Self-Promo Sunday: “Savior’s Haven”
I totally meant to post this last Sunday, but I was confused for a bit by the changes on my cover art making site. I’ve got it sorted now, so I hope you’ll enjoy this autumn-hinted fic, now complete with some art. I also posted both parts at the same time for this post, just so you don’t have to go searching for Chapter Two if you want to continue...
This fic was originally written for a lovely event called @csseptembersunshine, put together by @captainsjedi. Thanks so much to @captainsjedi, I really had fun working on it - so much so that it grew into having two parts - and reading the other entries, not to mention all the fun with the lovely ladies on the @CSSNS Discord chat who offered a wealth of name suggestions to me. I used one in the first part, and another in the second.
This is what I call “missing moment fluff”, meant to be to taking place sometime post season six in Storybrooke, but before Henry leaves and prior to Hope’s birth. This time of year seemed like a lovely time to revisit it, but I’d love to hear what you think, and I hope you will enjoy!!
**Also available on AO3 or ff.net, if that is your preference.**
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Part One
It began one cool September evening on the way home from weekly dinner at her parents’. Killian offered Emma his arm to wind hers through as they began their leisurely walk back through the darkening streets of Storybrooke. They had nearly reached the street their own two story house by the sea was on, gently arguing back and forth with cheeks flushed by the chill night air about who would have to take the early shift at the station the next morning, when they heard the soft, almost overlooked, whimpers just off the sidewalk.
Coming to a concerned stop at the sound, both sheriff and pirate deputy were alertly trying to locate its source within moments. It didn’t take long, even with the gathering shadows. Peeping around the corner of the lattice gate enclosing the front walk along Mrs. Sprat’s Bakery, it was Killian who located the pitiable, shivering culprit responsible for the troubling noises drawing their attention.
“Swan,” he breathed, barely audible in an effort not to startle the small creature he had already knelt and reached out towards. “Over here, Love.”
Having moved a few feet ahead in her search, Emma stood and came back toward her husband carefully, already aware from the tone of his voice - low and soothing - that he was trying not to frighten a terrified critter of some sort. “I’m here,” she answered quietly, crouching beside him to see into the flowering bush Killian had knelt beside. “What is it?”
Her sailor straightened slowly, pulling his hand and hooked arm back from where he’d reached into the bush, carefully cradling them against his chest with the small animal he had retrieved. In his care and gentility, the way he looked down at the terrified and shivering black puppy Emma could then see in his arms, she was reminded once more of one of the most compelling things she loved about this man who had survived a life of harsh trial, challenge and pain. Though once lost and angry, seeking nothing more than his revenge followed by long-awaited death, the darkness her husband weathered alone for so long still had not darkened him permanently. The heart beneath was still tender and open to hope the moment he was offered a way to regain it, and it had made him into the very man who could love her with enough understanding, patience, depth and determination to indeed win her heart, just as he’d vowed.
He showed the same calm restraint in that moment as Emma watched his large, calloused hand stroke along the back of a trembling, undersized and scrawny little dog, and her heart swelled, loving him all the more for it.
“And just what has happened to you here, pup?” Killian murmured, rubbing the soft, silky ears soothingly as Emma leaned in closer to examine the protruding ribs and dirt-caked legs and paws. The puppy’s large, soulful brown eyes turned on her as if already begging a piece of her own heart. She wasn’t any more anxious than Killian to turn the little guy loose in the night now that he was untangled from his thorny prison. Both of them could all too easily recall what it felt like to be hungry, cold, and abandoned in a world that felt much too large and uncaring to face.
Her husband’s clear blue eyes met hers over the small canine head between them, and Emma could only smile reassuringly at him, already certain the little guy was as good as theirs as soon as they could get him fed and back to health. “Come on, let’s get him home and cleaned up,” she urged, shivering a little herself the longer they stood out in the night air, a wistful smile on her face at the thought that maybe they had found an orphan of a different sort to give a home like both she and Killian longed for in their youth. “We’ll make sure he isn’t hurt beneath all that dirt and grime and see what a warm bed and good night’s sleep do for him.”
