I know it’s August but the holidays feel fast approaching and with that my mind turns to this event.
I know the Once Upon a Time and Captain Swan fandom has dwindled over the years and with that events have begun to disappear. This being one of the last standing.
I don’t wish to see the event go but I don’t know if I have it in me to run this event or even if there is any more willing participants.
If there is interest in this event maybe I can do one last year or if anyone is available to co run it/run it in my stead.
PLEASE INTERACT WITH THIS POST AND BOOST IT IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE THIS EVENT CONTINUE! REBLOG COMMENT ADD TAGS! LIKES MEAN NOTHING BECAUSE I CANT DETERMINE MEANING BEHIND THEM!
I believe that everyone in CS fandom deserves a Christmas gift so Merry Belated Christmas @emmas-storybook from your (Substitute) @cssecretsanta2k18 !!! Hope you like it!
I wish you all the best in 2019! I hope that the New Year will be full of positivity for you! May this year bring new happiness, new goals, new achievements and a lot of new inspirations on your life. Wishing you a year fully loaded with happiness!
🎶On the 14th day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to meeee... her secret identity!!!
Hello @nerdyhuntress!!!! It is I your Secret Santa!!!! It was such fun talking to you this month and I’m so proud of how hard you worked and how well you did on your exams! Even if one didn’t end like you hoped, I agree it was probably how loaded you were, but even so, for what you were doing and your course of study, WOW!!!!! I come today bearing your gift. As you know, I don’t write or create anything, I simply flail at authors over their fic, so your gift is my very favorite fics in the tropes you love and I hope you love these fics as much as I have!
gif credit to @imagnifika
We’ll start with Christmas themed fics!
‘Tis the Season by @effulgentcolors A series that she started last year. Mostly unrelated, but not all of them. And she’s picked it up again this year!
Decking the Halls and Slippery Falls by @hollyethecurious her CSSS gift last year.
The Santa Hat Cover-Up by @hollyethecurious her Festive Gift Exchange from last year.
The Perfect Proposal by @artistic-writer a sweet little one shot in which Killian is trying to create The Perfect Proposal for his swan.
Bar Nights and Christmas Lights by @nowforruin a precious 2 shot of wounded and closed off CS during the Christmas season.
The Gift Receipt by @welllpthisishappening. Brand new fic when Emma brings Killian home for Christmas to get her family off her back.
Holiday Interlude by @like-waves-on-the-beach CS fall in love while staying in the same Bed and Breakfast. Has a sequel as well.
Merry Not Christmas by @oubliette14 Killian is injured and is forced to stay with Emma during Christmas. Also has a sequel.
Claws Out by @lifeinahole27 her csss for 2015.
Hey Santa by @kittennharington Henry calls in to Killian’s radio show to share his Christmas wish.
The series Roses in December by @justanotherwannabeclassic has a Christmas installment. And as it’s a beloved series, I’m including it here.
Home for Christmas by @startswithhope. A ghost from Killian’s past shows up the week before Christmas and takes him and his best friend Emma on a trip he’ll never forget.
I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas by @spartanguard follows the movie with business partners Killian and David and sisters Emma and Mary Margaret.
A Pirate’s Christmas Carol by @whimsicallyenchantedrose. Three ghosts from Killian’s past, present, and future show Killian that he is ready to be a father.
Just Tonight and It’s sequel Just Forever by @bromfieldhall JT is sorta Christmas, JF is.
I’m Falling For You by @winterbaby89. A two shot because I begged her for Walsh’s abject humiliation in his POV
Secret Santa by @totheendoftheworldortime her CSSS for last year.
Operation: First Noel by @pocket-anon a series of Christmas vignettes for Gutter Flower CS Secret Santa in 2016.
Well that’s it for the Christmas themed fics. Now on to
EF AU’s
Changing Tides by @singingisfun. This fic is still a WIP but I’m sharing it here because it is one of my all time very favorite fics.
Prince Killian Princess Emma AU by annaelle on ao3
Parley by @amagicalship
Once Upon a Dream I Knew You by @amagicalship
(She’s My) Cherry Pie by @colinschest
I’ll Ask for the Sea by stalrua on ff
I Die Anyway by @wordsmith-storyweaver
The Next Wounded Soul by @this-too-too-sullied-flesh
A Darkness for the Light by @gingerchangeling another WIP but also a favorite.
Burn by YouSaidWho on ao3
Sparkling by @belovedcreation
Ships Passing In the Night by @belovedcreation
A Tale of Two Brothers by @lenfaz
Two Princes by Scherezade06 on ao3
White Light on a Black Sea by @onceuponataarna another WIP. One of the first fics I ever read and is still a desert island fic.
Under the Crimson Flag by @a-fictional-life has a sequel that’s a WIP with 5chs, but hasn’t been updated in almost 4yrs.
As Destiny Has It’s Eyes on You by @winterbaby89
We Own Tonight by @totheendoftheworldortime
How Lucky We Are by @totheendoftheworldortime
The Princess and the Pirate by @whimsicallyenchantedrose
To Guard You and to Guide You by captainswanismyendgame on ao3
The Long Way Home by @pocket-anon a fic For last years BB
A Simple Favor by @let-it-raines Raines also has a new Christmas fic that has just started posting for this years Secret Santa. I didn’t put it in the Christmas list because I haven’t read it yet, but there isn’t a fic of hers that I haven’t loved, so I wanted to mention it here.
That’s an awful lot of EF AU’s... but we’re finally to Roommates/Neighbors. Not nearly as many of those I’m afraid, but I hope you enjoy them anyway!
A Fairytale Beginning by @pocket-anon is sorta a neighbors AU
Some Call it Magic by @seriouslyhooked
Unbreakable by @xemmaloveskillianx is a canon divergent neighbors AU
The Reason by @xemmaloveskillianx
The Ghost and Emma Swan by @drowned-dreamer is sorta a roommates AU
The Legend of Killian Jones by @hollyethecurious another sorta roommates AU
Light of All Lights by @ripplestitchskein is another sorta roommates AU
The Man Behind Glass by @shireness-says another sorta roommates AU
Lilac WIne by @blowmiakisscolin another sorta roommates/neighbor AU
You Make Me Better by @ilovemesomekillianjones definitely a neighbors AU
Check In, Check Out by @lifeinahole27
The Favor by madjm on ao3
Rude Awakening and sequel Some Sort of Neighborly by @shipping-goggles another sorta neighbors AU
The series Every Letter by @bleebug is one of my all time favorite series ever! Killian and Emma are pen pals growing up. Once they meet in person, they become roommates.
Beauty In the Aftermath by @high-seas-swan a fic for this years BB. Sorta a roommates fic.
And that’s it! Damn, that’s a seriously long list! I hope you enjoy these as much as I have Mary! Merry CS Christmas from your CSSS!!!
Summary: His neighbors may be brightening their own holidays, but they’re ruining the constant melancholy of his life. He’s determined to keep to himself until the single mother that lives next door to him drops literally through his door two nights before Christmas. It’s the moment that may be temporary, like everything else, but it may just change everything.
Rating: M (for part 2)
Warnings: Minor mentions of alcohol abuse, brooding Killians...
A/N: *shy waves* Hi there, @effulgentcolors! I’m your secret santa! It’s been so hard holding in this secret since I joined because I adore your writing and just wanted to flail at you the whole time, especially because I had just gotten your book and I’ve been steadily reading that. And wanted to reassure you a thousand times in the CSJJ chat that your gift was in progress. It still is, sadly. I didn’t plan on cutting this into more than one part, but I wanted to make sure you had something to show for the day, we’ll pretend this is 45 minutes earlier...holiday. I have had so much fun interacting with you these last couple weeks. I really did tailor this the best I could to what you responded, and to a couple other posts on your blog. I will work on Part 2 as fast as I can, because I’m enjoying the writing now and seeing where the story is going to go.
Thanks so much to @cssecretsanta2k18 for opening submissions one last time. I so very much enjoyed participating this year and I’m so glad I took that leap of faith!
Un-beta’d so all mistakes are probably ridiculous and definitely mine. <3
Killian has found that, on the rare occasion something bright happens in his life, it is only temporary. His love affair with Milah all those years ago: temporary. The feelings of being safe and loved with his brother before his death: temporary. His looks: Well… to be fair, they’re still there. Just a little clouded by the long hair that’s just starting to brush the collars of his shirts and a bit of unruly facial hair that he’s let grow. He’s, admittedly, a little softer around the middle than he ever was in his youth, but at 45, he really doesn’t give a damn about that. He managed to avoid the large beer gut he thought he’d have at this point of time, thankfully. But working in a bar has helped him see what he wants to avoid becoming.
Those are and were the bright things, though. He has an apartment he hasn’t abandoned in several years – coming close on a decade, now that he thinks about it. And two jobs that he’s kept for roughly half that amount of time. He has some friends, occasionally…
So maybe it’s not all temporary, but most of it has been in his life. Love has been rare. Kindness has been fleeting. His friends have all found comfort in their lives and left him to his own devices when he didn’t keep up with their milestones. He spends most of his time alone, now. The aforementioned lack of family has left him more of a sad curmudgeon than a full-on Scrooge, only shuffling from the place he calls home to work a few shifts at the bar he’s partial owner of, serving drinks to men and women who share the same lost expression he wears on most days.
What Killian hopes is temporary is the music filtering through the walls and down the hallway and filling every quiet corner of his quaint living space. Where normally the muted grays soak and reflect the melancholy he spends most of his time in, the Christmas music from next door feels like it is a light trying its best to seek out every dark spot and eliminate it. Normally, these particular neighbors are at least a little more quiet and reserved, but that rule doesn’t apply to Christmas.
He knows few things about these neighbors who moved in three years ago: The woman is a single mother to one Henry Swan, her first initial is E., and she is… so breathtakingly beautiful he lacks the proper words to express it. He knows that, beyond her beauty, she is kind. She can be prickly when her judgement and standards are questioned, and she is fiercely protective of her son. She will absolutely not take shit from the father of said boy, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem that comes up as often as when they first moved in.
Killian has struggled to speak to her at their side-by-side mailboxes so many times that she must think him an inexcusably rude jackass, but he tries for friendliness, even if it comes off as blunt brusqueness.
Henry, on the other hand, he’s spoken to often and freely when they run into each other in the hallways. He is the warmth in the dead of winter, as far as Killian can tell, and young Henry is the reason the normally quiet space next to his is causing just a bit of a headache for Killian tonight. It’s their tree decorating party: a yearly tradition as far as he can tell, and he’ll look forward to spying the silhouette of it in the next coming days when silence reigns once more.
On the nights he comes home early enough, he can just make out the brightly lit and glittering decorations that adorn the artificial branches – a mixture of store bought baubles and ones Henry makes every year in school. Last year, Henry made an ornament for Killian, sliding it beneath his door on Christmas Eve before heading to his father’s place. Killian did not have a tree, but he hung it on the wall by the door, tacked up as his one beacon of a decoration.
As the sounds of laughter and Christmas music continue in the Swan apartment, Killian goes to the small table by his entrance and pulls out that same glittery star. He smiles as he hangs it in the same spot as last year, finding his part in their decoration party. Maybe it’s time to get a small tree – just one or two feet tall – just for this star, really.
The night before Christmas Eve, he’s spending his night off reading a biography he’s been meaning to pick up when he hears a thump against his door. With a frown, he marks his spot and sets the book aside so he can investigate. Out the viewer in the door, he can’t see anything, but his door suddenly shakes again with a thump, and Killian jumps away from the door in alarm. He can see something is blocking the light from beneath the door, at least partially, so he wonders what he’ll find when he opens the damn thing.
With a few good, deep breaths, he carefully disengages the deadbolt and prepares himself before wrenching the door open quickly.
There’s a sound of surprise, from him and the person that had been leaning there, and then he’s looking down at one E. Swan sprawled across the threshold to his apartment. There are tracks from tears down her cheeks and her eyes are open wide in surprise, but there’s something clouding her expression, which isn’t hard to pick out the source when she tries to get back up off the floor. She’s completely wasted.
“Sorry – thought… thought I was against a wall,” she says, but the words are slurred, and she’s having trouble getting steady. “Lost my keys, can’t get… can’t get in…” She trails off again, as she makes it to her feet, her face scrunching up again as fresh tears start and the words that come out next are some approximation of “I can’t get in my apartment” but Killian only knows this because he had assumed her meaning before the sobbing started. She tips forward and falls against him, her forehead resting against his chest.
“Swan, come in. Come inside. I’ll call the landlord.”
