#I LOVEE THE WATER AND HOW SHE BLENDS INTO ITTT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spartanguard · 6 years

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something in the water, part 3

Summary: Emma is sent to investigate a supposed sea monster appearance in her hometown. Thankfully, her family there knows her secret: that at night, she transforms into a swan. And she knows that whoever the universe thinks her soulmate is, as dictated by the tattoo on her side, won’t be there. Though maybe she was wrong to assume that. And when did a merman start hanging out in the ocean near Storybrooke?

rated M (eventually) | 7k | part 1 (art) | part 2 (art) | AO3

A/N: Life is still busy, but here’s the next chapter of my @cssns story! Not sure how long it will be until the next one comes up, but hopefully soon! art for this chapter will be up shortly!

Once Emma had reached the far end of the cove, where it met the Atlantic, she turned around and worked her way back, but was disappointed to find that Killian was nowhere in sight. So she went back to what she was being paid to do, continuing to keep an eye out for movement, otherworldly or otherwise.

She was still pretty certain that she didn’t believe Cruella, until she caught a glimpse of a weird, vaguely human-shaped flash on one of her peeks beneath the surface. She didn’t have a terribly clear view of it, but it seemed to blend in with the water—which matched the description of an ashray.

Since Killian was gone, she decided to settle in for the night under his dock and just pray he wasn’t going for a pre-dawn sail. Her gaze was came to rest on the surface, but eventually she found herself nodding off, and tucked her beak under a wing as she drifted to sleep.

At dawn, she woke up to the usual tingle that told her it was time to find dry ground unless she felt like skinny dipping. She stretched her neck and shook the salt water from her feathers, and then took a look at how far it was to her car—too far. Shit.

The change was imminent, but she couldn’t, not yet. Ugh, she hated when this happened. It took way more mental energy than she felt like using, but whenever she found herself in this situation—not having enough time to get back to her clothes, usually when she was doing an overnight stakeout like this—she’d figured out how to delay the change just long enough to get back to her clothing or whatever.

Keeping the mental image of her swan form in her head, she felt the prickling slow down, giving her time to paddle out to open water and take off in flight. She covered the distance back to her car much faster than she thought she was capable of, and somehow managed to land on the open window ledge gracefully.

She hopped down on the seat and relaxed, and the transformation took over immediately. Even though she only delayed it by a couple of minutes, it left her feeling exhausted; she took just enough time to tug on her jeans and tshirt—not even shoes—and drove home, barefoot, as quick as possible, where she trudged in and up to her room, and promptly passed out until noon.

David and Snow were obviously at work by the time Emma woke up, which meant it was just her and her thoughts for most of the day. Which meant yesterday’s excitement had become today’s nerves.

She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone on a date that wasn’t a setup to catch a skip. There was a vampire once that she’d enjoyed talking to—and, in the process, learned that Olive Garden’s garlic bread sticks had no effect on him, so either the garlic was fake or the myth surrounding it was—but the evening still ended with him in holy water-doused cuffs (that legend was true, at least).

Still, she used her normal going-out routine to help her calm down for the evening to come. Well, almost normal; she spent an inordinately long time in the bath, skimming the internet for information on ashrays, and then may took half an hour to debate between the two dresses she brought—both of which were better suited for honey traps than first dates—before giving up and raiding Snow’s closet; thank goodness they wore the same size.

After settling on a blush pink, A-line frock and matching light makeup, she was trying to decide what to do with her hair when a knock sounded on her bedroom door and Snow poked her head in, asking, “Hey, what are you up t—is that my dress?”

“Uh, yeah?” Emma replied, somewhat sheepishly.

Snow let herself the rest of the way into the room. “I certainly don’t mind, but what’s the occasion?” She came to stand next to Emma in front of the room’s full-length mirror, assessing Emma’s reflection with a wondering smile.

Emma had kind of been hoping to be out of the house before either Snow or Dave found out about this, knowing that a first date was practically an engagement in their eyes. Though, this was Storybrooke; they would have found out eventually. “I, uh, have a date tonight. With, um, Killian.”

