, but Mary Margaret was insistent that they would be back in time for their annual New Year’s party.
Seeing the reluctance in Emma’s eyes, Mary Margaret was quick to add that Killian wouldn’t be there that year. He already had plans elsewhere.
So Christmas came and went. Emma spent the day watching old holiday movies and eating Chinese food, but abstained from drinking any eggnog or other alcohol filled beverage. In summation, it sucked. It was the first time she’d spent Christmas alone since college, and as the loneliness set in, August’s words echoed through her head.
Or did you keep him at arm's length too?
It’s so easy to hide behind those walls of yours.
Without love, well what’s the point of living?
Perhaps he’d been right. She’d pushed away everyone. She was so afraid that everyone would leave her, that she stopped letting them in. And in the end, she was all alone with only herself to blame.
New Year’s came in spectacular fashion. David said they’d barely made it home in time. The storm of the century was apparently bearing down on the city. Only a handful of their invited guests managed to make it to the party. Ones that lived within walking distance. The rest chose to stay put, bundled in the warmth and safety of their own homes. Even Ruby had called off, telling them she was staying with her boyfriend, much to Emma’s relief. The two women still hadn’t spoken since Emma’s verbal lashing of Ruby’s life choices. When the realization hit that her boyfriend could very easily be Killian, she did her best to push the thought to the back of her mind.
The windows sounded as if they were going to buckle from the wind pounding at them. Snow continued to pile up. Emma watched from the door by the balcony, unable to step outside. Eventually Mary Margaret came to join her in watching the storm.
“Well it looks like you lucked out.”
Emma tilted her head, not understanding her friends words.
“The storm I mean. I had this guy I wanted to introduce you to. He’s in insurance. Anyway, he couldn’t make it because of the storm. And I just know how much you love my set up attempts.”
“If you know how much I hate them, then why do you keep pushing these losers on me?”
Mary Margaret chuckled.
“The word loser is arbitrary. But honestly, I just want you to be happy. You’ve been alone for so long now, and I know without a little push, that you’ll never put yourself out there.”
Emma swallowed, taking a deep breath before asking the question that had bothered her for nearly two years.
“Why did you set Killian up with Ruby.”
“Hmm?”
“Mary Margaret. Every year you pick out this guy who I have nothing in common with. Men who I don’t even find attractive. They’re just strays you took in. So why did you set Killian up with Ruby, and me with Jefferson? Why didn’t you think I was good enough for him?”
“Oh, Emma.” Her friend moved in and wrapped her arms around her shoulders in a sideways embrace. “Because, I knew that if I had, you never would have given him a chance. You would have rolled your eyes and shunned him out of spite.”
Emma wanted to argue, but the truth was that’s exactly what would have happened. She would have run as far away from him as possible. Fat lot of good it had done her in the end though. She may have run, but at least her heart wouldn’t have cracked in two.
“There’s been an accident.”
Emma barely heard him over the music and dull conversation noise. She turned just in time to see David climb on top of the coffee table.
“Everyone. I’m sorry but there’s been an accident. One of our friends was hurt. I’m sorry but we’re going to have to cut this party short.”
There was confusion. People trying to guess what happened as they collected their coats. Most people assumed that it had something to do with David’s mother. Mary Margaret tried to ask him what had happened, but he only shook his head, waiting until all of their guests had gone. Only the three of them and baby Leo asleep in the next room remained.
“It’s Killian. He filled in for Lance tonight. Belle went into labor this afternoon so Killian took his shift. I guess he was doing a routine traffic stop and a drunk guy slammed into him. The witnesses told Smee that the driver didn’t even try to stop.”
The world stood still. No sounds, no smells. No light. Everything ceased in that moment.
“Oh, David.” There was a tremble to her friends voice. One she’d never heard before in their decade-long friendship.
“They’re taking him to Mass Gen. That’s all I know.”
Emma stood in her place, unmoving as her friends moved in tandem, packing a bag for baby Leo, changing into warmer clothes. They were out the door before the shock fully set in, and Emma moved on autopilot, cleaning the apartment until it sparkled.
Hours passed as Emma tossed and turned in her bed unable to sleep.
There’s been an accident.
David’s words played on repeat in her mind. A broken record with a scratch. An imperfection magnified. She’d never even told him that she loved him. And now it might be too late. She couldn’t take it anymore, not even bothering to change out of her pajamas. The snow continued to pummel the city. Her Mini Cooper no match for the feet of snow. Even with the city constantly plowing the streets, the snow was too much. She managed to get halfway to the hospital before she spun out, crashing into an embankment, burying half of her car in a wall of white.
Dazed, she was forced to crawl into the back seat, using the force of her legs to kick the door open. She was determined to get the the hospital, even is she had to walk the remaining three miles.
For once though, luck was on her side. A black car pulled up beside her, and just as she was getting ready to tell the driver to get lost, ignoring the way her body was shaking uncontrollably from the cold, she heard it. His voice.
“Hey kid. You’re gonna get yourself killed out here. You know that?”
She heard the locking mechanism shift and immediately climbed inside, hugging Mullins for dear life.
“What are you even doing here?”
“Eh, with the storm they needed all hands on deck. Trust me, it’s a one time thing.”
He shifted the car back into drive. She didn’t tell him where she was going. Didn’t have to. There was no way he’d missed the call over his radio. He did speak, giving her the time she needed to think. When he dropped her off at the entrance to the emergency room, he told her that he’d work on getting her car towed out of the snow ditch. That was it. No words of wisdom. No platitudes. Nothing.
The emergency room was mania. People who’d hurt themselves while drunk. More victims of car accidents. A guy who fell on the ice. It was a madhouse with people everywhere. She looked around for her friends, but couldn’t find them anywhere. In desperation, she slipped through the double doors separating the waiting room from the trauma area, making her way to the nurses’ station.
“May I help you?”
“Ya, I’m- I’m looking for a guy. His name is Jones. He was brought in a few hours ago from a car accident.”
The person at the desk typed away at her computer, seemingly oblivious to Emma’s anguish.
“K. Jones?”
“Yes.”
“Are you family.”
Emma didn’t hesitate, telling the woman quite emphatically that she was.
“He’s in surgery right now. Take a seat in the waiting area and I’ll have someone come out and update you as soon as they know more.”
It wasn’t good enough. She wanted to see him, but the very burly security guard had other ideas, personally escorting Emma back to the waiting area. She found one lone empty seat in the corner at the back of the room. She sat there for ages, waiting for word as the number of people waiting with her dwindled. There were no signs of Mary Margaret or David and she wondered if something happened to them. If they'd become stuck too. Unfortunately, she’d left her phone in her car and had no way to contact them.
More time passed. She watched as the clock ticked past five in the morning with still no word. Finally, the double doors opened and a tired looking man in green scrubs emerged, heading straight towards Emma.
“Jones family?”
Emma nodded her head. Words caught in her throat.
“Mr. Jones has sustained substantial trauma. His still in surgery right now. As I said, his injuries are severe. I won’t beat around the bush with you. They’re doing everything they can, but are you aware of Mr. Jones’s wishes?”
“Excuse me?”
The doctor took a deep breath.
“Is Mr. Jones an organ donor?”
“I- uh- I have no idea.”
The doctor nodded, telling her that he needed to return to surgery.
As a child, Emma had witnessed the single most traumatizing moment of her life. She and her mother had been on vacation in South Carolina. Her aunts were supposed to join them, but the news had predicted that there was a chance of a hurricane landing on their doorstep. Ingrid watched the news, tracking the storm for two days. The hurricane shifted south, and they thought they’d be fine so they stayed, playing on the beach all day.
The tides turned though, and the hurricane came in that night. Emma, not realizing how dangerous it was, ran to the doors, opening them so she could watch the storm come in. Ingrid ran to her, scooping her out of the way just as a palm tree fell in her place, shattering all of the glass in the door.
The wind picked up, and Ingrid cradled Emma in her arms, shielding her from the waves of rain coming through the open doorway. Ingrid tried to stand up, to move into another room, but the wind was too strong, knocking her back down with Emma still in her arms.
Emma couldn’t see anything, her face tucked into her mother’s cheek. But as a particularly harsh gust came, Emma heard her mother cry out, and her arms loosened their grip. Emma looked up to see her mother’s eyes lifeless. She cried and screamed, begging for Ingrid to wake up. Pointless. The storm passed, as did the only family Emma had.
Emma had always blamed herself, holding on to that memory. Never telling a single soul except Killian.
It wasn’t your fault, Emma.
That’s what he’d told her that night in her Mini Cooper. Yet, she still couldn’t help blaming herself anyway.
Losing Ingrid the way that she had had been traumatizing. But sitting there in the back of the waiting room, all alone waiting to hear whether or not Killian was going to survive, well that was somehow worse. The clock passed six, and finally sleep overtook her. The adrenaline of the night finally wearing off.
She dreamed of him. Of him sitting next to her on the couch, watching a movie as they had so many times before. Of him grabbing her shoulder. Of him calling her name in a whisper.
“Swan?”
Emma’s eyes were heavy as she fought off the call of sleep.
“Swan?” The voice repeated.
With all of the force her body would allow, Emma pried her eyes open, stunned by what she saw before her.
“How? How are you here?”
“What do you mean, love?” She could tell by the low timber of his voice that he was hesitant to speak to her.
Emma sat up straight, grabbing his face, checking for wounds. Aside from his hand in a bandage, nothing appeared to be wrong, and she questioned whether she was actually awake or not.
“They said you were in surgery. That-” she felt tears spilling over. “They said you weren’t going to make it. Wanted to know if you were an organ donor.”
Killian pulled back, his mouth pulled tight. He stood from where he was crouched in front of her, tugging her up in the process. He pulled her back through the same double doors she’d snuck through earlier, demanding to know why someone had told Emma that he was dying.