She can’t speak, not with how hard she’s still crying, so she just nods and holds out her hand to let him lead her in. With her current state, Killian begins to worry that something’s happened to Henry, and he tries to push down the lump of dread in his throat as he guides her to the couch and sits her down. He goes to grab the box of tissues he keeps in the bathroom.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her voice wobbly and thick. “I’m not usually this….” She gestures, to include her entire state of being as she accepts the tissues and starts to clean herself up. Killian detours to the kitchen real quick and grabs a glass of water for her, placing it on the coffee table in front of her and settling a respectable distance away on the couch.
“Is Henry okay?”
Her eyes widen for a second, and she looks up quickly. “Oh gosh, yeah. Yes. He’s fine. I’m sorry. I forgot you actually know… Sorry. Yeah.”
They’re both quiet for a few minutes while she sips the water and blots her nose. There’s a small pile of tissues piling on his coffee table, and she catches him looking at them, her lips twisting as she tries to gather them. “Where’s the trash can? I’m so sorry – barging in here and making a mess and I don’t even know your first fucking name…”
“Killian,” he tells her, stilling her hands and gently urging her to drop the tissues again. “It’s all right, love. We’ll take care of them in a bit. I’m going to call Marco and see if he has your spare, okay?”
“Thanks, Killian,” she says, her smile still a little uneven, but she already seems to be clearing from the worst of the drink. He’s found that crying can have that effect sometimes, so he’s happy to see her eyes clearer though they’re red and a little puffy. “I’m Emma, by the way,” she tells him as he stands to get his phone from where it’s charging.
“Lovely to finally meet you, Emma.” The smile he gives her is shy and he turns away quickly to go complete his task. And it is lovely, even if these are the circumstances that led to it.
Marco answers, even at midnight. But as Killian explains the situation, Marco informs him he can’t drive at night, and tells him he won’t be able to deliver the spare until morning. With a quiet sigh to himself, he ends the call and turns back to Emma, who has somehow managed to sneak off to his kitchen to ditch the used tissues and return herself to the couch to peer around his living room with alert eyes.
“He can’t bring it tonight,” Killian tells her as he returns to the couch. “I can drive you to a hotel or to stay with someone, if you’d prefer, but you’re welcome to stay here the night.” The last part of the sentence is out of his mouth before he’s really thought it through, but the offer is out there so he can’t take it back.
She cocks her head to the side to consider him, as if looking for some hint of untruth to his words, but only ends up nodding.
“Well, my brother and sister-in-law are out of town already, and my spare to their place is on my keyring, so there goes that. And I’d rather be here in the morning for Marco.” She bounces experimentally on the couch a few times, testing the feel of it, and Killian can’t help but smile. “This thing is nice.”
“You are welcome to the bed instead, if you’d prefer,” he offers, but she’s already shaking her head. “Then let’s get you set up with some bedding and pajamas, aye?”
“You are not at all who I thought you were,” Emma lets slip when she takes the blankets that Killian hands her from the linen closet.
“Oh really? Who did you think I was?”
“That quiet, kinda creepy old guy that lived down the hall,” Emma responds, and it’s clear that the dredges of the spirit are left behind, because she goes still with her eyes open wide, just like she wasn’t supposed to say that. “I mean. Like I said, you’re not that guy. But…”
Killian gives her an expectant look, his eyebrow raised, until he can’t hold the pose any longer and starts chuckling. “Sorry to have caused you such impressions for this long, Swan. It’s just my demeanor. And in my elderly age…”
“Shut up!”
They’re both chuckling as she swats at him with the blankets, before moving back down the hallway to start spreading the sheet over the couch. Killian makes sure to find the softest pillow in his bunch to lend to her.
“Thanks again,” Emma says after they’ve set up the couch as a suitable bed for the night and she’s changed into the clothes he lent her.
“Not a problem. I’m sorry your night has gone so poorly, by the way.”
“It gave me a chance to meet you,” Emma says, but her smile is interrupted by a large yawn.
“Aye, same for me. Get some rest, Emma. I’ll see you in the morning?”
She nods at him, her eyes already drifting closed as she settles against the pillow and pulls the blankets up to her chin. She’s asleep in a matter of moments, and Killian switches off all the lights on the way to his room. Tomorrow, maybe he can learn more.
But in the morning, he discovers that Emma Swan’s appearance in his life is just another temporary thing, and he tries not to let the disappointment consume him.
Summary: Emma Swan’s life is not a Christmas movie. Sure, there are some aspects of it that are similar, but that’s true for everyone who has a pulse and has ever heard All I Want For Christmas is You (don’t lie, you probably sing along to it). So maybe she’s a little frustrated and annoyed with some holiday traditions, especially the cheesy ones in the movies, but Killian Jones is going to help change all of that.
Rating: Mature-ish to err on the safe side but mostly just holiday fun.
Also found on ao3 | here |
Part Two will be posted tomorrow or on the 26th since this was too long to just be a one-shot. But it’s a gift and Christmas, and I’m not leaving everyone hanging as much as usual.
Surprise @searchingwardrobes I’m your @cssecretsanta2k18! 🎅🏻 I got my little message with your name and immediately thought, huh, I got another Southern girl! I have no idea how much you knew about me to begin with, and it was so, so hard trying to be anonymous without giving too much away but still letting you know me a little. I’m sure you figured it out anyways. Getting to know you has been an absolute joy, Melanie, and I hope you have the merriest of Christmases! I also hope that you enjoy this story! You were pretty broad with what you like, but I may have done some stalking on you during this last month to help guide parts of this story! I think you’ll find some little Easter eggs (or more appropriately Christmas ornaments) just for you. ♥️🎄🎁
“I think Christmas magic can heal everything,” Annabeth swoons to William, her body wrapped up in a festive red and green coat with a white dress underneath. She takes a step closer to William, her hand tentatively and appropriately placed on his shoulder, fingers squeezing the slightest bit. “I think it can even heal someone like you who doesn’t believe in Christmas.”
“You know, Beth,” William smiles, his own festive hat on top of his head shielding him from the snow falling down, “I think you’re right. But it’s not just the magic of Christmas.”
“No?”
“No,” he shakes his head, the smile on his face growing brighter, “it’s the magic of your love.”
“I love you, too,” Annabeth grins before pressing up on her toes and chastely pressing a kiss against Willian’s lips before the camera zooms out to show all of the townspeople milling around town square, white Christmas lights strung between the buildings with William and Annabeth somehow standing alone right next to the oversized Christmas tree. Right before the screen fades to black, the star on the top of the tree flickers before the credits roll.
“That’s a load of crap,” Emma groans, throwing a piece of her popcorn at the television screen like she’s Reese Witherspoon in that one scene in Legally Blonde where she calls Brad Pitt a liar. Emma’s always related to that scene more than most of that movie, and if anyone were to ask her, she’s only seen the movie once or twice and not dozens of times.
“You only say that because you’re the Grinch of Storybrooke, Emma,” her mom chastises, and isn’t she too old to be chastised by her mother?
“That’s not true,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking further into the couch, wondering if she can just disappear and somehow get out of this conversation she’s very clearly just walked herself into it. Maybe she’s a bit of a Grinch. For tonight at least.
“Yes, it is, sweetheart. This movie is romantic, and yes, it’s a little bit cheesy but that’s part of the appeal.”
“First of all, it’s November, so why the hell is Hallmark even showing Christmas movies? Shouldn’t they be showing Thanksgiving movies or something like that?”
“What’s a Thanksgiving movie?”
“A movie where they romanticize the Thanksgiving holiday.”
She’d like to see a movie where they fall in love over preparing a turkey. They pull all of the innards out together and then that little tag thing at the end. It’s disgusting, and not nearly as aesthetically appealing as baking perfectly done Christmas cookies or making pies that are family recipes that date back centuries. Excuse her if she doesn’t believe that Annabeth’s great great grandmother was making a blueberry pie with snowflake shaped pie crust and Bluebell ice cream one hundred years ago.
“Thanksgiving just doesn’t have quite the appeal of Christmas. I mean, look at this. There’s snow covering the ground as the two of them fall in love again over hot chocolate and baking together. Isn’t that the dream?”
“Oh, yes. I’d love to fall in love with my high school boyfriend again, Mom. He was a gem.”
Mary Margaret smiles at her, and Emma already knows the words that are going to come out of her mother’s mouth. Yeah, she definitely walked right into this one. She has no excuses other than the inability to not shut her mouth.
“I’d like you to fall back in love with him, too. Wouldn’t it be so nice to be with your first love? It’s like your father and me. There’s nothing quite like it.”
“Mom, I get that you romanticize everything, but you have to stop romanticizing my relationship with Neal. He was, still is, an asshole. Just because your first love worked out, doesn’t mean mine has to. I don’t know why you can’t understand that first loves aren’t who you have to end up with. I swear it’s like we have this conversation every time you see him in town.”
“Emma, I’m – ”
“Save it.” She gets up from her seat on the couch and goes to wrap herself in her jacket, fluffing out the hair that gets stuck under the collar. “I’m going to the Rabbit Hole. I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy the next movie.”
As soon as the front door slams behind her and she feels the first gust of cold wind hitting the bare skin of her face, her ears reddening already as her entire body shivers, she knows that she’s messed up when it comes to her mom. She’s just too stubborn to open up the door and go back in to talk about it like the adult she is, instead wandering down the street from her parents’ house to get something to drink and then go home to the quiet paradise that is her apartment. She loves her mom. She really does, but some things she just can’t stomach anymore. Her high school boyfriend, Neal, was a cheater and a liar and an all around horrible human being, and her mom constantly thinks they should get back together because “they were so cute together.” It’s sickening sometimes to see someone so idealistic about the world, and while Emma knows that all Mary Margaret wants is for her to be happy, she’s got to stop pushing her together with people who she doesn’t want to be with. If she wants to find love…well, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. But it’s not going to come from her mother’s naïve pushing.
It’s freezing tonight, and she wishes she had something other than her red leather jacket to keep her warm. She needs something made of wool along with her gloves and her beanie, but she wasn’t exactly planning on walking through the late night air to go to a bar by herself. She doesn’t usually go into the Rabbit Hole. It’s…seedy at its best, and if she goes, she never goes alone no matter how crime free Storybrooke usually is.
All thanks to Sheriff David Nolan, of course.
When she opens the beaten down wooden door, a rush of warm air hits her that allows her entire body to practically sigh in relief as her boots cause the hardwood floors to squeak and one or two men at the pool table to look over at her. A different kind of shiver runs through her body at their stares, and even if she can handle herself, she hurries to one of the many empty seats at the bar. It’s quiet in here tonight, more bare than she’s ever seen it before, but she’s also never been in here on a Tuesday this early.
“What can I get you, lass?”
“A whiskey sour and an explanation as to why the Deputy Sheriff is serving me a drink tonight.”
Killian laughs before turning around and quickly fixing her drink, sliding it over to her before propping his arms on the bar counter and scratching behind his ear as his lips quirk up to one side.
“It seems that my brother has come down with a cold, and,” he motions to the practically empty bar, “he couldn’t give up all of the potential business that he guaranteed would come from tonight.”
“Yeah, it’s super crowded in here. Really a booming business. Everyone must be out committing crimes because the Deputy Sheriff is otherwise occupied with all of these bar goers.”
“Ah, ah, love,” he chuckles, inching a bit closer to her before flashing her with one of his grins that she knows so well, “your father is on parole tonight, and no one pulls the wool over his eyes. So our lovely little town should be crime free, especially since two of my five customers are Will and Leroy.”
“That’s a very good point.”
“So tell me about all of your woes, darling.”
“I’ve never told a bartender about my woes before. I think you watched too many movies before coming in here to fill in.”
“Aye, but you look like something is bothering you. I’ve known you long enough that you’re a bit of an open book.”
“I am not.”
“You are. Also, not to take away from Ruby, but we both know I’m your best mate. You’re going to tell me your woes sooner or later. Might as well do it now.”
He makes a good point. She was going to call him after she got something to drink. She probably should have called and asked him to come get something to drink with her, but all she wanted was to be alone for a little while. Then she saw his face behind the bar and was thankful for this little stroke of luck at already having him here. They might as well do the whole cliché bartender thing where she fills her body with alcohol and spills her guts to him. Yet here, in this situation, the bartender already knows most of her woes. He’s been there for pretty much all of them, and she can’t lie to him if she tries. She might have her superpower with lying when it comes to, well, everyone, but Killian Jones has one when it comes to her, something that happens when you’ve known someone since you were five and he was seven.
That’s…twenty-three years of personal information.
“My mother and I got into a fight because she thinks that my life should be a Hallmark movie like hers.”
Killian leans forward again, propping his chin on his fist and changing his soft smile into a cheeky grin before shrugging his shoulders. “Is your life not a Hallmark movie? A beautiful woman living in an idyllic seaside town working as a freelance artist and living down the street from your Sheriff of a father and elementary school teacher of a mother who are the perfect examples of good and kind people. That sounds a bit like one of those movies to me.”
“You forgot the biggest part.”
