Summary: Killian leaves behind Emma’s engagement ring in pursuit of clarity. Takes place between 6.12-6.13.
Word Count: ~1100
Rating: PG/K
Killian pulled the rectangular card from his vest pocket. The smooth, cream-colored paper was slightly bent and warm, with the words “Archibald Hopper, Psychiatrist” in a rich green, reassuring type, centered upon it. He picked at the edge of the card a few times, deciding whether or not he should use it, before placing it on the kitchen table in front of him.
Flipping open his phone, he pressed the numbers printed at the bottom of the card into the keypad, checking to make sure he didn’t transpose any of them, then pressed the “send” button as Emma had shown him to do so long ago.
The phone began ringing on the other end and Killian waited, listening for Archie to answer. A click signaled the end of his wait, and Archie’s voice sounded in his ear.
“Hello,” he said. The Cricket had a soothing voice, Killian had to give him that.
“Archie, it’s—”
“...reached the office of Dr. Hopper. I’m with patients all day and am currently unavailable. If this is an emergency, please call 9-1-1 to reach emergency services. Otherwise, let your conscious be your guide and leave me a message. I’ll return your call at the end of the day, or sooner, if possible.”
Killian sighed as the message ended with a long beep.
“Uh, Archie, it’s Killian Jones. I was hoping to, uh, talk with you. Perhaps another time.”
He snapped his phone closed and tossed it on the table then ran his hand over his face, scratching the growth covering his chin while he slouched in his chair. The house was silent, save the thoughts tossing about his head, stormy and dark.
Killian could not change his past—would not change it no matter the temptation. But he didn’t know how to bridge this schism opening up before him leaving him on one side, and Emma and her parents on the other. He'd done many horrible things in his past Emma had forgiven him for, but Killian knew one day that luck would likely change. And now he knew how. He could not make this up to David any more than he could make up to his younger brother, Liam, what he’d done to their own father.
Liam forgave you.
Liam had Nemo; a better father than the bastard who made them. Liam was better off and now knew it. Killian was forthright in his recounting of just how wretched his father had been to him and their older brother.
David, though. Killian exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. He could practically grasp in his hand the anger and sadness rolling off his friend when confronted with his father’s unjust death at King George’s behest. If he knew Killian was the one who really cemented his fate as a fatherless child...well. How could he blame David for wanting to mete out a vengeful punishment? He deserved it. And more.
Killian stood abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping across the polished wood floor. He snatched his phone from the table and shoved it in his pocket where its journey stopped short, the box holding Emma’s engagement ring blocking its way. There was no way he could give that to her until he’d fixed things with David, and her. Digging the small black box out of his pocket and trading it for his phone, he took the stairs two-at-a-time up to his and Emma’s bedroom.
Emma had left earlier in the morning in a rush to bring Henry to school and go to work herself. She’d dozed off the evening before, hand in the popped corn and her head on his chest as a movie played on the television. He’d barely been able to follow the story, thankful that Emma was far too content to have a quiet moment the two of them, than notice how distracted he was. She’d been in too much of a rush this morning to do more than peck him on the lips and dash out the door. Killian had chased her lips with his even as he bit back the words on the tip of his tongue.
He could not stop thinking of the violence perpetrated in his past and how badly he wanted to leave it there. If he could stow the guilt and despair resulting from his actions and all memory of them into his old sea chest and send it to the depths of Davy Jones’ locker, Killian would give it serious consideration. He was already giving it serious consideration.
The problem was he wanted to unburden himself to Emma, wanted to come clean, but would do anything to ensure she never thought badly of him again. He never wanted her to have the slightest doubt in him. He didn’t believe the two states —his honesty and her family’s trust in him—could co-exist. Not this time.
What he'd done to David’s father… It was a line he could not uncross.
Lifting the lid of his sea chest with his hook, Killian squatted down. He hefted the box, the weight of everything the ring represented and the undeniable chance he had of losing it all belying the compactness of it. He tucked the ring among a stack of shirts. Unable to bear the thought of looking at the shining diamond and how it reminded him of the light Emma brought to his life, he dropped the lid of the chest and rose again, turning his back on it.
Killian needed to get out of the house lest Emma return home early. Unprepared to face her with yet another facet of his past poised to undo all his efforts to become a man worthy of her and her family, he headed back downstairs.
Reaching into his back pocket as he reached the living room again, Killian pulled his flask out and uncorked it. He raised it to his lips and tipped it and his head back, only to drink barely half a swallow. The burn down his throat was hardly satisfying, and not remotely quenching his thirst for comfort. He tipped it again, tapping the bottom, only to hear a hollow, flat echo in return.
This won’t do.
Killian slid the flask into his pocket, pulled on his coat, and locked the door behind him, beginning his trek with a determined step, and an unsettled mind. He knew the answer, deep down, of what he must do, but the thought of it made his stomach roil and his jaw ache with the force with which he clamped it shut.
Perhaps a drink would loosen up his jaw and his courage. He hoped Granny had restocked her supplies of rum. He had a lot to think about.
Hi there :)
No idea if this will work for you, but here’s my prompt: Charming + razor
(I’m feeling slightly mischievous today *g*)
Always happy to write some Charming. Thanks for the prompt @bimothecurious !
As always, my “15-minute Masterpiece” criteria are: writing for at least 15 minutes, light editing, no beta. Just me and words coming out of my brain.)
This takes place during the missing year in the Enchanted Forest.
Rating: PG
Word count: ~800
Summary: Shaving is not David’s forte.
On Edge
David winced, hissing at the sharp pain blooming beneath the curve of his jaw. He quickly picked up the cloth hanging on the edge of the basin and pressed it to the cut on his neck, stopping the trickle of blood from landing on his shirt. Again.
The number of shirts in his wardrobe without bloodstains was shrinking.
He and Snow—along with the rest of Storybrooke minus Emma and Henry—had been back in the Enchanted Forest for a month thanks to Pan’s undone curse. As much as he loved his original home, he also loved several of the conveniences of Storybrooke. Namely his electric razor. He would seriously consider making a deal with Rumplestiltskin to feel the hum of it in his hand if only the bastard wasn’t dead.
Sighing, David pulled the damp cloth away from the nick to find the bleeding had stopped. Dipping a soft, full, brush into a bowl of frothy soap, he re-applied it to the area near the cut. Swishing the straight razor blade through the water in the basin to clean it off, David looked at himself in the mirror hanging above it and huffed in irritation.
He was more than a third of the way through shaving. There was no skipping the rest.
Lifting the razor with one hand and pulling the skin under his jaw bone taut, David gently ran the blade along his skin in long and short strokes, scraping off the stiff, golden-hued hairs that floated down into the basin below.
When he lived on the farm with his mother, neither the sheep nor his dogs cared if he shaved, so he only did when the growth got long enough to be irritating to him. And when he and Snow were battling the Evil Queen, days would go by when shaving was a luxury he didn’t have time for, and no one seemed to notice or care. Not even Snow.
Then he spent 28 years in a coma. He was woefully out of practice with a straight razor.
“Sonofabitch!” he bellowed, tossing the blade down on the stand in disgust as a fresh cut began to seep blood.
“You know…you could just let it grow out. I wouldn’t mind,” Snow said, snaking her arms around his middle from behind him and resting her head between his shoulder blades.
She’d been up and out much earlier to meet with Regina about the latest intelligence regarding the Wicked Witch. David hadn’t heard her come back in.
“Hmph. You’ve obviously been spending too much time with the dwarves,” David teased, wiping the blood and remnants of the shaving soap from his face with the already blood-stained cloth.
He could feel Snow shake her head at his back. “Purely coincidence,” she assured him. In a quieter voice, she continued. “My father had a beard,” she said.
David turned in her arms and kissed her forehead. Even after so many years had passed, sadness still lingered when she spoke of him. “I’m sure he looked very regal,” he said.
Snow smiled wistfully then touched David’s jaw with her fingertips with a grin. “I’m just saying, don’t shave on my account. I like a little scruff. Makes you look dangerous.”
David pulled back and looked at his wife suspiciously. “We obviously spent too long in Neverland with Hook.”
Snow slapped David on the shoulder. “Please,” she said with a snort then paused for a moment. “But maybe you could try some eyeliner.”
