“Then ask me a straight forward question.”
“You didn’t answer it,” Emma argued. “I asked why you were here and you told me you finished early, but that doesn’t time up at all. You couldn’t have filmed and made it to Gowanus, done much of anything and made it back here by now. It just doesn’t make sense.”
Killian took a step back, eyes narrowing, but his hand didn’t move away from her waist, fingers still tight despite his outstretched arm. “You’re very smart, Swan.”
“What are you doing here?”
AN: Aghhhhhhhhh. I’m just going to scream forever. I can’t believe this is over. You guys have all been incredible and wonderful and a slew of other adjectives and I cannot thank you enough for your response to this story. It has meant the actual world to me. This would be nothing without @laurnorder who is the greatest human and @distant-rose who listens to me whine and makes gorgeous aesthetics for my words. Heap praise upon them, world.
Also on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr if that’s how you roll.
“Swan!”
She didn’t turn around, just kept chopping and searing, shouting at one of the waiters that service is up and nodding towards the small pile of plates on the counter next to her. He yelled her name again and Emma felt the smile move across her face slowly, something like excitement fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
“What?” she sighed, turning around to grin at him.
She should have expected the look on his face – the smirk and the eyebrow and the way his eyes flashed down her body, zeroing in on the apron wrapped around her waist. She did expect it and it didn’t do any good.
She still felt as if her knees went weak.
“You weren’t supposed to change the menu.”
“I didn’t change the menu.” He nodded towards the tray of food that went out the kitchen door behind him, eyes widening meaningfully. “Ok,” Emma sighed. “So I changed like two things. But that was because they sold well last week and also because you forgot to order food that I could actually use to make things on your menu.”
“Swan.”
“Killian.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling and Emma wiped her hands forcefully on the front of her apron, tossing the knife back on the counter behind her. Killian sighed again, eyes widening at the movement and she’d mostly done it for the reaction anyway.
“You’re just tossing my stuff around now?”
“It’s not your stuff,” Emma said, nodding when someone asked her if the food on three different plates looked ready.
“It’s definitely still my stuff, Swan.”
“Seems awfully possessive, Lieutenant. Shouldn’t we be better at sharing things now?”
Killian’s smirk, somehow, got even more pronounced and if they were going to do this – this flirty, teasing, banter thing – they should probably get out of the middle of the kitchen in the middle of a dinner service.
“Are you suggesting, somehow, Swan, that I’m not good at sharing my possessions? I’ve given you my restaurant.”
“But not your menu.”
He shook his head again and Emma turned back towards the vegetables simmering in the pan behind her, flipping them before shouting to the entire kitchen that she’d be gone for five minutes. At least. She tugged on Killian’s hand, pulling him back into the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room.
They stopped a few feet away from the door – Emma’s back against the wall and she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re interrupting my service, you know.”
“Ah, that’s yours too?”
“For the next week, at least,” Emma muttered. “What are you even doing here?”
He wasn’t supposed to be there. He wasn’t even supposed to be in Manhattan. He was supposed to be in Gowanus. He was supposed to be in Gowanus, running a brand-new kitchen and setting up a schedule for fifty tables a night.
They’d won – or whatever word made the most sense in a situation when a real estate mogul actually got arrested on tax evasion and had his assets seized and one mixed-up family of people pooled their resources and bought a half-refurbished warehouse at auction.
That was three months ago.
And while Killian wasn’t ever lacking in bravado or a well-executed smirk, he was nervous about fifty tables and a restaurant he couldn’t actually be in every single night and, so, two days after they’d won the auction and Marco started working again, Emma had made a suggestion.
Another deal.
She’d offered up her services – so to speak.
And he’d accepted. Easily.
So, she’d gone to work and Emma was back in the kitchen for three months that summer, running The Jolly Roger’s first incarnation while Killian kept things on track in Brooklyn and helped make sure Eric didn’t have some sort of mental breakdown in the warehouse’s giant kitchen.
She loved it.
She loved being back in the kitchen and in control and the way her whole body ached by the time she got home, wrists and forearms sore from flipping and frying and chopping. She was exhausted every night and Killian was exhausted every night, but it was a different kind of exhaustion than it had been during the all-star competition.
It was an exhaustion that came from knowing, in some sort of deep, meaningful, exceptionally cheesy way, that they were building something together.
He asked for her opinion on the new menu and only muttered slightly when she grabbed pop tarts for breakfast when she was running late in the morning.
She asked him to help pick out the oven for her new set and what she should make on her first episode – a redo of a traditional tartiflette that was, basically, a glorified breakfast casserole that David demanded on his birthday every year.
It was easy. And not nearly as terrifying as Emma had been worried it might turn out when the words move in with me had tumbled out of her mouth.
The Jolly Roger 2.0 was slated to open, officially, in a week.
The night after Emma filmed the newest version of her show – complete with those brand-new appliances and a new approach that let her make whatever kind of food she wanted – and the irony of all of this, the new beginnings and the optimism and the emotion , was certainly not lost on her.
“Finished early,” he said, but Emma shook her head before he finished talking.
“Try again.”
“You think I’m lying, Swan?”
“I think you’re not entirely telling me the truth.”
Killian laughed, stepping into her space without another word and kissed her and it wasn’t what she expected either. It was soft and meaningful and full of the reason he’d shown up in Tribeca in the middle of dinner service demanding answers about his menu – he was looking for an excuse to see her.
And Emma was glad.
“How’d it go?” Emma asked, not even bothering to move her lips away from his when she spoke.
“What, love?”
“Filming.”
He hadn’t been in the network offices since he’d lost months ago – despite Regina’s, sometimes, very loud demand that he get back on set and in that Iron Chef jacket and win the goddamn show – too focused on the restaurant and moving most of his worldly possessions into Emma’s two bedroom and getting to level thirty-two of Henry’s video game. That part might have been the biggest challenge of them all.
But he’d finally listened two weeks ago – Regina hardly playing fair, using Roland and his questions as to why Uncle Killian hadn’t been on TV in a while against him – and he left the apartment that morning with only a minimal amount of grumbling.
“Did you win?” Emma continued. “Did you even go?”
“Of course I went. Trust me, love, you’d know if I didn’t show up. Regina probably would have torn this restaurant from top to bottom looking for
me.”
“So?”
“So, what?”
“Killian,” she sighed and now he was doing it for the reaction.
“Of course I won, Swan,” he said and confidence was a very good look for him.
“And?”
“And, what?”
“This repeating thing is getting old.”
“Then ask me a straight forward question.”
“You didn’t answer it,” Emma argued. “I asked why you were here and you told me you finished early, but that doesn’t time up at all. You couldn’t have filmed and made it to Gowanus, done much of anything and made it back here by now. It just doesn’t make sense.”
Killian took a step back, eyes narrowing, but his hand didn’t move away from her waist, fingers still tight despite his outstretched arm. “You’re very smart, Swan.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m hungry.”
“And you came here?”
“It is a restaurant, isn’t it?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Then I’m thinking I might be able to get some food, right? Rumor has it there are even a few new menu items to choose from.”
Emma sighed, rolling her eyes with all the dramatics she could muster. “I explained that.”
“And I’ve almost come to some sort of understanding on it.”
“Well, I can’t promise you a table, but there might be some space at the bar. And I’ll even give you special ordering privileges. Just tell me what you want and I’ll go make it now.”
“Or we could...not do that.”
He rocked back on his heels, hand falling away from Emma as he stuffed it into his pocket and eyed her with an almost nervous energy that made her even more certain there was a very specific reason he was in his restaurant.
“What exactly would we do instead?” Emma asked, eyebrows lifting and eyes widening meaningfully.
“Not that.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yuh huh.”
“I didn’t! I asked one question!”
“I think you should take a cooking break.”
Emma huffed out a breath of air, frustration creeping into the back of her mind that he wouldn't give her a straight answer. “It’s the middle of dinner.”
“You eat yet?”
“I’ve been a little busy.”
Killian nodded once, leaning towards her and wrapping his fingers around hers, pulling her away from the wall and back towards the dining room. He didn’t acknowledge her groan – not even trying to stay quiet as he walked her through the very crowded restaurant and the frustration that had been coursing through her system disappeared in half a second as soon as she made her way past table seventeen.
The bar was full and they all cheered when she came out and Killian’s hand tightened a fraction of an inch around her fingers, nervous energy turned to full-on excitement and something Emma had come to realize was actually love.
And it was emotional and overwhelming and she was drowning in it.
And she couldn’t have been happier.
“What is this?” she muttered, glancing up at him.
“Dinner,” Killian answered, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. And it was – the bar piled high with food and takeout bags from Granny’s and and plates that Emma was certain she’d made just a few minutes before and several varieties of baked goods.
“How?” Emma sputtered, eyes darting across the small crowd of faces in front of her.
“He did all of it,” Mary Margaret muttered, leaning forward to tug on Emma’s shirtsleeve. “Planned the whole thing.”
“And what is the whole thing, exactly?”
“You wound me, Swan,” Killian laughed, fingers tied up in hers entirely now. “It’s dinner. And a break. And something possibly resembling a celebration a week before you get your show back.”
“And you open your restaurant.”
“Yeah, that too. Although, I’ll be honest, I was more focused on your show.”
Of course he was.
And he had been from the start.
“There is alcohol,” Will said sharply, distracting Emma long enough that she pulled her slightly-stunned gaze away from Killian for half a second. “We should probably drink some of it since I made very fancy drinks.”
“You made my drinks,” Killian shot back. “You’ve never come up with a drink recipe in your entire life.”
Will shrugged, doling out glasses and swatting away Henry’s hand without a word. “Did you even go to the studio today?” Emma asked, finger wrapped around one of Killian’s belt loops.
“He better have,” Regina muttered and Killian rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling when he looked back at Emma, pausing only briefly to haul Roland up.
“Did you win Uncle Killian?” he asked, voice shaking with laughter when he flipped over Killian’s shoulder.
“I did.”
“Then how?” Emma continued, determined to get an answer.
Killian shrugged – an impressive feat with a seven-year-old draped over his back – and there was something in the way he looked at her that shot straight to Emma’s core, all softness and half a smile. “It was kind of a group effort.”
Emma glanced back at the bar – David and Henry trying to sneak desserts before actual food and Mary Margaret’s soft, chastising words at the movement. Will leaning across the bar with his hand wrapped around Belle’s wrist and a very pregnant Ariel sitting on one of the stools, Eric’s hand resting on the back of her neck as he rummaged in a paper bag for takeout containers of fries. Regina and Robin sat in their usual spot on the side of the bar, drinks in their hands as clinked their glasses with Ruby.
Emma could feel her smile get wider with every breath she took, eyes landing on Mary Margaret with an unspoken question plastered on her face. Mary Margaret shook her head deftly in response.
It hadn’t been a group effort.
It had been all Killian.
And once upon a time, when Emma was positive no one would ever want her – when she’d sat in that cell and tried to figure out what her life would, eventually, look like, she’d never even let herself imagine anything like this.
Because this was all pretty perfect.
“You ever going to tell me the truth?”
“Hmmm?”
He widened his eyes at Emma’s voice – or maybe because she was only wearing his t-shirt, knees pulled tight against her chest, chin resting on top of them.
It had all worked perfectly, the plan he and Henry had come up with two weeks before executed to near-perfection at the bar of The Jolly Roger a few hours before. It had, almost, been too easy to do – everyone more than willing to make sure Emma stayed properly distracted so that it would actually stay a surprise.
Even Henry managed to not say anything.
And the look on her face when she’d walked into the dining room had made it worth it, the way her eyebrows shot up and her fingers moved underneath his and that soft, little gasp she always took when something particularly exciting was happening.
She barely stopped smiling all night, laughing and eating and never more than a few inches from his side, only moving to hug Henry tightly before he left with the Mills-Locksley family for the night. He’d groaned in teenage-fashion, promising he’d be fine and go to sleep at a school-night appropriate time. Robin nodded behind him, a now-sleeping Roland draped across his shoulder and Emma smiled as they walked away.
“The truth,” Emma repeated, pressing back against the headboard of her bed. Their bed. That was still taking some getting used to.
“About?”
“The party you planned.”
“It was hardly a party, Swan. A gathering.”
“A gathering?”
“You’re doing that repeating thing again.”
Emma rolled her eyes and he shouldn’t enjoy that as much as he did – teasing her and getting her to laugh and maybe that had been why he’d planned all of this in the first place, to make sure she knew just how much he cared.
When he thought about it that way, it almost sounded a little selfish.
“I can hear you thinking,” Emma said, snapping his attention back to her and that stupid t-shirt. “Plus you kind of froze up there, that’s not a good way to play this if you’re trying to keep secrets.”
“No one is keeping secrets.”
She just raised her eyebrows in response and he sank onto the side of the mattress, hearing her move before he saw her, her chin resting on the top of his shoulder as her arms snaked around his waist.
“Liar, liar,” Emma muttered, whispering the words in his ear.
He laughed, leaning back out of instinct when she kissed along his jaw. “I’m not actually wearing any pants, so I don’t know if you can finish that line.”
“Shame.”
“It was Henry’s idea, you know.”
She stiffened against his back, head snapping up. “What?”
“The party, gathering, whatever. It was his idea. Give you a night where you weren’t stressed about your show and getting back on set. I just helped.”
“I’m not stressed about my show,” she said quickly, falling back into the small pile of pillows she always kept at the head of the bed.
“Look who’s lying now.”
Her shoulders fell and she scrunched her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Well,” Emma admitted, face turned up towards the ceiling. “Not a ton.”
“See, then you needed this.”
“A party?”
“Proof that there are ton of people who are certain you can do just about anything and wanted to remind you of that while drinking more alcohol than they should.”
“That drink was really good.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment because it was my drink.”
“That seems fair,” Emma laughed. And he absolutely would have rearranged his entire schedule all over again just make sure he heard her laugh like that at least once a day. “Although, that’s not what M’s said.”
“Mary Margaret’s aware of what drinks I have and haven’t made?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. She said this whole party thing was your doing. Plus, you know, Henry’s thirteen, so I tend to doubt his organizational skills just a bit.”
“When did you even have time to talk to Mary Margaret about that?”
“It was a look.”
“A look?” he said skeptically and Emma eyed him when he repeated her words.
“We’ve got that whole telepathic communication thing down pat. How do you think we talk about David while he’s still in the room?”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
Emma laughed again, pushing back up and swinging her legs over his. She kept staring at him, corners of her mouth turned up and her fingers in the back of his hair and it was hardly playing fair. He’d have to answer her – and she knew it.
“It was Henry’s idea, but I might have done a lot of the leg work.”
“How so?”
“Got the food, reorganized my schedule so we shot earlier in the afternoon, baked things.”
“Yeah, I noticed there were a vaguely obscene amount of baked goods. How’d you manage that? We only have one oven.”
“There’s one in my old apartment too. I baked there or baked while Eric and I came up with a menu in Gowanus the last two days and Henry made some after school. I think he used Mary Margaret and David’s oven.”
“Wait, wait, you got Henry to bake?”
Killian shrugged. “It wasn’t overly difficult. The whole understanding how to use an oven on his own is a work in progress, but we’ll get there.”
He hardly stayed upright when Emma kissed him – arms locked around his neck and legs twisting so they were either side of him and he couldn’t hold back the groan that escaped his mouth when she pressed her chest up against his, swiveling her hips and there wasn’t nearly enough fabric to hide anything.
Emma didn’t seem to mind.
And Killian certainly wasn’t going to object to it any time soon.
Because he was so ridiculously, overwhelmingly happy it was, sometimes, difficult to see straight.
He’d been the first to admit he was worried about moving in – a tiny ball of anxiety and a muttered too soon racing through his mind, but she’d put the key in his hand the next morning and he’d already left so many clothes in the corner of her closet it seemed kind of pointless to ever really go back to his apartment three blocks away.
He didn’t ever really want to go back.
So he didn’t – they fell into each other’s lives with an ease that shouldn’t have surprised him because that was how it had always been. They were a family – faster than he thought possible and easier than he ever could have imagined and he couldn’t even bring himself to be worried about the metaphorical other shoe, far too focused on everything else.
He focused on the way she woke up in the morning, slowly, blinking blearily when his alarm went off or the way she brushed her fingers through Henry’s hair when she was feeling something or how she hummed in the back of her throat and rocked back and forth on the one night they’d been allowed to babysit Leo and he wouldn’t stop crying.
And, most of all, he focused on the way his heart had leapt into his throat when she’d offered to take over The Jolly’s kitchen so that he could organize things at the warehouse and keep Eric from completely melting down in the middle of Brooklyn.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Emma mumbled against his mouth and he tried not to laugh too loud, certain he’d rather keep kissing her than talking about clothing options. Instead he wrapped his arm around her waist and flipped her, hovering over her with his fingers pushed under her shirt – his shirt – and appreciating the way she arched up at the touch.
“And you’re not wearing clothes that belong you,” he shot back, tongue darting over his lips when her eyes landed on his mouth.
“Those double negatives are awfully confusing.”
“You just have to focus,” he said, biting into that same lip when her hand pressed underneath his boxers. “Swan.”
“What was that about focusing?”
“That’s hardly playing fair, love.”
“I wasn’t aware we were playing,” she said, grinning at him. “You’re talking too much now too, though. In addition to too many clothes.”
“So many complaints.”
She shook her head, hair flying across her forehead. “Suggestions.”
“Ah, and what exactly are you suggesting? For the record as it were.”
Her fingers moved again, pushing on fabric until it was halfway down his thighs and she had to use the heel of her foot to move them farther down, landing on his ankle. “That,” Emma said and he hissed in his breath when she wrapped her hand around him. “For the record.”
Killian didn’t say anything else – couldn’t have said anything else even if he wanted to – just ducked his head and kissed her, hard and heady until he was certain the world had actually fallen off its axis.
And he was just focused on her and the feel of her and the sounds she made in his ear and how she dug the pads of her fingers into his shoulder.
He might have moaned out several words and possibly her name when she pushed back up against him, rocking her hips up and, somehow, pulling him closer to her. He was actually trying to memorize her – burn it all in his head and his memory as they kept moving, his hand tracing over the side of her thigh and she’d never actually taken his shirt off.
“Thank you,” Emma said later, pulled up against his side, and it could have been days later for all he knew.
“You don’t have to thank me for that, Swan,” he laughed, turning his head to grin at her. She rolled her eyes and smacked her hand lightly at his chest.
“I absolutely was not talking about that.”
“You might want to consider being more specific then.”
“I meant for everything else. The party and letting me change your menu and only being vaguely upset about it. And for being here. I’m glad you’re here.”
His pulse sped up and he tried to smile without actually breaking down in the middle of the bed, Emma’s voice sinking into that tiny space in the middle of his core that he was absolutely positive nothing would ever be able to fill.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he said honestly. Emma blinked, smiling softly at him and nodding like she was convincing herself it was true.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
They made french toast the next morning.
And a week later Emma Swan made her return to the network studio, a redecorated set and refocused determination as she filmed a brand-new season of The Kitchen. She made it to the warehouse five minutes before doors opened and Killian, once again, couldn’t quite believe how he’d stumbled into all of this.
She’d brought rum with her, grabbing two glasses from behind the enormous bar on the far wall of the dining room, filling both of them with a smile on her face. He took it without question, tilting it towards her on instinct.
“For luck,” he muttered.
Emma nodded once. “I’m not sure we need it.”
“Mom?” Henry asked, hopping onto the chair next to her. “We going to eat soon?”
She glanced up at Killian, eyes wide, and he grinned at Henry. “What do you want?”
“Rol wants cheeseburgers.”
“Of course he does. What do you want?”
“Cheeseburgers?”
Emma sighed, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. Killian just laughed. “Yeah, we can do that.” Henry let out a whoop of excitement as Will placed a glass of root beer in front of him with a knowing smile on his face.
They went home together, jammed into the backseat of a cab and Henry fell asleep. Killian half-carried him up the steps to the front door, Emma’s hand on her son’s back to push him in the direction of the elevator.
“Thanks for changing your menu, Killian,” Henry mumbled as he all but collapsed onto his bed.
“No problem.”
Emma was already under the blankets when he walked into the room, but she smiled at him when he walked in and her hand found its way into his hair as soon as Killian sat down. “I can’t believe you made cheeseburgers.”
“They had to eat.”
“There was a whole menu of food.”
“And somehow I don’t know that a thirteen-year-old and a seven-year-old would have been particularly interested in any of it.”
She scoffed under her breath, tugging him down towards her. “It was still nice,” she said. “It went really well too. Packed all night.”
“And Eric only freaked out once.”
“That was because Ariel thought she was going into labor.”
“Nothing if not dramatic.”
“Trust me, she’ll know when she actually goes into labor.”
Killian laughed, shaking his head when her hair fell towards his chin. “How was filming? Ruby still as nervous about the look of it?”
“She stopped worrying about that after Dorothy added some of her prints to the wall and she didn’t have a theming leg to stand on.”
“You’re deceptive, Swan.”
“I just know how to get what I want.”
“Yeah? And what do you want?”
“This,” she said, without a hint of hesitation. “I want this.”
Emma smiled, only muttering slightly when he reached around her to flick on the ancient alarm clock he’d brought with him three months ago when he’d moved three blocks downtown. She fell asleep quickly, her even breathing rising and falling against his chest and if this was what she wanted then this seemed pretty perfect.
“You think that’d be ok?” Emma asked, voice low and nervous. She couldn’t imagine how he’d actually heard her. Of course he had.
He beamed at her, eyes bright and this wasn’t fair. He wasn’t playing fair – between the tux and the baby holding and that stupid, supportive smile that might have been three quarters of the reason she’d fallen in love with him in the first place, Emma was a lost cause.
“I do,” Killian said, thumb trailing across her collarbone. Emma’s hands landed on the front of his jacket, tugging him towards her and they should get better at this whole responding thing because it seemed, more often than not, they ended up kissing instead.
AN: Guys. Guys. Guuuuuys. This is the last week of updates and I am a mess of emotions and feelings and general thankful’ness for how consistently fantastic you are. @laurnorder & @distant-rose continue to be the greatest humans - EVEN IN HURRICANES. Tell them they are fantastic, internet.
Also on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr.
“Mom!”
Emma groaned and Mary Margaret laughed, fingers twisting her hair into something that, hopefully, wouldn’t be a knotted mess by the end of the night. “You’re almost done,” she promised, glancing at her reflection in the mirror and tugging on Emma’s hair again.
“And I also have a very impatient kid.”
“Yeah, well,” Mary Margaret countered. “At least he’s voicing his impatience and not just wailing about it. I swear, it’s becoming like clockwork now. Every night at some point between 2:45 and 3:07, Leo starts wailing. Every night, I swear.”
“3:07?” Emma repeated, eyebrows lifted in something that might have been skepticism, but was mostly just being impressed by the newborn’s timeliness.
“3:07. Every night.”
“You should send that to someone. Or tell someone. Go viral. The great clock-watching baby.”
“I’d settle for him sleep consistently for a few hours at a time.”
“You’re supposed to let him cry it. That’s what all the books say.”
“Did you ever let Henry cry it out?” Mary Margaret asked, eyeing Emma appraisingly in the mirror as she circled the braid on the back of her head.
“Nah,” Emma admitted, laughing softly. “It’s easier said than done.”
“Exactly.”
Emma grinned at Mary Margaret – a bit stunned at what she’d been able to do with her hair and her makeup, living up to her promise to Ruby that Emma didn’t need to pay a professional when she has me – her hand brushing over the back of her neck.
It was the first time Leo Henry Nolan had been allowed out of the relative comfort of his apartment since arriving in the world about a month before – barring two trips to the doctor and one vaguely terror-filled, middle-of-the-night trip to the emergency room a week and half ago when the newborn had been diagnosed with colic and Mary Margaret cried when Emma walked into the waiting room.
She’d blamed it on post-pregnancy hormones then and it was so goddamn endearing Emma wasn’t even that upset about being called out of her bed at 1:34 in the morning.
She crawled back under the blankets nearly two hours later – never actually admitting that she’d been just as worried about Leo Henry as his slightly frantic parents had been – an arm wrapping around her waist with a soft noise and a brush of his lips on the back of her neck.
He’d stayed.
And they hadn’t really talked about it – not after that night and the revelation that his entire restaurant was willing to help make sure he got the warehouse back or Emma had, somehow, made certain Regina got to adopt her son. He’d simply followed her to her room and never really left.
He’d slowly, but surely taken over a corner of her closet and, perhaps more importantly, a corner of her kitchen, baking supplies earning a cabinet all to their own and no one appreciated that more than Henry – a brand-new soccer team to feed and an Iron Chef to impress them with.
Killian was mostly surprised that almost thirteen-year-old kids were, apparently, very impressed by an Iron Chef with a particular knack for baking things en mass, but Emma wasn’t – certain it had a lot more to do with his knowledge of soccer and the way Henry lit up every single time he appeared on the sideline.
“How’s he doing?” Killian muttered and Emma pressed back against his chest, sighing softly when his fingers ghosted across her stomach.
“Colic,” she said softly. He was incredibly warm and his arm tightened around her waist, tugging her closer against him and it shouldn’t have made her heartbeat pick up the way it did. Killian hummed softly and Emma was glad it was dark and the middle of the night and that her back was to him because the smile on her face – and the want in the pit of her stomach – probably would have been embarrassing if he saw it.
He was in the living room now, shouting something at the TV and Emma heard Henry’s laughter echo through the entire apartment as a zombie died particularly loudly. She was grinning like an idiot, almost oblivious to slightly stunned expression on Mary Margaret’s face until she pinched the skin on her shoulder.
“Jeez, M’s,” Emma hissed, glaring at her sister-in-law’s reflection. “That hurt.”
“What’s happening with your face?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re all glossy.”
“Can’t you fix that with makeup?”