“Sir, the information we gave her was accurate.” The woman turned to help someone else, completely ignorant of the way she’d turned Emma’s life upside down. Emma was ready to snap at her, but when she caught Killian’s eye, she noticed his jaw flexing.
“And you asked for me? Killian?
“Uh, I think. Yes. No. I mean, I asked for Jones, and she asked if it was a K. Jones.”
A smattering of pink tinging his cheeks.
“Ah, I think I see where we’ve gone wrong.”
Emma looked at him. Confusion settling into her blood, cooling the anger she’d just felt.
“You see, Jones is a fairly common name, love. The drunk driver from tonight, his name was Kevin Jones. He hit the car I’d stopped head on. Clipped my hand in the process.”
Emma wasted no time pulling him in for a kiss. It was nothing like she’d expected. His lips were chapped and rough. Unmoving. He tasted of stale hospital coffee. And she’d caught him off guard. Still, even with all of that, it was perfect in its own way. Even if his watch did manage to catch on her hair as he grabbed the back of her head with more force than necessary, finally coming to his senses.
He drove her home that night, calling to check in on David along the way. They’d only made it about a mile from the apartment before they realized that the storm was too bad, turning around and waiting on word from Smee. Luckily, in the time since the accident the storm had passed. She looked for her car on the way, hoping that Mullins had succeeded in towing it back to the station. It took them longer than expected to get home, but Killian had insisted on going slow, not wanting to take a chance with her in the vehicle.
Emma didn’t hesitate to follow Killian to his apartment. Kissing him again once they were inside. He stiffened slightly at her touch, but quickly melted into her. But as she began to pull his shirt up, loosening it from his pants, he stopped her.
“Wait, Swan. Before we go any further, we need to talk. I need to explain what happened.”
“I don’t care. It’s in the past.”
“Perhaps, but I care. I don’t want to start anything with this lingering between us. I want to clear the air.”
It was the last thing Emma wanted to discuss. She’d already gone through enough that night. She didn’t need to relive his fling with Ruby as well. She sat next to him on the couch anyway though. Fatigue taking over.
“That night, I’d just finished getting ready for the party when I heard a knock. Naturally I thought it was you or my brother coming back upstairs for something, so I opened the door without checking the peephole. But when the door opened, it was Milah on the other side. She told me that she’d finally left her husband and that she wanted me back. And then she kissed me. I wanted to push her off but it was so unexpected. I was frozen, stuck in time while the rest of the world kept speeding around me.”
Emma waited until he was ready to continue.
“When I came to my senses, I pushed her away and told her that it was too late. That I had already moved on. That I was happy with someone else. I was so upset after seeing her that I went inside and had a glass of rum to calm my nerves, but one glass turned into two, and then three.”
She couldn’t look at him. She understood. She’d have done the same thing if she’d seen Neal or Walsh. But now that he’d opened Pandora’s box, she couldn’t help but remember all of the pain she’d felt for the last year. That his poor choices had led to it.
“So that’s when you came to the party. That’s when you found her. After you’d had all the rum?”
His head tilted as he watched her. The confusion apparent in the way his eyes crinkled at the edges.
“Emma, what are you talking about? “
“Last year.”
The words nearly caught in her through as the image of that night played through her head once more. He’d been pissed and drank too much. Understandable, yet somehow it didn’t help to ease any of the pain she still felt.
I never made it to the party last year.”
“Yes you did!”
“Love. I assure you that I never left my apartment that night.”
She studied him. His eyes never left hers. His hands never twitched. No signs of a lie.
“Emma, did you actually see me ? Hear my voice?”
“But, Graham, he said he saw you with Ruby. Saw your- I heard it. She screamed out your last name for God’s sake.”
Killian barked out a laugh, much to Emma’s consternation.
“Swan. I wasn’t the only Jones in the building that night you know.”
He waited, as the gears turned in her head.
“Liam?”
As I said before, love, it is a rather common name.”
My contribution to @csjanuaryjoy! Many thanks to @lenfaz for getting involved in this year’s project and also many thanks to @katie-dub who stared it in the first place.
Art for a Captain Swan AU with Princess Emma of Misthaven and (the pirate) Captain Killian Jones, dancing at a masquerade.
Close up to their masks because I am very pround of them. Emma’s dress is inspired by my own prom dress who looked like that and also no ball is a real ball without the red vest of sex.
a Captain Swan AU I always wanted to write but I will never be able to....
New Year/Fresh Starts Character A has sworn off relationships for the New Year, then they meet character B I need a whole new wardrobe because my ex destroyed all my clothes. I had a major fight with a stranger over the last jar of cranberry sauce on Christmas Eve, it's January and I start my new...
Welcome to CS January Joy, a month of Captain Swan goodies by fabulous authors and artists to bring joy into your life.
Initial list of participants:
@jennifer-morrison
@lenfaz
@optomisticgirl
@justanotherwannabeclassic
@mahstatins
@pocket-anon
@awkwardnessandbaseball
@i-am-miapotter
@natascha-remi-ronin
@lassluna
@rouhn
@effulgentcolors
@xemmaloveskillianx
@hollyethecurious
@forestyari
@pirateherokillian
If your name’s not on the list but should be, or if you want to join in, just let me (@lenfaz) know! As you can see, we still need participants so come join us!!!
There’s a list of prompts to inspire you, you aren’t obliged to use any of them, they’re just there to help
How it’ll work:
1. You’ll be assigned a day to post your fic/art/gifset/picset (you’ll have to tell me if you have any preferences e.g. set date, early in the month or any week day or I’ll give you a random date.)
2. I’ll be available for beta duties if needed, just give me as long as possible please.
3. Share your fic/art/gifset/picset on your blog and I’ll reblog it over here.
4. Read the fics, Enjoy the art, like them and reblog to share the love. That’s it!
CSJJ: Day 2: Baby There’s a Price to Pay (I’m a genie in a bottle)
My addition to @csjanuaryjoy, so glad I participated. Enjoy!
I found a dusty bottle of rum in my cabinet and there was a genie inside. Modern AU with a dash of magic and a pinch of fate
Word Count: 10,662
AO3 FFn
“God damn Neal Cassidy!” Emma groaned angrily. She was on her tippy toes on her freaking dining room chair, trying in vain to clean her cupboards, cupboards filled with her damn ex’s junk.
The junk the waste of space had forgotten when he took off in the middle of the night and never looked back. She should burn it. Emma really wanted to burn it.
Emma was used to being alone, since she was a baby, she was alone. Her parents had abandoned her on the side of the road hours after her birth, after that, Emma spent her childhood bouncing from house to house in the system. It gave her a lot of practice in figuring out who wasn’t worth her time or her trust, because that was what all the homes Emma’s ever been in had in common. They were never home.
Then 18 year old Emma Swan meets God damn Neal Cassidy. It’s the classic bad boy meets lost girl situation. It’s so clique looking back that Emma wants to slap herself for getting involved with such a smug prick. But she did get involved with him, she let him worm beneath her walls with his damaged little act and understanding smile. He liked lost girls apparently, liked giving them a home, their dream home in Tallahassee, making them promises about forever and then running away when things got serious. All it had taken was for her to buy a pregnancy test to send him running.
He hadn’t even waited around for the negative result.
Now 25 year old Emma Swan knows better. She knows there is no such thing as soul mates or happy endings or magic of love. Just like Neal’s stupid stuff, it’s all a load of crap.
And that jerk had the nerve to call her. He wanted to know if he could come by and pick up his things. She told him exactly what she’d done with his things, thrown them out her window.
That’s what she’d done with most of it at least. It took his call to discover that he had hidden some stuff in the in the upper kitchen cabinet, the one that she could never reach and so never used.
It’s what led her to her precarious position reaching into her highest shelves where Emma could easily fall and break her neck, (It would be just her luck) because she wanted to get Neal’s junk out of her house and him out of her life.
Her hand grabbed the edge of something, a wooden box of some kind. She pulled it closer, able to see it a bit if she twisted her neck up slightly. She grabbed it with one hand and placed it on the counter before she lowered herself down.
Emma got a closer look at the box. It looked old and hand carved in deep brown wood. It was even engraved with words and a strangely navel pattern with the embossed waves. It looked like whoever made it (or ordered it) must have spent a lot of time customizing it.
For my beloved Milah.
Emma recognized that name; it was Neal’s mother’s name.
His dead mother’s name.
The bastard had run off and left his mother’s last possessions behind. She can’t even burn it now; Emma didn’t have the heart to burn such a beautiful box, given to a dead woman. It suddenly made sense why Neal wanted his stuff.
He must have grown a sentimental bone or something, Emma knew he’d certainly hadn’t had it when they were together.
Maybe she could just mail it to Neal; she really doesn’t want a face to face meet.
Emma stared at the box only a moment longer before flipping over the lid. She might as well see what else was inside.
She shuffled through papers, old-ish looking papers- no letters, they were letters, and a lot of them.
My beloved pirate,
How I miss the days lazing on deck, watching the sun rise and-
They were love letters, Emma realized, stopping reading immediately; actually dropping them as if they’d burned her.
Was it creepy to read your ex’s mother’s love letters? She thinks it’s creepy.
But there was something else in the box. A dusty bottle of rum, glass by the looks of it and Emma could barely make out a design on the side. She rubbed it slowly with her hands to try to reveal the pattern.
The bottle vibrated in her hand. Emma, startled, practically threw it back in the box. The box filled with red smoke and then her kitchen filled with the same smoke. Emma had barely taken 2 steps away from Neal’s possessed box when the smoke cleared.
Apparently possessed was the perfect word for it, because when the smoke cleared, she saw it, or should she say him.
Her first thought was that the man was hot.
He was leather clad with dark hair looking perfectly messy and the bluest eyes in her kitchen leaning against the counter, he started off with a smirking, but then his expression morphed into confusion, then he recovered and plastered anther smirk on his face.