Throwing his hands up in the air in mock indignation, David tried to back out of Snow’s embrace, but she held tight.
“I’m teasing! I’m teasing! You know I love you no matter how you look. Even if you are a little scabby here and there,” she said. “You’re still charming as ever.” Standing on her tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his neck right near his latest blemish.
David wrapped his arms around his wife, hugging her close. “I was never that great at it—shaving. Unless a sheep was involved. Then, well, I was the best around.”
Snow chuckled against his chest.
“I miss having short hair,” she said with a small sigh.
“Maybe I could fix that for you?” David offered, twining a long strand around his finger and giving it a gentle tug.
“Not a sheep, David. I said short, not bald.”
They stood there, quietly holding on to each other, the light coming from the balcony making Snow’s dark hair shimmer.
“Who’s going to teach Henry to shave?” David asked. He tried not to sound distressed, but even he could hear it around the edges of his question. “I didn’t have anyone to show me,” he clarified.
Snow tipped her head back to look at David. “You turned out pretty good, David. And so will Henry. Shaving isn’t everything.”
David smiled tightly as he nodded. “I miss them.”
“Me too.”
“I’d do anything to get back to them,” he said, his determination making his heart pound.
“We’ll find a way. We always do,” Snow reminded him.
Resting his cheek against Snow’s head, he exhaled. “We do, don’t we?”
Thanks for helping me out with my 15-Minute “Masterpiece” (round 2) prompt! (For those of you unfamiliar with my 15-Minute Masterpieces, they are one-shots I write for at least 15 minutes, with no beta, and light editing. Basically a brain dump to help get my writing wheels turning again.)
Kath, I bet you didn’t think I would go in this direction...
Here’s a little Captain Charming for you because it’s Friday!(Rated PG, ~745 words)
Look At Your Mate
“What’s this?” Killian asked, a look of amused suspicion on his face.
David had just thrust a small package into his hand and nodded at it, then stood back a pace, folding his arms over his chest.
“What’s it look like?” David asked with a huff.
The baby giggled from where he was tossing blocks out of his play pen at his father’s feet. David took the opportunity to avoid looking directly at Killian who stood there, eyebrow raised.
“It’s not my birthday.”
“Not so far as you remember anyway.” David shot back with a snort.
Shrugging, Killian chuckled. “Fair point. Maybe it is my birthday.”
“Just open it already,” David muttered, rolling his eyes.
Using his hook, Killian pulled the tape away from what was a rolled up paper bag and then gently shook it open to reveal a red box and a citrusy, musky scent wafting up at him.
Killian pulled the box out and tossed the bag on the table, all the while perplexed as he read the label. “Soap… on a rope?” he asked.
“Yeah!” David said, his enthusiastic grin sliding away in exchange for a nonchalant shrug. “I saw it at the drugstore and thought you might like it.” David tapped the box with his finger. “Look, there’s a ship on the label. Thought it kinda looked like The Jolly Roger.”
“Aye, mate, I noticed.” Killian read aloud from the box and shook his head in disbelief. “‘Old Spice?’ Are you disparaging my age or the way I smell?” he laughed.
David sighed. “No. Neither! I was just trying… you know what?” He reached over and snatched the box of soap out of Killian’s hand. “Nevermind. I’ll keep it for—”
“No, no, no, no, no,” Killian interrupted, holding his hand up to stop David from continuing. “It was a lovely gesture, and I am flattered you thought of me when you saw this...soap. On a...rope.”
Retrieving his gift back from David, Killian wedged the box between his left bicep and his chest and opened it, fishing out the cream-colored round of soap. He hung the rope from his finger and gave it a little twirl. “I look forward to using it,” he said with a nod. “Thank you.”
David slapped Killian on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it.”
A few days later, the two men were helping Emma wrangle three rowdy and inebriated former Musketeers into the squad car to return them to their lodgings after a particularly raucous gathering at the Rabbit Hole. They weren’t belligerent so much as unruly, and at one point, David lost his balance when Porthos attempted to put Aramis into a friendly headlock, sending the two of them careening toward Killian who had been keeping Aramis mostly upright.
“Oof!”
“Bloody hell!”
“Son of a bitch!”
“Hey now!”
Hiccup!
Killian managed to right David after he awkwardly dodged the burly Porthos, who toppled over onto Aramis. The sheriff and the pirate let the two swordsmen sort themselves out and finally spill into the backseat of the squad car where a drowsy Athos was waiting, his head pressed against the glass, and a glare directed at them like the point of a rapier.
Emma was coming around the back of the cruiser, making sure everyone was ok when Killian caught the look of confusion on her face.
“Dad? What are… Are you sniffing Killian?”
Killian glanced behind him to catch David, eyes closed, and in the middle of a deep inhale.
Chuckling, Killian asked, “So, which is it, mate? Do I smell old or spicy?”
David grinned. “Spicy.”
Emma said with a soft snort, “You two are weird. I’ll take my chances with Huey, Dewey, and Louie over there.” She walked back over to the driver’s side and opened the door.
“Aye, but they won’t smell as good as I do, love.”
Nodding in agreement, David called out “It’s true!”
Emma rolled her eyes and got into the car, turning on the flashing lights as she revved the engine.
“What kind of soap do you think would be good for me?” David asked, as he and Killian walked toward the squad car.
“Sheep dip,” Killian responded, not missing a beat.
David opened the passenger door and gave Killian a shove. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
“Aye, funny and fragrant,” Killian said, sliding into the front seat next to Emma, leaving just enough room for David.
“I take it back. You just smell old.”
A/N: There is/was Old Spice soap on a rope, and the reason I used the Musketeers in the second half, is because there is also an Aramis soap on a rope. I like to amuse myself if no one else. ;)
Thanks for the 15-minute “Masterpiece” prompt! I think last time you gave me a prompt for this exercise, what I wrote was kinda grim. This is definitely not grim.
(As always, my “15-minute Masterpiece” criteria are: writing for at least 15 minutes, light editing, no beta. Just me and words coming out of my brain.)
Takes place after the last flashback from “The Brothers Jones.”
Rated G
Word Count: ~580
Summary: Killian Jones gets to know his first love.
Accord
She was even more beautiful up close. The dead of night could not hide her elegance nor twist the feeling of safety he felt beneath her decks. When Killian Jones finally boarded The Jewel of the Realm, he felt the tension in his muscles give way for the first time in years even as he shivered from the dampness still clinging to him after weathering both the maelstrom and shipwreck.
Since being indentured, the couple of ships he and Liam had been forced to serve upon were utilitarian, solid, and dark. The holds were always cramped with cargo, the decks filthy no matter how much he and Liam scrubbed, the rest of the crew weathered and cruel, and the pallet where he barely slept, hard and bug-ridden.
The clean, dry, hammock where he slept that first night aboard The Jewel of the Realm was the most comfortable place he’d been afforded since he was a small boy in the comfort of his home.
Home.
Killian wasn’t sure what that felt like or meant anymore, but this was a good start. His throat tightened at the thought that this ship, this new life, might mean home for him, for Liam. As he looked down at his worn, filthy, and ill-fitting clothes, Killian fought the impulse to find his flask and relieve it of its contents. He didn’t feel worthy enough to be standing on the gleaming planks beneath his rotting shoes.
This ship though, she was sleek, swift, and radiant. When they’d set sail the morning after boarding The Jewel of the Realm, Killian finally and completely understood what freedom was: more intoxicating than the rum he’d tried to drown himself in, and something he’d never hand over easily again.
“So, Killian, what do you think?” Liam asked.
The brothers stood at the prow of the ship as she cut across the water with an ease and grace Killian didn’t know a ship could possess. No one had hollered at them to swab the deck, patch sails, or haul crates. No one ridiculed him, beat him, or stole what precious little he had. It was going to take time to get used to that.
He looked forward to it.
“I think, brother, we’ve never been luckier.”
“Aye,” Liam said, clapping Killian on the shoulder.
“Lads!” the Captain called out.
Both young men turned, straightening up and squaring their shoulders. “Aye, Captain!” they said in unison. The Captain approached them with a smile.