Killian nodded his assent; the two of them clearly of one mind, as they were quite startlingly often. True, they might find out tomorrow that someone was looking for the sweet little guy, but she still sensed they were bringing home a new member of the family.
*****~~~*****~~~*****
Such events began to repeat themselves rather quickly after that, though their next addition was of the human variety - a young man in Henry’s advanced math class - and took much more careful finesse on both of their parts to win over and put at ease.
Rolly (a name chosen much more from Emma and Henry’s teasing affection for his tipsy past self in their Back to the Future adventure than by Killian’s choice, though he had good naturedly accepted being outvoted) had only been an exuberant and adored member of their household for about a month in fact when Henry brought the new kid at his school home for dinner. As it turned out, Oliver was a holdover refugee from the Land of Untold Stories, and though he had found lodging with the fairy nuns in a spare room at the convent and took communal breakfasts and dinners with them before heading off to, and after returning from, school each day, many of his hours were spent either studying or roaming the park and woods of the town alone.
Henry had run into Oliver one day down by the docks, and noticing the way his school mate watched the weekend sailors with the eye of a skilled pickpocket, had without too much effort in going through his storybook figured out just who the other teen might be. Henry realized that he’d had a fair bit of experience at it in his former life, and so, introduced himself and offered the seat next to him on the bench and a share of his cheese fries from Granny’s with the pretext of asking Oliver what he thought of their teacher and the math class in general, had brought forth a genuine burst of conversation from the other boy and - Henry had hoped - forestalled the trouble the other young man might have gotten up to.
It seemed that once Henry had witnessed his parents’ incredibly soft hearts for outcasts in person (and having gained a pet out of it, was hardly going to complain) the Truest Believer had felt that they were the perfect people to lend a hand in the situation he had discovered as well, hence the dinner invitation. He came by his charitable outreach honestly - not just from Emma and Killian, but his whole family after all. When Oliver sat down to their table with them that first evening, they learned that while the boy was grateful for the Storybrooke convent’s willingness to feed and clothe him, to give him a room and bed to sleep in, it was a far cry from having a family of his own - something he never even remembered possessing - and a place where he could truly belong.
They learned little more from Sister Astrid when Emma approached her booth at the Miner’s Day festivities that weekend. Not that the friendly young woman didn’t want to help, but none of them knew more than Oliver himself did, not even his last name. The secretary at the school had merely noticed at the end of the previous school year that he seemed to repeatedly be the first student to arrive at the high school building in the morning and one of the last to leave each afternoon - until it finally became clear he didn’t have anywhere else to go. This had lead to the sisters sponsoring his schooling and offering him a place to stay until he finished.
After that supper, to which Oliver thanked them for inviting him profusely, Emma could tell the young man was reluctant to leave. And yet she could also see he had pride enough not to want to seem needy; a mortifying motivator that she remembered all too well. She and Killian mulled their options for a bit, until one sunny Saturday Killian offered the teen a day’s work helping batten down his ship for the winter months. When he convinced Oliver to return to their house for supper that night, Emma could see long-dried tear tracks on the boy’s face and sensed in Killian’s bearing that his own soul had been bared as well. It was clear the two of them understood each other in a deeper way from their day spent together on the Jolly. When they broached the topic of his living with them for the rest of his senior year and until he decided what he wished to do after, it was clear her husband’s way with words and the heart had allowed this young man who had already charmed them both to accept without feeling shamed or beholden.
Henry had been thrilled, as had Rolly, since the prospect of someone else to throw sticks and take him for walks pleased the lab mix as little else could. Though Oliver only stayed with them for a little over a year, it allowed their son to feel as if he had gotten to experience having a sibling as he had always wanted, and he enjoyed every moment he got with his foster brother. When Oliver wrote them from his dorm room at the college of his choice, he closed with the best words he could possibly have given Emma and Killian. “...You both provided me the haven I had been missing - the first place I ever felt I belonged until now, settled in at the second. I’ve found where I’m meant to be, and I never would have if not for the two of you.”
