CS Spooky Fics: Day 3 "Tasting Forever"
Today's rerun entry is maybe not Halloween/Spooky themed exactly, but it does feature vampire Killian and have some dark noir vibes (for me, anyway) so I'm using it. It was originally written for the inaugural @cssns event in 2018. This au one shot that puts Killian in the role of vamp P.I. Mick St. John on tv’s short-lived dreams series “Moonlight”. I tried to work in echoes of episodes and events from that show, as well as characters and lines from “Once” and our beloved duo as well. I tried very hard to make it still understood and enjoyable even if you never watched “Moonlight”, and hopefully I was successful. Emma is an internet reporter in this story, just as Beth was on the show, but you’ll notice she’s Emma Nolan instead of Swan, because in this AU she got to grow up with David and Snow as her parents.}
** Don’t forget to feast your eyes on, and then send love to, @wingedlioness for her amazing artwork on this!! It's been literal YEARS and yet I still can't stop looking at it adoringly.**
Strange the thoughts to spin through one’s mind when the sand finally reaches the bottom of the hourglass. It might have taken longer to reach this moment for him – he was a survivor after all – but all the same, with the scenes of childhood, disjointed bits of conversation and half-forgotten past decisions aimlessly circling the drain of his immortal existence, Killian Jones understood with stark clarity that though he’d had years – ages – more than most, his time still managed to come to an end when he least expected… and just when he had finally found what made all that unnatural long life worth living.
If anyone had told him he would end up in some rundown, deserted, fleabag motel in the desert, convulsing and frantic for blood, sitting in a bathtub full of ice on the frail thread of hope that he could forestall the half-transformed state that heat and prolonged sunlight had put him in, it would have seemed ridiculously unbelievable. There was perhaps some painful irony in the fact that the ice around him was now melted, though the blood thirst tormenting him had not slaked, and that he who had long ago been a naval officer would now meet his end in some form of water. He had once dreamed of glory in that sort of end while still a young human man with a head full of hopes for battle and honorable sacrifice. It was also more than a little ironic that he was once again risking life and limb to save an innocent, just as he had all those years before…
Twenty-three years ago,
August 1995
It was long past closing time, so late it was nearer to early morning, and he had long since sent Ruby, his secretary, home for the night – or more likely out dancing, if he knew her. Private Investigator Killian Jones sat at the desk in his agency office in the dark, nursing a tumbler of rum and pondering the liquid flow of time. The wind’s melancholy howl outside the windows, which currently needed repair (the whole building but a half step above a dump) rattled the panes and whistled through every possible crack and crevice. His pose still and languid, the dark-haired detective appeared lazily at ease, stretched back in his chair, reclined with his crossed feet atop the messy surface of his desk, but anyone who would mistake the casual stance for unpreparedness or vulnerability would surely experience the coiled lightning thrumming just beneath the calm exterior, always alert and poised to strike.
Sighing, Jones brought his feet back to the floor to sit up, leaning forward to pour more of his chosen tonic in his glass from the open bottle at his elbow. Staring into the amber depths, he had been reflecting, as only a vampire who has seen it all, more than he’d even wished to, and still frustratingly ached for his lost humanity despite the pain it brought, can. It was then that the black, wild night had brought the case that changed everything knocking at his door.
His mind’s eye could still see the shattered young couple dripping rain in the entryway, huddled together, eyes wide and frantic but still with determined resolve in their posture and words.
“We heard you can find missing persons,” the man had stated bluntly, his desperation obviously trumping grace and niceties. “That you’re the best…” he’d swallowed hard; Killian still saw the reflexive movement in his mind’s eye as clear as if it had happened only yesterday, “…that you’ve found people no one else could…that have been given up for lost.”
“Aye,” Killian had allowed, “that’s true.” He gave little else away, yet; merely acknowledged the claim without confirmation or denial. Attesting to it led to questions about how he could be so good – and that was one thing no one would believe if he did tell. Instead, Killian merely watched his two guests, now gingerly seated before him in his office, taking stock of just who they were and sussing out their intentions.
Their five-year-old daughter had been taken. Simply vanished from her bed two nights ago and no trace of her had turned up since. The police had been no real help, though they had tried: questioning their neighbors, canvassing their quiet suburb, putting out APBs and searching their house for any traces of evidence. The woman, dark black hair making her skin look even paler and dressed in such prim pastels that Killian would have laid money on her being a nursery school teacher in her daily life, moved forward then, grasping his forearm beseechingly in a grip much stronger than he would have expected her capable. Her eyes were wide and pleading, filled with an emotion he could only label as ‘hope’ – however misplaced it seemed in that instance, and as foreign as the concept was to him personally.