“How would the both of you like to stay here aboard the The Jewel of the Realm until your commissions are finalized? And perhaps even after?”
Before he could consider his response, Killian said, “I would love to stay here, Captain. More than anything.”
“Excellent. Excellent. She’s a fine ship, and you’ll make fine officers aboard her.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” they responded.
“Liam, would you come with me a moment?” the captain asked.
“Yes, Captain.”
Liam looked over at Killian who nodded and smiled at his brother. “I’ll be fine,” he said, shooing Liam away.
As Liam followed after the Captain, Killian turned to look back out at the sea, leaning against the bulwarks. He took a deep breath then let it go into the wind.
Running his hands along the bright yellow trim of the rail, Killian murmured quietly to the ship.
“I promise to be the best sailor—the best man—I can be for as long as you’ll let me stay. What do you say, love?”
Summary: Killian Jones wants to learn how to drive and enlists Snow to teach him, but they hit a speed bump or two along the way.
Word Count: ~5200
Rating: PG/K
Links: AO3
Notes: Thanks to @epiplectic-bicycle for the beta and @wingedlioness and @phiralovesloki for the extra eyeballs. ETA: @duathadun made a great header for this! Thanks so much! I love it!
Killian watched Emma yawn for the second time as she reached the archway of Granny’s patio, the first having erupted when she stepped out of the door of the diner into the night. She had circles under her eyes, and her gait was far slower than usual, even if “usual” was running into whatever danger Storybrooke and its citizens found themselves in.
She and David were catching up about their work schedule over the next couple of days, and Killian hung behind, walking with Snow, who was holding her sleeping son in her arms. As Emma reached her car, she glanced at Killian with a small tip of her head toward the passenger side, barely stifling yawn number three.
He raised his finger to signal he needed a moment. As David took the baby from Snow to finagle the child into his car seat, Killian reached over and placed his hand on Snow’s arm, stopping her.
“A word, Snow?”
“Uh, sure, Killian. What is it?”
Snow glanced over at David’s progress then back at Killian and smiled.
“I was wondering if I may ask a favor of you.”
“Of course, anything,” she said.
He nodded toward the street where the cars sat idling. “Would you have time to teach me how to pilot one these vessels?”
Snow looked happily surprised. “Driving lessons?”
“Aye.”
Smiling brightly, she said, “I think I can squeeze that in.”
“I’m much obliged.”
A puzzled look passed over Snow’s face as she considered Killian. “Mind if I ask something?”
“Of course not,” he said.
“Why not Emma? Or David?”
“Emma’s busy enough. I don't need to be under foot all the time. And I’ve seen what happens when David teaches someone to drive. I’d rather not cause any more damage to his truck. Or the town.”
Snow laughed. “His truck is becoming a bit of an eyesore. And I’m not sure the city budget can take another hit either. Do you want to start tomorrow? How about 10am?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.” Killian bowed. “Thank you, m’lady.”
When Killian arrived at the loft, Snow was just finishing tucking her baby into a sweater. Picking up a bag in one hand, and hefting the babe onto her hip, she grinned at Killian.
“Right on time! Are you excited?”
He didn’t know if “excited” was the best way to describe what he was feeling. Learning a new skill wasn’t beyond him, but having been been hit by a vehicle, he was more than aware of the damage it could cause. His cautiousness was overshadowed by his need to adapt to this world now that it looked like he’d be staying for the duration, or at least until they were forced to some other realm.
“Aye,” he answered with a tense smile that disappeared as quickly.
Snow waved her hand, dismissing his obvious reticence. “Oh, you’ll get it in no time. And you won’t have to get cursed first to do it. Count yourself among the lucky,” Snow said as she locked the door to the loft behind her.
“You’ll be needing these,” she said, handing the keys to Killian, who watched as the baby followed the sound of the jingling with his eyes, a toothless smile working its way between chubby cheeks.
He smiled at the lad in return, giving the keys an extra shake for the boy’s amusement, and followed Snow down the stairs. Killian held the door open for mother and child and they walked over to her car parked near the entrance of the building. It was bigger and taller than Emma’s and the color of red wine.
“Why don’t you go get in the car while I get this little guy strapped in. He loves going for rides. Don’t you?” she cooed at her son who squealed in delight at his mother’s attention.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to bring him along for my first lesson?” Killian asked.
Snow popped her head back out of the car to answer. “I'm sure you’ll be careful.”
Killian wasn’t sure if that was meant to be assurance or a threat, but it didn’t matter. Careful was his goal regardless. He walked around to the driver’s side of the car and opened the door. With a deep breath he got in and looked at the dashboard. Sailing a ship seemed far easier in that moment. Not that it wasn’t a complex operation, mind, but this… this seemed like too much information at one time to pilot such a small vehicle.
With the babe secure and babbling to himself in his carseat, Snow slid into the passenger seat and pulled the seatbelt over her chest and latched it into the buckle with a snap. She looked over at Killian and nodded.
“You too, Captain.”
Having been preoccupied with all that lay at his fingertips, Killian had forgotten. “Right,” he said and did the same.
“Better than lashing yourself to the mast, huh?” Snow teased.
“Definitely less damp.”
It had been a while since any of them had brought up their ill-fated encounter with the tempest mermaid, and Killian was glad at least they could laugh about it now.
“Is it hard to sail a ship?” Snow asked.
“Steering a ship is easy enough. Navigating is another thing entirely though. Doing both during a storm is...tricky.”
“How long did it take you to learn?”
Killian frowned as he looked out into the distance. He fiddled with his rings as he tried to remember without thinking too much about why he knew. “Well, I’d been aboard ships from a young age, so in some respects, I absorbed knowledge along the way. The Royal Navy refined and expanded that knowledge and gave me more experience. All totaled, though? Several years.”
Snow nodded. “This won’t take that long. From what I’ve seen, you’re a quick study.”
Smacking the tops of her thighs with palms of her hands, Snow asked with a bright smile, “Ready?!”
“Aye,” Killian said with less enthusiasm than his teacher but ready nonetheless.
He put the key into the ignition as he’d seen Emma do many times, but before he could turn it and start the engine, Snow placed a hand on his forearm.
“Before we start driving, let’s get you oriented. Okay?”
“Please.”
“So, some of this we can translate into terms you are more familiar with if you think that will help.”
Killian looked at Snow, curious. “How so?”
She gestured at everything in front of him. “For instance: the dashboard is your helm and navigation.”
“Excellent.”
She pointed to the center of the console with a round, compass-like section with numbers increasing from 0 to 120. “That section tells your speed in miles per hour, not knots. Around here, you want to keep it hovering near 25 to 30. Highways are faster, but that’s not where we are starting. We’ll do that later.”
She pointed out the other indicators: fuel gauge, engine temperature, clock, oil level, and wrapped up with, “You don't need to know all of this all the time, but it's there when you do. It looks overwhelming, I know.”
Killian nodded. He wondered if he would ever feel that same carefree exhilaration he did on his ship when they sailed at a good clip, the trade winds favorable, and the seas welcoming. He couldn’t imagine, as he sat in that metal box, the two could ever compare.
“Look down where your feet are. There are two pedals. The left… uh port?” Killian gave a quick nod in confirmation. “The port pedal is your anchor, let’s say.”
Killian tapped it with his foot and felt the resistance.
“The other pedal is your...wind. It’s the gas pedal and makes the car pick up speed. You use the same foot to operate both pedals because you really only use one or the other, not both at the same time. “
Killian nodded, impressed with Snow’s instruction. “Understood.”
“Good. Ok, so one of the most important things about driving on the road with others is communication.”
“I’ve seen how this realm communicates with other travelers; sailors are far more colorful with their insults.”
Snow laughed. “No, no, I don’t mean that. I mean it comes to that if you don’t let drivers know what you are about to do, but I don’t mean yelling at each other—especially the ones who can do magic. The car itself has means to communicate what you are doing. Don’t ships signal their intentions when they are near other ships?”
“They do. Will I need to hire a signalman to ride along? I may have an extra set of flags aboard the Jolly Roger.” Killian grinned and winked at Snow.
Rolling her eyes, Snow shook her head. “Funny. No. See that lever to the left of the steering wheel? That’s your turn signal. You have to push it up when you are going to turn… starboard. Push it down to turn port side.”
