Okay, so I have read this fic before -and have probably even recc'ed it before, but I'm going to do so again. @elizabeethan has written SO MANY brilliant CS/OuaT fics - and this one is one of my faves of hers! - and I was missing her writing, so i re-read this fic recently and might have loved it EVEN MORE this time around! I also read all the extras/epilogues, which I think I missed before, and they added even more to it.
This 4 chapter, 4 outtakes MC is a different take on OuaT Season 1, which has Emma and Killian meeting out in the Land Without Magic and then coming to Storybrooke together. I love how @elizabeethan then blends it into the canon timeline once they arrive, and really just everything about it.
If you've never read this one, there's no time like the present!
Another little extra for one of my favorite series!! Soft domestic fluff meets angst... There will be a follow up to this one, eventually.
For @the-darkdragonfly who wanted this to be a 12 part series… we’re halfway there baby
Rated T, mostly for language
~4300 words
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~~~~
“Stop it.”
“I’m only trying--”
“No, stop it.”
“My love, if you’d just--”
“I don’t want to!”
“--you may find that you feel better.”
“I won’t. I will never feel better, ever, for as long as I live. I will feel exactly this horrible every second for the rest of my miserable life.”
Killian sighs softly, smiling at her despite how much it pisses her off and running his hand through her hair. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so uncomfortable.”
“Having a baby in August is not a good plan.”
“No,” he agrees. “I’m sure you must be feeling rather miserable.”
She nods, pouting. “Extremely miserable.”
He softly kisses the tip of her nose, taking out the sunscreen he’s been begging her to wear and squirting some into his hands. “Now, just imagine how hot you’d be if we were still in Phoenix.”
“Shut up,” she grumbles, leaning forward just enough for him to get her back.
“You’re the one who suggested we come to the beach.”
She glares up at him, her lips pressed into a tight line and her brows covering her eyes almost completely. “You’re on thin ice.”
“I think you’ll find there’s no ice this time of year, my darling. It’s very hot out; it would melt.”
He can’t blame her for being miserable. At 37 weeks pregnant in late July, she can’t seem to ever get comfortable. Her back hurts her endlessly, her hips are sore, she’s been suffering with horrible heartburn, and the mood swings are difficult to keep up with.
He wouldn’t have it any other way, though.
“Why don’t we get into the water? A bit of buoyancy is sure to help your back.”
She sighs in defeat and says, “I’ll probably just get sea sick. Or eaten by a shark. Or stung by a jellyfish.”
He kisses her nose once more and takes her hand, hoisting her off of the chaise lounge and placing his palm on the small of her back where he knows she’s sore. “I’ll fight off the sharks and the jellyfish, my love.”
“Promise?” she asks as she waddles towards the shore with him.
“Of course.”
She squeals as she tries to get into the chilly water, but once they’re in and she’s used to the cold, she relaxes a bit. His heart flutters when she leans back against his chest, letting him bear her weight as he runs his hand along her bump and presses a kiss to her shoulder.
Feeling her pressed against him makes the blood rush through his veins, and he’s glad for the cold water keeping any obvious signs of his arousal at bay. He’s always found her unbelievably sexy, but seeing her in her yellow bikini, her bump on full display, is enough for him to have almost kept her home today.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she grumbles, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the waves. “And no, we’re not doing it in the ocean.”
“I would perish at the thought of sullying your purity on a public beach, love.”
“Purity,” she scoffs. “I’m knocked up at 22. Nothing pure about it.”
He kisses her neck, then her cheek, and holds her close to himself, his bare wrist pressed to the side of her belly and his hand holding it tenderly. “We've talked about this, love,” he murmurs against her skin. “How this child has come to be is not important. What’s important is how fiercely the two of us love him.”
“I know,” she agrees softly, dropping her head to his shoulder and sighing as she lets herself relax further into his hold and into the gentle current of the sea. “I just wish… sometimes I just wish you were his dad.”
He sways the two of them together gently, letting the waves carry them, and reminds her, “I fully intend to be. Biology isn’t really a factor here, my love.”
She hums happily as she lets him support every ounce of her, effectively floating just below the surface with him holding her up. “I just feel… I love this baby more than anything. I don’t regret having him, I just kind of wish you'd been the one to knock me up.”
“Me too,” he laughs, “but it’s alright, because this child will be as much my son as any that I sire.”
“I love you. Sorry I’m a bitch.”
“You’re the furthest thing from it, darling. I’ll not hear you talking about yourself in such a way.”
She hums again and shrugs. “I could probably chill out a bit. I’ve been pretty snappy.”
“Well, you’re nine months pregnant.”
“Maybe I’ll keep being bitchy after the baby’s born.”
“I hope so. I like you when you’re fired up.”
She lies in his arms for a while, content to float almost weightlessly in the water as the pressure of the babe she carries is finally relieved. He feels the lad kicking about beneath the water, likely entranced by the dancing waves, and chuckles softly each time he gets a strike to his palm.
“What would you like for dinner, my love?” he asks after a long silence falls between them.
“Chinese food,” she answers immediately.
“That’s a nice dream. What do you actually want, Miss High Blood Pressure?”
“Baaaabe,” she groans, tossing her head back against his shoulder again and gripping his forearms. “I don’t want grilled chicken.”
“You don’t have to have grilled chicken. We can stop for fish.”
“The baby wants lo mein.”
“He can have some after he’s born and his mother isn’t at risk for preeclampsia.”
She grumbles some more, her words incoherent and inaudible over the sound of the water lapping around them. “Chicken,” she finally concedes. “But only if you make that sauce you made last week.”
With a snort, he asks, “you mean the one with the bacon in it?”
“That’s the one.”
“Alright, love. Let’s get you out of the water before you give birth to a raisin.”
“You’ve gotta work on your dad jokes.”
~~~~
The days seem to be getting longer and longer, time refusing to pass at a normal pace as she lives in constant torture and betrayal of her own body. She loves being pregnant, honestly, but it’s becoming a bit tiring. The baby she’s hauling around is heavy, and her back is killing her. Killian’s being very wary of her slightly elevated blood pressure when all she wants is Chinese food and chicken nuggets. Her mom still remembers her days as a perinatal nurse and won’t stop accidentally scaring her when she talks about what she’s seen during labor.
Killian’s looking forward to the delivery, and she tries not to let that piss her off. Of course, she’s more than elated to see him so excited for their child to be born, and she’s so lucky to have a partner who will be there for her throughout the whole thing. But each time he tries to show her something he’s read in a book, or a breathing exercise they can try together during contractions, she wants to chuck something at him. After all, she doesn’t believe that he’s truly ready for what her body will be doing in just a few short weeks.
“During a contraction, I can try to massage your lower back if you’re standing. How does that sound?”
“Standing?” she asks doubtfully. “I can barely stand during cramps.”
“Don’t let him fool you; the massages don’t help,” Granny says ominously while she places her plate before her. While he’s been very strict about her diet, Killian can’t keep her from getting her French toast from Granny’s on Sunday mornings.
“And did you have a walking epidural when you delivered in the Enchanted Forest, Granny?” he asks, his tone sarcastic.
She rolls her eyes as she places his eggs in front of him.
Taking a deep breath with her eyes squeezed shut, Emma places her hand on the top of her bump as a zip of hot pain rushes up her chest and into her throat. Killian’s silent and still as he watches her, holding his fork above his plate as his brows furrow while she waits for it to pass. Once the pain subsides, he asks, “alright?”
“Heartburn,” she breathes. He pushes her glass of water towards her encouragingly as she breathes steadily. “Damn.”
“It won’t be long, love.”
“Yeah, he better make an appearance soon. I wanna meet him so bad, and I wouldn’t mind if the indigestion went away.”
“Morning,” Ruby says happily as she refills Killian’s mug, much to Emma’s jealous vexation.
“Morning Ruby. What’s the report for this week?” he asks, happily going along with her perception of herself as the town crier.
“Not much, but there’s someone new in town. Can you believe that? The dwarves are doing some research to find out if that means we can leave.”
“Well, that will certainly be interesting,” he agrees, giving Emma a happy smile. They haven’t even bothered to attempt to leave themselves, although it’s suspected that they can.
“And everyone is excited to have a newcomer.”
“I’m sure he must be a really interesting character, what with him wanting to come to Storybrooke.”