Emma was not at all surprised by the squealing, clapping, and jumping that elicited from Snow. “Oh my gosh! Where are you going? What are you going to do? How did he ask? Oh, thank goodness it’s the full moon! Do you need condoms?”

“Holy crap, Snow; it’s a date, not a proposal. And you did not just go there.”

“I did, and I make no apologies. Actually, I shouldn’t even have suggested that; you two would make the cutest babies.”

“Snow!”

“What? I’m just saying. David was totally right.”

Emma’s head fell back and she let out an exaggerated groan. “You’re not helping!”

“Sorry,” Snow said softly. As much as she liked to tease, she was well aware of Emma’s romantic history; she and David had just started dating when things fell apart with Neal. “How can I help?”

Emma righted her head and looked at Snow via the reflection. “Do my hair?”

Snow answered with an encouraging grin. “Of course.”

An hour or so later—and a few minutes before 6—Emma was outside Granny’s, her hair done up in a Barbie-esque (but classy) ponytail. She knew she should just go in, but even if Ruby wasn’t working tonight, the eyes of Storybrooke would still be on her.

“You didn’t have to wait out here for me, love,” Killian’s voice sounded from a short distance. She turned, and there he was at the end of the walkway, looking like he should be the meal tonight. It wasn’t much different than what he had on yesterday, but the jeans were black this time and topped with a matching leather motorcycle jacket. Her jaw dropped yet again; how did he keep doing that?

He seemed equally stunned as he gaped at her. “You look stunning, Emma,” he said, almost breathlessly, eyes wide with a soft smile as he presented her with a single rose, held lightly in his damaged hand.

Hell, even that was making her heart flutter; no one she wasn’t related to had ever done something so small and yet so sweet for her, not even Neal. All she could manage to stutter out in response as she took the proffered stem was, “You...look…”

“I know,” he finished for her, smirking. She snorted and rolled her eyes at that, but it was just as much for show as him saying it was. He scratched behind his ear, betraying the fact that he was as nervous as she was. But he seemed to get over it, and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, only slightly blushing, and commented playfully, “I didn’t realize you were such a gentleman.”

He went ahead of her on the steps up to the door, but still held her hand; after he opened it, he turned back and gestured for her to go ahead. “I’m always a gentleman, love,” he replied, winking badly.

It was easy to imagine what Ruby’s reaction would be were she there, watching them slide into opposite sides of an empty booth; Emma could almost hear the “YASSSS”s and “GET ITTT”s. That was another perk to scheduling this on the full moon: no added pressure from meddlesome werewolves, who were off wherever doing their werewolf thing.

Which was good, because if they were both already a bit on edge, Ruby would probably send them both over it. As it was, neither had said a word since they sat down, instead pretending to look at the menus they both had probably memorized while stealing glances at the other—until, just like in a movie, their eyes met, and they nervously chuckled.

“Sorry,” she started. “I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“Me either,” he answered.

“I find that hard to believe,” she commented; no way someone as flirtatious as him didn’t have dates, or at least pick up girls at the bar, on the regular. And she swallowed down the tiny bit of bile-like jealousy that rose in her throat at the thought; where the hell did that come from?

“Likewise,” he countered lightly. “I suppose I meant more along the lines of: this is the first time in a long while I’ve gone out with someone I truly fancied,” he admitted, glancing up at her almost shyly through his lashes.

She pursed her lips and swallowed. “Same here,” she agreed, surprising herself with her honesty and giving him a tiny, encouraging smile. It was nice to know that they were in the same boat.

And so too, it seemed, was their waitress; it looked like she was brand new and not quite ready to be thrown to the wolves of (or rather, cover for the wolves during) dinner rush. The poor girl barely had a grip on her tray and it only had two glasses of water on it. Her squeak of a greeting interrupted the silent conversation Emma and Killian were having, and she managed to set one glass on the table just fine. But Emma could see her hand shaking on the next, and it was almost slow motion watching it slip from her fingers and splash all across Killian’s side of the table.

Before it had a chance to spill on his lap, Killian leapt out of the booth—which was almost as jarring as the clatter of the cup in the first place. Judging from the panicked expression on his face as he watched the water drip onto the seat he had just occupied, he was downright scared of it.