They missed their temporary second son, even if he did occasionally come back to visit, but as the weeks and months and years went by, Rolly and Oliver proved to be only the beginning.
Part Two
As it turned out, Rolly and Oliver were only the start of a train of outcasts and strays - lost souls one and all - who began to make their way to Emma and Killian’s home by the harbor in Storybrooke. Even if there was some occasional wondering about having enough room or rearranging how all of the house’s occupants might fit, neither sheriff nor sailor had the heart to turn anyone, young person or beast, away from the only thing both of them had ever wanted and finally had to share - a home.
Not long after Oliver had left their house for college in the Land Without Magic and Henry had gone through the portal he’d procured to explore the realms and find his own story, Emma found herself feeling the loss of their once quite full nest. She would never trade the quiet evening strolls she and Killian took around the town, both in an effort to lessen Rolly’s boundless energy before he destroyed the entire first floor, and to enjoy the crisp scent in the autumn air and the crunch of fallen leaves under their steps. It was a genuine luxury to actually have downtime together merely to look at the Fall oranges and reds transforming their tiny town and take in the cool temperatures and the cozy smells of cookout bonfires on the air arm-in-arm with her husband, Emma’s head resting easily on Killian’s shoulder. Still, despite that priceless comfort and harmony, as much a novelty as it was, Emma couldn’t help missing the hum and bustle of a house full of life and action, crammed to the ceiling with the marvelous chaos that she had enjoyed for the last couple of years.
Yes, she had long been part of the shuffle of too many kids no one wanted in one foster home after another; all shoved in under one roof with not enough room, not enough food, and never enough attention or affection. But what a difference just a bit of love made, turning a crowd within four walls into a family. If she could give that to kids like her, so they didn’t need to spend years of their lives feeling unwanted, then she would do it. And she knew that Killian’s childhood had been even more scarring, and that he absolutely shared her desire to offer better where it was needed.
Granted, they had also been trying for a child of their own, but so far they’d had no luck. Emma didn’t want to stress over it unduly, but the doubt and fears couldn’t be fully kept at bay. Even if there were no real medical reasons behind it, she tormented herself wondering if the trauma of having Henry so young, shackled to a bed in as high a stress environment as prison, without the best prenatal care or nutrition, had done some damage she had been unaware of, or left some scar tissue that made conceiving again more difficult. In her guiltier moments, she struggled to dismiss the creeping voice that whispered, “You had a healthy, perfect little boy, and you gave him up.” Regardless of her unselfish intentions at the time for Henry being able to have his best chance, during the darkest hours of a late night or early morning, when sleep eluded her, Emma found herself fearing that maybe she just didn’t get a second chance.
Killian was unfailingly gentle, sweet, and patient with her; encouraging her that they had all the time in the world for a babe of their own, the rest of their lives together. Still, she knew her pirate had regrets and blame of his own that he shouldered when he thought no one was looking. He had lived in Neverland, completely outside the normal passage of time, and while he might appear only slightly older than her, in reality, he had lived for centuries. Was he too old to father a child? Was that why they kept failing to get pregnant?
It wasn’t something that could be easily answered, and making themselves crazy certainly wouldn’t improve their odds, so most times both Sheriff and her deputy tried to put their desire for a little one of their own out of mind and to focus on the many happy moments they enjoyed. They baby-sat the little prince - Emma’s brother was now nearly seven and a ball of energy interested in practically every sport, activity and skill under the sun - when her mother and father needed to get away for a date night. Killian took to helping Belle reorganize and reshelve the books in the library on free afternoons and evenings, and added an extra frisson of excitement for the regularly attending children when he dressed up in character for the storytime selection Belle read, or when he served as enthusiastic reader himself.