Emma snorts, digging into her breakfast once her least favorite pregnancy symptom subsides completely.
“I haven’t met him, but I’ve heard he is kind of an ass.”
Moments later, her parents bustle into the diner and greet her with a broad smile as they approach them. “Hi honey!” her mom says happily.
“Morning,” she smiles.
“How are you feeling?” she asks as she and David scoot the two of them down in their booths. “How’s my sweet little grandson?”
Mary Margaret places a gentle hand over Emma’s bump and she stiffens just a bit. It always feels weird to have anyone but Killian put their hands on her belly. “Okay. He keeps flopping around and giving me heartburn.”
She hums in understanding, patting her belly. “Have you heard about someone new being in town?”
“We were just briefed by Ruby,” Killian answers.
“Well, I met him very briefly. He’s handsome and very charming.”
“I don’t think Emma or Hook care much about that, Snow,” David says, and Emma nods.
“Well, I heard he’s coming here for breakfast today. Isn’t that exciting? You two won’t be the newcomers anymore.”
Emma laughs and nods through another bite. “I guess that’s true.”
They continue to chat through their meal, David talking about his job as an animal control officer. Apparently, they’re thinking about adopting a dog he’d rescued a week ago, and Emma’s only seen him beam like this a few times in the short time she’s known him. Things are good, the French toast isn’t giving her heartburn, she thinks she’s going to have a good day.
Until the bell above the door rings.
And he walks in.
She takes in a gasping breath, her eyes bugging out of her head as she swings her head away from the door. “Alright?” Killian asks her softly, leaning over the table and taking her hand.
She shakes her head and feels his body go rigid with panic. If they weren’t trapped in the booth by her parents, she would grab his hand and run out the back door of the diner to escape him.
“Heartburn?” Killian asks softly, not yet alerting her parents of her sudden shift in mood. “Braxton Hicks? Contractions?!”
“No,” she croaks.
“What is it, angel? Talk to me.”
She chances a look towards the door and sees him talking with Ruby, probably flirting with her shamelessly. Then, she looks back at Killian and whispers, “Neal.”
He raises a brow in thought and then she watches as the pieces of the puzzle click into place. He nods once, looking towards the door and grimacing. Ruby starts to guide Neal towards a table and Mary Margaret gives him a friendly, excited wave before Emma can stop her. She wants to put her head through the table; maybe he won’t see her if she does that.
The only saving grace is the fact that she can spread her legs out and tuck her bump under the table. The last thing she wants right now is for him to find out that he fertilized the egg that became her son.
“Mary Margaret, right? Hi,” he greets casually. “And this must be your husband, and--”
He’s staring, but not at her. He’s gaping at Killian.
“What the… Hook?”
Killian looks as baffled as Emma must, and he gives her a look of confusion that tells her he has no idea what’s going on. Only, when he looks at her, so does Neal.
“Emma?!”
“You two know each other?”
“Oh my god,” she grumbles, dropping her head to her folded arms on the table. She’d pushed her plate away, unable to eat anything more as the stress of her sperm donor making an appearance in her life eats away at her.
“Darling, perhaps we should--” Before he can continue, she kicks him under the table, not wishing to let Neal know anything personal about her, especially the fact that she and Killian are together and that she’s expecting a baby in a few weeks.
“Darling? Are you two, like, dating or something?”
“Emma and Ho-- Killian live together,” her mother supplies, and Emma rolls her eyes.
“Huh,” Neal says in response. “You sure do move on fast.”
“Mate, that’s not--”
“I’m not your mate, pirate.”
Killian chuckles awkwardly and asks, “do we know each other?”
Neal looks like he’s ready to snap, perhaps jump across the table and strangle Killian at his cocky response, but he’s interrupted by the door opening again and Mr. Gold entering the diner. “Bae,” he calls, not yet taking notice of what he’s doing or who he’s talking to. “What are you doing?”
“Bae,” Killian breathes, staring up at Neal and Mr. Gold in astonishment. “You… you’re Neal?”
“What is going on?” Emma asks through gritted teeth, wanting nothing more than to escape. The position she’s put herself in in order to hide her bump is horribly uncomfortable on her back (and she probably looks ridiculous), and all she wants to do now is go home and sit on her new couch.
“What’s going on is your boyfriend is a piece of shit,” Neal spits at her. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”
“What, like I picked you? Lot of good that did me, what with the police, and the court hearings, and the community service, and the--”
“Honey… This is Neal? I thought your name was Bae.”
“It was,” Neal grumbles back, turning towards his father and then back to Emma. “You told your parents about me?”
“Well, she kind of had to,” David responds condescendingly. “What with the--”
“Dad. Please stop.”
“The what?”
“Son, let’s go enjoy our breakfast and leave the family drama for later.”
The baby starts wiggling just as another bout of heartburn curses her, and she hisses, pushing her fist against her chest and leaning forward even more until she’s in an awkward position. “Honey, you need some tums. I told you, they’re safe for the ba--”
“I’m fine,” she seethes, swallowing and breathing deeply through the feeling of lava crawling up her throat. She wants to leave so badly, but the moment she moves to stand, her pregnancy will become more than obvious.
“Family drama,” Neal laughs. “That’s rich, isn’t it, Hook? First my mom and now my girlfriend?”
Emma glares up at him, practicing her mom-look. “Go away,” she insists.
He scoffs and says, “Ems, come on. Let's get you out of here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Bae is Neal?” Killian asks through continued astonishment, looking down at his hand with his mouth agape, his brows furrowed.
“Stop calling me that,” Neal snaps. “You lost your right to talk to me when you killed my mother and sold me to Pan.”
Emma knows this isn’t true; Killian told her the story about the Crocodile murdering his first love in front of him. He told her about how he found her son years later and wanted to raise him as his own. She just had no idea that her son was… Neal. Evidently, Killian didn’t either.
“Neal, go away. Leave us alone like you left me to rot.”
“I did that for your own good. You had to break the curse.”
“Right,” she scoffs. She wants nothing more than to rub in his face the fact that he abandoned her, homeless and poor and pregnant, but she holds in her anger. Truthfully, Neal leaving was one of the better things to have happened to her. It gave her Killian and their baby. It brought her to her family. It helped her find out who she is.
Those facts don't make his betrayal sting any less, though.
“Killian, maybe you should take Emma home,” her mother suggests through the haze of anger and confusion surrounding the table. He looks up at Snow, his jaw still dropped towards the floor and his eyes swimming with the guilt of his past, and nods.
“Aye,” he agrees, shaking his head and taking Emma’s hands. “Come, love. Let’s sail away.”
She wants nothing more than to agree, to nod and smile at him, taking his hands and letting him lead her out of the diner, but Neal remains firmly planted outside of their booth. If she stands now, she’ll reveal herself. She looks at Killian meaningfully with wide eyes, then glances down towards her belly and up in Neal’s direction.
He understands effortlessly and turns towards Neal, asking, “do you mind, mate? We’d like to head out.”
Neal rolls his eyes and concedes, stepping away from their booth and towards his father, and Mary Margaret and David stand to give them a path out of their seats. They're almost home free-- she can see the light at the end of the diner-- Killian leading the way and effectively hiding the evidence of her pregnancy. Or so she thinks.
Just as Killian’s hand reaches the door, about to push it open and gain their sweet escape, Ruby cuts them off with an excited greeting to Emma, reaching to give her a hug as she usually does and asking, “how’s my favorite little nephew doing? What is it now; three weeks to go?”
Emma freezes, eyes wide and face pale as Killian’s back goes stiff in front of her. The diner is silent, the early breakfast rush long over, and she knows Neal heard her. It’s confirmed when she hears the scratch of the chair against the floor as he stands and calls, “what, so he knocked you up, too? What a stand-up guy.”
The blood in her veins chills at his statements. Her jaw starts hurting with how forcefully she’s clenching it. She watches Killian turn around and fears that he’s going to confront Neal with the truth. In reality, though, he turns and looks only at her, taking her hands in his easily despite the fact that one is missing, courtesy of her ex’s father. “It’s alright,” he whispers, showing her just how much he understands her. Showing her that he can tell exactly what she’s thinking; can read the fear in her eyes at the thought of Neal finding out that this child is technically a part of him. “We can go,” he tells her.