“Yeah, that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Henry shouted for her again and Emma wasn’t certain if he wanted her to hurry up or just see the replay of what sounded like a particularly impressive zombie kill. Emma opened her mouth to question what exactly Mary Margaret was talking about, but there was a knock on her bedroom door, half closed so she could get dressed earlier without threat of someone bursting in, and David leaned around the corner, eyes practically squeezed shut.
“You’re fifteen,” Emma accused, shaking her head. “Come on in, everyone’s dressed. You’re not actually interrupting anything.”
“Yeah, well I’ve never sent you off to some sort of major network event, let me have this.”
“I literally went to a network holiday party a couple of months ago.”
“And I had to watch your kid.”
Emma rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to point out that he’d done the same exact thing when she’d gone to prom in Storybrooke, but didn’t want to hear stories about the dress or how her date had snuck alcohol into the punch in the back corner of the gym. David and Mary Margaret had to pick her up.
She’d gotten drunk.
Really drunk.
And spent the night hiding out in Mary Margaret’s bedroom – trying to avoid Ruth until she was one hundred percent sober the next day.
“Speaking of which,” Emma said, turning in the chair Mary Margaret had put in front of the full-length mirror on the inside of her closet door to stare at her brother. “Where exactly is your kid?”
Mary Margaret gasped softly – like she’d only just realized Henry Leo wasn’t draped over David’s shoulder – and he glared at Emma, eyes narrowing again until they were no more than slits on his face. “Thanks a lot,” he muttered. Emma just shrugged. “Killian’s got him.”
“Killian?” Emma asked, several body parts flipping at the idea of her boyfriend, presumably also dressed for a major network event, holding her nephew in her living room. David nodded and Emma was halfway down the hallway before Mary Margaret yelled something about not ruining your hair.
He was dressed and he must have gotten ready in Henry’s room because she and Mary Margaret had been camped out in her bedroom for the past forty-five minutes. She’d been, at least partially, right – Henry was playing video games and killing zombies, but Killian wasn’t sitting on the couch, standing, instead, a few feet in front of it with a sleeping newborn propped up against his shoulder, a towel guarding his shirt underneath.
He was bobbing up and down, almost like he was rocking back and forth on his heels, arm underneath Leo Henry’s legs, prosthetic resting lightly on his back.
And Emma wasn’t sure she’d actually ever be able to move again – certain she’d only ever be able to see this picture in front of her eyes for the rest of her life.
All things considered, it wasn’t really a bad way to go.
It didn’t last as long as she would have liked – that almost perfect moment in the middle of her living room – before Henry got eaten by a zombie, throwing his controller into one of the pillows in the corner of the couch and slumping further down into the cushions. He noticed her then, eyes going wide at the side of her network event-ready look.
“Sounded like you died a pretty horrible death there,” Emma laughed, noticing Killian’s back straighten when he heard her voice.
Henry shrugged, shaking his hair out of his eyes and maybe she could get Mary Margaret to cut it again tonight. “I got to a new level though, so I guess it’ll be worth it. Uncle David said he’d help once you guys were gone.”
“Yeah, we should probably leave soon. Or will leave soon. I don’t know, Ruby set up the car so it’ll probably be here five minutes before it’s supposed to.”
Leo Henry made a noise and Killian murmured something in his ear, turning around as he spoke and that wasn’t fair – the look on his face and the fit of the tux and there was a goddamn baby in his arms. And Emma might have been the worst person in the world because she’d just thought of her nephew as a goddamn baby.
“Swan,” he said softly and Henry didn’t even groan, just glanced at them wide-eyed and expectantly. The floor in the hallway creaked and Emma knew David and Mary Margaret were a few feet away and it all actually felt a little bit like prom. “You look incredible, love.”
She couldn’t find it in herself to argue with him – no sign of a sarcastic response or even a quiet scoff, not when he was looking at her like that. And certainly not when Mary Margaret had twisted her hair into some kind of braided crown at the nape of her neck and her makeup was better than it had probably ever been on TV and her dress might have actually been the most expensive thing she’d ever bought.
It wasn’t red, but it didn’t seem to matter – not when Killian’s eyes traveled up the slit on the side and she should probably put her heels on because the hem was dragging on the floor.
They’d probably look good on camera together.
And in print.
There were going to be print photographers there, a fact Ruby had done her best to impress upon Emma in the leadup to the event and a major reason why she hadn’t had some sort of coronary when she realized how much the dress cost.
It cost a lot and it was the wrap event for the all-star thing and there were going to be photographers and reporters and cameras and Emma Swan and Killian Jones were making their first, public appearance as some sort of celebrity chef couple.
She’d worked out her nerves on that particular situation by spending an absolutely obscene amount of money on the dress she was going to wear.
It was worth it for the reaction.
“Pictures,” Mary Margaret yelled, giving up her not-so-secret position around the corner of the hallway. David groaned and Henry laughed and tiny-Nolan gurgled, earning another string of muttered words from Killian as he walked towards Emma, eyes not entirely appropriate considering he was still carrying a newborn.
He adjusted Leo Henry, resting more of his weight on his right arm and trailing his left hand over her arms. “You look incredible,” he said, repeating himself and Emma bit the side of her tongue as Mary Margaret rummaged in her bag to find her phone.
“You said that already,” Emma pointed out.
Killian smirked at her, one eyebrow lifted up and the living room suddenly seemed much warmer than it had a few minutes before. “Give me a bit more privacy and, I promise, I’ll come up with a few more adjectives, love.”
Emma laughed, not quite sure she could come up with a coherent thought, let alone some kind of actual response.
She didn’t have to.
Mary Margaret had, apparently, found her phone – a fact she announced to the entire living room, loudly.
Leo Henry didn’t appreciate that at all, voicing his displeasure against Killian’s shoulder and he seemed more entertained than anything, smiling as he handed the month-old kid to David. The buzzer downstairs sounded and the car was here – seven minutes before its schedule arrival time – and Emma laughed again.
“Ah, will you look at that,” she said, tugging on the cuff of Killian’s shirt as she tried to make her way towards her door. “Looks like we’ve got to go.”
David sighed, some sort of disappointed older brother look painted on his face and Emma’s shoulders sagged. There was no getting out of this. “Come on, Swan,” Killian said, pulling his hand away only to lace his fingers through her and bring her back into the middle of the living room, half blocking Henry’s view of the TV.
“Mom,” Henry groaned, twisting his head to try and look around her.
“Two seconds to make M’s happy will not kill you, kid.”
Mary Margaret beamed at them, ushering them back in front of the TV and holding her phone up like she was actually some kind of professional photographer. “Smile,” she commanded and Killian’s arm tugged Emma closer to his side and it was absolutely just like prom.
“M&M’s are you almost done?” Henry asked and Emma clicked her tongue, not entirely appreciating the tone of his voice. He sighed dramatically, zombies taking over some town or city or something on the screen without him.
Mary Margaret clicked her phone a few more times and Emma’s patience was starting to wear thin as well. “Ok, M’s,” she said, tilting her head meaningfully. “There’ll be plenty of cameras there so you can get pictures from them too. The car’s going to leave without us.”
“The network paid a lot of money for that car,” Mary Margaret argued, David laughing softly at her determination as he tried to rock Leo Henry back into a state of calm and not crying in Emma’s living room. “It’ll wait.”
“Even so, seems rude to make the guy wait an hour for us to come downstairs.”
“It wasn’t an hour,” she grumbled, sinking back onto the couch and grabbing the other controller next to her. “Come on kid,” she said, nudging Henry’s shoulder. “Let’s kill things.”
“M’s! Oh my God.”
“You guys look really good,” she said, voice softening just a bit, which seemed almost ironic because she was unnaturally good at this. Henry gaped at her, mouth hanging open as her fingers practically danced over the controller, chopping off heads as she went. “Don’t come back here tonight, ok? Go back to Killian’s apartment.”
Henry did groan at that and David might have choked on the air he was trying to breathe. The tips of Killian’s ears had gone red and his arm slacked around her waist just a bit. Emma glared at her and Mary Margaret grinned back – zombies crying out for help in the background, or whatever it was zombies did when they died. Again.
“Go,” she said, smiling pointedly at Emma, the same way she’d looked at her in the mirror a few hours before. “And have fun and look good on camera. You know, again. For the professionals.”
Emma shook her head, Killian’s arm tight around her again as she leaned forward to kiss Henry’s cheek, earning another groan for the maternal move. She brushed her knuckle over the back of tiny-Nolan’s leg and the buzzer sounded again.
“Impatient car guy,” David muttered. “Better hurry up. And don’t worry about us here, we’ll be fine.”
The buzzer sounded again and Killian was bordering on hysterical at this point, threatening to wake up Henry Leo in the process. “Come on, Swan,” he muttered and both David and Mary Margaret nodded at her encouragingly. Henry killed more zombies.
They were definitely late and Ruby was going to yell and Regina was going to glare and Emma didn’t care because as soon as they were in the car, Killian made good on his promise to come up with a few more adjectives about her dress.
She hadn’t expected this many cameras. There were a lot of cameras and it seemed a bit crazy to imagine that these cameras were there for them.
They cooked things.
They cooked things on TV and occasionally did it for charity and to get their TV shows back or expand their restaurants and those last two things still seemed a bit problematic.
Or at least one of them did.
Because The Jolly was going to expand – the ragtag family that lived in that dining room had made sure of it, pooling their money and their determination and a slew of laminated charts Regina had shown Emma a few weeks before.
And David had promised they’d get Gold.
Emma wasn’t worried about that.
David kept his promises and she could hardly argue laminated charts.
She was worried about her own show – and it was vaguely selfish, but Aurora’s story was supposed to come out that week and Emma was slightly terrified to see all of that in actual print with photos of her on set and promotional outtakes she’d shot with Killian months before. The story was supposed to fix everything.
And no one had said anything one way or another.
Not even the week before when they’d filmed the five-course extravaganza and Emma’s hands were cramping from so much spatula flipping and pan-holding and they had to pose for even more promotional photos for the cookbook they were going to sell over the summer.
It was exhausting – worry eating away at the back of her brain when she just wanted to be focused on how happy she was with everything else in her life.
“Deep breaths, Swan,” Killian whispered, muttering the words in her ear as he nudged her towards the doors.
She nodded once, a ridiculous, jerky movement that was going to look ridiculous and jerky on camera and tried to smile. There were cameras and it was all incredibly bright and they cooked for a living for God’s sake and she didn’t even have a show anymore.
This was ridiculous.
They weaved their way down the carpet – jeez, there was a carpet and this was Lincoln Center, there wasn’t supposed to be a carpet in Lincoln Center – Killian’s hand on her back and he was muttering in her ear still, the same vaguely encouraging sentiment for what felt like a mile of camera-studded walking.
It was Lincoln Center so the space was gorgeous and there were chandeliers and Emma wondered where the network had even gotten enough money for something like this. “See, Swan,” Killian said, grinning at her before nodding towards Belle and Will on the other side of the hall. And this was almost vaguely worth it to see Will Scarlett wearing a tuxedo at a network-sponsored event.
“Yuh huh,” Emma muttered and he laughed again, pulling her further into the room, grabbing two glasses of champagne off a tray as they moved. “Efficient,” she said, nearly downing the entire thing in one gulp.
“Just think how good we’ll look in all those pictures.”
Emma smiled, almost not entirely worried about her show or getting her picture taken or how she’d won this whole stupid all-star event and no one had said a single word about it. “Hey,” he said sharply, hand wrapping around elbow. “You ok, love?”
And she was – because he asked.
Because he cared.
And he stayed.
“Emma! Emma! Emma!”
She jerked her head up, Killian’s hand tightening around her elbow to help keep her balance in this very long dress and very high heels and Ruby was practically sprinting across the hall, people all but jumping out of her path.
Dorothy was just a few steps behind, something like amusement flashing across her face. “Emma,” Ruby yelled again, throwing her hand up in the air as if she couldn’t see her already or hear her perfectly.
“You’re going to sprain your ankle,” Dorothy muttered when they both skidded to a stop a few feet in front of Emma and Killian.
“Swan,” Killian said, staring at it meaningfully. It was the magazine. It was her story – or it would be her story, once she actually opened the thing. She couldn’t really feel any of her extremities though, so that made it a bit more difficult to accomplish.
Ruby sighed dramatically when Emma didn’t move fast enough, grabbing the magazine back out of her hand and flipping open to the page that was absolutely bookmarked three quarters away through. “It’s good, Em,” she said, holding it open like it was show and tell at Lincoln Center.
“Really good,” Dorothy added.
“You did everything right, Emma. Everything. You were you and people are going to love it. Seriously. Have you seen Zelena yet?”
Emma shook her head slowly, eyes roving across the crowd. “We literally just got here,” she said, ignoring Ruby’s disappointed glare at her arrival time.
“The car was got to your apartment like an hour ago!”
“How do you even know that?” Ruby shrugged, snapping the magazine closed again and sticking it underneath her arm. “Why do I need to see Zelena?”
“To talk about your show,” Ruby said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Or the future of your show.”
“What?” Emma said, voice cracking and Killian was still there, arm moving up to her shoulders and lips brushing against the top of her head. Ruby groaned, personally offended at this public display of affection.
“If you guys could control yourselves for like two seconds,” she mumbled, ignoring Dorothy’s soft relax behind her. Emma rolled her eyes. “I’d tell you that Zelena wants to talk to you, Em. About your show. And getting it back on the air. And maybe changing a few things, but, you know, getting back on the air. Soon. Or soon’ish at least.”
“Wait, wait, I don’t understand,” Emma said, wishing she hadn’t drank her champagne that quickly. She needed something to do with her hands.
“What exactly does soon’ish mean?” Killian asked.
Ruby leveled him with a glare and he didn’t back down and there was something about this weird protective gene that seemed to active between both of them. “Soon’ish means exactly what it sounds like,” Ruby said. “Emma will get back on the air soon’ish, but I think we’re going to change the approach a bit.”
“How?” Emma said sharply, cutting into the conversation, not interested in protective genes or pointed stares anymore.
“How what?”
“How will we change the approach?”
“To you.”
Emma blinked and Ruby grinned at her like she’d just told her she’d won the lottery. “I don’t get it.”
“You were you in that story, Em. Up front and honest and open and I’m not saying you have to be that every minute of every day, but if you could bring some of that to your show and your set and people’s TV screens on Sunday morning, I think we could see the numbers shoot through some sort of metaphorical roof.”
“You’re still not making any sense, Rubes,” Emma sighed, frustration eating into the corners of the sentence.
“Think about it.”
Emma sighed, exasperation rolling off her in waves and she opened her mouth to, maybe, shout something at Ruby about talking in riddles, but Killian stepped in front of her, hands on her shoulders and a look of pure determination in his eyes.
“Swan,” he said evenly. Fuck. His eyes were blue.
“Yeah?”
“Think about it, love,” Killian continued, repeating Ruby’s words and she audibly scoffed behind him. He didn’t even blink. “You could make whatever you want. You could get new appliances. A theme you don’t secretly hate.”
“You hate your theme?” Ruby cried and Emma let out a shaky laugh.
Killian didn’t move, kept looking at her intently, one side of his mouth pulled up. “You can just be you, Swan.”
“You think that’d be ok?” Emma asked, voice low and nervous. She couldn’t imagine how he’d actually heard her. Of course he had.
He beamed at her, eyes bright and this wasn’t fair. He wasn’t playing fair – between the tux and the baby holding and that stupid, supportive smile that might have been three quarters of the reason she’d fallen in love with him in the first place, Emma was a lost cause.
“I do,” Killian said, thumb trailing across her collarbone. Emma’s hands landed on the front of his jacket, tugging him towards her and they should get better at this whole responding thing because it seemed, more often than not, they ended up kissing instead.
Ruby groaned again and when Emma looked up at her, her producer’s entire head was thrown back, eyes glued on the ceiling.
“Ah,” Regina said, appearing out of nowhere with a glass of champagne in her hand, Robin just a step behind. “Are they doing that thing where they kiss each other instead of actually using words when one of them says something particularly emotional?”
“Yes,” Ruby cried. “Exactly that. It’s gross.”
“We’re standing right here,” Killian muttered.
Regina shrugged and Ruby made a noise in the back of her throat. “What do you think, Em?” she asked, getting back to business with the kind of professional whiplash that made her head hurt.
“What did Zelena say?”
“The fact that she wanted to talk to you seems like a pretty good sign.”
“She read the story?” Ruby nodded. “And talked to you about the show? And possibly skyrocketing ratings?” Two more nods.
“I’m not lying to you.”
“I wouldn’t think you would be.”
“The questions suggest otherwise.” Emma sighed and Ruby grinned at her like she knew she’d already won this particular argument. She probably had.
“Yes,” Emma said and Killian kissed the top of her head again.
“Yes, what? Exactly?”
“Yes to redoing the show and being me on air or whatever. If I can get new appliances out of it, I’m willing to do just about anything.”
“If I’d known you hated your theme so much I definitely would have used that to my advantage in previous arguments,” Ruby said, crossing her arms forcefully.
“You’re going to mess up the beading on you dress if you do that.”
“Emma!”
She grinned, stepping out from Killian’s arms around her shoulders and pulling Ruby into a hug before she even had a chance to object. And she didn’t really – just grunted a bit when she nearly lost balance on her heels and wrapped her arms tightly around Emma.
“Congratulations, babe,” Ruby muttered and Emma couldn’t actually cry in the middle of this network event. “No one deserves it more than you.”
And Emma couldn’t quite breathe and it wasn’t because of the dress or Ruby’s soft words or Killian’s fingers trailing across the back of her neck.
Well, it might have been, at least, partially because of that.
It might have also been because, for the first time in just about as long as she could possibly remember, Emma was in control. Actually in control and not just the compartmentalized version she’d been certain was the way it had to be.
The walls were down and the boxes were folded and put away in some sort of metaphorical closet she hoped she never had to actually open again – a completely different one from the closet in her apartment, chock-full of Killian Jones’ clothes.
And maybe Emma Swan – just Emma Swan – was enough.
“Did you tell her?” Belle asked, glancing questioningly in Ruby’s direction. The producer just hummed in the back of her throat, an agreement muffled slightly by her face pressed into Emma’s hair. “Good.”
“How many people knew about this, Rubes?” Emma muttered, taking a step back and nearly colliding with Killian’s forearm.
“Just Belle. And I guess Will. And Robin and Regina. And Zelena. And Dor. Obviously. But she doesn’t really count.”
“Thanks,” Dorothy mumbled and Ruby flashed her a smile that deserved its own magazine spread and several moments on that mile-long carpet in front of a small army of photographers and reporters.
“You guys were incredibly late,” Will said.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Killian asked. “Who’s running my bar?”
“Yeah, you’re not a very good boss. Or a very observant boss, at least. I told you I was coming to this thing like a week ago. After we talked about what kind of alcohol to stock the warehouse with. Then Emma showed up and you went home with her and, very clearly, forgot everything I told you.”
“I remember the alcohol.”
“Of course you do.”
“We ordered a lot of rum and scotch as I remember.”
“Yeah, well people drink a lot of rum and scotch.”
“We drink a lot of rum and scotch,” Killian corrected. Will shrugged.
There was a noise that sounded like a gong in the background of the room and Emma suddenly realized there was a stage as well and a microphone stand with Zelena behind it. “Jeez,” Robin muttered, shaking his head in disbelief at everything that was going on in the middle of Lincoln Center. “Are we under attack?”
“I think that’s probably Zelena,” Emma muttered, glancing up at the network head as she took the stage, eyes sweeping across the crowd that had snapped to attention at the sound. Robin nodded in understanding.
Zelena tapped the mic and the music cut out and the murmurs of the crowd lasted just a few seconds under her vaguely heavy stare. Killian’s arm looped back around her shoulders and Emam wasn’t particularly interested in anything Zelena had to say when she could feel him next to her like that.
She turned on him, appreciating the way his eyes widened when her hand landed on his hip. “Can I talk to you?” Emma asked.
“Now? You’ll miss Zelena congratulating you on your incredible cooking effort.”
“Yeah, I don’t care about that.”
Killian narrowed his eyes at her – like he was trying to figure out if she was telling the truth – hand falling back down to hers as she tugged him back towards the front doors. “Swan?” he muttered, catching her short.
“Yeah?”
He scoffed out a quiet laugh, the corners of his mouth ticking up as he shook his head slightly. “You’re the one who wanted to talk, love. What about?”
“Thank you,” she said, words falling out of her mouth without preamble or much thought. She didn’t know what else to say.
“For?”
“For this. For...everything.”
“I didn’t do anything, Swan. You did. You needed to get your show back and now you can, on your own terms.”
“You ordered alcohol for Jolly 2.0?”
Killian nodded, thumb rubbing out a small circle on the back of her wrist. “A slightly obscene amount,” he laughed. “But, uh, yeah, we did. Marco’s almost done with a lot of it too. There’s apparently even several doors.”
“Heat?” Emma asked, stepping closer to him.
“Not yet.”
“Ah, maybe someday.”
“Although, we’re getting fairly close to needing air conditioning. So I’m not overly focused on the heat aspect of it.” She hummed in acknowledgement and Killian narrowed his eyes again. “Emma?” he asked. “What’s going on? Really.”
She took a deep breath, twisting her lips and trying to figure out how to actually put words to whatever she was feeling. “I’m just...happy.”
His eyes flashed, darting across her face and landing on her lips and she wasn’t entirely ready for him when he crashed against her, fingers wrapped around her wrist and yanking her forward. They were doing it again – kissing in response and if he wasn’t so incredibly good at this, Emma probably would have suggested they actually talk about something.
But he was incredibly good at this, hand around her neck and brace pushing into her back and Emma could feel every single inch of him in this dark corner they’d managed to find themselves in.
“That’s all I wanted, Swan,” Killian said, murmuring the words against her lips.
“Well, mission accomplished.”
He laughed, eyes bright and blue and staring straight at Emma. “What do you think the chances are of getting out of here without getting yelled at?”
“Probably pretty slim.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” he sighed. “Although as much as I’d like to get you home and, possibly, out of that dress, I do have to admit that it looks fairly good on.”
Emma raised her eyebrows and they were ridiculously good at this too – the banter and the flirting and the making her stomach flip like she was fifteen. “Possibly?” she asked, skeptically and he smirked at her.
“Seemed rude to just jump to conclusions.”
“Feel free to jump to that one.”
Zelena was still talking and it sounded like the crowd was actually applauding at this point and Emma still didn’t care, just pushed her hand back into Killian’s hair and felt her heart pick up when her lips caught his.
And, quite suddenly, the girl who’d never really thought she’d get anything, felt as if she had everything.
“Still with me, Swan?”
She mumbled a response, pressing her head into the crook of his neck and Killian brushed his lips across her hairline, tugging her against his side.
They stayed for four hours and they were, without question, the longest four hours of Emma’s life. She answered questions about her show and the return and when she’d be back in front of a camera again and then answered more questions about the all-star competition and the interview and, God help her, at least three questions about her relationship with Killian. And by the time they’d gotten in a car and back downtown, Emma was bordering dangerously close to exhausted.
Which didn’t really seem fair since she had vaguely big, life-changing plans for the rest of the night.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” she said.
“Good.” She didn’t say anything else, but she could feel him take a deep breath under her, chest moving with the effort of it. He hadn’t actually put his shirt back on and Emma’s very expensive, very well-fitting dress was mostly an afterthought at this point. “Emma,” he said again, and that was the second time he’d called her that.
It wasn’t making this any easier.
“Swan,” Killian muttered, softer this time, fingers trailing up and down her spine. “I can hear you thinking, love.”
She huffed out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Maybe focus some of that energy on what it is I’m thinking then.”
“Or you could just tell me.”
Emma propped herself up, resting her head up on her hand and Killian turned, following her gaze. “I have a proposition for you,” she said. “A deal, as it were.”
Killian’s eyebrow ticked up. “That word, though, Swan.”
“I thought it might spark some interest.”
“To be fair, you’re fairly good at that on your own.”
She felt something shoot through her chest at that and it might have actually been confidence. This was going to work.
“See, that’s a good place to start,” Emma said, goosebumps forming on her arm when he brushed his hand down it.
“What are you getting at?”
Emma clicked her tongue. “No, no, we’re not rushing over this. I’m going to enjoy this.”
“Go ahead, Swan.”
“Well, I’ve noticed a couple of things over the last month or so.”
“Like?”
“Like how you’ve kind of settled into our lives. I mean me and Henry and, jeez, even M’s and David. And I’ve kind of settled in here. And it’s been good. Really good. I mean, you’ve got half your clothes in my apartment and more baking stuff than I ever actually knew existed.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, lips set in a straight line and it almost looked like he was nervous. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be nervous.
He was supposed to play along.
“I can move some of the stuff, Swan,” Killian muttered. “If it’s…”
“No,” Emma cut him off. “It’s not.”
“It’s not?”
“Did you miss the part where I said it was good?”
Killian smiled slowly, the movement inching across his face. “Apparently,” he muttered.
“It’s good,” Emma repeated. “Really good. And I’m happy.”
“That’s kind of the goal here, Swan.”
“No, I know that. Jeez, will you let me finish?” Killian laughed, grin spreading wider, and he raised his eyebrows quickly. “I’m trying to tell you to stay.”
“What?” he asked, voice shaking just a bit over the four letters.
“Stay. You know, like, indefinitely. I mean, you’ve got enough clothes and baking supplies to last a lifetime. And it’s not ideal or anything. Henry will be there and David and Mary Margaret have keys and…”
Killian shook his head, pulling Emma up until they were both sitting in the middle of his mattress, sheets and blankets twisted in between their legs. “Yes,” he said quickly, hand cupping her jaw when he looked at her.
“What?”
This wasn’t going the way she’d planned.
She’d planned to keep it light and easy and slightly veiled in sarcasm. She’d planned to stun him with that dress and bring him back to his apartment and spend time with him alone – for the first time in, quite possibly, a month – and she’d tell him how she loved him and how she wanted him around and he’d kiss her again and then they’d fall asleep together.
Or they’d kiss some more.