Emma discovered she found it quite therapeutic to go out to the beanfield Anton tended on the outskirts of town and burn up frustration or anxiety digging, shoveling, raking, weeding, or whatever the gentle giant needed done. He’d made himself a regular attraction by this point - especially in the Fall, since he also nurtured a pumpkin patch and sold berry preserves and cider from plants grown himself. She’d always had a soft spot for Anton, and many of the dwarves who often worked there as well were much more palatable in the fields than when they were running into the station yelling the alert about whatever new danger had arrived in town or forcing her to play referee in their own petty disputes. Even Leroy was markedly less Grumpy out in the brisk air with solid, dependable work at hand to do. His gruff ‘Mornin’ Sister,” if she was able to join them early in the day, and his handing her a shovel or hoe as she took the row next to him seemed to be his way of accepting her into their number, and though Emma wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else, it did warm her heart each time. The bearded man who would have been an “uncle” of sorts to her in another life seemed less abrasive and more grudgingly affectionate the more time that passed.
Whatever the case might be, and whatever else they found to do or to fill their time, Emma knew the wish was still present in both their minds. Though Henry and Killian’s house operation, the place they had dreamed of sharing with her even in her darkest moments when she had felt almost lost to them both, had long since become each of them’s first true home, some part of her still wanted it full of giggles and mischievous whispers, shrieks of glee and the slap of little bare feet on the hardwood floors.
One night, about a year after Oliver had left for college and Henry had set off for other realms, Emma had gone down to the docks as evening neared, anxious to see her husband after a day spent at separate tasks, and to walk home with his warm, familiar arm wrapped comfortably over her shoulders. She had made a casserole that was one of Killian’s favorites from dinners with her mom, dad, and little brother; she had followed Snow’s instructions to the letter and was anxious to see how it had turned out. Home cooking was still not what Emma would call a strength of hers, but she was getting better… she hoped.
However, as she neared Killian’s ship, docked in its assigned slip at the harbor, Emma noticed the sky had gone rather suddenly dark, wind gusting distressingly through the sails and spars and whistling loudly. She had to genuinely lean into the breeze with determination as she reached the side and then took Killian’s outstretched hook when he saw her coming up the gangplank, pulling her into his arms as she clambered over and onto the deck.
“Bit of a squall on its way, eh Love?” he murmured against her hair, brow raised in teasing question as he pulled back just slightly to study her rather anxious face.
She gave him a soft smile, reaching light fingers up to brush over the scar on his cheekbone. “Well, I came to walk you home for supper, but do you first need help battening down the hatches, Captain?”
Her pirate shook his head, chuckling lightly at her playful banter. He had already secured the Jolly as well as could be accomplished, having an innate, almost sixth sense for inclement weather after so many years on the sea. She might be tossed on the swells that were already beginning to rise and fall and to rock the hull wildly, but the old girl had withstood much worse in her time, and she would still be there come the morrow. “She’s all set, actually,” he answered, moving to grab his jacket, scarf and the other items he needed, ready to head home with her, but unable to resist teasing back at least a bit. “The Jolly’s a steady lass, Swan. She’ll manage the weather just fine.”
They were both prepared to disembark for the docks and be on their way, when a frightened howl of distress met their ears over the wind whipping the sails and the water smacking against the wooden sides.
Swinging back around in concern, they both sought the source of the animal cry for help in the rapidly darkening and turbulent surroundings. However, it was a sailor’s sharp eye which let Killian find the distressed and already bedraggled mass of wet grey and brown fluff somehow tangled in the rigging a few feet over their heads. Probably the poor thing was a stray, not long separated from its mother and littermates by the size of him, and might have begun the climb for fun, but was now both entangled and terrified, and nearly drenched from the rain which had begun pelting down around them.
“Oh, there he is!” Emma cried out once she spotted their poor feline victim as well; illuminated in his uncomfortable perch by a startling flash of lightning. “How did he even get up there?”
Both of them moved almost as one in an effort to reach the poor kitten wriggling valiantly to free itself, ‘mewing’ pitifully to beg help of anyone who would listen. However, Killian, with years of practice maneuvering about his ship in all sorts of weather, and with a natural agility and grace that never ceased to leave Emma marveling, was quickly hopping up onto the railing, and had a foot in the rigging himself, a couple steps bringing him close enough to reach their unhappy stowaway, before Emma could even figure out how to proceed.