She can’t help but to spin around, half turning to face Neal with tearfilled eyes, looking at him just once so that she can remind herself of the mistakes she’s made in her past. So that she can compare the despair he brought her with the joy that Killian brings so effortlessly. But it’s a mistake. She watches as his face falls, seemingly seeing just how pregnant she really is.
“Is that… are you…” He looks up at the ceiling, flexing his fingers as if counting on them. Counting the months since they were last together. Realizing it’s been almost nine months since their last encounter. Taking in just how large her bump is. “Emma…?”
She should just turn around and leave, or ignore him; refuse to give attention to his thoughts so that she doesn't spur them on. But instead, she lets out a choked sob and buries her face in her hands as her tears flow freely.
Killian’s hand is on her back immediately, running soothing circles along her skin as he moves to stand in front of her and blocks her view of the rest of the world, consuming her with only his ocean-blue eyes. “It’s alright,” he whispers again.
“Did she say three weeks left? Is that…”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and although Neal’s voice cuts through the air between them like a knife, all she sees is Killian.
“I wanna go home,” she cries softly, clinging to his hand and hook.
“We will,” he promises.
“Emma, is that my kid?”
She can’t respond. All she can do is tilt her body slightly so that she’s looking past Killian’s right into Neal’s eyes, showing him the truth in her own. She can’t tell him with words that he fathered a child with her, but she knows that the look on her face is enough confirmation when his own pales and he drops back down in his chair.
He only stays there for a second before forcefully standing again, the chair colliding with the floor. Gold begs, “Bae,” reaching his hand towards his son, and Neal violently rips away from his father.
“Don’t!” He shouts. “Fuck.”
Before anyone can say anything, Neal is stalking towards Emma and Killian, and she almost feels nervous for a second, until he brushes past the two of them and slams his way out the door.
~~~~
Her lip trembles as he shuts the door, and she spins into his arms the second he locks it, bursting into tears easily. “He’s gonna take him,” she cries.
“Emma, no. That isn’t going to happen, love.”
She sobs some more, gripping his shirt with white knuckles, nodding into his neck and pulling him as close to herself as she possibly can with the bump between them. “He is.”
“You saw his face when he found out, darling. He has no interest. He’s already running.”
“Everything was so perfect. Now it’s ruined.”
“Nothing is ruined, my love,” he argues. “What makes you even say that?”
She shudders in his arms, whimpering pathetically as the hormones take over and the fear of losing her child consumes her. “I wanted--” she chokes. “I wanted you to be his dad.”
When he pulls away from her, forcing her face from his neck, she cries out again, pained at the thought that she’s losing him, too. “Angel,” he murmurs softly, soothingly. “I am his dad. Perhaps the lad will simply be lucky enough to have two.”
The violence behind her choked breathing is palpable between the two of them, showing him just how distraught she truly is as she asks, “you mean-- you mean you’re not leaving?”
“You silly thing,” he breathes through a gentle laugh, pressing their foreheads together. “Do you really believe that that fool coming into our lives will sway me? I love you. Both of you.”
Her bottom lip trembles again as his hand slides along the side of her belly, the baby kicking against his palm in greeting. The fact that he didn’t stir when faced with his biological father doesn’t get past her as he wiggles against his dad lovingly. She lets out one last soft, whimpering sob and sniffles before saying, “I love you. We both love you.”
He kisses her gently despite the tears and snot, making her laugh lightly. “Bae knows what it is to have an absent father, love. I’m… I’m truly shocked to know that the boy who lived on my ship all those years ago has done this to you. But I do believe that, now that he knows, he’ll do what he can to support you and the little lad. I believe he’ll do the right thing.”
“Maybe I don’t want him to,” she pouts.
He smiles, cupping her cheek, and says, “that’s valid. And I know you're scared. But we’ll just have to sort out what’s best for the little one.”
With a heaving sigh, she drops her forehead to his chest and shuts her eyes. “Right now, what’s best for the little one is a nap.”
“It’s only 10:30,” he jests, but despite his argument, he places his hand on the small of her back and guides her towards their bedroom. “Need a snack?”
“More French toast.”
“No. An apple.”
“Never mind,” she grumbles, pouting as she collapses on the bed and holds up her feet until he starts pulling her sandals off. He shakes his head as he laughs lightly, running his thumb over her swollen feet and kissing her cankles. “Killian?” she whispers quietly.
“Aye, love?” he asks, almost as softly as he crawls up towards her and helps her lean back onto the bed.
She grunts unattractively as her swollen body flops like a fish across the mattress, drawing a soft smile from his lips. “I’m scared,” she whispers when his front wraps around her back.
“Aye, love. I know.” His hand slides across her giant bump, the baby kicking him gently, and kisses just behind her ear. “But you’re going to be fantastic. You’re so strong, and smart, and capable of anything you set your mind to.”
“Then why can’t I just magic him out of here?”
“Bae?” he asks with a surprised laugh.
“Yeah, I’ve been trying since we got home.”
“You are a silly thing. And I love you very much.”
With a contented hum, she pulls him closer to her despite the heat. “I love you, but let me sleep now.”
After being set up to take the fall for her boyfriend’s crime, Emma Swan is sentenced to community service, where she meets a handsome Brit who changes everything.
Season 1 AU
A/N: I’m committing to 4 parts, plus the possibility of a little epilogue. But the story will be done next week! Thoughts???
Thank you again and again and again and again to @the-darkdragonfly for being my beta and my best best friend.
Deft fingers gently tickling her skin wake her in the morning, later than she’s used to since they don’t have to travel or work. She giggles softly as she starts to wake, his fingers traveling slowly along the bare expanse of her belly before his palm settles just below her belly button where her baby lives. “Morning,” he whispers into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin softly and making her shiver.
“That tickles,” she remarks groggily. “Woke me up.”
“I was getting bored waiting for you.”
“You could’ve gotten up and grabbed me a coffee, then,” she chastises playfully, closing her eyes again and settling happily into the warmth of his arms.
“No caffeine.”
With a groan, Emma rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun. Haven’t you heard to decaf?”
He squeezes her and chuckles. “How’s the babe?”
She sighs at the question. It isn’t like she can ask, although nothing feels amiss after her fall. “Fine, I guess,” she shrugs.
Through a hum, he asks, “and how’s the mum?”
She scoffs. “I’m not a mom.”
“I think you’ve proved enough by now that you are. You were so brave last week,” he praises, and her heart clenches at his undying faith in her.
“I wasn’t brave,” she argues, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t stop crying once.”
“Emma,” he breathes out, squeezing her close to him and bracing himself against her until the anxious weight leaves her chest. “You’re the bravest person I know. You handled a terrifying situation beautifully. You put the safety of your child above the pain of fracturing your wrist in two places. How is that not brave?”
She lets a tear fall now, sniffling and relieved that he can’t see her face. “I was so scared, Killian. I’m still scared. I thought I was gonna…” she can’t finish her thought. She can’t put to words how close she thought she was to losing her baby.
“I know,” he whispers into her ear. His palm lands on her belly again and she feels a soft fluttering tickle that makes her furrow her brows. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“I know it was hard for you, too,” she reflects, thinking back on his tearful eyes and the relief with which he sunk his fingers into his hair when they found out the baby was okay.
“Aye, it was,” he admits shyly. The mood becomes heavy and she jokes with him to bring levity to the conversation.
“It’s okay. Even people in freakishly realistic looking storybook illustrations get scared sometimes.” He laughs as she brings up their first morning here.
When he stands from bed, grabbing his clothes and heading towards the bathroom to change, she stops him. “What’s that?” she asks, gaze trained on the dresser drawer that was pulled slightly open. “Did you put stuff in there?”
He looks where her eyes were trained and shakes his head. “No,” he answers, stepping towards the dresser and pulling the ajar drawer open all the way. “What…?”
“What is it?”
Placing his clothes on the ground before his feet, he bends down as she struggles out of bed and he reaches into the drawer. “It’s… it’s a book,” he says, an oddly thoughtful look on his face. “Good find, love.”
He’s opening the book before she’s even next to him and staring at the pages intently. They’re littered with stories and drawings that depict tales of another life. Tales of kings and queens and curses and evil witches. Tales of heroes and magicians and… The Savior. A product of True Love. How charming. “They're fairytales,” she says by way of explanation, either to herself or to him. “Weird that it’s in the dresser…”
“They seem so familiar. Look at this.” He points to an image of the princess Snow White and says, “it looks like the nurse. And here,” he turns the page and points to Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother, “Ruby and Granny.”