That part of the plan was a bit murkier.
And he absolutely wasn’t following the plan.
She hadn’t expected him to agree that quickly. She probably should have.
“What do you mean, what?” Killian asked.
“I mean, just like that? Yes and that’s that?”
“Well, you haven’t actually asked me a specific question yet, Swan,” he laughed, eyes falling back to her mouth. “But, yeah, just like that.”
Emma bit her lip and tried to take a deep breathe. It didn’t really work. “Move in with me,” she said, rushing over the words before she lost her nerve.
He kissed her then and at least that part of the plan seemed to have worked.
“You’re sure?” he asked softly, nerves practically rolling off him.
“Yeah,” Emma said with a conviction that didn’t surprise her. Not any more. Not when he looked at her like that.
“It’s not much of a deal, though, Swan. Generally that requires some sort of exchange of goods.”
“Were there not baked goods involved?”
He laughed – loud and the sound seemed to settle into Emma’s heart or some other vaguely ridiculous cliché and she was so goddamn happy she was positive she’d never be able to fall asleep. “There could be,” he said, thumb tracing the edge of her jaw until he pushed his fingers into her hair.
“See, seems like a pretty good deal then.”
“And,” Killian added, head ducking down as he kissed along the side of her neck. The goosebumps were back. “I don’t think it’s going to be nearly as messy as you think.”
“No?”
“Uh huh. In fact, I think it sounds fairly nice.”
“Nice?”
“A generic word, I’ll you give you that, Swan. But it’s still true. And it might be exactly what I want.”
“Might be?”
“I didn’t want to push.”
“I think we’re past the point of no return on the whole pushing thing.”
He hummed against her skin and Emma could feel Killian’s smile on the side of her neck. “That might be true,” he agreed. “I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
She didn’t ever really get to sleep – but neither did he.
And David only laughed a little bit when they wandered into Granny’s the next morning, Leo Henry asleep in the carrier next to him. And Mary Margaret smiled at them and Henry asked if they could go the Piers later that afternoon.
God, they even had to use a cart – the theme of this show was absurd. Emma tried to maneuver the thing around the corner of an aisle, wheels scraping painfully on the floor, the noise making her squeeze her eyes shut and that was a mistake.
She heard the sound of colliding carts before she felt it, arms shaking a bit as they desperately tried to hold on to her cart.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbled, taking a step back and yanking the cart with her. And of course it was him.
Whatever, world.
AN: I just have to again say how much I appreciate the response to this story and how psyched you guys are about it and I make my husband read every single message like it’s show and tell. Honestly. @laurnorder makes this 800 times better and @distant-rose reads all my words and makes gorgeous aesthetics. They’re the best.
Living it up on Ao3 & tag’ed up on Tumblr.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m kind of in the middle of something here, Ruby,” Emma said, muttering out the words through barely-moving lips so she wouldn’t frustrate the human being currently trying to put makeup on her face.
“You’re done now.” Ruby glanced at the makeup artist, leveling her with a look that bartered no debate. “She’s done now.”
She didn’t even wait for Emma to argue, just grabbed her hand, pulling her forcefully out of the chair and out into the hallway, staring at her with a look that was somewhere in between anxiety and excitement.
Ruby tightened her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes at Emma – it felt a bit like a threat. “What’s your problem?” Emma spat, not even trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.
She was frustrated
And tired.
Exhausted.
She was frustrated and exhausted and she probably should have talked to Ruby before walking into the network offices to film a show that was actually based on buying groceries. She should have talked to Killian too.
There were a lot of things Emma probably should have done – and she’d considered all of them, alternating from her couch and a one-man intervention with her brother, to the couch in David and Mary Margaret’s apartment, holed up in the corner with a cup of hot chocolate in her hand and a sympathetic smile on her sister-in-law’s face.
It was, for all intents and purposes, the same message David had tried to press into her brain earlier that afternoon, but Mary Margaret was a bit softer and easier and not quite as up front with the use of the word stupid.
So as soon as Henry had requested ice cream, David had volunteered to take him and Mary Margaret had made hot chocolate, forcing it into Emma’s hand with a word and an encouraging nod and Emma had cried.
For at least five minutes.
And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that.
It meant something.
“I’ve got a plan,” Ruby said, matching Emma tone for tone and she should have expected that. It was her show as much as it was Emma’s. “And you’re not going to like it and I absolutely don’t care. This is going to work.”
Emma’s eyes widened quickly, breath catching in her throat just a bit as she waited for Ruby to continue. “We’re doing an interview,” Ruby said.
“What?”
She was right – Emma didn’t like it. She hated it.
Ruby nodded deftly. “Hear me out,” she said, holding her hands up lightly, but her foot was tapping and the impatience was practically wafting off her. “I know you don’t want to talk and I get it, but if you looked at the response, you’d also get it. People aren’t upset. They’re impressed. You’re some kind of hero on the internet right now.”
“What?”
Ruby sighed dramatically, tilting one eyebrow up as Emma repeated herself. “Think about it, Emma. You’ve completely rebuilt your life. You took a shitty situation, the shittiest situation and you made yourself a TV star. It’s the perfect redemption story. People are eating it up. You talk about it a little bit on the record and you’ll be back on the air in no time.”
Emma considered that for a moment and, as much as she hated it, she couldn’t figure out a way to disagree.
It made sense.
“People like you,” Ruby continued, oblivious to everything that was going on in Emma’s head. “They’ve always liked you and now they like you even more. Just, do me a favor, ok? And think about it? I’m not asking you to bring Henry on the show or anything except for ten minutes with a reporter. That’s it.”
Emma nodded slowly, back pressed up painfully against the wall behind her. “What about the rest of it?” she asked.
Ruby’s eyebrows fell quickly, lips tilting down in confusion. “You’ve lost me. What rest of it?”
“There was another part of the story. It wasn’t just about the jail time.”
Killian.
She was asking about Killian and it only took half a second for Ruby to understand, mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ when it hit her. And there was a tinge of sadness in her smile before she answered the question Emma hadn’t really asked.
“That’s up to you, Em,” she said softly. “But for what it’s worth, I think you should talk to him. Soon.”
The heels practically running down the hallway stopped Emma from answering – or possibly diving face first back into a cesspool of emotion and want – nearly making her fall over when she spun around to put a face to the sound.
“Regina’s losing her mind,” Anna said quickly, trying to catch her breath as she stared at Emma and Ruby. “You guys were supposed to be on set two minutes ago.”
“Jeez,” Ruby mumbled. “Tell her to relax.”
“She’s a little on edge.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.”
And so could Emma – because she was just as much on edge. Or possibly over it. Dangling there. Several thousand feet above the ground and totally unprepared for impact. And if she felt half the way Emma did, or had to deal with Killian the way Ruby had to deal with her, it was a more than understandable frustration.
“We’ll be right there,” Emma said and Anna nodded once, darting back down the hallway. Ruby glanced speculatively at Emma and she just shrugged in response.
“You going to be ok?” she asked, voice finally losing that bite as she fell back into friend, eyes softening just a bit.
“Yeah. Probably. Maybe after this interview.”
Ruby nearly fell over, body colliding with the side of the door that led onto set and Emma appreciated that for a moment, grabbing an apron from the outstretched hand of an assistant, tying it tightly around her waist and trying to keep her steps measured as she moved towards her station.
Everything had changed.
And it wasn’t just this story or the rumors or her show.
It was what she hadn’t told anyone else – David or Mary Margaret or Ruby or Killian. Especially Killian – the words echoing in her brain ever since he’d said them and she hadn’t answered. He had changed everything.
It felt as if every eye on set turned to her when she stopped walking, hands pressed flat against the counter as she took a deep breath through her nose.
They hadn’t put her next to him – his station on the other side of Belle’s to her right – but Emma knew he was looking at her, could feel his eyes on the side of her face and she didn’t turn. Film first. She had to film first.
And then she’d talk to him.
She’d tell him.
She’d fix it.
Regina was barking out orders, explaining rules Emma was only vaguely aware of and entirely uninterested in. She bit the side of her tongue tightly, running through all the reasons she absolutely could not turn to her right and meet Killian’s gaze.
Her fingers tapped nervously on the formica and now a different voice was talking – Jefferson Hatter, an explanation in the back of her mind provided, host of the show, and Emma tried to focus on that. “You’ll have ten minutes to shop,” he said. “But you’ll be on a budget. $20 dollars for the entire meal. You go over and you’ll have your entire cart confiscated which, you know, will make it just a bit challenging to actually cook a meal. So I hope you all can do some basic math in your head. I want bolognese. Ten minutes to shop, thirty minutes to cook, $20. And, go!”
An air horn sounded from somewhere in the back corner of the set and Emma darted forward, cutting in front of a slightly stunned Graham who, she was certain, had never set foot in a grocery store in his life.
And for as much as she wasn’t listening and entirely preoccupied with half a dozen other things, Emma was more confident in this challenge than she had been throughout the entire, stupid competition – memories of shopping with a two-year-old strapped to her chest and a limited list of options clutched in her hand flashing in front of her eyes.
No, she thought quickly, get rid of the basil and the parsley. Spices were expensive and unnecessary.
Salt and pepper. She needed salt and pepper.
God, they even had to use a cart – the theme of this show was absurd. Emma tried to maneuver the thing around the corner of an aisle, wheels scraping painfully on the floor, the noise making her squeeze her eyes shut and that was a mistake.
She heard the sound of colliding carts before she felt it, arms shaking a bit as they desperately tried to hold on to her cart.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbled, taking a step back and yanking the cart with her. And of course it was him.
Whatever, world.
“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian said softly, eyes widening when the endearment fell out of his mouth, like he wasn’t sure if that was allowed.
Fuck.
She had fucked up.
Cook first. She had to cook first and then they could talk.
Emma nodded slowly, lips parted just a bit and she hadn’t expected the reaction to be that strong – the slow pull in her gut making her want to knock both of their carts out the way, push him up against one of these aisle and kiss him senseless. He was absolutely unfairly good looking. And staring at her like...she couldn’t think that.
Like she was the goddamn sun.
There were cameras everywhere.
“Were your eyes closed?” he asked softly, one side of his mouth tilting up. She shrugged. God, say something back. “You do that a lot, don’t you? Like it’s all instinctual.”
She shrugged again and a voice called one minute and they stared at each other over carts chock-full of inexpensive Italian food for half a moment, matching nervous smiles on their faces and Emma tugged on the bottom of her hair.
His smile widened.
“We should, uh, probably go check out,” Emma said. “Or whatever they call it on this stupid show.”
“It is kind of ridiculous isn’t it?”
Emma nodded again – like she’d lost complete control of all of the muscles in her neck – fingers loosening their grip on her cart. “Although, it will be vaguely entertaining to watch Graham try and cook bolognese. That’s worth showing up for alone.”
Killian’s eyes flashed and Emma’s stomach flipped and they were absolutely wasting time. She didn’t care. This was the longest minute in the history of the world.
“Absolutely,” he agreed, nodding towards the mock check-out line a few feet away and Emma took the hint, pushing her cart away from him.
She heard him follow behind here and that felt like something – a lot bigger than this dumb, themed show.
Eighteen dollars and seventy-two cents.
Emma was a grocery shopping wizard. Or witch? Why were these things gendered? She shook her head quickly, eyebrows pulled low as she grabbed a pot and a pan and flipped a switch on her oven, which was all very impressive considering she still only had two hands. She chanced a glance two stations over to find Killian shaking something in a frying pan and he must have been able to feel her or something because he looked up nearly as soon as her eyes moved towards him and smiled.
And she was going to win.
Thirty minutes had never gone by so fast – or with so many stolen glances – and Jefferson was counting down and Emma was dumping food onto plates and trying to figure out some way to make pasta look appealing without just being a mound of food and sauce and meat.
“Looks good,” Graham muttered, nodding towards Emma’s dish and flashing an encouraging smile at her as Jefferson called out the end of the round and upcoming judging.
“Thanks,” Emma answered and she’d absolutely tied her apron strings too tight because she couldn’t quite feel her kidneys anymore. “I couldn’t tell you the last time I made bolognese. Probably school.”
Graham shrugged and he was still smiling and somehow they’d made it in front of the judge’s table – Killian’s eyes darting towards hers no less than five times as they crossed from one side of set to the other. “Still,” Graham continued. “You wouldn’t know by looking at it.”
Emma didn’t say anything, not entirely certain where this was going, and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans, resting her weight back on her heels.
And it went about as well as she expected – Graham’s complete lack of knowledge when it came to Italian cooking doing its job and getting him cut in the first round. This all-star thing hadn’t been to kind to Graham. Emma almost felt bad, but she could still feel a stare boring into the back of her skull and something bumbling in the pit of her stomach that felt a bit like want and a lot like need and she still had more food to cook.
Regina was back in front of them, laying out ground rules for the second round and their ten minute break and it would probably be weird to ask Killian about his food.
Right?
That would be weird.
It didn’t matter – Emma didn’t even get the chance to consider how exactly she’d start the conversation and the banter and the flirting before Regina wrapped her hand around Killian’s forearm, casting something that might have been interpreted as a glare in Emma’s direction and dragging him back towards the corner of the studio, marching him towards the catering table like some kind of producer-drill sergeant.
His shoulders stiffened at the movement, muttering under his breath so softly Emma couldn’t hear what he was saying. He looked angry – mutinous . Regina just shook her head, a mess of raven-colored hair and heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor despite the dull roar of the jam-packed set.
A few weeks ago – and one character reference and saving several hundred wedding appetizers later – Emma was certain she was making headway in the befriend Regina Mills-Locksley road she’d been walking, but that seemed more impossible than ever now.
She absolutely deserved the glare.
Emma slumped against the edge of the judge’s table, feet stretched out in front of her and Graham shot her another smile – something she was certain was supposed to be understanding, but only served to leave her frustrated.
They should have talked before.
She should have answered her phone.
“You doing alright?”
Emma’s head snapped up and she nearly dropped the plate she had her in hands – eating her own food to make up for the breakfast she’d neglected and the lack of post-filming conversation with Killian.
Belle smiled sympathetically at her, brown eyes soft enough that Emma felt her lip shake a bit in the middle of this supermarket. Fake supermarket. It wasn’t real.
“I’ve been better,” Emma said honestly, working a laugh out of Belle as she stopped next to her, leaning back against the table with her arms crossed.
“I’m so sorry.”
And that caught Emma short. “What?”
“I'm so sorry,” Belle repeated, shoulders dropping as she tapped her heel against the tiled floor under her feet. “I just...I never thought Robert would go that far. I did try to tell Killian. For whatever that might actually be worth.”
She looked distraught and Emma wasn’t sure what to say. “Oh. Well, I mean, it’s ok,” she mumbled, tongue heavy in her mouth when she spoke.
Belle raised her eyebrows in disbelief and Emma practically stabbed her pasta with her fork, working out all her excess emotion on her first-round bolognese. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, swallowing slowly so she didn’t inadvertently choke herself. “It’s not quite ok,” she admitted softly, staring at her sneakers.
“Yeah, I kind of figured.”
“Ruby got me some sort of interview. You know, like with an actual reporter who won’t make it seem like I’m some sort of convict who broke out of jail and forced my way into cooking school. She thinks that’ll help get me back on the air.”
“All of that was stupid to begin with,” Belle said with an intensity Emma had never quite heard in her voice and she silently wondered when she’d started being open enough to have these kinds of deep, emotional conversations with the pastry chef.
“They shouldn’t have taken your show off at all,” she continued, “if I was better at confrontation I would have marched into Zelena’s office and demanded she put it back on. It was an overreaction. To the highest degree.”
And Emma nearly dropped the plate again.
She wondered when she’d managed to get so many people in her metaphorical corner, bound and determined to keep her show on the air. And she wondered if Killian would have told her the same thing.
Probably.
Definitely.
He had tried. And that stupid voice in the back of her mind was far too opinionated. He’d tried to tell her, to promise her that they could fix this together and she’d responded by walking out the door and ignoring him for two weeks and then crashing her shopping cart into his.
A shopping cart.
Goddamn it, what an absolute mess.
“That’s more than I’ve done,” Emma said, grinning at Belle with a slight tilt of her head. “I’ve been driving Ruby insane, too stubborn for my own good.” Belle narrowed her eyes at her, confusion written across her face. “I wouldn’t come into the offices,” she explained, voice dropping slightly with the weight of her embarrassment.
She was a stubborn idiot.
“I probably wouldn’t have either,” Belle said and Emma felt her smile widen. “And,” she added quickly, glancing back towards the catering table like she was making sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “You’re not the only one who’s been driving producers insane.”
Emma put the plate of half-eaten food behind her, twisting around painfully to make sure it stayed on top of the table and didn’t end up on the floor, doing her best to stop her hand from shaking.
“What?” she asked, croaking out the word like she hadn’t spoken in weeks.
Belle scrunched her nose, the edges of her eyes narrowing like she was sharing a secret she wasn’t supposed to. Her eyes shot back towards the catering and Emma followed her that time, gaze landing on the back of Killian’s head and the hand wrapped around his neck and Regina standing close next to him, a phone in her hand and her lips moving a mile a minute.
He didn’t look back at her.
“He hadn’t been cooking,” Belle said, whispering the words.
Emma’s heart might have actually cracked or snapped or something physically impossible as soon as the four words had worked their way into her brain and her consciousness and this was her fault.
“Will told me,” Belle said and either she was completely unaware of the way Emma’s spine had snapped into place, a perfect vertical line of bone and cartilage and tension at that single statement, or she simply didn’t care, certain Emma needed to know what was going on in the restaurant three blocks away from her apartment.
Probably the second.
Emma took a deep breath and Belle shot her a look that practically screamed pity, but she didn’t stop talking and, somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind that obnoxious, incessant voice that had tried to get her to stop being so goddamn stupid, nearly did cartwheels.
She needed to hear it.
She needed to know what had happened.
“It was bad, Emma,” Belle mumbled, the sides of her mouth tilted down. “I was only there once and then Will told me I probably shouldn’t come around anymore and, well, just take my word on it. It wasn’t good at all. I don’t think he even walked into the kitchen once for a week and then he lost on IC.”
“Wait, what?” Emma asked sharply. Belle’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second as she took a step back.
“What do you mean, what?”
“I mean the story ran almost two weeks ago. And he lost on IC? He’s never lost on IC. Does Regina know? Has he been back on since then? What was the secret ingredient?”
Belle nodded slowly, that sad, pitying smile hardly playing fair and Emma wasn’t certain which question she was agreeing to exactly. Emma’s stomach churned at that look, disappointment settling in the bottom of her gut. “Oh,” she said, drawing out two letters into one, vaguely emotion-filled syllable. “Yeah, well, things changed a bit when Robin and Regina got back. They won.”
She had to come up with another word. Emma bit back her latest surprised what , mouth hanging open as she tried to comb through the back of her mind for something else to say and Belle just kept staring at her, only taking a step back when she heard a pair of heels walking back towards the middle of the set.
Regina ushered them back towards their stations a muttered time to film shot their direction and Emma could feel Killian’s stare on her back again.
Jeez.
And fuck. Jeez and fuck.
Emma was practically a thesaurus.
Belle’s words echoed in her head. They won. And that meant that her character witness – or statement, a letter typed up quickly two days after the wedding and far later than she’d promised to write it – had worked.
Or maybe they hadn’t actually needed it.
Maybe it hadn’t gotten there in time.
She had no idea.
No one had told her anything. That seemed to be a trend. It was infuriating. Her apron ties were absolutely too tight – Emma couldn’t breathe.
“You alright, Swan?” Killian’s voice was soft and it didn’t help that he hadn’t actually moved stations after Graham got cut, an entire counter in between them as he looked at her questioningly.
“Fine,” she said sharply.
And she knew he didn’t believe her. She didn’t even need the quick eyebrow raise or the way one side of his mouth ticked up at the word, fingers tapping against the top of his brace quickly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He pursed his lips, eyes darkening for a moment before nodding deftly and turning back to his station, attention rapt at an instruction-dispensing Jefferson.
Emma didn’t run him over with her cart in the second round and she counted that as some sort of victory. They had to make chicken and dumplings. In forty minutes with ten minutes to shop. Emma groaned as she tried to rack off ingredients, tossing food into her cart with one eye on the giant LED clock they’d hung from the ceiling.
This was a mess of a show.
They’d blocked off one aisle – the one with butter and milk and she was openly groaning now, body falling against the handle of her cart with enough drama that she hoped the camera hadn’t picked up on it. Henry would have made fun of her for it.
Emma heard Killian’s cart come up short behind her, wheels squeaking and he sighed loudly, no doubt also frustrated by the apparent lack of milk and butter and eggs that the blocked off dairy aisle ensured.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, glaring at the yellow tape in front of them like it was some sort of crime scene.
“Part of the show, I guess,” Emma said and she knew her voice sounded as exhausted as she absolutely was. She slept better when he was there.
She was as much of a mess as this show was.
“This show is, quite possibly, the worst thing on television.”
The laugh felt unnatural when it fell out of her lips, body shaking slightly with the sound. It was too easy – too easy to fall back into this with him, this natural comfort and ease that had sparked all of it to begin with, let him dry dishes for her and hold her hand and come on her show.
And for whatever kind of mess of emotions Emma was, whatever kind of mess of emotions they both were on this disaster of a show, it still felt easy.
Killian grinned at her. “You think I could just break in?” he asked, nodding towards the single line of tape blocking them off from the dairy. “Grab some buttermilk and no one would be the wiser.”
“The cameras might catch you.”
“I think I’d be willing to risk it.”
“You wouldn’t win then.”
He didn’t laugh at that and Emma bit her lip tightly, resisting the very strong urge to rock back on her feet or grab her hair or kiss him. There were cameras.
“That’s true,” Killian muttered softly, fingers tugging on the hair behind his ear.
Jefferson called out one minute and Emma’s head fell forward softly, disappointment coursing through her system and, probably, settling on her face. “We should probably get some food,” she said.
“Seems like a fairly good plan.”
Emma nodded once, yanking her cart towards her so quickly it collided with her ankle and the metaphorical pain had turned literal and this show was the, absolute, worst. She cooked with a kind of focus she hadn’t felt in years, the banter from the first three competitions left to the metaphorical wayside with a station in between them and Belle’s voice ringing in her mind.
Her eyes darted towards Killian more than they should have – curiosity getting the better of her again as she tried to figure out what he was making. Emma gave up on traditional – and that felt like some sort of TV cooking milestone – opting against the usual biscuit recipe stored in the back corner of her classically-trained brain for something that included cornbread and a distinct step out of her comfort zone.
She didn’t, however, count on going up against him in the final round.
That just seemed unfair.
Somehow.
As if the world was somehow going to get fair for Emma Swan.
Mary Margaret had asked about it – muttered words and questions spoken over mugs of hot chocolate and tea respectively and Emma hadn’t come up with an answer for her then, unsure of what she’d do if this situation laid itself at her sneaker-wearing feet.
She didn’t have an answer for it now either.
Killian, for his part, looked as uncomfortable as she did, hand practically glued to the back of his hair, tugging behind his ear as Regina dragged him away again and practically forced a glass of water towards him, making him pull his hand away from his head.
Emma didn’t move an inch – no Belle to talk to this break after Anna had ushered her off set to do her talking head.
She ate her own food again, picking apart the cornbread that the judges had raved over – words like ingenious and a really smart way to get around the aisle obstacle – until it crumbled in between her fingers.
Regina marched Killian back towards his station, still a counters-length and a few feet away from Emma’s, eyeing her pointedly before letting Jefferson hit his scotch-taped mark and fall back into host mode, rattling off instructions with a seemingly never-ending burst of enthusiasm.
“Well,” Emma said pointedly. Killian’s head snapped towards her as Jefferson continued to talk about grocery lists of must-be-used food and no carts allowed and things that hardly seemed as important as the way his eyes furrowed when he looked at her. “Here we are again. Final round and all that.”
“And all that,” Killian repeated and maybe it was good that they kept them a counters-length away from each other. He smiled at her and Emma’s heart pounded traitorously in her chest, beating against the inside of her ribs quickly and forcefully, a quick counter-point to the singular sound of the air horn that announced the final round had started.
This show was the worst.
“Is dessert pizza actually a thing?” Killian asked, stopping short next to her in an aisle chock-full of candy.
“Maybe if you’re five,” she said, grabbing a bag of mini Hershey bars she could probably melt to make some kind of chocolate, not-actually-pizza sauce. “And if you’re willing to wait an hour for a table at Max Brenner’s.”
“You still wait for tables, Swan?” he asked, eyes flashing and the smile on his face made it feel as if Emma hadn’t actually ignored a dozen phone calls for the last two weeks. “Let me know when you want to go to Max Brenner’s. I’ll get you a table.”
“So confident.”
“Something like that.”
Emma tugged on the inside of her lip, pushing the bag of candy bars into the crook of her elbow so she could hold more food. “Don’t pile the chocolate on your pizza,” she said, trying to keep the smile on her face as she walked around him.
“Noted, Swan.”
And he was definitely still smiling at her as she all but sprinted back towards the produce aisle, determined to get something that wasn’t prepackaged and air-tight on her final-round offering.
For some reason, this stupid show only let them cook for twenty minutes and Emma was bordering on sweaty mess when Jefferson shouted out time , hair plastered to the back of her neck despite the ponytail it was in, chest moving quickly as she made her way to the judges table.
He was still smiling at her.
And his hand was back behind his ear.
“You seem to have reigned in your chocolate habit,” Emma said softly, hands stuck in her pockets again.
“Yeah, well, someone told me I should reconsider my dessert approach,” Killian said, smirking at her and it sounded like someone sighed from out of frame. It might have been Regina. Or Ruby. Or possibly even Belle.
Emma rubbed her hands on the sides of her jeans, nerves working their way out of every single pore in her body and she didn’t even hear the judge’s comments, voices blending together until they sounded like they were coming from a children’s cartoon – which made a lot of sense considering they’d been ordered to make dessert pizza.