“Aye.”
“Excellent. Before you go anywhere you need to check around the car to make sure you aren’t going to hit anyone and no one is going to hit you. That’s what the mirrors are for. Consider them spy glasses.”
Killian glanced at all three mirrors to check the areas they reflected. He slumped down in his seat a little and checked again.
“Oh! You can adjust the mirrors to suit you. They move. See?” Snow moved the rearview mirror to demonstrate, and then Killian reached up and readjusted it so he could sit more comfortably and see behind.
“Can you see everything?”
“I think so.”
“Last thing. You have to use this,” she said, resting her hand on the gear shift, “to let the car know what you want it to do. ‘D’ is for ‘drive’ and ‘P’ is for ‘park.’ ‘R’ is for ‘reverse’ and ‘N’ is for ‘neutral.’ You press down on that button by your thumb and move the stick next to the letter. Make sense?”
Killian nodded slowly, but he looked confused.
“Snow, I think your car is different. This,” he said, gripping the gear shift, “is not the same as in Emma’s car. Does it matter?”
“Oh, you're right! Emma has a stick shift, doesn't she? Damn.” Snow’s dark brows furrowed as she frowned. She thought for a moment and shook her head. “You know what? For today it doesn't matter. We’ll just do the basics and get you used to being behind the wheel. Okay?”
“Aye, if you think that's the right course.”
“I do. Let’s drive.”
“So,” Emma began, coming up behind Killian as he sat on the couch in their living room. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and softly kissed his neck. “How was your first driving lesson?”
Killian reached up and caressed Emma’s arm with his hook. “Regina won’t be coming after me for damages, and your brother will live to see his first birthday.”
“All important things,” she laughed. Emma kissed him once more on the cheek and let go of him, heading around the couch to sit next to him instead.
“Aside from that, your mother’s patience is fathomless. Which, not surprising, given your father and her history with Regina.”
Emma snorted as she curled her legs under her. “And let’s not forget the dwarves.”
“If it’s all the same, I’d rather. And how was work today, love?”
Emma shrugged. “Managed to avoid curses, bad guys, and indigestion after lunch at Granny’s.”
“Boring day then,” Killian said, drawing her closer and kissing her temple.
“Pretty much.” Emma snuggled into Killian and wrapped her arms around his middle. “Did you like driving?”
“It wasn’t quite as liberating as the open seas, but I think in time, I’ll enjoy it more. I’m too worried about damaging someone or something to feel anything besides caution.”
Emma patted his ribs and looked up at him. “Understandable, having been on the wrong side of a moving car and all.”
“Aye.”
“What was your favorite part?”
Killian twined a lock Emma’s hair around his finger. “Knowing that once I have more practice, I can relieve you of some burdens around here.”
She looked up at him, momentarily stunned. “Is that why you are doing this? I just thought you were ready to learn.”
“I suppose that’s part of it, but mostly I want to lighten your load.”
Emma sat up and shifted to straddle Killian’s lap kissing him soundly, taking his breath away.
She pulled back, anchoring her fingers in his hair, and looking at him with mischief in her eyes. “Maybe we’d have more time for… other things.”
“‘Other things.’ Sounds intriguing.” Killian pressed the curve of his hook into her lower back, urging her closer.
Emma kissed him softly, one hand cupping his jaw and the other flat on his chest, his heartbeat thrumming steadily beneath it. She moved barely a hair’s breadth away and asked, “When’s your next lesson?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Smiling, she said, “Good. That gives us some time.”
“Not...nearly...enough,” Killian said between kisses along Emma’s jaw.
At the appointed time, Killian made his way to the loft for his next driving lesson with Snow. He was surprised to see Emma’s bright yellow car parked outside the building rather than Snow’s. She hadn’t mentioned anything that morning about being there, nor did she offer him a ride into town, either.
Just as he was about to open the door to the apartment building, Snow came out, beaming at him.
Killian looked past her, waiting for Emma to follow. Snow followed his gaze and then shook her head, waving her hand.
“Emma’s not here. We’re just borrowing her car. I couldn’t find another standard, and since this is the car you’ll be driving anyway, I asked Emma if we could borrow it. She has my car if she needs to go anywhere.”
“Ah,” was all Killian could say. He was disappointed not to see Emma, of course, but he also felt bad that the one thing that he was trying to do to relieve her of some responsibility only added to it in the end. He sighed and forced a smile. He didn’t want Snow to think he didn’t appreciate her careful thought into his lessons.
“Where’s the lad?” he asked, changing the subject before Snow could clue into his frustration even if it was only with himself.
“He’s with Ashley. There’s not a car seat safe enough to withstand a first time driver using a stick shift.” Killian’s brows furrowed with a tinge of distress. “You’ll see what I mean in a minute. Shall we?”
Snow held out Emma’s keys to Killian, and he took them and got into the car.
“I’d forgotten how cozy this car is,” Snow said as she buckled in, bumping Killian’s arm in the process. “It’s been a while.”
Killian remembered feeling a touch of claustrophobia the first time he rode in the car when he, Swan, and Henry returned to Storybrooke from New York. The bright yellow “Bug” as Emma called it, was a far cry from the deck of his ship, but it served its purpose well and they made the long journey unscathed. He’d gotten used to traveling this way, and honestly didn’t mind the close quarters of the car. Any time he could be close to Emma was more than acceptable to him.
Adjusting his seat to better fit his legs comfortably before buckling in, Killian noticed how much less information there was available on the dashboard. This car only kept track of speed and fuel, and both were contained in the same circle. The sense of relief he felt at not having to monitor multiple things while learning this car’s quirks was palpable.
“So, you’ve obviously paid some attention to how Emma drives this car,” Snow said, interrupting Killian’s thoughts.
“Aye, some. I know she uses that,” he nodded at the stick shift between them, “and other cars I’ve been in do not.”
“Right. Other cars, like mine, only require you to use the gear shift to move between states like driving and parking and reverse. Manual cars, like Emma’s, require you to shift into other gears as you accelerate or decelerate, too. It’s more thinking at first, but once you get the hang of it, it will all be second nature.”
“You sound like you speak from experience. How did you learn to drive a car like this?”
Snow laughed. “First curse. The cars were older, some were standards, or manuals, like this, and others were automatics. We all sort of inherited the knowledge when the curse brought us over. When...I brought us over trying to get away from Zelena, the technology updated to something slightly more modern, and we ended up with automatics. That’s why it was so hard to find one for us to use.” Snow thought for a moment. “Maybe next time we’ll get hovercraft.”
Raising an eyebrow, Killian asked, “Next time?”
“Kidding. I hope. You never know around here.”
“Truer words, milady.”
“Alright. Let’s get started. I’m not sure exactly how to translate using a clutch into sailing terms. Don’t know enough about sailing, really. Probably need to abandon that comparison.”
“I’m sure I can figure it out, although I do appreciate you trying. It’s very kind of you.”
Snow smiled. “That’s what good teachers do, Killian. Make things relatable. That way the information sticks.”
She was right. His connection to the process of driving by giving the most basic of nautical terms made the whole lesson sink in that much faster and gave him the information he needed to be successful without having to be directed constantly. He was far more confident about driving because of it.
“Ready?”
“Aye. I think so.”
Snow ran through how the gear shift and the clutch worked together, and then pointed out the map of gear locations on the knob of the stick. It seemed simple enough: engage the clutch, shift to the proper gear, release the clutch. He knew from observing Emma, that’s what she did.
“Now, I know that sounds simple, but there’s more finesse to it than that. You have to sort of balance the transfer between gas and clutch, otherwise the car stalls out. You’ll use both feet at the same time—left on the clutch, right working the gas and brake. It’s easy to bungle it, so you might as well start off now forgiving yourself.”
“Not one of my stronger suits.”
“Aaand that’s why I’m warning you now. Everyone—and I mean everyone —who learns how to drive a standard bucks the car.”
“Like a horse ?” he asked, incredulous. Swan had never done such a thing that he’d seen.
Snow scrunched her nose and tilted her head to the side as if afraid to break the news.