“Killian,” she laughs, but he interrupts as he turns the page once more.
“A curse,” he says as if he’s read this story before. “There was a curse…”
Placing her hand on his forearm to stop him from turning the page again, she says, “they’re fairytales. There's always a curse.”
“And someone to break it,” he nods with certainty.
The fluttering continues and she takes her plaster-covered arm, although she’s unable to bend it at the elbow, and presses it against the back of his hand. “Did you feel that?” she asks urgently.
“What?”
“I thought I felt…” It stops, then starts up again, and she lets out a soft sob. “I think he’s moving around in there.”
He presses his hand a bit more firmly, although she’s pretty sure he won’t be able to feel anything from the outside. “I can’t… he’s too small.”
“I know,” she grins, turning to face him and laying uncomfortably on her firm, scratchy cast. She lifts her free hand to place it gently on his cheek. “Soon you will, though. He’s never done that before; I think he likes you.”
He grins too, and presses their foreheads together. “He bloody well better. He knows I’m the only one making sure you eat your folic acid.”
She snorts and tries to snuggle in closer to him, although it’s difficult with the ugly hunk of white plaster between them. “You’re ridiculous. And when did we decide it’s a boy?”
“I think you decided. I’ve just been going along with it to appease you.”
“Shut up,” she scoffs. “He’s hungry. I think it’s time for you to get us breakfast.”
“As you wish, milady.”
~~~~
The diner is bustling, a far cry from how it was the night they’d arrived. The snow has been plowed and the sidewalks sanded, luckily, and Granny’s seems to have reached it’s capacity.
“Who knew there were this many people living in this town,” Emma jokes once they finally find two seats next to each other at the counter.
“Aye,” he laughs. “Quite a bit busier than we’ve ever seen it.”
Emma isn’t sure if she’s paranoid or if everyone in the diner truly is staring at her, but she’s sure she feels many eyes on her as she orders her breakfast (pancakes, although Killian insists she get blueberries on the side). It feels strange sitting at the counter when they usually take a booth, but it’s the only spot available. When her plate is placed before her by a hesitant looking Ruby, she hears the sound of a throat clearing behind her.
“It’s 8:15,” she hears. “You're in my seat.”
Killian wipes his face with his napkin, stepping in for Emma who is too surprised to respond, and is met with the wide-eyed woman looking taken aback at the sight of him. “Sorry, Miss…”
“Mills. Mayor Mills,” she nods in his direction, then turns to Emma and says, “I always sit in that seat.”
Emma looks around herself and notes the stillness of the diner as the patrons silently watch the exchange take place. “I’m already sitting here…” she observes.
Killian pushes his tongue into the inside of his cheek and laughs silently, nodding his head and turning back to his food. Emma smirks slightly at him and does the same.
Mayor Mills sits beside her, glaring in a way that makes her blood want to run cold. “Who are you?” she asks Emma suspiciously.
She clears her throat. “I’m Emma. This is Killian. We’re staying here at Granny’s for a bit.”
The mayor looks like she wants to respond, pinching her brows together and opening her mouth, but she’s interrupted by an older gentleman behind them. “Emma,” he says, making her turn around in her seat. “What a lovely name.”
She swallows her bite anxiously and feels Killian tense beside her. “Thanks.” she can sense Mayor Mills glaring at the man threateningly.
“Don’t you have a shop to run?” she asks him rudely.
“Ah, of course you’re right, Regina.” he turns back to Emma and Killian and says, “enjoy your breakfast… Emma,” with a smirk before heading out the door.
The mayor sighs and purses her lips, calling Granny over and requesting a coffee and an order of her usual, apple pancakes. Once she’s ordered, she turns towards Emma again and asks, “why are you here?”
“You're not a very welcoming mayor,” Killian points out in accusation. “In fact, this isn’t a very welcoming town, with the exception of some of your citizens. We almost didn't find it.”
“And how did you?” she asks, more offended that he succeeded than at the prospect of her town being impossible to find.
Killian smirks, leaning over Emma to make eye contact with the mayor. “I’m quite clever.” She pinches her brows together again and accepts her plate of pancakes with a snarl. “By the way, you're lucky we don’t press charges. Emma slipped on some ice due to the sidewalk being untreated last week. Broke her arm, and could've put her child at risk.”
She clears her throat and takes a sip of coffee. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” she asks, ignoring Killian's accusation of her negligence.
Emma steps in and says, “I’m looking for my family.”
The Mayor, Regina, stills, choking on her coffee before gently placing the mug down. She clears her throat and says, “your family… I see.”
“I don’t know much about them, but you’re the mayor. Maybe you have some information on a baby who was found in the woods just outside of town here? 22 years ago? We checked with the local news, but they didn’t--”
Regina’s head snaps to the left, glaring at Emma in a way that she thinks could be deadly if she really puts her mind to it. Without answering, or finishing her breakfast, or even paying, she stands from her seat stiffly and hurries out of the diner.
~~~~
“This place is bizarre,” Emma complains as Killian maneuvers the streets once again. They had planned on relaxing today, after a complete bust at the newspaper the day before, but when Granny suggested that they visit the sheriff’s station for information on a random, abandoned baby, Emma was too anxious not to jump at the opportunity.
“Aye, I agree. The mayor is quite hostile.”
“Quite,” she agrees with a nod. “How weird was that whole conversation? The old guy?”
“Very weird. She looked familiar though, don’t you think?”
She purses her lips and shakes her head in denial. “I don't think so. Where do you think you’ve seen her?”
He shrugs. “She looks just exactly like the Queen in that book you found the other day. You don’t see it?”
With a groan and a roll to her eyes, Emma says, “not the book, Killian, they’re just stories. It’s a coincidence.” She can’t believe he’s actually starting to believe that the people in this town are the same as the characters in a storybook they found by chance. The town must be driving him mad.
He sighs, nodding his head thoughtfully and not looking altogether convinced. “I know, you're right. Something just seems… off.”
“Yeah,” she agrees with a scoff. “Off is putting it lightly. Weird, creepy, slightly threatening...”
“Sorry, love,” he shakes his head in disappointment.
She shrugs. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“Well, if you're having feelings of discomfort while we’re here… I mean, I promised I would keep the two of you safe.”
“Killian,” she breathes out, placing her hand over his as it rests on the gear shifter, his prosthetic holding the wheel steady expertly. “You are keeping us safe. Last week wasn’t your fault, and you handled it perfectly.”
He turns to glance at her briefly, smiling before focusing back on the roads before them. “I’m just glad you're alright. Both of you.”
She can’t stop the grin growing on her face at his admission. She knows that he loves her, that they're best friends. But the more time that passes, the more obvious he makes it that he loves her child as well. She can’t get the look of relief out of her mind because it’s exactly how she felt. The way he loves this baby… it’s as if he considers it his own flesh and blood. Realizing that is overwhelming and exciting all at once.
He pulls up to the front of the sheriff’s station and stops at the door, engaging the emergency brake and turning towards her. “Why don’t you head inside and I'll park the car,” he suggests.
She steps outside, carefully waddling like a penguin to avoid another fall, and makes her way into the small brick building. The bell above the door rings, notifying any staff of her arrival, but she’s surprised to see only one man sitting peacefully at a desk, facing away from her and towards a block of cells. She clears her throat, and calls, “good morning.”
He stiffens immediately, back going straight as he turns his head towards her and drops his jaw. After blinking several times, dumbfounded, he stands and spins around, showing off his badge and gun. “Morning, lass,” he starts, and she notices the accent immediately. “Graham Humbert. How can I be of service?”
Emma gives him a small, friendly smile and walks further into the room, tightening her coat around her to protect herself from the cold of the cinder-block and tile building. “I’m looking for some information. A baby was abandoned in the woods just outside of town many years ago, and I wanted to know if you had any reports on it.”
He hums thoughtfully, smirking and offering her his hand in an attempt to guide her towards his desk. She refuses, furrowing her brows, but walks towards the desk anyway and sits across from him as he sits and begins typing away.
“Do you know the year?”
“1983. October 23rd.”