“Hello love.” The man said, raising his brow. “You’re new.” He observed reaching into his pocket for something. “I guess I owe you the flashy introducti-“
Emma has only one reaction to a stranger appearing in her kitchen. She punches him square in the face before they have a chance to come at her. It was self-defense 101.
“Bloody Hell!” He shouts, stumbling away, clutching his jaw as Emma readied herself to deliver another blow “That’s one hell of a left hook!” He says, looking at her more carefully this time. “So I can just tell you how this works the old fashioned way then.” He explained with a rather thick accent that Emma couldn’t place; Irish was the closest she could guess, as he righted himself. “Can you please not punch me this time?” He asked.
“I don’t want an explanation; I want you out of my house!” Emma replied angrily. “How the hell did you get in here?” She demanded. Emma always locked her doors and windows, so she was pretty sure this was just an elaborate dream.
“Why from that little bottle in the box.” He said, gesturing at it. “You see, I’m Killian Jones, a genie.” He explained like it was obvious.
“A genie?” She repeated. “Like in Aladdin?” She asked.
“Who the bloody hell is Aladdin?”
Then she shook her head because it was ridiculous. “Hell no. Did Neal put you up to this? Did he leave hidden cameras and is doing this to me because I wanted to get rid of his junk?” She spat, because it’s just something he’d do.
But how he’d know Emma would do it today was a mystery. Neal wouldn’t have someone waiting for this inevitable day. That was too much work for such a lazy waist of space.
“No love, I’m a genie, the real deal.” He insisted, looking rather annoyed at her disbelief. “A rather handsome one if I do say so myself.” Killian said, smoothing out the leather duster on his shoulders wagging his eyebrows sinfully. “Let’s make this quick love, you get three wishes, but I should warn you, all magic comes at a price, and then I can go back into the bottle”
Emma sharpens her glare. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.” She said leaning back on her dining room table. “I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.” She said in a low, even voice. She didn’t waver, and neither did he.
“I’m telling you the truth.” He said, and for once there wasn’t a smirk, there wasn’t the swagger that seemed to ooze from his leather jacket, there was just brutal honesty in his gaze.
It unsettled her slightly, it unsettles her because she sees something; she sees loneliness.
This Killian character was telling her the truth.
Or at least, he believed he was. He could be crazy.
How a crazy genie believing leather clad man pulled this off however, Emma wasn’t too sure. But there just had to be a rational explanation right?
Emma rolls her eyes. “Genies don’t exist.” She says matter-of-factly. “Wishes don’t come true.” It’s been a long time since Emma believed in magic. “This is some dream, or hallucinogen, or a coma, I probably fell and hit my head and fell into a comma.” She rationalizes.
“Then it wouldn’t hurt to make a wish and find out?” The man dares. “You don’t seem like a lass who scares easily. Come on love, tell me, what does your heart desire? Money? Fame? Love?” He teases, the sincerity in his expression is replaced by cocky over confidence. “It won’t matter if I’m not real after all.” The way the man speaks is plain mocking, the way he moves his eyebrows is plain challenging.
He’s daring her to do something.
Emma could just feel her blood boiling in response, desperately wanting to prove the mad man wrong, but also not wanting to be lured into this insanity.
“Hell no buddy.” She replies, arms crossed. “I’m going to-“ Her phone goes off suddenly, interrupting her completely. She picks it up, looking at it angrily for interrupting her. She would have ignored it if she wasn’t waiting for…
Dinner at 8? That new bar around the corner? The Silver Slipper?
That. Emma smirks at her phone. It was about time the fish took her bait. Emma Swan didn’t get lured. She’s the one who does the luring or whatever fishermen did.
Perfect. She types out with a smirk.
The genie--man, because Emma refuses to believe that she found a genie in her ex’s stuff—looks at her quizzically.
“What’s that love?” He asks gesturing to the phone in her hand.
“You mean my cell phone?” She asked.
“Aye.” He replied, looking at it. “How’d it make that sound?” He asked.
Emma face palmed. “You mean vibrated. Come on, you can’t expect me to believe you don’t know what this is.” She insisted. “I mean the model is a bit outdated but-“ She shook her head. “Look, get out, go home.” She insisted, pointing to her door.
“But love, you summoned me for my wishes, it’s not like I can go back on my ship, I believe she’s long gone.” He insisted. “Probably sunk about 3 centuries ago.”
Ship…rum…his freaking leather clad duster and weird jewelry.
“You’re a pirate.” She realized. He grinned.
“Aye. I was, a long time ago.” He said proudly, “That is until I stole from the wrong man, sorcerer actually, and he trapped me in there.” He said, pointing to the bottle. “But I used to be the real scourge of the seven seas.”
The coma theory was looking better and better.
The man’s smirk got wider. He said with a cocky attitude, hands going to his belt in a display of macho confidence.
“So I found what, a genie pirate?” She asks, glaring at the flask. “Let me guess, that was a bottle for rum?”
Killian shrugs. “I prefer pirate genie, but it’s all the same to me love.” He said.
“First of all, I’m not your love.” She snapped. “And secondly, I don’t have time to deal with this.” She said waving at him. “I have to get ready.” She says, turning towards her bedroom.
“Ready for what love?” He asks with curiosity.
“None of your business.” She snaps. “And quit calling me love!” She slams her door and pressed her back to it.
“I’d call you by your name if you bothered to introduce yourself before hitting me.” He replied right back, appearing on her bed. A hallucination then. That’s the only way he could have gotten past her.
“It’s none of your business.” She snapped, throwing the door open. “Out!”
“Fine love.” He says, still mocking her. She snaps.
“It’s Emma!” She shouts, stomping after him, grabbing him by the leather coated sleeve and dragging him back to her kitchen. “Emma Swan.” He smirks at her.
“Swan.” He says slowly, as if tasting her name. It makes her face heat up slightly. “So Swan, where are you going? Perhaps you’d like to wish yourself there so you don’t exhaust those pretty legs of yours.” He says looking her over like a typical man does.
“Shut it.” She snaps, grabbing her handcuffs from the drawer and closing one on his hand before he has a chance to fight.
“Bloody-“ He looks at her strangely when she lamps the other onto her oven. “Come on Swan, this isn’t necessary.” She steps away from him.
“Swan, have I told you a lie?” He says. They both know he hasn’t, but Emma can’t take that chance, he’s trouble, guaranteed. “You can’t just leave me like this.” He pleads, pulling at the metal restraint. His eyes look sad.
“Watch me.”
-/-
Despite the interruption by the insufferable pirate hallucination, she gets to the restaurant right on time in her skin tight red dress and killer heels, her hair is curled perfectly and Emma knows that she’s going to knock her perp dead.
“Emma?” Her date asks.
“Ryan? You look relieved” She says, knowing it’s him, but playing the part of the nervous little girl. Guys like this loved the nervous little girl act.
“Well it is the internet…Pictures can be…” Oh she knows the dangers of the internet. She could be on a date with a criminal right now. The horror.
“So tell me about yourself.” He says. She smiles sweetly; they always like it when she smiles; they like asking questions, thinking it’ll get them an easy path right to dessert. “Where are you from?” He asks. “You don’t strike me as a Floridian native.”
She smiles brighter. “I moved around a lot.” She says dismissively.
“Army brat?” He asked.
Parents moved around a lot for work. She wants to say. She wants to lie. It makes things easier when she lies.
But then she imagines a pair of lonely blue eyes. They were telling her the truth.
“Orphan.” She replies instead. It just slips out.
“Well Emma,” He says. “You are by far the most beautiful orphan I know.” He takes a sip of his wine in victory. He thinks his momentary caring about her past is going to get him the win for the night.
Now it’s her turn. She smiles sweetly when she tells Ryan exactly who she is, and exactly why she’s here, to haul his ass to jail for missing his court date.
And then he runs. They always run when she’s wearing her killer heels.
Too bad there’s a boot on his car.
It’s always the same thing.
He turns and looks at her, and practically snarls at her. “What do you know about family?”
It’s always the same thing, but that doesn’t mean it ever hurts any less. This is why she decided to start lying to perps.
“Nothing at all.” She replies. Emma gets great satisfaction from slamming his head into the steering wheel, effectively shutting him up.
-/-
“You’re back!” Killian says when she returns. He’s sitting in her kitchen with a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. She smells smoke. She rushes to look at the kitchen and sees burned bits of something in a pan. Her handcuffs hanging off the oven like decoration.
“What the hell are you doing?” Emma snapped, rushing to put the pan in the sink. “And how did you get loose?” She demands.
“Those metal contraptions are evil.” He says in explanation pointing to the stove. “And who do you think you’re messing with darling?” He teased with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“A genie?” She says with a disbelieving glance.
“Well, I was referring to the pirate part actually. I’ve freed myself from far harsher shackles with far less.” He explains proudly. She was not in the mood for this. Not in the mood for this genie crap, not in the mood to have him burn down her place and eat all her freaking peanut butter, she wants that freaking peanut butter! She grabbed the jar away.
“Stop touching things!” Emma snaps.
“It was all that you had.” He replied. “Perhaps you should wish for some actual edible food.” He teased.
Emma was not in the mood for teasing. She was not in the mood for a pirate genie to mock her food habits. And Emma was certainly not in the mood for wishes.
“I’ve had enough of this. I’m tired, my feet hurt, and I want to sleep, or drink, or both. I do not have the mental capacity to deal with you tonight.” She snapped. He raised his brow in surprise. “You want a wish? I’ll give you a wish. I wish I could find my family, the family that gave me up when I was weeks old. I want to know why, how could they do that? I want to know why I don’t know anything about having a family.” She knew she was yelling, she might be crying but Emma didn’t care. She turned on her heel and headed into her bedroom, slamming the door.