“Kinda? You won’t topple out the back and break anything, but it is jarring. But that’s ok,” she said, patting him on the arm. “You aren’t hurting the car. Much. So, take a couple of deep breaths and fire up the engine after you press and hold down on the clutch,” Snow said.
Killian shot her a dubious glance, but pressed the clutch to the floor and turned the key in the ignition, stepping on the gas just enough. The engine rattled to life and the car jiggled a little as it always did. So far, so good. He glanced down at the stick shift to make sure he knew where he was moving it to first.
“Same rules apply as yesterday,” Snow reminded him. “Check your mirrors and make sure no one is coming.”
He did, and as he rocked the gear shift back and forth as he had seen Emma do on countless occasions, he felt how loose it was in its neutral position.
“Slip it into first gear—but don’t let go of the clutch yet!” Snow cried out a little too late.
The car bucked, just as she had warned him, and then the engine stalled.
Killian’s jaw twitched. Snow slid her hands off the dash where she had braced herself.
“Hey, it’s ok. You’re getting it out of the way early. It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t feel fine!” Killian snapped. The motion of the car jerking as hard as it did threw Killian for a loop. Not that it wasn’t akin to a horse bucking, but it was far more forceful—as if the whole car were going to fling itself off its axle. That certainly would help neither him nor Emma.
Snow arched her dark brows. “I did warn you.”
Killian looked down at his lap and sighed. “Aye, you did. Sorry.”
“Try again. You’ll need to shift into second gear pretty quickly once you get on the road, so leave your hand on the stick.”
“Aye.”
Killian pressed down on the clutch, started the engine and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he checked the mirrors yet again to be sure no one was coming down the road. He moved the stick into first gear, and as he began the transfer between the clutch and gas, he reached for the steering wheel with his hook to turn the car left onto the road. His hook caught on the steering wheel at first, but then it slipped off, distracting him, and causing him to buck the car again.
The engine stalled with a heaving shudder.
“Bloody hell!” he bit out from between clenched teeth.
“Oh,” was all Snow said. She looked crestfallen. “I didn’t even… I forgot… ”
The design of the steering wheel made it practically impossible for Killian to find a good place to use his hook to help steer while his hand was on the gear shift. The horizontal bar that ran the diameter of the wheel was too low to help him spin it left or right without twisting his arm uncomfortably or without accidentally jamming his his hook into his thigh.
Not for the first time, Killian cursed The Crocodile for taking his hand. He’d retaliated by turning his disadvantage into an effective weapon he wielded with deadly accuracy. His hook was more than a nom de guerre used to frighten his enemies; in the years after Milah’s death, he was that hook. Utilitarian yet violent. Beyond his unfortunate relationship to it, he was simply more comfortable having it on than anything else. He supposed he could use his wooden hand for driving, but it was awkward and not particularly useful other than to give the illusion of him being whole.
In this realm, it was becoming abundantly clear his hook was a poor substitute.
Sighing from deep down near his belly, Killian removed the keys and passed them over to Snow who took them reluctantly. He bowed his head briefly, a bitter smile on his lips, and his brows furrowed deeply.
“I thank you, Snow, for taking the time to teach me what you could. But I need some time to think about this particular venture in light of my...limitations.”
He could see Snow’s usual determination rising, and her mouth opening, no doubt to give him a speech about perseverance in the face of adversity, but he cut it off with a hard look that brooked no argument.
Snow sighed and shrugged sadly.
“Can I drop you off at home at least?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No need. I’m not going home. I’m going to go drive something I know I can maneuver with this hardware,” he pronounced, holding up his hook.
Snow’s eyes widened and a smile began to form. “Oh! Killian! Wait! I think I—”
Killian had already opened the door and stepped out. He leaned down and looked at Snow. “Thank you,” he said again and turned, heading toward the docks and The Jolly Roger.
The sun was setting when Killian pulled The Jolly Roger into her berth. Emma stood, bathed in soft golden light, leaning against the hood of her Bug in the parking lot nearby. She cocked her head and smiled at him as he waved. She walked toward the ship as he dropped anchor. Wordlessly, she caught a spring line he tossed to her and tied it to the cleat at the edge of the dock. Then, the two of them tied off the bow line securing the ship for the night.
“Ahoy, Captain,” Emma said as she tucked her hand around Killian’s elbow. “Feel better?”
“I do now.”
“Mom told me what happened today.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the way he handled the situation.
“It’s ok, you know. We can get a different car that you can drive.”
“I don’t want you to give up your car for me before you’re ready. And I don’t want to cause more trouble. I’ve done enough of that already.”
Emma chuckled. “Well, buying a car is worse than going to the Underworld, I’ll grant you that. But for you? I’d do it.”
“I appreciate that, love, but unfortunately, it’s not entirely the point.”
“Then what is?”
He’d given that particular question a fair amount of thought as he sailed around the bay. He was one man capable of sailing a ship by himself, one-handed, but he couldn’t manage a small car. It was humiliating, frankly. He wanted to experience the freedom he felt on the seas no matter where he was. But over the last few weeks, little things were piling up, reminding him that he was not truly as independent as he’d like. Failing to drive Emma’s car because of his own short-coming dredged up feelings he’d thought he’d long buried.
Killian paused and looked into Emma’s eyes, which held no judgement for his lack of decorum earlier.
“Self-sufficiency,” he said.
Emma nodded. “Ah. That I understand. So why run off? Why not stick with it? No pun intended.”
Killian snorted softly and looked away, continuing to walk toward her car. “I let my bruised ego get the better of me. I had convinced myself I could do anything if it were for you, but when that failed, well...” he sighed, looking chagrined.
“You needed to go feel like yourself again?”
“I needed to rethink why I was truly doing it in the first place. You were certainly part of the equation, but you weren’t all of it.”
Squeezing his arm, Emma leaned her head on his shoulder.
“You know,” she said, “mom told me how quickly you were picking up driving the first day. This is just a minor set-back. Besides, I thought you liked a challenge.”
“I do,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “But this realm has more challenges for me than I’m used to some days. I can’t play Henry’s game, it’s difficult for me to use that...what is it? Keyboard. For the magic box—”
“Computer.”
“Aye. Computer. Being unable to master driving your car felt like one more indication I didn’t fit in this world no matter how hard I worked at it.”
Emma came around and stood in front of him grasping both his hand and hook. “Hey, you do fit in this world. You fit in my world. And I don’t give a rat’s ass if you can drive my stupid car. It’s not like I can sail your boat.”
“Ship. And you have sailed her when I couldn’t.”
“Ship . And that was a poorly written story and you weren’t you at the time. Plus I had Henry to help. I can’t sail her by myself like you can. I like having you beside me as navigator when I drive. It’s an important job.”
“Is that so, Captain?” Killian asked as he slipped his arms around her waist and walked Emma back until she was leaning against the hood of the car.
“Aye,” she answered. Standing on her tip-toes, Emma kissed him as the sun’s rays peeked their last on the horizon.
Two days later, Killian was in the living room, reading a book Belle had loaned him, when he heard the sound of beeping outside. He knew that sound. It was Emma’s car, but she was at work for at least a few more hours.
He shoved his makeshift bookmark—a note from Emma telling him not to eat all the bon-bons—into the book and made his way to the front door and opened it. Expecting to see Emma, he was surprised to see Snow standing there instead. She looked at him expectantly, tapping her foot.
“You didn’t think your driving lessons were over, did you?”
Killian shrugged. “I thought I had worn out my welcome after my...tantrum.”
Snow laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, no. I am a teacher. I’ve seen worse tantrums. Let’s go, Captain. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Reaching over to grab his jacket, Killian could not imagine what Snow had up her sleeve.
The car was running when he reached it, and Snow held out her arm, gesturing for him to take his seat. Sliding into the driver’s side, Killian could not believe what he was seeing.
Placed along the top of the wheel were four wooden knobs at regular intervals, like the spindles on the wheel of the helm of The Jolly Roger. He touched each of them, the finish on them smooth and the warm brown, rich. He tested his hook around one of them and it was the same solid connection and ease of movement. Killian looked up in awe at Snow who was standing by the still open door. She could barely contain her glee at his reaction and pointed at one of the knobs.
“Did you see?! That one has a compass!”
Sure enough, a small compass had been inlaid into the knob, its needle bobbing gently as it pointed north.