He hums and nods. “Specific, I like it. Let’s see here…” he looks intently at the screen as the large monitor roars to life before he begins typing away. “October 23, 1983. Nothing for that date, but I have a report for the 24th. Yes, a baby was found in the woods by… by a child. A young boy.”
“A boy?” she asks, leaning in closer in interest.
He nods. “The boy was checked for head trauma after telling a wild story about himself and the baby coming here through a… a tree.”
“A tree?” she asks exasperatedly.
He nods again. “Both were sent into foster care, but that seems to be all we have. They must've moved into another state soon after.”
She groans, dropping her head into her hands and squeezing her eyes shut. It seems the trip as a whole was a complete waste. All she got was a broken arm and speculation that she was found by a boy with head trauma. It makes no sense-- how could they both get out there and he have no idea how?
Maybe Killian’s curse hunch is true after all. The more she learns, the less far-fetched it seems because there is absolutely no logical explanation for her existence at this point.
“Oh, one other thing, the items manifest. The boy was dressed like some sort of… I don't know, weird Oktoberfest costume, and the baby had a blanket with a name etched into it. Emma.”
She shoots her head up and stares at him, feeling her eyes beginning to water and her palms beginning to sweat. She knows that blanket; she has that blanket.
“Emma?” she hears Killian call from the entrance, and both she and the sheriff cock their heads to the side. “Are you in here-- Oh. There you are, Swan.”
“You're Emma?” the man asks. “This Emma?”
Killian’s by her side in an instant, resting his hand protectively on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, love?”
The sheriff stiffens in his seat and looks up at Killian before standing and offering his hand. “Sheriff Graham Humbert, pleasure.”
“Killian,” he says without taking the man’s hand. “What have you found?”
The sheriff sits back down and says, “not a ton, just that the baby left in the woods was found by a boy, who concocted a far-fetched tale of him and the baby coming here through a tree. And the baby was found with a blanket with a name on it… her name.”
Killian hums, looking down at her as she looks up at him and kissing her forehead before coming around the chair to look her in the eyes. “Darling, you knew already that you were the baby. What’s wrong?”
She shrugs. “I don't know, I guess it just confirms that that was me. That my parents really did leave me there. I don't know anything new, really.”
“Can I make a suggestion?” Graham asks, awkwardly interrupting an intimate moment that she didn’t realize she and Killian were even having. “Go to the hospital; they might have birth records for that date.”
Killian escorts her outside, guiding her with his warm hand pressed protectively against the small of her back. He had already brought the car back around, and she could sense his hesitation to leave her alone in the station as she insisted he go. Normally she wouldn’t even think of making him bring the car to her, but after last week, she’s far too paranoid to walk over any expanse of ice ever again.
“I don’t like him,” Killian accuses as he pulls away.
“Killian,” she chastises, rolling her eyes. “He helped us.”
“He made you cry.”
“I’m almost 18 weeks pregnant with abandonment issues. Everything makes me cry.”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “You don’t have issues,” he nearly spits. “You were abandoned. That makes you upset. That doesn’t mean you have issues.”
She smiles sadly and looks out the windshield. She isn’t sure what to make of his claim. All her life, the only consistency has been that she has issues. Foster parents, other kids, Neal… everyone always maintained one truth. One constant.
And here he is, barreling his way into her life and making her rethink everything she thought she knew about herself.
“Anyway, you don’t think he looks familiar?”
“Not this again,” she says, tossing her head back into the headrest. “If you say he’s a character in that damn book…”
He groans. “I know, I know. Sorry for bringing it up. I just… I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. Like that feeling that I’m forgetting something.”
She nods. “I know the feeling you're talking about, but it’s probably because we aren't at home. Once we get back to Phoenix, it’ll go away.”
He pinches his brows together at her words, as if the concept of returning home never occurred to him, and hums. “I don’t know…”
“Killian,” she demands, wanting to get his attention despite the fact that he’s busy driving. “This is crazy. The book means nothing; you’ve got to stop worrying about it.”
He nods, but she doesn’t believe for a second that he agrees with her.
~~~~
The hospital is abuzz when they arrive, much like Granny’s, and everyone looks so frazzled that Emma wonders if this is common for the small town or something new that the residents have never experienced. Based on the exhausted look on Mary Margaret’s face when they arrive at the nurse’s station, Emma guesses the latter.
“Hey, you two!” She calls when she sees them, then her face falls immediately, looking to Emma. “Something wrong?”
“No, no,” Killian says, waving her off. “Just here looking for some information.”
“Oh,” she says happily, sitting up and fixing her pixie cut hair. “That I can help you with. What are you looking for?”
Emma gives her a kind smile and says, “records on a baby that may have been born here years ago. She was abandoned.” It feels strange to describe the abandoned baby as if it were someone else.
Mary Margaret turns to her computer and begins clicking. “Records were computerized just a few years back, so hopefully we can find something. If not, we may have to head over to the old file room. Do you have any identifying information on the baby?”
“A date of birth,” she nods. “October 23, 1983.”
Mary Margaret looks up at Emma in a snap, her eyes wide and curious. “That date… it sounds familiar.”
Emma’s cheeks heat and she feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back. “It’s my birthday,” she admits softly. “You probably saw it on my chart.”
She shakes her head and furrows her brow. “No, that’s not it… Sorry. Uh, there aren’t any records for that date.”
“What?” Killian asks, raising a brow. “You mean no births?”
“No. No records. Strangely enough, all of the electronic files begin on October 24th.”
Emma glances at Killian, who shrugs. He can’t make sense of it either, it seems. What are the odds that, the day after her birth and abandonment, the town suddenly came online?
“Can we look in the records room, then?”
Mary Margaret leads them down the hall and into an elevator, selecting the button for the basement. It’s finally quiet in the steel box, the closing doors shutting out the commotion of the hospital surrounding them. “What’s going on?” Emma asks, certain that the town can’t be this busy on a regular basis.
“Oh, with all the excitement? It’s the strangest thing. A coma patient escaped last night.”
They get off the elevator and she leads them into a dank, dimly lit basement, down the hall and to a locked door where she punches in a code. “Excuse me?” Emma asks, taken aback by her nonsensical explanation. “Escaped? Aren’t they, you know, in a coma?”
She nods sadly. “He’s, well… security footage shows him waking up and removing his IV before just… walking out the door. The guard on watch was asleep.”
There’s something about Mary Margaret‘s tone, something sad and helpless and strangely emotional over a patient who Emma can only assume has been asleep for quite a while. So she says, “you’re worried about him. You care for him..”
Another nod as she leads them towards the back of the room, the stacks of files twice as tall as Killian and rather intimidating. “I know it seems silly. He’s been in a coma for as long as I can remember. But I started to visit him on my lunch breaks when I first started working here, and as time went on, I guess…” she shrugs.
Emma nods, unable to empathize with the position Mary Margaret finds herself in, but somehow understanding how easily she was able to fall into the flow of trusting and opening up to someone. When she looks at Killian, the person she trusts most completely, he’s smiling at her. “We should look for him,” she says aloud to Mary Margaret while looking at Killian. His face falls.
“Emma, no.” He shakes his head resolutely.
“Oh, no, the search party already told me to stay here. I’m not even technically on the clock, but they said I should stay to distract myself. I guess I got a little emotional when we found out he was missing,” she admits with a blush.
“So, we won’t be with any kind of search party. We can find him.”
“Swan, he’s in the woods! It’s dangerous.”
“You’re good at finding stuff! You found Storybrooke on the map,” she tries, and is met with his shaking head.
“Finding a town on a map is a far cry from finding a comatose man in the woods in the middle of February.”
“You found me,” she says, trying to appeal to his more emotional side.
“Aye, well, I’ll always find you, love.”
Mary Margaret drops the box she had just taken off the stack, staring directly at Killian with tears in her eyes. “What did you say?”
Killian turns to face her at once, taken aback by her response and stepping forward to try and pick up the dropped box. “I just told Emma that I would always find her. Because I love her.” Her heart flutters and she feels another soft tickling in her belly as the tiny baby squirms around playfully. She knows what he means; that he loves her as a best friend does. But still, the words feel heavy between them.
“Charming,” she says suddenly. “That’s… that’s very charming.” Mary Margaret pinches her brows together and shakes her head. “I feel like I… like I know where to go. To find him.”
Emma’s eyes widen in excitement and she looks at Killian again, although she’s met with his rolling eyes. “Swan,” he says hesitantly, knowing what she wants to do.
