#clockadile is just the best
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Until the Stars Are All Alight–Chapter 21: Lament for the Fallen
Hello, and welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2019! This au combines two story ideas I’ve wanted to explore for a while. 1. What if CS existed in a Tolkien-esque, LOTR world? 2. What would have happened if it was Killian rather than Neal that Emma ran into when she was stealing the bug? Huge thank you to my beta, @blackwidownat2814, to @clockadile for the amazing story and chapter art, to @kmomof4 and @cssnsfor putting this event together, and to the ladies in the CSSNS chat who have helped me think through this story. If all goes well, I should be posting every Tuesday, and the story will have approximately 18 chapters plus the prologue and epilogue.
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Summary: CS Lord of the Rings au: When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine. Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic. Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?
Rating: T
Word Count: 2094
Other Chapters: (prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (22) (epilogue)
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Chapter 21: Lament for the Fallen
“Emma!’ Killian screamed, the sound as raw and primal an expression of grief as anything Regina had ever heard.
Regina wasn’t accustomed to feeling pity for others–to be truthful, she’d felt no empathy at all before she’d met Robin and Roland–but one would have to be made of stone not to ache for the heart-rending, soul-crushing agony Killian displayed as he rushed forward and took his wife’s lifeless body into his arms.
Regina would know. She’d gone through the same thing only yesterday.
With the current crisis at an end and the danger to the kingdom and the entire world at an end, all the grief and pain of Robin’s loss descended on her once again like a heavy, suffocating cloak. Regina turned away, walking toward the far corner of the cavern, both to give Killian privacy in his first moments of grief, and to have privacy in her own.
They’d won, defeated the Dark One and all his darkness once and for all, but what a hollow victory! How did one rejoice when the person closest to them in all the world had been the cost of that victory? How did one rejoice when two little boys would soon learn that they’d lost a parent?
For a moment, Regina let the tears flow unimpeded, a sob escaping despite her best efforts, but now was not the time to succumb to grief. She feared if she truly let herself go, she’d never stop.
No, better to think of something else, anything else to distract herself. She looked around the dark cavern where she stood. Just before Rumplestiltskin had arrived, Emma had been focused on this area, talking to someone–or several someones–that Regina and Killian couldn’t see. What had that been about?
As she continued pondering the question, suddenly she realized that the darkness was lessening. A tiny light pierced through, and as Regina watched, the light grew and grew until it eclipsed all the darkness of the Underworld. Regina found herself standing in a vast white courtyard overflowing with light. To the left and to the right, stretching as far as the eye could see were white, marble Grecian columns.
Regina shaded her eyes, the light so bright it nearly hurt to look at it after the unrelenting darkness of the cavern. Gradually, as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she realized she wasn’t alone in this corner. A man stood before her. He had short, light brown hair and kind eyes, and he was dressed in the garb of a Greek god-long white flowing robe, sandals, protective armor that stretched from his belt to mid-thigh, and vambraces on his arms.
“Well done, Your Majesty!” the man said, his voice lyrical. “You’ve done much to defeat the Dark One.”
Regina glanced aside. “It was the Savior who defeated him, not I.”
The man’s smile increased. “You’ve learned humility, to give credit to others. Good! Good!”
Regina’s eyes narrowed. Who was this man to speak to her of her private faults?
“I am Zeus,” he said, as though he could hear her thoughts, “Chief god of Olympus, and I am here to grant you a boon as a reward for your heroism!
Regina looked to the ground before once again looking at the god. “As I said, I don’t deserve that. I wasn’t the one to defeat Rumplestiltskin. That was Emma Swan.”
“But you were instrumental in helping,” Zeus said, “and you did so despite great personal sacrifice, and for that you deserve your reward. Never fear; Emma, Killian and all the rest will also receive what’s owed to them in due time.”
“What reward do you wish to give me?” Regina asked.
Rather than answer, Zeus stepped to the side, revealing another man standing behind him. Was that–? It couldn’t be!
“Robin?” Regina whispered as the tears prickled again at her eyes.
“In the flesh, my love,” Robin said, gentle smile in place.
With a sob, Regina launched herself into his arms, crying, peppering him with kisses. “But how? How? You were dead!”
“Being a god has certain perks,” Zeus smirked. “I very much wish to restore your husband to you, Regina.”
“Thank you!” Regina sobbed, feeling how very inadequate the sentiment was.
Zeus suddenly grew grave. “I’m afraid a boon such as this does not come without its costs.”
It was as though a bucket of cold water descended on her. Regina took a deep breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“A god I may be, but there are certain laws of nature even I may not break. Once the afterlife has claimed a life, a life must remain,” Zeus said. “And so, that is the price you must pay to have Robin returned to you. A life for a life. For Robin to go free, Regina, you must consign someone else to take his place.”
Regina’s heart plummeted. She must kill someone–or at least offer them up to Zeus–to free Robin? What kind of a choice was that? In her previous life, she wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. She’d have put her happiness ahead of another’s every time, but now…now, she’d worked so hard to live a better life, to redeem herself, and she knew taking a life for her own desires was utterly antithetical to that. What was she to do?
And suddenly it hit her. She knew precisely what must be done.
“Very well,” Regina said with a determined nod, “take me instead.”
“No!” Robin shouted. “Regina, you can’t do this! You can’t give up your life for mine!”
“Why not?” she asked, a touch of snark in her voice, “You did it for me.”
Robin looked as though he wanted to argue further, but Regina stopped him with a raised hand. “Robin, Roland needs his father,” she said, “and I…I need to atone for all the evil I did before I met you. I need to atone for the countless innocent lives I took.”
“But Regina–” he began again.
“Please, let me do this,” she said quietly.
After another moment of reluctance, Robin nodded.
With a deep breath, Regina turned back toward Zeus. “Take me and let Robin go free.”
Zeus’s smile seemed to light up the entire cavern even further. Taking her hand, he placed it in Robin’s.
“I…I don’t understand,” Regina stammered.
“It was a test,” Zeus said simply, “a test to determine whether you are worthy; whether or not you have truly redeemed yourself, and you, Regina, passed with flying colors.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, my dear,” he continued, “that because you made the selfless choice, offering to sacrifice yourself for the man you love and to atone for your previous misdeeds, you have saved the both of you.”
“Truly?” Regina asked, the joy and relief bubbling over.
“Truly,” Zeus confirmed. “You are both free to leave this place, your lives restored. You may thank me by living a good, long life happily ever after.”
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The second Killian's restraints vanished, he sprinted to Emma, gathering her in his arms and prayed to anyone and everyone he could think of that his wife, the other half of his very soul, was still alive.
He knew it was a useless prayer.
Her last words to him had been too final, too agonized. Somehow she had known the price of destroying the Dark One was her life.
Killian bent down, looking for any signs of life, but he found none. Her heart was still, her breathing non-existent. He'd lost her and there wasn't a bloody thing he could do to change that.
For a moment, he let the rage consume him--rage, after all, was easier than the yawning pit of agony that he knew would show up all too soon. Killian shouted into the abyss, hating the Dark One with every fiber of his being, cursing him, hurling every invective he could think of at the vile man. Death by fire was entirely too good for him. Killian wished the Dark One were still alive so he could torture him slowly. For days.
But he wasn't still alive. He was gone too, just like Emma.
As the finality of it all hit him, Killian collapsed, hugging Emma to him and sobbing. It would be better if he were dead too. Burning in that lake of fire would hurt less than the prospect of an eternity without Emma. What the blazes good was immortality if it consisted of nothing but endless years of misery, ripped far too soon from his very heart?
It felt like an earthquake, the violence of his first moments of grief.
Beside him the ground shook and suddenly a crevice began to open.
It was a real earthquake then? So be it. He'd let the earth swallow him whole, and then maybe he'd be reunited with Swan.
Killian felt someone tugging his arm.
"Jones, we've got to go!" Regina yelled above the steadily increasing noise of the Underworld imploding around them.
He shrugged her off, but then her hand was replaced by another.
"Come on Mate, it's not safe here!"
Killian spun around, surprised at the sight that met him. Robin Hood, corporeal and very much alive.
"Robin?" He asked, "How the bloody hell are you here? You’re dead."
"Aye, well," Robin said with a shrug, "It turns out that was rather a temporary state for me. We can discuss particulars later. Now we must move!"
As with Regina, Killian shrugged off Robin's hand. "You go," he said. "I've no longer any wish to live."
Regina cursed, muttering something that looked like "idiot," but Robin stepped in front of her, crouching so he was eye level with Killian.
"Believe me, mate, I know what you're feeling right now, " he said. "I lost my first wife, remember? But this isn't the answer! Emma wouldn't want you to die here with her."
"We'll never know what Emma would have wanted, will we?" Killian shot back.
"Maybe not," Robin said, stepping aside as a rock fell from the ceiling, dislodged by the quake, "but I do know one thing. Henry needs his father. He's already lost his mother today; don't let him become an orphan."
The mention of his little son's name finally pulled Killian from his despair. Robin was right. No matter how much it might hurt, he had to go back. His child needed him, now more than ever.
Killian got to his feet before stooping down and picking up Emma's lifeless body.
"Very well," he said, “Let's get out of here before we're buried alive."
The trio ran for their lives, reaching the mouth of the cave only moments before the ground where they’d been standing crumbled and fell into the lake of fire.
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Misthaven
David waited anxiously for any sign, any indication of how they were faring in the Underworld.
Reports had been reaching him periodically, first the battle with Arendelle, and Robin's subsequent passing. Following close on its heels news of the battle with the Dark One himself.
Heavy casualties had been sustained in that battle, as Charming learned first hand when Captain Liam Jones was brought in, so badly injured upon first glance he appeared dead.
Liam had been taken promptly to the houses of healing, and while it was still rather touch and go, reports from Johanna were that he was stabilizing and his chances of recovery were increasing by the moment.
David was grateful for that, but he wouldn't feel truly easy until Emma and Killian completed their mission and returned home.
"This waiting is interminable," Snow said, stepping up next to him in the courtyard where he stood, snaking an arm around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder.
David nodded, taking her into his arms. For a moment, they merely stood, taking comfort in each other.
"I wish it had been me," Snow said after a moment. "I wish I had been the one who had to go to the pits of the Underworld, not Emma; not my baby."
"Sometimes I wonder if the plight of those left behind is even worse than that of those going into battle," David said. "Knowing the danger and not being able to do ANYTHING to stop or alleviate it is a special kind of hell all its own."
"Charming," Snow asked in a small voice, "do you think there's any chance she'll succeed? That she'll make it back to us."
David drew in a quick breath and then let it out slowly. "I have to believe that she will. I have to have hope."
He'd barely finished speaking before they were both blasted back as a sudden Shockwave passed over them.
"What in the gods' name was that?!" Snow asked.
"I don't know," David said, already striding out of their sitting room door, "but I intend to find out."
As it happened, it was only minutes before the news reached them, brought by a bird straight to Snow White herself.
When Snow heard the news, she collapsed onto her throne on the dais, hand coming to cover her face.
"Well?" Grumpy asked, for all the kingdom had assembled in the Great Hall upon feeling the surge, "What news?"
"The best," Snow raised her head, a beatific smile gracing her face despite the tears. "She's done it! Emma's defeated the Dark One and all his darkness. We're free!"
The cheer that went up from the assembled crowd was nearly deafening, everyone soon departing to share the news with family and friends. Plans began forming for a celebratory feast that would last for days.
When they were left alone again, David turned to Snow, "And what of Emma? How did she fare."
A troubled look crossed Snow’s face as she gently shook her head. "I don't know. The birds had no knowledge of that. It appears we'll have to wait yet a while longer before our fears are assuaged."
As it happened, they didn't have to wait long. Within a quarter hour, David noticed that the sounds of revelry outside in the courtyard stuttered and then came to a halt. Shooting Snow a concerned look, David took her hand and hurried to see what had put a damper on the celebration.
The crowd of misthaven residents parted to reveal a very somber Regina and Robin, and behind them stood Killian, tears streaming down his face.
Emma's lifeless form was cradled to his chest.
Beside David, Snow fainted dead away, falling into his arms.
Notes:
–Sorry? Look, I know I promised to make things better, and I will! Just not quite yet. (Although I do get some points for bringing Robin back, right?) Defeating the Dark One was a big deal and required a big price. That price can’t be paid too early or too easily, right? If it did, the final payoff wouldn’t truly feel earned.
–Speaking of prices being paid–I do like Regina, but I felt like her redemption in canon was a bit lacking, so I wanted to remedy that here. She turned to the dark side when she lost her first love. What better way to demonstrate redemption than to choose the right path–at great personal cost–after losing her second?
–Some nods here to both OUAT season 5 where Zeus sent Killian back and to nearly the end of Harry Potter where Hagrid carries Harry back after Voldemort “killed” him. Both were intended.
–Up next: The last chapter before the epilogue! I think you will be far happier at the end of the next chapter than you are right now. Next chapter will bring more nods to Harry Potter as well as a scene I really wish had happened in canon.
–On the upside, you won’t have to wait long. At all. Chapter 22 is written and betaed. I anticipate posting it within a few days!
NEXT CHAPTER -->
#cssns#captain swan supernatural summer 2019#lotr/cs au#my fanfiction#until the stars are all alight
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Dead in the Water (1/2)
You guys!!! It’s here! It’s our @csrolereversal drop date and I’m so excited for you all to see the amazing art @clockadile created for this event. Everyone, please go to her page, check out this amazeball painting, and send her all of the love that she deserves because this fic would never have existed without her! She is just such a wonderful person and I feel so honored that I got to make words in an effort to bring her art to life in a different way. I hope that I’ve done it, and her, justice and that you guys enjoy this. Shout out to @darkcolinodonorgasm for pulling this event together and to everyone in the rolereversal discord chat. It truly has been such a wonderful event and everyone has been so amazingly supportive of one another, so thank you all for being so awesome! Also tagging @cshalloweek even though my theme doesn’t completely match the day.
Summary:
Killian Jones may have just had the worst year of his life. The loss of his hand, of his career, and of his pride were almost more than he could take. In a bid to reclaim his life, Killian decided it was time to face his fears, and get back on the metaphorical horse, or in his case, back on the water. Only, the purchase of a haunted second-hand boat may just come at the cost of his sanity.
“The sea is like a cruel mistress. You can love her, you can hate her, but you can never trust her.” - author unknown
Rating: M (foul language sprinkled in and some adult themes)
Also on AO3
“Mayday! Mayday!”
Nothing.
“Please, is anyone out there?” The faint words were met with radio silence. The only noise a high pitched whining from what was likely a busted eardrum. Weak and dizzy, blood continued to drip into the water filling the cabin. The once brown floor now covered in pink.
Searing pain, a sinking boat, and all hope lost. There was little to do but wait. Wait for the inevitable. There was nowhere to go, no reason to have hope. Climbing to higher ground had been a struggle, and pointless as the vessel continued to dip lower and lower into the icy water.
That night, prayers went unanswered. The heavens laughed as they flashed their pearly white teeth and the crackle of a thousand laughs filled the air. The rain continued to fall all around.
There was nothing to do but wait until the water finally claimed her prize. Until the sea took it’s claim. Until the world went black.
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It was unseasonably hot in Boston. Granted, summertime was hardly a perfect oasis in the northeast on a usual year, but that July had seen it’s hottest temperatures in over sixty years, and the city had been a sweltering mess. The usually pristine buildings along Freedom Trail were littered with blinding metal as each window had suddenly become occupied with ac units overnight. There had even been rolling blackouts as the power company struggled to keep up with the city’s demands.
Why Ariel’s Antiquities had insisted on holding their event outdoors was a mystery to Killian. Women and men dressed in their best, hoping that fancy clothes would somehow insinuate that they had money and could easily out bid their competitors. Unfortunately for them, their power suits became far less intimidating by the minute as sweat lines began to appear sometime just before ten. As the hours drifted on, people became puddles, their shoes sticking to the sidewalks.