He raises his eyebrows, waggling them like he’s done ever since she can remember. How does he even do that? She can move hers ups and down but not like that. It’s some kind of weird facial thing, and he’s always used it to his advantage to make her laugh or tease her.
“I didn’t forget. I just think there’s more to your life than having a man love you. It’d be nice, and that’d be the luckiest bastard in the world, but it doesn’t define you, love.”
“Yeah, well, my mom doesn’t see it that way. She’s got this fixation that I should get back together with Neal.”
Killian raises an eyebrow (there he goes again) in shock or confusion or something. “Why the bloody hell would she suggest you get back together with the man who slept his way through town while he was still dating you?”
“Because my mother is an idealist who thinks that your only love can be your first love.”
“No offense to your darling mother, but that’s rubbish. I wouldn’t get back together with my first love for all of the money in the world.”
“I’m glad someone in this town is sensible. Even Neal tries to ask me out sometimes, and I just don’t understand that. He betrayed my trust, and he thinks that just because ten years have passed, I’m going to jump back into bed with him? Like, what the hell?”
She ends up staying to talk to Killian for the rest of his shift, keeping him company into the late-night hours. She doesn’t drink any more than her one glass, and by the time it’s two in the morning, she’s completely forgotten about her fight with her mother and her distaste for Hallmark movies. She hadn’t seen Killian for a week, something unusual considering how he lives in her building and works for her father, so they used the time to catch up, telling tales of the adventures of his work at the station as well as the weird things people ask her to paint (she is not going to do a nude portrait of Granny no matter how much the woman offers her…maybe a lifetime of free grilled cheese sandwiches and onion rings…maybe). Of course, as they always do, they fall into reminiscing on their childhood, tonight getting caught up how much trouble they got in when they were in elementary school and prank called residents from her dad’s phone at the station. She’d been eight and Killian ten, and it was the first time either of them had gotten grounded.
Now, though, she’s twenty-eight to Killian’s thirty, and they don’t get grounded for any of their shenanigans, mostly because the most they do is each eat their own box of pizza while drinking rum in one of their apartments.
But also because they’re adults.
After locking up the bar and making sure that Will and Leroy get home safely (a police officer is never off duty, love), Killian walks her to her apartment – okay, so hers is two floors up and a fire escape away from his so he was going that way anyways – his arm wrapped around her shoulder and his beanie on top of her head to keep her warm. His little elf ears are tipped in red from the cold, his new shorter hair cut showing them off, and she has to stifle her giggle so as not to laugh at them. She thinks a lot of the cheesiness of Christmas is crap, but if every elf was like her best friend, maybe it wouldn’t all be bad.
“G’night, love,” he whispers after getting her inside her apartment door, the coolness of it after a day of nonuse almost as bad as the chill outside. “You bringing your dad lunch tomorrow?”
“I am before I have to go buy new paints.”
“Good,” he takes a step back, snatching the knit hat off of her head, “I think I’d like a toasted sandwich with some of that tomato soup from Granny’s, if you’d be so kind.”
She doesn’t get a chance to say that he can buy his own damn lunch before he’s jogging down the staircase at the end of the hall and heading to his own apartment. She hears a few muffled curses before she closes her front door, and the goofball most definitely just tripped on the stairs.
Her week passes quickly, a surprising amount of people asking her to take last minute Christmas card photos or commissioning her to edit the photos they’ve already taken and making them into themed cards. She mostly deals with painting because that’s what she loves, but she’d go broke if that was the only thing she did. Storybrooke isn’t exactly an expensive town to live in, but a girl’s got to live in some place other than the shady apartments down past the docks or with her parents. So she takes photos to live. She’s done everything from weddings to Christmas cards to family portraits to portraits of pets. That last one is her favorite. If her apartment allowed dogs, she’d get one, no question. She had a border collie growing up, sweet Wilby, and she’d love to have another precious companion like that.
Maybe someday.
She’s just finishing the edits of Anna and Kristoff’s Christmas cards, the two of them wanting a bright, colorful card while Anna’s sister Elsa wants a card of whites and icy blues, when she hears muffled curses and a loud bang out on her fire escape.
It’s either a burglar or…
Killian.
Sighing, she rolls back in her desk chair and goes to her living room window, unlocking it and lifting up the glass pane to see Killian’s head pop up through the gap for the ladder, his black hair covered in a red and white Santa hat, and when he pulls himself up on the metal platform, she sees that he’s got several brown paper grocery bags.
“What are you doing, Killian? You know I have a front door? And you have a key to it, by the way.”
“Aye,” he grunts, scrambling to his feet and through the window, handing her the grocery bags so that he can more easily get inside, “but Ms. Roberts is sitting on the staircase, and I’d rather not get roped into her trying to set me up with her daughter again.”
“Why don’t you want to date her again?”
“Well, she’s seventeen for one, and I find myself liking adults.”
“You make a valid point.” She takes the bags and walks them the few feet to her kitchen counter. Her apartment is basically one room with a bedroom and bathroom down the hall in the back, and she can get to anything she needs in just a few steps. Shuffling through the bags she sees sugar, eggs, milk, icing, sprinkles, everything one would need to make…cookies.
“Killian, did you get a sudden urge to make cookies? You don’t even like cookies that much.”
“Eh,” he protests, reaching up to scratch at his ear before moving down to rub at his scruff, “I like them on occasion,” he pats his stomach, “but I do like to keep in shape by avoiding a lot of sweets.”
“So why the sudden penchant for baking?”
“Because, darling, I was thinking – ”
“That’s never a good idea.”
Killian rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue. “You’re being awfully cheeky, Nolan, when I’m about to change your entire world.”
“With your baked goods?”
“Is that an innuendo?”
“How could that possibly be an – ” she slaps his chest when the realization hits her, and he simply waggles his eyebrows and gets and cheeky grin plastered across his face as well, “ – you’re so gross. So how are you going to rock my entire world?”
His left eyebrow raises even higher, and it only takes her a few seconds to realize where she’s messed up. “I mean change my world. How are you going to change my world?”
“I’m going to make you believe in the wonders of Christmas!”
She peers into the bag again, her skepticism rising with every moment that passes. She gets frustrated baking with the cookie dough that comes pre-cut. She can’t imagine how annoyed she’ll get having to make them from scratch. How the hell does Killian even know how to make cookies from scratch? And how is it going to make her believe in the wonders of Christmas? She already believes in the wonders of Christmas. She just doesn’t believe in some of the overly cringe-worthy Christmas activities they do in Hallmark movies where the people somehow fall in love in a month. It’s unrealistic.
“Through cookies?”
“Cookies, among other things, aye. I was thinking about our conversation at the bar the other day, and while, no, life isn’t a Hallmark movie, there are some things I think we could learn from them. So you and I are going to partake in as many cheesy Christmas traditions as we can.”
“What the hell? Why?”
“Because I was thinking that you deserve to love Christmas, Emma. I know you don’t hate it or anything, but not every tradition is bad. And I don’t want you to be so bitter about your relationships in the past that you can’t have fun.”
“Aren’t most of these activities romantic? I mean, that’s what those movies are about. I’m not bitter by the way. I was just pissed at my mom.”
“Aye, but they don’t have to be romantic.” Okay, so he’s just ignoring her protests then, unpacking all of the ingredients and placing them on her countertops. “Come on, love. It’ll be fun. I’ll make it fun, and it’ll be so much better than us slopping around in our apartments doing nothing.”
Killian has apparently never once made cookies from scratch, so it takes three hours and five batches before they finally get a cookie sheet full of oddly shaped (he brought Christmas shaped cookie cutters to really round out the fun, and they do not work in the slightest) sugar cookies. Her entire apartment is going to smell like sugar for days, and she’s pretty sure that their super is going to yell at them for how much trash they put down the shoot. Killian also yelled at her for trying to sneak a cookie fresh out of the oven, so it’s really just par for the course at this point.
“They have to cool, darling. We’re decorating them.”
“Do you know how to decorate cookies?”
“No, but you’re a painter. You can figure it out, can’t you?”
It takes a trip to the grocery store (and a detour for Granny’s grilled cheese) to get piping bags and more decorating tools, and another three hours later, her kitchen countertops are all filled with highly festive Christmas cookies. She may have gone a little overboard and made hers look like something you see in stores while her rejects and Killian’s look more akin to something a child would make, smeared icing and mixed colors that make what’s supposed to be a white angel look more like a greenish-gray blob.
If she puts a side by side comparison of their decorating skills on Instagram, no one has to know.
Okay, so all of her followers have to know. She’s pretty dang proud of her cookies.
And a little bit proud of Killian’s, too.
“You know,” Killian muses as he takes a bite of that very same greenish-gray blob of a cookie, the two of them sitting on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets with her jeans completely covered in flour, “just because something is ugly on the outside, doesn’t mean it tastes bad on the inside.”
“Is that supposed to be philosophical?”
“It’s supposed to a point about how my cookies taste just as good as yours.”
“That’s what she said,” Emma mumbles under her breath before reaching up on the counter only to pull down one of Killian’s cookies. This one is definitely very green and very much a Christmas tree. The ornaments on it, however, are a different story. At least she thinks they’re ornaments.
“Darling, you know I love a good innuendo,” he purrs, his voice lowering so that she has no choice but to look over at him only to see his dark brows dancing across his face while his lips twitch, “but you and I both know that we would not have the same type of cookies. You’d likely be a ginger cookie, sweet but a little snappy, while I’d be more like a yule log.”
“A yule…” she slaps his chest again as laughter bubbles inside of her own. He’s an idiot, but he’s a damn good friend. “You’re such a weirdo. An inappropriate weirdo.”
“Aye, that I am. I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the cookie-baking team.”
“Why would that upset me?”
“Well, maybe because you enjoyed your time partaking in a cheesy Christmas tradition.”
She did, but she’s not going to admit that to Killian. At least not yet. He’d be far too smug for his own good if she told him that, so she simply shrugs. “Keep thinking that, Jones.”
He helps her package all of the cookies up, and she doesn’t fail to notice when he puts some of the more neatly decorated ones in his Tupperware container instead of simply taking the ones he decorated himself, the thief.
It’s not How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
It’s How Killian Stole the Christmas Cookies.
Okay, okay, so maybe she’s as bad at naming movies as the people in charge of the Hallmark channel are as well.
Eventually Killian has to leave, citing her dad making him work the night shift tonight, and she sends him off with his travel mug of coffee (one sugar with the tiniestbit of milk) and his container full of cookies. He’s still teasing and taunting her, telling her to just admit that she had a good time this afternoon, but she won’t simply because Killian wants her to. Then, right as he’s about to step out the door – and not the fire escape – he reaches forward and swipes his pointer finger over her lips, the sensation causing her cheeks to tingle.
“You’ve a bit of icing on the corner of your lips, love,” he explains, and when the man licks the finger with the offending icing, his tongue flickering out as he hums, her stomach starts to flutter, the pinpricks matching the ones in her cheeks.
She doesn’t know what’s happening, what this unfamiliar sensation is, but she doesn’t like it.
“You and icing, Nolan, a batch made in heaven.”
And then Killian walks out of her front door, leaving her, but those pinpricks still remain.
Emma thinks that the cookie incident is going to be a one-time thing, that she and Killian are going to go back to normal and just drink beer and eat pizza while binging Netflix shows far into the early hours of the morning when Killian doesn’t have to work the next day. But no, he sticks to this whole little scheme of making her enjoy the very things she complained about at the bar.
That’ll be last time she ever spills her guts to Killian Jones…okay, so she knows that’s not true.
During the first week of December, they go shopping for decorations for her apartment, Killian loading up the shopping cart with red, white, green, and patterned ornaments as well as several boxes of colored lights.
“I don’t have enough space for all of these lights.”
“Trust me, love. You’re going to have space.”
“I don’t have a tree for any of this either.”
He winks. “We’re getting there.”
After her apartment looks like some kind of winter wonderland – well, one that’s still packaged up – with various Christmas scented candles, including her personal favorite Mountain Lodge. She doesn’t know what it is about it, but when it’s lit, the wick gently flickering and the scent permeating throughout her apartment, it makes her feel like she’s wrapped up in something comforting, like her father’s hug or one of Killian’s sweatshirts from the police academy, the frayed edges falling across her thighs. It’s ridiculous, but her life is nothing but ridiculous at this point.
Killian drags her to a Christmas tree farm, one filled with evergreen Douglas Firs and Blue Spruces. There’s apparently a few other kinds, but she can’t remember the names of them now. She didn’t even know the first two until Killian told her. She just kind of thought they were all Christmas trees, not really realizing there were so many different…breeds. Is breeds the right words for Christmas trees? Is it the same as dogs? Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
Okay, so it apparently matters to Killian.