But then she heard her name and Ruby might have actually screeched from out of frame and Emma had, somehow, won.
“Congratulations, love,” Killian said softly – the first time he’d called her that all day and the word settled in the middle of her body like it was a small flame or something equally romantic and ridiculous.
“But you didn’t use chocolate,” Emma argued and his smile widened, rocking towards her, maybe, unconsciously until his fingers brushed over the turn of her elbow, shirt pulling underneath his touch.
“And you still won. Looks like you’re fairly good at cooking.” Emma huffed out a sound that might have been a laugh or the actual, living embodiment of her entire nervous system and Killian’s eyes practically sparkled when he grinned at her. “David will be thrilled,” he added, reaching behind him to yank on apron strings.
“What?”
“Your charity? You won the most competitions, Swan. Isn’t that what Zelena said at the very beginning? Ahead of the final cooking thing. You won, love.”
He said the words with a very particular look on his face, eyeing her nervously and emotionally and Emma had absolutely forgotten about that part.
She’d won.
She opened her mouth to say something, ask to try his dessert or tell him something that wasn’t focused on the food or the cooking or anything about grocery shopping, but Regina was by his side in an instant, words low and insistent and Killian’s smile faltered for a moment, an apology written on the corners of his mouth.
And for a moment Emma thought he would argue, would tell Regina to back off, as he took a step towards her, hand reaching out again. “Don’t leave when you’re done,” he said. “Please?”
Emma’s barely-functioning kidneys – still hurting from apron strings and a slew of emotions she should have been better prepared for – seemed to give out in the middle of the set and she wasn’t sure how she managed to nod, let alone mumble a quick yeah , but it must have happened because Killian squeezed her hand and smiled at her before following Regina back towards the studio down the hall.
Emma took a deep breath, shoulders sagging and she couldn’t take this makeup off until she’d filmed her own talking head and she hoped Killian hurried up – and not just because of the makeup. Her eyes snapped up at the sound of heels sprinting across the floor and for one moment of paralyzing-fear Emma thought Regina had come back to actually yell at her and not just glare at her meaningfully across set.
It wasn’t Regina – it was Ruby, a smile plastered on her face and a phone pressed up against to her ear as she practically screamed Emma’s name at her.
“What’s going on?” Emma asked, hands coming up to prevent Ruby from skidding into her.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Didn’t we do this before?”
“This is different,” Ruby said. “And better.” She rolled her eyes and huffed out a frustrated sigh at the vacant look on Emma’s face, pushing the phone into her hand and nodding impatiently at it. “Talk,”
“Hello?” Emma asked cautiously, leaning against the side of her station.
“Em? Em!”
David’s voice shot through the phone and Emma felt her eyebrows draw low at the sheer panic in his voice. “What’s going on?” she asked, repeating her question again and hoping, this time, someone would answer her.
“You’re done filming?”
“Yeah, just now. David, tell me what’s going on.”
“Mary Margaret went into labor.”
Emma nearly dropped the phone. Her right foot skidded against the tiled floor, sneakers making noise as she moved and Ruby smirked at her. “What? When? How?”
“Did you just ask me how?”
“No, no, I mean, yes, and I know how, shut up.”
David laughed and Emma wasn’t positive she’d ever heard her brother so happy – even across the phone and several dozen city blocks. “Get down here. Like as soon as possible.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Emma said, muttering almost incoherently. David laughed at her again, a picture of self-assured impending fatherhood. “I’ll grab a cab and I’ll be there soon, ok? Tell her to wait until I’m there, ok?”
“I don’t think that’s how these things work, Em.”
“I absolutely don’t care.”
Emma hung up the phone, David still laughing as she hit the end button and handed it back to Ruby. “He knew you wouldn’t have your phone on set,” Ruby said, answering a question Emma hadn’t actually asked. “And Henry’s already there. He called the ambulance from the apartment. That probably won’t scar him for life or anything.”
“You’re no help at all,” Emma shot back, yanking the strings of her apron and tossing it on top of her counter. “I need to get out of here.”
“I’ve already taken care of that too,” Ruby said, pushing her towards the far door of the studio and Emma almost felt guilty. “Or rather Regina did. She got you a town car that’s waiting downstairs. Hit like two buttons on her phone during judging and it’s, apparently, already there.”
“I thought she hated me.”
Ruby rolled her eyes, heel tapping impatiently as the elevator didn’t move fast enough. “I think she got over that when Killian told her to relax in between rounds.”
“What?”
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s because no one will actually tell me anything.”
Another set of rolled eyes and a dramatic sigh and Ruby and Emma were on the sidewalk on 6th Ave, a car parked just outside the network offices with a driver already behind the wheel. “Let’s worry about the newborn before we delve into the dark corners of your relationship, yeah?” Ruby asked, yanking the door closed behind her.
Emma nodded, focusing on newborn and relationship and the tiny flash of hope on Killian’s face when he’d asked her to stay.
He didn’t want to come talk unless it was Emma and he could tell her to stop feeling so guilty about the expansion. He had a strong suspicion it wasn’t Emma, though, fairly certain she hadn’t been lying about taking Henry to tryouts for another soccer league that night.
Robin kept smiling at him and nodded once, grabbing another orange slice on his way back out of the kitchen. Killian sighed, glancing back at a very stressed out Eric before he followed. “If I’m not back here in ten minutes it’s because I’ve taken over control of seating from Regina and she’s trying to kill me,” he shouted over his shoulder.
AN: This might honestly be the fluffiest thing I have ever written which is absolutely saying something. There are only two more chapters (!!!) after this, so we’re kind of tying up loose ends and wrapping up and I can’t tell you guys how much I have appreciated the response to this story. It’s been incredible. As always @laurnorder & @distant-rose are the lights of my life for flailing and listening and making this better.
Also living up on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr.
It was packed.
And Ariel was sick.
And Eric was a nervous mess and Killian was trying to make sure he didn’t send out burnt food to his packed restaurant.
It almost seemed like some sort of enormous joke.
He told Emma about the expansion – or lack thereof – a week before and the look on her face had been exactly what he’d been trying to avoid when he’d decided not to tell her. She looked guilty. She looked guilty every time she walked into The Jolly and while he certainly appreciated the number of times she had walked into his restaurant in the last week, Killian couldn’t quite handle the way her eyes dimmed when they took in the smaller-than-the-warehouse dining room.
And the restaurant was still packed – reservations still flooding in despite coming up short of actually winning the stupid all-star competition and notching his first Iron Chef loss and Regina might actually be driving him crazy, muttering about getting back on track with filming every time she saw him.
She saw him a lot – especially since Ariel had been sick the last two days, taking over as hostess without actually being asked and dictating seating arrangements with a kind of gusto Killian should have expected from her.
A voice shouted his name and Killian snapped his head back, glancing over his shoulder to find Robin staring at him, something almost looking like excitement on his face. “You’re not supposed to be back here,” Killian muttered, flipping vegetables in the pan in front of him. “Just because your wife’s taking over my restaurant doesn’t mean you can just start going wherever you want.”
“Oh, bad mood, huh?” Robin laughed, weaving his way through a small army of wait staff and the rest of the somehow-still functioning kitchen.
Killian grunted in response – a wholly unacceptable answer for a guy who didn’t actually freak out when he’d told him what he’d done with his money and his plans while he’d been on his honeymoon. And while Killian appreciated the determination Robin seemed to find when facing the very particular challenge of paying off Gold and avoiding some sort of breach of contract suit while also managing to not declare bankruptcy, his positivity was starting to get on Killian’s nerves.
Because the restaurant was still packed and the expansion could have worked – would have worked – if it weren’t for Gold and that story and if he hadn’t been such an idiot and told Emma in the first place.
And she kept looking guilty.
He was a disaster.
They shouldn’t let him near open flames or very expensive kitchen appliances – mind far too preoccupied with thoughts of Emma and money and how vaguely terrifying it was to consider that maybe just having her was enough.
Overwhelming.
That was the word they’d used.
“Not a bad mood,” Killian muttered. “Gina, however, doesn’t understand the concept of staggering tables quite yet and we’re bordering a bit close on drowning.”
Robin gazed at him evenly – mouth ticking up and Killian knew the lie had been picked up easily. He wished Emma would stop looking so guilty. He wished she didn’t feel as if he’d given something up for her.
He’d do it again.
In a heartbeat.
With or without Robin’s money.
“Drowning in tables and customers and order demands or in that very large stack of financial paperwork still sitting on your coffee table?” Robin asked, biting an orange slice that should have been part of some sort of braise Eric was supposed to be in charge of.
“Cap, your vegetables are going to burn,” the sous chef mumbled and Killian blinked once, shaking out thoughts of Emma’s face and that seemingly growing pile of paperwork on his coffee table upstairs.
“Got it, got it,” he said, voice rough with the frustration he knew he wasn’t hiding at all. He turned down the flame on the oven in front of him, nodding towards Eric who took over – plating out the meal for a table Regina had seated ahead of their reservation.
Robin hadn’t moved an inch and friendship was absolutely overrated because he wasn’t going to move until Killian talked to him – emotions laid out on the metaphorical table in the middle of an overbooked dinner service.
“I don’t have time for this,” Killian said, eyeing Robin as he wiped his hands on the front of his apron.
“Make time,” Robin said and there was no room for argument in those two words. Killian narrowed his eyes and Robin didn’t blink, just stared at him expectantly like he knew he’d won the argument already.
“What do you want?”
“You need to come out. Like five minutes ago.”
“I’m kind of busy.”
“Eric can take care of it for a little while. You can take care of it, can’t you Eric?” The sous chef groaned, not even bothering to look up from the plates in front of him and Robin flashed Killian a smile. “See,” he said, confidence nearly exuding out of him. “He can take care of it. Trust me, you want to come talk.”
He didn’t.
He didn’t want to come talk unless it was Emma and he could tell her to stop feeling so guilty about the expansion. He had a strong suspicion it wasn’t Emma, though, fairly certain she hadn’t been lying about taking Henry to tryouts for another soccer league that night.
Robin kept smiling at him and nodded once, grabbing another orange slice on his way back out of the kitchen. Killian sighed, glancing back at a very stressed out Eric before he followed. “If I’m not back here in ten minutes it’s because I’ve taken over control of seating from Regina and she’s trying to kill me,” he shouted over his shoulder.
And he thought he actually heard Eric laugh. “Aye aye, Cap.”
Killian nearly ran into three different waiters before he noticed Robin in his usual seat at the end of the bar, Will pouring something into three glasses and talking to the other man in the seat in front of him.
Fuck.
David Nolan was sitting at his bar – without a Mary Margaret buffer or an Emma buffer or, even, a Henry buffer.
And Killian was not in a good mood.
He was not in the mood for this.
He’d thought he’d avoided it at the hospital, certain the arrival of Leo Henry Nolan was more than enough to push his own problems with Emma from David’s vaguely overprotective mind. He was, apparently, wrong.
He wiped his hands on his apron again and nodded towards Will, an unspoken cry for rum that didn’t actually need to be voiced out loud. Will grimaced at him – swapping out the scotch in his hand – for a bottle Killian usually only saved for major moments and that first time Emma had come to The Jolly months ago.
“Sergeant,” Killian said, sinking into the seat on David’s right side and grabbing the glass as soon as Will put it down.
“Not until next week,” David corrected. “The ceremony’s not until next week.”
Killian nodded slowly, taking a sip of the rum and it felt like a shot through his system, waking him up a bit. “I didn’t think you’d leave your apartment for weeks. How is tiny-Nolan doing since you got home?”
“Good. Really good actually. I mean, he never sleeps and Emma thinks that’s vaguely hysterical, but I guess it’s kind of payback because she lived with Ruth the first year Henry was born and he was sleeping through the night by the time they got to us.”
He snapped his jaw shut quickly, eyes going wide for a fraction of a second like he was nervous he’d given up too much information. “I knew that,” Killian said, voice going soft without his actual permission and both Robin and Will were laughing openly at him now.
“Really?” David asked, not even trying to mask the surprise in his tone.
“Yeah, we’re trying this whole no-secrets thing. It’s going pretty ok.”
David pursed his lips, eyes darting towards Robin who tried to nod encouragingly and Will absolutely had other customers to deal with at the other end of the bar. He didn’t seem particularly interested in any of them. And Killian couldn’t shake that feeling of anxiety from the back of his mind.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“It’s a good thing,” Robin said and David nodded quickly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” David repeated. “And it’s not really a secret. So much as Emma demanding things of me. I’m not very good at saying no when she gets that authoritative tone in her voice and she’s kind of terrifying when she wants something.”
Killian smiled – possibly the first time he’d done that all night – and David huffed out a deep breath, like he’d been holding the oxygen in his lungs for the last two minutes. “I do know that,” he said, images of narrowed green eyes and a confident smile and the way she moved when she was in a kitchen flashing through his memory.
“Well, anyway,” David continued – Will’s laughter in the background nearly drowning out his voice and Killian knew he must have looked like the slightly lovesick boyfriend he absolutely was. “Emma showed up at our apartment about a week ago with a demand to hold Leo Henry for no less than ten minutes straight and for me to use police resources for your benefit.”
And out of all the things that she could have demanded, Killian hadn’t been entirely prepared for either of them.
“What?” he asked, practically croaking out the word.
David shrugged. “She’s obsessed with tiny-Nolan and Mary Margaret was asleep and Emma’s a lot better at getting him to fall asleep than I am, which is something she’s made sure to point out every time she manages to do it.”
“Yeah, that’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“So?”
“So,” David repeated. “I did what she asked.”
“Are you talking in riddles on purpose or just to get a rise out of me? Because I thought we’d kind of moved past the whole animosity thing with soccer in the snow and the police conversation.”
“Yeah, but then you were an asshole to my sister, so it was kind of like a two steps forward one step back situation.”
Killian scoffed and Robin muttered hear hear and Will was still ignoring customers at the other end of the bar. “That’s fair,” he said, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp.
David grinned, shifting in the seat and staring at Killian for a beat, like he was trying to read what he was thinking. He kind of hoped he couldn’t – because it would have read like some sort of ridiculously long ticker tape of how much he was absolutely in love with Emma and that probably would have been embarrassing.
“Did you know that the department has investigated Gold before?” David asked. “On a bunch of different charges?”
Killian shook his head, eyes landing on a very-guilty looking Robin who didn’t even wait for Will to fill his glass, just grabbed the bottle and poured the shot himself. “He was,” David continued. “And nothing ever really stuck.”
“But?”
“But. Emma’s very good at getting what she wants. And she wanted something to stick.”
“I don’t understand,” Killian said, ignoring that flutter of hope that had taken up root in the bottom of his stomach.
David sighed dramatically, like he couldn't believe Killian was this slow on the uptake. “I told you you’d want to come out here to talk,” Robin muttered.
“Let him explain,” Will said sharply, nodding back towards David and Killian wondered how long the three of them had been sitting at his bar with that bottle of scotch in front of them before he’d been dragged out of the kitchen.
David tilted his glass towards the bartender, throwing a smile his direction and crossing his legs again, turning towards Killian with a very obvious look of determination on his face. “Tax evasion might stick. To Gold, I mean. He’s got a lot of properties across the city and that’s a lot of property tax that he, at quick glance, doesn’t appear to be paying. Or hasn’t been paying in years.”
“That’s why he left Manhattan,” Robin added.
“Exactly,” David agreed. “He wanted to try and expand out to another borough and maybe if he got a couple new buildings and a couple new lots he could just focus on those and the IRS and the department would forget about his holdings in Manhattan.”
“And they didn’t?” Killian asked.
“No. If anything, heading out to Brooklyn was like a flashing neon sign to the powers that be that he was trying to avoid them. It wasn’t a very good plan.”
“Tax evasion?” Killian repeated, disbelief coloring his voice. “That’s really how this is going to end? With tax evasion?” David shrugged.
“And fraud,” Will said, glancing up to the door when it opened and Belle walked into the restaurant. He was gone less than a full second later, suddenly much more interested in the other end of the bar and the girlfriend who had, a week ago, retaken up her residency in the seat on the corner.
“Oh, well,” Killian laughed. “If there’s fraud involved too, then of course it’ll stick.”
David and Robin leveled him with nearly identical frustrated stares, the uniform-wearing police officer even going so far as to shake his head for good measure. “See, this is being the ass that makes me try and get a rise out of you.”
He groaned, sliding out of the seat to walk around the back of the bar and find the slightly cheaper rum. If he was going to keep drinking, he wasn’t going to waste the good stuff. “Plus,” David added pointedly, “Emma was the one who got this whole investigation really going. You’d think you’d be a bit more grateful.”
“That’s just because she feels guilty,” Killian said before he could stop himself, biting the inside of his lip tightly when the words fell out of his mouth.
David gaped at him and now Robin was shaking his head and the two of them had definitely talked about this at length before he’d come out there. “Of course she does,” Robin muttered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“She’s not a big fan of you giving up things for her,” David said.
“Did she actually tell you that?” Killian raised his eyebrows expectantly and the cheap rum was God-awful compared to what he’d just been drinking, like fire sliding down the back of his throat. He hoped his kitchen wasn’t a disaster yet – this conversation was going to take more than ten minutes.
“She didn’t have to.”
Killian sighed, but he understood. It was, after all, the reason they were in this mess to begin with. He didn’t want Emma to give up anything she wanted for him and it led them to some ridiculous back and forth of trying to make the other one happy and now he had no expansion and she was enlisting the entire New York City Police Department to make sure it wasn’t all for nothing.
She was something else when she was determined and he loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.
“She cares about you a lot,” David said and Killian ran his hand through his hair, fingers wrapped around the back of his neck tightly.
Robin scoffed, earning a questioning look from the two other men in front of him. “She loves him a lot,” he corrected and it sounded like he was defending Killian.
He did that a lot.
Even when Killian didn’t ask.
Especially when Killian didn’t ask.
“Yeah,” David said. “That too.”
“And that’s not even the best part,” Robin continued, looking back at Killian.
“No?” he asked.
Robin shook his head, nudging his shoulder towards David – an unspoken command to keep talking. “If these charges stick,” David said, “and they’ll probably stick, then he’s going to have to come back with a way to pay it all back. There’ll be fines too, on top of what he owes and jail time and it’ll cost him more than he’s worth.”
Killian’s mind was racing – he was, apparently, quicker on the uptake when the rum was shittier. “They’d seize his assets wouldn’t they?” he asked, eyes flashing between Robin and David and Will was back, Belle standing a few feet away with a look of interest and, maybe a bit of emotion, on her face.
David nodded. “Probably pretty quickly.”
He was having a difficult time breathing or focusing on anything that wasn’t the taste of the rum. If he thought about anything else, he’d probably walk out the restaurant and march three blocks downtown and plant himself in front of Emma’s apartment door until she and Henry got home. She’d done this.
He’d given it up for her – would give it up for her ten times again if asked – and she’d resolutely refused to accept it, that flash of determination, apparently, widening until it was nearly a chasm. And Killian’s lungs hurt because he couldn’t quite breathe with the thought of it.
“It’d be at value,” Robin said, pulling Killian’s attention back quickly. “Which considering the amount of improvements Marco already put in, will up the price a good amount, but it’d be yours, Killian. Without any strings attached.”
He let that phrase sink into his mind for a moment, tongue darting out to lick his lips and this rum was absolutely disgusting. His brain was a mix of muddled numbers and the stack of papers still sitting in his living room and how he and Robin had tried, and resolutely failed, to figure out a way to make it all work.
“It’d be yours too,” Killian muttered and Robin nearly choked on the scotch that was still, miraculously, in his glass. “I mean, if you want.”
Robin smiled slowly, emotion working its way from the corners of his mouth up to his eyes and his gaze darted towards the hostess stand – Regina leaning against it with a pen stuck in her hair, tapping out a quick rhythm with the back of her heel, Roland just a few inches away, holding a stack of menus that were threatening to actually tip him over. “Yeah,” he said. “I think we could work with that.”
“Good.” Belle coughed pointedly and Killian’s eyebrows shot up when she nodded meaningfully towards Will. “What?” Killian asked, turning towards his bartender questioningly. “No sarcastic comment on friendship or partnership or Emma?”
Will shook his head – a nervous energy falling off him that Killian hadn’t seen since Robin had marched him into The Jolly years ago and said he could use a job. “I’ve had a thought,” he said, voice low and Belle nodded again, leaning across the bar to brush her fingers over the back of his hand.
“And?”
“And,” he said, taking a deep breath, exhaling loudly, “I was thinking if it’s going to cost a good chunk of money to buy Jolly 2.0 then you might be looking for other investors. Or partners or whatever.”
Belle beamed at him, fingers lacing through Will’s like they’d had this conversation weeks ago. “We’ve been talking about it for awhile,” Robin said, answering the question Killian hadn’t actually asked. “A kind of joint effort to get it back.”
“What?” Killian rasped, realizing belatedly he’d finished all of the shitty rum in his glass. Fuck, he still had to cook. Eric was going to have some sort of mental breakdown.
Robin shrugged and Will laughed under his breath, hand still tied up in Belle’s. “When did it start?” he asked, glancing at Will.
“After Ari attacked him at Battery Park.”
“Ah, of course. A fantastic welcome home present.”
“I don’t understand,” Killian said for the second time in this conversation. They shouldn’t have done this in the middle of service.
“Ari staged her intervention or whatever,” Robin laughed, “and then she came back here and reported on your emotional state and that you’d told Gold you were out and, well, we kind of staged some sort of undercover meetings about it.”
“Undercover meetings? About my restaurant?”
“You called it ours just now.” Killian sighed, fully aware he’d been backed into some sort of friendship corner. “Anyway,” Robin continued. “We started talking about it and we came up with this plan that maybe if we pooled our resources, we could pay off Gold and get the building back and it’d all work out.”
“This whole tax evasion thing was just a happy coincidence,” Will added.
“You knew about this too?” Killian asked, looking at David and doing the best to keep the accusation out of his eyes.
“Nah,” David said. “And Emma didn’t either. This was all the people here.”
“Me, Gina, Scarlet, Eric and Ari,” Robin said, ticking off names on his fingers to make sure he didn’t miss anyone.
And Killian couldn’t breathe again, emotions threatening to overwhelm him in the small amount of space behind his bar. He leaned forward, forearm resting on the weathered wood and he couldn’t quite believe what he’d managed to stumble into here – the kid who watched everything get pulled away from him, who constantly came up short and, absolutely, would have disappointed his brother, had found a family and people who were, seemingly, determined to make sure he got what he wanted.
“I know it’s not exactly the plan,” Robin said quickly, taking Killian’s silence for something else entirely. And at least he still had the reputation of being some sort aloof, unfeeling asshole. “And it was supposed to be uptown and easier than this and there weren’t supposed to be half a dozen owners, but we’ve gone over the numbers like ten times and we figured it out for certain last week after you filmed. This could work, Killian.”
It could.
It could work.
And there was something to be said for all of them together – a misfit group in the otherwise straight New York culinary world, full of wash-ups and drunks and ex-pats and, because it just seemed par for the course at this point to have some sort of family expansion, a four-months pregnant hostess who probably could keep them all in line with one very strong look.
“When do you think these charges will, what did you call it, stick?” Killian asked David, steady tone of his voice hiding the absolute atomic bomb of sentiment currently taking up residence in the core of his being.
“Well, there’s been some murmurings of looking into the tax thing with Gold for awhile.”
“I thought you said Emma talked to you earlier this week.”
“She did, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t already an interest in Gold. There has been for years. She just suggested, very adamantly I might add, that I use my soon-to-exist rank to maybe make sure that the investigations got a bit more focused.”
“And arrest’y,” Will chipped in, drawing a laugh out of Belle.”
“That too, although I’m not entirely certain that’s a word.”
“We should probably drink to it, don’t you think?” Will asked. “Something about making it official.”
Killian took a deep breath, fingers rubbing just a few inches from his wrist and he could feel Robin’s gaze land on the movement. “You all really want to do that?” he asked softly. “Even with the tax evasion thing, it’s a lot of money. God, Will, where did you even get that kind of money?”
Will had the common decency to look offended for several seconds, reaching over Killian’s shoulder to grab a bottle that might have actually been champagne. “You pay me,” he said evenly. “And it’s not like I had a ton of things to spend money on in the last couple of years. It’s easy to save when you spend your weekends pouring other people alcohol.”
That was a fair point.
And he’d definitely grabbed a very expensive bottle of champagne – if they were going to focus on money, they should probably be focused on that.
“You should try and hit Will up for better dates,” Killian muttered towards Belle who just rolled her eyes in response.
“He’s done ok,” she said. “And, anyway, it goes both ways, doesn’t it? I know a couple of people with fairly good restaurants after all.”
Killian grinned at her and he was glad he’d stopped being a petulant bastard so Belle wasn’t vaguely terrified to show up at his restaurant again. He was glad she was here. And he was glad Will was happy.
And he was a sentimental fool.
“It’s not like we haven’t talked about this,” Robin said. “We have. For hours. With charts. Regina’s actually made charts, you know.”
As if on cue, his producer appeared in front of him, the lack of a line at the door giving her a few minutes to breathe and, more importantly, lord her chart-making ability over Killian. “Oh, you told him, then?” she asked, fingers grazing over the back of Robin’s neck. Roland made a noise near her and Robin hauled him onto his lap without question.
“About the restaurant, yeah,” he said and Killian realized there was more to this story.
“Not the other part?”
Robin shook his head and Killian narrowed his eyes, a glass of champagne forced into his hand as Will nudged his shoulder. “What’s the other part?” he asked.
The entire group went tense, like they’d all frozen and he was frustrated again – a turn of emotion he wasn’t expecting and not entirely happy to have found again. “Tell him, Gina,” Will said, doling out more glasses and even David looked nervous.
Regina sighed dramatically, hand moving over Roland’s shoulder like it was helping her think. “Do you know why we won?” she asked, nodding towards the son she’d, officially, be able to adopt three months from now after going through another mountain of paperwork and social worker sessions.