Killian found himself near constantly tugging on the collar of his shirt, peeling it away from his sticky skin. Unlike him, his brother had refused to undo the top two buttons on his shirt and seemed even more miserable, if that were somehow possible.
The two men had been sniping at each other for the better part of the morning, and now with the sun at full intensity above them, they’d resorted to silence as they milled their way through lot after lot. The auction advertisement Killian had seen online seemed to have mostly a mishmash of memorabilia and collectables, with a few actual antiquities mixed in.
But unlike the other bidders, the two men weren’t there for random knick knacks. There was one specific item that had caught his eye on the online inventory. A tiny thumbnail the only indication of its existence and he could only hope that it hadn’t been from a previous auction.
For over an hour, Killian traipsed through the old fair grounds, Liam in tow behind him, searching with no luck.
“Killian, I hate to be the one to say this, but it’s not here. We’ve been to every lot and it’s just garbage.” He turned to see his brother giving him a look of pity, infuriating his very being. “Perhaps this is a sign.”
“A sign of what? False advertising?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I just-” Liam took a deep breath, pushing the air out on an audible huff. “I just worry about you.”
With that, all of the anger and frustration from the day left Killian’s body. He couldn’t be mad at Liam any more, not when he knew it was true. When he still had memories of waking in the hospital, of seeing Liam’s eyes red and puffy from tears. It was the first time he’d seen his brother cry since their mother had passed years before.
“Liam, this is something I need to do. I need to prove to myself that I can get back out there. I can’t let this cripple me for the rest of my life.”
His choice of words hadn’t meant to convey the irony, but as his brother glanced down at the metal and leather covering his wrist, Killian couldn’t help but notice the cruelty of the universe. That even the most benign of words could cause such pain, even a year later. How even thinking about that day caused his missing hand to throb in pain.
“Killian, you are one of the strongest people I know. You don’t have anything to prove. Not to me or anyone else.”
Gone were the days where Liam teased him and called him little brother. Now, he was lucky if Liam said anything cheeky around him at all. And while he didn’t have anything to prove to anyone else, the truth was that he needed to show his brother that he wasn’t broken. Not anymore. That he didn’t need to be coddled like a wounded duck.
Before he could respond though, a glimmer caught his eye from a passing bidder’s reflective earrings, causing him to whip his head to the left. And there, tucked behind an old telephone booth, 2 huge entertainment centers, and a large canopy bed, there it was. There she was.
He didn’t wait for his brother, his jogging nearly breaking into a full stride. She was hard to see, tucked away behind items too heavy to move, but even in his limited view he could see that she was battered and bruised. Still, Killian knew that with a little sweat equity, she could be a marvel. He let his hand run down the fiberglass, feeling the strength of the hull, despite the hole in her port side. A gaping wound about the size of a bowling ball.
She was damaged, just as he was, but together they’d mend each other. He was sure of it.
“That’s it? That’s the boat you brought us all the way out here for?” Killian could only smile to himself. “Brother, she’s a mess. Where’s the mainmast? And did you see that hole? There’s no telling what kind of dry rot is on the inside.”
“Yes. I know she’s not much to look at right now, but-”
“No. You can’t be serious. She’s better off torn apart for scraps.”
Killian couldn’t explain to his brother the draw that he felt. He’d been searching auction houses for months. All of the boats he’d seen were either grossly overpriced, or faced the Goldilocks conundrum. Too small. Too big. But this one, it was just right. From the instant he’d seen that tiny thumbnail picture on his laptop screen, he’d felt it deep within his gut. He was meant for that boat, just as she was meant for him.
“And what kind of name is Jewel of the Real?”
“Realm.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s Jewel of the Realm.”
Killian’s hand brushed over the faded wood, tracing the faintest outline of where an ‘M’ used to reside.
The rest of their time there was a bit of a blur for Killian. Liam trying his best to talk him out of buying The Jewel as people threw their paddles up in the air, capturing the trinkets on the stage. Killian fighting with a man two rows ahead of him for the winning bid, going over the maximum price he’d set in his head. Giving the auction house the delivery address, ignoring the way his brother huffed as Killian wrote them a check.
But none of that mattered, because in the end, she was his. The auction house delivered her a few days after his check cleared. The address he’d given them was for a warehouse another expat had told him about. Cheap monthly rates and all of that. What Will Scarlet had neglected to mention was that the warehouse was actually an abandoned building in a rather questionable part of town. Killian never should have trusted the man with a deposit sight unseen. The building lacked windows or doors, and Killian immediately knew he’d been had by the huxter.
He’d scrambled to find another place to fix up the Jewel. The drydocks at the marina were expensive and lacked space for him to spread out with tools, not to mention the absence of privacy while he worked. It was bad enough that people stared at his hook while he was picking up food from the local pub or out with Liam and his wife. He’d be damned if he was going to have people watch him work on a boat one handed. He even considered trying to work out of his friend, Robin’s, garage but the thirty two foot boat simply wouldn’t fit. No matter how imaginative he got with his sketches.
In the end, it was the most unlikely of allies that came to his rescue. The last man he ever expected to aid him with the Jewel. Liam owned a shipping company, specializing in European imports, with English ales and German lagers making up the bulk of his business. The main office was based in downtown Boston, but there was also a small warehouse down by the port where items were stored as they awaited inspection. His brother, still not happy with his decision made him an offer anyway. Come to work at Jones Shipping Monday through Friday, and he’d have the warehouse all to himself in the evenings and on weekends to work on the “abomination.”
Killian accepted begrudgingly. He wasn’t necessarily in need of a salary. He had the monthly stipends from the Navy to live on, the only benefit of losing his left hand, and the idea of becoming a corporate stooge maddened him to no end. He’d already sold his soul once, and they spit him back out once they deemed him of no further use. He wasn’t quite ready to lose the rest of himself to a full time day job pushing paperwork, schmoozing potential clients, and taking orders from Liam. But the perk of Liam’s harbor warehouse was too great to pass up.
So he took the job. He started on a Monday and the boat was delivered on the following Tuesday. Liam had neglected to mention his need for a key, so after driving across town, Killian ended up having to turn around without seeing her. The next day he’d nearly ripped into Liam when he saw him, but seeing three other men in suits sitting in front of Liam’s desk made him rethink his anger. Or at least rethink giving his brother a piece of his mind at work in front of people he’d only ever met at staff parties. He’d already had to deal with stares and questions from a rather bold intern. The stress from his own self-consciousness only amplified his frustration with Liam.
He finally got the key from Liam later that afternoon, along with another gift that he wasn’t particularly fond off. One that actually left him offended. One that he threw back in his brother’s face as he stormed out of his office, not caring one bit what anyone thought of him. Not when his brother obviously thought so little.
He was too upset to even go check on The Jewel at that point, choosing to head to a pub near the harbor instead. The Rusty Anchor was a fan favorite for expats. It’s where he’d met Scarlet, which unfortunately didn’t actually say much about the place. He’d met a few good blokes there as well though, like the bartender Robin. They’d become friends in a grief counseling group. It was mandated for Killian, but optional for the other man who was grieving his wife. Listening to Robin talk at their monthly meetings had helped put Killian’s loss into perspective. Suddenly his missing hand didn’t seem so catastrophic.
Robin had invited him to the pub knowing Killian was new in town with few friends, and the two men had formed a bond in the months since. In a way, he felt closer to the man than he did to Liam. Like he could tell him anything without the brotherly judgment that always radiated from the elder Jones.
After a few pints and a good talk with Robin, Killian had calmed. Liam was still a moron, but that wasn’t on him. And as Robin said, he just had to continue to remind himself that the only reason he was even working for his brother was so that he could fix up the Jewel. As soon as she was sea worthy, he could leave his job without breaking his word to Liam.
In a slightly better mood, he headed a few streets over to the warehouse, ready to take a full inventory of all of the repairs she’d need. The hole in the hull was obvious, as well as new paint all over, and she needed a new mast and sails, but there was always the concern of dry rot. That was the biggest worry. Having to replace every plank of wood and all of the fiberglass on the boat would defeat the entire purpose of restoring her.
Not to mention the difficulties he’d face using his hook. He was more than proficient with it for everyday use after eight months of practice, but some things still tested his limits. As he walked up to the warehouse, thinking about how he’d hoist the sails on without tearing them, he was completely lost in thought, oblivious to the man standing next to his boat. He was more than a little embarrassed by the shriek that escaped from his lips, but upon realizing that it was Liam there waiting for him, his distress turned to anger again. Especially when he saw the box from earlier on a nearby table.
“Killian, before you say anything, it’s not what you think. I never meant to imply-”
“What? That I’m a freak. That I’ll scare away all of the clients?”
“Actually, it was quite the opposite. I got it for you.” Killian looked down, unable to meet his brother’s gaze. “What? You don’t think I see you? The way you shrink in on yourself when you’re out with Elsa and me?”
Liam had him there.
“Look, Killian. I just thought that maybe it would help you to feel more comfortable. I never meant to insinuate anything by it.”
Perhaps he had overreacted. In his mind’s eye, it was just the cherry on top of a horrible year. The whole world judged him. Wasn’t it only a matter of time before his brother saw him as a disfigured beast as well? Except, that wasn’t what happened. He’d made a snap judgement, and thought the worst of Liam in the process.
“You’re right. I... it’s harder than I expected it to be sometimes. I thought,” he had to fight to keep his emotions in check as he remembered those first few weeks in the hospital. How he’d lost more than just his hand. “I thought it would be easier than this.”
“And I’m sorry that I didn’t handle it in a more sensitive way. I think I was just so excited to show it to you that I assumed you’d be just as enthusiastic. Obviously, it’s not all that functional, but it’s remarkably realistic and Elsa and I just thought it would make you more comfortable dealing with clients.”
Killian laughed to himself. A sad little thing. It was very realistic in a way that nauseated him when he first opened the box. Even now, as he walked over to it and lifted the top, he couldn’t help the catch in his throat. The prosthetic hand looked incredibly realistic, right down to the synthetic hair on the back of the silicone. There was a metal clip that popped into place in his arm sleeve and a metal wire that hooked into his shoulder strap, just like with his hook that allowed some slight mobility in the hand. It opened and closed, allowing him to grab objects if he needed to, but it wasn’t nearly as advanced as the mechanical hands he’d seen in the clinic. Although this one probably didn’t cost the same as Liam’s house either like the mechanical ones, which was a plus.
He lifted it from the box, testing the weight of it. It was slightly heavier than his hook, something that would take some getting used to. It was also probably going to end up being longer when all was said and done. Wearing suits might be a problem. He’d have to wait until he got home to check.
Liam, for his part, didn’t seem to want to make it any bigger of a deal than he already had. Instead, he changed the subject back towards The Jewel.
“Do you want the good news or the bad first?”
He’d already had a hard enough day. He didn’t need the bad news at all, much less first.
“The good.”
“Well, she’s not a total loss. I’ve been checking her over, and the bulk of the damage seems to be located here, in the hull where this hole is. The fiberglass is badly splintered around it. I’ve been trying to work out what exactly could have caused it, but aside from an act of Poseidon himself, it makes no sense. Whatever made the hole, it came from the inside of the boat. The furniture inside the cabin is also ruined. Smashed to pieces or rotted away. But the rudder and keel are still in perfect shape.”
Killian leaned in closer, allowing his hand to move along the edges of the hole. Liam was right. The edges was splintered towards the outside of the boat, and the fiberglass around it was all badly cracked. The auction house had sent him home with documents explaining that the ship had been docked at the marina and it had been hit by some object during a storm. They’d clearly been mistaken.
“And the rest of her? What shape does she seem to be in?”
“Well, the wood planks on the deck could use a good sanding, but if you’re just talking about integrity, I think she’ll hold up just fine.” Killian and Liam both climbed the ladder Liam had set up, allowing him his first good look at her. “You know about the mast and roping already. A full redo on both of those. But come look at this!”
Killian followed, letting his hand glide upon the metal railing. For the first time, it felt real. Look at this! It’s the original certificate showing the builder. You realize what this means don’t you?”
“That you’re excited she’s older than you are?”
“No! She’s vintage Killian! Once we fix her up, you can sell her for twice what you paid for her! Well done little brother.”
Killian took a deep breath, already out of patience with his brother for the day.
“Liam, I see three things wrong with what you’ve just said. First, it’s younger brother. Second, when exactly did this become a joint endeavor? Just a week ago you thought the very idea of my purchasing her was the single greatest mistake of my life. Thirdly, and listen closely Liam because I’m not going to say this again, I am not selling this boat.”
“Well you are my little brother. And I’m just trying to protect you. Why do you think I worry and watch after you so much?”
“You don’t need to worry about me!”
“Well apparently I do!” There was something about the way Liam’s voice, the way it broke as he screamed the words that tugged at Killian’s heart. “You almost died! I waited and waited while they searched for your body, sure that there was no way you’d survived that storm. And then I waited and waited again at your bedside in the hospital, praying to God that he didn’t take you away from me like he had mother. So don’t you dare tell me that I can’t or shouldn’t worry about you!”
Killian had to will back the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He knew that Liam had been at his bedside in the hospital, but he had never thought of what it must have been like for him getting the call that his brother was lost at sea in a storm. He spent a great deal of time clinging to some wreckage, just trying to stay afloat as the waves crashed over his head, and his body plummeted over and over for what felt like years. Once the storm had passed, he found a piece of the destroyed ship large enough for him to crawl on top of and he let the exhaustion take over. When he woke again it was to intense agony in the hospital ICU.
“Liam, I’m not out there anymore. I’m not adrift at sea anymore. I’m here, and I’m fine.”
“But you aren’t. You aren’t here. You say you are, but I think a part of you died out there that day, and I-” Liam gave up all pretense of hiding, letting the tears flow free, “I think part of you wants to get lost again. Why else are you so intent of fixing up this boat?”
“That’s what you think? That I want to put in all of this work just to go out and vanish into the ocean? Liam, I’m doing this to prove to myself that I can. Because the idea of going back out there sends a bolt of terror through my spine right to my very core. I need to show myself that it was just a freak accident. To get back up on that proverbial horse.”
Liam said nothing, just walked back down to the stern of the boat and down the ladder, walking straight out of the warehouse, leaving Killian alone with the guilt of everything he’d put his brother through. Even as children he was always managing to get into trouble, and poor Liam had always been the one to pick up after him. As he heard Liam’s car start up from the open warehouse door, he couldn’t help but wonder how much more Liam had left in him.
If it weren’t for the fact that he had work at eight in the morning, he very likely would have found himself back at Robin’s, downing a full bottle of rum all on his own. As it stood, he had a debt to Liam, far more than for the agreement he’d made for the warehouse space. He owed his brother everything, and though he couldn’t give Liam the one thing he wanted most, he could give him everything else. He could be the prodigal son in a way. Arrive to work everyday in nice clothes, rubbing elbows with Boston’s elite.
So instead of heading back to Robin’s he went down into the ship’s cabin. The space was small, not that he expected much. The boat was only thirty two feet long, and not that tall. There was enough space for a small kitchenette with a tiny sink and grill top. Across from that stood what should have been a small dinette area. Where a table and bench seat should have been was nothing but wood scraps and moldy torn fabric.
He nearly gagged when he opened the door to the tiny lavatory. The toilet was covered in black mold, or what he hoped was mold as nothing else seemed like an attractive option. And then he went to the bedroom area up at the front of the boat. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, knowing that the hole was in that area. What he found was nothing though. The bed and mattress had been removed, as well as the padding in the seat next to it. The wood forming the cabinets and closet had been torn out as well, leaving behind only the impressions of where they once fit in.
It was evident that the Jewel needed work when he bought her. And he knew that had he known at the time just how much work she needed at the auction house, he likely still would have bought her. But as he stood there, in the torn apart interior, he couldn’t help but feel scammed by Ariel’s Antiquities. They’d purposefully positioned her in a way that no one could see just what shape she was truly in.