Snow hasn’t quite hit Storybrooke yet, surprisingly enough. The white powder is usually coating the town at this point of December, usually even during November if the stars align, but there’s only the slightest dusting of snow, more like ice than anything else, causing the air to be brisk enough for the need to be wrapped up in warm clothes to go outside. So she and Killian trudge through the rows of trees, passing families all bundled up in their puffy jackets and knit hats, little pom poms bouncing of their heads that likely match the one on Emma’s beanie. Emma may be the so-called Grinch of Christmas (which, so not true, Mom), but at least she dresses festively (and practically). They’re picking out a Christmas tree, and Killian is in his normal head to toe black, the only concession he’s making to his red and gray plaid shirt, unbuttoned of course, because God forbid Killian cover up his chest hair.
“Aren’t you cold?” she ponders as the trees start to get taller, almost to the point of what she knows is her ceiling’s capacity.
“I’m from London, darling,” he concedes, running his hands along the green limbs, little bristles falling with each of his touches, “this Maine weather is nothing.”
“First of all, you haven’t lived in London for twenty-three years. Second of all, you’re a liar. The tips of your ears are red.” She stands on her toes to grab at his ears, wiggling them, and they’re like ice underneath her touch. “Where’s your beanie?”
“In my coat pocket.”
She presses down on her feet, the dried grass crunching underneath the heels of her boots before she reaches into his pocket and pulls the gray knit hat out, the material soft against her fingertips. It only takes her a moment to press up onto her toes again and pull the beanie over Killian’s hair, making sure that his ears are covered before pulling back and patting him on the shoulders.
“There. Now you won’t lose your ears to the cold.”
He smiles at her, a small little closed lipped thing that causes his eyes to crinkle and her breath to unexpectedly catch, the white puffs not passing through her lips for a moment. “I’m made of tougher material than that, Emma Nolan. Not all of us have to be bundled like we’re in the arctic.” He reaches over to pull at the fuzzy ball at the top of her hat, tugging it before patting her head like she’s some kind of child, and all of the pent-up breath releases in an exasperated sigh. “Let’s go get you a tree.”
It takes several hours, a shocking amount of cursing passing through Killian’s lips, help from Leroy, who apparently works at the tree farm and Belle – the poor woman passing them as they tried to get the tree into the entrance to the apartment – but they do eventually get the tree inside, positioning it in the small space next to her bay window. They’d had to move her furniture around, making everything cramped, and cut off a little of the tree, but now she’s got a fully decorated Christmas tree lighting up her apartment, making everything glow in the reflection of the multi-colored lights.
Sighing, she flops down onto the couch, propping her feet up in Killian’s lap while his are propped up on the coffee table.
“So, Jones, why didn’t we get one of those for you too since you’re the great holiday elf?”
He’s messing with her socked toes, the mismatched polka dots and stripes bright against Killian’s dark jeans. “Figured I didn’t need one.”
“Why the hell not? I thought we were experiencing all of the magic of Christmas.”
“Aye, love,” he squeezes her foot before resting his head on the back of the couch and smirking, “but I’m over here more often than I’m downstairs. Figured there wasn’t a need for two. Plus, what fun would it be getting the tree into my flat when we had to walk it up four floors for you?”
“So basically what you’re saying is that you’re trying to torture me with all of these activities?”
“Exactly.”
The next week Killian is busy at the station while she seeks out last minute commissions for Christmas gifts, walking around town and asking everyone she knows if they’d like Christmas cards, personalized stationary, any paintings for gifts. Storybrooke is a small town, one of those places where you know almost everyone, and it’s likely the only reason she doesn’t have to pick up a regular job, though she will occasionally fill in for Ruby at the diner. By the end of her first day seeking out extra jobs, she had enough to keep her busy for the week – or the entire month though she doesn’t have that long to work on them – and for her rent to be paid with enough left over for Christmas gifts.
The week isn’t filled with as many Christmas activities, and Emma wonders if maybe Killian will calm down on his quest and realize that he doesn’t need to be doing all of this just because she was frustrated with her mom and the Hallmark channel on one night.
On Thursday night she’s just snuggling under her comforter, the fluffy white blanket keeping her warm as the temperature continually drops to almost unbearable levels. As soon as she boots up her laptop, scrolling through emails to look for discounts to buy her mom some new sweaters, she hears her front door slam. Her body tenses, self-defense mechanisms kicking in, and just as she starts to throw the covers off of her legs, Killian comes barging into her bedroom, his cheeks red and his chest heaving.
“What the hell?” She tosses her pillow at him, her own chest heaving as she tries to regulate her breathing. “Why are you barging in like that?”
“It’s snowing.”
“And?”
He doesn’t answer, instead rifling through her closet and throwing sweaters at her along with some of her sweatpants, before moving through her drawers, only hesitating when he gets to her underwear drawer and turns to look at her.
“Nolan, you have a hell of a lot of red lace in here.”
“Shut up. Why are you even looking in there?”
“I’m looking for the socks that go with your wellies.”
“Bottom drawer.”
He closes away her underwear drawer (her face is now undoubtedly as red as that lace) before rifling through the bottom drawer to find her socks and tossing those at her as well.
“Get dressed, love. We’re going on an adventure.”
“Are you bringing snacks?”
He rolls his eyes before putting his hands on his hips and tiling his head to the side while he stares at her. “I’m not an idiot. I dare not force you out into the cold without providing you with food.”
“Good.”
She and Killian make their way to the docks, passing all of the boats (“some are ships, love”) only to climb the stairs of the lighthouse, her legs burning and her breath heavy by the time they reach the top. When Killian nudges open the door, having to push his shoulder against it while she pushes to get the rusty hinges open, she’s suddenly hit by a rush of chilled air and a view that she’s never seen before.
Storybrooke looks enchanting, the roofs covered in white with red and green lights reflecting off the streets, the snow only making it brighter. She can see a few people milling around the Rabbit Hole, the neon lights reflecting off the snow from it glaringly obvious compared to the Christmas lights adorning the roofs of the neighbors. She wonders if Liam is working tonight. She’s sure that he is, and that Graham will most definitely get a call for drunk and disorderly conduct. She might not work at the police station, but between her dad and Killian, plus days working there as a teenager, she may as well be a deputy. Everything else is closed down, Storybrooke not a place to stay up past midnight, and she thinks that she’ll have to come back to look at it all when some lights from the houses are turned on so that parts of the town don’t seem blacked out.
Twisting her body, she looks out at the ocean, the waves crashing against the snow-covered sand that matches the crests of waves that are slowly rolling in. There’s not a soul to be seen walking along the shore, a place riddled with more memories than she can count – some she’d care to remember while others she wishes would wash away and sink into the depths of the ocean – so the snow and sand remain untouched, like a perfect white blanket next to the deep blue of the water. There’s one ship near the horizon, the lights from it making it visible to her eyes, and her heart constricts looking at the sheer beauty of Storybrooke from above. She’s lived here for the entirety of her life, minus the one year she moved to New York because she needed to get away until Killian brought her home, but she’s never seen her home look quite like this.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Killian agrees before wrapping his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in closer so that his warmth envelops her, but an unexpected shiver still runs through her, her entire body lightly convulsing so that Killian’s arm tightens around her shoulder and his chin rubs against the top of her head.
“How did you know to look up here?”
“Simple. It’s the highest point in town, and I knew that you’d like the landscape view.”
She hums before pulling herself further into Killian and resting her head against his shoulder. He’s warm, and it’s freezing out. She loves the snow, loves the way it looks, but it’s cold and wet, often turning into mud and causing more issues than it causes beauty.
“So you said something about snacks?”
He rustles around in his coat pocket with his free hand until a foil package is placed in her eyeline, what’s obviously grilled cheese now obstructing her view of the town.
Or possibly making it better.
“God,” she groans, just thinking about how good that’s going to be even without being hot, “you’re the best.”
“So I’ve been told.”
They stay up at the lighthouse for a few more minutes before a chill wracks her body and she can’t be outside for much longer before she freezes to death. Killian’s body heat helps, but it’s not exactly enough, so she has to beg him to go home. Walking down the lighthouse steps is a hell of a lot easier than walking up, but by the time they’re at the apartment and she sees the staircase leading up to her apartment, she doesn’t think her legs can carry her any longer.
“I’m not doing it,” she whines, sitting down on the bottom set of stairs while Killian takes two at a time and is already at the first landing.
“You’re being pathetic.”
“I’m tired. I went running this morning, and then you made me climb so many stairs. It was so manystairs, Killian.”
Killian bounds down the stairs, his footsteps heavy until he’s squatting down in front of her, this stupid annoying look on his face while his eyebrows dance across his forehead. “Do you need me to carry you?”
“Would you really do that?”
She normally wouldn’t do this, but her legs feel like they’re on fire and about to turn into very heavy weights. Plus, she doesn’t think Killian will actually do it.
“Up to my apartment, but that’s it.”
Oh, so he will do it. She’s so distracted by that fact that Killian’s about to carry her up the stairs so that her next words slip out without her thinking. “Fine then. I’m sleeping with you tonight.”
“Well, love,” Killian grunts, pulling her up off the stairs before hooking his hands under thighs and picking her up like she weighs nothing, “I’ve been waiting for that for years.”
“Shut up, you goofball. I meant I’m just going to crash at your place.”
“I know, I know.” He takes the first few steps before loosening his grip around her so that she almost falls, her shriek so loud that she probably woke the neighbors, before wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing so hard that she’s probably choking him. He deserves it for making her think she was going to fall.
“What the hell was that?”
“You have to lay off the cookies. Couldn’t hold you up.”
“Yeah, well, when we get in trouble for waking up the neighbors for being too loud, I’m blaming it on you.”
“I’ve always wanted to wake up the neighbors because you and I were being too loud.”
He’s absolutely impossible, and she’s absolutely not going to dignify that with a response. He’s being cheeky, and all she wants to do is go to bed. So he continues to carry her upstairs, this whole charade ridiculous, and after unlocking his door, he walks her inside and drops her onto his mattress, the springs moving underneath her. She doesn’t bother getting up, shucking her boots and socks while Killian ruffles through his drawers and throws her a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt while he heads into his bathroom to change clothes.
This is a routine they’ve done one too many times for her apartment to be upstairs, and after she’s changed her clothes and brushes her teeth with her toothbrush, she settles underneath Killian’s comforter, pulling the blankets around her body and keeping them to herself even as Killian slides onto the other side of the mattress, only tugging over the slightest bit his comforter.
She knows he’s not asleep by the way that his breathing is irregular, so she turns on her side, rolling a bit closer to the middle and throwing some more of the comforter this way.
“Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”
“Me too, darling. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Sorry that I’ve made your legs useless.”
She chuckles into her pillow before stretching out of leg and running her foot against Killian’s calves, making him yelp before rolling away from her and off the bed.
“What was that for? Why are you an icicle? You just made me scream at bloody two in the morning.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve always wanted to wake up the neighbors because you and I were being too loud.”
This is a @cssecretsanta2k18 gift for @edgeofrealms It was such a joy getting to be your CS Secret Santa and I’m so sorry this is so late. Shall we call it a New Year’s gift? This little fic was inspired by our conversations. You said you liked fluff and you said:
“I wish we couldve seen more of their life post- the final battle. like emmas pregnancy and how they adjusted to being married.”
So that’s what this is, I hope you enjoy!
Title: Making More than Pancakes
Summary: Emma’s pregnant and a wee bit cranky, Killian’s bent on reading pregnancy books and feeding her nutritious food and the Charmings have decided it’s time to decorate the nursery. Set post 7x02, a heartwarming look at a day in the life of Captain Swan while they’re expecting.
Fanfiction.net AO3
xxx
Emma looked down at her breakfast and sighed. She loved her husband, she really did, but she did not love pasteurized Greek yogurt with vegan, gluten-free, protein-rich granola for breakfast. At least there were some berries on top. Where did one even get organic, vegan, gluten-free, protein-rich granola in Storybrooke?
She looked over to where he was bustling around the kitchen wearing a ‘Pirates have more fun’ apron that a then 16-year-old Henry had thought a hilarious Christmas gift. “Did you cross the town line to get this?” she pointed to the bowl on the table in front of her.
His eyes lit up, clearly delighted with himself. “Aye.”
“Why?”
“The market in town has insufficient selection. I read-”
“Oh boy,” Emma interrupted and put down her spoon. “I’m going to take the internet away from you.”
His eyes widened in horror at the thought. “The computer contains much useful information on your current state, Swan. You and the baby need calcium and protein and nutrients and-”
“They have granola at the market here in town,” Emma pointed out practically, before adding, “And you don’t have to drive an hour to get it.”
Killian shook his head. “The brand at the local market is full of sugar and very few nutrients comparatively.”
“Why does it need to be vegan if you’re putting it over yogurt anyway?” Emma asked practically.