“Please, Detective…” she’d paused, drawing a shaky breath before she pressed on, “Mr. Jones, I know that none of our neighbors did this. Our Emma didn’t just run away or wander off. She’s only five – she hasn’t ever even spent the night away from us. There was nothing wrong. She was perfectly fine when we went to bed that night. Something we can’t explain has happened to her, and we need to fix it. You’re our last hope.”
Even after all the years that have come between, Killian could still picture that look in the woman’s eyes, so anxious to believe it wasn’t too late, that her daughter wasn’t lost to her forever – dead, maimed, or whatever other horrible statistic Killian had known all too well was probably true. The woman’s green gaze had beseeched him, and his stomach still swooped down toward his knees at the thought that they had been pinning their final shred of faith on him – and he wasn’t at all sure he wanted it.
The broad-shouldered husband had stepped forward once more after his wife’s impassioned plea, gathering her against his sturdy side and wrapping his arm protectively around her shoulders as they began to shake with unheard tears. His eyes were steely, intent, and though Killian Jones could see he was just as frantic to locate his child, he wasn’t going to beg yet. Holding it together for his wife seemed to be anchoring him for the moment. Though with a deep growl low in his throat, Jones knew, as sure as he lived – or didn’t, actually – that if he refused to help this couple, the little girl’s father would go charging out into the night in search of her, bare knuckled and ready to face the monsters that hid in the midnight gloom. Knowing all too well what really did go bump in the night, long resigned to the fact that he was one of those creatures, Killian was also well aware that this noble father would fail in his quest; what he would face in some dark alley or dank cellar at his search’s end would most likely not be flesh and blood. Killian could sense that much already. Letting them go without taking their case would be as good as signing this man – this David Nolan’s - death warrant.
He slammed the tumbler still clutched in his hand down upon the surface of his scratched, pockmarked desk and stood fluidly, already cursing himself for a fool, taking on trouble he didn’t need. The movement was so sudden that the couple before him jerked back slightly in surprise, and the PI winced internally, reminding himself to be more careful about letting his inhuman speed and grace show through so obviously. Trouble was right – in more ways than one.
The shadows stretched longer in the dingy, dimly-lit office as he forced himself to move with a normal casualty he didn’t feel to straighten out the leather jacket he tossed over the back of his chair hours before and slide his arms into it, then popped the collar high along his neck in the style that had reigned decades ago, when he’d last been truly alive. He’d told them then that he would take the case, but there was no time to lose. He asked to visit their home, see their little girl’s room, which the Nolans had quickly agreed to. He knew the police had already been there, but, he explained as they drove, he might see something they had missed which could give him a starting point.
What he hadn’t said aloud, but had already felt as foreboding under his skin, was that he would know – he’d feel it, smell it, perhaps even gain supernatural vision of it – once he stood in the space, if the kidnapper was the sort of sinister being he feared, one of those like him... a vampire.
Killian’s half-stupor and his flood of memories was broken abruptly by an urgent knocking on the rickety door of the stained, decrepit bathroom he’d shut himself within. Panic flooded his system, as well as the thirsty need still thrumming through his veins, growing continually harder to ignore. Cursing himself for a fool at not being aware enough to slip the chain into the lock across the door when he’d entered, Killian knew there was really nothing stopping the young woman he’d been charged with protecting from entering into more danger than she was in already, more peril than she could possibly comprehend.
“Mr. Jones?” her voice called out through the questionable barrier, naive concern in its tone. “Are you alright in there?” She hesitated for a moment when her temporary protector didn’t respond, waiting outside as he’d asked, but as the silence stretched, she seemed unable to leave this person who had been kind to her if she could help him. “You really didn’t look well before…and, um, I know it’s not much…but I brought some more ice.”
Despite the entire room between them, Killian could hear the blood pulsing in her veins, could practically taste the sweetness of it on his tongue, a feeding the only thing that could truly restore him in as dire a state as he had slipped into. Her heartbeat, and the tiny, softer one of her unborn child – the one they’d just been discussing her naming after her Sean, the baby’s murdered father, when the trouble began – was so loud in his head that it felt as if it were pounding against his skull. His sharp fangs had already partially descended from his gums, the predator inside knowing the needed elixir was right there, just beyond its grasp, and Killian practically shook with the effort to hold himself still in the frigid water. ‘I will not hurt them’, his repeated mantra whispered over his lips once more, a constant vow. If Ashley would just stay outside until help came, if she’d just wait on the other side of the door…
“Okay, Mr. Jones, you’re really worrying me now,” he heard her determined young voice warn, and he was already shaking his head ‘no’, trying to string together a coherent response to stall her further, when she added, “I’m coming in.” The door swung open wide, banging against the scarred wall behind it as Ashley Herman, the witness he’d been meant to bring back to town safely, came through, lugging a 10 gallon bucket of ice with both hands.
