Ok, so I made myself sad thinking about Robert being locked up and not being able to cope with being inside again. This is my version of how he might try to escape the trauma. Trigger warning: Robert does plan and make an attempt to take his own life.
I know this isn’t what will happen on screen, but I just kept picturing how he’d cope (or not cope). Also, I’m imagining Robert has been wrongly imprisoned for more than a few days in this ficlet, more like several weeks as Aaron hasn’t woken up from his coma. (Thank god we won’t be getting that on screen!).
***
Before all of this mess, Robert had never imagined this was how his life would end - lying on the freezing, wet floor of a prison bathroom, blood flowing freely from his stomach, cold seeping into his bones. But here he was. And he felt relieved.
He wasn’t going to yell for help. Despite the absolute agony, he wasn’t going to scream. He wasn’t going to beg for someone to come to save him. Because this is what he’d wanted.
This was pretty much what he’d planned as he’d laid awake on his thin mattress, listening to the never-ending noise of the prison around him. He knew he couldn’t live like this anymore. He knew he couldn’t survive.
Prison had destroyed him last time; this time it was going to kill him.
At least last time he’d been able to picture Aaron’s beautiful face, remember their happier times, know that - despite the fact that he couldn’t be there - Aaron was out there living his life. And Aaron would be okay. But now, he didn’t even have that. He had nothing. He had no-one.
Aaron was comatose, maybe even dead for all Robert knew. Just thinking it made Robert want to scream and rage and tear his hair out.
Vic had cut him off completely. She wouldn’t speak to him. She wouldn’t listen to him. She’d been drawn in by John’s vicious lies, like everyone else.
No-one believed him. They all thought he could hurt Aaron like that. He knew he’d done some bad things in his life, but they couldn’t see how crazy that was. No-one would listen to him.
He had nothing. He had no-one. And he knew he couldn’t survive this place.
The plan had been simple: piss someone off enough to make them do the job for him. He couldn’t get hold of what he needed to end his own life, but he knew there were people in here who could.
There had been a few false starts. He’d looked at some bloke the wrong way, knew he was a nutter from last time and always tried to avoid him before but he’d needed to get his attention this time. He’d tried to look cocky and it had earned him a beating that night. But that hadn’t been enough. The pain in his ribs that night as he’d laid in bed hadn’t been enough. It was a start but nowhere near enough.
A few days later he’d purposefully barged into the nutter. That had got him shoved up against the wall and a huge hand around his throat, squeezing until the guards had interrupted. The look on the bloke’s face was enough to say ‘you’re done’. The guards had warned him, practically told him he had a death-wish, and Robert had shrugged and played dumb, said it was an accident, but he knew his time was nearly up and he welcomed the feeling, wanted this to be over.
Another day and this time Robert had mouthed off as he had always been so good at. He’d become a shell of himself since his last prison stint, but he’d found that mouthy, cocky bastard somewhere buried inside and dragged him out for one last time. And he knew it was done.
It was still a bit of shock to feel the makeshift blade slice into his gut. It hurt so much, but he almost smiled at the bloke towering over him. And then he’d yanked the weapon out of Robert’s stomach and he’d fell to his knees before toppling onto his back.
He was alone now. No change there, his fading mind supplied.
It would be over soon and then he’d finally be free. Free from this place, free from the torturous memory of Aaron’s terrified face as he was pulled over the edge, free from everyone’s anger and disappointment.
He drew in a shuddery breath and pictured Aaron’s face: not contorted in shock and distress, but happy and smiling at Robert. Aaron had always been his first thought when he woke up and now he’d be his last before he drifted away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hoping that one day everyone would understand. There were so many things he wanted to say, but no-one to listen.
Hot tears slid down his face and that was the last thing he felt as he let his eyelids fall.
“Sugden! Sugden!”
There was a harsh voice shouting at him. There were hands on him. And this wasn’t right. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wanted to push them away, tell them to just leave him, but he didn’t have the strength.
“No,” he thought. “Just let me go.”
“You’re going to be okay, we’re going to help you,” someone said.
And Robert wanted to scream. He didn’t want their help. He just wanted to disappear.
There were hands on him now. Hands that grabbed him and pressed down on him. He was sick of other people man-handling him. Sick of people hurting him. Sick of people leaving him.