Killian shook his head and, not for the first time, felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him that he didn’t – far too preoccupied with his own problems when Robin and Regina had gotten home, barely even letting the smile reach across his face when he congratulated them quickly.
He had his assumptions, certain New York State had, finally, figure out that Regina Mills-Locksley was, for all intents and purposes, already Roland’s mother and just wanted to be able to call herself that with the entire backing of the law behind her. But he hadn’t actually asked.
And no one had ever told him, probably also working their own assumptions that, until he’d fixed things with Emma, he’d snap at them for glancing in his direction.
They were probably right.
Regina took another deep breath and stared at him, finger tracing around the edge of her glass. “Emma,” she said and he waited for more of an explanation that, apparently, wasn’t going to come.
“What?”
“Emma,” Regina repeated. “She’s the reason we won. I mean, you and Zelena helped, but the caseworker told us that having her statement made the difference. You know, as someone who knew us, but didn’t employ us or share a business partnership or anything like that. Just commented from an almost outsider’s perspective."
David was grinning like he’d actually just become a sergeant of the New York City Police Department in the middle of The Jolly Roger and Killian was confused – again. “When did that happen?”
“What?” Regina asked, shrugging slightly.
“When did she give you the statement because it wasn’t at the same time I did.”
“Oh, no it wasn’t.” Killian raised his eyebrows expectantly and Regina made a face, like she had been hoping to avoid this particular point of the conversation. “After,” she said, as if that made sense. He crossed his arms and waited.
“She did it after you were an idiot, God,” Will said quickly, annoyance slipping into his voice and Regina shot him a glare that probably could have turned mere mortals to stone if she’d tried hard enough.
“After,” Killian repeated and Regina nodded.
“The caseworker said her letter came on February 20.”
Three days after the wedding. She’d sent it three days after the wedding. No, wait, that wasn’t how it worked. She’d sent it before then, it had just shown up three days after the wedding. Which meant she’d sent it, probably, the day after the wedding.
She hadn’t answered his calls, but she’d written a character reference for his friends. And made sure her brother found a way to get Killian’s restaurant back.
“Your math is probably right,” Regina said softly, losing that edge she’d had when she’d been glaring at Will. “It was after.”
Killian exhaled loudly and none of them had actually drank the champagne they were all still holding and they absolutely shouldn’t have done this during dinner service because now he couldn’t think straight, let alone hold a knife without possibly cutting himself.
“So,” Regina continued, “you should probably say something about that. And tell me what to buy her because we should probably get her some kind of gift.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
“I’m not the one dating her.”
He was bordering dangerously close to hysterical, glass clutched dangerously tight in his hand and only managing to find some sort of center when Roland called his name. “Yeah, mate,” he said quickly.
“Are you going to build the new restaurant now?” he asked, straight to the point. Or as straight to the point as seven year old could be.
The small group at the corner of the bar stared at him expectantly and Killian tried to straighten his shoulders – feeling a bit like a leader he still wasn’t entirely certain he deserved to be. “Yeah, mate, yeah we are.”
He held up his glass and looked at the faces in front of him – matching smiles and emotions and Ariel was going to be incredibly upset she missed this because, nearly eight months ago, she’d cornered Killian in the corner of the hallway, just outside his kitchen, and told him he deserved this, deserved to be happy.
He was.
And he wished Emma was there.
“For good luck,” Killian said, tilting his glass forward and the group let out a less-than-quiet whoop , drawing a fair share of curious stares from the still jam-packed dining room. None of them noticed, too focused on drinking and the future and something that might have actually bordered close to content.
It ended up being, bar none, the longest dinner service of his entire life.
Killian downed his champagne and, twenty minutes later than he’d promised Eric, made his way back into the kitchen to try and seize back some control of the night’s schedule. It didn’t really work – mind far too preoccupied with the sheer amount of information that had been dumped on his mental doorstep that night.
Eric did his best to stay supportive – glad, he said, that they’d finally told him about the clandestine save The Jolly meetings his entire staff had been holding for the last two weeks – but then another order came in and he had to plate things and he was running his own string of worries, determined to get back to Ariel as soon as possible.
So as soon as the last customer was out the door and Regina flashed him something that might have actually been an encouraging smile, piling a stack of menus back underneath the hostess stand, Killian nearly yanked the apron off his hips, threw it on the side of the bar and sprinted three blocks downtown.
He was out of breath when he skidded to a stop just outside her building, shoulders heaving and he barely gave himself a second to consider what kind of shape he must have been in before he yanked his phone out of his pocket and pressed her speed dial.
She answered on ring number three.
“Hey,” she mumbled and she’d definitely been asleep. He hadn’t considered that either. He didn’t really have a plan, just three blocks between him and her and that was far too much distance for him to deal with that night.
“I woke you up,” Killian said, shoulders slumping as he leaned against the door in front of him.
“Just a little.”
“A little?”
“How was service?”
“Enlightening.”
“That so?”
He hummed in agreement and heard the couch creak when she moved. “Did you fall asleep on the couch, Swan?”
“Don’t laugh,” she said, not quite following the instructions herself. “It was a long day and a million and two kids were at these tryouts and apparently half the parents there have watched my show or the all-star thing and they all wanted to take pictures and I barely even got to see Henry play.”
“How’d he do?” Killian asked, determination to see her momentarily forgotten in the desire to found how the teenager upstairs had done.
She laughed softly into the phone, couch creaking again when she moved and he knew she’d pulled her legs up underneath her, chin resting on the top of her knees. “He did really good. Made the team, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Said he wished you could have been there.”
And something in his very core seemed to shift at that, a single sentence refocusing his entire center and there was no word for it except overwhelming. “That makes two of us,” Killian said, eyes squeezing shut when an ambulance sped by him, horns blaring and lights actually hurting his eyes just a bit.
“Where are you?” Emma asked. “Because I definitely just heard that siren in the phone and outside my window.”
“That may be because I’m outside too.”
“Yeah?” she asked and there might have been a flash of hope in her voice. He hoped so.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you buzz up?”
“That’s what the call is, love. And you were asleep.”
“I’m not asleep now.”
“I’ve noticed that.”
Emma scoffed, but he heard her push up off the couch and the door underneath his shoulder clicked open without another word. He ignored the elevator in front of him – pushing into the stairwell and he was out of breath again by the time he reached her floor.
She was leaning against the side of the doorframe when he came around the corner, hair piled in a knot on her head, body wrapped in an oversized sweater and leggings and if he squinted hard enough he could see the Manchester United emblem of her t-shirt – his t-shirt. She looked perfect.
It had been a ridiculously emotional day and, apparently, that emotion continued past 11 o’clock at night and three blocks farther downtown.
“There’s an elevator, you know,” Emma said, nodding towards the doors a few feet away from where she was standing.
“This was faster.”
“You in a rush to get somewhere?”
Killian raised his eyebrows, hands stuck in his pockets as he took a few measured steps towards her and she didn’t even gasp when he kissed her, ducking underneath her until Emma’s toes were scraping on the carpeted floor in between her apartment and the hallway, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
His hands worked underneath the sweatshirt and her fingers were in his hair and she did actually make a noise when he walked her backwards, kicking back against the door until it all but slammed into the frame.
And he wasn’t entirely sure how they made it back to the couch, Emma’s feet trailing over the ground, hands tugging on the collar of his jacket instead of his hair and body pressed up flush against his, but neither one of them tripped or broke any bones, hardly stopping to breathe until they all but collapsed into the corner of the cushions. Killian pulled her around, legs splayed out over his, hand still underneath her sweatshirt and her lips were up against his neck a moment later, making it difficult to focus on anything, including the thirteen-year-old, presumably, asleep down the hallway.
Her eyes were bright when she pulled away and his whole body felt like it was on edge – a mix of the night’s discoveries and that stupid t-shirt she was wearing, threatening to serve as some sort of relationship tipping point when he blurted out everything he’d thought on his three-block sprint, including how he might want to spend the rest of his life with her.
“So, uh,” Emma said and Killian appreciated the soft stutter in her voice, “that was enthusiastic.”
He laughed, lips brushing against hers quickly. “It’s been that kind of night.”
“You’ve been attack-kissing a lot of other girls then?”
“Not quite. I more meant, it’s been an enthusiastic, overwhelming kind of night.”
“Yeah?”
“You know your brother showed up at my restaurant tonight.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed in confusion for a few moments and then widened quickly, understanding hitting her like a wave. “You can’t tell him anything,” she sighed, shaking her head as she glanced down at her legs.
He pressed one finger underneath her chin, pushing it up lightly until she looked at back at him, nervous smile on the corners of her mouth. “Thank you,” Killian said seriously, hoping that, between the kissing and the falling into the couch and those two words, she might understand just what she’d done meant to him.
Everything.
It meant everything.
And she was everything.
“It was good timing,” he said. Emma made a noise in the back of her throat, a question without actually asking. “Apparently my entire staff has been staging some sort of back-door meetings to try and figure out a way to buy back the warehouse.”
“What?”
Killian nodded. “If this tax thing can stick on Gold, they’ll probably seize his assets, which means the warehouse will be up for auction. And it’ll be at cost, which means we’d own it. Completely. Not the rent we were going to pay Gold.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open, air rushing out of her in a quick huff of emotion Killian was certain he could feel in his toes. “The tax thing’ll stick,” she said, certainty in her voice. “David promised.”
“He said you were very determined.”
“I’m not going to let you give up on what you want.” Killian opened his mouth, something about how she was what he wanted on the tip of his tongue, but Emma shook her head. “No, no,” she muttered. “I know it’s more than that, but this is why you did the all-star thing to begin with, to expand The Jolly and let Eric have his own menu and he and Ariel deserve it too. Plus Robin and Regina and they finally got the adoption situation settled and they shouldn’t have to worry about losing all that money just because you want to be honorable.”
Killian laughed, shaking his head at her, thanking someone or something for sending Emma Swan his direction. “I won’t let you give up something for me,” she said and there was that determination, that fight, he loved. “No matter how nice it was.”
“We’re going to do it,” he said. “All of us, I mean. They were, uh, well they were very insistent. Apparently there were graphs.”
“Regina made those didn’t she?”
“She did.”
“Good.”
Emma smiled at him, burrowing against his side until her head was on his shoulder and his arm was wrapped around her waist and he probably could have fallen asleep on the couch like that too. “That wasn’t all,” Killian said softly and Emma mumbled a few words that might have been a question. “Gina told me what you did.”
She sat up sharply, eyes flashing his direction. “Did what?”
“You’re the reason they won, Swan. She wants to buy you some sort of gift. I’m supposed to report back with ideas.”
Emma laughed, a noise bordering on scoff. “I didn’t do anything. If anything, I was incredibly late in sending in my statement. I’m just glad it got there in time.”
“Not only did it do that, but it made an entire organization see that this was a family that deserved to be made official.”
“I agree with you. I’m glad, especially for Rol. It’s tough to be that young and not entirely certain you’ve got anyone around.”
“You know that includes you now too?” Killian asked, question falling into the small space between them without any thought of its weight.
Emma stiffened slightly and for a moment it looked like he’d pushed , but then she smiled, exhaling softly and tugging on her lower lip. “I’d like that.”
“Good.”
He wasn’t sure who moved first – and maybe they moved at the same time and there was something vaguely poetic and right about that if they did, bodies shifting towards each other quickly until they were a tangle of limbs and hands in hair and teeth tugging on lips.
Killian would have accepted staying in that moment forever, wrapped up in the idea of a family and one that included Emma Swan and a thirteen-year-old down the hall who wanted him to be at his soccer tryouts, but they both needed to breathe at some point, pulling apart in a desperate attempt to get some oxygen.
And he would have been disappointed by that if it weren’t for the next word out of her mouth.
“Stay,” Emma said, fingers tracing along the edge of his jaw.
He didn’t think, just nodded and she smiled at him, standing up and holding her hand out expectantly. Killian took it and followed her down the hallway, footsteps soft on the hardwood floor and the smile still on his face even when he fell asleep.
He smiled when his eyes met hers and she nearly jumped out of the chair at the sight – a mixture of nerves that belonged decades earlier and want that, seemed, to belong right there in that moment and Emma was positive she could feel actual electricity when she grabbed the cup out of his hands, balanced precariously in between his fingers.
“Thank you,” she muttered gratefully, brushing her lips against his cheek and Killian’s entire body might have sagged at the movement.
David definitely groaned at that.
So did Henry.
Mary Margaret stayed asleep.
AN: There’s a chapter count now and we’re in the last two weeks of updates and I am still constantly and always stunned by the incredible response to this story. I’d like to hug all of you.
Hanging out on Ao3 or tag’ed up on Tumblr.
“That was the worst. Let’s not do ever do that again, ok?”
Mary Margaret all but fell back on the small mountain of pillows behind her – procured by a very determined tandem of David and Killian who, collectively, could have charmed several major metropolitan hospitals out of their entire bedding collection.
“Don’t let David hear you say that,” Emma said, shifting Leo Henry Nolan in her arms and pointedly ignoring Mary Margaret’s soft exclamation at the movement. “He wants a whole platoon of kids.”
“Yeah, well he can have them then. Because this was the worst.”
“You know I would have expected a bit more positivity on this whole childbirth thing from you, M’s. I was pretty prepared for some sort of speech on how it changed your entire outlook on life and the world as a whole.”
Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes dangerously at Emma and she might have shifted Leo Henry again, using him as some sort of just-born-a-few-hours-ago shield. “The epidural is wearing off. Ask me again in an hour when I’ve slept a little bit.”
Henry Leo gurgled – as just-born-a-few-hours-ago babies are apt to do – and Emma crinkled her nose at the noise, glancing down at the vaguely perfect baby in her arms. And she almost hated herself for the flash of jealousy she felt shoot through her core at the sight – an exhausted, but somehow still gorgeous Mary Margaret a few feet away and David just outside the door, muttering quickly to Ruth on the phone he wasn’t actually supposed to be using inside the hospital.
It was perfect.
It was exactly what Emma knew would happen and exactly what she’d never had.
Except, maybe, right now.
Because for whatever she’d felt when Henry came into her life, the vague terror of not being enough that seemed ingrained in the back of her mind, she’d found some sort of stability here with her brother and her sister-in-law and a newborn in her arms.
And Killian Jones came back.
“Where’d they go?” Mary Margaret mumbled, eyelids fluttering as she spoke and the adrenaline was definitely gone because she could hardly keep stop her head from burrowing a bit further into the pillow she was leaving against.
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“Motherhood has made you very ambiguous.”
Mary Margaret laughed softly and her eyes were absolutely closed at this point. “Henry and Killian. And was Ruby here too? I thought I heard heels.”
“How could you possibly hear heels when you were actually giving birth?” Emma asked, shaking her head in disbelief. Mary Margaret still hadn’t opened her eyes.
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“Go to sleep.” Mary Margaret’s eyes snapped open and she leveled Emma with a stare that screamed tell me , not even bothering to actually say the words. She knew she didn’t have to. Emma did her best to stay her ground – but she was sitting down and there was a newborn in her arms and Mary Margaret couldn’t be denied when she had that kind of look on her face. “Ruby had to go back to the network to deal with post-filming stuff.”
“And?”
Leo Henry made another noise, tiny fist moving half an inch across his body and that was hardly fair – they couldn’t double team Emma like that. “And Henry and Killian went to find some sort of vending machine and caffeine for me.”
“Together?”
“Well, they walked away together, so, yeah, I’d imagine together.”
Mary Margaret’s eyebrows lifted meaningfully, but she didn’t say anything about what that meant or what it would mean or how her kid had told Killian where she was, staring at newborns with the kind of want Emma wasn’t sure she realized she even possessed.
“So, you won, huh?” Mary Margaret muttered, half her mouth pressed into a pillow.
“You’re actually asking me that, right now? You just had a baby.”
“I’m curious.”
“Of course you are,” Emma said, voice nearly cracking with emotion. The baby made another noise and there were tears running down her face before she realized it and she was an absolute mess.
She was happy.
And this was perfect.
“And I’m proud of you too,” Mary Margaret added, smiling softly and reaching one arm out slowly. Emma stood up slowly, trying not to wake a suddenly asleep Leo Henry as she placed him in his mother’s arms and she was definitely still crying.
“Is it super cheesy to say I’m proud of you too?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good to know.”
Emma sank back into the chair a few feet away from Mary Margaret’s bed, glancing back up a moment later to find she’d already fallen asleep. That might have been the most impressive thing she’d seen that afternoon.
David twisted around the doorway half a second later, the smile on his face, apparently, carved there permanently. He sighed when he saw Mary Margaret and Emma’s heart clenched at the sight, the happiness in the tiny hospital room increasing tenfold as soon as he crossed the threshold.
“She fell asleep in like two seconds,” Emma whispered, earning a surprised glance from her brother who, it seemed, hadn’t even noticed she was in the room. “It’s almost like giving birth to another human being is exhausting.”
He laughed underneath his breath and that smile was never going to come off his face – Emma was convinced. “She was incredible.”
“Of course she was.”
“I’m glad you got here. I didn’t want to interrupt filming for this.”
“You can interrupt filming for this,” Emma said quickly.
“Next time we have a kid I’ll keep that in mind.”
Emma didn’t tell him about Mary Margaret’s earlier proclamation – almost certain it was the lack of epidural and post-labor haze talking – just nodded, shifting in the stiff, hospital-provided seat as she tried to find a position that didn’t leave her with something sticking in her back.
“At the risk of ruining this moment, can I ask you a question?” David murmured, taking a step towards Emma and putting his hand on her shoulder.
She twisted her eyebrows in response, a teasing smile on her face when she looked back up at him. “Jeez, got that dad pose down pat already, don’t you?”
He widened his eyes, something that almost looked like frustration flashing in them, but it was a look he couldn't quite pull off with that stupid smile still etched on his face. “You're a sarcastic jerk, you know that?”
“David,” she chided him, grinning even wider. “There’s a baby present.”
“He’s sleeping.”
“He’ll probably do that for awhile. And I think you’re stalling.”
“You look happy,” David said and Emma couldn’t have missed the meaning in those three words if she tried. She didn’t try. And she didn’t stop smiling either.
“Yeah, well, when you become an aunt to a near-perfect baby, things like that are bound to happen.”
“Emma.”
“David.”
He opened his mouth to say something else – probably some sort of emotional lesson Emma wasn’t entirely certain she needed to hear, but he couldn’t get the sentiment out before he was interrupted by Henry, skidding into the room quickly with a pair of styrofoam cups in his hand.
“There was no coffee anywhere,” he muttered, not quite able to keep his voice at whisper-level and earning a very quick shhh from both David and Emma.
“There are cups in your hand,” she argued. David chuckled softly, hand still on her shoulder as he twisted to glance over his shoulder.
“This is hot chocolate. Straight.”
“Straight?” Emma repeated, only vaguely taken aback by the term. Henry looked nonplussed, blinking once. “Where did you learn that?”
“Will,” he said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. It was. And Emma, not for the first time that afternoon or even in the last few minutes, silently reprimanded herself for being so absolutely stupid over the last two weeks.
“I’ll take one of those,” she said, holding her hand out expectantly.
Emma was exhausted. And happy. And it was a strange mixture to deal with coupled with the complete whirlwind that had been her conversation with Killian.
She hadn’t told him she loved him.
She wanted to tell him she loved him.
And she wanted coffee.
Henry seemed to sense her conflict and there was something deeper in that look – some reason in the way he grew up or what kind of relationship he had with Emma, but she was far too tired to even consider it. “Killian’s got the coffee,” he said, handing one of the cups to David who nearly groaned out loud at the gesture. “Or he was going to get the coffee.”
Emma blinked once, glancing towards the door, hopeful that her coffee would simply materialize in front of her. It took two seconds longer.
He smiled when his eyes met hers and she nearly jumped out of the chair at the sight – a mixture of nerves that belonged decades earlier and want that, seemed, to belong right there in that moment and Emma was positive she could feel actual electricity when she grabbed the cup out of his hands, balanced precariously in between his fingers.
“Thank you,” she muttered gratefully, brushing her lips against his cheek and Killian’s entire body might have sagged at the movement.
David definitely groaned at that.
So did Henry.
Mary Margaret stayed asleep.
“Of course, love,” Killian said. His eyes darted over her shoulder, smile curling on the corner of his lips as soon as he saw Leo Henry and Emma’s heart might have actually exploded. It felt like it, at least. She was thankful she was in a hospital.
He was next to her quickly, arm around her shoulder and Emma leaned against him without a second thought – all the reasons she was so exhausted in the first place melting away in the shift of his body and the feel of his forearm, leather jacket brushing up against her neck and the spot where she still wasn’t wearing her necklace.
“Hey,” Henry said suddenly, pulling his eyes away from his almost-namesake. “Can we get some food?”
“Didn’t you get food just now?” Emma asked. “That was the point of that quest, wasn’t it?”
“Quest?”
Emma shrugged. “I take it you didn’t find food.”
“It was all gross.”
“Gross?”
“It is a hospital, Swan,” Killian muttered. “Not exactly a ton of choices available.”
“And Henry’s very picky,” she added, making a face at her son for good measure. He met her twisted mouth for twisted mouth, eyes flashing up towards hers.
Emma grabbed his shoulder, tugging him towards her and he only objected a little bit, trying to save face in front of Killian and David and, likely, the sleeping baby in front of him who shared his name. “We can go get some food,” she said, hand flattening his hair out of instinct. “We should let David stare longingly at his kid without us around anyway.”
David mumbled something under his breath, narrowing his eyes slightly at Emma. “You were the one who wanted to hold him two seconds after you walked in the door,” he said, grabbing the only other chair in the room and dragging it a few inches away from Mary Margaret. “And no one is kicking you out.”
“I’ve got to feed my kid.”
“I’m starving,” Henry sighed, working an eye roll out of David. Emma felt Killian laugh against her, the side of his body shaking against hers.
“See, he’s starving. It’s very dramatic.”
“Mom.”
“We can stop on the way home,” Emma said. “You ate all the leftovers in the fridge yesterday. And, if the empty box of cereal in the cabinet was any indication, all of that this morning too.”
Killian’s arms tightened around Emma’s shoulder and he was trying hard not to laugh. David wasn’t even trying, head thrown back at the ceiling and the smile was threatening to snap his jaw in half.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh now,” Emma hissed, doing her best not to wake the newborn that was still, miraculously, asleep. “Talk to me a decade from now when that kid is eating you out of your entire apartment.”
“So dramatic,” David said, voice shaking.
Henry’s stomach audibly grumbled and his entire face flushed at the sound. David bit down on his lip tightly, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to keep from actually dissolving into some sort of fit in the middle of a hospital room and Emma sighed – chock-full of the drama she’d just been accused of.
“Come on kid,” she said, grabbing on the edge of Henry’s sleeve. His face was still red. “Let’s get some food.” He nodded once, glancing quickly at Leo Henry and the look on his face sent a shockwave through Emma’s entire being. David had, finally, stopped laughing, arms still crossed over his chest, but they’d loosened just a bit as he slid farther down the chair, legs stretched out in front of him and some sort of contented look on his face.
She’d never quite seen her brother look like that.
“You want me to bring you something?” Emma asked and David was shaking his head before she’d even got the question out.
“We’re like seventy blocks away from home.”
“I’d come back.”
“I know you would,” David said, grinning at her. “We’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ve got a schedule jam-packed with longing and an overwhelming amount of paternal emotion. So, I’m going to be pretty busy.”
Emma groaned, but her pulse might have speed up at the idea of David Nolan-father and this picture-perfect family that had taken up residence in hospital room 7C. “Ok,” she muttered, taking a step forward to brush the back of her knuckle over Leo Henry’s arm. He made some sort of baby noise that Emma wouldn’t have actually been able to describe under normal circumstances, let alone the ones that were pushing tears down her cheeks again.
She should have stopped to take her makeup off – she’d been too busy practically sprinting off set.
“Bye Uncle David,” Henry said, practically sprinting back into to the hallway and – from the exclamation a few feet away – nearly colliding with a nurse in the process.
Emma shook her head, but didn’t follow immediately, wavering on her feet with a sudden tug towards the newborn a few feet away that made her feel as if she were rooted to the tiled floor. She didn’t want to leave.
“Go feed him,” David said, reading her mind as well as Mary Margaret had before she’d fallen asleep. “We’ll be fine. I’ll send some pictures if he wakes up or manages to do anything spectacular.”
She resisted the urge to say he was already spectacular, simply because he was there, but David’s contented smile made it seem as if he already knew. And Emma had clearly missed out on the psychic gene in her family.
Her laugh was shaky at best and she was definitely still crying and no one said a word about that, or the way Killian tugged her out of the hospital room, arm still slung tightly around her shoulder. Henry bobbed on his feet just outside the door, eyes wide when they landed on Emma. “Food?” he asked.
“Don’t they let you eat at school? I know I gave you food today.”
Henry rolled his eyes again and parenting a teenager, it seemed, was a brand-new challenge. “It’s dinner time.”
“So let’s go to the store. Or grab some food, that’s fine.” Henry rolled back on his heels again and his eyes moved away from Emma quickly, gaze landing on Killian’s arm and his hand and he pressed his lips together for a moment. “What?” Emma asked. “No good?”
“I was just thinking…”
“Sure,” Killian said and that wasn’t fair.
She needed to figure out how to read minds.
“Sure what?” Emma sputtered, head snapping up and he was smiling nearly as wide as David had been, like he’d been waiting for this moment.
Killian didn’t say anything, just smiled even more and nodded towards Henry. “I was thinking we could go to The Jolly,” he said quickly, the words rolling together in his desperation to get them out.
Emma’s mouth hung open and she should have thought that to begin with. “Oh,” she said softly, a wholly ridiculous response.
“Oh?” Killian repeated and she couldn’t tell if that was disappointment or surprise etched in his voice.