“And they can all be adjusted to different locations if you need them to be. They are screwed on. See?”
Killian glanced underneath the knobs to see the butterfly screws holding the knobs onto the wheel.
“I don’t know what to say. This is…”
“Pretty awesome, right?” Snow finished for him.
“Indeed.” Killian stepped out of the car and folded Snow into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispered. He could barely speak.
Snow returned his hug and patted his back. “You ready for a lesson?” she asked.
Killian just nodded trying to pull himself together. He’d all but resigned himself to waiting until the day when Emma got a new car to drive. He wasn’t expecting this. It was more than he could have hoped for after his exit the other day.
Snow scurried around to her side as Killian sat back down on his. Buckling in, Killian looked at Snow with amazement.
“Are you going to share how this all came to be?” he asked.
Snow gave a short laugh. “Well, you gave me the idea when you said you were going to go drive something you could maneuver with your hook. Instead of bringing the car back to Emma, I stopped off at Marco’s and told him my idea and this is what we came up with. He took the wheel measurements and it was his idea to include the compass.”
“It’s bloody brilliant. The whole thing. I can’t thank you—or Marco—enough.”
Patting his leg, Snow nodded. “Shall we go thank him in person?”
“Aye.”
Several nights later, Killian, Emma, and her parents were leaving Granny’s after their weekly dinner together. Killian watched Emma yawn deeply as she approached the car. He reached over and plucked the keys from her hand, opening the passenger side door for her instead.
“Allow me, love,” he said.
“Oh, I get to play navigator tonight, do I?” Emma asked, tugging on the lapel of Killian’s jacket.
This piece of fluff is for @thisisevenharderthannamingablog‘s birthday. She said a while back she just wanted those two crazy kids to have some piece and quiet. I’m not normally a domestic fluff writer, but for this, I happily make an exception.
As many of you who follow her know, she does like to bake, so I used that as my starting point. I chose bread because I’m pretty sure that’s one of her favorite things to make. I even used her go-to bread recipe for the story. (You can find the recipe here but she doesn’t use the nuts.) I promise I’ll be making it myself, too.
Hopefully I haven’t ruined her bread-making experience with this unbeta’d story. It’s done with love. :) Happy Birthday, my friend!
Word Count: ~2500
Summary: Killian and Emma make bread and innuendos.
Rating: D for doughy goodness
Killian Jones was a man of many, many talents, some of which Emma had become intimately acquainted with just in the past couple of weeks. But she never could have prepared herself for the scene that greeted her when she returned home from the Sheriff’s station that afternoon.
There, at the large farm table in their kitchen, was Killian, setting out a glass bowl and several ingredients he’d emptied from the grocery bags piled on the counter behind him.
Emma paused in the doorway, mouth agape but eyes narrowed. Slowly, she shut the door behind her and stepped into the living room.
“Ah, Swan! Just in time!” Killian called out, his warm smile impossible not to return.
“For what? Iron Chef audition?”
“I’ve no desire to wear any more metal than I currently do, so no.”
Emma laughed to herself as she shed her jacket and tossed it on the couch on the way to the kitchen. Killian put down a bag of flour he'd been inspecting and opened his arms to her. She tucked herself into his side, meeting him halfway for a kiss as he curled his arm around her shoulders to keep her close. He kissed the top of her head and breathed out what Emma hoped was a contented sigh.
“Mmm...I could get used to the whole ‘kiss the cook’ thing. What are you making?”
“We are going to make bread.”
Emma looked up at him, surprised. “We? What’s wrong with the bread we have?”
Killian scoffed. “There’s nothing wondrous about that bland square you try to pass off as bread, love. That’s sliced lies in a bag.”
Stepping out of the circle of his arms, Emma began picking up the various ingredients placed on the table. She could get by when it came to cooking the basics and Henry’s favorites, but the words “from scratch” were not in her vocabulary.
“Didn’t know pirates had time to cook between all the pillaging and plundering.”
“Bake, darling. And cook, sometimes. I learned how to make this long before I was a pirate.”
“So the Navy not only taught you to read Greek, but to cook—I mean bake—too?”
“Hardly. Officers of the line don’t spend time in the galley unless something has gone horribly wrong. No, I learned when Liam and I were, uh, consigned to a merchant ship. I was too small to do much on deck, and for a time was assigned to the galley. Whenever we were in a large port and could acquire better supplies, Cook would make this bread for the captain and whatever paying passengers we had on board.”
“Oh. That was… quite a while ago.”
“Aye. More than a little. But on the rare occasion, when Cook would let me have a small crust of it, I felt...better. Like for a moment I was home again and all was well. So I learned to make it on my own.”
This was the most Killian had ever mentioned of his time in servitude when he was a child. She hadn’t pushed for more when he told her almost in passing, knowing all-too-well how hard it could be to talk about childhood trauma. She didn’t want to push now either. She squeezed his hand and he smiled briefly, looking down at the floor rather than at her.
Clearing his throat, he pulled the glass bowl closer and emptied a packet of yeast into it after tearing it open with his teeth. She had a hard time taking her eyes from his mouth when he did stuff like that. Maybe him taking over some of the food prep was not a bad thing at all.
He nudged Emma with his hip. “And I’m quite good at it, too,” he said.
“I bet you are.”
Backing away from Emma toward the sink behind them, Killian reached over and turned on the tap, letting the water heat up until small wisps of steam curled around his face. He washed his hand and his hook, much to Emma’s amusement, dried them on the dish towel folded next to the sink, then filled a glass and brought it over to the table.
“Much quicker than waiting for it to heat up in a kettle.”
He grabbed the small jar of honey and passed it to Emma.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Right now, I’d like you to pour some in the bowl. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“And later?”
“Well, maybe I’ll let you tell me when to stop.”
“Deal.”
She unscrewed the top of the rounded jar with the tubby bear on the label and tilted it toward the bowl. The thick amber liquid slid out and pooled over the yeast in a gooey, translucent layer. Emma loved the way the light shone through the honey as it slipped over the lip of the jar, reminding her of the gold at the top of the beanstalk and how it, too, had glowed as they hunted for the compass.
“Stop.”
Emma pulled the jar up quickly, but the honey was slow to follow and dripped down the side. Emma gathered it up on her finger and was about to put it in her mouth when Killian grabbed her wrist and brought it to his mouth instead.
He licked the smudge of honey from her finger, never taking his eyes from her. The glide of his tongue sent a warmth through her, and her eyelids fluttered.
“But I wanted to taste the honey.”
Killian leaned in, his lips hovering over hers. “Pirate,” he said, then kissed her.
She thought it tasted better on his lips and tongue than it would have from her finger, so her plans for retaliation died a swift death.
Killian pulled back and bussed her nose with his. “Best go wash your hands, love.”
“I think I might need a cold shower if this is how you cook. Bake. Whatever.”
“Patience, Swan. There will be time to satisfy all your appetites. Preparing this,” he nodded at the contents spread across the table, “won't take long and then it will need to rise for a while.”
Emma practically snorted. “Are you talking about the dough or something else?”
Killian shot back with one of patented lascivious grins and gave her a shove toward the sink.
“Hands.”
Emma saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
He poured the hot water over the honey and yeast to help them both dissolve and then set about putting the next ingredients in order. Emma dried her hands and spent a moment watching Killian make his way around the kitchen gathering the tools he needed to finish making bread with her.
For all that the road they travelled to be together was filled with sinkholes and dangerous blind curves, the way she felt about him now was blissfully uncomplicated. She just loved him. It was simple as that. That he wanted to share this part of himself, and wanted to do this small thing for her--for them--meant the world to her. Scratch that. It meant all the worlds, because one wasn’t enough for how much she felt, and for the first time it wasn’t overwhelming. She loved being a team with him whether it was defeating evil or baking bread. He was her partner in all things risky or domestic.
When she returned to his side, hands clean, he handed her a spoon and the bottle of oil.
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Why do you keep giving me the potentially really messy stuff?”
“Love, we’re making bread. It’s all messy. Pour two spoonfuls in. The yeast is ready.”
Emma did as he said, being as careful as she could to not overflow the shallow spoon. She dumped each spoonful in as he plopped two dollops of plain yogurt into the bowl.