Suddenly there was such pain. A blinding, terrible agony that tore through him. He did scream then. This had to be the end. He closed his eyes again and welcomed it.
***
***
***
He woke up slowly. This wasn’t what he’d planned. Nothing seemed to work out the way he thought it would these days.
He blinked up at the ceiling and felt heat burning his eyes. He couldn’t go back to prison. Anything but that.
A hand covered his and he startled.
“Hey, it’s me. It’s okay.”
Robert stared at Aaron in shock. Maybe he was dead after all. Maybe he’d got what he’d wanted finally and this was some weird form of heaven.
“Oh Rob,” Aaron said gently and Robert wondered if he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. Aaron looked like he was about to cry too so maybe it wasn’t heaven after all.
“You’re alive,” Robert said simply. It was such an obvious thing to say, but that was all he could manage.
Aaron gave him a watery smile and huffed out a bitter laugh. “So are you.”
Robert held his gaze. “I didn’t want to be,” he told him.
There was no point pretending, no point hiding it. He didn’t have the strength to hold himself together anymore, let alone anyone else.
Aaron sucked in a harsh breath. He squeezed Robert’s fingers, almost to the point of pain, and it suddenly made Robert feel something other than the crushing despair and heartache he’d known since the moment he’d watched Aaron be dragged off the side of the gorge.
“I want you to be,” Aaron said. “Whatever else happens…whatever we have to deal with…you can’t give up.”
Robert let his eyes trace over Aaron’s face. He was bruised and broken and desperately clinging on to Robert’s hand. He looked like Robert felt. They’d both been through hell. They were still going through it. But maybe they had a reason to keep pushing on. A reason not to give up.
“You’re not on your own now,” Aaron said quietly.
Robert gave him the smallest of smiles. Maybe that was true. Maybe not. Robert didn’t know who to believe, who to trust. He wasn’t even sure he knew who he was anymore. But maybe he wasn’t on his own.
Summary: Killian returns home from visiting his brother, looking forward to asking a question that will change his life. That day, his life is indeed changed. Just not in the way he expected.
Notes: So, apparently I’m losing my mind because not only did I forget to post this update on here (thank you @kmomof4 for reminding me), I started using the banner for tpahs for this story lol. Ooops. That banner definitely does not fit this story.
*TRIGGER WARNING* This chapter includes nonconsensual touching and other sexual activity, and I don't want to give away too many details, but I hope my writing clarifies that the actions are NOT intentional, at least not for the person on the receiving end, nor are they conscious actions, given the set of circumstances. I don't even know if it warrants a warning, but I think it's better to be safe and include one just in case.
Rated: M for violence, language and possible smut
Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4
Also on: A03 I FF.N
Chapter 5
They arrive in Storybrooke around nine o’clock, just after a blanket of darkness has consumed the air, and there’s a car waiting for them outside the station.
“It’s my brother,” Emma informs him as she waves at the man in the vehicle.
He steps out and approaches them, offering a kind smile. Killian had learned on the train ride that David and Emma are not siblings by blood, but his family adopted her when she was a teenager, which explains why they have different surnames. But they still look like brother and sister. He has blonde hair like Emma, only more of a dirty blonde than a golden blonde, he also has dimples in his cheeks like her, but his tired eyes are light blue, rather than green.
He sticks out his hand, introducing himself. “Hi, I’m David, Emma’s brother.”
Killian shakes his hand. “I’m Killian, Emma’s friend,” he says with a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, Killian. Thanks for looking out for my little sister.” Releasing Killian's hand, David looks at Emma and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Killian’s heart melts. He’s only just met the man and can already tell David is a very protective and caring brother. “It’s not a problem. Emma and I… we take care of each other.” As contrived as the statement is, based on the handful of hours they’ve known each other, it's not completely a lie. They have taken care of each other since they’ve known each other. David just thinks they’ve known each other much longer than they have. He takes their bags as Killian winks at Emma. She smiles, mouthing thank you as David stows their luggage in the trunk. Killian mouths you’re welcome.
The drive to the Nolan’s house is short, considering the town is small. It’s a refreshing change of scenery after leaving Boston the way they did. Especially since neither Milah nor Walsh is here.