“Can’t we go Mom?” Henry asked. “We haven’t in awhile and Killian said there was a ton of dessert stuff in the kitchen.”
“Dessert stuff?
Killian shrugged and it was definitely surprise mixed with embarrassment now, cheeks tinged red when he looked at Emma. “It’s been a long two weeks.”
She nodded slowly, understanding seeping into every corner of her. “Yeah, we can do that,” Emma said, not looking away from Killian. “As long as that’s cool with you?”
“Of course, Swan.”
“Ok.”
“Cool,” Henry said, not waiting for any more emotional revelations in the middle of the hallway before turning towards the lobby around the corner. Killian’s fingers laced through Emma’s as they followed behind him and she didn’t need to be a mind reader to know he was smiling.
She was too.
“Are you Emma Swan?”
Emma glanced up, cup held halfway between her mouth and the table she’d taken up residence at a few minutes before. She nodded quickly, pushing back on the chair she was sitting in and thrusting her hand out towards the woman in front of her. “That’s me,” she said and she was nervous, metaphorical butterflies settling in the pit of her stomach.
“Ruby’s very good at descriptions,” the woman laughed, taking Emma’s hand with a smile on her face. “She absolutely called you drinking coffee.”
Emma’s scoffed. “It’s, technically, a coffee-hot chocolate hybrid.”
“Ah, she didn’t mention that.”
“She’s not quite as all-knowing as she likes to think she is.”
The woman laughed, hooking her foot around the other chair at the table and sinking down into it, tossing the bag she’d had on her shoulder on the ground next to her. “You come up with that drink recipe?”
“Right into the interview, huh?” Emma asked, hoping her laughter helped mask the vague sense of terror she felt at even the idea of this.
Ruby promised it would be fine, the questions weren’t going to be too personal – ”It’s all out there already, Emma,” she said two days before when Emma had been forced back into the studio to film the talking head she’d ditched in favor of her nephew’s arrival. “This is just your chance to provide the information on your terms.” – and Killian had been nothing if not consistently supportive, very clearly doing his best to make amends for the two weeks before. She appreciated that.
The woman laughed again, nodding towards a waiter and earning an almost-immediate glass of water for the look. She narrowed her eyes appraisingly at Emma, but shook her head, grabbing her phone out of her bag and placing it lightly on the table. It was recording.
“I’d rather just talk,” she said. “And I’m Aurora, by the way. If Ruby didn’t mention that.”
Emma took a deep breath, lip tugged tightly between her teeth. “She didn’t. I’d introduce myself too, but that seems kind of counterproductive. She also didn’t mention how you two knew each other or how you managed to fit me into your schedule.”
“That would suggest I have some sort of jam-packed schedule.”
“Don’t you?”
“Don’t you?” Aurora countered and Emma liked her. She hadn’t expected that.
“Not today. I filmed earlier this week”
“A fact I’m very grateful for. You won, didn’t you? The all-star thing, I mean?” Emma nodded, certain Ruby had given this reporter the complete pre-interview rundown on her life in the network studios. “I can’t put that in the article though, Ruby will kill me if I give up that kind of information before it airs.”
“Zelena would probably bring you back to life just so she can kill you too.”
Aurora grinned at her, fingers tapping on the side of her water glass. “You’re funny,” she said and it felt a little bit like a label. “And I met Ruby approximately eight thousand years ago when we were at school together.”
Emma nodded, hoping to work some sort of college-age Ruby story out of this interview. “I’m sarcastic,” she corrected. “Not funny.”
“Eh, same thing.”
“Is it?”
“What do you have to be sarcastic about?”
The interview was in full-swing now and Aurora could say all she wanted about just talking, but these were questions and that was bordering on personal and Emma needed another cup of coffee, heavy on the hot chocolate. “It’s not my recipe,” she said and Aurora’s eyebrows nearly flew off her forehead. “The drink. I didn’t come up with it. My brother did.”
“You’ve got a brother?”
“See, I knew this was an interview.”
“People want to know, Emma,” Aurora said slowly, like they’d known each other for years and not just stumbled into this meeting in a midtown coffee shop because Ruby had set it up a few days before. “People like you.”
“Yeah, enough to run multi-page spreads in national tabloids,” she muttered bitterly.
“You know, I know that guy.”
Emma snapped her head up. “What guy?”
“The one who wrote your story. Isaac what’s-his-face. He’s been working for that magazine for years, can never seem to get anything more legitimate. He must have sold his soul for that tip.”
“Would you have?” Emma asked.
Aurora shook her head immediately. “No,” she said and the certainty in her voice almost made Emma feel comfortable. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a fantastic story. You’re a fantastic story, but I wouldn’t want to run it like that. Paint some sort of picture of you as this...what was the headline they used?”
“Jailbird.”
“See, that’s just ridiculous. Bird puns? It’s like clickbait come to life.”
Emma took a sip of her drink, disappointed to find she’d, somehow, already finished it and it was no wonder Ruby promised her it would be fine. She liked Aurora – appreciated her to-the-point personality and whatever type of conversation they were having – and Ruby absolutely knew it would play out like that.
“He wasn’t wrong though,” Emma said. “Although jailbird does make it sound like I broke out of jail. I didn’t.”
“That’s good to know,” Aurora laughed.
“Eight months,” Emma continued, knowing full-well that she hadn’t actually been asked a question. “It was eight months and it was just...lonely? I turned eighteen in a cell by myself. But, I guess, there was a silver lining? If you can call it that. They offered classes, you know, like tech school?” Aurora nodded and Emma kept talking and it felt like some sort of weight off her shoulders.
“They had a cooking class. You couldn’t really do much because they couldn’t really give utensils, but it was a start. I’d always been interested in it, but it was mostly this kind of outsider’s perspective mixed with a dash of wonder.”
“Wonder?”
Emma nodded, taking a deep breath through her nose before she spoke. “I grew up in foster care when I was little and I never starved or anything, but being able to cook, to take care of myself like that was something I could never quite imagine. I got really lucky when I was older, ended up with my mom and my brother and lived there for five years and she was like other levels of cooking. But to be able to do that myself, and find out I was good at it, was something I didn’t quite expect.”
“So,” she continued, licking her suddenly dry lips, “I took the class and I was good and this idea kind of took root in the back of my mind.”
“You went to culinary school, didn’t you?” Aurora asked.
“Yeah, but that was all my brother. He helped pay for it to start and let me and my son stay with him when we first came to New York.”
“Sounds like a good guy.”
“The best.”
“Is that why you picked the charity you did? For the all-star competition?”
Emma blinked and she should have expected this – journalists did background before an interview didn’t they? She had no idea.
Ruby should have prepared her better for this.
“It is,” Emma said, surprised how easy it was to lay out personal facts on the metaphorical and literal table. “He’s kind of my hero.” She shrugged and Aurora smiled.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Figured it was better to kind of ease into the dramatics,” Aurora said.
“How much did Ruby actually tell you?”
Aurora chuckled, flipping her hair off her shoulder and sitting up just a bit straighter when she looked at Emma. “Do you think you should get your show back?”
“That’s not up to me,” Emma said. “But I want my show back. I’ve always wanted my show. I love my show and I love what it’s done for me and my family. I never quite expected that, but it’s become one of the biggest things in my entire life.”
“What about Killian Jones?”
She should have expected it.
She should have known.
She should have realized they’d end up here.
She just hadn’t expected to get there quite so quickly.
Emma took another deep breath, teeth sinking into the side of her tongue until it nearly hurt and she twisted her hair around her finger.
“What about him?” she asked and her voice was practically saturated with emotion.
“You two aren’t…”
Aurora trailed off and that had to be breaking some kind of journalistic rule, because she hadn’t actually asked a question and she clearly wanted an answer. And they should have prepared better for this, should have talked about it, at least, once in the last three days.
They hadn’t.
They’d left the hospital three days ago and gone back to The Jolly and Will had insisted on root beer floats and cheeseburgers and Emma had followed Killian into the kitchen, more because she couldn’t quite bear the thought of not, leaning on the far wall while he made them all food that wasn’t actually on the menu.
And they certainly hadn’t talked about it the day before – an afternoon that saw Henry at school and an open schedule that didn’t require either one of them to leave his apartment or his couch or the small spot they’d taken up there, wrapped up in each other for hours. She’d told him she loved him, whispered the words in his ear and he’d kissed her in response, hand moving across her hip and down her leg and they’d moved off the couch at that point.
They picked Henry up from school together and they were only a few minutes late.
“Emma?” Aurora asked, snapping her out of memories that absolutely didn’t belong in print.
“Yeah?”
“Was that a ‘yeah’ to my first or second question?”
She really was a good journalist. And Emma was backed into some sort of metaphorical corner. “Both?”
“You sound uncertain.”
“I’m not.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Huh,” Aurora muttered, leaning her head on her hand. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”
And Emma didn’t expect that. “Really? We haven’t exactly been trying to hide it.”
“Yeah, that’s what Ruby said.”
“Wait, wait, Ruby said that?”
Aurora shrugged, tapping on her phone screen to make sure it was still recording. It was. “She said I should ask you about the relationship – and she used that word by the way. But I kind of had my doubts. I thought it might have just been a TV thing.”
“It’s not.”
“I’m glad.” This was a strange conversation, full of revelations Emma didn’t expect herself to divulge and a journalist that made it far too easy to talk. Aurora smiled knowingly at her, like she understood whatever sort of internal dilemma she was staging. “It’s just...I watched some of the stuff you’ve done in the last couple of months before this interview, so I had some background, and I watched the holiday episode of your show.”
Of course.
It always seemed to come back to the holiday episode.
“He’s a really good guy,” Emma said and she sounded every bit like a fifteen-year-old, gushing over her date to prom. Aurora lifted her eyebrows, smile tilting up one side of her mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Better than I expected.”
Emma didn’t stop talking for the next five minutes – a font of Killian Jones information Aurora hadn’t really asked for, but didn’t stop her from providing. She talked about the restaurant and the expansion and how he’d helped teach her kid how to save a soccer ball without running into the goal post along the way.
She talked and talked and gushed and then talked some more.
And Aurora just kept nodding, that smile plastered on her face and Emma actually said she was in love. On record. With a phone recording her words. Aurora’s smile faltered a bit at that, eyes widening a fraction of an inch like she hadn’t entirely been ready for that tidbit of information. Neither had Emma.
“He’s a really good guy,” Emma said again, a quiet affirmation that seemed to wrap up the Killian Jones fan club she was dictating.
“You’re happy,” Aurora said and it didn’t feel like an accusation. It felt like a statement. A true one. She hoped that made it in print too.
“I am.”
“Good.”
Aurora clicked off her phone and paid for Emma’s coffee-hot chocolate hybrid, thanking her for her time and promising to send her an early copy of the magazine. And she was gone in a flash of shiny, brown hair and that bag flung back over her shoulder and Emma was, suddenly, wide-eyed and a bit surprised with what she’d just done.
She’d said I love him on record.
They should have planned for this interview better.
Emma nearly ran into The Jolly Roger an hour later – another cup of coffee clutched in her hand – and Will practically cackled at her. “Where’s the fire?” he asked, leaning on the edge of the bar and she barely had a moment to realize Belle was sitting in front of him.
“Where’s Killian?”
“Upstairs.”
Emma started running again, twisting and turning through tables and swinging open the kitchen door. Eric gaped at her, but Ariel just laughed, sitting on the edge of the counter in the middle of the room, hand resting lightly on her stomach and Emma made a mental note to ask about that when she wasn’t possibly having some sort of mental breakdown.
“He’s upstairs,” she muttered, nodding towards the door in the back corner of the kitchen.
Emma nodded once, not even slowing down when Eric asked about the interview. Everyone knew everything in this restaurant. She landed on his doorstep three seconds later – taking the stairs two at a time – and Emma wasn’t sure if she should knock.
She took a deep breath, fingers wrapping around the doorknob, but she didn’t have a chance to make any sort of decision before the door swung open and Killian was standing in front of her – wearing a t-shirt and jeans and a smile that absolutely did not make her knees go weak. That would have been ridiculous.
“Swan,” he said, reaching out to grab her forearm. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“You could have just come in, you know,” he laughed, taking a step back when Emma’s hand landed on his chest.
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“What exactly did you think I was doing?” Emma shrugged and his head tilt spoke volumes, fingers drifting across the back of her wrist. Killian raised an eyebrow at her and they’d somehow managed to wander into the kitchen because life was nothing if not one, long string of ridiculous signs and metaphors. “What’s going on, love?”
“I told a magazine I loved you.”
“You told a magazine?” Emma nodded. “Like the actual paper?”
Emma groaned, taking a step back and she’d absolutely interrupted something, eyes falling on a pile of papers on the coffee table in his living room. “What were you doing?” she asked, nodding towards the paperwork and something that actually looked like a checkbook.
“Nothing,” Killian brushed off quickly. “You’re the one who came barreling in here.”
“I hardly barreled. I didn’t even open the door.”
“Semantics.”
“I had that interview today,” Emma sighed, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “And she asked about a whole bunch of stuff and I told her a whole bunch of stuff and it was really easy to talk to her…”
“That seems like a good thing, Swan.”
“But it might not be. I told her about you. She asked about you and us and I gave her an answer to all of it.”
He was openly smirking at her now, leaning back against his problematic oven with one arm crossed over his chest, the other elbow resting on his wrist and his fingers tapping thoughtfully on his chin. “Well, you weren’t lying,” Killian said slowly and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to make sure he didn’t laugh at her again.
“I know.”
“So?”
“So we never actually talked about it. The public thing.”
“We weren’t exactly trying to hide it, Swan,” he reasoned. “They were trying to play it for ratings on the network.”
“Yeah, but I said I love you on the record.” She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t getting this. This was a big deal – the biggest deal. She was all in on this, all in on him and whatever that meant and whatever she wanted. It’d probably be a pull-quote in the article.
“And I appreciate that,” Killian said. “Would you like me to go on the record too? I would.”
He was laughing again and Emma was, frustratingly, charmed by it. It was the t-shirt, she reasoned, no one should be able to look that good in something that had a Manchester United logo on it.
Emma groaned again and he was in front of her in two and a half steps, hands on her waist and that stupid smirk on his face. “I love you too,” he said softly. Her knees were still weak.
“That’s good since it’s in print now.”
Killian huffed out a laugh, eyes widening for a beat before he ducked his head and kissed her, hand on her jaw and prosthetic still anchored on her waist and Emma was glad she’d worn heels to the interview.
Emma’s shoulders moved dramatically when he pulled away – trying to get the air back in her lungs and a bit of perspective back in her mind because she absolutely couldn’t spend the rest of the night kissing him in the middle of his kitchen. He’d barely even moved away though and that was a very distinct type of distraction, lips ghosting over her jaw when he talked again.
“What were you worried about, Swan?”
She shrugged, not sure she could actually voice what it was – or if she wanted to. She’d done enough emotion for the day. “Hey,” Killian said softly, thumb tucking under her chin so Emma had to look up at him. “It’s ok. Good, even. You know that, right? I’m not going anywhere.”
And there it was.
Four words and too many letters to try and count when he was staring at her like that – eyes wide and imploring, trying to make sure she understood.
Killian Jones came back.
Or never really left.
“I love you,” he said again and, this time, Emma kissed him and maybe they did have time for this.
“I love you too,” she muttered, forehead resting against his.
His eyes did that ridiculous, emotional thing they’d been doing for the last three days – since he’d shown up in the hospital hallway – like he couldn’t quite believe she was still there and talking to him and Emma made noise in the back of her throat when he took a step away from her.
“How’d the rest of it go?” he asked. “The interview, I mean?”
“I talked a lot.”
“I’m sure the reporter appreciated it. That’s usually how those things go. You’re ok, though? With the talking?”
Emma’s heart thudded in her chest, like it was beating out a double rhythm at the sound of the concern in his voice. He cared and he loved her and he came back. Aurora was right – she was happy.
“That was the point,” she rationalized. “To give my side or whatever. I guess we just let the metaphorical chips fall where they may at this point or whatever cliché you want to use.”
“You’ll get your show back, Swan,” Killian said, the determination in his voice catching her off guard.
“Even if I don’t, it’ll be ok. I mean, there’s more to life than network TV, right?” Killian nodded slowly, but something was off and Emma leaned against the countertop until it pressed into her back. “I told her something else too.”
“Who?”
“The reporter. I told her something else. About you.” He raised his eyebrows and, somehow, she could make out the noise from the kitchen downstairs, dinner prep starting. “I told her about the expansion. I know I shouldn’t have, but I mean, you know, it could be good publicity or something. Fifty tables is a lot.”
Emma tried to keep her voice light, joking about fifty tables she was positive he’d be able to fill even without her few sentences of promotion in a magazine, but his eyes dulled at the words and she could see his throat move when he swallowed.
“What’s the matter?” Emma asked.
“You probably shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered and she’d never heard his voice sound like that, the distinct note of confidence she’d come to associate with Killian, completely lacking in the whispered words.
“I mean, I know you didn’t officially announce anything, but it could be good, you know? Especially...especially after what you told Gold in December. Publicity is good, right?”
“You knew about December?”
“You can’t tell my brother anything.”
Killian laughed, staring at the floor underneath his feet and he wasn’t wearing sneakers. She took a step towards him, tugging on the front of his t-shirt lightly until his eyes met hers and that nagging feeling was back – he wasn’t telling her something. “Talk to me,” she said. “Does it have something to do with all those papers over there?”
“You’re very smart, Swan.”
“Talk.”
He took a deep breath, prosthetic falling back on her waist again as he nodded once, like he was psyching himself up for the conversation. “There’s no expansion,” he said quickly and the words settled in Emma’s stomach like a weight. “Not anymore.”
“What?”
Killian smiled lightly at her, jaw ticking and now both hands were on her waist again, tugging her closer to him. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said and Emma’s head was spinning.
“Do what? I don’t understand.
“I told Gold the next day. That I wanted out completely. But it’s not quite that simple. There was, actually, a contract and a payment schedule and a fairly considerable amount of money involved. That’s what the papers are, figuring out holdings and how we could come up with the rest of it to, basically, buy him out.”
“We?” Emma repeated.
Killian nodded. “Me and Robin. He’s, I don’t know, partner sounds ridiculous. But he’s about a quarter of the money.”
Emma tugged her lips back behind her teeth, not entirely certain how she was still standing up – what with the weight in her stomach and the wave of information she was practically drowning in.
He’d given it up.
He’d told Gold the next day. She’d ignored every one of his calls and he’d still done it.
“But,” she sputtered and he was still smiling at her, fingers brushing underneath the bottom of her shirt. “Why? I mean, it was half done. It had to be at least half done, right? Why would you just give that up?”
Killian stared at her, disbelief clouding the blue in his eyes. “I couldn’t, Swan,” he said. “I couldn’t go back there and make something there when I knew what it cost you. I wouldn’t do that. So I told Gold and I told him he’d get his money and I’ll figure it out.”
“You’ll figure it out?”
“Do you not see those piles of papers? That’s the figuring it out.”
Emma didn’t know what to say – couldn’t remember a time when anyone in her entire life had ever given up anything quite like that for her . He’d done it for her or because of her or something so deep in emotion and commitment, she could hardly even process it.
She didn’t say anything, just threw her arms around his neck and appreciated his quick intake of breath and kissed him like she was coming up for air. His fingers pressed against the back of her head, threading her way through her ponytail and Emma’s hand fell back to his side, tugging on the t-shirt until it was halfway lifted up his body.
He pressed against her, hooking his arm around her leg until she was balancing on one heel and her skirt was twisted and she couldn’t breathe. And she didn’t care.
She was glad she said she loved him on record.
“Cap,” Eric said, banging on the other side of the door a few feet away from them. “You ready to start cooking?”
Killian groaned, letting Emma settle back on two feet before he looked at her, eyes burning with a slew of words and feelings that would have sounded ridiculous when said out loud. He looked like he wanted her.
And didn’t want to be cooking.
“Cap?” Eric repeated. “A’s started seating people, so we should probably get going.”
“Yeah,” Killian said quickly, not taking his eyes off Emma. “I’ll be right there.”
“Ok.”
Emma heard the sous chef’s steps retreat back down the stairs and her hand was still pressed underneath Killian’s t-shirt. “You want to stick around for a little while?” he asked. “Unless you’ve got to get Henry.”
She shook her head – the weight in her stomach somehow not preventing it from doing flips at the hopeful tone of his voice. “He’s doing a group project thing at Violet’s. I don’t have to get him until later.”
“Violet, huh?”
“Don’t talk about it. I’ll just go into crazy-mom mode and I can’t imagine that’s something you’d be a fan of.”
He lowered his eyebrows at her, surprise etched into the corner of his eyes. “Why would you say that, Swan? I’m a fan of every part of you.”
She rolled her eyes, but he wasn’t joking, eyes practically boring a hole in her head with the strength of his sincerity. “You ok?” she asked. “I mean, about The Jolly. I...it just doesn’t seem fair.”
Killian smiled at her, nodding once and she almost believed him. “I’m fine, love. Anyway, I’ve got plenty to do here and Gina wants some sort of IC comeback tour after the crab debacle, so it’s a pretty jam-packed schedule.”
Emma sighed, but didn’t push – certain she was treading on some sort of thin ice and years of well-practiced sarcasm as a deflecting tool. “Ok,” she mumbled, kissing his cheek lightly before nodding towards the door. “Come on, before Eric comes up here and personally drags you into the kitchen.”
“It’s because Ari’s gotten very demanding in the last few weeks.”
“Yeah, I meant to ask you about that.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding like he was surprised Emma didn’t already know. “Ari’s pregnant.”
He grinned at her over his shoulder, brushing around her to swing open the apartment door and Emma gasped, eyes going wide with the news. And she realized something in that moment – she’d found something in this restaurant three blocks away from her house, bigger than just a good makeout location.
She’d found another home – another family and people she cared about and a man she loved a nearly ridiculous amount.
“I mean, you should have shown up earlier,” Henry said. “But, if it was anything for you like it was for my mom, then I guess I get it.”
“And how was it like for your mom?”
“Bad.” Henry took a deep breath, pressing his lips together tightly and looked back up at Killian – a straight gaze without accusation, just the single word settling in the space in between the two of them.
“Me too,” Killian said and it felt like he was admitting to something much bigger and far more important than two words and five letters.
“Good.”
AN: We are very much closing in on the end here and wrapping up things and prepping for emotional payoff and tying up loose ends and I can’t thank you all enough for your response to this story. Some shameless self-promotion that my Captain Swan Big Bang story starts posting next week and it’s another massive monstrosity of words that @laurnorder & @distant-rose have both read and flailed over and they continue to be the best.
Living on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr.
He scanned the set, eyes moving quickly and breath picking up of its own accord, desperately trying to find a flash of yellow hair or green eyes, listening for the unnatural squeak of her sneakers.
She wasn’t there.
She’d left.
Well, that wasn’t exactly how Killian had planned on this playing out. To be fair, he wasn’t sure how he had planned on it playing out at all, but that was beside the point.
Because Emma had left and they hadn’t talked – aside from that one moment he’d called her love and her eyes had nearly fallen out of her head – and she’d walked off set after promising to stay and he wasn’t quite sure what to do.
He was frozen.
And Regina’s heels were incredibly loud.
“You need to start wearing flats,” Killian muttered, staring at the wall opposite him. He still hadn’t moved. “You’re practically announcing your entrance every time you walk into a room.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
“Make you seem more menacing?”
Regina raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, lips twisted up into something vaguely sarcastic and, maybe, almost mocking and started out a slow, steady rhythm with the back of her heel.
“Rude,” she said sharply and Killian rolled his eyes dramatically. “You finished moping yet?”
“Moping?”
“Yes. Exactly that.”
“I don’t mope.”
“You have been for two weeks. And you’re doing it now. All moping and frustrating and not winning. Again. She didn’t leave, you know.”
“What?” He wasn’t sure what he was asking about, eyes narrowing as he turned to stare at his producer. Regina just smiled at him, eyebrows doing something pointed and ridiculous and chock-full of the opinions she hadn’t been shy about sharing since getting back from her honeymoon the week before.
“Well,” Regina said, foot still tapping out a beat that might have actually been driving Killian insane. “I don’t actually know about two full weeks, but Ariel used a lot of adjectives to describe how you were acting while we were away.”
“Did you just come over to gloat?”
“No, I came here to tell you where she went.” He could feel the surprise settle on his face and Regina’s smile was all-knowing and smug and Killian bit into his lip to stop himself from saying something he’d probably regret. “You want to know, don’t you?”
Of course he wanted to know.
And Regina knew he wanted to know.
He was a frustrated, unknowing mess who should have said something and shouldn’t have called her love on set and, absolutely, should have marched three blocks down the street a week ago and banged on her apartment door until she let him in and let him explain and get rid of this tiny ball of anxiety and worry and despair that had taken up root in his gut since she’d walked out his door.
“Obviously,” Killian spat out and Regina glared at him like he was a child she had recently been cleared to adopt and was set on disciplining. He groaned, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling and the lines of lights above his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled, Regina’s hand falling on his shoulder in something that almost felt comforting.
“See, this is moping.”
“And you still haven’t actually told me anything.”
“She went to the hospital.”
“What?” He knew his voice cracked – something he wasn’t positive had happened in, at least, twenty years – and Regina was openly laughing at him now. “God dammit, Gina, now you’re just being difficult on purpose, aren’t you?”
“I got her a car.”
“To take her to the hospital?”
“Where she was going? Yes.”
“Gina.”
She laughed again and crossed her arms, gazing at him appraisingly. “Her sister went into labor.”
“What?”
“Do you honestly not understand how that works?” Killian widened his eyes at her and Regina’s eyes flashed, uncrossing her arms and tugging on his sleeve softly in a way she hadn’t done in years, smile softening just a bit. “She didn’t leave. Not really. Just…you know?”
“There was a baby involved.”