Killian tried to close his eyes, to feign sleep, anything to hold back his ravenous instincts. Yet, his stillness only seemed to concern the plucky mother-to-be further. She managed – barely – to lift the heavy bucket high enough to dump it over the side into the large tub with the mix of melted water and ice cubes already floating there. But as she leaned over him, intent on her task, and quite probably trying to ascertain if he was still breathing, the beast inside of him had to look.
Her neck was right there, practically offered up for the slavering monster he was grappling to contain. Her jugular stood out like a beacon, beating its life-giving rhythm in some enticing Morse code he couldn’t ignore. Jerking back against the porcelain behind him, Killian clawed desperately, calling on everything in him not to lunge forward and take the restorative sustenance needed, to drain her until there was nothing left.
His eyes flew open wide in his panic, and at his sudden movement, Ashley’s own slid up to meet them; only for her to scream and stumble backwards, dropping the bucket and then tripping over it to fall on her rump, still scrambling away.
Killian had known the hunger in his eyes would be visible, changing them to an unearthly stare that even humans recognized was not natural, but were usually too late to flee from once seen. Though the reaction hurt somewhere on the edges of his awareness – it would never stop aching that he hadn’t wanted this – he tried to use Ashley’s fear to push her to safety. Fear gripped him even tighter as he felt his tense muscles start to raise him from the tub, anxious for the nourishment nearly within his grasp.
She was shaking her head in disbelief, her whole body trembling. “You…what…I don’t understand…” pouring nonsensically from her quivering lips.
“Get out!” Killian ordered, louder and harsher than he had meant, but without time to explain. She needed to move, put that door back between them immediately; her life and his sanity depended on it. “Now! Out!” he repeated, practically yelling. “Call Emma Nolan again. Make sure she’s on her way!” he panted, not sure what else to say to make his charge obey, only how imperative it was that she do so before he lost himself completely. “She’ll make sure you’re safe,” he said with a bit more control when he saw Ashley finally pick herself up and pass through the open door, closing it again behind her. “She’ll take care of you, Ashley. Just don’t come in here again.”
He could hear her panicked breath and sniffled tears through the cheap walls and hated himself that extra bit more for frightening her so. Sinking lower in the chilling bath, Killian forced himself to stay still, to cling to the small thread of himself still holding sway of his baser instincts. It mattered little now that he had never wanted Emma to see this side of him bared either – had wanted to remain that kind, if somewhat secretive, guardian she’d long viewed him as, to perhaps even know what it would be like for the friendship they enjoyed to deepen, to feel the overwhelming warmth in his long-empty chest at what could perhaps be even more between them as well.
Once Emma saw him like this, all of that would be over. Yet, he couldn’t let it matter. He knew she had suspicions that he hid a secret; she was smart and curious. He had doubt she had dug into every slip-up he had ever made in front of her, but he didn’t think she had unearthed what he was truly hiding. Still, she was just practical enough, just brave and compassionate enough, for him to trust that when she arrived, she would get Ashley out of there to safety. That was most important, not his thwarted hopes or what might have been. If Emma would also have some way to help him, he would certainly be grateful, but he couldn’t bring himself to expect it of her.
All he could really do was repeat to himself, ‘Hang on, help is coming,’ and rein his body in from violence he could never take back. Either he would recover, or this would be the death of him, but he couldn’t afford to focus on anything beyond his immediate concern for his charge, so he did it with gritted teeth and clenched muscles braced for catastrophe, fighting back the tragic end he should have always known was inevitable.
If he could stave off attack just a little longer, and none of the people he cared for were hurt, he would be satisfied. The damage to his own heart – just like his cursed, immortal soul – be damned. His blue eyes, long gone the strange vampiric pale that truly made him look undead, slid closed, and for a time, he knew no more.