David’s wife, Mary Margaret, greets them at the door, introducing herself to Killian with a bright smile and a warm hug. “It’s so nice to meet you, Killian. I can’t wait to hear all about how you and Emma met,” she beams in excitement.
Killian flashes a smile and glances at Emma. He’s just glad they discussed their story ahead of time. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
Mary Margaret pulls away from the hug and dismisses his words with a small wave of her hand. “Please, it's no problem. Any friend of Emma's is a friend of ours. Are you hungry? There’s leftover lasagna in the refrigerator.”
“We ate on the way here,” Emma replies and looks at Killian. “I’m not very hungry, but you should definitely try her lasagna if you're not too full from dinner. I promise it’s the best lasagna you’ve ever had.”
Killin chuckles and places his hand on his stomach. As enticing as the offer is, he doesn’t think he can handle a heavy plate of pasta right now. “Thank you. I will definitely take you up on that offer later.”
Mary Margaret makes them hot cocoa and they sit in the living room as Killian and Emma give them a story of how they met. They tell the Nolans they used to be neighbors at the apartment building Emma lived in before she moved in with Walsh. Emma came home one night completely exhausted and left her keys in the lock without realizing it. Killian saw them when he passed by that night and knocked on her door to give them to her. She was very grateful and invited him in for coffee. They’ve been friends ever since. Thankfully, the Nolans seem to buy every word and are happy a nice guy like Killian saw the keys and not a burglar or a rapist or a murderer. Emma rolls her eyes at how worried they become, even if it supposedly happened in the past. Killian smiles. They seem more like her parents than her brother and sister-in-law.
“Well, we’re pretty beat, we should probably go to bed,” Emma says after she and Killian decided to have a small plate of lasagna, rendering them spent and full.
“Of course. I can imagine you’re both exhausted after the day you've had,” Mary Margaret says.
“Killian, I’ll show you to your room.” David stands up, along with Killian, and leads him upstairs to the guest room he’ll be staying in.
David thanks him once again for looking out for his sister, but before he leaves the room, he places his hands on his hips, a stern expression on his face when he studies Killian. “You're just looking out for Emma, right?”
Killian swallows the sudden large lump in his throat. He's immediately paranoid that David didn't actually believe the story he and Emma gave him and his wife. “Aye.” He nods. “I promise you, I only want the best for Emma,” he adds sincerely. “We’re helping each other get through this.”
David studies him for a moment longer, and it's one of the most terrifying moments of Killian’s life. Is David going to snap and punch him in the face or is he going to hug him? At this point, he's not sure. So when a smile graces the man's lips, and he gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder, Killian blows out a sigh of relief.
“Good, because if your intentions weren't pure, you'd end up much worse than Walsh after what you did to him.” He winks at Killian, still donning a smile as he turns around and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
Killian releases another long sigh of relief and changes into a pair of pajama pants from his suitcase. He’s glad he'd washed his clothes at Liam's and Elsa's before he'd left England.
He knows his intentions with Emma are pure, but if David discovers the truth of the situation, he may gather the wrong impression about Killian’s intentions. He tries not to think too much about it though. He goes to the bathroom down the hall to brush his teeth, running into Emma on the way back to the room he's staying in.
“Thank you so much for going along with this,” she says appreciatively, standing in front of him. She graces him with a weary smile. “They absolutely love you.”
Killian grins smugly, but he knows Emma’s exaggerating a little, at least as far as David is concerned. “Well, I am very loveable.”
Emma doesn't bother to argue. In fact, she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, taking him off guard. His breath catches in his throat.
“Thank you again, Killian,” she whispers and walks away, disappearing inside the room across from the one he’s staying in.
Killian looks back at her door, his fingers brushing over his cheek. The same cheek she'd kissed.
Bloody hell.
He never imagined he'd be so affected by someone after Milah had stomped on his heart earlier that day, but Emma makes him feel things he really shouldn’t be feeling right now. He’s so fucked.
Killian returns to his room and slips into bed, laying his head on the pillow as another deep sigh passes through his lips. He runs a hand over his face and closes his eyes. He desperately tries to sleep, but fails miserably, tossing and turning every twenty minutes. When he had been with Emma, he could breathe, be normal with her, but once he’s alone, the reality of what Milah did to him sets in. Of hearing her say those three bloody words to Walsh. The surrounding air is thin; he feels suffocated. His whole body aches. His heart aches. How could Milah do that to him? How could she love someone else when he gave her all the love he had? Why was he not good enough? Why hadn’t he seen she wasn't happy with him or satisfied enough? Why hadn’t he realized he was driving her into the arms of another man? These questions haunt him, and he keeps asking them repeatedly.