“It doesn’t, but this brand was rated the most nutritious in a variety of categories.”
She looked at him with the sweetest smile she could muster. “You could make me a pancake instead.”
His smile in return was affectionate, but he shook his head.
“Why?” Emma whined.
“Because they are nutrient free and last time you put chocolate chips and whip cream on them. Empty calories. Pancakes are for special occasions. A treat.”
“It’s Saturday, Saturday should be a special occasion.” Emma replied with a note of irritation in her voice. Then she motioned to her husband, “If you won’t make me pancakes, then why are you wearing that apron? All you did was put yogurt in a bowl.”
Emma had been showing flashes of annoyance as the pregnancy progressed, however he’d read several pregnancy books and they informed him this was normal, having something to do with hormones. With a smile, Killian moved towards her until he could lean around and drop a kiss on her forehead. “I’m wearing it because it reminds me of our lad.”
“Oh.” Emma’s frustration crumbled and she felt her heart squeeze at the mention of her son. Their son. She missed him fiercely. “I miss him, too.”
“I’m sure we’ll see him soon,” Killian said with more conviction than he felt.
“You know what would help with the missing?” Emma asked with a bit of a sniffle.
“What, love?” Killian asked with twin notes of curiosity and eagerness.
“Hot chocolate.” Emma supplied hopefully.
Killian leaned back against the stove and cocked an eyebrow at her, but before he could respond, the front door banged open.
With a start, they instantly found the source of the intrusion. Storybrooke might have been quiet these last few years, but they were still both in a state of constant readiness.
Emma sighed with relief and a bit of exasperation. “Mom, we’ve talked about knocking.”
“Pfft, you’re almost nine months pregnant, what would there be to walk in on?” Snow chuckled, as she made her way into the living room, carrying a large laundry basket filled to the brim.
Emma gave her a pointed look that was supposed to convey that her mother was wrong, but internally she winced. It had been awhile since there’d been anything to interrupt.
“I’m sorry it’s so early, but we dropped Neal at soccer practice and since he has a play date afterwards with one of his teammates, we actually have some free time this morning.”
“What’s all this?” Killian asked as he wandered towards the couch and peered into the basket now sitting on the coffee table.
“Swatches, paint samples,” Snow explained eagerly, before adding, “It’s time to make some decisions on the nursery.”
“Killian and I were thinking we’d wait until the baby comes, since we don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl.”
“Nonsense,” Snow waved that idea away with her hand. “You don’t want to bring a baby home to an unfinished nursey, trust me you will not have the energy to decorate after the baby is born. There are plenty of wonderful options that are gender neutral. Besides, who ever heard of a color having a gender anyway? Personally, I like this one,” she pulled out a card with bright, sunshine yellow paint on it and brought it over for Emma to inspect.
Emma turned the card over in her hand. “It’s a bit much.”
“Yellow is a happy color,” Snow replied brightly.
“I did read that on the computer,” Killian agreed. “There was a study of children and the color of their living quarters, children in yellow rooms were happiest.”
“Yeah, but our infant will need sunglasses in order to sleep and I don’t know where we’d find ones that tiny,” Emma retorted sardonically.
“Well how about this?” Snow pulled another paint chip from her bag, this time a deep turquois.
“We agreed that we were going to offer to help, not force our taste on them.” A voice from the door sounded.
“Dad,” Emma smiled at the welcome sight of her father and started the arduous process of pushing herself up from the table.
Her father gestured for her to stay put, instead he walked over and dropped a kiss on her head and then looked to Killian, “Nice apron.”
“An old gift from Henry.” Killian replied without a trace of self-consciousness.
David paused for a beat and then nodded, a sign he understood the impetus behind Killian wearing the apron. Then he clapped his hands together. “I hear you have a crib that needs to be built, lead me to it.”
Killian glanced to Emma with a raised eyebrow. “You called your father? I thought you wanted to help me assemble it?”
“I did, but that was before I got so uncomfortable that I can’t even sit on the floor. Dad and I assembled Neal’s, so he knows what to do.”
Killian didn’t show either emotion, but he was both relieved and disappointed. In the last trimester of her pregnancy, Emma had exhibited less patience than usual. With David, he would make quicker work of the crib than he would with Emma, but it had been something he was looking forward to doing with his wife. There was also the fact he was exhausted and had been planning to go back to bed after breakfast. It had been a late night, or rather early morning, of sheriff duty and he’d gotten less than two hours of sleep… but perhaps working without sleep would be good practice for when the baby came. Resigned to his fate, he looked to his father-in-law. “The boxes are in the nursery, as are an assortment of gadgets and tools, do we require anything else to complete the task?”
“A cold beverage?” David suggested with a grin.
“Beer?” Killian asked with surprise. Over the years, the two had spent a lot of leisure time together and Killian knew that when David referred to a cold beverage he meant beer.
“Sounds great.”
“David!” Snow admonished with a scandalized expression. “It’s not even 9am.”
David shrugged, but relented and pointed to the coffee pot. “Then I suppose a bit more caffeine wouldn’t hurt.”
Killian poured them both cups, and then offered to pour one for Snow who declined saying she’d help herself. The expectant father started to follow David, but then turned back to his mother-in-law and said, “See that she eats her breakfast,” before disappearing up the stairs.
“Covering it in chocolate syrup is the only way you’re getting me to eat this.” Emma retorted softly enough that she knew Killian wouldn’t hear.
“Is it so awful?” Snow asked as she surveyed her daughter’s half-eaten bowl of yogurt and granola.
“No, it’s not bad, it’s just not pancakes… or waffles… or French toast… or a bear claw.”
“Ah… has he at least stopped offering fish for breakfast?”
Emma gave a huff of a laugh, “We broke him of that habit years ago, but, yes, now he only eats fish for non-breakfast meals. However, these days he’s being very careful about what fish he serves, you see apparently some fish is recommended as part of a diet for pregnant women, but you have to be careful about mercury. He’s an expert. All I know is once a week we have salmon for dinner… usually served with broccoli and spinach.”
“Well it’s not a bad thing that one of you is worried about nutrition.” Snow said as she walked to the coffee table to retrieve her laundry basket full of items. Once she’d heaved it on the kitchen table, she poured herself a cup of coffee.
Emma felt herself prickle at her mother’s comment, but instead of saying anything about it sighed, “I miss coffee.”
“I’m sure Killian would make you some decaffeinated,” Snow replied perkily.
Emma refrained from rolling her eyes, but she felt like it. “Not the same.”
“Well you’ll be able to have coffee soon enough.”
“Sure, after another six months to a year of breastfeeding.”
Snow looked at her daughter with concern. “Everything okay?”
At that, Emma looked up, “Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t it be?” Wanting to change the subject, she pushed herself up from her chair so she could take her breakfast dishes to the sink and on her way back motioned to her mother’s basket. “Show me what you brought.”
Excitedly, Snow removed paint chips and fabric swatches and starting laying them out on the table.
Emma looked down at the abundance of color in front of her. The paint chips made a vivid rainbow against the wood of the table. Then her eyes traveled to the fabric swatches. There was a swatch with ducks, one with whales, and one with frogs. Other samples had themes ranging from clowns to sail boats to the moon and the stars, some had the same patterns, but in different colors. Overwhelmed Emma plopped back down in her seat.
Snow sat down next to her and started explaining the colors, the differences in tone and hue, which were complimentary, which would work with the fabric. When she finally stopped talking to take a breath, she glanced expectantly to Emma who in turn was looking a little dazed.
“Emma,” Snow nudged her gently, “What do you think?”
“What do I think? I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. Other than… how am I going to be a good mother? I don’t eat right and I can’t even pick a color for the nursery!” Emma replied, startling even herself. Instantly she felt a hot sting behind her eyes. She sat for a moment willing herself not to cry, she did not succeed.
“Oh honey,” Snow said as she searched for a tissue. Finding a napkin, she handed it to Emma before reaching over and rubbing a comforting circle on Emma’s back. “Where is this coming from? You’re already a wonderful mother.”
Emma just looked at her and blew her nose.
Snow knew what she was thinking, and a bit how she felt. Henry had been an adolescent when Emma came into his life, mothering an infant was different. “You’ll be great with an infant; you were great with your brother when he was a baby.”
“Babysitting is not the same… also there was a time when you wouldn’t even let me hold my brother.”
Snow grimaced guiltily at the memory. “Oh Emma, you’re not letting that bother you, are you? Those were very special circumstances for a few days while you were having trouble controlling your powers. You’re perfectly in control of them now; it’s no longer a concern at all.”
Emma shrugged as she let her gaze drift down to her stomach. “Maybe, but this little one is going to depend on me for everything. There’s so much more responsibility with a baby.”
Snow looked at her incredulously before saying, “The Savior, who had the weight of the world, the weight of everyone’s happy endings on her shoulders, and won, isn’t responsible enough to care for a baby? Hogwash.”
Emma snorted at her mother’s colorful language. She hadn’t thought about it like that, she had shouldered a lot of responsibility in the not so distant past. Even if it wasn’t the same. She’d never asked to be the Savior; she’d just done what was necessary when thrust into the role. However, she had asked to be a parent; she’d tried to get pregnant for a very long time, and now that the time was almost here, she was afraid she wouldn’t be up to the task.
“I don’t know. There’s so much to think about… you said it yourself.” Emma sounded a bit defensive as she mimicked her mother’s words from a few minutes earlier. “‘It’s not a bad thing that one of you is worried about nutrition.’ See, I can’t even be trusted with what I eat.”
Snow shook her head, but replied gently, “Are you kidding? Emma, you are eating healthier than 90% of pregnant women I’ve ever seen.”
“But that’s just because Killian has been doing the shopping and the meal prep, if it was left to me; I’d be eating onion rings and pancakes.”
“Then have a pancake. You deserve it. Killian might be going a little bit overboard with the nutritious eating, but it is good that one of you is worrying about it. You balance each other out, and you will continue to balance each other out as parents.”
Emma sat back and thought about that. Maybe that was true, maybe they did balance each other, he shored up her shortcomings and vice versa.
While Emma was pondering that, Snow’s mind went in a very different direction. After a minute, she swallowed roughly and said a truth that none of them confronted very often. “Emma, one thing we know for sure, your baby is going to have a much better mother than you had.”
Emma looked up quickly and met her mother’s eyes. “Mom, don’t say that.”
“No, it’s true; we both know it’s true. I think you know how much I wish things had been different, but I wasn’t there, but you will be. That is the most important thing. Being there.”
Emma bit her lip, and then in a rough voice, said, “I do worry about that, about something going wrong again. I know I won’t have to make a decision like the one I made with Henry, but I do worry about something happening outside our control…”
Snow brought her hand to her daughter’s belly. “You will be there for every moment with this precious gift, and I promise you, your father and I, and Killian, of course, will do everything in our power to make sure nothing separates the two of you. If Henry or Regina happen to stir up more trouble while they are off adventuring, and goodness knows what Rumple is up to, then we’ll deal with it as a family, but there will be no separating of babies from their mothers.” Snow’s eyes were full of unshed tears, but she smiled brightly, “I decree it as Queen. And President of the Storybrooke Town Council.”
“Then it is done,” Emma replied with a laugh and reached over and gave her mother a hug. It was silly, there was no kingdom in Storybrooke, but her mother’s words gave her comfort. Unlike when she was pregnant with Henry, she was surrounded by people who loved her, supported her, and would help her keep this child safe.
“You know what?” Emma asked with a sniff as she turned back to the table. “Maybe I can pick a color. The yellow is growing on me, if kids with yellow walls are happier then why not… but not that bright yellow you showed me before, is there something a bit softer?”
“How about this one?” Snow fingered through the pile until she found the one she was looking for. She handed the card of pale, buttery yellow to Emma.
Emma held out the chip in front of her and tried picturing the room they’d designated as the nursery painted in the warm color. Yes, this could work, cheery, but not overwhelming.
“It’s called duckling yellow.”
Emma smiled, that sealed it. “Perfect.”
Xxx
“You’ve resorted to force-feeding your wife, huh?”
Killian looked up at David from where he sat on the floor looking at the directions that came with the crib. “Force-feeding? I’m doing no such thing. I’m providing plenty of nutritious sustenance for Emma and our unborn child.”
“Right, well, I found when Snow was pregnant that she had cravings and it was best to let her have whatever she wanted.”
“Of course, I want Emma to have her heart’s desire, but if left to her own culinary devices all these years, she and Henry would have subsisted on a diet of pop tarts and items that are breaded and fried.” Killian frowned disdainfully. “It’s even more important now that Emma is with child that she is supplied with an abundance of healthy food.”
“You might slip in a hot dog now and then, is all I’m saying, to keep her happy and sane.”
Killian looked at him in horror. “I will have you know that processed meats are not recommended for pregnant women.”
David looked at him, actually impressed. “You have studied up.”