The waitress apologized profusely and pulled a rag from her apron, and Killian shuffled over to Emma’s side of the table as the girl cleaned, as if to put as much distance between him and the spill as possible. He was inspecting his jeans for any drops, she guessed, and glancing at a leather bracelet on his left wrist. Honestly, his overreaction was kind of weird, and kind of freaking her out a bit.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, reaching out to take his right hand in her left. Her touch drew his eyes first to where she gripped his fingers, and then to her face; she must have worn her concern in her expression because he he immediately became apologetic.

“Aye, I am; sorry to cause alarm,” he said softly, squeezing her hand in assurance. “Just didn’t quite feel like going for a dip at the moment.”

Well, that she could understand. But she could still tease. “No? I thought you loved the water.”

“When I choose to be in it,” he threw back, then leaned in; she could feel his warm breath on her ear. “I much prefer other things to be wet,” he said suggestively, popping the ‘t’, and causing her to shift in her seat just a little bit. She really hoped he hadn’t seen that, but the suggestive smirk he threw her way said otherwise.

“I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date, just so you know,” she quipped; in reality, she was no stranger to one-night flings, but she never had to see those people again—and she didn’t want that to happen with Killian.

“Well, that’s because you haven’t been out with me yet,” he answered, and she could see his tongue making lewd gestures behind his teeth (if that was a thing that tongues could do). “I must say, though—that’s the first time I’ve been referred to as a pirate.”

“Seriously? You have a ship and you flirt with everything; I’m surprised you haven’t yet.” She wanted to add that his apparent history with a crocodile definitely warranted a Captain Hook comparison, but didn’t want to put any more of a damper on tonight.

The waitress was back to take their orders, and conversation continued from there, mainly sticking to casual topics: how he was liking the US and how it compared to home (“Much drier,” he assessed; she told him to wait until winter); favorite books (he preferred Hemingway while she loved Austen, but both had a soft spot for The Princess Bride); and finally to her job in town.

“Did the texts give you any leads?” he asked, before popping a french fry into his mouth.

“Maybe? I’m still not convinced there’s actually anything there, but don’t worry—no krakens,” she promised him as she picked at her last onion ring. “Do you know if there’s anything else I can take a look at?”

He chewed and stared at the ceiling as he thought, brows furrowed, and then swallowed and looked back at her. “I think there’s another section we can pick through, whenever you come in next. And, I’m no marine biologist, but I’ll gladly help survey.”

“I’d love that,” she gushed, not really thinking about the implications of a likely Muggle coming in contact with what might be a magical creature. (Though, technically, he’d already gotten close to several.)

“I’m surprised you didn’t find anything in those books on legends you borrowed,” he added, smirking.

Busted. “Oh, those,” she said as casually as possible. “Stakeouts can get boring. Fiction helps.” She hoped that was enough for him to not question it.

It seemed to work. Ever the gentleman, he paid the bill and then, outside the diner, asked, “Could I interest you in an almost-moonlit stroll along the shore? Maybe we can catch a glimpse of your not-kraken, or whatever it might be.”

The sun hadn’t quite set yet, but the night was young and, for a change, she had nowhere to be but here. “I think you could,” she answered coyly.

“Good.” He held his hand out to her, and she eyed it for a moment before taking it. Their fingers intertwined almost perfectly, and they were off.

They made their way first towards the marina; the bobbing of all the boats and gentle ringing of their bells always sounded like home to her. Even though she found herself near the harbor fairly often back in Boston, it wasn’t quite the same. “Does the sea here smell different to you?” she asked, breaking their easy silence as they set foot on the docks.

“Aye,” he agreed. “It’s a bit crisper and cleaner here; more like where I grew up.”

“And where’s that?”

“A wee island off the coast of England. It’s pretty inconsequential.”

She shrugged. “So is Storybrooke; I bet you feel right at home.”

He chuckled. “Believe it or not, Storybrooke is actually bigger.”

“Damn.” She hadn’t been anywhere smaller than here; the thought was mind-boggling, especially as she glanced around the small marina. “So you left your tiny hometown for the ‘big’ city?”