-/-
Emma woke up at 7 am that next morning to a phone call.
There was only one person who ever dared to wake her up that early. Chloe Fox.
Chloe Fox turned her life around when they met, she convinced her to stop chasing the past, to focus on the future. She helped her build her walls, it made Emma closed off, but it protected her. Chloe was the closest thing to a maternal figure Emma has.
(Even though the idea of being maternal practically made Chloe skin crawl)
She was her mentor, turned boss turned partner when Emma finally got the cash to become a partner in their little Bails bond business. It worked, Emma wasn’t exactly happy, but she was ok. She was surviving.
It was more than she ever expected.
“Emma?” Chloe said on the other end.
She moaned in response.
“Sorry to wake you, but there’s someone here to see you.” She said warily, which was odd because there was not much that made Chloe act uncertainly. She heard her suck in a breath, as if mentally gaining the courage to say something.
That wasn’t good. It woke Emma up immediately.
“Chloe, what’s wrong?” She asked. “Spit it out.”
Exhale. “Emma, these people…they say they’re your parents.”
-/-
Her eyes are red when she gets back to her apartment.
Chloe had given her the week off, promising her that she would take care of everything as Emma obviously needed some time to think through everything. Her baby blanket was tightly clenched in her fists.
Killian was sitting on the couch patiently, watching her, but didn’t move to press her. He hadn’t said a word when she hastily got dresses and bolted out of her apartment. He didn’t say a word now as she returned with her eyes red and her face blotchy.
“I’m an orphan.” She said suddenly, looking at him, he didn’t look surprised. “And you know that.” He nodded.
“You have the look of a lost one.” He explained in a soft voice. “Pain made when we are young tends to linger.” She swallowed, pacing to sit in a chair across from him, but decided against it, there was too much energy bottled up, too many thought racing through her head.
“My parents found me. They saw my name in the phone book, looked into me, and realized I was their lost daughter. They knew about my blanket, no one knew about my blanket.” She rambled. She was thinking about all the people who claimed she was theirs when Emma was actively searching for where she came from.
Even though she knew it made no sense to him, she had to say it. She had to say it until it made sense. She’d been found with her blanket, a fact that was left out of all police records and paper trails, she knew that since she’d read them all. No one ever knew about the blanket.
They couldn’t have known about the blanket unless they were telling the truth.
“They’ve never stopped looking for me. I was sent away to protect me against powerful people, it was only supposed to be a few days, but they lost me. They never stopped looking for me.” Tears fell from her eyes again.
She never thought this day would come, she remembered the look in the woman, her mother’s eyes, felt her gently hold her, wiping the tears from her eyes.
She saw her father, saw her blonde hair and green eyes in him; saw him look at her like she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
Emma didn’t need the DNA test Chloe had insisted upon. Emma knew they were her parents; she could feel it. She stared at the yellow yarn; remember them telling her in a rush of emotions that their best friend’s grandmother had knitted that when they learned they were having a little girl. It was old fashioned, but her mother, Mary Margret Blanchard Nolan loved it.
“I-I wished.” She realized, finally sitting, looking back at Killian, seeing his gentle smile. “Last night, I wished I found them, that I’d get the chance to know why I’ve been alone for so long.” It wasn’t possible.
“And today you found them love.” Killian supplied.
“How? I’ve been looking for them my entire life.” She insisted. “How is it that they walked into my place of business today?” She asked. “It’s almost like…”
“Say it love, it’ll make the next two wishes go much faster and much easier.” He prompted. “Really get into it.” He teased.
“Magic.” She breathed. “You’re real. You’re really a genie.”
Killian nodded.
He was a real genie, a pirate genie. She had found a pirate genie in her cabinet.
“You made a wish, and it came true, but I warn you love, my magic comes at a steep price, so you bloody better be-“
Emma shook her head, trying with everything she had to not break down into tears when she recalled how she’d seen her little brother’s picture. He looked like their mother, but had her green eyes. She didn’t care about the price. She didn’t care one bit.
She had answers to questions she’d spent her whole life asking. She’d pay whatever price there was for that.
“Thank you.” She said softly. “Thank you for being in my cabinet.” He smirked.
“Any time, now about those other two wishes-“
Emma shook her head. She couldn’t think about that right now. Magic, being reunited with her parents, it was too much so fast. She didn’t need him trying to force her two remaining wishes down her throat. It was almost like-
“Why do you want me to make my wishes so badly?” She asked suddenly, wiping her eyes, finally regaining some sort of composure. Lies she knew, someone wanting her to do something, she understood. It was easier to deal with than magic.
No response. Emma felt like she’d struck a nerve.
“Come on, my apartment isn’t that bad.” She insisted. “I’ll even give you some of my peanut butter.” She teased lightly. It got a small smirk. “But seriously, you’ve been trying to rush me, dare me, anything to get your three wishes and be done.”
Killian scratched his neck nervously. It looked like she struck more than a nerve.
“I’d like to go back to sleep if you don’t mind.” He admits. “As much as a pleasant surprise you are, and trust me love, you are, I’d prefer to get this over and done with as soon as possible.”
“So that’s what it’s like in there for you?” She asked. “Being asleep.”
He shrugged. “Something like that.” He said vaguely.
He hesitates. She can practically see walls shoot up. She knew about walls better than anyone.
Emma sighs warily, getting up slowly. “Hungry? Do magical creatures get hungry?” She’d have to navigate carefully from here, last night she’d cast a wish in anger. She could have wished for something a lot worse.
He smirks. “Pirates do.” He confirmed. Killian just looked content that the topic of questioning had been dropped.
In minutes, Emma had two of the only thing she could make properly in front of them.
Grilled cheese.
Killian stared at it for a moment, looking at it curiously.
“Have you never had a grilled cheese before?” She asked. He shook his head. “You’ll like it.” She confirmed. She watched his face light up as he bit into the sandwich. “Told you.” She said, eating her own.
They sat in silence as they ate until Killian finished his first half.
“How did you get the bottle?” He asked suddenly, not looking at her.
“I was cleaning out my ex’s stuff.” She explained. “Your bottle was inside.”
That reminded her, how exactly had Neal’s mom had a genie? Neal must not have known about it, otherwise he would have definitely used it when they were living in the bug, struggling to stay warm in the winter, eating Cheetos and Oreos for food.
“Who’s Milah?” She said suddenly. “I found you in a box addressed to Milah.” It caught him by complete surprise. A series of emotions crossed his face.
Emotions Emma could recognize easily. Milah meant something to him. Just her name affected him deeply.
“She was someone from…long ago.” He said quietly. “She must be gone by now…”
Right genie equals immortal.
“There were letters in the box.” She said simply.
He didn’t respond at first.
“Have you read them?” He asks eventually, meeting her eyes carefully.
“No more than one line.” She admits. “The second I saw that they were love letters, I stopped.”
Killian nodded, looking relieved. “Swan, may I ask you a favor?” He stole a glance up at her. It was tentative.
“Of course.” She replied.
“Don’t read them, just, destroy them. Actually, when you do get around to casting your wishes, will you please hide my bottle as well?” He asked. She wasn’t expecting that. “Dump it in the ocean, or bury it in a chest.” He listed. “Whatever you need to do to make sure it never sees the light of day again.”
“Very original Mr. Pirate.” She teased. “Why?” It got a smirk from him.
“Those letters were private; I don’t think she’d like to have them read by others.” He admits. “And I prefer not to use my power to serve greedy people.” He explained.
“How do you know I’m not greedy?” She asked in challenge.
“Well love, I believe we understand each other, you and I.” He explained. There was that sincere look back in his gaze. The one that unsettled Emma in a way she didn’t quite understand. “For example, like how you knew I’d love this…what did you call it?” He asked, gesturing to the grilled cheese.
“Grilled Cheese.” She explained. “And if you like that, wait until I introduce you to pizza.”
-/-
He likes Pizza.
He grins at it, a big childlike smirk, especially when he gets a string of cheese. She can’t help but watch as Killian struggles to try and not drop it. It’s like watching a little kid eat pizza.
“Quit mocking me Swan.” He wines.
“Can’t. It’s funny.” She replies. “What’s it like in there?” She asks, gesturing to the bottle.
“I told you love, it’s kinda like sleeping.” He replied.
“Ok, what’s it like being a genie?” He shrugs.
“Nothing interesting, you come out, you explain yourself; hopefully not get punched in the face.”
“Sorry.”
“And you wave your hand when they cast their wish.” He explains. “Then go back inside.” She narrowed her eyes, grabbing another slice.
“Liar.” She replied. “What else?”
“Sometimes I get to watch things go badly.” He said softly. “All magic comes with a price.” He explained. He’d said that several times. “Be careful love.” Killian warns. “When you cast your wishes. Just be careful I’d hate to see you…end up like them.” She feels the mood taking a dark tone as there’s a shadow on his face.
“Hey Killian, have you ever watched Princess Bride?”
He shakes his head.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to wish for Swan?” He asks as Emma starts getting the movie on. Emma shakes her head.
“Let me think on it?” She says. “If I only get 3, I need to make sure I make good use of it if it’s going to cost me.” Especially if it’s going to cost me. Emma thinks.
“What do you think you’ll wish for?” He asks. “Fame? Money? Power? Love?” He guesses “Those are the basics.” Emma shrugs.
“I hate photos, so fame’s out. Money is too cliché. Power is too ‘ultimate villain’ sounding and love…” She trails off. “Isn’t worth it.”
Killian raises a brow. “Tell me Swan, have you ever been in love?”
She looks up at her ceiling in her crappy apartment in Tallahassee.
“Maybe I have. Once.”
-/-
“Neal was the only one who ever loved me.” She tells him after the movie, “The only one who ever saw me, who ever thought I was special, that I was something to come back for.” She didn’t look at him, refused to. “And then he left. So no, I’m not going to wish for love.”