“The internet has been most enlightening and I’ve read several books.”
David nodded as he organized the assortment of screws that came with the crib, and then cleared his throat before stuttering, “Um… I… have something… but… uh… I don’t want to offend you…”
That stopped Killian and he looked up from the crib directions he’d been reading. “That’s an ominous beginning.”
David shrugged before launching into an explanation. “Recently, I was throwing the ball with Wilby and it sparked an idea. I ordered some things and played around with them in the barn. Long story short, I made you something that might come in handy, but I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you around my grandchild.”
“Ever more ominous,” Killian knit his brows together, but said nothing more. He had his own trepidations about what kind of father he would be, he wasn’t sure he was ready to listen to Emma’s father list his inadequacies, especially if it had to do with him not being fit to be around his own child.
David reached in his pocket and pulled out a small rounded object that appeared to be made of some sort of rubber. He handed it to Killian.
Killian turned it over in his good hand, “What is it?”
“It was a rubber ball, I cut open a bunch of them trying to find one with the right consistency, and then I shaped it and cut it down to size. It’s to blunt the sharp end of your hook while you’re holding the baby. Honestly, I thought it might give you confidence and comfort, especially when you have a newborn. I know I was nervous about holding my kids as infants and I don’t have a sharp appendage.”
Killian studied it and saw that there was a slit on the flat end of the object. He squinted in concentration as he brought it to his hook and slid it on. He turned it one way and then the next surveying the bulbous pink object and then tried it out several times by knocking it on the hard wood floor. His hook bounced off the surface, damaging neither the floor nor the ball.
David pointed to his handwork, “See I put tiny reinforcements in the slit so that the hook wouldn’t slice through the softer material.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Killian said feeling quite gratified. “This is… this is great. I… I, it would be a lie to say that I haven’t been apprehensive about it, I thought I’d switch to the false hand I wear when I need disguise, but I’m more comfortable in the hook, so… I… thank you.”
Pleased that his gift had been taken in the spirit it had been intended, David nodded and said, “You’re welcome. One less thing for you to worry about and now that I’ve figured it out; I can easily make another if you need it. Let me know.”
“I appreciate that.” Killian said before gulping. A moment later he added, “You’re right, these days… a lot of things cause me worry.”
David looked at him quizzically; it wasn’t very often that his son-in-law opened up to him. “Well that’s very natural at this stage of the game. Every expectant father who is only weeks away is worried.”
Killian nodded, but then added, “Not every expectant father has my history. It’s not… well, you know better than anyone, I don’t have a great history with fathers.”
David took a deep breath and then shook his head. “Killian, that’s all behind you and you’re not going to make the mistakes our fathers made and you’re not going to go back to being the person you were. You have experienced more than most people would over several life times and it has brought you to a place where you are not only a changed man, but a wise man.” David them slapped his son-in-law on the back. “Plus I know you are going to be a great father, look you’re sitting there in a silly apron just because Henry gave it to you. You’re already a great father, and you’re a great husband. And if you’ve convinced me that you’re good enough for my baby girl, you know it’s true.”
Killian swallowed roughly, met the other man’s gaze, and gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Then a grin stole over his face as he held up his hook. “This is a fetching pink color; you must think we’re having a girl.”
“Actually, the ball that had the right density just happened to be that color. It’s just a plus that you get to walk around with a pink accessory.”
“As with my apron, I will wear it with pride.” Killian said and he meant it.
Xxx
The crib assembly took longer than anticipated, but eventually was complete. Snow left hours earlier only to return with Neal, so it wasn’t until early afternoon that Killian and Emma finally found themselves alone.
By mutual agreement, they headed to the bedroom… to sleep.
xxx
With a slightly suspicious smile and a mischievous gleam in his eye, Killian moved silently across the kitchen, until he sidled up behind his wife, simultaneously sliding his hook arm around her midsection and pressing a kiss just below her ear.
“Hi.” Emma relaxed back into him, still keeping an eye on the stove.
“Hi, my naughty wife,” Killian murmured into her ear, pressing his nose to her temple and taking in her scent.
“Naughty? I don’t remember doing anything naughty recently; did I miss something during our nap?” Emma sighed and closed her eyes, briefly enjoying his embrace, before getting back to business and flipping a pancake with practiced finesse.
“Love, you know why you’re naughty, you shouldn’t be exerting yourself in this manner. It’s my job to feed you while you’re eating for two. If you were hungry, why didn’t you wake me so I could prepare dinner?” With his free hand he rubbed the shoulder over which he was not leaning.
Emma gave a quick shake of her head. “Because you were resting. You barely slept last night, between me tossing and turning and then you having to go out on that 2am drunk and disorderly – we really need to do something about the dwarfs,” she flipped another pancake with her right hand as her left came to caress the hook that was resting gently on her belly. “You should have slept in this morning, but instead you got up to make me breakfast, which was unnecessary by the way, and then my parents showed up. I wanted to let you sleep, and besides I’m not an invalid, I can make pancakes, and you won’t make me pancakes,” Emma said the last part with a note of defiance. She set the skillet on an unused burner and turned off the stove. “However, if you want to get naughty that can be arranged,” her voice was seductive as she turned in one fluid motion and searched for Killian’s mouth with hers, intending to deliver a searing kiss.
Or at least that had been the plan. However, as soon as she turned, her swollen stomach hit Killian’s midsection knocking him back so forcefully that his feet tangled and he fell back, his behind hitting the tile of the kitchen floor.
Killian chuckled good-naturedly as he reached to steady himself on the floor, but Emma burst into tears.
His laugh died instantly on his lips, and his heart dropped at the sound. He scrambled to his feet and in an instant was wrapping his arms around her from the side, pulling her to him. “Love, please don’t cry, what’s wrong?” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“I’m huge,” she sniffled after a minute, “And not sexy, and probably couldn’t get naughty even if you wanted me.”
He squeezed her gently, “Love, you are 36 weeks pregnant with our child which is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and not a moment has gone by since the day we met that I haven’t wanted you.”
“You’re just saying that,” she sniffed.
Killian let go of her only long enough to reach over to the kitchen counter and grab a tissue. Tenderly he dabbed her wet cheeks. “I promise you I’m not and I’ll happily prove it to you if you doubt my veracity, but for right now why don’t we get you off of your feet and I’ll finish… dinner.” With his chin, he nudged her cheek towards the kitchen table.
Instead of moving to disentangle with him, she relaxed more into his embrace. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me… that’s the second time I teared up today.”
“The second?” Killian asked with concern, “When was the first?”
“With my mom, it was silly… just feeling a little overwhelmed with fabric and paint choices.”
Killian leaned back slightly so he could see her face. “Darling, it’s totally natural. According to the pregnancy book your hormone levels are changing and many women find that they cry more easily during pregnancy.”
“I haven’t finished the pregnancy book.” Emma admitted.
He gave her a gentle squeeze. “That’s all right because, I have.”
That made Emma smile. Her mom was right; they did balance each other out.
“I suppose you’re going to throw those out,” she looked longingly at the pancakes on the stove, “and instead feed me a skinless, organic, free-range chicken breast over a bed of quinoa with steamed carrots and green beans.”
“Of course not, Swan. If you want pancakes, pancakes you shall have.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He kissed her temple. “Emma, I want to take care of you. I want you to have everything you and the baby need. Perhaps I went overboard with the healthy eating. I want you and our baby to be happy and if pancakes make you happy, so be it.”
Instead of moving to sit down, Emma turned her face and pressed her forehead to his. “Thank you, I love…”
With an expectant grin, he leaned back and waited for the end of her declaration.
“…pancakes,” she finished with faux earnestness.
Killian chuckled, guided her to her chair at the kitchen table, and then bustled around getting plates utensils, butter, and syrup. He even sprinkled chocolate chips over the inviting mound of pancakes on her plate. Emma looked ecstatic.
As she dug in to the feast, Killian sat across from her and said, “I had a talk with your father this morning. He encouraged me to relax a bit on the healthy eating.”
Emma swallowed a mouthful of the delicious food and admitted. “And my mom encouraged me to appreciate how you balance out my tendencies towards junk food.” Emma held out her glass full of orange juice to Killian as if to offer a toast. “Here’s to balance.”
“To balance,” Killian clinked his glass against hers. “Speaking of your parents’ wisdom…” He leaned back in order to rummaged around in his pocket, before pulling out his new pink, hook protector. “Your father gifted me with this.”
“What is it?” Emma asked curiously.
Killian placed it on his hook and then brought it to tap against the table, “It’s to protect the cygnet.”
Emma shook her head, “Our baby doesn’t need protecting from you.”
Killian thought about that for a second, he certainly hoped that truer words had never been spoken. “No, never, but your father’s instinct was right, I’ll feel more confident holding our infant, changing diapers, feeding, if I’m wearing it.”
“Okay, whatever makes you more comfortable is good, because you are going to change a lot of diapers. I mean… a lot… mountains upon mountains of very, dirty diapers.”
“As you command, Captain,” Killian replied unfazed.
Emma smiled brightly at him and then remembered what else she talked to her mother about that morning. “Oh, hey, after I stopped crying, I actually did find a color for the nursery.”
“Aye?” he cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her.
She nodded, “If you agree, of course.” Then she pushed back her chair, grabbed the paint sample from the counter and came around the table. Killian was a little surprised when he realized her intent to sit on his lap, but he dutifully pushed back his chair from the table to give her room. She plopped down, put one arm around his neck, and showed him the swatch by setting it on her pregnant belly. “It’s called Duckling Yellow, it’s not nearly as intense as that first yellow mom showed us, but it’s cheery like you said, and warm, and it would go with a lot of other colors and-”
“It’s perfect.” Killian interrupted.
“Are you sure, I don’t want to make the decision without you.”
“You’re not, I love it.”
She pressed a kiss to the apple of his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re the father of my child.”
He crooked his neck back in order to get a better look at her. “Well, Swan, we’ve been married for five years so I hope there’s no question about that…”
She laughed but shook her head. “No, I mean it. I know I’ve been a bit… cranky lately.”
“My, love, you are growing our human inside of you, you may be as cranky as you wish.”
Emma smiled and kissed him again. “That’s why I’m so grateful.”
“You’re grateful you’re cranky?”
“No,” she nodded as one hand caressed the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m grateful I have a partner who doesn’t care that I’m cranky and who wants to be there with me every step of the way, and who reads pregnancy books and goes to a lot of effort to feed me healthy foods. The last time I did this, I was terrified, alone and in a cell. Now I have the most wonderful man in the world getting up in the morning after two hours of sleep just so he can make me a healthy breakfast. It’s… it’s wonderful and I appreciate it. I want you to know that.”
He leaned in and stole a kiss. “Well, Swan, I’m glad that you’re the mother of my child. We’re in this together.”
Emma beamed at him, brimming with happiness. They were in it together.
“But…” Killian’s face contorted into an exaggerated wince.
“But what?” Emma asked with concern.
“Darling, you have to get up my left leg is going to sleep.”
Emma pouted as she stood. “See, I’m huge, I knew it.”
“Nah, I just needed you to stand so I could do this.” Killian abruptly stood and then in one fluid movement, he easily picked her up– one arm behind her back the other under her knees– and headed towards the stairs, intent on a bit of naughty time. Emma shrieked and giggled the entire way to their bedroom.
That’s right - complete!!! Praise be to @csmarchmadness for the gun to the head and to the beautiful, lovely, amazing @the-corsair-and-her-quill for basically informing all story choices with the things she loves! I hope you enjoy the conclusion, darling!
And seriously, read all the awesome stuff being created by the talented ladies participating in March madness - I’m never online at the same time they are, but they’re bleeding out all these wonderful feels for us to enjoy!
Also on AO3
Remember when Emma wanted nothing more than to understand why Killian was acting so strangely?
Yeah, she was over that.
She officially wanted to bury her head in the sand and pretend none of this crazy bullshit was real, that fucking Tinkerbell wasn’t sitting in her living room, sipping a cup of tea, while her husband was asking after people Emma was apparently supposed to know, like her parents, who were also fucking fairy tale characters.
Part of her thought Killian had lost his mind, that maybe his books had created some kind of delusion that had led to this Tinkerbell taking advantage of him - maybe she was some kind of delusional fan who’d started talking to him because of his books. He was always too nice to his fans, especially the ones who seemed a little too into what he wrote.
She wanted to call a doctor, get Killian help, do anything to cure this delusion.
Except for that part of her, the really big one, that thought this ridiculous story sounded almost… familiar? Like on a gut level. And damn both their crazy asses, but neither Tinkerbell nor her husband thought they were lying. And neither of them behaved at all delusional, if you ignored every word that came out of their mouths. Which Emma was trying very hard to do.