“Yogurt? Not like you guys had refrigerators. How’d you keep it?”
Killian shrugged as he spooned flour from two separate bags into measuring cups. “We might not have had an icebox, but we had a cow or two if the previous voyage had been a successful and lucrative one. The captain preferred his milk fresh and his meat less salty than what I became used to in the Navy. Not that he shared with the likes of me or Liam. But, yes, getting back to your question, we didn’t need to keep it for long, so Cook made very small batches. Mainly to make the bread.”
“Huh.”
“Now, love, you stir that, and I’ll start adding in the flour.”
Within a few moments of stirring the flour and liquids together, the dough was forming, sticky and thick and a rather dull beige. It was getting difficult to get the spoon to move it and Emma felt almost instinctively the need to put her hands in it to move it around.
Killian unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve of his hooked arm and rolled it up to the edge of the brace, just out of the way. He used his hook to release the button of his other sleeve and pull it up part way, but then he brought his arm up and head down and used his teeth to tug it farther along his forearm.
“Can I?,” Emma asked, nodding at his arm.
“No need, love. You don’t have to.”
Emma stuck the spoon into the dough and moved closer. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. And it’s either I do it, or I watch you do it and then ruin the whole bread thing by throwing you down on the table and having my way with you. We’ve come too far, and I want to try the damned bread.”
“When you put it like that,” Killian said, and held out his arm to her.
She tugged his sleeve straight and began rolling it up toward his elbow revealing a lean forearm and his tattoo. She ran her fingers lightly over the dagger, a painful reminder to him, and now her, of so many wrongs.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye to Milah properly,” she said quietly.
“As am I, love. Knowing Hades is dead makes up for some of it. I’m glad you met her though.”
“Me, too. She really didn’t like Rumplestiltskin.”
“Aye, we had that in common after the fact.”
“We all do now. Maybe he won’t come back.”
“One can only hope. Shall we finish this part now?”
Emma nodded and patted his arm before releasing it.
Killian picked up the last of the flour in the measuring cup and scattered some over the table.
“If you don’t mind, love, put the dough down here. Time to knead it. I thought we could take turns.”
“Sure.”
Emma picked up the sticky dough and placed it on the table on top of the flour. Some of it still stuck to her hands and fingers and as she began to try to roll it off, Killian tossed a little more flour over the dough and began using his hand and hook to push it around. She watched how he used his fingers to squeeze the dough and the hook to pull it apart again, making sure all the flour blended in. The muscles in his arms flexed with each press of his hand into the dough and she was mesmerized.
It was almost as bad as watching him use his mouth. She hoped they would be done soon or she was going to need to move to an ice floe to get this bread finished. She shook her head briskly and watched how he used the hook to twist the dough.
“Now I get why mixers have bread hooks,” Emma said.
“Mixers?”
“Yeah, they are machines with a bowl that goes with it and different attachments to help mix whatever it is you’re making. I never paid much attention to anything besides beaters, but now I get it. That’s pretty handy. Or hooky.”
“Aye, it’s useful, but truth be told, I’d prefer to use two hands to feel when the dough is really done. Why don’t you come take a turn.”
Killian moved aside and Emma stood in his place. He sprinkled a little more flour onto the dough and table as well as Emma’s hands. She looked at him from the corner of her eyes.
“It’s to keep the dough from sticking to your hands. Trust me.”
He motioned for her to get started. As she sunk both hands into the dough, the softness of it surrounded them and she wiggled her fingers feeling the resistance no matter how she moved. It was definitely slow work, but after a moment, she got into a rhythm of pushing, stretching, and flipping the dough, and felt the pull of every single muscle in her arms and upper back.
Killian leaned over her shoulder, his breath disturbing the fine hairs behind her ear.
“Is this where you stand behind me and correct my technique so you can be close to me?”
“Your technique is fine. Do I need a reason to stand close to you?” he asked. He put his hand on her hip and his hook in her belt loop and sidled closer until his chest was flush with her back.
Emma laughed. “You don’t actually want to make bread at all, do you?”
“Of course I do. I can’t stand another day using that other ‘bread’ for anything other than shoring a leak in the hull of my ship.” He leaned down and kissed her neck then moved up to her jaw. “Am I too distracting, love?”
“Yes. Yes you are. Back off, mister, or it’s going to be nothing but Wonder Bread from here on out.”
Killian put his arms up and stood back, a smirk planted firmly on his lips. Emma shook her head and gave the dough one last punch.
“Is it done?” she asked, jabbing it with her finger.
“Aye. I’ve already oiled up the bowl, so put it in there and then flip the dough so there’s oil covering both sides.”
“Fine.”
Emma did as she was asked and Killian grabbed a damp towel he had ready and covered the bowl.
“I need a warm place to set it to rise.”
“There’s a radiator in our bedroom.”
“My, my, but you have a one-track mind, Swan.”
Emma ignored his comment. “How long does it need to rise?”
“About an hour. It needs to double in size.”
Emma’s eyebrows arched high. “We are talking about the dough, aren’t we? Because you need far less time than that.”
Killian chuckled. “Guilty. Shall we see just how long I need to…rise?”
Shoving the bowl at Killian, Emma pushed him toward the stairs. “Go on, bread guy. I’ll be right up.”
Emma snatched the honey from the table and followed closely behind.
The two ignored the dough for an hour...and a little. It rose without their attention.
Later that night, having finally finished baking the bread, Killian made Emma the best grilled cheese she’d ever had. The bread was soft and a touch sweet, and she understood what Killian meant about it tasting like home. Before she thanked him properly (bread dough wasn’t the only thing that rose a second time that day), she tossed the bag of Wonder Bread in the trash and never bought it again.
@mryddinwilt tagged me to go to page 7 of one of my WIPs, then line 7 and then share 7 lines or however much I want.
Well, I don’t have any WIPs that have 7 pages, so I went to my 7th WIP and went from there.
I picked “Working Dog,” a post-fic filler piece from Sit, Stay, Feel. This part of the story starts with Emma (and her dog, Zen) participating in “Career Day” at the school where Mary Margaret teaches. This chapter deals with some fairly important themes in their relationship, this is the event that kicks off those bigger milestones.
Emma looked at the kids she was going to have to talk to no matter what she wanted. They were all focused on Zen and not her. Even the kids in the back craned their necks to get a better look at the only guest who needed special permission to be there. Emma felt a sense of relief that they weren’t looking at her. Maybe her luck would hold and Zen would keep their attention and listen about as well as she expected 12 year-olds to listen, which would be not at all.
Looking down at Zen, her mellow, unflappable, mutt, Emma took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face, while Zen’s tail waved lazily. It’s not like she didn’t get up in front of people every week while she was teaching. But adults and dogs were not preteens, and in her classes, she could focus on the dogs more than the people if she really wanted. Plus, she usually had Killian there to help her with classes, but he was somewhere else in the building doing his own lecture about being a Harbormaster (Mary Margaret was really good at playing the guilt card on the two of them).
Still, she missed having him nearby to be her buffer. He was really good with people. She was good with dogs. They made a good team.
If you have a WIP you want to share from, please consider yourself tagged by me. :)
Captain Charming/Captain Crossbow fic: Love the One You’re With (1/1)
This is for kat2609 for her birthday! Happy Birthday!! It’s still your birthday where I live, so yay!
Summary: Emma tasks Killian with finding out what’s wrong with her father. Drunken hilarity ensues. Because that’s how I like my Captain Charming interactions to be: soused and funny. (Based on mild spoilers we’ve heard about David & Arthur’s relationship)
Pairings: Captain Swan, Captain Charming, Captain Crossbow (it was a busy night for Killian)
Rating: K
Word count: ~1800
A/N: I wanted to make sure I got this written and posted before I left for work this afternoon, so all mistakes are mine. No time for a beta! Enjoy anyway!
"Why me?" Killian asked.
He knew the answer already, but he wanted to convey to Emma he wasn't remotely interested in carrying out her request that felt suspiciously like an order.
"Because of your never ending supply of rum," she said.
Killian huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He leaned back against the mast and tilted his head with a raise of an eyebrow.