“Well, I did live in Plymouth for a while, but it was too congested for my taste.”

“You’d hate Boston, then.”

“Probably.”

“Especially considering what we did to your tea there.”

“Then definitely,” he said with a laugh that crinkled the fine lines around his eyes, the orange light from the lamp at the end of the pier they’d reached making them all the more noticeable.

“And yet, here you are, living among the descendants of your country’s rebellious younger children,” she teased.

He smiled and laughed politely, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, worried; so much for keeping things light.

“No, no, you didn’t,” he assured her. “Just...I was the rebellious younger child,” he explained.

They started to walk back down the dock and she was feeling rather guilty for bringing up what obviously was not entirely a happy memory, based on his reaction. She wanted to say something, though she wasn’t sure if she should apologize or ask him to continue. He didn’t give her the choice either way, as he went on. “My older brother, Liam—he was the good one; I could never quite rein it in like he could. There was too much to see, too much to do. He would have rather I stayed in one place so he could keep an eye on me.”

“Yeah, I think all big brothers are like that. David sure is,” she concurred; he’d thrown a fit when she moved to Boston.

“I can see that. Actually, David reminds me a lot of Liam sometimes. They’ve got the same type of stubbornness, but the same fierce heart.”

“That’s...probably the best way to describe him that I’ve ever heard.” They’d reached the end of the main stretch of the marina and headed down the well-worn footpath that cut through the forest to the cove, the view of the darkening sky cut into fragments by the sparse pine trees. “He drove me nuts at first, and he still does, but I eventually figured out that was just his way of showing he loved me. So I made sure to give it back to him in full.”

They shared a knowing laugh that only younger siblings could. And she also realized they were still holding hands; that had to be a personal record—but it felt so natural, too.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” he started, “but when you say ‘at first’...”

“Oh, I was adopted by the Nolans. I was almost 10 when I started living with them, then 11 when it was official.” She’d forgotten that there was someone in Storybrooke who didn’t know her entire life story; whether that was good or bad was up for debate.

“Orphan?” His question was casual enough, but she felt old walls coming up at it. Even if it had been years, that word had once been a playground taunt; thank goodness it didn’t apply anymore.

“Used to be,” she answered quietly, trying to keep the old hurt out of her voice. “But David and his mom made sure I wasn’t anymore.” Ruth and Dave (and eventually Snow) had never let her feel like anything less than a full and important member of the family, and most of the time, it was like she’d always been there.

“Good,” he replied. “And I apologize for the assumption; you just had something of that look about you.”

“Look?” She’d honestly never heard that before.

“The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

Oh, she knew what that meant. “I’d ask how you know what that is, but I’m not sure tragic backstories are really first-date material,” she retorted lightly.

“May as well get it out of the way,” he shrugged, throwing half a grin to her.

He had a point. She tended to keep her past bottled up, either because the memories were unhappy or she just didn’t want it thrown back at her. But maybe if she was trying to build something new, it was worth it to get rid of some old baggage.

“Well, you’ve already got the gist of mine,” she said. “Found abandoned as an infant on the side of the road and got stuck in the foster system. Had a pretty not-great experience there, though thankfully nothing too horrific. And then I got placed with Ruth and the rest is history.” Okay, there was more to that, but she had to save something for the next date, right? (Which, of course, was shocking to her—that she figured there would be another one.) “What about you?”

“Not quite the same scenario, but there are some similarities,” he began to explain as the path spilled out to the cove, not far from where she was parked last night. They continued their stroll, wandering down the rocky shore. “My mum died when I was young, and my father didn’t stick around, so it was just Liam and me for a long time. He basically raised me, from about 10 on, but he passed around a decade or so ago, so I’ve been on my own for a while now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied, squeezing his hand. “Can I ask how?”

“A boating accident,” was his quiet reply. He was staring out at the water of the cove, probably imagining it. She knew it was far too easy to get lost in memories that way; she’d done it so many times with the fallout from Neal.

So she gripped his hand again to pull him out of that. “Is that why you have a boat now? To honor his memory?”