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move until she looks at him.
“I see you Swan. All those who didn’t were blind.”
She snickered. “Please, you barely know me.”
“Aye, yet I can see what a wonderful person you are, I’ve met a lot of terrible people in my occupation.” He reminded her. “You are one of a kind.”
Emma felt her face flush in embarrassment at the look in his eyes. “From your time as a pirate?” She guessed.
“Genie.” He corrects. “Magic corrupts.” Was his only explanation.
Emma looked at the clock, saw how late it was getting.
“I should get to bed, I have a big day of-“ She got the week off. “Processing to do.”
Killian nodded respectfully, rising from the couch. She watched him strangely. “I’ll go back in the bottle then.” He said sadly.
“A-ok.” She replied. “I was going to let you sleep on the couch but-“ His eyes brightened in a flash. “It’s not very comfortable, the couch is lumpy, and I only have a sheet to give you, if you’d be more comfortable-“ She stammers in embarrassment.
“I’d love to sleep on your lumpy couch.” He says quickly, scratching behind his ear nervously. “I mean- if that doesn’t put you out or”
“Whatever’s comfortable for you.” She says. She’s blushing, Emma can feel her cheeks turning pink. “Whatever helps you get the most beauty sleep.”
Killian’s smirk returns. “Concerned about my looks love? I assure you, no couch is powerful enough to ruin that.” He even looks into the Tv’s reflection to prove the fact.
Emma rolls her eyes, she gets up and hands Killian the blanket and pillow.
“You’ve never met my couch.”
-/-
Emma spends the night doing something she really shouldn’t have been doing.
She reads through Milah’s letters. They are all addressed to Killian, but served more as a journal than actual notes.
She realized a few things. Milah, Neal’s mother was married to a vindictive man. She described his possessive and controlling tendencies. Neal had described as much when they were together. Emma didn’t know exactly when Milah had crossed paths with Killian’s bottle, judging by the date, Neal must have been 4 or 5.
They fell in love. It was the fast desperate kind. It sounded like it was filled with secrets and sneaking around, Milah described it as exciting, a real adventure.
Then the letters change in tone, she sounds sad and distant, depressed, slowly morphing to anger, at Neal at her husband, even at Killian.
The last letter is a goodbye. It’s stained by tears shed long ago.
-/-
Killian is still sleeping when Emma leaves, a quickly scrolled note on the table for him. She’s getting breakfast with her parents.
They ask her if she has anyone special in her life.
Emma blushes and assures them that she’s not dating anyone.
Her mother says that Emma must be thinking of someone with the way she blushed.
Emma refused to admit a thing, not even how she can’t stop thinking about the look in Killian’s eyes when he called her one of a kind.
She brings Killian back a bottle of rum rom the liquor store and a proper breakfast, an Egg McMuffin.
He stared at it for a period before he started firing rapid fire questions.
“Where did it come from? Why is there paper around it? What was the brown thing, why was it shaped like that-“
“Just eat it Killian.” Was Emma’s response.
Killian liked it.
“I also picked this up for later.” She said softly. “You should have seen the odd look I got when I bought it so early in the morning.” Emma said, handing Killian the bottle. His eyes widened as he touched the glass bottle. “I figured it would be just ironic enough. Unless I just pulled a Doby and freed you…”
He grinned, paying her rambles no mind. The pirate didn’t waste a minute, opening it and taking a swig.
“Killian it’s not even 10 am!” Emma chastised. “I don’t know how it was 300 years ago, but here, it’s kinda frowned upon to day drink.”
Killian just stared at the bottle. “I don’t bloody know what a Doby is, but I haven’t had a drink since I became this.” He said with a hint of self-hatred. “My apologies for any disrespect.” He says with a nervous rub of his neck. “It’s just as good as I remember it to be.”
She shakes her head. Of course that was it. Emma was always saying the wrong thing around him. It was so weird because she actually cared what he thought, and Killian probably thought she was a rambling mess. “No, I think I have some glasses in my room.” She says casually, inviting him in. She got some from a cop who was trying to get in her pants.
Killian stops abruptly in her doorway. His frame tenses. She looks back at him confused.
“Killian?”
His eyes are locked on something on the floor. She curses internally.
The box is flipped open, Milah’s box to be more precise.
“You read them.” He says with barely contained anger. “After I asked you not to? After I asked you to destroy them?” He hisses.
She flinches. She has no words, no idea how to defend herself. There was no defense.
“I’m sorry.” She says eventually.
“Did you get what you want?” He asks her with a sneer. His fists are clenched and he’s practically shaking.
“What I want? I was just curious and you-“
He cuts her off. “I thought you were different, I thought you’d respect my voice, and my opinion and not treat me like an object.”
She shakes her head.
“No, that’s not what I was doing!” She insists. “Milah was Neal’s mother and I just needed to know- I wanted to know her.” She wanted to know him.
But Killian’s not listening.
“Perhaps I should just start calling you master now rather than wait for you to throw Milah back in my face. That’s why you wanted to read them right? That’s all my feelings are worth right?”
“Stop, just-“
“Is that an order, master?” He taunts.
“No Killian, you’re not listening!” She shouted back.
“I’ll listen when I hear the magic word.” He sneers, waving his hand. He disappears into red smoke, back in the bottle he goes.
She’s left standing there in complete awe at how angry he got, processing the things he said because it made no sense.
Just let him cool off. Emma concludes, collapsing onto her bed. He’ll listen and then he won’t be so mad.
At least, that’s what Emma hopes.
-/-
It must be 2 am when she hears it. Rummaging. Someone is rummaging through her things in the kitchen. Emma suddenly feels 16 again, stealing her first car as she creeps into her kitchen, revolver tucked into the pocket of her robe.
“Killian I swear to god if that’s you-“ She threatens.
It’s not Killian. Not even close.
She feels someone push her to the ground before she can even move. Hands are suddenly at her throat. Emma tries to reach for her gun, but the figure is crushing her and she can’t get it.
Her throat is literally being crushed. She can’t breathe, no matter how much she struggles, she can’t get free. Kicking doesn’t work, she can’t aim properly.
Stars dance in her vision.
I wish someone else was here…. She thinks. I don’t want to die.
“As you wish.” Says a familiar voice. The pressure over her disappears in a puff of red smoke. She gasps and coughs, forcing air into her screaming lungs quickly and desperately.
“Easy love.” Killian says softly, helping her sit up. “Slow deep breathes.” He advises, a glass of water appearing in his grasp. “Drink.” He says.
“Wher…” She says in a strained voice. “Where did he go?” Her voice sounds scratchy, but she takes the water anyway.
“It doesn’t matter.” He says. “Are you alright?” He asks. Emma nods. She blinks and sees the figure who had tried to strangle her in a pile on the floor. He lets out a groan.
She recognizes that groan.
“What the hell Neal?” she curses rising to her feet, flicking on light.
“Emma!” He says in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
She’s going to kill him. “I live here remember?” She snapped. “We moved in here after we sold the watches.” She is literally going to kill him.
“You’re still here?” He asked. “I thought you would have ran out of money by now.”
If Emma was mad before, she was furious.
“I got a job, bails bond person.” She told him. “I thought I told you never to call me again, not show up here and try to kill me.
“Sorry about that.” Neal said sheepishly, as if murder was no big deal.
“I was looking for my stuff.” He explained.
“And you didn’t think you should just knock on my door at a decent hour because?” She exclaimed. “You tried to kill me!”
“I said I was sorry.” He reminded her.
“And that makes everything better!” She shouted. “Get out of here.” She snapped.
“Emma, I said I was looking for my stuff.” Neal said.
“I burned it.” She replied.
“Not him.” He said pointing to where Kilian was standing protectively to her right, watching Neal like a leather clad hawk. “I know what he is Emma. He shouldn’t be here. He’s dangerous”
She crossed her arms. “Who I choose to spend my time with is none of your business.” She snaps.
“Not when he’s my family’s genie.” Neal replied. “I thought my father was kidding, but I saw him Emma, he appeared by magic.”
Emma didn’t respond. “Look, let me get my stuff, get him away from you and you never have to think about me ever again.” He negotiates.
“Are you serious? What happened to you Neal, you weren’t like this before?” She asks.
He shrugged. “Life’s been hard.” Emma just rolled her eyes.
“But you don’t understand Em.” He said. “His magic, its dark, really dark.” Killian didn’t say a word, he just glared at Neal. “It ruined my entire family, my father was kind and generous before and now he’s a complete monster. My mother left because of it. Everything good went away because of it.” He insisted.
“I didn’t.” Emma reminded him bitterly. “You left me.” She said. “And why are you here if you hate his magic so much?” She asked.
“To destroy it. To destroy all magic.” He answered.
Now that got Killian to react. “You can’t.” He insisted. “Magic is bigger than just me lad, it’s-“
Neal glares at him angrily. “But I can start with you.” He snaps, grabbing the bottle from the counter and smashing it into the counter. It doesn’t break, it just makes a sound.
She thinks nothing of it until Killian reacts, squeezing his eyes shut in obvious pain. “Killain?” She says in a whisper.
It hurt him. Harming the bottle physically hurt him.
“Stop!” She shouts when he does it a second time and Killian gasps, clutching his chest.
He does it again. This time Killian screams, dropping to his knees. Emma’s had enough. She pulls her gun from its hiding spot, pointing it right at Neal.
“Do it again Neal, I dare you.” She hisses. “I won’t miss.” He stops. Emma can hear Killian’s geavy breathing.
“Ems, think about this, you don’t know anything about that.” He said pointing to Killian, calling him a that.
“You’re hurting him, you tried to kill me, so put the bottle down before I shoot you dead in my apartment.” Emma snapped. She has quite a few detectives in her corner after all her skip chases; she’d get away with it.