The yowling of the tiny creature intensified as Killian stepped onto the rope, probably squeezing the poor little guy, Emma realized, if he were tangled tightly enough. “Swan!” her husband shouted over the ever-increasing wind and rain. “I can’t unravel him! Get the knife from my boot and hand it up to me!”
Moving quickly, Emma did as he asked, and finally, with a few expert slices, the kitten was free, cradled to Killian’s chest beneath his jacket, the wretched squalling now lowering to a more plaintive and pitiful refrain. A few seconds later, her husband was alighting on the solid deck once more and holding out his rescued prize for her inspection.
Unwinding her own scarf and wrapping it around the nearly weightless seeming body of skin, bones, and fluff, Emma cooed to the tiny cat gently, hoping to soothe and reassure the frightened animal that it was safe with them now. She looked up at Killian, who was shivering slightly and fairly drenched himself, but all the same, appeared rather pleased with his efforts and watched the new critter - clearly already one of their own - burrow into Emma’s warmth and begin to purr with such gentle affection that it made Emma’s chest swell in response.
“Let’s get you both home, dry you off and warm him up, and see what we can do for this little guy,” Emma suggested, squeezing Killian’s hand gratefully for his kindness and caring and wanting him to know how glad she was he had scaled the height for a poor, lost kitten.
*****~~~*****~~~*****
The next day’s trip to the veterinary clinic on Storybrooke’s outskirts confirmed what they had already nearly determined for themselves in the intervening hours - their scrawny but handsome new arrival was malnourished but otherwise quite well, except for the fact that he seemed unable to use his right front paw and leg, the appendage having been caught for too long with blood flow cut off, rendering it useless and mostly dead weight.
Yet, even if they had suspected as much, the vet’s stark, unconcerned manner had Emma’s eyes immediately welling up, tears starting quickly with empathy, while Killian went tensely still and quiet beside her, his only motion to reach out and caress the kitten’s striped head in comfort. The vet went on to caution them that there was simply too much risk of infection and swelling, artery blockage or gangrene. It simply wasn’t viable to leave the leg. But he didn’t seem to realize what dangerous ground he was treading on when he suggested that the animal could be put down painlessly at little cost to them rather than their needing to take in a maimed stray and force it to live life on only three legs, until the sheriff’s eyes flashed a venomous, angry emerald at him when she gathered the cat to her chest protectively.
“And just what makes you think we wouldn’t care for a cat with a few more needs?”she challenged hotly, letting Dr. Terrence Doolittle know just how seriously he had stuck his foot into his mouth. “I don’t recall asking if you thought he was worth saving, or even what you thought we should do - just what he needed.”
The Savior was practically vibrating in her indignation, looking as though she might not even turn what was clearly their new pet over to him again to perform the necessary operation. He remembered belatedly just how powerful a magic wielder she was, as well as the upholder of the law in Storybrooke, and found himself hoping he wouldn’t end up a newt or a lawn statue before he could apologize and insist he had meant no offense. Before any of that could happen though, her husband gently took the kitten from Sheriff Swan - as it had begun to squirm and mew uncomfortably at her distressed and tightening hold. A gently staying touch of his namesake brushed back her hair in what was clearly a familiar and soothing gesture, and the sight of the steely appendage suddenly made the cause of her ire all too clear.
Emma Swan visibly calmed at her husband’s caress, blowing out a harsh breath and stepping back before she answered in a tersely clipped but more collected voice, “If the amputation is needed, then please just do it. Whatever he needs to be as comfortable and healthy as possible. We’ll take care of him from there, alright?”
“Yes, Sheriff, of course,” the man agreed readily, nodding with vigor. Adding as direct a look at both of them as he dared, he added in stuttered uncertainty, “and my apologies for my earlier callousness. I meant no offense.”
While Emma merely huffed a sort of noncommittal sound in her throat, bobbing her head in a bare nod of acceptance, Killian Jones, took him by complete surprise when he kindly replied, “Apology accepted, mate. I understood that your intention bore no malice.”