“I don’t know who the note was from,” Tinkerbell added. “Just that it came by bird and said I needed to find the Savior. I confess that I didn’t spend much time analyzing it - the curse was coming and I used the last of my pixie dust to outrun it.” She held up a bottle. “This was attached to the note.”
Killian sighed. “A memory potion.”
“You always did have an eye for treasure,” Tinkerbell teased.
Great, and now Emma was also insanely jealous of the obviously old and easy rapport between her husband and a fucking fairy.
“Memory potion,” Emma said out loud. “Curses. Snow. Fucking. White.” She shook her head. “Killian, can I talk to you? Alone.”
“Of course, luv,” he said, having the decency to look chagrined for apparently forgetting she didn’t believe a word of this insanity.
Emma practically fled to their bedroom, hugging herself tightly around the middle as she looked at everything that made up their life. Pictures hung on the far wall, a wedding she remembered happening, when they promised to love, honor and always, always cherish. Henry and Killian behind the wheel of a sailboat, the most excited seven year old in history their first time out. Their first Christmas in Boston, the three of them sitting around the tree, happy and settled and a family.
How did he expect her to believe none of it was real?
Killian shut the door quietly behind him and Emma spun around to face him.
“You can’t expect me to just… accept this,” she hissed.
“It’s true, Emma.”
“It’s bullshit,” she countered. “Killian, it’s insane!”
He shook his head. “I admit, I’ve had many a day where I wondered if I had lost my mind, if I had imagined all this, if it really was just the book running away with me. But I knew in my gut it was all true. I just didn’t think we’d ever encounter it again. The curse… it was supposed to be forever. I’ve no idea what’s transpired, luv, but if your family is in danger--”
“I don’t have a family!” Emma yelled. “I have Henry and I have you and that is the end of my family and we are fine!”
Killian approached her slowly, in that way he had, like she was feral but he wasn’t worried about her hurting him, only herself when she inevitably lashed out. Then his arms were around her and she felt that same calm, that same safety she always felt, even in all this madness. His hand cradled the back of her head, his fingertips rubbing soothing little circles into her scalp as he pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I know you’re afraid,” he whispered.
“I’m not afraid,” she said, but that was exactly what it was. She was afraid her husband was crazy and even more afraid of the idea that he wasn’t. She’d spent her whole life knowing one thing for absolute certain: no one had ever wanted her, really wanted her, until Henry and having him changed her whole life. Her baby wanted her and then they met Killian and she suddenly knew what it was really like, having someone put you first, having someone be there, a husband and a father, the way no foster parent or assholes who dumped their kid by the side of the road ever could have.
“Aye, I agree, you’re quite fearless,” he chuckled. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t know fear. I promise you,” he said quietly. “The truth is nothing to fear. You may not be terribly happy with it just yet, but the only thing it changes are some of the details. You’re Henry’s mother. You are the love of my bloody life. And your parents… wanted you, Emma. They wanted you more than anything and if I know them, they’re waiting for you to find them one last time.”
He held the bottle up to her. The fucking memory potion. Like that was a real thing.
She looked carefully into his eyes. “You aren’t telling me something.”
“I’ve told you the truth,” he said quietly. “The one thing I can’t tell you is something only you can. And only when you’re truly yourself.” He pressed the bottle into her palm. “You’re a bloody hero, Swan. You’re incapable of doing anything but the right thing. Trust your gut, Emma. It’ll tell you what to do.”
Her gut. The thing that had kind of believed this crazy story from the moment she heard it. The thing that knew there was something wrong with Killian all those months ago.
Emma took the potion.
….
ONE YEAR AGO - THE TOWN LINE
“We’ll go back to the Enchanted Forest?” Emma clarified.
Regina shook her head slightly. “All of us. Except Henry. He will stay here because… he was born here.”
Dread sunk like a stone in Emma’s belly. “Alone?” No, no Henry would not be alone, abandoned by the side of the road - right where she was.
“No,” Regina said, echoing the denial Emma felt. “You will take him. Because you’re the savior. And you were created to break the curse. And once again, you can escape it.”
It should have been the answer to her prayers. Except… there was David and Mary Margaret, who had finally started to feel like her parents, the one she’d lain awake crying for more nights than she could count. There was Neal and he didn’t deserve to lose his son anymore than Henry deserved to lose his father. There was Regina, who had raised Henry… and there was Hook, who stood to the side, looking like something was dying right in front of him.
Emma knew how he felt.
“I-I don’t want to. We’ll both go back with everyone.”
Regina looked as gutted as Emma had ever seen her. “That’s not an option. I can’t be with him. If I don’t pay the price, none of this will work.”
“If someone who wasn’t part of the original curse were to try and escape with them… would it work?” Hook asked, a considering look in his eye.
Emma looked at him sharply. Some traitorous flutter of hope she hadn’t known existed flamed to life in her breast. Stupid hope. It never learned that life wasn’t fair.
“Perhaps,” Regina said.
“What if Neal and I accompanied them?” He held a hand toward Emma. “Not that I doubt your ability to handle any foe with your usual brand of punching and kicking, but perhaps you need not start totally from scratch when it comes to rebuilding your lives.”
The hopeful look in Neal’s eyes died almost immediately when Regina spoke again.
“The magic in this curse comes from Pan. He designed it to punish Rumple most of all and as his son, Neal would be unable to escape.” Regina glanced at Hook. “The pirate, however… should have no problem escaping with you, if that’s what you want.”
“I prefer making my own choices in this world and frankly… there’s nothing left for me in the Enchanted Forest,” Hook said, but the way he looked at Emma, the way he didn’t disguise the longing in his eyes, made it very clear to her exactly why he wanted to go with them.
The curse’s thunder sounded in the distance.
“Emma, you have to go,” Mary Margaret said firmly, holding back tears. “All of you, if you can,” she added, nodding toward Hook.
“No,” Emma said, the panic clawing up inside her. It felt like the social worker was coming again, forcing her to leave another home, another family, another life that she should have known would be like all the others, but she always let herself hope, why didn’t she learn-- “N-no. I’m-I’m not… done. I’m the savior, right? I’m supposed to bring back all the happy endings. That’s what Henry always said.”
Mary Margaret smiled at her, a strong but fragile thing. “Happy endings aren’t always what we think they will be. Look around you. You’ve touched the lives of everyone here.”
“But we’re a family,” Emma whimpered.
“Yes, and we always will be,” she promised. “You gave us that.”
“You and Henry can be a family,” David said, circling around them protectively. “You can get your wish. You can be like everyone else. You can be happy.” He jerked a thumb in Hook’s direction. “You can even take in a stray or two.”
Mary Margaret laughed a little. “It’s time to believe in yourself, Emma. It’s time for you to have hope.”
Regina moved closer to Emma, resolve written all over her face. “I’ve known you for some time and all I wanted was for you to get the hell out of my life so I can be with my son. But really… what I want is for Henry to be happy. We have no choice. You have to go.”
Emma put on her big girl pants. “Okay.”
She said goodbye to Neal, again to her parents, to everyone - Henry took it hardest, of course, blaming himself, losing the dad he’d just met. Then Regina brought out the big guns.
“When the curse washes over us, it will send us all back. Nothing will be left behind. Including your memories. It’s just what the curse does. Storybrooke will no longer exist. It won’t ever have existed. So these last years will be gone from all your memories. Now we’ll go back to just being stories again.”
“What will happen to us?” Emma asked.
Regina shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a happy ending.”
Regina chuckled. “It’s not. But I can give you one. I can give you all a chance at one, least.”
“You can preserve our memories?” Emma asked hopefully.
“No, I can… do what I did to everyone else in this town. And give you new ones.”
“You cursed them and they were miserable,” Emma reminded her.
“They didn’t have to be.” Regina took Emma’s hands. “My gift to you is good memories, a good life for you and--” She looked to Henry, who moved to her side. “Henry. You’ll have never given him up. You’ll have always been together.”
It was probably the first truly selfless gift Regina had given anyone in decades. The idea of it - of never having given Henry up - was something Emma would have said she wanted more than anything… until now.
Regina gestured toward Hook. “I know what to do with them, but what sort of connection do you want?”
Hook looked at Emma. “Perhaps… new friends? Headed on an adventure in the same direction? It’ll be up to us then, what happens next.”
Emma nodded her head slowly. “Up to us. Yeah. Good.” But something about it didn’t sit right with her. She hugged her parents again, said as much of a goodbye as she could get out, then she and Henry were shuffling to the bug. Killian was speaking with Regina in low tones, an insistent look on his face. And then he was piling into the car with them, the back seat, throwing her a pained smile. Regina had changed his clothes, given him a prosthetic hand in place of a hook. He looked… good.
“This is quite the vessel you captain, Swan.”
She returned his pained smile. It was probably the last thing he would ever say to her as… well, as him. This was the last time she was ever going to see Captain Killian Jones, Captain Hook. Where they were going… he was going to be someone else, more than she was. Because at least she would still be Emma Swan, just with a few years patched in here and there. She’d grown up in that world. Killian didn’t. He was from a literal fairy tale and he was going to be shoved into the Land Without Magic.
Who was he going to be?
But Emma didn’t have time to think about that. Because the curse was coming. She put the bug in gear. Kept her eyes on the rear view mirror as long as she could…
… Henry smiled at her. Emma shook her head, lost in thought. Killian was in the backseat, hoping to catch a few winks before they traded off in a few hours. He looked wide awake. His eyes met hers. She smiled. He tried to smile back. Something was bothering him.
Emma decided she’d ask him about it after they got to Boston.
….
They stared at each other for a long time. Emma felt the bottle drop slowly out of her hand. It bounced off the carpeted floor of their bedroom and she swallowed the last of its taste from her mouth.
“Hook,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he agreed sadly.
Both sets of memories were fighting in her head - the way she’d believed they met and fallen in love for the last year and the way they really met and…
It felt like her husband was dead, which was ridiculous, because he was right in front of her, staring at her without a drop of hope in his eyes - he looked as though his wife was dead, too.
In a way, she was.
“What the hell happened?” she muttered.
He shook his head. “I did nothing but consider that when we first arrived here. I can only assume something went wrong or perhaps Regina decided this would be easier for us and did what she liked.” He shrugged. “After awhile, the why of it didn’t seem to matter as much as what I was meant to do now. Assuming I hadn’t simply lost my mind, which I confess I seriously considered for a time.” He tapped the side of his head. “The memories were all so real and in this world, the idea that I’d invented a three hundred year old pirate often seemed more plausible than the idea that it was all so tragically real.”
“You lied to me,” she whispered, trying not to cry. It wasn’t a fair accusation - she probably understood what he’d done better than he ever would. But Emma didn’t feel terribly fair at the moment. She felt like everything she’d ever wanted had just been ripped away from her.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he pled. “Anything I chose would hurt you somehow. I didn’t think we’d ever go back, so in the end, it seemed the best option in a sea of bad choices.”
“So you just decided to fake it for the rest of your life?”
“Don’t,” he warned. “You can hate me if you like, but you know damned well what I feel for you is real.”
“What I know is that all of the fake bullshit in my head made me think I loved you,” Emma hissed. “It ruined whatever spark of something, of possibility that was between us. Oh, God - Henry. How the hell do we explain this to Henry?”
“We don’t,” Killian said quietly. “Not yet, at least. There was only one potion. My feelings for him haven’t changed either, so it should be no problem to continue faking it for the boy’s sake.”
The bitterness in his voice was as heartbreaking as it was infuriating. Emma had a powder keg of rage inside of her and absolutely no one else to direct it at.
“Your feelings may be real, but I feel taken advantage of, like we were both taken advantage of,” she whispered. “I get that you were backed into a corner, but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like an idiot who got tricked.”
His face looked stricken. “I didn’t - I never intended--”
But Emma didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Mostly because she was afraid of how terrified she was - it felt like nothing in her life was real, was hers, definitely not in her control. She was going to keep lashing out at him if they kept talking and she’d already done enough damage. Deep down inside, she knew this wasn’t his fault - but the emotions that were in the driver’s seat didn’t particularly care.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “I was kidding myself. This life? It was never real. It was never in the cards for the Savior. We have to go back. I have to save everyone. Because that’s what I do.”
She spun away from him before he could say anything else and pulled down suitcases for both of them by habit. She knew what they’d both need.
“Pack a bag for Henry,” she ordered. “We’ll pick him up early from school and head back to Storybrooke. Assuming it’s actually there,” she added bitterly.
At the last moment, Emma grabbed the one thing she knew she’d need - her red leather jacket. Her armor. The reminder she needed of who she really was and who she was never meant to be.