“Don’t you mean our-“ She removed the safety, showing Neal just how dead serious she was. He put down the bottle. The moment that he did, Killian dissolves into red smoke and enters the bottle probably to recover from whatever the hell had happened to him.
Emma really hates magic.
“I’m leaving now, but you’ll see, soon enough.” Neal warns. “His magic is dark and dangerous. Call me when you change your mind about it all. I’ll come get the bottle and you’ll never have to see either of us again.” He promised, backing towards the front door.
She watches as the door closes, holding tightly to the gun in her hand, acknowledging the fact that if Neal had pushed her, Emma wasn’t too sure if she could pull the trigger.
But Neal didn’t know that, thankfully. She put down the gun and picked up Killian’s bottle, looking it over carefully for any blemishes.
There was a crack, deep and long around the bottle’s neck. She rubbed the blemish, as if to soothe it somehow. Then she looks down at it, unsure how this thing works. She wasn’t sure if calling Killian out would help or hurt him.
“Killian?” She whispers. “Can you-can you get out or do I have to-“ She doesn’t. The room suddenly fills with smoke and Killian appears, but he doesn’t look good.
He stumbles when he lands, hands reaching out for something to ground him as his knees buckle.
“No!” She shouts grabbing him by the shoulder, steadying him before he falls flat on his face. “Killian? Are you alright?” He nods slowly. “Can you stand?” He straightens, but she feels his body trembling in her grip.
“mm fine Swan.” He slurred badly. She sees it, on his neck a cut. Long and deep against his skin.
It’s just like the crack, the crack on the bottle, it’s hurt him. She feels him pull away from her grasp, seemingly getting his balance back, giving her a smile. It doesn’t make her feel any better.
“See love? Takes more than that to take down this pirate.” He insists, touching the wound with his hand.
“Thank you.” Emma says when Killian looks steady. “For saving me from Neal.” She says. He ducks his head sheepishly.
“You made a wish that someone would save you.” He admitted. “But perhaps gratitude is in order…” He teases. He taps his lips.
She rolls her eyes at him. He’s just flirting and she knows that, but the way he says it, the way his eyes wander to her own mouth…
“That was what the thank you was for.” She insists, taking a step closer. She’s watching him, watching the walls come down.
“Is that all your life is worth to you?” He says in a breathy whisper.
“Please, you couldn’t handle it.”
“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” He replies in a challenge.
Emma could just feel her blood boiling in response, but this time, for an entirely different reason. She grabs the lapels of his jacket and pulls him towards her in a searing kiss. Then it changes, morphs into a battle, both fighting to be in control.
Killian Jones has most certainly ruined all other kisses for Emma Swan.
“I can’t.” He insists, pulling away.
“Killian-“
“Milah. You know about her.” He asked, suddenly looked as old as he’s claimed. Emma nodded. “What you don’t know is that I used to belong to her husband.” She could hear the way his voice hitched over belong. The hatred was palpable “And his father before that, and his father before that.” He practically hissed. “I was nothing to them but a source of power, a slave to their wishes. It ruined every single one of them, Milah included.” He insisted, sounding border on frantic. She wanted him to stop, to rest.
“She was beautiful and kind and strong when I first appeared to her, by the time she was done, she was unrecognizable.” He insisted. “She left her son, everything because she wished for love, and I was it. I loved her and then one day, she was gone. And then you-“ His voice broke, his hand covered his face.
“What your ex said was right, my magic taints everyone who comes into contact with it. Normally I don’t care, I don’t care what their own greed does to their lives, but you- I, I don’t want to ruin you too.” He whispered, looking up, as if daring to catch her gaze.
“You did nothing.” She insisted. “I’m not Milah, I didn’t wish for love- I- I don’t know, I don’t know anything about any of this.”
He moved quickly, gripping her hands, “Then do the easiest thing, cast your wishes, something simple and painless, then smash the bottle.” He said frantically. Her jaw dropped.
“You’re out of your mind!” She snapped. “That crack hurt you, if I smash the bottle- you’ll die.”
“I’ll be free.” He insisted.
“There has to be a better way.” She replied. “What if I pull an Aladdin and wish you free?” Emma asked. She’d do it. Emma knows the feeling of being trapped and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not Killian.
“All magic has a price Swan, you’d be the replacement genie and I- I wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone, especially not you.” He explained. “Why do you care what happens to me anyway?”
Emma doesn’t know herself, she just does. She cares with ever fiber of her being.
“I’ve taken your time for long enough.” He says sheepishly, getting up from the bed, he stumbled, body still trembling.
“My couch is lumpy.” She said. He looked at her in confusion as she stood up, pulling him back into bed. “Come on, you need a good night sleep.” She insisted. “It’s late.”
“Swan…” He murmured weakly. “I-“ She kissed him again, slowly this time, gently, coaxing him into bed with her. He pulled the cover over himself, head moving to her shoulder.
“It’s just sleep.” She reminded him, hand threading through his hair. It was just as soft as she thought it was. “I just want you to feel better.”
Killian chuckled. “Don’t you know Emma?”
“Know what?” She asked. But it was too late, Killian’s breathing drifted off just like that.
And at that moment, Emma knows what she is going to use the last wish for.
-/-
“Nothing?” Killian repeats the next morning, watching her as she cooks pancakes and tells him her plans for the last wish.
Pancakes. Emma is cooking pancakes for the pirate genie. The same one she woke up snuggling.
“Is there a time limit on this stuff?” She asks.
“No, but-
“I know I can’t wish for your freedom, but I think this is the closest I can get to that, if I never use your wish, it means no one else can make a wish either right?”
“Swan-“
“What if we just hide the bottle or something, and get you some new clothes and a place and-“ She was rambling. It was a stupid idea. Killian turned her around, looking at her.
“You’re truly remarkable, Emma Swan.” He stated plainly. “But I can’t ask you to do that.” He insisted.
“I want to. I want you to be…” She trailed of blushing. “Free.” She said softly. “Or as close to it as possible.” She said handing him a plate.
“Go, sit, then we can talk logistics.” She says.
Killian likes pancakes. Consumes them with way too much syrup, making a bit of a sticky mess. Some even gets on his pirate coat.
“Ok, step one of integrating you into this word is your clothes.” She declares.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” He asks in slight outrage, clutching his jacket close.
“You look like you’re in a Revolutionary War reenactment.” She replies. “Pirate edition.”
“I know when you’re referencing something.” He mutters in a huff.
“And I know you never know what it is.” He rolls his eyes. “Come on, we can go get you some new clothes.” She insists. “How long have you been in the same ones?” She asks. “2 centuries?”
“3.” He says quietly.
“Killian. You are overdue for a shopping trip.” She stated. “I promise, we can find something fiy for the dashing rapscallion you are.”
It brings a smirk to his face. “You think I’m dashing?” He teased.
Emma throws a pancake at his face.
-/-
Despite having come back very successful from their trip to the mall, things were strained.
She doesn’t see why he’s getting so upset, all she’s doing is pointing out the fact that the pretty blonde he keeps staring at has been flirting with him.
The sales person, a young blonde named Alexandra, just kept giggling and the whole “Those jeans look fabulous on you sir.” And “that blue shirt looks so great with your eyes.
Of course the shirt went with his eyes. It was what Emma was going for. She got him a leather jacket that was less pirate than his coat, but still very Killian.
But the man was too busy staring at her to notice.
“It’s fine if you like her Killian.” She insisted. “I’m sure you had a lot of conquests in your pirate days.” She reminded him. “I don’t own you.”
He nods in agreement. “Will you stop?” He demanded. “I don’t like her.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Fine. Forget I said anything. I’m calling my contacts to get you an identity, then you can restart your life, you won’t have to rely on me.” She explained. “You can find someone you actually fancy.” She insisted with a touch of bitterness.
“Don’t you know? Do you really not see what’s bloody right in front of you?” He asks her with his honest blue eyes almost angrily. “I don’t care about that girl; she just looks just like her mother, someone who one of my wishes hurt deeply.” He admits. “I’d never get involved with anyone but-“ He cuts off, staring at her. “Does the thought that I would bother you?”
Emma’s been reading people since before she could talk, but right now, she doesn’t have a clue what Killian’s getting at. “Bother me?” She exclaimed. “It doesn’t bother me.” She snapped.
“Open book Swan.” Killian reminded her.
Or maybe she does. She knows what she wants to see in his eyes, or hear in his voice or read in the way he takes a step closer. Emma doesn’t understand, it’s been days, she’s only known him for days, but it just-
It feels so real.
“I can’t.” She says sharply, pulling away from him. “I can’t do this right now.”
She can’t admit it to him, can’t admit it to herself.
“I need to go” she says suddenly. The feeling of panic takes root in her chest. It makes Emma want to run.
“Emma, don’t run, just talk to me-“ Killian begs. No one has ever begged her to stay.
“I can’t.” She repeats and runs out the front door. She just needs some space.
She needs to process everything.
-/-
Emma decompresses at a diner drinking way too much hot chocolate.
She knows what she wants; she has known for a long time what she wants. A family.
Emma just needs to figure out how to come to terms with the thought of Killian not in it.
She’s know the guy for less than a week and she’s fallen hard for his honest eyes and pirate swagger and haunted past.
That’s when she realizes that the reason it’s so hard is that Emma wants Killian in her life.
In her future, in her family.
Emma gears herself up to tell him so.
She goes home.
Only to find her front door broken open and the bottle and Killian nowhere to be found.
“I should have shot him.” She says in annoyance, knowing exactly who was to blame for this.
Neal.
-/-
It’s only because of Milah’s letters that she finds Neal. Apparently Milah’s husband, Neal’s father owned a pawn shop way back in the day.
Even more than 2 decades off, the woman’s description is on point. It’s creepy and dark and pretty gloomy. No wonder the business had failed. Emma wouldn’t step in here even in her worse moments.