He looked over at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read in the waning light, then down the shore to where his sailboat was gently bobbing, and then just down, watching where he stepped on the stones. “Aye, part of it; but it’s not just to remember him. When you’ve spent most of your life in, or on the water, you need to have some way to stay connected to it.” She just hummed in agreement; given her usual nightly activities, she understood that all too well. “Would you...like to see it?” he asked, slightly nervously.

“Sure!” she blurted out. “I’d love to.”

“Excellent!” And like two giddy schoolchildren, they nearly ran down the rest of the beach to Killian’s dock and made a huge ruckus as they stomped over it to the boat’s mooring.

It was a sleek thing, not overly huge, but big enough that she could make out a small cabin below deck. The sails were all tucked away, obviously, but it was still impressive. And painted on the back, the end closer to shore, in an almost old-fashioned script was its name—which she kind of had to laugh at.

“You protest being called a pirate, yet you own a boat called the Jolly Roger?”

He just gave her a shit-eating grin as he climbed aboard, then held a hand out to help her on. It took a second for her to get her bearings as their weight shifted the boat, but she wouldn’t complain about him having to hold her hands with both of his until she did.

It seemed to be a bit of an older ship—not like one of those massive old wooden ships, but definitely from several decades ago—and it was beautiful, with fresh paint and polished wood trim. He toyed with the wheel a bit and it wasn’t hard for her to picture him standing there under a bright sun, wind whipping his fringe as the boat clipped over the waves.

Normally, thoughts like that would send up some red, soulmark-bearing flags; but she didn’t have a chance to let her mind get that far because, of course, he caught her staring at him. “Like the view?” he practically taunted, gripping the wheel a bit harder and smirking as if he was posing with it.

“Mm, it’s not bad,” she grossly understated.

He placed a hand on his chest and gasped in false indignation. “Well, perhaps the one below deck would be to your liking?” he suggested, tilting his head to the stairs that led below.

“Maybe.”

He quirked an eyebrow and gave her a sideways smile as he descended; she waited a hot second to follow, enjoying the rear view of those jeans for the umpteenth time.

But she quickly joined him in what was a small but surprisingly spacious cabin, furnished with what looked like a sofa bed (presently in couch form), a small galley kitchen, and a tiny bathroom at the head. Cozy was putting it lightly, but it still seemed comfy.

“This is quite the setup you’ve got here, Jones,” she commented, running her hand on the polished wood of the ceiling only inches above her head; he could just barely stand up down here.

“Why, thank you,” he replied, heading to the fridge. “Beer?”

“Sure.”

He pulled a couple of bottles from the mini fridge and handed one to her (a Killian’s; she rolled her eyes). “Aye, my ship, small as she is, is a marvel. And came quite in handy when it was time to move across the Atlantic.”

“Seriously? You moved here in this?”

“How else was I supposed to get it here? And have you seen the rates on overseas shipping? Bloody ludicrous.”

“I believe it,” she said with a laugh, and continued to look around. A small portrait on what she guessed was an end table-nightstand combo caught her eye; it was a black-and-white print of a slightly older woman, with long, dark curls and light eyes. It looked like she was on a beach, sun on her face, wind in her hair, and a smile on her lips. She was stunning. “Is this your mother?” she asked, hoping she was right given that he hadn’t mentioned any other female relatives.

“Uh, no,” he replied, and when she looked back at him, he had that same sad look in his eyes from earlier. “That’s...her name was Milah.” The reverent way he said her name told her everything: this was a lost love. “She’s...gone now,” he added.

Even though he only used a few words, those paired with his body language and tone were enough for a lot of things about Killian to make sense, especially his confession about this being his first real date in a while. This wasn’t something she could be jealous about, either, because she’d been there—she knew all too well what it was like to throw yourself into a fling or limit things to one-nighters; you could front and say it was all you wanted, but it was really to protect your heart.

“I know how that goes,” Emma admitted. “She was beautiful; I bet she was amazing.”

“Aye, she was.” He didn’t seem sure about how to continue from there, and she wasn’t sure what else to say; it almost felt like she was invading on a private moment, though she knew that wasn’t what he’d intended. It was just a bit awkward.