Two hours pass when there’s a soft knock on the door. Killian is wide awake as he glances at the door, arching a brow. It can’t be David because his knock would probably be much louder, especially if he found out Killian and Emma were lying to him—if David for some reason thought Killian's intentions with Emma weren't pure, like Killian had reassured him.
Killian gets out of bed, running a hand through his tousled hair as he strides across the room. He opens the door, finding Emma standing there donning a smile.
“Hey,” she murmurs quietly.
“Hi, love. Can’t sleep either?” he asks with a warm smile.
She shakes her head. She appears to be normal at first, but as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can see the wreckage written all over her features. Her smile is broken, her eyes are glistening and her cheeks are stained with tears. His heart aches for her. For what Emma's going through, for what he's going through. For what he already feels for her. Hell, his heart is totally fucked.
“Emma? Are you alright?”
She shrugs. “Not really. I mean, after what happened today, are you?”
“No,” he answers weakly.
“I keep blaming myself, wondering what I’m doing wrong to make men want to cheat on me.”
His heart cracks into a million pieces. She blames herself for this? But at the same time, he’s wondering what he did to push Milah away. “Emma,” he whispers, lifting a hand to her cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that escapes her right eye. “You can’t blame yourself. Cheating is never the answer. Relationships take a lot of hard work, and the ones in need of repair don’t fix themselves. Screwing someone else fixes nothing, it only covers up the cracks with duct tape.
Emma snorts, her face suddenly lighting up in the darkness. “That’s a perfect guy analogy.”
He chuckles and blushes. “Hey, it got you to laugh, didn't it?”
She nods. “That’s true.” She wipes the tears from her eyes, sniffling. “Thank you. I really needed that.”
“Happy to be of service, love.”
They stare at each other for a moment. He can't help but get lost in those alluring emerald depths of hers.
Emma is the one to break the spell, pulling her gaze from their trance. “Well, I should go back to bed. I don’t want to keep you up.”
Somehow he doubts he would ever mind Emma keeping him up at night, especially if it makes her feel better. “Goodnight, love.”
“Night, Killian.”
She flashes a heart-stopping smile and disappears into the hall before he shuts the door behind him.
Killian exhales deeply and turns around, his back slumped into the door. Not a minute goes by when another knock sounds in his ear. His features twist in confusion as he turns around again to answer it.
It’s Emma again. He swallows the large lump in his throat, not knowing what to expect from a second visit from her.
She appears hesitant at first as she peers down at her hands, toying with her fingers.
“What is it, love?” he asks softly.
When she lifts her eyes again to meet his gaze, he offers an encouraging smile that seems to give her the courage she needs. “Killian, can I sleep with you? I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”
He doesn’t give it a thought. “Of course, love.” He can certainly empathize with her because he’s been through the same thing she has, so he knows the thought of being alone is not a pleasant one. On top of that, she’s willing to expose her vulnerable side to him, which he finds rather endearing. “Perhaps we should go to your bed, though, so your brother and sister-in-law don’t freak out if they were to walk into your bedroom tomorrow morning and find your bed empty.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
He blushes and scratches behind his ear because he’s nervous as all hell about sleeping in the same bed as the beautiful woman standing before him, who’s only dressed in a thin tank top, which encases a fantastic set of breasts and the outlines of her nipples, and a tiny pair of shorts that show off miles of her gorgeous legs.
He lifts his eyes when she extends her hand to him, which he takes, allowing her to lead him to her room. He gets a view of her perfect butt, the cotton fabric of her shorts brushing against the curves of her butt.
Bloody hell.
Stop looking, he berates himself and lifts his eyes again. He really shouldn't have looked.
Killian holds his breath as he steps into her room. He shuts the door behind them, his heart pounding as he walks with her across the room. He crawls onto her twin size bed after her, slipping underneath the covers. Emma turns to her side, facing away from him, and grabs his hand, pulling it around her body. Killian gulps as their entwined fingers rest just below her breasts.
Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.
There is barely any room between their bodies, and Killian can feel the natural body heat radiating from Emma. His breath catches as he feels the intensity of the situation weighing down on him. Perhaps he’s digging a hole too deep and setting himself up for failure by getting this close to her, but he feels like there is a lot of potential for them. He feels like this could become something.
Something good.
He’s in a comfortable position and is ready to sleep, but he can’t relax enough. His entire body is tense as he tries not to let himself mold around her.
“You okay?” she asks through a yawn. “Are you comfortable enough?”
He chastises himself again. Relax, you wanker. Emma needs to be comforted and consoled. You need to be comforted and consoled, he tells himself. This… them being together like this is good for them. They can use each other for comfort and for letting themselves be vulnerable with one another.
“Uh, yeah… sorry, love,” he chokes out, clearing the uncertainty from his throat. Why is he so anxious? He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, feeling the tension leave his muscles. He allows his body to contour around hers and pulls his arm tighter around her. He buries his face in a pile of her golden hair, soothed by the rhythm of her chest slowly rising and falling. This is only for one night, he reminds himself. Emma’s soft body feels so good and warm in his arms, and the sweet scent of her hair filling his nostrils isn’t so bad… he’s able to fall asleep within a few minutes.
~*~
He misses her terribly. He's excited to see her, to hold her, to be with after being apart for five days. He's also nervous about popping the question, but when he opens the door, she's opening her arms, and her smile melts away his anxiety. He holds her in his arms, he pulls out the ring and asks her to marry him. She says yes. He could not be happier. He scoops her up into his arms and carries her to their bed.
Her body is warm in his arms and when she shifts slightly into him, trying to get closer, he groans as her butt grazes his morning erection. His free hand, the one not crushed under her head, curls around the curve of her hip. A soft whimper leaves her lips as he presses his stiff length into her lovely arse, lightly thrusting against her. It feels so good, heat surges through him, his need for her increasing. He continues rutting his hips against her butt as his hand slides under her shirt, trails up her body and cups one of her breasts.
“Fuck,” he whispers, feeling her soft nipple harden underneath his touch. She feels better than he remembers. He buries his face in her hair, hips thrusting against her as he kneads a supple breast, his cock hardening even further at the anticipation of having her.
He's so hard, he’s pretty sure he could explode right now. He slides his hand down her belly and grabs her hip, his length rocking roughly against her. He's content on just letting himself go like this. Just dry humping his girlfriend until he cums.
“Gods, I'm almost there.” He reaches for her breast again and squeezes, knowing it won't take much for him to finish. After he does, he plans on licking up her goodness and making her cum in his mouth. He salivates in anticipation, the intensity of his arousal consuming him.
She groans, her voice laced with sleep as she grabs his hand, trying to pull him away.
“Walsh…”
Killian freezes, immediately stilling his hips, anger quickly replacing his arousal. What did she just say? The blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of that man.
The memories of Walsh flood through him. How Milah had told him she loved that wanker. How he went after Emma and grabbed her arm. Right before Killian punched him. Right before he and Emma took the next train to Storybrooke. Storybooke. Where Milah is not. She's in Boston. And he never wants to see her again.
So if she's not in bed with him, then who is?
Killian, can I sleep with you? I don't want to sleep alone.
“Walsh, stop, I'm tired.”
The memories of last night and hearing that voice more clearly, that voice which is not Milah's, but Emma's, pull him back to reality.
Fuck, this can't be happening.
Please be dreaming, please be dreaming. Please tell me I'm only fantasizing about touching Emma and not actually molesting her.
He opens one eye hesitantly and, to his utter horror, sees the pile of disheveled blonde hair and realizes his hand is actually cupping one of her breasts because he notices how warm and soft it feels in his palm and… this is definitely not a dream.
“Fuck…”
“Emma, wakey wakey, it's time for breakfast.” Mary Margaret's chipper voice fills the room when the door flings open.
Her mouth falls open as she witnesses what's happening in the room. Killian's hand is clearly underneath her shirt, touching her breasts and Emma most likely still has her eyes closed as she shoves Killian's hand away.
“Oh my, I'm so sorry!” Mary Margaret shrieks and scatters from the room.