However, it was the perfect place for a deadbeat to hide with an abducted pirate genie.
Emma picks the lock in the back of the shop, following the sound of voices into the depth of the creepy shop.
“Cast my wish.” Neal orders.
“Sorry, try again later.” Killian spits back. She hears him gasp out in pain.
They were hurting him. She had to stop them. She felt for her gun as she edged forward.
“I wish magic was destroyed.” Neal stated. “You’re a genie. Do your job!” He snapped.
“It doesn’t work like that.” Killian growled, being held by a man Emma recognized from her pile of papers on her desk. He was a muscle for hire up north.
Then she saw Killian. She nearly gasped.
His skin was red with blood. She could see the abrasions on his skin and the tarnishes in his new jacket and clothes. His eye was swollen shut. Neal had gone too far.
Emma considered a sneak attack, but a part of her knew it wouldn’t work. Neal had the bottle. He had the upper hand. Even if she shot him, he’d drop it and the bottle could shatter.
So Emma settled with the traditional approach.
Or as she usually called it, the stupid approach.
“It won’t work for you.” Emma announces, coming in with her gun pointed. “I still have one more wish.” She reminds him. She hears a click behind her. A woman was pointing a gun at her head.
“I’m sorry it had to come to this Emma.” Neal admits. “Drop it.” He’s lying. He doesn’t care.
Killian’s eyes go wide from where the other guy was holding him down.
“Swan, what are you doing here?” He says, “Get out of here!”
She looks at him and smiles. “I’m not leaving without you.” She declares, putting down her weapon.
The woman, another muscle for hire, hands her gun to Neal. He levels the gun in his hand towards her. “Turnabout is fair play Ems.” Neal says with a smirk. “Make a wish and then leave.” He orders. Emma can’t help but smirk, not bothering to look at him.
“I don’t take orders Neal.” She reminds him.
She hears the safety click off. Emma returns her gaze to him calmly.
“Emma, please, do as they say.” Killian shouts, struggling to fight free. “This isn’t your fight.” He tries to remind her.
“Don’t you know Killian?” She says teasing. “Your fight is my fight.” She says calmly. “Plus, Neal can’t kill me.” She says. “I don’t make the wish; your magic is never used again.” She says.
Or at least, that’s how Emma hopes this all works.
She hates magic.
“But I can still shoot you’ hit you in the shoulder or the leg.” Neal says.
“Do it.” Emma replies deadly serious. “I don’t care.”
Neal grumbles in annoyance, pulling the gun back. It looks like she actually meant something to the guy once upon a time. He places the bottle on the ground and points the gun at it. “Make a wish or I obliterate the genie.” He threatens.
Now that scares Emma.
“Please Emma. I’ll be ok, I promise. Just please go, live your life, be happy. You have your whole future ahead of you.” Killian insists.
“I can’t lose you.” She admits. “I can’t lose another person I love.” Killian blinks in surprise.
“Swan…” He says softly.
“Emma, stop, you can’t love him. He’s bad news, he’s tainted with all his dark magic and-“ Emma doesn’t pay him any attention.
All Emma cares about is these last few minutes with Killian, seeing his expression brighten even as his eyes remain sad. “Emma.” He says eventually.
“Even if you don’t feel the same, if I am going to lose you, it’s going to be on my terms.” She declares. “I’m going to go through with my promise to you.” Killian’s eyes go wide because he knows her.
He knows what she’s thinking, what she’s going to do.
“Emma! Don’t do it!” He shouts, and fights more desperately. “You don’t want this life!”
“Make a wish Emma.” Neal orders. “Or I will shoot. If I can’t destroy all magic, I will settle for his.”
Neal of course has no idea what Emma has planned.
She nods, turning back to Neal, leveling a glare at him. “Fine.” She spits out.
Emma takes a breath and smiles.
“I wish Killian Jones would finally get his happy ending.”
The gun fires.
Emma screams.
The lying prick!
But as she looks back at Neal, time seems to stop.
And not in the cliché everything slows down in her head because insert trauma here, no. Like in time literally stops, or at least seems to slow down at least.
“Swan.” Killian says, easily escaping the man’s grasp. The pirate is glowing. Emma watches with awe as his wounds are healing in front of her, bloody face clean, two blue eyes open, rumpled shirt suddenly perfect. He starts with a limp but in seconds he’s walking perfectly towards her.
“Emma.” He says, hand moving to her face, cupping it, “You’re bloody brilliant.” He says.
“Killian, I don’t understand, what’s happening?” She says. He’s glowing brighter now. “I don’t think your happy ending is becoming a walking night light.” Emma says.
Killian chuckles. “Don’t you know Emma?”
“Know what?” She asks. “Because I obviously don’t.” Emma says.
“You really are dense.” He chuckles, looking at her, tears in his eyes. His fingers wipe away her own. Emma hadn’t even realized she was crying “It’s you. It’s always been you.” his form is slowly fading. “I love you Emma Swan. You’re my happy ending. You’ve been my happy ending since you decked me in your kitchen” He admits with a joyous laugh.
She can’t help but gasp and kiss him, it’s not searing, or gentle like the last too. It’s final.
“Killian…” She pleads. “I don’t do tearful goodbyes.” She says. “Please don’t leave.”
“I have to go now.” He says softly, turning dim, fading away. “I wish things could be different, but this was the hand we were dealt.”
“Killian!” She shouts. “I love you.” She says again. She’d say it a thousand times if it meant he didn’t have to go.
“And I you.” There’s a flash. She blinks away due to the intensity of it all.
She’s in her apartment. His bottle in her hand, it feels strangely cold.
“Killian?” She whispers, rubbing the glass surface.
Nothing happens.
He’s gone.
Tears stream down her face.
He’s free.
-/-
Emma ends up by the docks a few days later. She looks back at where her parents are waiting in David’s beat up truck.
She’d told them everything, as crazy as it was. Emma hd to explain why she kept crying, why she was pushing them away. Why she was pushing everyone away all over again.
And they believed her.
This was their suggestion.
“Hi Killian.” She says by the docks, a place she thinks Killian would like, she feels close to him here. “I brought you your bottle. I filled it with rum…I thought you’d like it more than roses.” She admits.
Emma wonders if he liked roses or if they even existed in his time… She wondered if he was the type of guy to bring her flowers…
“I- I found out what happened to Milah, I thought you’d like to know…if you’re listening.” She mumbled. Emma had known it was one of the mysteries that Killian regretted not knowing. She thought finding out for him would be better, it would help her sooth her grief just a bit.
“She ran away from Gold, restarted her life. She traveled around the world as a ship captain. The Jolly Roger as she called it.” Emma said. “She sent her life taking in run-aways and lost kids onto her ship, giving them a chance at life before letting them set off on their own when they were ready.” She explains. “She died happy, a heart attack, but happy. Her oldest charge took over her ship, a boy called Liam. It proves that your magic didn’t ruin her, it helped her. She changed her life because of you. Just like you did with me.” She admits.
“Before you appeared, I was alone. I thought that was all I ever was going to be, but because of you…I have my parents, I put down my armor a bit, just a bit, but I think I can lower it more every day.” She says. “That’s my promise to you. I’m not going to let this heartbreak put up my walls again. I’m not alone anymore.” She declares as tears streak her face.
“So I hope…I hope you’re in a better place.” She says, voice breaking, her head falls and she can feel the barely contained sobs behind her eyes. “I know that I should be happy that you’re free…you wanted to be free so badly…But I just feel like you’re really gone. And there’s nothing left to do…” She let out a wailing sob. “I just miss you.”
She drops the bottle into the sea, watching it sink.
I wish he was here…with me. Emma thought to herself. But she was out of wishes.
There’s a flash of white light that hits her in a wave, like a powerful gust of wind.
“Swan.” Says a voice.
Killian’s voice.
Emma spins around.
He’s looking at her in disbelief and it takes a minute for Emma herself to process it. The moment she does she runs to him and kisses him. He’s surprised at first, but welcomes her into his arms quickly; she grabs ahold of his collar, not letting him go. She’s never ever letting go.
“How, how is this possible?” She says in a breathless whisper. He smells of salt and rum, his breathing is heavy from their kiss. She looks at him and he looked like he didn’t want to let her go either.
He looked at her and smiled his big smirking grin.
“Magic.” He said in a breathless voice, laughing as she kissed him again all over his face. “I’m free Swan, I have no more magic, but I’m here with you.” He insisted.
Summary: And Emma had been on her share of bad dates: the guy who couldn’t remember her name and kept calling her Enya, the guy that had to pull over before they even made it to the restaurant to puke on the side of the road, the guy that talked about his ex the entire evening and then called said ex numerous times and asked Emma how he could get her back. But Walsh, he was something else entirely.
Notes: This was inspired by one of those lists you can find on social media. This one dealt with people who thought they were better than someone else , and then were put in their place. When I read this story, I immediately thought of Walsh trying to pull this crap with Emma to impress her.
Thank you @profdanglaisstuff for being my beta and helping me get the story back on track.
Rated: G
Ao3
Emma knew within two minutes that this was going to be a bad date. Emma can’t believe that Ruby, of all people, set her up with the worst guy in the world. Mary Margaret she would have expected it from, but apparently Ruby was in the happy love bubble now that she was dating Liam, and since Mary Margaret and David had their little newborn bundle of joy, Ruby apparently took up the ‘setting up Emma on blind dates’ mantle.
And Emma had been on her share of bad dates: the guy who couldn’t remember her name and kept calling her Enya, the guy that had to pull over before they even made it to the restaurant to puke on the side of the road, the guy that talked about his ex the entire evening and then called said ex numerous times and asked Emma how he could get her back. But Walsh, he was something else entirely.