“Let’s just get the records we came for and then we can take her to where she thinks this guy is! It’ll be fun, come on.”
“You shouldn’t be tromping through the woods after--”
“I have a broken arm. That doesn’t make me broken, right?”
He bows his head and shuts his eyes as Mary Margaret steps behind another stack, likely to give them a bit of space. “Aye, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says with a sly smile. “I know how you can make it up to me.”
“Swan…”
She says in a low voice: “you’re the nut job who keeps thinking everyone here is a fairytale character. Can’t you let me have this one? We each get one crazy hunch a day.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a smile he tries desperately to fight before taking the step to close the space between them and pulling her in for a quick hug. “Fine. But I'm only doing this because a perinatal nurse-queen is coming with us.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.
“Yay!” they hear from behind the shelf before Mary Margaret steps out with a look of joy on her face. “Thank you both so much!”
They dig through box after box until they find the right year. When they reach the box that contains records from October, Emma's heart sinks. “I don’t know how that can be possible,” Mary Margaret remarks with her lips pursed thoughtfully. “How are there no records prior to that date?”
There are records for December and November and part of October, but anything from before the 23rd is missing. There’s nothing for the entire remainder of the year, and no years prior. It’s as if nothing existed before the day Emma Swan was born and abandoned in the forest.
~~~~
She wants so badly to take his hand as he drives them through town towards the woods, but she knows how difficult that will make driving for him. He’s perfectly capable of driving with one real hand and one prosthetic, but she isn’t sure he could operate a manual with just his prosthetic.
But she’s hurting, and she wants him to comfort her like he always does. She wants to hold his hand to her chest and hug it close to her, if he isn’t able to hold her. She doesn't want to part from his side. She wants him to make her feel happy again.
Life didn’t exist before she was abandoned. It’s like this town was dropped here the day she was born and everyone living here had no idea. What does that mean for her parents?
It doesn't help that there are no records of her birth, either. She can’t prove that she was born in this town, only that she was found outside of it. In fact, the postcard that man gave her could be complete bullshit and mean nothing.
She wants a hug so badly. At least she can feel her baby dancing around and bringing her comfort. She wants to hold him.
Or her.
“Right here,” Mary Margaret finally says while they're about to drive over a bridge. “Pull off here, I want to check this out.”
She’s still in her pink scrubs when she tries to open the door, and Killian stops her. “I have a coat on,” he reasons. “Wait here with Emma, I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
They sit in silence, watching as he surveys the area, adorably checking under the bridge and behind trees as if a grown man might be hiding there. He sinks below their line of vision and Emma sits back, trying hard to relax.
“Thanks for doing this,” Mary Margaret says. “Are you feeling any better?”
Emma sighs and says, “a little, but still pretty sore. The Tylenol has been helping though.”
“That’s good,” she nods.
After another moment of comfortable silence, Emma says, “I felt the baby move this morning,” with a soft smile. “He’s been dancing away ever since.”
“Oh,” Mary Margaret coos. “What a beautiful feeling, congratulations! Your husband must’ve been excited, too.”
Emma coughs and turns towards where Mary Margaret sits in the back seat. “We aren’t married,” she clarifies. “We aren’t… we’re not together.”
She furrows her brow. “You’re not a couple? I thought… well, I saw how you were with each other.”
“We’re just really close friends. He isn’t the father.”
“Oh, I see.”
Another chunk of silence passes between them, but Emma never feels the need to fill it due to discomfort. Finally, out of curiosity, she asks, “do you have any children?”
Mary Margaret is quiet, not answering Emma’s question and instead staring straight ahead with a thoughtful, confused look on her face. “I… I don’t.”
“Oh, sorry if that was--”
“No, no, don’t worry. It’s a valid question to ask of a perinatal nurse.”
More silence.
“Is this your first? Child, I mean?”
“Yeah.”
Another beat.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t find anything about your parents. I know that must be hard. My mother passed away when I was very young.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma says. “And yeah… I just felt like… I don’t know, it feels like they’re right here, you know? Like all I have to do is open my eyes and they’ll be here but…” she trails off. Her eyes are open, and her parents still abandoned her.
“Somehow, I know just what you mean.”
Emma sits back comfortably again, the car quiet.
“Killian seems very excited about your baby; more so than some fathers I've met. If you don’t mind me saying so, he’ll be a wonderful father figure.”
The only sound between them is the gurgling creek below.
“I know,” Emma says with a smile.
He’s hurrying up the hill after a few more moments of peaceful quiet, waving erratically as if to get their attention. Emma opens her door and Mary Margaret follows suit, both making their way towards him in haste. “I found him,” he says breathlessly. “He needs help.”
Mary Margaret seems to snap into nurse-mode instantly, grabbing her medical bag and rushing down the hill past Killian and Emma, turning back only to seek direction. Killian hurries to guide her, turning back frequently towards Emma to ensure that she’s faring safely through the snow and ice and rough terrain.
It appears as though Killian pulled the man from the half-frozen stream, his skin nearly blue and his clothes and hair soaking wet. Emma doesn't see his chest rise and fall. Mary Margaret is on her knees at his side in an instant, pressing two fingers to his neck and then commanding Killian to give up his coat to start to warm the man up. She begins chest compressions and breathing aid, desperately trying to wake the frozen man from near-death. “No, no, no, I found you!”
Emma nearly chews a hole through her bottom lip as she watches her new friend try and save a man she doesn't know yet somehow cares deeply for. Killian hugs her close, which she suspects is both to comfort her and to keep himself warm. It feels like an age before the man sputters against a rescue breath, water escaping from his mouth and nose as color almost immediately begins to flood back into his pale face.
Mary Margaret cries out when he wakes, pulling him close to herself for a hug that Emma suspects she wasn’t expecting, and the man hugs her back with ferocity. “You found me,” he mumbles into her hair.
She pulls away from him and looks deeply into his eyes, as if she recognizes him, and opens her mouth to speak. Nothing comes out.
“Mate,” Killian says after a moment. “We need to get you to the hospital.”
He passes out before he can answer.
~~~~
Graham Humbert interviews them the following day, suspicious about how the three of them could have found a random coma patient in such a random location in the woods. Emma has to admit, he doesn’t blame him; she’d be suspicious too. Following the interview, Emma, Killian, and Mary Margaret choose to go to Granny’s for some dinner.
“I really appreciate everything,” Mary Margaret says. “I know you came here for answers, and now you're being questioned by the police.”
Killian scoffs, waving her off. “Nonsense. He needed help. He’d be dead without you.”
“I’m just so worried about him,” she sighs. The man, identity still unknown, was brought back to the hospital, but has been out of his coma since last night and is making a miraculous recovery. Nonsensical, really. Magical. “I don’t even know why. I don't know him.”
“It’s certainly odd,” Killian agrees.
“I think it’s odd that he woke up all of a sudden and is completely fine,” Emma chimes in. “Shouldn’t his brain be mush after being asleep for that long?”
Mary Margaret shrugs and shakes her head, dumbfounded as well. “Every case is different. His is just… special, I guess.”
“Special is one word for it,” Emma mumbles.
“Very special indeed,” killian says to her softly. “He looks--”
“If you say he looks familiar, so help me,” she threatens, loudly enough for Mary Margaret to hear.
“What’s that?” she laughs at their banter.
“Killian just has some wild ideas about the townsfolk’s identities. We found a book the other day, and he somehow got it in his head that everyone here is a fairytale character.”
“Oh,” she says pleasantly, until her face drops and she looks Killian square in the eyes. “Fairytales?”
He looks at her just as seriously, as if the world has stopped turning, and Emma wants to scream at the two of them for egging each other on.
“Your grilled cheese,” Granny interrupts, placing a full plate before Emma as she grins and rubs her hands together hungrily. “Careful, if I serve you any more carbs this week, this one might have me shot,” she says, nodding her head towards Killian and drawing a laugh from Emma. His face remains unchanged; confused and pensive.
“And two house salads,” she declares. She looks like she's about to say something else whitty, but the old man they saw the other day walks in and stares blankly at her, in a way that’s unnervingly threatening, causing her to stand straight and walk towards him.
“What is up with this place,” Emma remarks under her breath, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. She has to admit, it’s almost better than Killian’s. Almost.