Repairing her would take longer than anticipated, which only meant more time working for Liam. Exhausted, Killia headed back to his one bedroom apartment, crashing nearly the moment his head hit the pillow. The next morning, he rose well before the sun, even without the use of an alarm. Apparently you could take the man out of the navy, but not the navy out of the man.
After a nice run, Killian readied himself for the day by showering. Once dry, Killian placed his sleeve over his stump, followed by the hook he’d become so used to. He then picked out one of his better suits, not that he had all that many to choose from, dressed, combed his hair, and stepped back to take stock of himself in the mirror. It wasn’t a look he was used to. In fact, the last time he’d been dressed in such a way had been his mother’s funeral. He was still a teenager, Liam barely an adult himself, wearing suits they hadn’t yet grown in to.
Not wishing to dwell on that thought any longer, he headed for the door, grabbing his keys from the bowl on the side table.
And that’s when he saw it. The gift that Liam had given him the day before. His brother had left it in the warehouse in his haste to escape, and Killian had grabbed it on his way out, still not sure how he felt about it. He’d never really intended to wear it, not for everyday office use at least, but as he stood there in his suit, feeling completely uncomfortable and out of place, he decided to, just for once, do something for Liam.
It took him a few minutes to undress, removing his suit jacket and dress shirt so that he could disconnect his hook from the shoulder strap. The hand felt clunky on his arm, and it was difficult to get it through his sleeves, but in time he managed.
The drive to Liam’s, and now his office, wasn’t a long one, but at seven in the morning, it may as well have been a full county away. The traffic was horrible, not something he’d become accustomed to driving in. He’d always avoided rush hour like the plague, and now it would be a part of his daily routine. He also found that the hand was difficult to use. Because of his sitting position, it wouldn’t quite clamp shut around the steering wheel the way his hook would have.
By the time he arrived, he was over ten minutes late, and the morning staff meeting had already started. He did his best to sneak in, sitting at the back of the room, hoping to go unnoticed by Liam, but because the world was already against him that day, he failed.
Liam called him up to the front of the room, officially introducing him to everyone as the new head of client relations. Killian gave an awkward wave and that was it. He’d been inducted into the company, and day after day, week after week, he sat at a desk, working up contracts, researching possible leads. His nights were often spent at dinners, flirting with wives and schmoozing husbands into signing with Liam’s company. He hated it, and more still, he hated how little time he had for repairs on the Jewel.
Repairing the hull had been easy. He sent off for a patch kit, a misleading name considering the size of the hole to be touched up. After carefully cutting away the excess damaged fiberglass and setting the patch in place, he waited for the epoxy to harden, sanding down the excess so it was smooth. Aside from the lack of paint, she looked good as new. The hardest part had been placing everything where it needed to go with just one hand.
He soon realized just how difficult repairing the rest of the boat would be. The entryway to the Jewel was narrow, hardly wide enough for one person to enter at a time. He’d never be able to get fully assembled furniture and cabinets in. So slowly, he brought in all of the material, piece by piece. It took time, considering he’d had to carry all of the materials from the parking lot down the dock, and onto the ship. It was exhausting work, and there was still the matter of assembly. It took him weeks to get everything cut just to size, and assembly space had become a real issue after the new bench and table had been installed. Finding a place to store the cabinetry wood had almost broken him. The boat had almost broken him.
But he persevered. Slowly the cabinets came together. The bedroom in the bow of the boat found itself with a bed and a small closet, and the bathroom got a shiny new toilet. After two months, he’d finally finished the interior of the boat. All that stood in his way from land and sea was a new mast, the part Killian had been dreading most.
It was the very first thing Killian had ordered after he’d purchased The Jewel, but as with any special order, it had taken over a month to arrive, and then when it did, it wasn’t even the right size. He and Robin had spent the better part of a day trying to make it work, to somehow force the new mast into place, huffing and puffing at the weight. Hours later, Killian finally admitted defeat, and with shaky arms sent the company a firmly worded email chastising them for their incompetence.
Two full months and one paint job later, a new one arrived. Robin was unable to help him again though. Setting his pride aside, Killian was forced to ask for help. He and his brother’s relationship had soured. It wasn’t that there was ill will between the brothers, but there was a small bit of resentment on Killian’s part. Sometimes it seemed as if Liam was giving him extra work and setting extra meetings for the sole purpose of stalling his repairs. Some of the clients that Liam set him up with were too small to even have shipping needs.
We just want to make sure that they keep us in mind incase the expand Killian. You have to always be selling Killian. It’s called networking Killian.
He’d had enough. Eventually he’d declined enough of Liam’s offers to spend time together on the weekends that Liam had stopped inviting him over. The brothers discussed business needs, but outside of the office, they may aswell have not even have been related. Killian did feel bad. His brother was the only family he had left after all, but there was just the matter of his pride. He’d had so many arguments with Liam in his mind that he couldn’t remember which conversations were real, and which were made up. He just knew that he was right in all of them.
Which is why it was so hard for him to turn to Liam for his help. Unfortunately, the mast weighed a few hundred pounds and while the dock, where the boat finally resided, had a crane to help them move it in place, someone still needed to help him slide it into place and hold it steady as he secured it to the boat. The dock had a firm policy on not helping with certain repairs. They didn’t want to be held liable for any damages or injuries that occurred as a result of human error.
Asking Liam for help had been hard. It took him full two days of building up the courage. He’d nearly walked into Liam’s office three times before turning around at the last minute. Finally, he just had to man up. To his surprise, Liam agreed without much opinion on the matter, and that weekend the two brothers finally made up as they struggled together to install the mast. They tried seating it in place, but despite their best efforts, it was slightly off, leaning just a degree or two. While most people might have shrugged it off, both of the Jones boys were determined to get it in straight.
To the chagrin of the crane worker, they demanded he raise it back up so they could check to make sure the surface was level. Nothing seemed off to the naked eye, but again, the mast wouldn’t sit straight. After one final raising, Killian stuck his hand in the seat, trying to feel if there was bubbling or warping in the wood, and to his surprise, he felt something cold and smoothe, not at all like the wood plank he’d expected. After some fiddling, he was able to loosen the object enough to pull it from its hiding place. It was small, so small he wasn’t surprised that anyone at the auction house had missed it.
Liam, for his part hadn’t said much, but Killian could tell by the way Liam was breathing that his brother was annoyed, not with him but with the delay, and ready to finish working. Killian threw the gold piece in his pocket and together, he and Liam finished installing the mast and all of the rigging lines. Afterwards they went for drinks at Robin’s bar, a place Liam had never been before. They shared a few beers, caught up on all of the things they’d missed in the past few months, and each departed like it was no big deal, both ready for a good night’s sleep.
Killian had hoped to crawl into bed and fall straight asleep, but for some reason, as he laid there, his brain seemed to kick into overdrive. It started with thoughts of how he’d have to map out the currents and winds in the boston area before he could ship out. Before long though, all he could think about was work. He’d planned on leaving Liam’s company as soon as he was done, and while he hated some aspects of the job, he did like the structure it provided him with. It forced him to get back into the world again, something he hadn’t realized that he needed to do until Liam tricked him into it.
Unable to sleep, Killian got up to clean, something that usually relaxed him. He started with the dishes, washing and drying them all by hand before moving on to tend to his laundry. Most of his suit items were dry clean only, but his weekend clothes were soaked with sweat and best washed sooner rather than later. Checking all of the pockets and making sure everything was right-side out, he threw items in the washer one by one until he got to the jeans he’d been wearing that day. He’d managed to completely forget about the trinket he’d found on the boat, until just then.
He finished sorting his clothes and started the machine up before heading back into his bedroom, turning on the nightstand table lamp as he crawled back under the sheets. He let the metal turn in his fingers, inspecting the perfectly polished gold. It was a small locket with a bird etched onto one side. There wasn’t an engraving to go with it and told him nothing about the person who’d lost it. The chain that it was attached to was short and the links where tiny, meaning it likely belonged to a woman, but that was all he was able to gather. He continued to turn the locket, just feeling the weight of it in his hand, the surprising warmth of it, when his finger caught on a hidden clasp and the locket snapped open.
It wasn’t what he’d expected. Most women’s lockets contained tiny photographs, but the inside of this one held a small compass. The opposite side featured an engraving, but it didn’t have any names. It simple read: So you always find your way.
He should have wanted to search for the owner, to return what was probably a meaningful gift. There were plenty of news stories all the time about people helping to reunite lost items and owners. The soldier who had his purple heart stolen. The bride that lost her wedding ring on a beach vacation. They were always happy endings, and he knew that the locket didn’t belong to him, but for some reason, he just felt a call to it. Like he also needed it to help him find his way. So he kept it, slipping it on over his own head, having to pull it past his ears. He fell fast asleep soon after.
The next week at work had been grueling. Liam had lined up three dinners for him, one of them with a very sexually aggressive woman that ran a dog breeding company. Apparently there was a high demand for designer dogs and people were willing to pay high prices to have them shipped over the water during the summer and winter seasons when airlines restricted their pet travel policies. He’d had to pry her off of him at the end of the evening, promising he’d call her soon. A complete lie.
The whole encounter had left him feeling dirty. He hadn’t even so much as looked at a woman since his accident, not really, and he just wasn’t ready to move forward in a romantic capacity, even just a physical one. Not after having his heart shattered before. The woman in question wasn’t even interested in him. Not as anything more than a gigalo.
The weekend couldn’t have arrived fast enough. He just needed to get out of town. To get away from everyone, from his responsibilities. He was ready to hit the water and shed the ghosts he carried around with him. He’d planned meticulously. There were charts filling half of his closet and he’d popped by the Tuesday before to fill the kitchenette with snacks for his inaugural trip. He didn’t have a refrigerator yet so he’d done his best to stick with ready to assemble meals. Nothing big, just some bread and jams. A few tea bags and bottled water in case it got cold out on the water.
The plan had been to set sail just as the sun was rising that Saturday. To greet the new day on the water, but for some reason his alarm hadn’t sounded that morning, and for the first time since he’d joined the navy, he overslept. By the time he made it down to the docks it was just after ten, and the area was filled with people. Families going out on day trips. Tour groups trying to enjoy the last few weeks before the winter season. Before everyone would have to winterize their boats and leave them stored away until spring.
He was lost in his thoughts as he walked along the wood planks at the docks, past other ships, nearly tripping on a rope that someone has carelessly left out. Cursing under his breath, collecting himself from the slight embarrassment of it all, he glanced back at The Jewel. It was hard to see with the sun reflecting back on the water, but for just a few seconds, he could have sworn that he saw a shadow moving along her port side. There was a person on his boat.
It wasn’t unheard of, finding a vagrant living on an unused boat, or some random person lost and on the wrong ship. The Jewel had a very specific and unique paint job though. Mistaking her for any other vessel on the harbor would have been impossible. And he’d been there only a few nights before. He would have seen signs of a stowaway using her for shelter.
That could only mean that whoever was aboard his boat was looking for trouble, and after the morning he’d had, he was more than willing to give it to them. Swearing to himself, he picked up his pace, ready to give the trespasser a piece of his mind, but when he finally made it to The Jewel, she was empty. Thinking perhaps they’d gone below deck, he crept down the narrow stairs, doing his best to avoid making noise. There was no one though. She was empty. Just a trick of the mind.
Feeling foolish, Killian reemerged, on the deck, ready to give all of the lines one final check before setting sail when he heard a noise, a creaky wooden plank from down below. This time he ran, not giving a damn if the person knew he was coming or not. He was ready to find whoever was hiding.
Once again though, he came up empty. Even after searching in all of the cupboards and storage spaces under the kitchen bench and his bed. He checked all of the closets, but there was no one. He was all alone.
It was just in his head. Not surprising considering what a huge step he was about to take. The idea of going back on the water leaving him with an uneasy queasy feeling in his gut. Which was also the exact reason that he needed to do it. Why he’d tried to stress to Liam the importance of buying The Jewel.
He needed to conquer his fear. Even if his brain tried to scare him out of it. Because that’s all it was. A shadow from a person on a boat near his. An old creaky boat groaning from the change in humidity. It was all in his head, and it needed to stay there.
More determined than ever, Killian went back upstairs, ready to set sail, distraction free, but when he emerged from the cabin, he was met once again with an odd sensation. A feeling of being watched.
“Permission to come aboard?”
“Bloody hell, Liam? How long have you been here?”
“Not long.”
And there it was. His older brother, his protector, playing games with his head to place doubt. Liam had done more than his fair share of things to delay the boat becoming ready, but to actually try to scare him away was just too much.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Come again now?”
“I’m talking about you playing games with my head, trying to frighten me away from taking my boat out. You’ve made it very clear that this wasn’t something you wanted me to do, but this is a new form of low, Laim.”
He was furious.
“Killian, I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve only just arrived.”
He watched the elder Jones, the way his brow furrowed. Liam may have been a great many things to Killian, but he’d never known his brother as a liar.
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I’ve actually come bearing a gift.”
It was only then that Killian noticed the neatly wrapped bundle in Liam’s left hand. Liam didn’t ask permission again, choosing to come aboard The Jewel to hand the gift to Killian. He felt more than a little guilty for accepting it, especially after having just yelled at his brother, but Liam was insistent.
Carefully he peeled back the wrapping paper, careful not to tear it, lest he find paper scraps for weeks to come blown into every nook and cranky. Inside, he found a book, an old one by the look of it.
“It’s a first edition. Took some time to track down or I would have had it to you sooner.”
The significance of Liam’s thoughtfulness was evident. It was a first edition of Peter Pan. The book their mother used to read to them nightly. Each time she finished, Killian would beg her to start again from the beginning. It was the thing that first ignited his love for the sea.
“Thank you, Liam. This means more than you know.”
Liam just gave him a nod, understanding the emotional weight they both held in that moment.
“I, uh, guess you haven’t checked the stern of the boat just yet?”
It was on his list. First the ropes, then a walk around above deck to ensure everything was properly secured, before walking around the dock to check that everything was good on the exterior.
Intrigued, Killian climbed down from the boat and walked around to the back side of The Jewel. But what he found was that she’d been renamed.
“The Jolly Roger?”
“I very specifically remember you telling mum and me that when you grew up, you were going to own a huge ship, and you were going to name her The Jolly Roger-”
“Just like Captain Hook.”
He’d completely forgotten. As a small eight year old, he was determined that one day he’d own a pirate ship. That he’d sail the seven seas taking whatever he wanted from whoever he wanted. Probably in part because he was sick of getting Liam’s hand me downs.
“I hope you don’t mind. I know she’s not exactly what child Killian had in mind, but you’ve done exactly what you said you were going to do. And I know I’ve been a prick about this entire thing, so I wanted to do something to make up for it. To show you that I really am in your corner.”
Killian was touched. It was possibly the first time his brother had apologized to him since before their mother died. Even then, it was probably the first time he’d ever done it without being scolded into it.
“Thank you, brother.”
There’s one final thing. Last night, Robin and I came out here and installed a motor on the back.” Killian was about to say something, but Liam barreled on. “I know. But I just want to keep you safe. If you should find yourself without wind, you’ll still have a way to get back to shore.”
“Marvelous.” His annoyance only slightly tempered by Liam’s attempt at a kind gesture.
From his inside coat pocket, Liam produced a manual for the motor. ‘A guide to your new Stern Mounted Electronic Engine.’ He had to give it to Liam. He’d thought of everything. Even a Mr. SMEE.
Together, he and Liam set about getting The Jolly ready. After checking everything over twice, they finally set out, both men trying not to hold their breath as the docks become smaller and smaller. After about thirty minutes, they were able to relax, realizing that the ship hadn’t yet sunk, and likely wouldn’t anytime soon.
The trip was relaxing for the most part. The brothers argued still, as Killian realized that Liam had completely rearranged all of the food in the kitchenette. It wasn’t surprising and he’d seen Liam do it at his house, whenever Elsa would just quickly throw things back in the pantry. But what did shock him was how Liam adamantly denied it, even though Killian knew he’d left the tea bags in the cupboard above the tiny stove top, not under the sink. And the chips had been moved as well as other items. Still though, Liam swore he hadn’t touched them.