Twenty-three years ago
Fire…burning, melting…and animal, guttural screams. The flames were seemingly everywhere, surrounding him on all sides and closing in as he sought out the tiny, blonde-headed child. He spotted her curled into herself, trying to be as small as possible, to be invisible, backed into a corner of the room beneath the window. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, only her feet sticking out from beneath the hem of the long, ridiculously ruffled white nightgown Milah had put her in – some poor sacrificial lamb of a stolen child to fix all that was broken between them.
Though there was no time to waste, the entire old house was about to go up in the raging inferno their supernatural brawl had begun, Killian stepped as carefully as he dared over to the shaking little girl. Her face was hidden in her crossed arms rested on her knees, but he knew she registered his presence at the tiny whimper which escaped her and the way she burrowed her face even deeper. Something inside him shriveled and fell apart at the fear of him she showed. He hadn’t asked for this grotesque parody of the family he could never have; would have never contemplated this travesty as a solution. But, as with the whole waking nightmare of his marriage, his wife turning him into a vampire and his life ever since, his choice didn’t seem to matter in the slightest.
All he could do now was try to bring this innocent out of the wreckage as unscathed as possible, back to the parents who were sick with worry for her and missing her desperately. He didn’t want to frighten her, to traumatize her any further by forcing her to safety, but they were running out of time.
“Emma…” he crooned softly, kneeling before her with his hand held out palm up, not touching or crowding her, but appealing for her attention. “That’s your name, right? I know this whole night has been scary. It’s alright if you’re still scared; I was afraid too. But your mom and dad sent me to find you,” he breathed a tiny sigh of relief when one slit of a bright, intelligent green eye peeped out at him, as if gauging whether or not to believe his word. “They hired me to bring you back to them if I could. We just have to get out of here quickly, and then I’ll take you straight to your mom and dad…”
Waiting anxiously, he tried not to flinch at the hot sparks leaping and crackling almost close enough to singe his back or the smoke stinging his eyes. Killian would snatch her up and get her out to save her life regardless, but he could have cheered aloud when she finally raised her head enough to look at him fully and whispered, “Promise?”
“Aye, sweetheart,” he murmured gently, letting a bit of the lilt in his voice that he knew to be soothing show further. “I promise.”
Little Emma Nolan ever so slowly sat up straight, unwound her arms from around her knees and then placed her tiny, delicate hand in his. Without wasting another second, Killian scooped her into his arms, whisked her from the flames, the creak of collapsing timber, and the death howl of his first love – staked, incapacitated, unable to hurt anyone ever again – and carried her home.
“Killian!” a terrified cry of his name and a frenzied smack to his face brought him reeling back out of the past. His muscles still frozen in the death grip he had maintained on the edges of the bath released at last, and he slid, spluttering, beneath the water for a moment until he was hauled up again by the soaking collar of his shirt. “Speak to me, Jones,” her voice was commanding, harsh with apprehension and worry. “You better not be dead.” The first thing he registered beyond her speaking was that blond halo of her hair as she leaned over the tub to peer at him intently.
‘Emma,’ his mind whispered in unquenchable relief. ‘She made it in time.’ Or at least he hoped so – judging by how weak and unfocused he still felt, and the lack of carnage and blood in the room around him, it would seem his pregnant ward was still safe and he had managed just enough restraint.
And yet, he still needed to feed – so desperately that he could barely see Emma before him through the fuzzy glaze over his vision. His skin felt stretched beyond endurance – dry and paper thin though he literally rested in a pool of water – as if it and he were about to disintegrate to dust. And despite it all, the veins pulsing blood through Emma’s body were so clear and vividly tempting that he could hardly focus on anything else, his tongue peeking out as it traced over his sharp fangs unconsciously, in an action beyond his control.
To his complete shock, Emma did not appear disgusted or frightened, or even terribly surprised, as she knelt before him studying the strange, pale look of his bloodthirsty vampiric eyes, the protruding fangs, and the full extent of the power he hid beneath his carefully normal surface. A part of him had half-expected to be struck down in his weakened state once she arrived; had accepted the fact that it would be best even, safest for all of them. However, what he found in her face, studying him with sympathy and another emotion that he couldn’t quite read, was none of the justice and retribution he had expected.
“Don’t you look at me like that, Killian Jones,” she finally breathed out huskily, inexplicably reaching forward to swipe a bit of his dark hair wetly plastered to his forehead back toward his temple, a melancholy wistfulness on her face. “You’re not the only one around here who’s good at research and a little detective work, you know.”
Killian merely waited, no words or even sense of what his response to that should be in his mind.
“I started to put two and two together a while ago,” she continued, with a scoffing chuckle and wry half-smile, “though probably not nearly as soon as I should have. You’re a vampire…aren’t you?”