Thankfully, he found a solution. “Shall we go back up? I imagine Mother Nature has prepared quite a sight by now.”

She tilted her head in curiosity. “Yeah, sounds great,” she agreed with a small smile, and followed him back up the steps. And he was right—her breath was nearly taken away when she gazed out over the water. “Wow,” she sighed.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “There’s no sight like a full moon on the waves.”

She was more than used to the view of an almost full moon dancing on the rippled surface, but it seemed so much brighter and surreal tonight now that it was full. She usually spent these nights either out on the town or enjoying the plush bed she didn’t get much use out of, but clearly, she’d been missing out on this.

As if to make the magical setting complete, a wolf started howling in the distance, and then a few more joined in; it wasn’t hard for her to pick out Ruby’s in the chorus.

“That seems appropriate,” Killian observed, chuckling lightly, then gestured for her to take a seat in one of the chairs. “Though I was somewhat shocked that there were so many wolves here.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” she couldn’t help but quip.

They both sat and got settled, and then she took a sip of her beer and glanced back over at him. He was staring across the water, blue irises shining and pale in the moonlight; but there was a vacancy in his stare that told her he was probably lost in memories.

“What was she like?” she heard herself asking quietly. She didn’t want to pry, but clearly, this Milah was special, and whatever happened there had done a number on him.

His eyes flitted to her, then looked down bashfully. “She was...I’m not entirely sure there’s an accurate adjective. Stunning, fierce, bold, adventurous...passionate. Something like that.”

“Can I ask what happened?” Emma said quietly.

He swallowed. “Well, in addition to being all of those things, there were some...barriers to our relationship; a key one being that she was married.”

“Shit.”

“That’s an accurate way of putting it,” he nodded. “Despite that, we fell in love hard and fast, and it was wonderful for quite a while. We’d made plans and prepared to run away together—to sail someplace warm where her husband would never find us—but he got wind and...and he killed her.”

She was stunned, and her heart broke for him. Losing a brother was bad enough—she could barely comprehend that—but this? “Oh, Killian; I’m so sorry.” He replied by taking a swig of beer, so she continued. “The husband—he’s in jail, right?”

“He should be,” Killian nearly growled. “But no. He tried to get me after he shot her, but didn’t quite manage it,” he explained, holding up his scarred left hand. “But he...was too influential, where we were; the authorities would never have listened to me. So I went into hiding—Milah asked me to before she died—and...now I’m here.”

“Oh my god, is he still after you? Do you need help? I’ve got friends in law enforcement; we can make sure—”

“No, no; it’s fine now, and it was a while ago,” he cut her off with a wave, and she was relieved to see he was smiling at her panicky outburst. “I’d shaken him off my tail long before I crossed the ocean. But I do appreciate the concern.”

“Okay, good,” she said, relaxing. Even if they’d only known each other a few days, the thought of anything bad happening to him filled her with dread. “My offer stands, though.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that, love.”

An easy silence settled over them, but she couldn’t shake his story from her mind. Just the thought of it—well, that and the cool wood she sat against and the decreasing temperature of the night air—made her shiver.

Ever the gentleman, Killian noticed it, stood from his seat, slipped off his jacket, and came behind her to tuck it around her shoulders. He didn’t even say anything—he just did it. “Better?” he asked as he sat back down.

“Yeah; thank you.” It was warm from his body heat and smelled like leather, salt, and something spicy. She pulled it tight around her and took another sip of beer, letting the comfort of it wash over her. It was a weird thought connection to make, but she couldn’t help but add, “My ex never did anything like this. Maybe that was a sign right there.”

She wasn’t entirely sure why that was what popped into her head, especially given the tale Killian had just told and the fact that she tried to push Neal out of her thoughts as often as possible. But hearing about the kind of relationship Killian had just put hers into stark relief.

“That’s terribly rude of him,” Killian stated matter-of-factly. “A lady like yourself deserves only the best.”

“He seemed like that at first,” she lamented. “But it’s nowhere near as rough as your story; I won’t bore you with it.” At least her relationship had ended by choice; not hers, mind you, but one of the involved parties’.

“A scar is a scar, Emma; doesn’t matter how you get it.”