Killian eventually let it go, finding it not worth bickering over anymore than they already had. The real fist-to-cuffs came at the end of the day, as the two men had already redocked and were setting the boat back to rights. Liam had grabbed the trash and told Killian that he was going to take it all to the dumpster in the parking lot while Killian secured all of the sails.
Liam couldn’t have been gone for more than a minute when Killian stood to turn and move on to the other sail when he slipped and fell flat on his back. It hurt more than he wanted to admit, and in his haste to stop himself from falling, he’d somehow managed to catch his hook in the jib sail, tearing it as he fell.
Killian took a moment to compose himself, waiting for the sting of hitting his back on the rail to subside. He must have taken longer than he realized, because by the time he sat back up he heard Liam call his name and scramble across the boat to check on him.
Killian assured him that he was fine, or that he would be as Liam helped him back up. Careful of his steps, he turned to see just what exactly he’d slipped on when he caught sight of small water puddles in the shape of shoe prints. Absolutely sure that Liam had made them somehow, the two brothers had it out, causing Liam to storm away in a huff once more.
Killian stayed long enough to dry all of the water and to watch the sunset over the horizon before heading back to his place to grab a much needed ice pack. His back was still sore two hours later, so he opted for a shower instead hoping that the warm water might help soothe the muscles.
Slowly he undressed, trying not to twist or bend too much. Catching just a glimpse of himself in the mirror are he removed the small gold locket he’d found, he caught sight of his red cheeks, realising that even in October, he’d still managed to get a bit too much sun.
Getting to sleep had been tough. It was only after a glass or two, or three of rum that he was able to find a comfortable position. He drifted off, dreaming of being a child again. Of Neverland and Captain Hook.
The next morning he was still quite sore, so he’d opted not to take a second trip out on the water. Instead, he’d spend the day shopping for groceries and flicking through television programs until he settled on Wicked Tuna. Before he knew it, it was time to ready himself for bed and another dreaded week at work.
It ended up not being as bad of a week as he expected it to be. Liam hadn’t scheduled any meetings for him outside of normal office hours, and the clients that came into the office to settle contracts all seemed relatively normal for once. The brothers had quazied made up, but both felt it was best if Liam didn’t go out with Killian again for a while.
By the time the next weekend came, Killian was eager to set sail again, alone. No distractions. No mind games. Just him and The Jolly. Unable to hide the gold chain under his work shirt, Killian had chosen to leave the compass at home all week, but slid it back over his head before getting in his car to drive down to the water.
For a few moments he worried that his plans would be dashed as his car had refused to turn on. The starter trying to turn over and failing. Finally though, he got her started and headed straight for the docks.
He went through his usual routine, checking everything over, checking the weather once more. It was a little windier than he would have preferred, but the local station said that the wind would die down a bit by mid day. With everything ready, he set out, heading up the coast line just a bit.
The wind stayed stead for nearly four hours, despite the weather stations promise, and at one point, his life preserver ring had managed to come loose and blow straight off the ship. Not wanting to waste sixty dollars on a new one, he turned into the wind, stalling the boat, and dove dove in after it. A foolish endeavour on his part, considering he was alone if anything had gone wrong, but he figured if he could just get to the ring, he’d be fine.
The water was colder than he’d expected. In the navy he’d done cold water drills, letting his body adapt to it. But it had been a year, and his body simply wasn’t used to it yet. The moment he hit the water, his leg cramped up, and for just a second, he sunk under the surface of the water as he grabbed at his leg. When he resurfaced, it was with a mouth full of salt water. His nose burned and his eyes stung.
Once he managed to make it to the preserver, he tried wiping his eyes, but it only made things worse. Looking around to see just how far he was from The Jolly, his eyes had difficulty focusing. Everything became blurry as it felt like he’d had sandpaper rubbed against his cornea. At one point, it looked as if there was a figure standing at the bow of the boat. An impossibility given how far out he was and the lack of other boats.
He closed his eyes, giving them a few minutes to calm down, and when he reopened them, the figure was gone, and The Jolly was more in focus. Killian managed to swim back to the boat, a freezing mess in his wet clothes. He hadn’t actually thought about bringing a change of clothes with him for such a short journey. He stood there on the deck a shivering mess, ready to give up on the day.
As he tried to turn the wheel he began to feel slightly warmer. The wind had finally died down just as local weather woman Alfina Merryweather had promised, except that Merriweather had neglected to mention that her version of a slight breeze was actually a dead stop.
There was nothing, not even the slightest hint of movement. He waited and waited, at one point removing his clothes and doing his best to squeeze as much water out as he could. He thought of Liam, of how his brother would probably be worried if he didn’t hear from him soon. Thoughts that eventually reminded him of the motor his brother had installed for just such an occasion. The motor that Killian never wanted, and certainly wasn’t going to admit to using.
It took him forty two minutes to read the manuel enough to understand what he was doing, the whole thing one long novel of gibberish. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, and how many times he went through the manuel again, twenty minutes later he was just as stuck as before.
After another thirty minutes of attempting to start it and pretending that hyperthermia wasn’t a real threat, he finally caved, ready to call for help over the radio to a towing company. But the radio was just as dead as SMEE, and all of his calls for help were met with static. He began to worry, checking his phone to see the time only to realize that his phone was dead as well. He continued to plea for assistance, the static only becoming louder, eventually there was a spark as he felt a strange nasty shock from the microphone
He jumped back, yelling every curse word he could think of until he was nearly hoarse. Just as he’d quieted, shaking out his hand, he’d heard it. A creaky noise coming from above deck, The same sound he’d heard on his first day out. The sound of boards buckling under the weight of a person. He was sure of it this time, unless the jolt had managed to shock his brain too.
Slowly he crept back up the stairs, feeling every hair raise along his arm as he went. Something felt off. Something just felt very very wrong. But he persisted still, opening the door as quietly as possible. He crept along the deck, treading lightly as not to make any noise. As he moved high enough to see the front of the boat, he noticed a figure. An eerie ethereal blur of a woman.
But before he could say anything she turned and looked right at him. He watched her for a moment, as she seemed to float above the bow of the boat, somehow both there and not quite real. And then her mouth opened, and with the anguished scream of a hundred voices at once, she yelled at him to get out.
He nearly fell as he scrambled backwards, feeling his heart in his throat, trying to leap clear from his body. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. He was paralyzed in fear, completely unable to move when he heard the boat’s engine spring to life, snapping him out of his trance.
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We’re here!!! *SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY* It’s time for the CSSNS20 Roundup!!!!
It has been quite a ride y’all...
I just want to take a moment here at the beginning of the post to thank everyone who has ever been a part of this event from 2018 to now. Y’all are the ones who made this event what it is and I cannot be more grateful to have had the privilege of manning the helm for the past three years. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!!! There’s been too many participants over the years to name everyone, but I have to give a shoutout to my personal support team and the mods from all three years. Each one of them has contributed in innumerable ways and this event never would have happened without each of them and their contribution. @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @katie-dub, @thisonesatellite and @profdanglaisstuff. Thank you so much ladies!!! I never could have done this without you all!!!
Now that the event is over, I want to let everyone know that I will be inviting other supernatural fic to the collection over on ao3. When I first started reading fan fiction, I stumbled across the Black Swan and Red Hooks Collection, a collection for smutty fics, that continues to grow today. I want to do the same thing with the Supernatural Summer Collection. As more supernatural fics are written, I will invite them to the collection.
We are now at the close, and it’s time to round up all the wonderful fics and art that we’ve been blessed with in this year’s event. At the end of the post, I’ll highlight all the fic from previous years that have also updated this summer. Active MC’s will continue updating until they are finished. And without further ado, HERE WE GOOOOOOO!!!!
Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.
On June 1st, @itsfabianadocarmo dropped a vampire aesthetic inspired by the Countess from American Horror Story: Hotel. SOOO incredible! It gave me chills! You can find it here.
On June 3rd, I ( @kmomof4 ) dropped Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates. I figured that since this was our last year, I should write for it for once. Breathtaking art by @spartanguard. Banner Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8
On June 6th, @demisexualemmaswan dropped By the Moon’s Rise, featuring CS as werewolves. Oh my WORD! The pack politics going on…It is off to a fantastic start and I can’t wait for more! Gorgeous art by @courtorderedcake. Killian Emma David
On June 9th, @snowbellewells dropped A Cottage By the Sea. An Enchanted Forest Lieutenant Duckling AU. The last chapter left me CHEERING and I can’t wait to see where she takes this! Lovely art by @searchingwardrobes.
On June 11th, @katie-dub dropped Awakening, her fic inspired by the TV show Being Human. I am not familiar with the show, but this fic, oh my WORD!!! I had no words, and so I reblogged with gifs. Can’t wait for more!!!
On June 14th, @lassluna dropped her fic, Swan’s Hourglass, a Legend of Zelda AU. I absolutely LOVE her use of the side characters and Emma is absolutely bad ass!!! Can’t wait for more!! Beautiful Artwork by @eastwesthomeisbest.
On June 17th, @hollyethecurious dropped her Vampire Diary’s inspired The Craving In Between. Fun, intriguing, and SPICY!!! Perfect Artwork by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713.
On June 20, @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 dropped her original Angel!Emma/Demon!Killian aesthetic. Absolutely PERFECT!!!
On June 23, @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 dropped another aesthetic that I was inspired to write a fic for! The Moon… Tells the Sea is the tale of were-mermaid Emma and her mate. aesthetic on Tumblr
On June 25, @eastwesthomeisbest dropped original Vampire!Killian artwork His Sweet Kiss. BREATHTAKING and sooooo chilling!!!
On June 27th, @kymbersmith-90 dropped her Soliciting for Dracula: Outtake. So GREAT to be taken back to that universe first presented during CS Halloweek last year! Original fic on Ao3 Tumblr link with art
On June 29th, @imlaxdris71 dropped her Shadowhunters AU, The Price of Blood. I am not at all familiar with Shadowhunters, but this fic is so AWESOME already and I can’t wait for more!!! I was thrilled to provide artwork for this incredible fic!
On July 2, @ohmightydevviepuu and @thisonesatellite posted The Sword and the Heart, their retelling of all of s5. Let me tell you, THIS is what we should have gotten on the show!!! I can’t WAIT for the next chapter!!! Awe-inspiring artwork by @thisonesatellite and @profdanglaisstuff.
On July 5, @snowbellewells posted For Once, Don’t Let Go, her CS ghost story. Spooky and soooo SWEET all at once!!! Chill-inducing, perfect artwork by @hollyethecurious.
On July 7, @stahlop posted Making a Memory, her fic inspired by The Parent Trap. This fic is absolutely AWESOME, y’all!!! Lisa has sucked me in to this blending of one of my all time favorite live action Disney movies and Once canon and I CANNOT WAIT for more of it!!! Lovely and perfect artwork by @gingerchangeling.
On July 9, @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 posted her original vampire aesthetic. Mm mm mm mm mmmmmmm!!!
On July 13, @shardminds posted her Witcher AU, Silver for Monsters. I have been BESIDE myself waiting for this fic, even though I’m not familiar with the show and the first chapter did not disappoint!!! Can’t wait for more!!! Swoon-worthy artwork by @artistic-writer.
On July 15, @eastwesthomeisbest posted original Fairy artwork, Within You, inspired by Carnival Row. Absolutely BREATHTAKING!!! Then on July 26, she posted Fear Me Or Love Me… It’s All the Same, and reduced me to a screaming flailing mess!
On July 18, @lovelivingmydreams posted Labors of Love, her Greek gods AU. This fic is fantastic and I am LOVING every bit of it!! I’ve been told to strap myself in, so I have and am eagerly waiting for the next chapter!!! Beautiful artwork by @mariakov81 Banner Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5
On July 21, @jarienn972 posted La Sirena, her Siren Emma fic. A BEAUTIFUL mystery and I can’t wait to see where she goes with this!!! Gorgeous artwork by @courtorderedcake.
On July 23, @shireness-says posted A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink, her fic inspired by The Night Circus. This fic is pure magic. Absolutely STUNNING in its beauty and I am BESIDE myself waiting for the next chapter!!! Incredible artwork by @eirabach.
On July 29, @winterbythesea posted The Truth In a Masquerade featuring dueling CS at a vampire masquerade! WELL WORTH all the teasing we endured on the discord!
On Aug. 1, @profdanglaisstuff posted The Eternal and Unseen, an epic tale of fae, werewolf, and vampire coming together to defeat a common enemy. This fic is absolutely INCREDIBLE and I can’t wait for the next chapter!!! Beautiful artwork 1 2 3 by @carpedzem.
@xhookswenchx posted her werewolf MC, Waning Moon, on Aug. 2. I am soooo in LOVE with this beautiful fic and can’t wait for more of it!!! Beautiful and precious artwork Banner 1 2 3 4 5 by @mariakov81.
@whimsicallyenchantedrose posted her MC, More Than All the Jewels in the Realm on Aug. 4. Kinda a ghost/soulmate MC. You’ll see what I mean… Absolutely FANTASTIC already!!! Beautifully haunting artwork by @searchingwardrobes.
@thejollyroger-writer posted the first chapter of THE WASTELAND on Aug. 6, where the hero group goes on a magical journey to save Killian. This world she has built is INCREDIBLE and I am loving this fic soooo much!!! Incredible artwork 1 2 3 4 5 by @spartanguard.
On Aug. 8, @imlaxdris71 posted her werewolf MC, The Beast of Aurum. My heart hurts so much for Killian ALREADY!!!! I can’t wait for more!!! Artwork by me, @kmomof4.
On Aug. 10, @eastwesthomeisbest dropped original Demon Killian artwork, I’m Your Darkest Dream. Gave me CHILLS!!!
Aug. 13, @ohmightydevviepuu posted From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea as part of her writersmonth2020 project. A 3a divergence that is absolutely HEART WRENCHING and BEAUTIFUL!!! Beautiful artwork by @mariakov81
On Aug. 14, @spartanguard posted her fix it fic for West Side Story, Even Death Won’t Part Us Now, featuring CS as vampires. I am absolutely BESIDE MYSELF over this fic, y'all!!! I love it sooooo MUCH!!! Breathtaking and perfect artwork 1 2 3 by @thesschesthair.
Aug. 18, @hollyethecurious posted her Sleepy Hollow AU, Some Legends are Best Kept as Legends. This fic is MAGNIFICENT and I can’t wait for more!!! Artwork by herself.
Aug. 20, @darkcolinodonorgasm posted her Siren Emma MC, A Song of Sin and Desire. This is gonna be an INCREDIBLE fic, y'all!!! I love it already!!! Gorgeous artwork by @artistic-writer.
On Aug. 22, @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 posted fantastic original artwork for a fic by @teamhook that she posted in September, The Wolf and the Savior. The setup of this fic has me on the edge of my seat and I can’t WAIT to see what’s next!!!
Aug. 24, @courtorderedcake posted her demon MC, Majestically To Far Beyond. This fic really is fun and I am LOVING it, y’all!!! Can't wait for more!!! Artwork by me, @kmomof4.
Aug. 26, @cocohook38 posted her Dark Swan/Werewolf Killian MC, I’ll Be Waiting For You By the Blood Moon. This is a FANTASTIC take on the Dark Swan and I can’t wait for more of it!!! Breathtaking artwork by @eastwesthomeisbest.
And finally, rounding out our event on Aug. 30, @seriouslyhooked posted Lost Souls and Reveries: The Sequel, a continuation of her CSSNS18 fic, Lost Souls and Reveries. This first chapter was soooo precious and lovely and I can’t wait to see where she goes with this!!! Exquisite artwork by @clockadile.
Over the course of the summer, we had several fics from previous years update, in some cases, several times!
Until the Stars Are All Alight by @whimsicallyenchantedrose updated several times. Beautiful artwork by @clockadile. This is her LOTR/CS crossover and I love it sooooo much!!!!