He nodded, barely, still half-paralyzed with atrophy from holding himself so rigid for so long and practically lethargic from his thwarted hunger. “Aye,” his words rasped clumsily from heavy lips, “but before you…”
Then she did smile fully, even if there was still sadness in her gaze. “Hush,” she interrupted and stopped him cold as she leaned even closer to press her fingertips to his mouth. “You don’t need to explain it all now. Though I do wish you had felt you could tell me… That isn’t important at the moment. What matters is that you’re famished, aren’t you? Will feeding be enough to fix it? You’ll be fine again once you get some blood… right?”
Stunned once more, Killian could only bob his head in the affirmative, his reasons and perception impaired. He couldn’t quite fathom what was happening, barely hearing her decide, “Well, okay then,” and blow out a steadying breath. His mind was still struggling to catch up until he realized that Emma was gathering her hair to sweep it all over her shoulder and pulling down her sweater until her neck and whole shoulder were bared to his gaze, clearly offering herself to him in the best way she knew how.
Killian jerked back to full awareness – ashamed, panicked, and struggling to explain that he couldn’t feed from her. He could hurt her, he could drink too much, and he had vowed to himself long ago not to do such a thing to her. She might never look at him the same way afterwards, and it would destroy everything between them. “No lass,” he whispered, averting his eyes and barely containing the new, heady rush of need – of want – that flooded his senses and every pore at the sight of her creamy, delectable skin on display for his perusal. “I – I can’t…please…”
“You can,” she argued back, her chin tilted up with determined challenge, eyes crackling at him even as her voice pleaded. “You may not want to hurt me, but you don’t have time for any other options. I don’t know much about what’s going on, but that much is obvious. Please, Killian…let me do this… I want to.”
His eyes flew up to meet hers – uncertainty warring with hope and disbelief in a dizzying tangle. “You do?” he asked, astounded.
“Yes,” she reiterated, nodding fervently and letting her hand cradle the side of his face tenderly. “You can’t die, alright?” Her voice faltered a bit at that, unshed tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. “I need you. I know you feel like you have to protect me, not the other way around, but how many times have you rescued me since we’ve met?” She stumbled over the words sheepishly, but pressed on. “Please…just let me save you this time.”
Killian finally nodded his assent wearily; he didn’t have the strength to fight her, and how could he turn down this chance to taste her, to bond them in a way he couldn’t have fathomed ever receiving? Even if he should continue to resist, it was simply beyond his ability.
Reaching out tentatively, his movements still disjointed and shaky, Killian ignored the Heaven of her neck, afraid he wouldn’t be able to pull back when necessary if he bit her there, and instead softly wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her arm gently toward his mouth.
Emma drew in a tight breath, as if steeling herself somehow, possibly hoping to avoid an upsetting reaction if it hurt. He paused, her arm suspended between them, but he ignored the pulsing vein there which would save his life, and for a moment, simply stroked her palm tenderly, his gaze not leaving her eyes, but searching their green depths. “Emma...are you certain about this?”
She looked back at him with equal focus, arching an eyebrow in the no-nonsense, almost sarcastic way that she had which he could never help but love. “If it’s do this or you’ll die, then yeah, I’m absolutely sure,” she replied sturdily, a firm, no-nonsense bob of her head echoing the words. She didn’t say anymore, just bit her lower lip nervously, making herself look younger and a tiny bit fragile in spite of her resolve.
It prompted Killian to reach out, in spite of the clumsy nature of his movements and his urgent need, to brush a strand of her hair back over her shoulder with the rest, and then, for only a second, to cup her face in his large hand, thinking he would never have an opportunity afterward. When her eyes focused on him once more, he said resignedly. “I’ll try to be careful, but…at some point…you may have to stop me.”
She nodded, and then he could truly wait no longer. He could feel the capillaries and veins within beginning to dry up and wither, knew that if a vampire got much further into this stage – even if their existence continued, they might not fully recover. Anymore hesitation and he could well make Emma’s offering senseless. Let the chips fall where they might, he would have to hope she wasn’t appalled and didn’t turn from him when this moment had passed.
He bent his dark, shaggy head over her wrist, drawing in one long, savoring breath before baring his fangs and diving in. Emma jerked slightly in his grasp as the sharp teeth pierced her skin, and though Killian knew the reaction was involuntary, it hurt him that he had knowingly caused her pain. However, in seconds her blood had reached his tongue, and the bliss that erupted on his senses was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Lost in her essence, he was overcome and all else faded away.