“Or a soon-to-be baby.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Of course you do,” Regina said, fingers still wrapped around his sleeve. And it was all incredibly understanding. She’d been, for the most part, understanding, not even yelling about that loss on Iron Chef – far too excited with being able to adopt Roland and fresh off a honeymoon that had, apparently, been nothing short of perfect.
They’d all been understanding and Killian still felt guilty.
He needed to talk to Emma.
“Go,” Regina continued, tugging again for good measure. “Tell her you were an idiot and you’re so absurdly in love with her you can’t even think straight and that you stormed into Zelena’s office this week and demanded she put her show back on the air.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I know everything.”
“And Zelena probably told you, didn’t she?”
“She was worried.”
“About her ratings.”
“And maybe you.”
“She should be worried about Emma.”
“Of course she is. But you’re the one who marched into her office. Emma wouldn’t come in and not for lack of Ruby trying. That’s a totally different story, though.”
Killian made a face, mouth twisting uncomfortably at the memory of Wednesday afternoon and demands and sharp words and Zelena’s consistently impassive face behind her monstrously large desk. It hadn’t made much of a difference.
Although it wasn’t Sunday yet.
Who knew.
Maybe.
And that felt like hope.
“Go,” Regina repeated, nodding towards the door. “You’ll miss all the fun stuff at the hospital if you don’t get uptown soon.”
“Is there a fun part to labor?”
Regina shrugged. “People say it’s meaningful or something.”
“I’m sure.”
“Go.” Killian nodded, leaning forward quickly and kissing Regina’s cheek, squeezing the side of her shoulder and she actually swatted him away, all but pushing him towards the door. “Lenox Hill!” She shouted the words as the door slammed shut behind him.
It took thirty minutes to get uptown and that was thirty minutes too long and Killian still hadn’t actually come up with any kind of plan for explaining what he was doing at the hospital or how he got there or what he was going to talk about when he finally got the chance to talk to Emma.
And he had to find her first.
A nurse who, apparently, lived on his Iron Chef appearances offered to personally escort him to the maternity ward and he was far too stunned to actually argue. He also needed directions to the maternity ward.
Killian skidded to a stop a few feet away from a line of chairs and a pacing David and an amused Henry – a picture that all seemed a bit too cliché to actually be real and then David sighed dramatically and Henry laughed loudly, pushing himself out of his chair as his eyes landed on Killian.
“Hey,” Henry said, glancing nervously at his still-pacing uncle and keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t draw his attention.
“Hey.”
“My mom’s not here.”
“I can see that.”
“But you’re here.”
“Also true.”
Henry grinned at him – a smile nearly identical to the one Emma shot his way when she found him particularly amusing and Killian should have come up with a plan of conversational attack because this was nothing if not completely disarming.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Henry said, glancing down at his shoes when he spoke.
“Yeah?
He nodded, a jerky movement that made Killian’s stomach flip with a whole mix of emotions he probably shouldn’t be having with a fleet of babies a couple hundred feet away from him. “I mean, you should have shown up earlier,” Henry said. “But, if it was anything for you like it was for my mom, then I guess I get it.”
“And how was it like for your mom?”
“Bad.” Henry took a deep breath, pressing his lips together tightly and looked back up at Killian – a straight gaze without accusation, just the single word settling in the space in between the two of them.
“Me too,” Killian said and it felt like he was admitting to something much bigger and far more important than two words and five letters.
“Good.”
Killian huffed out a laugh, widening his eyes at Henry who didn’t even blink and there was no way he was thirteen – only just – because he was absolutely an adult. Or just incredibly protective of his mom.
“Killian,” David said, coming up mid-pace and blinking at him quickly. “What are you doing here?”
“He came to see Mom,” Henry supplied helpfully and David nodded like that was the only feasible option. Of course it was.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where she might be, would you?” Killian asked, rocking back on his feet nervously.
“She’s down the hall. She’s been down there for like ten minutes something about how she couldn’t watch Uncle David pace a hole in the floor.”
Killian scoffed softly, eyeing David as he retreated back to his side of the waiting room, eyes trained on the lines of the carpet he was treading. “Shouldn't he be waiting with Mary Margaret?” he asked, glancing at Henry who just shook his head in response.
“She’s filling out paperwork,” David answered, not even bothering to slow down. “Told me to come out here and someone would come get me when things actually started.”
“Have they not actually started?” Henry laughed again, smile wide on his face and he nodded towards the far corner of the hallway.
“I’m, uh, going to take a walk,” Killian mumbled, raising his eyebrows meaningfully towards Henry. He nodded encouragingly and that felt like some kind of blessing or a step in the right direction.
And then Killian took twenty-two more steps – he certainly didn’t count, that would have been absurd – stopping just a few feet away from the blonde hair he’d been looking for, nearly, an hour before.
Emma was standing in front of a wall of windows, leaning her forearm against the glass, forehead resting on her wrist with a small smile on her face. She laughed softly, chuckling under her breath when a nurse put a baby down in an impossibly small bed on the other side of the window.
And his whole body seized up at the sight, pulse thudding in his ears and he forgot every single plan he’d come up with on his twenty-two step walk.
“Didn’t think I’d see one of those again,” Killian said softly. Emma jumped, sneakers squeaking as she moved a few feet off the ground. She spun quickly, eyebrows jumping up her forehead and shoulders heaving slightly and the smile on her face faltered.
“I think they’re usually referred to as babies.”
Killian felt his mouth tick up at the sound of her voice and steps twenty-three and twenty-four were a bit shakier than the first twenty-two had been. “I was talking about the smile. The one that was on your face. Not so much anymore and I’m trying not to dwell on that too much or I might lose my nerve.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Emma said, hand ghosting over the end of her ponytail.
“So much faith, Swan.”
“Enough,” she muttered, taking a step closer to him until her sneakers almost hit against his. “What are you doing here? How did you even know where I was?”
“Henry.” Emma nodded knowingly, nervous smile back on her face. “And Regina too. Gave up your location without so much as an argument.”
“I should probably be more upset about that than I am.”
“And you’re not?” Killian asked. “Upset?”
“Not about Regina giving up my location. She did get me the car, after all.”
“True.”
“But maybe about some other stuff.”
Killian sighed – or maybe took a deep breath, he wasn’t entirely positive what was going on and Emma had moved back towards the babies, eyes focused on a particularly well-swaddled newborn in a bright pink blanket.
“I hate when they force them into color coordinated outfits like that,” Killian muttered, standing next to her and eying a kid who was, apparently, named Lilly.
“M's won’t let them do that to Leo Henry. We weren’t even supposed to buy anything blue, even after they knew it was a boy.”
“Good. That’s good. She’ll be a good mom.”
“She will.”
They stood there for what felt like hours or days or another two weeks of decidedly ignoring each other and the same nurse moved, at least, seven different babies before Emma breathed out slowly and took a step back and he felt her stare land on the back of his head.
“Killian,” she said softly and he nearly fell over when he spun around to stare at her.
“Yeah?”
“I might not be really mad about the other stuff. At least not anymore. Or maybe a little. I don’t know. I think I might mostly be mad at myself. Or something. I should have returned your calls. I wanted to return your calls.”
Killian reached forward slowly, fingers grazing over the back side of her wrist and there was something in the way she didn’t object, but she also didn’t move an inch – not towards him or away from him and his throat might have tightened at the way she pressed her lips together tightly.
“You don’t have to explain yourself, love.”
“I want to.”
“Yeah?”
Emma nodded and she twisted her hand, fingers wrapping around his tightly and maybe they were back on track – they hadn’t really said anything. “I should have answered your phone calls or called you back,” she said. “For the record, I did listen to the voicemails.”
“Yeah?”
“Say something else, please.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words were out of his mouth before he’d even really considered them and Emma’s eyes went wide and that was the crux of the issue – he was sorry and he needed her to understand that.
Desperately. But that kind of thing sounded insane when you say the word out loud.
“For?”
“Emma.”
“I’m genuinely curious.”
“I should have told you. About the expansion and Gold and the deal and lack of deal and, well, everything. That’s how relationships are supposed to work, right?”
“I honestly have no idea.”
“Me either.”
“And maybe tell me about Iron Chef,” Emma added and Killian wished they were still standing in front of the baby window. This would have been easier if there was some sort of newborn distraction. “And maybe about Regina and Robin.”
“What about Regina and Robin?”
“Adoption. And winning. And how either one of them reacted to you losing on Iron Chef.”
“How did you find about that? Either of those things?”
Emma grinned at him, leaning back against the wall opposite the baby window and sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, feet stretched out straight in front of her.
He smiled, dropping down next to her until his arm brushed against hers.
And he loved her.
More than he expected to or more than he, probably, realized right at that very moment. He should have knocked down her apartment door. He should have talked to Zelena the day after that story ran.
He should have done a million and two things, but he hadn’t, because he was, perpetually, a screw-up and a mistake and an almost-there kind of guy who never entirely got what he wanted and he wanted Emma Swan.
More than he expected.
“Belle, surprisingly,” Emma said, shaking him out of some sort of spiral in the middle of the hallway. “She’s got a very big mouth when she feels particularly strong about something. And apparently she felt very strongly about the status of my show.”
“That makes two of us.”
Emma’s eyes widened and he felt her shoulder move against his – like she was going to move her arm and maybe hold his hand, but then thought better of it. “Yeah?” she asked, whispering out the word softly and straight into the spot in between his rib cage that had been resoundingly empty since she’d walked out of his apartment.
He was an idiot.
“Ask Zelena,” Killian said. “She’ll tell you.”
“What did you do?”
“Demanded she put your show back on the air. About a week ago.” Emma sighed loudly and her shoulder moved again and Killian didn’t even give her a chance to doubt herself, just grabbed her hand and laced his fingers through hers and kept talking. “She didn’t promise anything, but, you know Zelena. She overreacted.”
“That’s what Belle said.”
“And what do you say?”
“That I should have talked to Zelena myself. I can take care of myself.”
“I've got no doubt, Swan.” Her eyes shot towards him, smile lifting one side of her lips when he fell back into the nickname, leaving Emma – and everything those four letters seemed to mean to both of them – in front of a baby window and what he wanted and couldn’t actually put a name to. “But when something is, at least, three quarters my fault, I feel kind of obligated to fix it.”
“Three quarters, huh?”
“At least.”
“What was your secret ingredient?”
He leaned back, staring at her with low eyebrows and she met his gaze with nerves etched into every inch of her face. “What?”
“Your secret ingredient,” Emma repeated. “When you lost.”
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
Killian laughed softly, dragging the heel of his foot back up until his leg was bent and he rested his chin knee. He thought this would have been easier. Or he hoped it would have been easier. Emma glanced at him again, mouth twisted like she was tugging on the inside of her cheek with her teeth.
“Crab,” he said and Emma made a face.
“How do you make dessert crab?”
“A question I’m still trying to find an answer to.”
“Is that why you lost?”
“No.” Emma took a deep breath, but her hand didn’t move out of his, just waited for him to explain and he tried to figure out how to do that without sounding like some sort of lovesick fool. Which he was. Absolutely. “I kind of had some other things on my mind,” he said.
“Belle mentioned Will said you didn’t cook.”
“What was that string of gossip?”
“Please,” Emma scoffed. “That one was easy to follow.”
“I didn’t. Cook, I mean. I followed your string of gossip fairly easily. Although she hasn’t actually been to The Jolly in forever.”
“Me either,” Emma said, thumb scraping across the edge of her fingernails quickly. “Cook, I mean. And Belle told me it was because you were a walking timebomb when you were at work. Will told her not to come anymore.”
His chest ached – like he wasn’t getting enough air into his lungs and Emma shrugged. “Henry was thrilled, of course, when I didn’t make food” she laughed. “All takeout all the time for a couple of days or or so. It was like a dream come true for him.”
“A couple of days?”
Emma grinned at him, lips pulled up as she nodded. “David staged a one-man intervention on my behalf. Or your behalf, I guess. Last week. Forced me into the kitchen with him and Mary Margaret and pushed a spatula in my hand. Ruby was there too, but she mostly just drank. It got me to cook again though, which was pretty much the point. I had, you know, some other things on my mind too.”
Killian barked out a laugh, closing his eyes lightly at the absolute absurdity of it all. “What?” Emma asked.
“Ari did the same thing.”
“Really?”
“Found me at Battery Park a week ago and told me to stop being an ass and scaring her husband.”
“What were you doing?”
“At Battery Park or my restaurant?”
“Either or.”
“Freezing my ass off at Battery Park,” he said, laughing sarcastically and Emma smiled at him sympathetically. “But mostly thinking. It’s easier to think near water. Something about waves and tides. I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with it.”
“And at The Jolly?”
“Yelling. And not cooking. And then yelling again. And losing on Iron Chef.”
“Because of all those things you had on your mind?”
“Because of you, Emma,” he said, words falling into the somehow still-empty hallway, feelings laid out bare and a bit broken and she smiled at him. His chest didn’t hurt as much anymore. “Because I fucked up. And I didn’t tell you things that I should have and wanted to and was too scared to and I think I might be going a bit crazy, honestly, because this is big and overwhelming and I didn’t think it would be like this.”
Emma bit her lip tightly, thumb dragging across the back of his palm and the nurse was back in the baby window, gazing at them expectantly. Like they weren’t supposed to be there. They probably weren’t supposed to be there.
“Like what?” Emma whispered.
“Everything.”
“Yeah.”
“I just want you to be happy, Swan.”
And, really, that was it.
That was why he’d lied or not lied or kept secrets or whatever . He wanted her to be happy. He wanted everyone in her life to be happy so that Emma could keep being happy. So he didn’t talk when he should have and barged into the offices of network heads and made demands he absolutely couldn’t back up because as much as he may have threatened to walk away from Iron Chef, he needed the appearances and the paycheck to buy off a building he wasn’t even going to use anymore.
“I am happy,” Emma said, snapping his attention back in full force as soon as her hand rested on his prosthetic. “I’m happier when you’re around though.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s not something you should feel a need to question.”
“It’s been a weird two weeks.”
“True.”
“It felt like d éjà vu,” Emma said quickly and so softly Killian was positive she hadn’t actually said anything.
“What?”
“It felt like, you know, what had happened before. With Neal.”
“Swan…”
“No, no,” she sputtered, shaking her head and the end of her ponytail hit against the side of his neck. “Let me get this out, please.” Killian nodded once and Emma took a deep breath, shoulders moving with the effort. “I know it’s not and I knew it before too, I just, I’ve worked so hard to get here, to this point with this show and to even imagine that it could all just get ripped away because of one thing I’d done when I was seventeen and that you were, somehow, involved in that, I don’t know, my mind kind of snapped. Or something.
I wanted to come back as soon as I walked out of the building. I picked up my phone a half a dozen times to call you back that day and I just...I couldn’t do it.”
“I understand, Swan,” Killian said, Emma’s head snapping around quickly to stare at him.
“Do you?”
“I do. I can’t imagine you’ve thought anything about me that I haven’t felt or considered in the last seven months.”
Emma nodded slowly, lips pressed together tightly. They didn’t say anything else for another two weeks, maybe, and she let go of his hand and pushed herself back up the floor, crossing the hallway in three quick steps until she was gazing at Lilly the pink-blanket newborn again, an almost wistful look on her face.
“It wasn’t like this, you know,” she muttered, mostly into the glass.
“What wasn’t?”
“When I had Henry. It wasn’t like this.”
And he was nearly drowning in want and need and a bunch of desire that was completely inappropriate for a maternity ward and a recently-turned thirteen-year-old and a probably still-pacing brother down the hallway. “What was it like?” Killian asked softly and the distance across the hallway seemed impossibly long.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes a bit sadder than they were when he got there. “It was...scary.”
“Scary?”
Emma nodded slowly, looking back at Lily, fingers dancing along the side of her jeans in some sort of nervous pattern he should have memorized by now. “Terrifying’s probably a better word. I was terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Everything. All at once. Not being a good mom or never leaving Storybrooke.”
“You did both of those things, Swan,” he said, pushing back off the floor and taking a cautious step forward.
“I was scared of being alone. I was alone – when I had Henry and it, well, it wasn’t good. I, uh, I don’t want to be alone again.”
She bit her lip again, glancing at Lilly and a dozen newborns and her eyes were glossy and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to watch her cry in the middle of the hallway in the maternity wing of this hospital. “You’re not,” Killian said, thumb brushing across the tear he knew she’d deny anyway.
Emma shrugged again, the movement cutting through him and he hadn’t kissed her in two weeks and that was two weeks too long and he didn’t care if the newborns saw or that one nurse saw or even told them to leave, he was going to kiss her again and prove something right there in the hallway.
Her eyes widened for a moment, eyelashes moving when she blinked almost hyperactively and her hand came up to rest on the front of his jacket. He could feel the heat. Or maybe that was metaphorical.
And maybe he was an absolute idiot.
Who loved her more than anything.
Killian stared at her for a moment – narrowed eyes meeting her still-wide ones – hand wrapping around her shoulders and they were moving before he realized, her back and his arm colliding with a soda machine pressed up against the wall. His hand was in her hair and her fingers were underneath his jacket and tugging on his shirt and her teeth on his lip like that was, somehow, playing fair.
He knew he missed her, knew he wanted her back and in his restaurant and his apartment and his entire goddamn life, but he hadn’t realized quite how much until she sighed against his lips and her fingers brushed across the collar of the t-shirt he’d never actually changed out of.
“You’re not just your show,” Killian said softly and she didn’t pull away when his hand reached for hers instinctively.
“No?”
He shook his head emphatically, more certain of that singular sentiment than just about anything in the rest of the world. “No. You’re more than that. You are...everything.”
“Awfully sentimental.”
“And true.” Emma looked at him, like she was waiting for the punchline or the rest of the joke, tilting her head in what appeared to actually be disbelief when it didn’t come. “And you’re going to get your show back,” Killian added, thumb grazing her cheek again when that pesky emotion started showing itself again.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“So much faith,” she mumbled, repeating his words from before and that felt like an eternity ago.
“Just in you.”
Emma rolled her eyes, shaking her head, uncertainty practically rolling off her body. “Ruby wants me to do an interview with some kind of magazine, something reputable she said. She thinks it’ll help my case or something.”
“What do you think?”
“I think I want my show back. And that this will help. I already told her I’d do it, it nearly knocked her off her ridiculous heels.”
“Then I think you should do it,” Killian said, nodding like that added another dimension to his point.
“Just like that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” Emma said, voice shaking a bit as she blinked quickly. “You’re just...supportive.”
“Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? You wouldn’t have to be doing this if it wasn’t for me or if I had just told you or a handful of other scenarios that could have played out differently and I wouldn’t have just kissed you for the first time in two weeks in the middle of a hospital.”
“I’m just not used to that.”
“David and Mary Margaret are like your own personal cheerleading squad.” He didn’t want to argue with her, knew that arguing was counterproductive to the point he was trying to make, but he needed her to understand.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
“I don’t want to make out with either of them in the middle of the hospital.”
“Noted. And appreciated.”
“Good.”
“I just want you to get what you want,” Killian said softly, losing some of the edge and determination he’d had in his voice just a few seconds ago. This was bordering on some vaguely thin emotional ice and his head pounded with the idea of putting it all out there , laid in front of Emma Swan’s feet like he’d put his heart there too.
He had.
“I know,” she answered easily, tears falling down her face faster than he could catch them. “And I know that’s why you didn’t tell me. It’s almost valiant if you think about it.”
“Have you thought about it?”
“Non stop for the last two weeks.”
The air rushed out of his lungs quickly, nearly knocking him forward again and Emma tried to smile at him, but her eyes were still wet and his own emotions were threatening to boil over and this was still overwhelming.
“Although I wouldn’t appreciate being told things from now on,” she said, the laughter lingering just on the edge of her voice.
“I’d like that.”
“Yeah?” Killian nodded, giving up on trying to reign in the tears and opting, instead, to settle on her hip again, fingers pushed underneath the edge of her shirt until they hit skin. He appreciated her quick intake of breath at that. “Can I ask you something then?”
“Of course, love.” And he appreciated the quick flash of her eyes at that word even more.
“What do you want?”
He should have been ready for it – turnabout was fair play, after all – but Killian was fairly certain he wasn’t ready for anything when Emma was involved and he knew she could see the emotion on his face as soon as the words sunk into him.
Emma bit her lip – taking his silence and his face for something entirely different than what it was. He wasn’t unsure of his answer, he just didn’t want to send her running when he gave it. “Sorry, sorry,” she muttered quickly, trying to move her body away from the soda machine and his arm still held up on one side of her body. “I shouldn’t have asked. I just kind of figured if we were doing this whole thing or whatever…”
“Emma,” he cut her off quickly and her eyes dragged up towards his almost unwillingly. “Emma, listen to me.”
“You haven’t said anything.”
“It’s you,” Killian said simply.
“What?”
“You,” he repeated. “You asked what I wanted. I want you.”
He thought she would answer, say something or maybe even roll her eyes at the overwhelming weight of emotion in his voice. He was ready for it, steeled against her muttered contradictions and soft argument, but they never came.
Instead she moved and the hand that had never left his jacket tightened, grabbing the leather and pulling him towards her and it all felt a little bit like Halloween, but with one very definite difference – she didn’t run away.
And he’d told her, told her what he’d done and what he wanted and the only thing that mattered then was the only thing that had really ever mattered – Emma.
Killian could feel the tears on her cheek again when his hand came to rest against her jaw, fingers threading their way into her hair and he should have wiped them away, should have told her she didn’t have to cry or worry or do anything, so long as she kept kissing him. He didn’t. He kissed her back instead, trying to pour every ounce of every emotion he’d felt in the last two weeks into the way his lips moved against hers.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away from Killian and he had to bite back the groan in the back of his throat so he didn’t sound like a frustrated teenager.
“For what, love?”
“I shouldn’t have walked away. Not from you.”
“I shouldn’t have lied to you.”
“I thought we said it was an omission of the truth.”
“Did you miss the part where I was being an ass, Swan?” She laughed, smiling shooting through every part of him like a bolt of electricity. “I just...I didn’t want you to think you wouldn’t be able to get what you want simply because I was in the way.”
She smiled at him again – but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, fingers dancing along the back of his neck. “Maybe,” Emma said slowly, tongue pressing into her lip, “I’m reconsidering what it is I want, exactly.”
“That so?”
“It’s a work in progress.”
“I can wait.”
Emma looked straight at him and Killian pressed his feet into the bottom of sneakers so he didn’t do anything absurd like try and kiss her again. She blinked once and her smile seed to inch across her face, fingers still moving until the found his hair again and he hardly even heard the footsteps sprinting down the hallway towards them. “I know you can,” she said and it felt like more of a promise than anything she’d said to him before.
“You found her,” Henry yelled, still a few feet away and not even remotely surprised to find the two of them leaning up against a soda machine with Killian’s hand still firmly pushed underneath Emma’s shirt.
“You give very good instructions,” Killian muttered over Emma’s shoulders and Henry rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Everything ok, kid?” Emma asked, leaning to her side. And for a moment Killian was almost disappointed at his hand’s return to his side, but then she wrapped her fingers up in his and Henry eyed them both with a knowing smile.
“Yeah, yeah,” he answered quickly, but his eyes betrayed ever worry he’d been trying not to give away.
“Henry.”
“Uncle David sent me to find you.”
“Of course he did.”
“Said he didn’t want you to miss anything.”
“Maybe he should be more worried about what he’s missing while M’s gives birth and he’s preoccupied with my whereabouts.”
“Swan,” Killian muttered, but she glared at him and he wasn’t really in a position to argue. Henry was openly laughing at them now. That lasted all of five seconds before his eyes moved back to their entwined hands and his shoulders shifted with a move that belied his age completely.
“So,” he said pointedly, the tone of his voice sounding almost identical to David’s when he’d shown up at the warehouse months ago. “You’re good now?”
Emma gaped at her son, mouth hanging open and the baby window nurse was back, tapping on glass and mouthing move at them, apparently overstaying their welcome. Henry didn’t budge – just stared straight at Killian.
“Yeah,” Killian answered. “We’re good now.”
“Good because Mom wasn’t.”
“Henry!” Emma snapped and Killian squeezed her hand, eyes not leaving Henry’s.
“That’s alright,” he said. “Neither was I.”
Henry nodded once and turned on his heels without another word, marching back down the hallway and leaving a slightly stunned Emma in his wake. Killian was, mostly, impressed – and glad someone loved Emma Swan as much as he did.
“Come on, love,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he started to move them down the hall. “Let’s go wait for a baby.”
And the look on her face was enough to make the little air he’d managed to pull into his lungs rush right back out again – teeth pressed into her lip and eyes narrowed, blinking quickly like she was trying not to cry.
This was his fault.
“Ok,” Emma repeated, knuckles turning white as they gripped her phone tighter. It vibrated again. “So, uh, I guess I’m going to go.”
AN: A massive thank you to @laurnorder who makes this better every single time she looks at it and @distant-rose who is just dominating academia while still making beautiful aesthetics and reading my words. They’re the best.
Hanging out on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr.
The phone felt heavy in his hand.
And he wished he had another one so he could hold Emma’s. Or come up with something even remotely reassuring to say.
He couldn’t think of a single word.
He just kept staring at the phone in his hand, trying to keep his wrist steady so it didn’t fall on top of the sheets wrapped up in between his legs.
She was pacing, muttering underneath her breath a few feet away from him. And Killian hadn’t moved an inch.
This was his fault.
Fuck.
His whole body hurt, like he’d been thrown into ice water, tiny, metaphorical knives cutting into his skin. Killian stared at the headline again and realized, with startling clarity, that he didn’t know any of this – all these so-called facts in this over-the-top tabloid story.
She hadn’t told him either.
Fuck.
“Say something,” Emma said softly, stock still in front of his closet like she hadn’t been pacing a small trench into his floor for the last five minutes. “Please.”
“Is this true?” he asked.
Fuck. That’s not what he wanted to say.