@kymbersmith-90 updated both of her fics from CSSNS18, Slayer and Divine Intervention. Perfect artwork complements of @hollyethecurious (x) (x). Both of these fics are sooooo GREAT, even to someone who hasn’t watched either show that they were inspired by!!!
@courtorderedcake updated Hallow, her epic fic of Fae princess Emma and Dark One Killian. We have now journeyed to Sultana Jasmine’s court and we are closing in on the end of their journey!!! Latest Tumblr chapter link with art
@darkcolinodonorgasm updated One Day, her LadyHawke inspired AU that she kills me with every single chapter!!! We are now on ch5 of 7. Tumblr ch link Beautiful Artwork by @sherlockianwhovian
@eirabach rewrote her CSSNS18 submission Glow for the CS Rewritathon this spring and summer. It can be found in its entirety in the CSSNS20 collection on ao3 here. I loved it when she originally wrote it, and I loved it even more this time!!!
Well, that’s it, y’all!!!! Who would have thought when I came up with this idea almost three years ago now that we would have such participation and enthusiasm across this fabulous fandom? We have been blessed with EPIC, INCREDIBLE, GORGEOUS, BREATHTAKING, FUN, LOVELY, MAGNIFICENT fics and art these last three years!!! As I said at the top of this post, the collection on ao3 will continue to be active as well as this blog as more supernatural fics are written and shared. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for coming along on this ride with me. Y’all have all made it soooo worthwhile!!! All the love, everyone!!!
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Lost Souls and Reveries: The Sequel (1)
Original Story on Tumblr, Fanfiction, and AO3. This sequel on Fanfiction and AO3. Amazing and exceptional @cssns series artwork created by the ultra-talented @clockadile. Thank you for bringing my wolfy world to life!
The sequel to Lost Souls and Reveries, this fic follows Emma and Killian in their continuing journey as fated mates. In the span of one summer their lives have completely changed. Finding each other helped reveal key truths, heal old wounds, and put their lives on a whole new trajectory. Part one left everyone in a good and happy place, but only half the battle has been won. This sequel blends Emma and Killian’s continuing story with the perspectives of their family and pack. Pockets of angst, but ultimately this is a story about love, hope, and the bonds that bind born and chosen families. Story has 13 planned chapters.
A/N: Hey everyone!! It is so exciting to be back with the CSSNS event this year, and to get to revisit a story that has had a tremendous impact on my writing life. Lost Souls and Reveries is the longest fic I have ever written, and it pushed me in ways no other story ever had. I did my best to blend the fluff and true love mix I am known for with some more plot twists and intrigue, and though I always felt like I was out on a ledge, all of my readers showed me tremendous love and support. That kindness means the world to me, and it also left me with another first in my numerous years of fic writing: a multi-chapter sequel. So many of you have asked for more of this story, and there is still more to write for sure. After all, there’s still a big bad lurking out at the horizon – and everyone knows that happy endings are meant for peace, not fighting villains. That being said, this story tracks Emma, Killian and their friends/family in the hunt for Gold. It will be different from the original in that there will be more chapters and POVs from other characters that are not just CS, but I promise you’ll all get that needed dose of our favorite ship. Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this first chapter told from Emma’s POV, and can’t wait to hear what you all think!!
Sprinting through the woods as fast as her legs would take her, Emma knew it was only a matter of time until she was caught. Still, she would do everything she could to buy more time and try and get away. She and her wolf were in complete agreement about this – she had to keep moving. She had no other choice.
The rush of greenery around her was all new. These woods were unfamiliar, the area unknown, but instincts commanded her in the direction of the river. She ran and ran and ran, and she realized that if she could just get to the waterway, she could use the current to wash away any trace of her. That would buy her time, and what she needed more than anything was time.
In wolf form, the frenzied pace of a run was different. As a human she saw flashes, never fully picking up on everything before her, but this way she felt and saw it all. The animals in the forest stood stock still in fear, or darted into the brush to get away. Birds squawked in alarm from the tree line, and she heard the flutter of wings taking flight even through the wind cutting past her ears. Still she kept moving, pushing, fighting, trying her best to stay ahead.
When she finally reached the clearing and could see the river, she felt another rush. She’d done it! She made it! She just needed to –
A blow came from her side and she tumbled to the ground, rolling in the dirt until the other wolf came above her. Her heart lurched painfully, the adrenaline of being caught swarming her system, but then the black wolf above her nipped at her neck and her own wolf let out a low whine. It was a happy sound, even if she was submitting, for despite her want to win, she never could resent being caught by her mate. In unison, she and Killian shifted back to their normal form, both of them out of breath but smiling after the rigor of their game.
“I was so freaking close that time,” she said. “Admit it, you almost didn’t get me.”
“Your ability improves each and every day, my love,” Killian said, not admitting anything but pressing a kiss to her lips instead, thus successfully distracting her. She moaned into his mouth as her hands went to hold him closer, but just as she was about to really give in, he stood, carrying her in his arms and causing her to shriek. Too late she realized where he was headed, and in another few seconds they were both submerged in the icy cold mountain water.
Breaking the surface and gasping for air, Emma shoved Killian playfully, but he only pulled her closer, turning the tides toward a delicious kind of tension instantly. Here in the water, Killian allowed the heat that was between them to really crescendo. His mouth claimed hers as his hands roamed over her curves in a possessive, demanding way. Emma arched against him seeking friction and strength, loving the feel of his hard body accompanied by the crisp cool water of the riverway they were in. In her mind Emma knew his reasons for this not so subtle relocation; alone as they were out here at her Aunt and Uncle’s retreat deep in the forests near Acadia National Park, Killian would never risk them being seen by anyone. He was the best man she knew, loving and sweet and kind, but he was also all alpha, and if anyone ever caught them like this… let’s just say Killian would never allow witnesses to this kind of scene.
“No one sees you like this. No one but me,” Killian growled out in the kiss as Emma shivered. He was using that damned mind link they had again, but she couldn’t blame him. As hot and bothered as she was right now, she was probably yelling all her thoughts. She certainly wasn’t trying to shield them from him.
“Only you,” she agreed, running her fingertips along his jaw as her other hand lay over his chest. She felt the steady beating of his heart, keeping time with hers down to the nanosecond. “And no one sees my mate either.”
“Not a soul,” Killian agreed. “All this was made for your eyes only.”
“Just my eyes?” she asked, her voice dipping low as she ran her hand down his body. She was totally playing with him and the way his eyes grew dark at her words made her want to even more. “That’s a shame. Here I was thinking…”
She purposefully trailed off, causing Killian to growl again. He nipped at her neck, a primal move she always loved. She gasped at the bite, loving the pressure but knowing it was never too rough to handle. She forgot herself a moment until Killian’s voice rumbled out once more. “What were you thinking, love?”
“I was thinking we should play another game. Same rules, only this time, if I make it the house before you catch me, I get to have my way with you. And I’ll be using way more than my eyes.”
“And if I catch you…?” Killian asked, hunger in his eyes.
“You get to have your way with me. You interested?”
“More than you could ever even imagine.”
With that, they raced back to the house, and though she never would admit it, Emma slowed down just a touch in the final stretch, allowing her mate to catch her and to make good on all the hotness that came when he was running the show. She had no regrets on that choice either, not when her man was a master of knowing what she needed and giving her everything her heart could ever want.
They stayed like that for hours, cooped up in the house, moving from room to room, sating every need, and then, when they were finally spent (at least for now), they gave in and relaxed. The rest of the day was lazy, just as every other day on this honeymoon had been, and Emma for one was thrilled. By the late afternoon they were out on the back deck, soaking up the sunshine and taking it all in. In all those harrowing moments over the past few months, the ones fraught with worry and stress and uncertainty, this was the kind of bliss that Emma was praying for. The feel of the sun on her body, the breeze on her skin, and the heat of her husband – yes, her husband – just beside her on the lounger that they currently shared.
Her eyes were still closed as she dozed out here in the last of the summer sun, but Emma couldn’t keep her smile at bay. This had been a fantastic honeymoon, a whole series of moments, carved out of time for her and her mate. It was just them out here, and though they weren’t very far from home, it was the perfect kind of quiet that they’d needed most of all. Two whole weeks away from her friends and her parents and any and all responsibilities. It was amazing, and she would be sad to see it end in a few days’ time. But even though she was luxuriating in every moment with Killian, and soaking in this calm they both desperately deserved, she couldn’t help the tingling sensation that she missed her home and the people she loved most.
The last time she’d seen them all was the morning after their wedding. Her friends and family had congregated together to wish Emma and Killian well on their trip and say goodbye for even this short amount of time. Emma was touched at the thoughtfulness, and she loved how all of them had come, her parents and Neal, Elsa and Liam, Anna and Kristoff, Ruby and Graham and Granny and Emma’s own grandmother. It was like another mini party all over again, and as swift as it was, Emma adored that precious moment, especially since she was still riding high after the best night of her life.
Looking back, she could definitively call her wedding night the best night of her life, at least so far. It had just been so… well, magical, for lack of a better work. Every component of the evening was something she loved. She was surrounded by her people, her pack as it were, and the more extended friends and neighbors who may not know everything about her now, but who loved and supported her all the same. There was music and dancing, great food and a great vibe, laughter and joy, and a resurgence of hope among all of them that never wavered and never strayed away. It was almost like the battles they’d faced had never happened. She barely thought of the tough times, the darkness or the fear. It felt liberating, loving Killian and choosing to be with him forever, and she knew her friends felt their own sense of rightness, having all found their own mates to love as well.
At one point, when all of them were on the dance floor, Emma broke through the fog of her desire for Killian and took a look around. All of her loved ones were dancing, her parents, and her friends, and in everyone’s eyes she saw real and true love. It was amazing, to bear witness to people who all had their own pasts, and scars from harder days, coming together and choosing to hope. Even Kristoff, who was still adjusting to everything after his months in captivity, had looked happy and calm. He stayed glued to Anna the entire night, and never took his eyes from her, filling Emma with the same joy she’d felt when Liam and Elsa found each other just a short time ago. It was all coming together. Everyone was finding who they were and what they wanted, and it all started with her and Killian, finding each other just as fate had foretold.
There was only one part of the whole wedding that left Emma slightly off balance, a blip in her elevated mood that struck her as curious. It was near the end of the night, only a few songs before she and Killian departed. She had looked over to try and keep track of her friends and she saw Elsa, Ruby, and Anna all huddled together. Ruby was talking in an animated way, but the worry on her face wasn’t meant for this moment. Emma knew she must have seen something, must have glimpsed a vision or something along those lines, but she couldn’t exactly be sure. Then she was even more puzzled, because it appeared to be Elsa who drew everybody’s focus, and then, just as Emma was beginning to realize something might be up, her best friend turned, saw her curious expression and smiled, shaking her head.
Elsa’s meaning was clear: Don’t worry about it. Nothing that needs handling tonight. And though Emma usually wouldn’t agree to such a mindset, she made an exception. If it was really a problem, Elsa would tell her, wedding or not. And in the days since, no one had reached out. No one had tried to get them home or break into their honeymoon, so it must not be so bad. Right? God, please don’t let it be too bad.
“You know I hate to see your smile waver, my love,” Killian said, his voice a low and rumble as he pulled her into him. Emma sighed, cozying up next to him, loving how he always knew what she was thinking and how he always, without fail, sought to raise her spirits. “What’s on your mind.”
“It’s nothing,” she said automatically, looking up at him and shaking her head. “Okay it’s not nothing, but since I don’t know what it is, and we’re still on honeymoon, there’s no use talking about it.”
“Emma,” Killian urged, only saying her name but relaying his feelings very clearly. He wanted to hear her thoughts, to help her hold her burdens. Always.
“Okay it’s just, did you notice at the wedding. Elsa and Anna and Ruby got a little cagey at the end there.” Killian stiffened and immediately Emma knew he did notice and that not only that, he knew more than her. Damn it! How did he always manage to know everything? “You did notice. Do you know what happened?”
“No,” Killian said honestly, “But that’s because I purposefully avoided asking. If it was truly serious, Liam would tell me, just as Elsa or Anna would tell you.”
“But what if they actually need help, but they just didn’t ask because they don’t want to interfere?”
“I may not have known your friends very long, Emma, but I can assure my cousin is not the kind of person to stand on ceremony.” Killian’s summary of Ruby’s predisposition made Emma smile despite herself. “If we were needed, Ruby would let us know through a text or a call, hell a damn carrier pigeon. She’d let nothing interfere with delivering the message.”
“You’re right,” Emma agreed, nodding her head, but still unconvinced. “I know you’re right… it’s just…”
“It’s just that you specialize in caring for others,” Killian said, running his thumb along her bottom lip as he smiled at her warmly. Before she could respond, he stole a kiss laced with purposeful distraction, and despite how intertwined they’d been for days, Emma still got caught up as ever. By the time he’d pulled back she was clinging to him, her head a little foggy from the want to be close. “I love you for a million different reasons, Emma, but your earnest heart is among the most prominent.”
“You always know just what to say,” she said, letting go of some more of the worry.
“I always speak from my heart,” he promised. “And I know what we said before love, the promises you made me, about taking the sidelines.”
Emma nodded, averting her gaze to his chest as she trailed a delicate line against his skin. She had made that promise, and she wouldn’t go against it, but it still didn’t sit well with her. She didn’t feel good removing herself completely, but she also would not put Killian through more pain and fear.
“I was hasty in that request,” he said and now her eyes shot back to him. He was what? Really? She was so shocked that he said this. She never expected it, even when he explained. “My sentiments are exactly the same, love. I cannot lose you. Not now, not ever. But locking you into a promise where you feel you must choose between my wishes and your family… that was never my intention.”
“I didn’t feel that way,” she said, and she hadn’t. It wasn’t pressure. She totally understood his feelings after her very near miss in the confrontation against George. With her, and their baby on the way, he had every reason to worry.
“I know, love,” he said, running his hand along her face tenderly. “You’re predisposed to think the best of me. I just need to try and be a man worth putting such faith in.”
“Do you think I ever would have married you without you already being enough?” she asked and he shook his head and smiled, a boyish grin, filled with wonder. Just the mention of their being married seemed to lighten him up, and it made Emma’s heart flutter to see that happy pride. Then he took her hand in his and kissed the top, then the side, then the palm. Each brush of his lips was delicate and dear. Like he could never get enough of her, no matter how hard he tried.
“I simply meant that I’ve thought on all of this and come to realize I cannot hold you to that promise. When we get back, we’ll hear them out and whenever the next phase comes we’ll face it together. We’ve been a team since the start, and we’ll be one now and always. All I ask is that for these last few days we stay grounded here, together, just you and me.”
Emma’s eyes misted over with happy tears, for about the billionth time since she’d found Killian and given him her heart. This man was so effortlessly right for her, and while he was getting better at seeing himself through her eyes, he still didn’t realize just how good he was. She knew though, and she felt so damn lucky to have him. She was too choked up to really speak, so instead she nodded, whispered that she loved him and pulled him in for another kiss, falling back into her favorite person once again.
Over the next few days they managed to make good on that new choice. They savored every last moment of their honeymoon, and even on the night when they came back home to Storybrooke, they did so shroud in a resilient quiet. Their world was calm and unassuming. There was no congregation of their loved ones, no celebrations still in store, just peace and space and a last little taste of freedom. In that blissful, fleeting window, they shared as much as they could, the passion between them burning as bright as it had in the forest, and every day before then. But when the night was over, and sleep came calling, Emma knew that tomorrow things would change. For soon they’d be back in the thick of things, finding out the truth and diving once more into something they didn’t yet know, but they had no choice but to conquer.