“That’s Mr. Gold,” Mary Margaret tells her. “He owns this place.”
“The diner?”
“The town.”
~~~~
“You need the rest of the day to relax,” he insists as they get back up to their room. “This week has been far too taxing.”
He’d just gotten through talking to Granny about extending their stay before lunch, and while she’s discouraged about not having any answers yet, she’s glad to have a semi-permanent place to stay.
“I know,” she agrees. “I just dont think I need a nap at,” she glances at her watch (one she purchased, thank you very much), “7:34 pm. I’m not a baby.”
He snorts, raising his brows wickedly. “I know for a fact that you're anything but a baby, love.”
She turns to face him, giving him an incredulous smile, then shaking her head. “You're a crazy person.”
“Scoundrel,” he corrects. “Now come, try to relax. Perhaps a nice bath?”
“Are you trying to tell me that I stink?”
With a laugh, he takes her hand and drags her closer to the edge of the mattress. “Never.”
Before she knows what’s happening, she’s tripping over her own feet, her balance still a bit off from her growing belly, and she’s falling straight into his arms. He catches her so easily, it’s almost as if a magnet was pulling them together and fusing them to one another. Once she’s settled in his arms, his prosthetic is planted firmly on her lower back and his right hand brushes some hair away from her eyes. “Alright?” he asks softly, gently lacing his fingers into her hair unnecessarily this time, scratching along her scalp in a way that makes her eyes flutter.
“Yeah,” she answers. “You caught me.”
“I’ll always catch you,” he promises, his tone so tender and soothing that she feels her pulse relaxing and quickening all at once. The baby wiggles away in her belly as he does almost every time she’s near Killian.
“I know,” Emma confirms. “Because you… because you love me,” she breathes. It isn’t a question. It’s a factual statement that he confirms with a nod, even though he doesn’t need to.
“I do.” his voice is filled with such surety and vigor that she knows she’d be foolish to ever question him.
Being entangled in his arms makes her breathing quicken, coming out of her mouth in short puffs of air that make the fringe dance in and out of his eyes. “And... I love you too,” she whispers.
He’s in her space instantly, and this feels different. The last time they exchanged these words, it was clear to both of them that they were expressions of deep, unyielding friendship. Now, though, it feels like more. She isn't sure what it means this time, but she does know that friendship might not be enough for her anymore.
The problem is that no one has ever been for her what Killian Jones has. There hasn’t been a single moment in all of the time they’ve spent together where he hasn’t believed in her, hasn’t shown her what she’s worth, hasn’t loved her.
She’s falling for him. It’s been so easy that she’s hardly noticed, aside from a few passing thoughts about his irresistible physique and god-like facial structure. (And don't get her started on the stubble.) but the feelings… those have been quietly sneaking up on her since the moment they met.
She feels herself leaning closer to him, her breath quickening along with her heartbeat and the squirming baby within her. He leans in, too, and she’s certain that his soft, pink lips will touch her own at any moment so long as she makes the first move. She knows he’ll have her make the first move.
She’s about to do it, too, until there’s a timid knock at the door that makes them spring apart.
He sighs, groans, even, and moves her hair from her face once more before walking around her and towards the heavy door. “Granny,” he greets with a slight air of irritation in his voice.
“Evening,” she responds nervously, wringing her hands together. “I just came to tell you, well, I just spoke with Mr. Gold.”
“Aye.”
“Well, you see, he owns the place. And he reminded me of a rule—”
“A rule?” he demands, and Emma’s brows furrow deeply.
She clears her throat. “Well, uh, there’s a rule that states I cannot allow guests to stay for longer than a week. Mr. Gold’s rule. ”
Killian scoffs and shakes his head, turning around towards Emma briefly, then back to Granny. “You’ve got to be kidding. You're kicking us out even though we want to try and give you more money?”
She shakes her head. “I’m real sorry about this. If it were up to me, you two could stay here as long as you like. I didn’t even realize it was a rule until he showed me the contract.”
With a heavy, heaving sigh, he shakes his head again angrily and says, “I know it’s not your fault, I’m sorry to get upset. I just hope Gold knows that he just put a pregnant woman on the streets. We’ll be out of your way after we pack.”
~~~~
“What are we gonna do?” she asks as they settle back in the car. Emma's in the driver’s seat this time, as Killian has claimed to be too angry to drive.
With a defeated sigh, she says, “we should just go home.”
He looks up at her, anger still ablaze in his eyes, and asks, “why would you want to do that?”
Dropping her head to the steering wheel, Emma says, “we haven’t found anything, Killian. This town doesn't want us here. All I’ve gotten is false hope, a broken arm, and a sore ass. Now we have nowhere to stay, what’s the point?”
“The point?” he asks seriously, turning his body to face her and taking her hand, forcing her head off of the wheel. “The point is that we’re here, Emma. It seemed impossible, didn’t it? A town that doesn’t exist, yet here we are. It seemed impossible to get any information about yourself but we got some. We just have to keep digging.”
“Digging,” she scoffs. “I don't know how much more digging I can take. In a week, all I’ve learned is that my parents didn't even bother to have me at a hospital, and the only person who might know something is a psychotic little boy who thinks we traveled here through a tree! How are those answers?”
“Emma--”
“I just,” she says through unexpected tears. “I just want my parents. I keep thinking they're so close and they're not. They're never…” she breaks off her thought as a sob chokes her, dropping her head into her hand.
“Hey, hey,” he says soothingly, the anger evaporated from his voice. His fingers grab hers instantly, pulling her across the center console until they meet and he can wrap both arms around her. “Sh,” he comforts. “It’s alright, my love. You’re alright, I’m here.”
“You're always here,” she cries again. “You're the only one who’s ever--”
“I know, love,” he whispers over another sob. “I know. You're alright.”
“You believe in me,” she says against the warm skin of his neck.
“I do,” he confirms. “I always have and I always will. I just wish for you to believe in yourself. For you to believe in everything that I know you’re capable of. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish, Emma, if you believe.”
Moments pass, her tears feeling more and more ridiculous the more they fall as he speaks nonsense into her hair. She isn’t sure what he means, exactly, but with his words come more fluttering, and for reasons she can’t explain, she does believe. She believes in something, and she wonders if that’s enough.
A gentle knocking befalls the passenger’s side window suddenly. They break apart and Emma hides her face, wiping at the tears as Killian turns to face the offender. When he sees who it is, he cranks the window down.
“You two okay? It’s cold to be sitting in the car.”
“Fine, Mary Margaret. Just… trying to figure some things out.”
She hums and nods her head. “Well, if you want to figure it out someplace warm, I have a spare room. It isn’t much, but i’m sure it’s a bit better than the one Mr. Gold no doubt threw you out of.”
They both turn their heads rapidly towards their new friend in shock, and emma sniffles before saying, “really?”
“Of course. Come on, it’s just down the street.”
~~~~
“There we are, Swan,” he says when he places her bag down on the floor of the second story in Mary Margaret’s loft. “A nice warm bed for you to lay your head.”
“Thanks,” she mumbles as she sits down. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head and furrows his brow, sitting beside her and taking her good hand, running a soothing thumb over the healing scrapes on her palm. “Never apologize, love. None of this is your fault.”
“I should’ve trusted my gut and ignored that postcard. We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.”
“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than by your side, Emma. And I’m the one who pushed you to come. I should be apologizing to you.”
She shrugs. “I was ready for answers, though. I just didn’t expect to be this disappointed.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment before she speaks.
“You know what’s weird, though?” she asks softly, leaning her head down to rest it against his shoulder.
“What’s that?”
“As much as this place has sucked the life out of me, I kind of… I feel oddly comfortable right now. Mary Margaret has been a better friend than any I've ever had, aside from you.”
He hums and nods in agreement. “I know what you mean.”
She lets out a heaving sigh and throws herself back onto the bed, taking his hand and dragging him along with her until they're lying side by side and facing one another. “Maybe I’ll just give this place one more chance.”
“Aye?”
She nods. “I gave you a chance, and that’s worked out pretty well for me.”
With a grin and a soft chuckle, he says, “aye, for me as well.”
A softer sigh this time, the movement bringing them closer together to the point that their noses are nearly touching. “Maybe even the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she suggests timidly, but with a certain amount of certainty.
“Definitely.”
“Killian,” she breathes against his mouth.