“You sure you want my sob story?”

“I’d love to learn more about your beginnings.”

She took a breath before diving in. “His name was Neal, and it seemed like a match made in heaven or wherever,” she started. “He was sweet and a smooth talker with a low tolerance for bullshit and a rough history with his parents; he grew up without his, too. He wasn’t a gentleman or anything—no chivalrous streak at all—but at least he wasn’t a misogynist, I guess. It was good and we were happy, until...we weren’t.”

“I guess it’s my turn to ask: what happened?”

She shrugged. “For one, he fell in love with someone else. Started seeing her behind my back and then I caught them out on a date while I was tracking a skip. And then it was the usual big fight, lots of tears, playing the soulmate card, all that nonsense. So I was left with a broken heart and he got his happy ending.”

“I take it that he wasn’t your soulmate, then?”

“No, definitely not; he left me for his. I guess I can’t fault him, but I’d thought he was mine, even though he never would have fully accepted me. Was Milah yours?”

“No; I too had thought so, but she didn’t have a mark.”

She hummed in understanding, but then froze—she’d just brought up the S-word. She never did that. But she’d basically just admitted to having one...and so had he. Oh shit. Shit shit shit.

She didn’t know if she could look at Killian after accidentally admitting that; what if it scared him off? Or worse, raised false hope? Finally, she hazarded a sideways glance, but it looked like he was just as stunned as she was. What the hell did that mean, then?

The alarm on her phone could not have picked a more perfect time to go off. They both jumped at the sound, and she quickly dug it out of her purse to shut it off. But it gave her an out. “Oh man, I didn’t realize how late it was. I better get home—I’ve gotta get up early for some...work stuff,” she lied, hoping he’d buy it.

His relieved expression told her he did. “I wouldn’t want to keep you, then. Would you like me to escort you home?”

“No, no need—I’ll be fine. The wolves know me.” She was telling the truth this time, obviously, but he took it as the intended joke and chuckled.

“Alright. I...I had a lovely time tonight, Emma; truly,” he said as he stood, and offered his hand to her to help her up.

“I did, too,” she told him as she rose and took off his coat. He caught her hand again when she gave it back, and placed a soft kiss against the back of her fingers; despite the awkward way this evening was ending, the feel of his lips and scruff on her skin still did something funny to her insides that she didn’t want to analyze too closely.

“Take care, love. I’ll see you around.”

“You too.”

And then she was off, practically power walking through town back to David and Snow’s house. How could she slip up like that? And given his reaction, he was probably wondering the same thing. What a pair they made.

Wait—no. No no no. She couldn’t follow that line of thinking; that was how she got her heart crushed in the first place; and him, too, from the sounds of things. No, it was better if she just avoided him for the rest of her stay here. She could manage that, right? Storybrooke was only so big, but she could totally try.

Thankfully, her brother and sister-in-law were already in bed when she got home, so she was able to head to her own without any interrogation. She knew exactly what they would say about what happened, but she just couldn’t follow that optimistic line of thinking.

Because if she were to take that risk, she had a feeling there'd be no coming back from it if things ended like they did with Neal. Nope.

So: avoidance. She could do that.

She stayed home all of the next day. Snow only gave her a brief interrogation over breakfast, which was kind of astonishing but Emma wasn’t going to complain. Her overall positive assessment of the date seemed to please Snow, but her vague response in regards to seeing him again was met with obvious disappointment. Knowing Snow, there was already a wedding planning binder started for them; guess it would just haven’t go back in the closet for, like, ever.

The rest of the day, she kept busy with farm chores and doing what research she could on ashrays with the books she’d checked out (which didn’t say much) and via the internet (which was wildly contradictory and inconclusive—and sometimes, just freaking weird). Unfortunately, it looked like she’d have to face the library one of these days; but maybe she could hit it when it was just Belle working.

Dinner found her over at Ruby’s on one of her friend’s rare nights off (well, on a night that wasn’t a full moon). She made no mention of the previous night, and Ruby knew better than to try to play wingwolf when they were by themselves.