…………
Stirring awake in the morning, Emma felt the warmth of Killian in her bed and she knew the dawn had only just broken. The day was still so new, the hour still too early, even for her mate to be awake yet. She stretched her limbs and debated curling up into him. She should go back to sleep or savor the moment, but despite her wish to do so, she felt a gentle tug from deep within her chest. At first she ignored it, content to linger here, but soon the feeling grew too dominant. She sat up, careful not to rouse Killian, and looking down at his still sleeping form. He was so peaceful in this moment and she smiled at the sight, but the tightness continued. It felt like a string was pulling at her and she didn’t know why. Then she heard the voice, soft, but familiar. It said only one word.
Emma.
Looking around, she saw no one, and knew it must be in her head but the light in her room changed. The dawn’s crisp colors blended with a burst of silver and gold. It was subtle, but she recognized it. Magic. Here in her home, calling to her.
Without thinking she got up, intent on following the pull. She looked to Killian once more, and thought about waking him, but she didn’t want to disturb him. Instead she moved out the back door and into the land behind their home. The details from there were hazy, she wandered to places unknown, even in the midst of the one place she’d ever called home. She couldn’t tell how long she was out there, but soon the paths she’d often tread were not enough. Instinct drew her away, past a thicket and into a dip in the glen she’d never seen. Large rocks stood there that she couldn’t quite remember but felt she’d seen before, and still the string pulled tighter. She saw then the small passage in the formation, wide enough for someone to go through. She hesitated for the first time, wondering if it was right to go this far. Again the voice spoke.
Have faith, Emma, and remember. Remember to forget.
Remember to forget? She didn’t know what it meant, but she walked through the rocks the darkness creeping in, but just as it felt like she was blinded by it, light came from further in that she didn’t expect she followed it, slowly but surely finding her way, and on the other side of it all she gasped, her breath stolen by the sight before her.
Toto, I don’t think we’re in Storybrooke anymore.
The thought was mired in a joke, but it did nothing to dull what Emma saw before her. A place out of time surrounded on all sides by rocks. It felt like something out of a storybook, both ancient and too beautiful to be real. Emma wanted to take it all in, to linger here, but the string drew taut again and beckoned her to a willow tree across the way. The willow was big and tall, brimming with life as its leaves whistled with the wind. It sat at an embankment, a body of water that went all the way back to the far rock wall, and then perhaps beyond. She couldn’t see beneath the surface, she only felt the call of the water and the tree.
The swirls within the pool were reminiscent of a turquoise sea, like Caribbean waters, land bound in this hidden, special place. Looking inside, she couldn’t tell how deep the water ran. The bottom appeared to be crystalline, with some kind of precious, aqua colored stone sticking up towards the sky but never breaking the surface. At the same time every current swirled and swished in a visible way. The water seemed to pulsate and the light reflected from it and retained a shimmering glow, reminding her of magic.
Were these the kinds of springs of old that witches spoke of? The ones where magic used to live?
The call of the water was strong and sure, and Emma longed to draw nearer to it. The closer she got the sweeter the sound. It was a song, she realized, gentle and soothing and like nothing she had ever heard. Only after a moment did she understand what it was, a version of her wedding song to Killian, enchanted in some way. It flooded her senses before she’d even touched the water, and then she heard a sound intermingled in the chimes of the melody. The laughter of her friends, swelling and light. The water shimmered, a vision came. Everyone was happy and everyone was whole. Was it the past or was it the future? She wanted to know, but as soon as it came it melted away. This time another image. Children running in a field, so many children, none she knew but still familiar. Her hand came to the swell of her stomach, a premonition. A sign of hope and then she reached for the water, wanting to touch.
“Emma,” a voice called, but this one she knew. It was Killian.
She froze and as she did, she watched the water begin to swirl and her own reflection twisted away. As she hovered there, she watched the water change. The aquamarine went from the healthy warming color to something frosted over, icy and colder and sharp. The music was gone, and her heart skipped. She was gripped by the fledgling force of fear, anticipation washing over her. Another image danced below the surface of the pool, and she swore she saw her friends, Anna and Elsa and Ruby, but she couldn’t be sure. The water was clouded and the music from before sounded less like a melody and more like a plea. The only problem was she couldn’t understand it. The only thing she knew was that time was running out she had to fix this she had to –
“Emma!”
Opening her eyes, Emma’s first sight was her husband’s face filled with worry and concern. Instinctively she rose, holding onto him and letting him wrap her up in his embrace. The relief she sensed from him was huge, and she didn’t understand. When she pulled back from him and cupped his face, feeling the scruff of his honeymoon beard, which was longer than the norm, she tried to make it out, but something danced at the corner of her eyes. She looked over and gasped.
“Magic,” she whispered, knowing nothing else could explain what had happened in their room. The ivory color of their walls was now offset with silver and gold and tinted color remnant of light from a thousand prisms. All of this color was in the air around them. It was some kind of substance suspended in time, and the particles looked like dew handing in the air. The ivy vines from outside had crawled into the window, curling around all of their things winding around the dressers and the bedposts. And though it was shocking, it was one of the most beautiful things Emma had ever seen. “But why?”
“The baby,” he whispered, putting his hand where their child was still so small, and Emma covered his without so much as looking down. When they did, everything changed. The particles radiated out, slamming into the walls and leaving a trace, a blend of color and design no human brush could ever make. The vines too changed, and what were once green leaves became metallic kinds of etching in wooden structures themselves. All of it was there and then gone, but it wasn’t gone, and no matter how many times she blinked, the traces still remained.
“It’s amazing,” Killian said, and Emma nodded.
“She’s amazing,” Emma agreed and the two of them shared the moment of awe, letting quiet fall between them.
“You took a minute to wake up,” Killian said, his worry evident once more. “I tried and you didn’t hear me the first time.”
“I had a dream…” Emma said, trying to remember it, but finding that she couldn’t. Strange. She swore only seconds before she’d had it in her head. Why couldn’t she remember?
Remember to forget.
“What happened in it?” he asked and Emma shook her head, unable to recall.
“I don’t know.”
But as she said the words Emma knew whatever it was had been important, and she was eager to figure out what it was and what it meant. And in the meantime, she’d choose to see this unexpected moment as a sign of her daughter’s strength and everything they had to fight for. For nothing in the world could mean so much as the love of this family, and Emma would do anything and everything to see them protected, sheltered, and safe.
Post-Note: So there we have it. I know, I know, I have thrown some big what the heck moments into this early, but I just couldn’t help myself. Also, I’ve told you all this will still be a CS story but it also is a story fixated on Emma’s friends and their loved ones too. They will be back with us in the next few chapters as we try and figure out what they heck is going on. Be advised, there is a battle left ahead and a lot to come in this fic, some of which might be a little angsty, but I don’t think this small glimpse has given too much away and I promise to always circle back to the feel goof love that I cherish in my fics. Anyway, I would love to hear what you all think and hear what you expect may come in part 2 of Lost Souls and Reveries. Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you’ll join me next time!
Taglist (pulling from all the lovely people who I was tagging for part 1, let me know if you’d like to be included or removed): @jennjenn615, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @teamhook, @ultraluckycatnd, @resident-of-storybrooke, @artistic-writer, @snowbellewells, @snarkycaptainswan4, @allofdafandoms-blog
#captain swan#cssns#captain swan supernatural summer#cs fic#cs ff#cs fluff#cs angst#cs smut#captain swan ff#captain swan fic#captain swan fluff#cs shifter#cs shifter fic#ouat shifter fic#shifter!killian#hybrid!emma#the whole storybrooke gang#lost souls and reveries the sequel#lsar the sequel#lost souls 2 part 1
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pushing buttons
Summary: Killian is hurt, and the only one around to help him out is his beautiful neighbor—that he's never talked to before. Looks like that's about to change. (Based on this prompt, shared by @clockadile: "I was talking to my friend and she was telling me about how her coworker had injured his arm and had to wear a sling, but also was required to wear a button up shirt for work. So every morning he had to go knock on his neighbour’s door and she would help him button the shirt."
rated M | 7.3k words | AO3
A/N: HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO @xpumpkindumplingx!!!! SHE’S A LOVELY AMAZING SWEET RED VELVET CUPCAKE AND YOU SHOULD ALL GO SEND HER LOVE!!! I've literally been working on this story for over a year and it seemed like her birthday was the appropriate occasion to force me to finish it. I’m sure someone else has written it but, oh well. Enjoy!
This wasn’t how he ever planned on introducing himself to his cute neighbor. Killian figured he’d make some witty, flirtatious line, they’d share a bit of banter, and maybe she’d agree to go out on a date. However it worked for other people.
But no, Killian’s life could never be that simple, could it? Because apparently, his best friend just had to tackle him extra hard in their weekly game of football (proper football—not that American nonsense they loved over here). Which apparently led to a dislocated shoulder and a hairline fracture in his arm (whatever the bone was that supported the bicep; he was a navigational expert, not a doctor). And consequently was putting him in a sling for a fair number of weeks.
Good thing he was already missing the hand on that arm, eh?
But, as he discovered, things like buttoning his work shirts and securing the sling were more than a bit difficult one-handed. Obviously, he was used to dressing himself by now, but he usually had the assistance of his prosthesis, or at least his blunted wrist. He was a bit SOL at the moment, though.
After checking to see if the coast was clear before he stepped out half dressed, he knocked on the door across the hall, where said best friend (though he was questioning that title at the moment) lived; the least Robin could do was help him out. Until he remembered that Robin closed the bar last night and would be dead to the world for the next several hours.
He glanced at the next door, home to a rather lascivious but otherwise friendly old lady, who he knew for a fact was running breakfast rush at the diner downstairs.
That left only one other door: Swan. At least, he thought that was the name he saw on her packages; it suited her well enough that he didn’t care if it was wrong. They’d done little more than exchange smiles in the hall, but that was clearly about to change; desperate times and desperate measures and all that.
Swallowing his pride—and maybe adjusting his posture a bit—he stepped up to her door and knocked.
It took hardly a second for her to open, and there she was: blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and leggings with a coffee mug in hand and a bit of sleep still caught in her eyes. But—so beautiful. His breath hitched in his throat.
“Hello—ohhh…” she started to greet, but then her voice trailed off and jaw hung open when she took in his state of dress. Crap; maybe making an introduction with his shirt half open was a bad idea.
He felt his cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment and the instinct to scratch behind his ear, his telltale nervous tick, was itching. “Hi, uh,” he stammered, his gaze flicking to the floor. “I apologize for bothering you so early, but I’m in a bit of a pickle and could use some assistance, if you’re okay with that.”
“Well, I don’t like pickles but I can probably help,” she offered, setting her mug down on some unseen surface inside and stepping forward. “What do you need?”
He swallowed at the heightened proximity. “I need a bit of help getting this sling on, and then buttoning my shirt, if you wouldn’t terribly mind.”
“Oh, sure!” she blurted out, faster than either of them expected, judging by the surprised look on her face after. “I mean, yeah, just tell me what you need.”
“Of course, love—thank you so much,” he gushed, not realizing until he’d already said the term of endearment. She narrowed her eyes a bit at that but it didn’t seem to stop her.
He started to slip his left arm into the sleeve of the sling and was going to tell her how to attach the strap, but then her eyes went wide and she gasped. “Oh my god, what happened?”
He followed her worried gaze to his empty left wrist. Oh, right—she’s probably never seen him without his prosthetic hand.
“Oh, no—this is old,” he assured her, nodding at it. “It’s my shoulder that’s messed up at the moment.”
“You’ve seriously had that many injuries on one side?” she asked as she stepped closer to grab the straps. “That’s more than coincidence—that’s bad luck.”
“Aye, I suppose. Good thing I’m right-handed.”
“Definitely,” she smiled back as she slipped the strap over his head and started to tighten it. “How’s this?”
“Perfect,” he answered—and it was: the right amount of snug and comfortable. “How’d you know to get it right?”
“I work in bail bonds,” she answered, turning her attention to the buttons on his shirt. “Injuries like that are part of the trade. Everyone at my firm has a pretty good grasp of first aid.”
The back of her fingers brushed against the skin of his stomach, making him breathe in sharply at the contact.
“Oh no—did I hurt you?” She sounded so worried and pulled her hands back, looking back up at him with her brows raised in concern.
No, she didn’t—he just hadn’t been touched with anything like that level of care in ages. “No, not at all—you’re fine.” He resisted the instinct to add “love” to the end of that again.
“Phew, okay; just didn’t want to add to your injuries. I can’t imagine a pinched chest hair feels very good,” she explained, resuming her task.
He chuckled. “Believe me, I’ve had worse.”
“I can see that,” she teased.
She managed to button behind the sling, but he stopped her before she got too high. “That’s good.” There were still a few left undone but he didn’t want to impose on her kindness any longer—or if he could stand being in her airspace any more without doing something incredibly stupid, like kissing her.
She adjusted his collar and then stepped away. “You don’t strike me as much of a top-button guy, anyway,” she replied, smirking.
He winked. “Not in the slightest.” He was amazed, and a bit relieved, at how easy they fell into banter; what could have been an awkward situation was decidedly less so. “But seriously—thank you, so much; I’d hate to have to call off work again simply because I wasn’t presentable.”
It looked like she was about to fire back something, but quickly bit her lip to hold it back. “No worries,” she finally answered. “Anytime.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I’m in this for at least six weeks.”
“I can think of worse ways to start the day,” she shrugged.
“Might I…” Now Killian freely scratched behind his ear. “Could I avail you of your skills tomorrow?”
She smiled, but it faltered. “I have a late night at work tonight, unfortunately,” she told him. “But I’ll be free the next day.”
“It’s a date then,” he blurted out, then realized what he said. “Or, not a date—but—you know—“
“It’s a date,” she laughed. “But there’s one more thing: I don’t ‘date’ guys whose names I don’t know.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed; they had skipped that part hadn’t they? “I’m Killian; Killian Jones,” he belatedly introduced, offering his hand.
She took it. “Emma Swan.”
“Emma,” he repeated; Swan still suited her best, but he liked the way her given name felt on his lips. Which he subsequently placed on the back of her hand with a gentle kiss; probably still too forward but better than some of the alternatives.
Now she was the one blushing, pink coloring the apples of her cheeks as she shyly smiled at him. “See you soon, Killian.”
“Until then, Swan.”
She slipped back inside her apartment and gave him one last wry smile before closing the door, and he headed back to his place.
Oh, goodness—he was fucked.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
She hadn’t been lying: there were definitely worse ways for Emma to start her day.
Who was she to complain when a man that attractive shows up at her door with his shirt half off?
Okay, so it was more like half on, but it still gave her more than a decent view of his toned chest and core, the line of his collarbones, and the most attractive array of chest hair she’d ever seen as it spread across his pecs and down his stomach to other parts she wouldn’t mind seeing.
It caught her off guard, opening the door to that; usually it was the opposite—her on the outside, leaving, after a one-night stand. But none of those guys were half as beautiful as Killian, nor as charming or sweet.
Plus, what kind of person says no to an injured guy like that? Not Emma. She knew what it was like to fend for yourself and could tell he did, too; it took a lot to work up the courage to ask for help like that.
She felt bad that she wasn’t able to help him the following day, but was surprised to find she couldn’t wait for the next; that wasn’t something she’d done in a very long time.
She thought about putting on extra coffee for him that morning but thought that might be too forward for a guy who seemed nervous enough in her presence—which was a little odd, because she was pretty sure she’d seen at least a handful of late-night visitors there.
The coffee scoop was still in her hand when the knock came at the door. So much for that then; she’d just have to swing through Granny’s downstairs.
When she opened the door, there Killian was again in all his adorable sexiness. “Good morning, Emma; is this an okay time?” He was a bit more reserved than he had been the other day—that wouldn’t do at all.
Especially because she was hardcore ogling him the whole time. He had on a navy shirt today that hugged his biceps. It didn’t match his eyes quite as well as the pale blue one from his last visit but it gave a bold contrast to his gingery beard, which she noticed was a bit longer than it usually was. This must be some injury if it was impeding his ability to use his uninjured arm, too.
“Of course!” she quickly said, because she realized she’d spent a bit too much time staring. “Mind if we do it reverse of last time?”