…
The drive seemed to take a lot longer than it actually did, given Storybrooke was only a couple of hours from Boston. Henry had been ecstatic at the idea of a spontaneous work trip, “just like old times!” and he’d been quite taken with sharing his backseat with Tinkerbell, who kindly confirmed for him that yes, it was her real name. They made up a story about her being a big fan of Killian’s books and that’s how she found Emma. It made her skin crawl, lying to Henry. It made her skin crawl how easily Killian did it. Then again, she was no slouch - she basically lied for a living. Everything made her skin crawl, really. She was ashamed to admit that if someone told her everyone in Storybrooke would be safe without her, she would take the fake memories over reality in a heartbeat.
She was almost surprised when the town line was there, right where she’d last seen it.
They crossed over without incident, dropping Tink off at the convent to check in with the other fairies, assuming everyone was back again. Killian offered to get Henry settled while Emma went to check in with her parents - if everyone was under another curse, they agreed, it would be best if she tried to reason with them alone.
Something she didn’t have to do, it turned out. Her father hugged her, and it was so strange and so comforting all at once that Emma had to stop herself from bursting into tears. Her massively pregnant mother hugged her, too, and Emma tried to keep all the confusion and jealousy and reluctant happiness at bay. She needed to focus on the problem at hand - whatever had brought everyone back had also taken the last year of their memories away, which meant everyone still needed to be on red alert. Emma didn’t have time to feel like an outsider in the only family that was supposed to be real to her. She had Henry and that would always, always be enough.
When she returned to the room they were renting at Granny’s - Henry would never understand why they were staying with David and Mary Margaret and the loft was cramped plus Emma was avoiding the Hook-is-sort-of-my-husband reveal as long as possible - Henry was fast asleep on the pull out bed in the main room. Killian was sitting in a chair in the bedroom, staring out the window - brooding.
On his left arm, was a familiar silver hook.
He gestured toward her with it after she’d shut the door. “Belle confirms it turned up in the pawn shop when the town did. No sign of the Crocodile. Or Neal.”
Neal. She hadn’t given him much thought, something that made her feel guilty - he was Henry’s father and even if Henry didn’t know him now, he would again.
“There are more people missing,” Emma said quietly. “David says they’ve had a hard time getting a head count because there are new people, too.”
Killian pursed his lips. “New people could mean the person who cast the curse. No one really thinks it was Regina, as her memories seem to be as lost as the rest.”
“You don’t believe that?” Emma asked.
He shrugged. “I made my desires for our curse very explicit to her and again when she took my hook and gave me modern clothing. I’ve no idea why she decided to torture me this way, but it was quite effective, don’t you think?” It was then she noticed he’d also found his old flask and by the looks of him, he’d been indulging since Henry went to bed.
“I doubt she was trying to torture you,” Emma argued.
“Who knows why the Evil Queen does anything she does?” He shook his head. “At any rate, whatever her reasons, the blame still lies with me.”
“Hook,” Emma admonished, and his moniker felt as sharp on her tongue as the hook that was once again reunited with his left arm.
“I swore that I would win your heart without any trickery and the first chance I got, I made a mockery of that vow.” He took a heavy swig from his flask. “I assure you, Swan, however much you hate me, I hate myself more.”
I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever could. I’ve just never been able to take the chance that every instinct I have about you is wrong, the way they always are about a guy I really, really like. And nothing in the whole world feels real to me anymore.
Her heart was the one place Emma was not brave, at least not the Emma who hadn’t been cursed by Regina. So she went into the bathroom to change into pajamas and when she emerged, he was still brooding out the window, like some kind of guardian gargoyle.
She climbed under the covers. “Come to bed,” she ordered. “Henry won’t understand if you sleep somewhere else.” That wasn’t why she wanted him to come to bed, of course, but it was the only reason she could admit out loud.
He was silent for a long moment, then muttered a bitter “As you wish” and joined her in bed, atop the covers.
Emma refused to let herself cry.
….
Regina was devastated Henry didn’t remember her. Emma felt bad for her, particularly when she witnessed a very angry Killian - once again sporting his prosthetic instead of a hook - obviously interrogating her about her role in his half cursed state of being. Emma imagined she told him a version of what she’d told Emma herself - that she hadn’t done anything other than what they’d asked and if things got screwed up, it wasn’t her problem. Emma tended to believe her, mostly because Regina never could give up a chance to gloat when something she’d done had made her enemies miserable.
Which wasn’t really fair, because Regina was as miserable as a person could be with Henry not knowing who she was, but Emma still didn’t feel much like being fair.
David looked like he wanted to murder Hook when they dropped the marriage bomb, but Emma quickly diffused the situation by very loudly reminding him they were both cursed. Killian opened his mouth to stupidly confess his sins, but Emma elbowed him in the ribs to keep him quiet.
“The last thing we need is David going psycho protective dad on you,” she explained later. “Besides, this part is between you and me. No one else.”
That was also the excuse Emma gave herself not to mention the status of her relationship to Mary Margaret. The Queen of Hope would probably pounce on the idea that Emma still had feelings for her fake husband and that was the last thing Emma needed to be distracted by when they had a town to save.
It surprised no one but Emma when their new foe was revealed to be the Wicked Witch. They still had no idea who she was, but tensions were running high and everyone had started snapping at each other. Emma knew she was the number one offender, but that did little to cool her always at the ready temper. She didn’t know how to stop being so angry, how to stop grieving her broken heart over her fake marriage, how to separate the Killian she’d lived with for the last year from the real thing, how to just get over it already.
It was after a particularly heated argument Emma and Killian had in front of everyone in the middle of their room at Granny’s over Henry’s wellbeing - Emma wanted Killian to take him back to Boston and Killian argued the boy was safer here, with both his magical mothers and the rest of his family around him - that Regina apparently finally had enough. She waited until the others had filed out before she pulled Emma aside.
“I didn’t want to say anything. It’s not my place. But Emma, you have to realize what this was.”
“Why?” Emma muttered. “What was it?”
Regina shook her head sadly. “You really don’t know, do you? Funny how I’d forgotten how stubbornly rigid you are.”
“If you have a point, I’d appreciate you getting to it.”
“Fine.” Regina mirrored her defiant stance. “I gave Hook cursed memories along with yours, that’s why he had them rolling around in there. But he wasn’t supposed to be your husband, he was supposed to be an author Henry admired that moved in next door who was victim to the same fire that ruined all of your things - an experience that bonded you and had you agreeing to share a ride to your new home in Boston. That was the reality I put in your heads. He definitely wasn’t supposed to remember he was a 300 year old pirate Captain who specializes in making googoo eyes at you.”
Emma shook her head. “You already told us this--”
“My magic didn’t do this,” Regina said, raising her voice. “Yours did.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “What? I didn’t do--”
“You’re like a baby with a blowtorch,” Regina muttered. “You have no idea how powerful you are and you refuse to learn. You didn’t want Hook to be someone you could lose, someone who could fall through the cracks. So you made sure he was tied to you and Henry, tied as deeply as possible in the Land Without Magic. You made him Henry’s father so he didn’t have to grow up without one and you made him your husband because you wanted him.”
“Look, I don’t need your pop psychology--”
“And,” Regina said, louder still, “you made sure he kept his memories because you didn’t want the fake version of Killian Jones I would have had to create for him to exist in the modern world. You wanted the real thing. You wanted him to love you the same way he always has. No substitutions for Miss Swan, hm?” Regina shook her head. “Get a handle on your magic. We have something wicked to fight. And get a handle on your love life, because the way things stand right now? Your mopey, guilt ridden pirate is going to get himself killed. And while that wouldn’t exactly be the worst thing that ever happened, I imagine Henry would be fairly upset by it.”
Emma tried to fold her arms in the intimidating way she’d used since she was young, but she feared they were more cradling her chest, forcing her heart to stay in place than anything else. . “You’re just guessing,” she said stubbornly.
“Maybe you’re right,” Regina said suddenly. “Maybe I am wrong. Because the only way you’d be able to override Pan’s curse and my alterations to it, would be if you truly loved one another. And to be frank, I’m not sure you believe in anything enough to truly love someone other than Henry. I’m not sure if I do anymore, either.” Regina gestured toward the door. “He’s staying with your parents tonight. He’s excited about having the loft bed to himself. I suggest you use the time to put your house in order.”
Rolling her eyes at Regina’s imperious tone, Emma tried to deny everything she’d just said as the other woman left her alone.
The trouble was, it all rang frighteningly, embarrassingly true.
Emma sank down to the end of the bed and forced herself to sort through her shit. The last year, Killian’s behavior, how hard he’d tried to both stay away from her and be with her. What the hell did she expect him to do? She had as much as told him so - he had to make a choice and then live with it. And if Regina was right -- and goddamnit, she is, she’s right -- Emma had done this to him either because she was so selfish that she wanted him, the real him, even if he wasn’t getting entirely the real her… or, even more terrifying, it had happened unconsciously because she loved him.
Truly.
Before she could think about it much further, the outer door opened and closed quietly and she heard Killian’s hesitant footfalls come closer.
“Swan,” he said tightly. “Henry’s with your parents. Since he won’t be with us, I thought I’d give you a night of peace by seeking my accommodations elsewhere.”
He was very carefully looking just over her head, his expression intentionally blank. She’d been hurting him, punishing him the way he’d always feared she would and all he’d done was the best he could in an impossible situation. He’d tried to protect her heart at every turn, even when his own was hurting and confused and at war with that strange moral compass he’d always had.
This had to stop. Now.
“Regina said something to me tonight,” Emma said, her voice hoarse.
Killian finally looked at her. “Swan, are you crying?” he asked, the worry flooding his tone.
“Am I?” Emma reached her hand up to touch the tear tracks that had made their way down her cheeks. “I guess I am. It’s funny, when you make it a rule that you won’t let anything make you cry anymore… it kind of sneaks up on you.”
“What the hell did Regina say to you?” Now he looked murderous again, which was kind of sweet, actually. That was her life - a murderous pirate fake-husband. For a kid who grew up alone and unloved, it actually didn’t sound too bad.
“This is all my fault,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. Killian, I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” he soothed, flipping from murderous to concerned in a heartbeat. “If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that none of this is your fault.”
“Killian, I’m so damaged that even my magic is repressed and it only comes out when I’m desperately afraid of losing something,” she explained. “Regina thinks - and I do, too, I mean, I don’t think, I know - all of those walls I have, those stupid walls, it’s why you were basically tortured for a year. I did it. I didn’t want some fake version of you living down the hall. I wanted you. And my magic just… did it. You didn’t trick me. If anything, I’m the one who tricked you, except… I guess I didn’t, because you always knew how you felt.” Emma didn’t know what else to say and Killian was looking at her with the most inscrutable expression. “I could use a little feedback here,” she prompted.
He shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. “You called me Killian.” His voice was tinged with wonder.
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s your name.”
“You haven’t called me anything but Hook since you remembered,” he said. “You haven’t…”
Her chest hurt again from how much she’d hurt him. “Stupid walls,” she offered, the only explanation she had.
Killian took a step toward her, then another, until he could fall to his knees at her feet. He took her hand in his, brought the back of it to his mouth for a kiss. She was still wearing her fake wedding ring. So was he. She still had Liam’s ring around her neck. His actual ring, if she was a betting woman - her magic had made sure the moments they shared with false memories were still as real as a land without magic could allow them to be.
“I like your walls,” Killian confided, as if telling her a secret. He looked up at her with the tenderest expression in his blue, blue eyes. It didn’t really matter if she met him on a crowded sidewalk or under a pile of bodies - it was understanding at first sight and everything they’d shared had been real, even the things that weren’t.
“I think I was right before,” she whispered back. “No one else could have loved me well enough to bring them down.”
“Oh, Emma,” he chuffed. “I don’t know if you give me too much credit or yourself too little. Perhaps both.”
“How do you do this?” she muttered. “How do you love me like this? Like it’s just… easy? I’m not… i’m not easy. I know I’m not. But it’s as if you just… like me this way.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Almost as funny as you liking me the way I am - all tortured, revenge obsessed-turned-Emma Swan obsessed, so much that you forced me to stay exactly who I was even in the face of an unbreakable curse.”
Emma groaned. “Your ego is never going to come back down to earth after this.”
“Aye,” he agreed cheerfully. “But this is the monster you created. You’re going to have to live with him.”
Emma brought her palms to his cheeks; stroked his ridiculous cheekbones with her thumbs, paying extra attention to the scar on his right. He was perfect, even in the places that weren’t. Real, even the ways he hadn’t been. No one else would have been right - would have been this right. No one else would have had her magic crying out at the idea of taking any part of him away.
“I guess I can do that,” she promised, resting her forehead against his.
She had to play it a little cool. He still had to be the grown up in the relationship.
…
They buried Neal.
Henry got his memories back. Everyone did.
They beat the witch.
Emma’s little brother was the most perfect baby she’d ever seen.
Until eight months later, when little Hope came screaming into the world.
Henry was the best man at their wedding - the one the whole town and one very fussy baby attended.
The fake memories had been good. Really, really good.