Then, around sunset, she returned to the hidden nook next to Cruella’s place on the cove. The plan was to do some surveillance and be back home by 11. Her focus switched between the surface of the sea and whatever she was using to pass the time on her phone, because other than some seagulls, there wasn’t much happening.

But then her alarm was going off and she had a massive ache in her back; she’d fallen asleep in her car (city life had made her forget how tiring farm work could be). There wasn’t enough time for her to get back to the farm in time for her change—while she had a small amount of control over staying in bird form, she had none going the other way. Looked like she’d be spending another night here.

As she was texting David to let her know her situation, a brief worry ran through her mind: what if Killian was out again? Until she remembered: he wouldn’t recognize her anyways—duh.

(Actually, though, she was really just concerned that seeing him again would ruin her resolve to stay away.)

She went through her normal routine, toes just hitting the shallows as the transformation took over, and then swam out a bit further. A quick scan towards the Jolly Roger told her that Killian at least wasn’t on the dock, and the light on in the second floor of his little cottage suggested he was in for the night. One less thing to worry about, then.

She repeated her puttering about of the shore, same as the other night. Clouds were rolling in, probably bringing an early summer rain with them, so the waning gibbous moon wasn’t as bright as it had been. It left her reliant on the few house lights that cast a dim glow over the area and the sparse breaks in cloud cover that the moon managed to peek through.

During one such opening, she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye (one perk to being a bird: excellent peripheral vision). And there was definitely a large ripple in the waves more toward the center of the cove. She poked her head under to try to see what caused it, but couldn’t make anything out.

Deciding to be daring, she moved a bit further out on the water, but not too much; whatever it was, she didn’t know if it was friend or foe yet. She continued her aimless paddling as the clouds floated back over the moon, still stealing glances towards the source of the now-dissipated ripple.

But then she heard the splash of something going back under the surface coming from the opposite direction. Again, she dove under, and this time caught a glimpse of the same semingly colorless, person-shaped thing she’d seen the other night—so there was still a decent chance it was an ashray.

It happened a few more times, but she was never able to get a decent view in the dim light. Honestly, it was a little frustrating—that it was this close but she kept just missing it. Her curiosity needed to be sated now, even if she still questioned Cruella’s sanity (and sobriety).

A few raindrops started to fall, and despite her feathers’ natural water repellency, human instinct told Emma to find shelter under a dock at the end of the cove close to where she was parked (she wasn’t going to tempt fate, or another dragged-out transformation, with Killian’s again). It still gave her a decent view if anything popped up, but given that she had no plans to make contact—and likely wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation anyway—another night of observation until she inevitably passed out would be fine.

She shook out her feathers as soon as she was under cover and oriented herself to have the best view. The plip-plop of the rain on the sea meant she couldn’t listen for the creature anymore, but it was still thin enough that a bit of faint light was coming through the clouds so she could see.

A few times, she thought she saw something near the opposite shore. And then nothing for a while, especially when the rain picked up. The lack of activity paired with the soothing sound of the drops hitting the wood above her soon had her nodding off, and she was just about to say ‘fuck it’ and crash when a lone beam of light from the moon broke free, illuminating just one spot on the surface.

And a second later, there it was: a dark blue fan-like fin, the same color as the water, with what looked like silvery edges and freckles.

It disappeared back below the surface nearly as quick as it appeared, and the moon hid behind a cloud again, but she still stared at the spot, a bit dumbfounded.

Given her fatigue, it was entirely possible that her eyes were playing tricks on her. But it had seemed so solid and real and, frankly, gorgeous.

It certainly wasn’t a dolphin, and it wasn’t large enough to be a whale. But it was too corporeal to fit any description she’d read of an ashray.

The thing it most definitely resembled was the same thing etched on her skin: a merperson.

thanks for reading, friends!!! tags: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @selfie-wench @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @initiala @fairytalesandtimetravel @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @flipperbrain @sherlockianwhovian @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @jackieorioncat @bmbbcs4evr @branlovesouat @jennjenn615 @jaiabean @therooksshiningknight @a-faekindagirl @technicallysizzlingcloud @deathbycaptainswan @nonnyj

#cs ff #cssns #cs modern au #swan!emma #something in the water #my ff

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