"Is that all I am to you? A means to get your father drunk so he'll unload his deepest and darkest secrets? Do I look like the Echo Cave, darling?"
Emma reached out and uncrossed his arms and stepped into his space. She put her hands on his shoulders and shook her head, a small smile on her lips.
"Of course not! It's more than that and you know it. He respects you and doesn't like to burden us—me and my Mom. He's acting funny and we thought if you took him out..."
"He'd share his woes."
"Exactly. Unless you'd like him to mope around all distracted."
Killian gripped her hip with his hand while he ran the curve of his hook over the curve of her side. He shrugged.
"He is much quieter."
Emma’s arms came up to wrap around his neck and his resolve to draw this out crumbled. "Killian, please?"
He sighed in defeat. "Fine. I shall collect your father up this evening and ply him full of drink until he spills his guts. But don't shoot the messenger if you don't like the results."
“I wouldn’t do that,” Emma said as she drew a cross over her heart with her finger.
"You mightn't, but your mother may have different ideas."
“You let me worry about her. Pick him up around eight then?”
“Aye.”
And that is how, a couple of weeks after severing ties to Camelot and all who resided there, Killian Jones found himself, not drunk enough, listening to David Nolan crying in his beer. Literally.
“He was—is!— a great man. A good friend,” David said with a confident, boozy, nod, his eyes blinking slowly and sleepily.
Killian leaned into the corner of the booth they shared at a now all-but-vacant Granny’s Diner, and tipped back his tumbler of rum until it was empty. He looked up and met the gaze of the proprietress and held up the empty glass. She frowned in return, but reached to her right and grabbed the near-empty bottle of rum and lumbered out from behind the counter.
“Aye, so you’ve said, Dave. Multiple times,” Killian sighed.
David narrowed his eyes in Killian’s direction. Whether that was because he was suspicious of something in Killian’s tone, or if he was just too pissed to focus, was anyone’s guess.
Before David could reveal the answer himself, the Widow Lucas arrived at the booth, and clunked the bottle onto the table.
“Impeccable timing, love,” Killian said, reaching for the bottle. He poured the last of the rum into his glass and raised it toward Granny, who looked back at him blandly.
“It’s just about closing time, boys. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here,” she said. “Besides,” she said, looking pointedly at David, “you’ve drunk the place dry.”
“Dry…” David began, “just like his sense of humor.” He said with a small sniffle. “He was funny, you know. I bet most people wouldn’t think so. They only saw him as a King and leader. But he was funny.”
Granny rolled her eyes and turned her back to the two men. She raised her hand, spreading out her fingers to give Killian a five-minute warning.
“Yes, he was a regular jester, wasn’t he?” Killian said.
David slammed his mug on the table, sloshing the beer over the side of it. He pointed at Killian.
“You’re jealous of him.”
“Hardly.”
Wagging his finger in Killian’s direction, David smiled brightly if not a bit sloppily. “You are. You’re jealous of...of... “ he seemed to be searching for the right word as a bemused look stole over his face. The smile returned not a moment later. “Our bromance!” he finished, satisfied with his word choice.
Would this night never end? Killian thought to himself as he looked over the top of his glass at David. “Am not.”
“Are, too! You’re jealous that Arthur’n I got along so well! That he was my mate,” David said rather proudly of himself, in spite of the horrible fake accent.
Must run in the family, Killian thought.
The Prince blinked rapidly for a moment and then his eyes shut completely and his head began to drop toward the tabletop.
Killian took a split second to decide whether or not he should just let David’s thick skull slam into the table, but then thought better of it. He reached out quickly and caught David’s face in the nick of time and gently placed it on the beer splattered surface instead.
“Nice save,” Granny said. “I appreciate you not letting him damage my table with that gigantic melon of his.”
“Aye, least I could do.”
Sliding his hand out from under David’s face, Killian glanced over at Granny. “Help me get him home?”
Granny snorted. “Want me to get my crossbow and shoot him in the ass to wake him up or something? Because I’m not picking him up.”
Killian scooted out from his side of the booth and gestured at the now sleeping Prince. “Come now, a strapping, young lass such as yourself could easily get him home on your own without breaking a sweat. Just help me get him out of the booth then, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Throwing the rag she’d been wiping the counter with down, she made her way toward Killian who had moved around to David’s side of the booth.
It was Granny’s turn to waggle her finger at Killian. “I’m only helping because I don’t want him throwing up in the place. Disinfectant is hell on my sinuses.”
Killian knew better. She loved when he acknowledged that he was, in fact, much older than she. He used that information sparingly but with excellent results every time.
“Aye, aye. I’ll slide him out, you balance him?”
“Fine. Just make it quick, pirate. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Well there’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” he grunted as he pulled David along the bench seat.
David let out a sharp snore as he was jostled. Granny stood to the left to catch David and help Killian stand him upright. At the change in position, David opened his eyes and looked hard at Killian.
“Ya know, Hook,” he said, patting Killian on the shoulder with the hand slung around it. “You kinda look like Arthur. Could be brothers or somethin’.”
Killian gave David a tight smile and pretended not to hear Granny mutter under her breath something about being “the meat in that scruffy sandwich.”
David looked over at Granny, “Don’tcha think?”
“I think you’ve had too much to drink and your wife is going to need a babysitter so she can take care of you for a change in the morning, which means a little extra cash in my pocket. So, sure. Whatever you say, Charming.”
Killian reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He texted Emma: SOS. Grannys.
“Now what?” Granny asked as the three of them swayed a bit trying to keep David upright.
“Help me get him out front and I’ll lean him against the fence until Emma arrives. I just texted her to come for us.”
“Good. I’m ready when you are.”
The three of them made their way out of the diner slowly, and only had one moment of peril as they navigated the short staircase down to the patio. Not wanting to let David sit again, they walked through the patio and Granny deposited David against the archway at the edge of the property.
“Thanks, love. I’ll square the bill away with you tomorrow?”
“And if you don’t, I know where you live, Jones.”
“Aye, promises, promises. Thanks for the extra hand.”
Granny smiled and waved as she headed back into the diner. The lights dimmed around them, one-by-one. Killian kept his grip around David’s waist even as they both leaned against the railing of the fence.
“Killian?” David asked, turning his head to look blearily at Killian.
“Aye, David?”
“I missed you more, ya know.”
Killian furrowed his brow. “I’ve no idea what you mean, mate.”
David shuffled his feet so he could turn to see Killian better. “That year back inna ‘chanted Forest when you lef’ ta find yer ship. I missed you more’n I miss Arthur.”
“Oh.”
David looked down at the ground and dropped his arm from around Killian’s shoulder and swayed dangerously until Killian pulled him upright again.
“I don’have many friends of m’own,” David confessed, the words slurring together. “Jus’ you...an’ him. Now jus’ you again.”
Killian took a deep breath and released it, whispy tendrils floating out into the cold night. “Aye.”
He wondered with slight panic if Emma even got his message. He was jealous that it wasn’t Arthur here dealing with David instead, that was for sure. And David’s words left him uneasy. Sometimes he was so used to being on his own, he forgot he didn’t have to be. David was one of the few reminders of that, but he’d be damned if he let David know.
“Thanks for listenin’ to me, Killian. The girls wouldnna understood. They think all I need is them.”
“Well, Dave, that’s not true. They are the ones who asked me to take you out. They know you need a friend sometimes.”
David looked hopeful. “Really? You think we’re friends?”
“Aye.”
David’s lopsided smile faded as he began to doze again. Headlights shined on them as Emma pulled up in David’s truck.
“You are a sight for sore eyes, love,” Killian said as Emma hopped out of the truck.
“And you are a sight,” Emma said with a shake of her head. “How is he?” she asked, nodding at her father as they each took him under an arm.
“He’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. I suspect he’ll be back to his usual self tomorrow… Well, maybe the day after tomorrow.”
When they reached the loft, Killian and Emma helped get David back into the apartment as quietly as they could, so as not to wake the baby. While Emma spoke with her mother, Killian eased David down onto the bed and picked his legs up and swung them onto the mattress.
Looking down at the sleeping man, Killian muttered, “He wasn’t that funny. Bit of a prick, actually.”
A small smile bloomed across David’s face and he sing-songed, “Jea-lous…”