“Uh…”
She bit her lip and winced; that didn’t come out right. (Or maybe it did.) “I meant, let’s do the shirt first, if that’s alright.”
“Oh! Yeah, that’s fine. The pain isn’t quite as bad today.” But he still bit back a tiny wince as she adjusted his shirt, so she resolved to move fast.
Carefully starting on the bottom button, she had to ask, “How did this happen in the first place?”
“Oh, just my so-called best friend coming at me like a defensive tackle in a game of real football.”
“You mean soccer?”
“Yes, that. How did you Yanks even come up with that term?”
“Fuck if I know.” And even if she did, she was too focused on not touching his skin this time to come up with the answer. She still couldn’t get that brush of soft hair and warm skin out of her mind—which had taken it and ran with it, imagining how the rest of him might feel.
And it didn’t help that he smelled amazing. He continued on a rant about his friend—who was apparently the other British guy on their floor—but all she was really aware of were what her fingers were doing and the scent of Old Spice Captain, mixed with something else—leather, maybe? Rum? (Hopefully not, with whatever pain meds he was on.) Regardless, she kind of wanted to get drunk on it.
“How’s that?” she asked when she thought she’d gotten the buttons to where he wanted—done up enough to be fairly modest but open enough to leave things to her overactive imagination.
He glanced down, and she noticed not for the first time how long his lashes were. “That’s perfect; you’re a quick study,” he smirked, looking back up, amusement crinkling the skin at the corner of his eyes and bringing his adorable dimples out to play.
“Gotta let the chest hair breathe, right?” She immediately regretted saying that and quickly busied herself with his sling.
Thankfully, he just laughed. “Aye, I suppose so. My, uh,” he stammered, scratching that spot behind his ear again. “My last girlfriend always liked the view and I suppose it just stuck.”
Emma just adjusted the strap and avoided eye contact. Crap. How was she supposed to answer that? Was she supposed to flirt back to a guy who clearly wasn’t over his ex? Or was there something else going on?
(She was trying to ignore the voice in the back of her head about him being too good to be true, like most guys were.)
“Well...I’ve gotta say, I agree with her. Smart lady,” she offered, awkwardly.
“Yeah, she was,” Killian answered solemnly. Oh—maybe there was more to this story then. But she had enough tragic backstories of her own to know not to try to prod at someone else’s. He got a bit of a vacant look in his eyes, like he was lost in memory, until he shook it off and looked back up at her, now that she was done. “Anyway, thank you so much again. Same time tomorrow?”
“It’s a date,” she answered without thinking. Because whatever his past was, and whatever the future held, she still knew she at least wanted to get to know him better.
He grinned back. “See you then.”
He’d turned to head back to his apartment, but she worked up the nerve to call after him. “Wait!” He stopped and faced her again. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black,” he answered simply.
“Good to know,” she smiled back, and he gave another in return before nodding his final farewell.
She went back inside and busied herself with grabbing what she needed for work, but still couldn’t get him out of her mind.
Dammit, why was he injured? Can’t they just fuck?
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
So not only was Emma intoxicating to be around, she also made a fantastic cup of coffee. That was how she greeted him the next day, and every day thereafter. He had to start coming a bit earlier, because coffee usually meant chatting, and once they started, he never wanted to stop. It only took a side-eye from his boss twice to make sure he wasn’t late again, but honestly, he’d rather deal with his boss’s ire than cut off any conversation short.
It was during those discussions that he learned more about her—like that her favorite movie was The Princess Bride but she wasn’t a big reader, she liked to listen to the Black Keys, and she loved cinnamon in her hot chocolate; she had opted for that one morning a few weeks into this adventure, despite it being the middle of summer.
“Isn’t this a bit out of season?” he gently teased, hoping to garner a real smile; she seemed down today, her half-smiles not quite reaching her eyes.
She shrugged, eyes cast down. “Sometimes you just need things that bring a bit more comfort.”
“Love, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” He may have only known her for less than a month, but the thought of any trouble coming to her made his heart lurch.
She took another sip, then glanced around the hallway before opening her door. “Can you come in for a second?”
“Of course.”
He followed her and she shut the door behind him, but stayed close to it. A quick glance around the space showed that her place was much like his: sparse, with just the necessities—not many homey touches.
“Are we at the point where we can share tragic backstories?” she asked him shyly, leaning against the wall.
“I think so,” he confirmed, giving her a small smile of encouragement.
She exhaled. “Okay. Well, today...is my son’s birthday.”
His eyes grew wide and his breath hitched in his throat. “Your...you have a…?” He didn’t know what to say, especially considering it was pretty obvious that no child lived here. Oh, no—did he—?
“Had. Past tense.” His heart sank, but he didn’t want to interrupt. “I put him up for adoption. I wasn’t even 18 yet, and his dad was gone—abandoned me before he even knew. My foster mom helped me, but I knew I wasn’t ready, so I gave him up. I know that was the best thing for him, but I still...wonder. And I hope he’s okay.” She sniffled a bit, and wiped a tear from her eye.
But another one was escaping down the other cheek; he quickly set his mug down on a table by the door and reached up to brush it away. “Oh, Emma—I...I can’t imagine what that’s like. But...thank you for telling me.”
“You’re not gonna judge me?” Her voice was small and watery, and broke his heart in a whole different way.
“How could I? You made one of the hardest decisions anyone could make, and when you were a teenager no less. If anything, you’re probably one of the bravest people I know.”
There it was—that smile he’d been looking for. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she murmured.
He’d seen it before, but not as strong as it was right now—the guarded, lonely look in her eyes that all lost children had. It wasn’t something that was ever outgrown; he knew because he wore it, too. And his heart thudded in his chest again, adding to its list of acrobatics today in reaction to this brilliant woman—who was apparently even more of a kindred soul than he’d realized.
“A lass as fierce as you deserves to hear how awesome she is far more often than that,” he told her, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear, before scratching behind his own—because now it was his turn to share. “But, ah, I know how rare that happens in the foster system.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. My brother and I ended up there after our mum died; dad was already out of the picture. Liam tried to get custody when he aged out, but they wouldn’t let him, so he went off to the Navy. He, uh, he was killed in action.”
“Oh my God—I’m so sorry.”
He swallowed and nodded. He didn’t often talk about his past, but given what Emma had told him, it seemed to be bubbling out of him today. “I floundered a bit after that—tried the Navy, too, but it didn’t take, and then I met Milah. It was a bit of whirlwind romance but I was head over heels, and she for me. Until her husband found out.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. I...I can’t go into the details, but he...he killed her, and he did this,” he explained, nodding at his stump. “He’s in jail for life, at least, but...yeah. So that’s my story.”
“Oh, Killian.” She didn’t try to give any platitudes, like the few other people he was close with had at first; she just wrapped her arms around him, being careful of his injuries. It took him a bit by surprise at first—he could tell she wasn’t the touchy-feely type—but he didn’t wait long to wrap his free arm around her and pull her close. Something told him this hug was as much for her comfort as his.
Try as he might not to, he couldn’t help but notice how perfect she fit in his embrace, his arm naturally settling at her waist and her head resting on his shoulder (the good one). He closed his eyes and inhaled, surrounded by her scent—cinnamon and chocolate from her cocoa, and something lightly floral and sweet that didn’t quite match her rough exterior but suited her perfectly nonetheless.
He had an even harder time ignoring the bit of his subconscious that didn’t want to let go of her, not now and possibly not ever. And there was no way for him to overlook the way his heart leapt when she practically burrowed into his neck.
Until her phone went off and they jumped apart. That actually did kind of hurt, in more ways than one.
“Sorry; I better—”
“Yeah, me too.” He could almost physically see her emotional walls going back up in the way she stiffened and retracted from him, making no effort to actually grab her phone and just using the interruption as an out. He understood why, though it stung a bit, but he’d be damned if he was the one making her uncomfortable.
“I—I have another work thing tonight, so I won’t be able to see you tomorrow; but...next day?”
“Can’t wait,” he answered, giving her his usual smile. He slipped out and almost had to run back to his place to get his work things, but cast another glance at Emma’s now-closed door as he passed.
Assuming that image wasn’t a metaphor, he couldn’t wait for the day he could truly wrap her in his arms, and maybe then some.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
So, hugging him was a bad idea. A completely terrible one. Not her worst ever—their prior conversation kind of displayed that—but recently? Yeah, that was awful.
Because she really should have known how great he would feel against her. She got a prime view of his upper body every day; she didn’t need to wrap herself around it to know he’d be firm and soft in the most perfect ways.
And she was already well aware of what he smelled like; did she really have to dive in for deeper whiff? (Or become any more aware of what the heat felt like rolling off him, warming both her body and soul?)
God bless her boss for that perfectly timed text. She did feel bad for the slight wince she caught on Killian’s face as she jumped away, and then even more for the white lie she gave about the next day—it wasn’t so much that she had a late night, but more that she knew she needed a day to cool off after that. Or to let the inevitable freak-out run its course, because who on earth tells a sob story like hers to someone they’ve barely known for a month? (Even if said person did the same.)
Killian seemed unfazed, though, so she took that as a good sign. Which she also did with the bag of pumpkin spice-flavored coffee she found outside her door the next morning, with her name scrawled on it in an unfairly beautiful script.
But, perfectly, that gave her a way to figure out where they were the following day. Things change when you bare your soul to another person, and honestly, her biggest fear was that she’d scared him off altogether.
So when that familiar, gentlemanly knock rapped on her door (how a knock could be prim and proper, she had no idea, but his was), she was ready to answer it with two mugs of her new brew.
“Who’s out of season now?” she teased, handing the cup over. Falling back on humor was something was a safeguard, but hopefully he’d still pick up on the way she was acknowledging their last conversation.
His usual early-morning sleepy smile morphed into an eyebrows-raised expression of surprise for a moment, but a dimpled smirk quickly took over.
He took the proffered mug and quipped, “Well, as a brilliant lass once told me, sometimes you just need something comforting, and I suppose there’s no wrong season on that.”
And just like that, things were okay. Why had she thought they wouldn’t be? It’s Killian, for fuck’s sake. She grinned back at him and set to work on his shirt and sling, maneuvers so well-practiced at this point she barely needed to look to make sure she was doing everything right, and they quickly fell back into their easy banter.
“I think you could give lessons in buttoning a shirt, Swan; I’ve never seen fingers more nimble.”
“Oh? Who else has been buttoning your shirts lately? Should I be jealous?”
He chuckled, deep and low—a sound that went straight to certain sensitive parts of her. “Just Robin, on the days you’re busy. But the arse can’t even keep the rows straight and nearly strangled me with the sling.”
From the other end of the hallway, a slightly muffled shout called out “I heard that, you bellend!” from Robin’s apartment. Killian turned to bark back, “You were supposed to, ya bloody wanker!”
“God, you’re so British sometimes,” she laughed and started on the sling.
“Well, you can take the man out of England, and so on. Even if it’s been 20 years.”
Things pretty much went back to normal after that, if a bit bolder on both their ends. They still chatted about anything and everything—he had some good stories about his culture shock when he first came over as a kid, shared his strongly held opinions on various rums, and she was able to figure out he had a lifelong love of Peter Pan (“but Pan himself is a prat; Hook, though—he’s an icon. And, y’know, we have something in common.” “I’m kind of surprised you don’t have a hook instead of your prosthetic.” “You haven’t seen me on Halloween, darling.”).
If her hands brushed his skin more often, she could probably chalk that up to their increased comfort with one another. If she found herself invading his personal space on a regular basis, it was easy to write that off as part of her helping him. And if she daydreamed about the freckles on his neck and where other ones might be...okay, she had no explanation for that. Actually, that one was his fault.
“So just what do you do at night?” she’d asked. “You don’t seem to need my help then.”
“Are you offering?” he tossed back, and she could see his tongue moving lasciviously behind his teeth as he smirked. She playfully slapped the uninjured shoulder as she continued to work. “Well, if you must know, it’s much easier to get all this off than it is to get it on. And as long as I don’t move around too much in my sleep, no harm, no foul.”
“So...no sleep shirt?”
“No sleep shirt,” he repeated, voice a bit lower than usual; she could feel it vibrating in his chest as she did the last button. It was a damn good thing she was staring at her work and not his eyes because she might have reinjured him at that moment.
Summer turned into early fall and Killian had just become a normal part of her mornings. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he’d get better at some point, but it wasn’t something she ever really focused on—not when she was enjoying herself with him far more than she had anyone else in recent memory.
So it was a bit of a bomb when he dropped the news on her one morning, roughly six weeks after he’d first knocked on her door.
“Um, it looks like this might be the last time I’m bothering you,” he stammered, staring at the floor as she did up his shirt for the countless-th time. “I’ve got an appointment with the doctor later on to see how it’s healed.”
“Oh,” she answered, sounding much more sad than she thought she would. “Uh, how’s it been feeling?”
“Pretty good; still a little sore, but that might be more with disuse than anything.”
“That’s...that’s good, then.” But was it? Was it really? Killian had basically become the highlight of her days and now that was just going to...end?
“Yeah, I...guess so.” At least he sounded as unenthused at the prospect as she was.
She was tempted to offer to push him down the stairs to keep things going, but who only knew what kind of damage that would do, so she held back and kept focused on the task at hand. Which was suddenly becoming blurry; how did a shirt get blurry?
“I truly can’t thank you enough, Swan, for helping me out so generously. Getting to know you...has been the best part of this.”
“My pleasure,” she replied, not knowing what else to say and hoping he couldn’t hear how watery her voice was.
But, of course, he did. “We’ll still see each other around, right?”
“I dunno; you live really far away,” she quipped back, hiding behind her walls again. He was one of the few people to get through them and if he was backing out, she needed to start rebuilding them.
“I think I can manage getting over here from time to time,” he said, with that dumb sweet soft smile she loved and hated equally. “You’re definitely worth the journey.”
Now she was blushing and almost crying. She didn’t know that was a thing. And she knew if she tried to say anything, she’d probably just put her foot in her mouth, so she silently focused on the task at hand, almost reverent in her care.
She tightened the strap on the sling—probably for the last time—and stepped back to survey her work. But Killian caught her hand before she got too far away, and found her eyes with his intense blue gaze.
“Seriously, Emma—I couldn’t have gotten through this without you. It certainly wasn’t how I had planned on making your acquaintance, but now...I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He brought her hand to his lips, just like the first time, and placed a gentle but firm kiss on the back, never breaking eye contact. “Thank you.”
She was left no less speechless than she was back then, but she couldn’t reply as casually as she had; too much had passed between them now. Really, only one thing popped into her mind, and she acted on instinct.
Squeezing his hand tight, she rose up on her toes and found his lips with hers. Why her mind went straight to kissing, she had no idea, but there was no turning back now—especially not when he broke her grasp to pull her close, and her arms snaked around his neck.
There was none of the hesitation on his part like when they hugged despite this being a whole other magnitude of physical contact, but that didn’t register until after the fact; right now, all she could focus on was how talented his tongue was against hers and how he tasted of that delicious pumpkin spice coffee. Damn, he was good at this; what other things was he good at?
But then her fucking phone went off again, making them break apart. And then it sunk in: she kissed him. What the hell? This changed everything. (Or worse: what if it didn’t?)
“I, uh…” she stuttered, her speechlessness catching up to and now paired with breathlessness.
“That was…” He sounded equally wrecked.
“I’ve...I’ve gotta get that. I’ll see you around. Good luck today. Just...leave the mug when you finish it. Um...yeah.” She cast one lady glance at his utterly fuckstruck face before turning around and heading back inside, collapsing against the door once it was closed.
But before it shut, she’d heard him say three perfect words: “As you wish.”
What the fuck—what did she just do?
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
He didn’t dream that, did he? Did Emma just kiss him within an inch of his life?
He’d managed to blurt out the only thing that came to mind after she blabbered her way out of whatever that encounter was, but after the door shut, he had to lean against the wall next to it, lest his legs give out.
His fingers found his kiss-swollen lips and he let out a long exhale, reminding himself how out of breath he’d been left.