Emma meanwhile, hissed through her teeth at the sharp, sudden sting of the initial bite, but fought mightily for a second not to grab her arm back protectively, knowing that Kilian would stop and let himself die if she pulled away or fought. It was a fleeting pain anyway, as almost immediately after a strange shift began to take place. A tingling warmth and an out-of-body awareness seeped through her limbs. Emma closed her eyes, relishing the fact that she could feel Killian’s desire, his need, and the fulfillment that she was providing, echoed back and into her system as well.
It was powerful, thrilling, and more than a bit intoxicating. Though she knew logically that she had to be careful; she couldn’t help but allow the heady euphoria that seemed to awaken every nerve ending to envelop her as well. She had never felt so alive, so free, and yet so connected to another person. There were no words for it as she surrendered to the sensation…
Twenty-three years ago…
As she gave into the deluge of feelings and memory, more and more glimpses seeped into Emma’s mind and pulled her under. It was as though she were five years old again - cowering in that immense, suffocating darkness - lost in midnight blackness which had never felt so complete before or since.
Her mind recaptured the tight grip of almost clawed, inescapable hands snatching her from her bedroom, and the firm grasp of arms wrapped around her small, quivering frame like bands of iron. She been grabbed in an instant, blinking awake amidst pitch, overwhelming night, before she was awake enough to cry out, or even understand what was happening to her.
The monster who had taken her wavered in her conscious - a vague impression of long, dark hair, horrible, unhinged, almost red eyes, and sharp teeth. There had been a dim, unfamiliar attic room in an old house she didn’t know, and she could recall vividly trying to make herself as small as possible - hopefully invisible - in the corner against the wall once the creature had left her alone. After that, there was fire - flames dancing all around her and almost transfixing her vision. She had wanted to flee, known there was danger, but been afraid to move, to be noticed once more by the not-human who had stolen her.
Then, in a horrible rush and flurry of movement, there had been two of them fighting and clawing, leaping and crashing across the room with horrible growls and gnashing of teeth. It had been almost too fast for her small, uncomprehending eyes to follow, illuminated and then obscured by leaping tongues of flames and flickering shadows.
Until as soon as it had begun, the tumult ceased. With one last unearthly shriek, the sounds of struggled ended, and Emma had glimpsed a different dark form moving cautiously toward her through the fire. Eventually, the shady newcomer had knelt before her and coaxed her to take his hand. Though she had been shaking with fright and sensed the unnatural strength in this being too, something convinced her that this one meant her no harm.
He hadn’t pushed her, but waited for her to allow his touch before gathering her in his hold and taking her away from the darkness and fear. She didn’t remember all the facial features of this dark sort of guardian angel (as she continued for years to think of him affectionately) only piercing blue eyes - the bluest her child’s gaze had ever seen - gone almost black at the edges with some sort of intensity she couldn’t fathom.
Against all odds and all she had been through that night, Emma had felt safe again, wrapped up in that tight hold, almost like the comforting strength she found in her daddy’s arms. It was a similar sort of solidity, if less bulky than Papa’s, and she had laid her tiny head on his shoulder, the tremors shaking her whole body finally beginning to subside. She’d fallen into an exhausted slumber, and when she’d awakened, the bearer of those limitless blue eyes was gone; she was back with her mama and papa.
Emma returned to the present and the shabby desert motel where she had found Killian near death, with a gasp, starting up from the slump she’d collapsed in over the side of the porcelain bathtub. Killian was calling her name urgently, the worry evident in his tense voice as he leaned over her, but seemed strangely reluctant to make physical contact.
“Emma, can you hear me?!? Please - say something!” he cried, and Emma blinked, gathering her bearings and realizing that she must have let Killian drink from her for too long, awash in remembrance and sensation, and passed into a swoon of sorts, like some damsel in a fairy tale. She could hear the self-recrimination and blame in his voice as he urged her back into awareness, and as she straightened more fully, wincing at the tenderness in her arm, Emma fully looked up at Killian Jones - sometimes protector, long held friend and occasional partner in solving crimes, the man she found incredibly hard to resist and often caught herself wondering about romantically, what it might feel like to kiss his lips, to have him hold her against that firm, muscled chest - she met his eyes and suddenly knew why the blue had always seemed so comfortingly familiar, so engulfing and safe. They were the same eyes that haunted her half-remembered reveries of the Savior who had returned her home years ago, who had found a shivering, petrified little girl and put her world right again.