But if Sheriff Swan stuffed their newest family member with salmon, the priciest treats, and as much catnip as he could stand the next evening when the newly dubbed Maelstrom returned home to stay, and cuddled and spoiled him within an inch of his life every day afterwards, well, she would challenge anyone to blame her. It wasn’t long before the well-fed and cared for cat sported a sleek, silky, long-haired and dark-striped coat and looked quite the handsomest feline in the neighborhood following right behind Emma anywhere she went in the house and yard like a contented little shadow. His rapid, balanced hopping gait didn’t seem to trouble him or slow him down in the slightest as time went on; for all intents and purposes, their little Maelstrom was every bit as agile, curious, and playfully quick as any four-legged cat.
*****~~~******~~~*****
When trick-or-treating season came around once more, and Emma’s stomach had at last begun to round with a babe of their own, Killian could only smile at her indulgently, his heart too full of happiness and love to gainsay or spoil her fun when she dressed their cat in a red vest and little black leather breeches of an animal costume, sewn by none other than her royal princess mother. Emma magicked her own tiny version of a hook that could be strapped around Maelstrom’s furry chest to sit where his missing leg would have been, and it was clear their cat was a rather adorable feline version of himself.
His wife, meanwhile, sported a red stocking cap and a red and white striped T-shirt that stretched over her growing baby bump, a much more fetching version of Mr. Smee in all his traditional Disney cartoon buffoonery if Killian had ever seen one. For a moment, he was rather uncertain how to work himself in with their theme - not about to dress as his own insulting Disney likeness, nor as Pan or the crocodile. He did eventually feel a bit smug at getting the last laugh once he settled on a Victorian formal suit complete with tails, white ascot and silver-rimmed spectacles, making himself rather the most dashing Mr. Darling one could have envisioned. Emma’s mouth hung open, in fact a little breathless, as he joined her at the door. At least, that was until the shrill ringing of the doorbell broke the moment, announcing their first visitors seeking candy.
*****~~~*****~~~***
Two weeks later, two little girls, ten and twelve years old, named Sara and Anne, whom they had noticed hanging back from the rest of the group of trick-or-treaters, not seeming to be escorted by parents as the others were, but eager to come forward and get as much candy as they could hold at he and Emma’s insistence once the rest of the group had moved on, were part of their household as well. They had cooed over Maelstrom’s Captain Hook costume, giggled as he wended his way between their skinny legs, and petted him gently and admiringly.
“I’ve never had a pet,” the brunette named Sara had explained wistfully, her big doe eyes looking up to meet theirs and capturing Killian’s heart in an instant. He knew even before an official and thorough search proved that they were alone, that these two girls needed he and Emma. It seemed they had been brought over with the other Untold Story realm’s citizens, but rather than with a whole family, as most who’d even noticed them about had assumed, each had instead been separated from her parents and all alone. They had located each other at school, and found an abandoned building at the edge of town where they had managed to squat under the radar. But Emma’s stomach panged with remembered hunger and her heart beat rapidly at the fear and loneliness that would never completely fade. The two girls couldn’t have found any two other people more likely to know what they’d been through than she and Killian.
By the time Emma delivered a healthy baby girl in the early morning of a brand new year, Hope Lianna Jones had two big sisters in her family ready to greet her excitedly.
Their house was once again full of squeals and yelps as feet pounded down the stairs and peals of laughter at all sorts of odd hours. David might tease Killian about how badly outnumbered he was by women in their own little haven, but Emma could only think her prayers had been answered by their house’s fullness. The more the merrier was by now their enthusiastic motto. It was a view not held by nearly enough of the world when she and Killian were growing up on their own. And they were doing their part to change that - one kid and one animal at a time.
**Author’s Note: You might have noticed that I strove to find literary/legendary orphans to use as potential new members of Emma and Killian’s family. Oliver from Oliver Twist, Sara from A Little Princess, and Anne from Anne of Great Gables. And thanks once again to the lovely ladies on Discord for the animal names, I couldn’t resist switching one from dog to cat here in Part Two! ;)
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