He sounded like he was accusing her of something, of the secrets she was keeping and the walls he was fairly positive he’d scaled a few weeks ago. That wasn’t what he was trying to do. He had no idea what he was trying to do.
Emma’s eyes widened and Killian squeezed his own shut – the metaphorical knives returning in full force to make him feel like the asshole he absolutely was. “I’m sorry,” Killian muttered, sitting up a bit straighter and setting her phone on the night stand next to his brace.
It buzzed as soon as he let go of it, a near-constant vibration that seemed to last at least ten seconds. They both stared at it and he heard Emma sigh, the sound of a zipper drawing his gaze away from the phone.
She’d put the dress back on.
“I’ll probably have to steal Ariel’s flats again,” she said slowly, staring at her still-bare feet. “I didn’t bring other shoes.”
“That’s ok.”
She nodded – a jerky movement that made it harder for him to breathe, chock-full of nerves and uncertainty and those goddamn walls. “Ok.”
Emma pressed her lips together tightly, tugging them back behind her teeth as she pulled her hair back up. It had fallen out the night before. She took a few steps back towards the bed and for one crazy moment, Killian thought she was going to sit back down, but she just grabbed her phone, thumb scrolling down the screen.
And the look on her face was enough to make the little air he’d managed to pull into his lungs rush right back out again – teeth pressed into her lip and eyes narrowed, blinking quickly like she was trying not to cry.
This was his fault.
“Ok,” Emma repeated, knuckles turning white as they gripped her phone tighter. It vibrated again. “So, uh, I guess I’m going to go.”
She turned back towards the bedroom door and Killian was certain he’d never moved that quickly in his life, lunging across her side of the bed – and he couldn’t even bring himself to consider the idea that it wasn’t exactly that – to wrap his fingers around her wrist, pulling her up short.
Her eyes went wide and her whole body stiffened and Killian saw the muscles in her throat move as she swallowed, but he didn’t let go. He held on tighter. Clingy asshole.
Explain. Say something. Everything. Say. Everything.
“Swan,” he said sharply. “Sit. Talk to me.”
“About what?”
Killian nodded at the phone still gripped tightly in her right hand and Emma’s shoulders dropped as she sighed loudly. She didn’t sit down.
She also didn’t leave.
“Is any of this true?” Killian repeated, softer that time and Emma couldn’t blink fast enough to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. She nodded and it felt like something actually snapped inside him, like some internal organ had just stopped working.
It felt a hell of a lot like being thrown over the deck of a ship.
He slid closer to her, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress until his knees were pressed against hers. He didn’t let go of her wrist.
“All of it?” She nodded again. “When?” Emma’s eyes widened in confusion for a moment before she realized what Killian asked. And those same eyes narrowed again as she pulled her wrist away from his fingers, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You didn’t read the story?” she asked, voice cloaked in sarcasm.
“I’d rather hear it from you.”
“It’s all right there.”
“Swan.”
Emma sighed, glancing up at the ceiling as she rocked back on her heels, dress moving with her and God he wished she’d sit down. “I was seventeen. Well, eighteen too. Depends on what month you’re talking about.”
And it all clicked at once – like he blinked and realized, suddenly, the reason for the walls and the cautious way she’d approached him months ago. “Emma,” he said, voice low and her gaze snapped towards him like a magnet. “Were you…?”
He didn’t even get a chance to finish his question, Emma’s chest heaving slightly as she nodded quickly, finally sinking onto the bed next to him, shoulder brushing against his in a way that absolutely should not have made Killian feel like that previously non-working internal organ had started up again.
Emma kicked her feet forward slightly, heels colliding with the box spring as she brought her legs back. She stared at the floor when she spoke.
“I should have told you,” she said. “After, well, after everything you’ve told me about Liam and Milah and everything. I should have told you. Mary Margaret and Ruby said I should have done it weeks ago, but then the hallway happened and the last three weeks happened and last night happened and I just…”
Emma trailed off, knuckles pressing forcefully into her cheek as she tried to brush away tears. That woke him up. Killian turned on her, pulling her hand down and replacing it with his own, thumb brushing across her face lightly.
She leaned into him.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. The small smile on his face felt foreign, like his muscles weren’t supposed to work that way. “It’s not a contest, love.”
Her laugh was shaky, lips pulled back behind her teeth when heard the sound and Emma shook her head quickly. “No, no, you should know. I, just, I didn’t want you to think this was me. Or, I don’t know, it sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud. I didn’t want you to think less of me because of it.”
She rushed over the final few words, practically spitting them out and Killian felt his mouth drop open slightly at the idea.
Emma was staring at the opposite wall, back straight with the tension she was holding. And for all his inability to say the right thing before, Killian was talking before he’d even realized, words falling out of his mouth with ease.
“That’s not possible,” he said. She didn’t look convinced. “You said it yourself. You know the worst parts of me, Swan, and you haven’t turned away from any of them. Why would you think I wouldn’t do the same for you?”
“You’re serious?” Emma asked, whispering the words, lips barely moving as she spoke.
“I love you. That’s how it works, right?”
Her sigh might have been a laugh or a groan, but her whole body moved when she made the noise, spinning on him before Killian had entirely prepared for the movement and the force behind it nearly knocked him over. Emma kissed him like it was an answer to his question and he wouldn’t mind if this was how they had every conversation going forward.
But he still needed to tell her.
And the weight of that settled in the pit of his stomach.
She knew – and that might have made him, somehow, love her even more – pulling away and looking at him questioningly as soon as she felt his body shift against her.
“You really want to know?” Emma asked, eyes moving across his face quickly.
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
Her phone buzzed again, but her eyes didn’t leave his as she nodded. “Ok,” Emma breathed out, like she was convincing herself it was. “I was seventeen and Neal had just moved to Storybrooke and David hated him. Couldn’t stand to be around him. Even M’s wasn’t a fan. But they were leaving, getting ready to go to New York, and I didn’t care about anything they told me. So, like I told you, Neal and I got fairly serious fairly quickly.
And we also got fairly serious about stealing things. It started small. There weren’t that many stores in town we could actually do any real damage to and that’s how I rationalized it. But then, a week or so after David and Mary Margaret had left, Neal told me about this deal he’d made. I still don’t understand the specifics. He told me the less I knew the better, but I just had to be on the New Hampshire border at midnight with a box of watches and there’d be guys there with money. I was there and the guys weren’t and neither was Neal. Just the cops.”
“He’d tipped them off. I didn’t find that out until after I got out of jail. But he wanted to get out of Storybrooke and that was his ticket. Set me up, let me take the fall and then be gone before I’d even realized.”
“I just wanted so hard to believe someone would want me like that. And Neal did. For awhile. Until he didn’t. They wanted to give me more time, but Mr. Blanchard got me off in eight months.”
She tried to smile when she finished talking, her story settling into the empty space of the room and that internal organ had stopped working again. Killian wasn’t even sure he was still breathing, just focused on not breaking several things in his room.
“And Henry?” he asked, earning a soft laugh from Emma.
“I found out two weeks in. That helped Mr. Blanchard’s argument I think, but no one ever really told me that. I think they were scared of setting me off on some sort of emotional guilt trip. I thought about adoption, you know.”
And for all the surprises of that morning, that might have caught Killian off guard the most. He couldn’t imagine Emma without Henry or, for that matter, Henry without Emma.
“I didn’t think I could do it,” Emma continued, unaware of the way his whole body was churning with every word she spoke. “And I was terrified. I mean, I’d just barely graduated high school and it’s not like I had scholarship offers or schools clamoring to get me on campus. I didn’t have anything. Until David played hero again.”
“He came home for Christmas and we came up with a plan and Ruth was just so happy to have a baby in her house again, she was willing to do whatever we wanted. And I wanted to cook.”
Emma took another deep breath, but she’d stopped crying as soon as she started talking about her family. Killian nodded, trying to keep her talking.
“We moved to New York when Henry was a little over a year old and I started going to school. I slept on David and M’s couch for the next ten months, a crib in the corner of the living room. And it was an unqualified disaster.” She laughed again, smile making her whole face seem lighter for a moment. “We had a schedule for it all, rotating on midnight cryings and watching him during the day and they played taste testers for everything I made. Henry’s never known Neal – or what Neal did, but he kind of got three parents out of the equation.”
And he realized, again, why David had been such an ass before – overprotective for a good cause because he’d come up short with Neal, unable to protect his sister in a way that Killian, now, understood better than just about anything.
Fuck.
This was all his fault.
He hoped David didn’t punch him when he found out. No, he’d deserve that.
She sighed, eyes squeezing tight as her phone buzzed again and Killian’s arm moved around her shoulders quickly, tugging her against his side as he kissed the top of her head. “What’s he going to think of me now?” Emma mumbled, lips moving across his skin.
Her voice shot straight through Killian’s body – a live wire of emotion and a bit of desperation that made him reconsider breaking things again. He’d need both hands for that.
Killian nudged his shoulder up, forcing Emma to sit up straight and stared intently at her. She didn’t blink. “He’s going to think the same thing he always thinks,” he said. “That you’ve done everything you can for him. And then some.”
“I think you might be a little biased.”
“That’s not true at all,” Killian argued. “You are an incredible mother, Swan. Henry is lucky to have you. To have his entire family. It’s not something everyone gets you know.”
He hadn’t meant to talk that much – or talk about that . It felt unfair, pushing his own experience into the conversation, but he needed her to understand.
She was everything.
And he believed in her more than just about anything else in the world.
No matter what she’d done.
“You seem awfully confident,” Emma mumbled.
“In you? Always.”
Emma rolled her eyes, but her spine wasn’t quite as straight, her shoulders slightly less frozen and she leaned against Killian without another word. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
“You don’t have to apologize for that, Swan.”
“I do, though. I mean you were right. You told me everything. From the get go. And you’ve never tried to pretend you were anything except what you are. I should have been able to do the same thing.”
His heart thudded painfully in his chest and Killian bit the inside of his lip tightly, clenching his jaw until it hurt. Emma noticed that, fingers brushing against the nape of his neck until he couldn’t top himself from turning towards her if he tried.
He didn’t really try.
“You know that’s a good thing, right?” Emma asked. She was comforting him and he absolutely didn’t deserve it.
“I don’t know about that,” Killian mumbled and he saw Emma’s hair move as she she shook her head quickly.
“I do.” It sounded like a promise. It sounded like trust. And it was almost ironic, the way this had all worked – him so desperate for her to trust him, to believe that he wasn’t going to disappoint her or set up for failure, only to do just that.
“I love you too,” Emma said and his lungs might have collapsed at the sound. It felt like it. “You know that?”
“I do,” Killian said, repeating her words back to her.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she continued. “This is, uh, this isn’t going to be good. Ruby’s known the whole time and Zelena knew about the record, but not the specifics. They’ve tried to keep that under wraps since the show started to air. That’s who keeps calling. Zelena. I think she wants to plan some kind of counter attack or something.”
The phone buzzed again – like it knew they’d been talking about it – and Emma groaned, reaching for it, catching him by surprise when she actually swiped her thumb across it and answered.
“Hi,” she said quickly and Killian heard Mary Margaret’s voice on the other end, a slightly frantic sound that didn’t do much to help the weight of anxiety in his gut. “Yeah of course I saw. Ruby called.
Emma pushed away from him, pacing again as she pressed the phone against her shoulder, the bottom of her dress fluttering around her knees when she moved. “I don’t know, M’s,” she muttered. “Probably tomorrow. Just, do me a favor and don’t tell Henry. Not yet, ok?”
She didn’t say anything for a few moments, the muted sounds of Mary Margaret’s voice the only noise in the entire apartment and Killian wondered what time it was. It had to be early. It still looked dark outside.
That hardly seemed fair.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
It was supposed to be easier.
It was just supposed to work.
They’d been so happy. And he tried to convince himself, perched on the edge of his mattress while Emma continued to pace and mutter assurances to her sister-in-law that everything was fine, that they could keep being happy.
Even his subconscious doubted him.
“Yeah, M’s it was nice,” Emma said. Killian’s head snapped up, curiosity overwhelming his quick trip towards wallowing. “The dress was fine,” she mumbled and he felt one side of his mouth tick up. Mary Margaret was an optimistic force to be reckoned with. “Ok, ok, the dress was really good. I’ve got to go. Yes, later.”
Emma glanced back at him, eyes a bit nervous when pulled her phone away from her ear. “She wanted to know how you liked the dress,” she explained, taking a step back towards him. “She helped pick it out.”
He wanted to tell her he loved the dress and her and that he was fairly positive she could do anything – even if that included tabloid headlines – but he didn’t. Emma smiled at him and all he could think about was everything he’d done wrong, a wave of guilt settling over him and threatening to drown him right there in his bedroom.
“Killian?” she asked, eyebrows pulled low with concern. “Are you alright?”
“I have to tell you something.”
Emma nodded slowly as she put her phone back on the nightstand and it was obvious she was trying to keep her face even, but he saw her eyes flash, the corners crinkling just a fraction of an inch. “You said that yesterday.”
“I don’t think we’re going to get interrupted by appetizer disasters this time.”
“Ok.”
He took a deep breath, trying not to rub his fingers over his left wrist. He pushed his palm into the mattress instead, trying to force the bottom of his feet through the floor so he didn’t do something ridiculous like get up and touch her.
If he did that, he’d never tell her.
“This is my fault.”
And the words might have actually hurt when he spoke them, cutting up his lips and his mouth and leaving him just a bit broken on the side of side of his bed. Emma tilted her head slightly, shoulders straight as a rail again as her fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the side of her thigh.
“What are you talking about?”
“That story,” he said, nodding back towards her phone. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry, Swan.”
“I don’t understand.”
Killian ran his hand through his hair, grabbing tightly on the back as he tried to force himself to keep looking at her, terrified of the way her eyes would dim when she realized what he meant. “I, uh, well, I haven’t been completely honest with you, love.”
Emma shook her head slowly, shrugging her shoulders and the oxygen felt almost foreign in his body as he tried to keep breathing. “I wanted to tell you for months. That’s why I brought you to the warehouse in the first place, to try and explain it all, but then you were there and you were talking about me being some sort of hero and I couldn’t do it. Not when you thought I was a good guy.”
“You are.”
“No, Swan. I’m not.”
“I still don’t understand.”
He should have put more clothes on. Or at least a shirt. It all felt far too open, like he was on display in front of her. God, he was an idiot.
“We were supposed to go uptown,” Killian said, still doing a piss-poor job of actually explaining this. “That was the plan originally. But then Robin found this guy, Gold, his name is Robert Gold and he owns the warehouse. He was selling it and it was cheap and Robin said the neighborhood was up and coming or something. Except there was a caveat to all of it, a reason it was so cheap.”
“And that was?”
“I had to win,” he muttered, sounding as disappointed as he felt. “If I won the all-star thing, he’d cut down on refurb costs and rent and a whole shit ton of stuff that made it easy to expand. He wanted to use me as some sort of draw for other clients. And that draw got a lot bigger if I won.”
“But you didn’t do that,” Emma said slowly. The bed shook a little bit when she sat back down next to him, the hand on his knee sending a shockwave through his entire body. “You lost on purpose.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“I know, I know,” he mumbled. “I told Gold I was out. I didn’t care about winning or any of it. I wasn’t interested in some ridiculous deal with him.”
“Why?”
And there it was. She’d done it again – cut right to the question that mattered . He should have told her before. She probably would have understood then.
“You needed to win, Swan. And keep winning. And I wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.” Emma opened her mouth, probably to say something that was unfairly supportive and encouraging and he couldn’t have that.
He couldn’t let her believe in him again.
Killian shook his head and Emma pressed her lips together tightly, eyebrows shooting up in silent question. “He told me it was an ‘interesting’ decision, but I didn’t think he’d do anything. What could he do? He owns a couple dozen buildings across the city. I just didn’t think. I couldn’t imagine he’d do this.”
Emma’s hand fell off his leg and fingers lifting up to tug on the necklace she’d stopped wearing three weeks ago. “What are you saying?” she asked. “That your real estate guy put out some sort of tabloid story about me?”
“I don’t know,” Killian said honestly. “But I think so. He called Robin a couple of weeks ago, made a bunch of veiled threats about repercussions and Belle warned me he wouldn’t be happy about backing out.”
“Wait, wait, Belle? Like Belle French?”
“She was married to him. Apparently.”
“Fuck.” Killian nodded, chest tightening when Emma’s fingers pushed against her collarbones. “But I don’t understand. Why would he do that? How would he find out?”
“That reporter from before. The one asking questions? I think that was him. Robin said he knows people, uses them to get good reviews of the business he owns. I just figured it would have been The Post or something. Not this.”
“A national magazine, you mean? With my face plastered on the cover?”
Killian nodded again and Emma’s eyes didn’t dim when she looked at him – she glared at him, mouth set tightly as she moved a few inches to her right, putting the distance he’d been terrified of, quite literally, between them.
“I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know what was going on from the very beginning, but I couldn’t do it. You were so sure, Swan, of me and everything and I couldn’t let that confidence shake. I thought it would be fine.”
“It’s not.”
“I know that.”
“I still don’t understand why he did this. Ruby’s buried that information. It’s not like people haven’t tried to figure out who I am when I’m not on TV before. Why go through the trouble of digging all that up?”
“To get to me,” Killian said with a certainty he hadn’t been expecting. Emma’s head snapped back towards him, eyes dark and glossy.
“What?”
“Belle told me. She said he wouldn’t believe things were done. That he’s obsessed with agreements and deals like it’s fucking 1854 and contracts are signed with handshakes instead of having lawyers present. And I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think he’d do something to you if he did anything at all.”
“Why though?” Emma pressed, tapping her foot impatiently on the ground.
“Because it’s worse.”
And it was.
It was worse than anything they could have printed about him, any fact they’d be able to dredge up and plaster on the vaguely glossy cover of a national tabloid. Because he loved her more than he’d expected to or more than he’d been ready for and, somehow, Gold had figured it out.
And he’d thrown it all back in Killian’s face.
He would have let them put it all out there without a second thought – the Navy and the dishonor and the accident, every single horrible moment – would have given them a comment if it meant that Emma didn’t get hurt.
Robert Gold was a hell of a lot smarter than he looked.
“I love you,” Killian said slowly, thumb brushing away another tear. Emma flinched. And his heart sputtered. “And we haven’t tried to hide it. We’ve been fairly up front with it, aside from actually going public, but he used that. He knew I would have let them do whatever they wanted with me, that threatening me wouldn’t have done anything. So he went after you.”
Emma’s mouth hung open, her breathing shallow as she gaped at him. “When did you know?” she asked, the weight of her very obvious anger and disappointment practically reaching out to hit him across the face.
“Know what?”
“That he wouldn’t honor whatever ridiculous deal you made? When did you know?”
God, she was good.
It was the question he’d hoped to avoid – the weeks between then and now coming back to haunt him. “Right after Cupcake Wars. Belle knew what I’d done as soon as I lost.”
“Of course she did.”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Sure.”
“Swan,” he sighed, head rolling against his shoulder. Emma was standing again – like she couldn’t decide which direction to move in. “I’m serious. I just...it started before I knew you, before any of this.” Killian waved his hand in the several feet of space between them, nodding back towards the knotted up sheets for good measure. “And then once this started, I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Emma nodded – foot still tapping lightly against the floor. She’d never put shoes on. “I get it. I do. But what exactly am I supposed to do with that now? What are we supposed to do now?”
“What?” He asked the question sharply, neck moving quickly and he was off the side of the bed and in front of her before he even realized his feet had hit the ground. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this is bad.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you.”
“And you lied.”
“An omission of the truth,” he countered, trying not to let his voice give away the desperation he could feel coursing through his entire system. Emma’s hand ghosted over her neck again, tugging on the fabric of her dress like she needed to be doing something and Killian resisted the urge to pull her fingers away.
“It’s the same thing. What were you so nervous about? Aside from everything with the no-deal, deal. Why wouldn’t you tell me about the original decision from the start? It was a competition. You were supposed to try and win.”
It was a fair question, one he would have understood in any sort of normal world where he wasn’t terrified that he’d fucked this up beyond repair. And when faced with a vague sense of terror like the one he felt at some still undetermined time in his apartment, Killian responded with sarcasm and frustration.
“It’s not like either one of us was in the habit of telling each other things, love,” he said, raising one eyebrow.
Emma took a step back and he was a bastard. A complete and utter bastard.
“I explained that,” she said, hissing out the words.
“I know. I know.” Killian rubbed his hand across his face slowly, fingers pressing against skin until they moved back into his hair. “It would have been fine if it was anyone else.”
“What?”
“You don’t understand?”
She shook her head, rocking forward just a bit and that one movement was enough to set him talking again, words spilling out into the space between him until he was practically rambling. “You have changed everything, Emma,” Killian said simply. She blinked half a dozen times, but he could see the tears falling down her cheeks. He kept talking.
“Everything,” he repeated. “From the moment you walked into the conference room until right now. I didn’t believe in much for a long time because everything disappeared. And for a long time the only thing in my life was the food and the restaurant and focusing on this expansion. But then you showed up and knocked everything on its side.”
“I wanted you to trust me. I wanted a lot more than I had any right to, frankly, but it was there, all of it, because of you. And suddenly, the things I thought were important didn’t matter quite as much. Not when you were there. So I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t bear the thought that you wouldn’t get what you wanted because of me and I wrestled with that idea for weeks. But then you brought me on your show and you let me in and I couldn’t care less about the rest of it. You’ve changed everything, love.”
She was breathing quickly, the sound of it echoing in his ears and her eyes were trained on his fingers, wrapped around his wrist and everything felt painfully raw.
Emma’s phone rang again, shaking on the nightstand and Killian bit back the groan threatening in the back of his throat. She didn’t say anything, just walked around him and grabbed it, answering it again.
“Hi Zelena,” she said, rubbing the side of her cheek against her shoulder. “What?” Her voice turned sharp on the question, rising a few octaves. “No, no, you don’t have to do that. Don’t do that.”
She put her palm flat on the nightstand, fingers nearly brushing against his brace as she squeezed her eyes closed. Her whole body slumped forward when she talked again. “Yeah, yeah, ok,” Emma muttered quickly. “We can do tomorrow.”
And then she hung up the phone, shoulders moving up and down as she tried to catch her breath. Her hand was shaking.
“Swan?” Killian asked, taking a cautious step towards her.
“I need shoes,” she said, tugging on the end of her hair, twisting it around one finger.
“What?”
“I need shoes. I can’t wear the heels. My feet are all cut up.” She started moving around the room again, grabbing things Killian wasn’t entirely sure she’d brought with her the night before, stuffing them in a bag she’d left there the weekend before.
He reached out quickly when she passed by him, grabbing her fingers and pulling her up short again. Emma glared at him, but he just tightened his grip. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t be here right now.”
She tried to pull away, but for a guy with one hand, Killian was still strong enough to keep her rooted to the spot, fingers wrapping all the way around her wrist until the tip of his middle finger hit against his thumb. “Talk to me,” he said, repeating his words from earlier. “What was that all about?”
“They took me off the air.”
The building could have been crashing down around him and Killian was positive he wouldn't have noticed, eyes focused entirely on Emma and the way her whole body seemed to droop when she spoke.
Killian pulled his hand away like he’d been burned, the question searing across his mind like some sort of relationship-ruining red-hot poker. “What did Zelena say?”
Emma took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around her waist. “That she didn’t think it was right to put the show on the air, all things considered. It, apparently, took some effort to reorganize an entire network schedule with just a few hours to spare, but apparently they’ve got plenty of Iron Chef reruns backlogged for moments just like this.”
She glared at him again and it would have surprised him if his whole body wasn’t systematically shutting down. “I’m sorry,” he said softly and Emma laughed.
“Sure.”
“Emma.”
She looked up at him when he used her name – the most he’d done that since he’d met her and that probably meant a lot more than he was willing to analyze right then. “I can’t do this right now,” she said quickly, turning to yank her phone charger out of the wall.
“Can’t do what?”
Emma waved her hands towards him – still without a shirt or anything where his left hand was supposed to be. “This,” she repeated. Realization struck him quickly and painfully and it felt like his knees were giving out.
“Swan.”
“No, no,” she muttered, sliding into the jacket they’d left in the corner of his room when they’d stumbled in the night before. “Don’t do that. I can’t do this right now.”
“This isn’t going to change anything. You got your show back, you can do it again. I’ll talk to Zelena if you want. She was talking about doing stuff together post all-star anyway. That’s what we were talking about, by the way. I didn’t tell you that either. But this isn’t the end, Swan. We can fix this.”
Emma hefted the bag in her hand over her shoulder and shook her head simply, tears pricking the corner of her eyes again. “No,” she said softly. “I’m going to fix this. You’re not going to do anything.”
“Don’t do that, Swan,” Killian said quickly, moving into her space before she had a chance to push him away. “Don’t put those walls back up again. This doesn’t change anything.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Because it has always been about the food for me. It’s the only thing that has made me anything and losing that would be the end of everything. I shouldn’t have done this.”
“Done what?”
“I knew this would happen. I knew it.” She was rambling and muttering words in the direction of their feet, one hand holding her heels with the other gripped around her bag tightly. “I thought this might have been different.”
The building was absolutely collapsing. That was the only explanation for the rushing in his ears and the way it felt like he was actually falling into the floor.
“It is,” Killian said, trying to put every single emotion he had felt for Emma Swan into two single words so she would believe him.
She didn’t.
He could see it as soon as she looked at him.
“It’s not. It’s just another set-up.” Emma took a step back, wincing a bit as she slid her feet into her heels. “I can’t lose this show,” she continued, hand resting on the handle of the bedroom door. “That was the only reason I did all-stars anyway. I let myself get distracted and I shouldn’t have. That changes now.”
She waited half a moment for him to respond, sighing softly when he didn’t. “I’ve got to go,” she said, swinging open the door and walking out before he could come up with a single word.
And the walls were higher than ever before, leaving Killian on the outside looking in, an empty feeling in the middle of his chest that he’d never quite felt before.