It all made sense now - how he had appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the crime scene on the first case she’d reported for BuzzWire - materializing at her elbow to guide and protect every step of the way, no matter how much she’d grumbled about not needing his help at first. Emma could suddenly see as clearly as if she were reading Killian’s mind, retracing all the steps and thoughts that led him on the way ever since that fateful night her parents first sent him to her aid. From then on, over all the weeks, months, years since… he had clearly made that lost little girl - her - his personal mission. Her life had been touched by evil and darkness because of him (or so she could all too easily see him believing); her brilliant light nearly snuffed out. It had become his purpose not to allow it extinguished.
With new clarity, Emma realized that he had never been far from where he could watch over her and come to her rescue; moreover, he had continued looking after her since their formal meeting and becoming friends and partners; waiting in the wings, just in case she ever needed him…
Shaking her head dazedly, dumbfounded by the shocking revelation, “But - but you never said… I never knew… You’ve been looking out for me… on purpose… all this time?”
Killian’s eyes tried to slide away from hers, down to the frigid water and his drenched clothes, to the mottled tile floor, anywhere but back to meet her stunned gaze. He shook his head angrily, nearly biting out the words in gruff frustration, “Aye, I did...and all to nearly drain your life away in saving my own.”
The horror-stricken expression marring his handsome dark brow when Emma finally reached forward, placing a hand under his chin to force his eyes up to hers again spoke of such bitter judgement and self-loathing that quick tears started in her eyes unbidden. She didn’t know what to say, how to respond, only that she wanted to wipe that feeling, that pain from his face forever.
He tried to pull away again, blurting out, “Emma, please, just leave me! Take Ashley, get her back to safety, and leave this all behind. I nearly killed you! I can’t...If I’d… I could never forgive myself if anything else happened to you because of me.” With that outburst, his unsteadiness seemed to subside - either her lifesblood in his system doing its job to restore him, or his sheer resolve powering him on, but Killian shot to his feet in a smooth, superhumanly quick flash, stepping dripping wet to the long ago discolored floor before turning to level her with a stare that could freeze the liquid yet flowing through her veins. “I was kidding myself to ever think I was keeping you safe, that I could be near someone so good! I’m a cursed being, and I’ll only ever bring danger to your door, Emma. You need to stay away from me.”
He turned his back, shoulders slumped in defeat and waiting in stony silence. Emma could only presume he expected her to walk out, to leave him behind for her own good, but she could no more do that than leave behind a piece of herself. She might have been much too long in the dark, slow to realize just how entwined they were - and had always been - but she did know now, and she wouldn’t be pulling away. She didn’t want to.
Instead, she rose from her crouch by the tub, and though she wobbled for a second, her head light and clearly not as unaffected as she’d have liked to pretend, moved quietly to stand just behind him. Mere inches were all that were left between them when she reached out her hand tentatively, hardly daring to breathe as she laid a light touch on his tensed back, hoping to provide some sort of comfort, some assurance that she was still there with him, despite his fear.
A ripple shuddered through his frame; she felt the shaking under his skin before he turned once more to face her, drawing in a ragged breath as his eyes beseeched her, raw in their bright, tormented anguish, pleading as clearly as if he had spoken aloud, even before he rasped out a question. “Why, Emma? What would keep you here?” His eyes fell once more, another shiver coursing through him. “I’m not worth it.”
“Hey...hey,” she soothed, voice pitched quietly, as if speaking to a startled animal. “Killian, look at me. We’re alright, okay? That just isn’t true. You’re worth…” she swallowed hard, the magnitude of it only now truly understood and hitting her at full force. “You’re worth so much more than you’re giving yourself credit for. You’ve found me worthwhile all this time. Can’t I feel the same about you?”
Emma tried to make the last question a bit playful, otherwise overwhelmed and out-of-her-depth, she was trying to make Killian see that he wasn’t the monster he deemed himself. He could never be that in her eyes. She had seen a real monster long ago, and had survived it only thanks to him. Fighting her natural aversion to emotional speeches or sharing her feelings, she gave her newly recognized hero a lopsided grin and a shrug of her shoulders, as if to ask, ‘What are you gonna do?’ and added, “Just face it, Jones. You’re stuck with me.”
His intense stare bore into her for interminable minutes, likely searching her deep, all the way down to her soul. Finally, he seemed to come to some sort of decision, blowing out a breath and shaking his head with resigned humor. “Too stubborn for your own good,” he murmured under his breath before offering her what Emma would almost unbelievably call a hopeful smile that dazzled her beyond all measure, and then stating aloud. “You really are a tough lass, aren’t you?”