Emma had learned her lesson about blind dates picking her up. She always met them where the date was going to happen, that way she had her own mode of transportation to get out if the date went sour. The restaurant Walsh wanted to meet at was a pretty swanky place, and happened to be a five minute walk from her apartment. Emma wore a cute pair of black wedge booties with her dress instead of heels since she would be walking. Walsh frowned about the shoes right off the bat. He didn’t think they looked classy enough with her dress; a white dress that came to right above her knees and was sheer black on the top and sleeves. Then he told her how dangerous it was for a woman like her to be walking around town and he would have just picked her up if he’d known she was planning on walking. When Emma tried to interject that she worked in bail bonds and knew how to take care of herself, he went on a tirade about the criminal justice system, because owning an antique furniture store apparently made him not only a prick, but an expert in law as well.
And then Walsh insisted on showing Emma his boat. Now Emma had to admit she was intrigued. She loved the water and had always wanted to go sailing. She only knew one person with a boat and that was Ruby’s boyfriend’s brother, Killian. Emma had only met Killian a handful of times, not enough to ask to be invited onto his boat. She had seen it docked down at the marina, knew it was called the Jolly Roger, and knew that he thought it was hilarious because he too had a hook for a hand just like the literary owner (though Killian’s was the mechanical kind that could grasp items and not one that was sharp and needed only for pirating). Oh, and Walsh was a big ol’ fat liar, because they were definitely standing in front of Killian’s J olly Roger right now and not any boat belonging to Walsh.
“So you like Peter Pan then?” Emma said once she could actually get a word in edgewise (that was yet another mark in the ever expanding negative column, Walsh talked non-stop, and mainly about himself).
“What?” Walsh said, surprised that he’d been interrupted.
“Your boat. It’s called the Jolly Roger . I just figured you were a big Peter Pan fan. Or, I guess, more a Captain Hook fan,” Emma said, stating the obvious.
“Well,” he started, as if he were giving a lecture and not talking to a date, “the Jolly Roger is actually the name for the flag pirates flew on their ships with the skull and crossbones.”
“So you like pirates?” Emma asked, getting tired of this whole charade.
“Do you like pirates?” Walsh said taking a step forward. With any other guy it might have been a sexy move, with Walsh it was just creepy. Emma took a step back to distance herself from him. Walsh didn’t seem to notice, he kept creeping into her space.
“Hey, buddy, back up, please!” Emma said making her voice loud and firm so there was no way he could misunderstand the tone. She also put her hand out so he couldn’t come any closer.
“Oh, come on Emma,” he said with a sly smile that made him seem slimy and not seductive in the least. “I bought you a nice meal, we’ve had a nice conversation, you like my boat. We both know where this is heading.” Walsh fingered a piece of Emma’s hair and moved it to behind her shoulder. Emma’s skin crawled at that. She was going to kill Ruby, and she was going to do it slowly and torturously so she knew exactly how Emma was feeling right in this moment.
“I think the lady said to back off, mate.” A voice came from behind Walsh’s shoulder. Emma instantly relaxed. She recognized that accent. It belonged to the true owner of the boat, Killian.
But Walsh was not going to be deterred from whatever scenario he had concocted in his head about how this night was going to end.
“How about you back off?” he said, turning to Killian. “You’re not supposed to be here unless you own a boat.” His eyes flicked to Killian’s ragged looking jeans, white t-shirt, flannel shirt, flip flops, and messenger bag, instantly deeming him unworthy of possibly owning a boat on this dock.
“True, true,” Killian said, his cerulean eyes immediately looking at Emma as if to say ‘what is wrong with this idiot’ .
“Well,” he paused for dramatic effect, “it’s a good thing I own this boat then.” Killian grinned swinging up the ladder. Walsh’s jaw dropped. He had obviously thought he’d get away with the boat ruse and had not expected the actual owner to show up and out him in front of his date.
Walsh tried to recover. He grabbed Emma’s hand and mumbled, “Let’s go,” but Emma didn’t budge. She snatched her hand away.
“Do you really think I’m going to go anywhere with you after that stunt you just tried to pull?” Emma asked, incensed that he actually thought she would want to continue the date, especially since she’d already been asking him to back off before Killian interrupted.
Walsh looked pissed that his plans had been derailed and stomped off down the dock. Emma let out a sigh of relief. She really hadn’t wanted to kick his ass.
“Everything okay down there, Swan?” came Killian’s voice from the boat. He had a look of concern on his face.
“Just peachy,” Emma said, smoothing out her dress. She had two options: head home, get into comfy clothes and watch Netflix, or see if she could finally get onto Killian’s boat.
“Permission to come aboard?” she asked, tilting her head and giving a lop-sided smile. Killian’s face went from concern to surprise at her request.
“Permission granted,” he said, coming over to the ladder and reaching out his hand to help her aboard. Emma was never more glad for wearing her comfortable booties than in that moment.
Killian’s hand was warm when she placed hers in his. Emma scrambled up the ladder as gracefully as she could, but eventually just ended up clambering over the top of the boat in an effort to not show off what was underneath her dress. She straightened up once she was on the deck, pulling down her dress that had ridden up and trying to tame her blonde curls from the whole endeavor.
“Hi,” Emma said softly once she had righted herself.
“Hi,” Killian said, chuckling a bit. “You want to tell me what was with the wanker you were with down there?” he asked.
Emma blushed and then groaned. “Blame Ruby. Apparently because she’s so happy with your brother she feels the need to embrace her inner Mary Margaret and try to make everyone else happy as well. She set me up with that ‘wanker’.” She said doing a poor imitation of Killian’s accent. Killian raised an eyebrow.
“I would have thought Ruby had better taste than that, considering she’s dating my brother.”
“Right?” Emma said, wondering how Ruby ever thought this date was a good idea. And then she asked curiously, “What are you doing out here at 10 o’clock on a Friday night? I’d think you’d be out with the guys or out with a girl or something.” She tried to sound casual about it. They’d only met a few times, but Emma had not failed to notice how good looking Killian was, what with his artfully looking bed head, neatly trimmed scruff, and piercingly blue eyes. He was also very considerate, always one to help out a friend when they were in a bind.
“Liam’s taking Ruby out on the boat tomorrow and needed some things set up, and since they are also out tonight, I offered to do it for him.” He scratched his hair right behind his ear, a cute nervous gesture that Emma had seen him do a few times. “Would you like to help since you’re here?” he asked scratching behind his ear. The bravado he’d had when getting rid of Walsh now seemed to be replaced with nerves. Was he nervous around her?
“Sure,” Emma said. She followed him down the ladder to the boat’s interior.
“Let me give you the tour.” He grinned as she landed next to him. “This is the kitchen where I’m placing food for Liam and Ruby’s picnic date tomorrow.” Killian said pulling out some wine bottles from the messenger bag, placing the white in the fridge, and putting the red one in a wine rack built into the kitchen area. “There is the dinette table they will be eating at for their date,” He placed a piece of crusty bread on it, “the couch they will most likely be making out on, and the queen-sized bed that I’m sure they will take advantage of,” he finished, grabbing the last of the food from his bag (what looked like deli meats, cheeses, and fruit) and placing them on the kitchen counter. Emma gave a slight grimace, even though she knew it was probably all true.
“Looks like Liam’s got quite the date planned,” Emma said, “Why are you setting this up and not him?”
“Because Liam and Ruby are in a new relationship and can’t keep away from each other long enough for Liam to go to the store and set things up himself.” Killian rolled his eyes. “And, also, I’m a good brother and had nothing better to do tonight. And since it is my boat, I thought I’d be nice and make sure everything was in working order.” Emma nodded understanding. How many times had she helped out some of her girlfriends by doing the same thing? She was about to say as much when her stomach let out a huge grumble. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
“Let me guess, Swan,” Killian stated, coming over to her. “Wanker took you to some high priced restaurant where you pay $50 for two slices of meat and they call that a steak dinner?” Emma laughed.
“It was three pieces, and a carrot cut in two halves, and a dollop of mashed potatoes with sour cream and chives drizzled artfully on top. I’m starving,” she said, smiling at him.
“Well, darling, take a seat and we can dig into some of this delicious food that Liam and Ruby were supposed to dine on tomorrow.” Killian immediately grabbed two plates from the kitchen cabinets, placing the items from the counter on therm, along with two wine glasses, and placed them on the dinette.
“But, then Ruby and Liam won’t have anything to eat.” Emma said now feeling awkward as Killian pulled out a chair for her.
Killian grabbed the red wine and a corkscrew and opened the wine. He poured some into his own glass and then gestured to Emma’s. She nodded as he poured her some. “Being the wonderful younger brother that I am, I will replenish whatever stores we consume tonight. Besides, I can’t let you go hungry, that’s just bad form.” He held up his wine glass toward her. Emma brought hers up to clink with his.
“What a gentleman.”
“I’m always a gentleman, love.”
They made little sandwiches and Emma and Killian both playfully tried throwing grapes in each others mouths (try being the operative word, they both missed each others mouths spectacularly), while having one of the best get to know you conversations Emma had ever had in her life (“By the way, I really like your shoes,” he said at one point. “Thank you!”).
“I’m sorry this is how our first dinner ended up happening,” he said smiling that killer smile. “I really would have rather asked you out properly instead of rescuing you from a bad date.”
“You thought about asking me out to dinner?” she asked. Killian’s eyebrows practically rose into his hair, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Um… yes?” he said, now running his fingers through his hair, and Emma could see that he was worried he had overstepped. She almost laughed at how nervous he was. It was really sweet. Emma grabbed his hand and hook and took them in her own from across the table.
“Good,” she said, maintaining eye contact and smiling back at him. “I’ve thought about it too.” Killian let out a breath as if he’d been holding it, just waiting for her reaction. He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand, drawing nonsensical patterns on it.
“Can I ask permission to call this our first date then, love?” The boldness in his voice was back.
“Permission granted.”
This is the dress Emma’s dress is based on for her date.
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