“I love you,” he tells her with gentle resolution.
She closes the miniscule space between them and finally, finally presses her lips to his in a kiss that she thinks might change everything. He’s snaking his tongue out along her bottom lip before he stills, gripping to her arm tighter and stiffening against her mouth.
“What’s--” she breathes, but she’s interrupted by the confusion in his face and voice.
He pulls away from her and stares deeply into her eyes, his own azure globes wide and astounded. “Swan?”
~~~~
Several days ago...
She storms into the shop, indifferent as to whether she smashes the glass as the door slams against the wall behind her. The click of her heels signal her arrival after the bell clangs above her head, and she’s at the till and pointing a judgmental finger in an instant. “Who is she,” she demands with force and anger that can be felt throughout the store.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Mayor,” the shop owner responds. “I know nothing more than you do.”
The mayor huffs with irritation and slams her hand against the surface before her. “I saw what happened at the diner; you know something!” she insists.
“What’s wrong,” the man taunts. “Is your little facade finally starting to crack?”
She grinds her teeth and tightens her jaw. “You're awake,” she accuses.
The man chuckles. “Of course I’m awake. I’m standing right here.”
“She woke you up.”
With a soft, slightly demeaning smile, he says, “I think you’ll find that you woke me up, by asking the lass her name in the first place.”
The woman aha’s triumphantly, pointing another finger at the shop owner and laughing maniacally. “So you admit it; you are awake!”
The man chuckles and nods. “That's right, dearie.”
“How did this happen?”
“Why, the laws of magic, of course. Every curse can be broken.”
“Not this one,” she argues firmly.
“I implore you to remember that True Love’s Kiss can break any curse.”
She laughs again, this time in disbelief. “And this random child from Phoenix is going to break the strongest of all curses?”
He tsks and says, “not just a random child from Phoenix.”
The woman’s eyes narrow and she leans against the surface before her as threateningly as she can. “Who is she?” she asks again with venom in her voice.
“I think she’s exactly who you think she is. Tell me, dearie, exactly where and when was this random child found all those years ago? Where was the product of True Love when your curse was struck?”
“No,” she insists, shaking her head. “That’s not possible.”
“Oh, it is. The Savior is the only one who can break your Dark Curse.”
The mayor begins to pace in her anger. “She needs to believe in magic in order to break the curse. She grew up here, in the Land Without Magic; she’ll never believe.”
“Ah,” he says, raising a hand with flourish, “but The Savior carries the Heart of the Truest Believer.”
With a scoff, the mayor rolls her eyes. “What, someone can be the Product of True Love, the Savior, and have the Heart of the Truest Believer?”
“I didn’t say she has the heart, I said she carries it,” he chastises. Don't tell me you were too self absorbed to notice that the lass is with child.”
“A child,” she breathes in disbelief. “How can the child… unless both parents hail from a land of magic.”
The man nods and says, “precisely.”
“The pirate,” she realizes, shaking her head once more. “How did he get here? He wasn’t in the Enchanted Forest when the curse was cast.”
“Well, dearie, I can only assume that he was sent by someone who requires the Heart of the Truest Believer.”
The woman’s blood runs cold and a chill ripples down her spine. She can think of but one person who may require such a thing, and hopes beyond hope that she’s wrong.
“We have to get rid of them; they cannot break the curse.”
With a wiry, ominous smirk, the man responds, “I’ll see what I can do.”
After being set up to take the fall for her boyfriend’s crime, Emma Swan is sentenced to community service, where she meets a handsome Brit who changes everything.
A Season 1 AU Coming Soon
Sneak peak:
Judge Capshaw took pity on her. She has a soft spot for first-time offenders, especially young women who mess up but want to get their lives on track. At least, that’s what Emma’s public defender told her before they walked into the courtroom, Emma constantly pushing her thick-framed glasses up her nose and trying to make sure her braid wasn’t falling loose. Her lawyer also told her that she should wear her glasses to look astute.
The judge said she sees potential in Emma’s ability to thrive in society. Judge Capshaw believes in her, and it’s a strange feeling.
She’s sentenced to 80 hours of community service. The argument that she was set up to take the fall for her ex boyfriend’s crime ended up working out, despite her lawyer’s hesitation. In addition to the community service, it’s strongly recommended that she take part in a case management program that can help her get back on her feet. As if she’s ever been on her feet.
Ingrid, her case manager, finds her a place and is working on getting her a job. The process is faster than she expected, and she’s barely able to think about all that she’s been through as her life quickly swirls around her. Within two weeks of being released from the county jail with only the clothes on her back, she’s sitting in her very own third floor apartment in Mesa, crying on the floor.
No one has ever done anything like this for her. No one has ever done anything for her. She isn’t sure why or how her life is turning around, but she knows one thing: Neal Cassidy setting her up was one of the best things that’s ever happened to her.
Here’s another snippet from Never Nothing, which you can expect to be posted tomorrow!
~~~~
She takes out the yoga mat she got for herself as a treat, happy to be able to comfortably sit on the floor rather than letting her butt go numb on the hard linoleum. Once she’s settled into one pose, her breathing slowing calmingly, she shifts into her favorite: downward dog. She cycles her knees so that one is bent and one is straight, trading off positions so that she can stretch out her calves. The stretch goes from her shoulders to her heels as she finally settles both feet flat on the floor, her back straight and her head down. She holds the pose as her breathing evens out again, bending a bit more to deepen the stretch and groaning.
“Swan, I was thinking about the weather when we get there,” she hears from just outside the door as Killian calls to her while he makes his way back inside. “It’s February, so it’ll be cold and snowy. Have you got a— bloody hell.”
His words fail him as he stutters once he’s inside and facing her. She can easily guess why; her ass is pointed right at him, and she’s wearing tight leggings... her good pair. She smiles and moves out of her position. “Downward dog,” she tells him as she sits on the mat with her legs crossed. “Good for my back.
He clears his throat and scratches behind his ear, turning away from her quickly. “Aye,” he says awkwardly. “Very good. Uh… have— have you got a winter coat?”
There’s something odd about his obvious appreciation for the way the pose made her ass look. Something that makes her heart race and a warmth flood through her veins, settling deep in the pit of her stomach. She’s glad she was bent with her face towards the door because, through her legs, she could see how quickly his blush lit upon his cheeks and traveled up his ears. Her grin is unavoidable. “Yes, I lived in Portland last year. Have you got a winter coat?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Okay,” she says expectantly. “Good. We should be all set then.”
“Aye.” He still hasn’t turned around.
She clears her throat awkwardly as well, standing from the mat and bending to roll it up. “Are you alright?”
He turns to face her, but immediately seems to notice the way her cleavage falls fully as she’s bending down, and he spins right back around.
He coughs and sputters. “Aye, I’m alright. Let me just… I’ll just bring another bag to the car.”
“Okay,” she laughs.
~~~~
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I am soooo excited to post the final part of Never Nothing tomorrow! Here’s a lil sneak peak, a NIP if you will.
~~~~
“The Heart of the Truest Believer… it isn’t possible for someone to have it, or produce it, lest they hail from a magical land.”
She raises a brow and walks into the kitchen, silently taking him up on his offer of hot chocolate but refusing his or Mary Margaret’s help. “Which apparently I do. So?”
“Well, my darling, in order for a person to be born with such power, it’s necessary that both parents come from a land forged with magic.”
Letting the spoon clink against the mug as she drops it, she turns around to face him and cocks her head to the side. “Both parents?”
“Aye,” he nods, his eyes locked to hers urgently. “Meaning…”
Here is a little blip from part 2 of Never Nothing! Don’t worry, I’ll be participating in TIT Thursday, too :)
~~~~
“What does it mean?” Killian asks for the hundredth time as he stands before the stove and flips the French toast he’s cooking.
She groans again, rolling her eyes. “I don't know, Killian. I don't have a clue what it means.”
“Not one single, solitary clue?” She takes the towel she was using to dry her hands after brushing her teeth (after vomiting again) and expertly whips him in the rear with it. With a yelp, he says, “okay! Alright!”
She sits down at the small table after carelessly tossing the towel back into the bathroom and sighs heavily, looking back down at the postcard and feeling more tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s got to be my parents, right?”
He turns to face her, holding his spatula out thoughtfully and looking sinfully attractive as he takes control of her kitchen.