Blinking back the rogue tears that she had somehow managed not to let fall, Emma beamed at him in spite of how dire things had been mere moments ago. “You better believe it,” she affirmed, proud that her voice was almost completely steady.
“Well then,” he continued to smile back, gently cupping her face with his solid hand, gazing at her in warm admiration and what she had to feel was a bit of awed surprise as well. “Let’s see about getting you and Miss Hermann back to civilization in one piece, shall we?” He dipped his head before looking up at her in question once more, as if having to make certain, “That is, if you’re still determined to stay with me.”
Planting a hand on her hip and giving him an obstinate, challenging look, Emma arched her brow at that last bit so eloquently that Killian flushed sheepishly.
“Right, of course,” he mumbled. Then, before stepping away, he drew even closer still, pulling her in slowly to press his forehead to hers fervently. “Then at least let me say this… Thank you. Not just for overlooking my loss of control, or giving me another chance despite knowing what I am, though both of those mean more than I can express… but thank you for saving my soul. For nigh on two decades now, you’ve given me meaning, a reason to exist. I am in your debt, Love. Truly.”
Emma tilted her head to study him after that heartfelt speech, and then mischief stole across her bright features before she responded airily. “I don’t know, Jones. I think there might be a more tactile expression of your gratitude in order.” She lifted her face to him knowingly, smile with tempting expectation as she traced the tip of her tongue across her upper lip, so quickly he could have almost missed it if he hadn’t been unbearably focused on her precious face. “You may have the prettiest words of anyone I’ve ever met,” she teased, though her voice was soft now, almost breathless, “but is that really all your life is worth to you?”
Killian was reading her signals loud and clear, his eyebrows nearly rising into his hairline at her obvious anticipation. The air between them had been so fraught and tense with all that had happened that her attempt to lighten the mood was much appreciated, though he could not simply ignore the very real desire rushing through him to take her up on her clear offer either. It seemed he had dreamed of kissing this glorious firestorm of a woman for so long, all the while holding back, convinced that doing so would spell the end for them instead of the beginning, that the permission to follow his instinct, the realization that Emma wished for the very same thing was exhilarating.
Surging forward with a guttural moan of pleasure reverberating low in his throat, Killian could wait no longer to finally kiss this woman who had enchanted him years ago, capturing his heart as she challenged him and made him a part of the world again. Tracing her lips briefly with his tongue, her salty skin and soft, inviting mouth exquisite in its flavor, he pressed forward, catching her up and overwhelming her in the best of ways, causing them to stumble backwards into the support of the nearest wall. His hands delved into her golden hair, running his fingers through the silk of it as he had long ached to do, and he could only shiver and nearly growl out his muffled approval when she pressed further into him in return, clinging to his shoulders in abandon and holding on tightly to stay on her feet against his dizzying onslaught and give back every bit as good.
Panting and lightheaded when they finally parted just a hair's breadth in order to breathe, Emma smiled up at him with a look of flushed awe that warmed his cold, undead body from the tips of his ears to the ends of his toes. He would never know what she had seen in him to make her stay instead of running to safety while she had the chance. No matter how she protested, he would never find himself worthy of the devotion of a woman like her, but Killian knew in that moment he would spend the rest of his immortal life endeavoring to do so - just as he had for the years he had spent as her self-appointed guardian.
A knock on the door just then startled them both into jumping apart like two awkward teenagers caught red handed. “Guys? Are you alright in there?” Ashley’s voice, equal parts nervous, curious, and healthily annoyed, asked them through the door into the rest of the suite. “If we could get out of here some time this century, that’d be great. This place really kinda gives me the creeps…”
Emma snorted a held back giggle through her nose at the younger woman’s words. A fetching blush rapidly spread across her cheeks, down her neck, and disappeared into her shirt collar, and Killian couldn’t help but find her even more lovely when flustered, especially since he had been the one to make her so. “Yep! We’re coming!” she managed to call out breathily to their witness, moving to straighten her rumpled appearance just a bit and trying to make her hair look less disheveled from his hands.
It wasn’t long after that they were ready to leave their seedy hideout and begin the journey back to civilization from the burning desert. Killian looked back once more just before closing the door on the ramshackle room. Mere hours ago he’d been certain he was meeting his end, the running for his and Ashley’s lives over and their time lost, and now it seemed that forever once more stretched out ahead. They would find their way home safely; he no longer had any doubt.
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