Bloody hell, that really happened. He’d certainly imagined it many times—and other, far more intimate things while enjoying a bit of self-love—but the real thing put all his daydreams to shame. The way she’d pressed herself against him, warm and soft; her sweet scent mixed with her savory flavor; but most of all, how he swore their hearts were beating in time for one star-crossed moment. (Yes, he was being dramatic, but that was pretty much his M.O.)
He shook his head to clear his brain; he couldn’t stand there all day being lovestruck, or else he might still be there once Emma finally went on her way. Which he typically wouldn’t consider a bad thing were it not for the way she attempted to close herself off at the end. He knew what she was doing—trying to protect herself—and he’d give her some space for the moment.
But, as he headed back to his place and out into the day, he started formulating a plan. He knew other people had walked out on Emma and that was surely what she was expecting of him—but he’d be damned if he let that be the case.
He’d barely made it in the door of his apartment that evening when he shook off his jacket, tossed the sling on the back of his sofa, and turned around to knock on that familiar door again. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do or say, but Emma hadn’t seen him for the last time.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
The first thing Emma saw when she got home that night was the mug Killian used that day still sitting on her kitchen counter, waiting to be washed and put away, where it would probably sit unused for a long while. She didn’t do the whole having-friends-over thing, so despite her small collection of mugs, she tended to just use her favorite one every day. Even if washing two was a bit extra work, she was glad to do it if it meant having Killian’s company.
She sighed for what felt like forever. He didn’t need her anymore. Regardless of how he kissed her today, that was the truth of it, unless the doctor had bad news. It would still have to come to an end eventually, though; better to rip off the bandage now.
Why she kissed him, she still didn’t know. That wasn’t like her. She was no stranger to one-night rendezvous but there was never an emotional connection with those, not like she’d developed with him. In some way, it was putting the ball in his court, she guessed. He wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of a situation, she knew, but life had taught her to not hold onto too much hope, despite the constant preaching of her best friend.
So when a knock came at the door, she just assumed it was the pizza she’d ordered on her way home. At least she had that to look forward to—and the bottle of wine in the cupboard.
“Thank God, I’m star—ving…” she started as she opened the door, but trailed off when she saw what was on the other side: not some scrawny delivery boy, but Killian. “Uh, hi.”
He looked just as amazing as he had that morning: slightly disheveled hair, blue plaid shirt, and those well-fitting pants that she had watched saunter away more than once. But something was missing.
“No sling,” she said, though it came a bit more like a question.
“Nope; clean bill of health.”
“That’s good then.” She wasn’t anywhere near as enthusiastic as she probably should have been. “So...what are you doing here?”
She could see the wheels turning in his brain—he was working up to something. He wet his lip with his tongue, but couldn’t seem to get the words out.
As distracting as that tick was, her nervous side started to bubble. “I mean, it’s not like you need help getting your shirt on or anything,” she quipped anxiously.
He immediately smirked and his eyebrows leapt in amusement. Oh no—she just fed him a line, didn’t she?
“No,” he drawled, taking a swaggering step forward. “But I’d be glad to have your assistance in taking it off.”
If it were anyone else, she’d call it out for the skeezy come-on it was, but not him. He knew he was being ridiculous and he wanted to see what she’d do. And it didn’t help that he couldn’t keep the sincerity out of his voice.
There was really only one way for her to reply to that. She stepped up to meet him and found the top button, the one that let that tempting thatch of hair below it breathe. For a second, she just traced it with her fingertip, then went ahead and undid it. Her heart was racing the entire time and she was pretty sure Killian stopped breathing, especially once she looked up at him to see that he was staring at her intently.
“I can think of worse ways to end the day,” she told him, echoing their first conversation.
He started to smile but she didn’t give him the chance to unleash his full grin before she grabbed his flannel collar and pulled him to her. His lips didn’t taste quite the same as they had that morning but it didn’t matter; she wanted to discover all his flavors, every day.
She tugged him inside her apartment and he kicked the door shut behind them as the kiss continued. Her fingers continued to work at his shirt, undoing her earlier handiwork, and his hand and wrist drifted to her waist.
It was a bit jarring when her back hit the edge of her kitchen island, but she just took that as a chance to switch directions. She released the last button, letting his shirt fall open, and then slipped her hands under the fabric on his shoulders as she pushed the two of them in the direction of the couch.
Her hands drifted to his trim waist as she guided them around the end of the sofa, only breaking the kiss to make sure she wasn’t pushing him into any obstructions (god, she’d be so embarrassed if she broke him again). But as soon as they were clear, she pushed him down onto the cushions and then one by one set her knees on either side of his lap to straddle him.
HIs gaze had darkened considerably, the normal sky blue turning a hazy midnight, and his hand had somehow found its way to her ass and was cupping it reverently—which shouldn’t have even been a thing, but this was Killian; that was just how he was.
They’d sufficiently reclaimed their breaths, evidently, because they surged forward to meet again, and Emma’s hand drifted back up to his collarbones. She tried to be gentle, but need was overtaking her as she pushed the soft fabric down over his shoulders to his biceps, squeezing the muscles as she went, until—
—Until he pulled back, wincing and hissing in pain. Fuck. “Oh god, are you alright? What did I do?”
“It’s fine, love,” he said reassuringly, letting his head fall back against the couch (and giving her a perfect view of those freckles on his neck that just looked so damn kissable but now was not the moment). “Just still a bit sore; take it easy on me, aye?”
“Easier said than done,” she blurted, not even thinking about it. He cocked an eyebrow in amusement and she felt her entire face flush red, and not from arousal. “God, I fucked this up, didn’t I?”
“How on earth could you have done that?”
“Because I don’t know how to do...this,” she said, gesturing between them.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Emma—you’re a marvelous kisser.” He winked (poorly) and squeezed his hand, which was still on her rear end.
“Ha,” she answered dryly. “Just...why are you even here?”
HIs face lost its humor and turned serious, but there was still a softness that made her heart melt a little bit. “Well in case you hadn’t noticed, I quite fancy you. And I couldn’t bear to never see you again.”
She looked away. “Well, it wouldn’t be never. Our mailboxes are right next to each other,” she deflected.
“I know but...I want more than that.” His hand finally left her back pocket and nudged itself under her chin, guiding her eyes back to his. “I’ve spent nearly every morning for the last six weeks with you, darling, and I’m sure you’ve picked up that I’m a creature of habit. And starting each day with you is one tradition that I’d be loath to lose.”
He’d never been more honest with her, she could tell. And it was a little overwhelming.
“What do you say, love?”
Despite her past, despite her fears and heartbreaks, and despite his, she took a deep breath, swallowed, and stared into his intense gaze. “It’s a date.”
He broke into that adorable, wide-eyed, incandescent grin that she couldn’t help but return, but it was quickly drowned by another round of kissing (much gentler on her part).
And it was also quickly determined that her bed was much softer than the couch.
They left a trail of clothes from the living room to her bedroom, but she insisted he keep the shirt on until the last minute.
They were kneeling on her bed, naked save for that bit of cotton, which she finally pushed down off the ends of his arms.
“How long have you been waiting to do that?” he asked, voice low and breath hot on her ear.
“Since the day you first showed up.”
He pulled her tight to him with his left arm and she finally got to enjoy the divine feel of his chest hair and warm skin against hers—somehow more amazing than even her imagination had come up with, both soft and coarse, teasing and abrasive; kind of a lot like him.
And then he was guiding her to laying down, and after only minor fumbling, was pressing inside her, which is when most coherent thought ended on her part. There was a lot of “fuck”, “damn”, “yes”, and “YES” going on, from both of them, as he thrust in and out and she met him move for move.
She worried he’d aggravate something again after they came (an incredible moment, really) and he collapsed alongside her, but she held onto his shoulders in some vain attempt at support, and he was clearly practiced in relying on his right arm. They did the necessary cleaning up stuff, but then fell back into bed and he pulled her close.
For the first time in ages, she spent the night in a guy’s arms and wasn’t looking for an escape route.
(Having him a few more times over the course of the night probably helped. She was already looking forward to when he was less sore and she could be on top.)
(The pizza and wine were icing on the cake, though she probably scarred the delivery boy by answering the door in just Killian’s shirt. She got to see just how nimble those fingers were when it was his turn to unbutton—and then when he used them to make her come undone as well.)
The next morning, she got out that second mug again as she brewed another batch of pumpkin spice coffee.
And proceeded to button his shirt for him, albeit sadly, now that she knew what lay underneath.
But it was okay, because she got to undo it again that night, and every night thereafter.
(The only morning she didn’t button him up was on their wedding day.)
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
thanks for reading!!! tagging some friends:
@kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes
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Changing Tides - Chapter 25
link to cover art by @otpapprovedbythegods
And here’s a link to an adorable pic of Dopey as a pirate by @clockadile
ff.net: From the beginning - Current Chapter
AO3: From the beginning - Current Chapter
The Spark and The Flame
She doesn’t want to let him go and she clings to him with all her might, but the adrenaline is fading and her arms are starting to protest the iron grip, so she eases it and runs her hand back to his neck, letting it rest over the spot she’d healed and concentrating on the pulse she can feel pounding beneath it.
He’s alive.
His lips glance her temple, soft and reverent and she draws a slow breath.
He’s alive and he’s holding her. He’s breathing and warm and he’s going to stay that way.
She can hear the others murmuring behind her, the hushed whispers from her father and the rest as they all try to come to terms with the fact that she’s just destroyed their best chance at defeating Regina. She can see the broken sword over Killian’s shoulder, the hilt on the ground and the edge of the other half peeking out from the top of the stone. Her eyes then move to the copper case where the Spark of Prometheus resided for so many years – the only spark known to man capable of producing a flame strong enough to forge the sword. It’s empty, of course, a worthless relic lying on the edge of the round table.
What has she done?
Guilt flashes through her for an instant before she’s clinging to Killian again, the force of her grip drawing a surprised grunt from him.
She did what she had to. And she knows it was the right thing. Even the sword had agreed with her. She’d felt the weapon humming while she’d yanked at the handle, an encouraging resonance that had settled somewhere in her chest just before a rush of strength came from nowhere and the blade snapped.
They’ll find another way. There must be another way to defeat the Evil Queen. And with Killian at her side, she knows that together, they’ll find it.
Slowly, the words being murmured a few feet away start to filter through the haze of her thoughts. They’re talking about mobilizing Katherine’s army, sending for she and Frederick, and Elsa and Anna, and the rest of their allies. They need to band together now. They need to have every weapon and power available at their disposal when Regina makes her move. And it won’t be long until she does. By now, she’ll know that Merlin has no magic. She’ll think both he and Killian are dead. There will never be a better time for her to attack than this moment.
The thought no sooner enters her mind before the doors burst off their hinges and a great gust of wind blows through the room. Turning, she sees both the Evil Queen and King Arthur on the threshold, the pair flanked by a garrison of black knights.
K&EK&EK&E
“Sorry, I’m late,” Regina purrs as she strides into the room. “My invitation was only just now delivered. And by King Arthur himself.”
Killian vaults to his feet, pulling Emma up with him even as the hiss of swords being drawn fills the air. Without hesitation, he steps to the middle of the room, raising his weapon in front of him.
The Evil Queen stops dead in her tracks when she sees him, her expression turning from triumphant to confused to furious in rapid succession. Swinging on Arthur, she shouts, “You said he and the wizard were dead! You LIED to me!
“They were – they should be,” the king stutters. “I cut them both with Excalibur… I – ” his eyes dart around the room. “Look! The sword is broken again!”
Regina follows his gaze, shock registering on her features just before they slide into triumphant. She turns to Emma. “You destroyed the only weapon capable of defeating me to save your pirate? You foolish child!”
Regina produces a fire ball and goes to throw it but before she can Emma extends her arm and shoots a stream of magic that whizzes across the room and collides with the Evil Queen’s middle. It sends her soaring back where she crashes into her knights, knocking several to the floor along with her. When she raises her head, he can see the surprise at how powerful Emma’s magic has become.
“Perhaps I don’t need a weapon,” Emma replies.
The taunt makes the queen’s eyes darken before she turns to her men.
“Well, what are you waiting for!” she shouts while struggling to stand. “Get them!”
The knights immediately snap to attention and charge, dozens of them rushing into the room and fanning out in every direction.
They’re outnumbered by a factor of ten and Killian hears Lance’s shout for reinforcements but Regina motions the doors shut, adding a barrier to them before any of the men make it through. Bracing himself, Killian raises his sword to take on the first line just as Emma steps up next to him and waves her arm at the throng, blowing most of the closest group back into the men behind them. She immediately pivots and does the same to the knights on their right, then pivots again to send the next bunch sailing. It helps but there are too many for her to fend off all of them and Killian lunges for the first one who gets through. He blocks the knight’s swing with his hook and plunges his sword into his neck. A flash of purple magic shoots past him as the man slips from the end of his sword to the ground, but he doesn’t have time to look before the next knight is on him. He aims low, slashing at the legs of his attacker, then immediately ducks as another leaps over his fallen comrade. He straightens just in time to block a blade that swings perilously close to his throat. Before he can return the attack, his opponent is on him, his momentum sending both of them to the floor. They land in heap of limbs and weapons, one of which slices against his right arm. He ignores the pain, wrenching his left arm from where it’s caught beneath his rival’s side and twisting his wrist to make sure his hook slices through flesh as he frees it. A grunt and a shove and the man is off him, putting enough space between them to finish him off with his sword. Not wasting another glance, he springs to his feet, whipping around in an effort to locate Emma.
He catches one glimpse of her thrusting her hand forward to send a white streak of power across the room before his view is blocked, a near wall of armor coming right for him. There are at least a dozen of them and he swipes his sword in a quick, desperate arc that he only prays will catch one or two. And it does – but with the number descending, it doesn’t help much. Still, he plants his feet in a wide stance, meeting the first sword with venom, the second with determination and the third with rage.
He’s surprised when one falls without his aid, even more so when the man’s eyes glow purple the instant before they dull, but he just keeps fighting.
K&EK&EK&E
Emma sees the knight step into the path of Regina’s magic and nearly cries with relief. The Evil Queen seems more determined to hurt Killian than herself and nearly all of Emma’s energy so far has been in an effort to protect him and the rest of their friends rather than make attacks of her own.
But she’s determined to keep everyone alive. Regina will not claim one more innocent life in this war. So Emma bides her time, using her magic to decrease the black knight threat and deflect Regina’s magic rather than go on the offensive with the Evil Queen.
With a wave of her arm, she throws one of the knights sailing. With a flick of her wrist, she disarms another. Then she spins on the spot and tosses a shield into the path of Regina’s magic.
Her eyes meet Regina’s from across the room and, with a deliberate twist of her wrist, she angles the shield to bounce the magic directly back along its path. It’s a satisfying sight to see the Evil Queen dive to the ground to keep from getting hit.
Taking advantage of Regina’s momentary distraction, Emma pushes a burst of power at the doors, trying to allow the reinforcements entry but the spell Regina cast must be very powerful and her magic has no effect.
“She must have used blood magic to seal the doors,” Merlin shouts. “They won’t open as long as blood runs through her veins.”
Dammit! Emma thinks. Looks like they’re on their own.
Rather than lament over that fact, though, she waves away the knight currently engaged with Ruby and turns her attention back to the Evil Queen.
Regina has regained her feet, a fireball forming in her hand that she immediately throws once again in Killian’s direction. Emma deflects it easily with a flick of her fingers, redirecting it into a black knight nearby.
They continue like that for a time, Emma redirecting and diverting Regina’s attacks and using them to dwindle the number of black knights. In the meantime, Emma makes mental notes of where all her friends are in the room, trying to help them when they become too outnumbered.
Lancelot and Arthur are locked in a vicious battle, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the chaos and it appears that no one else is approaching them. Emma can only assume it’s because Arthur had made it known that he wanted the legendary knight to himself. Jeff and Patricia are lined up back to back, swiping their swords with expertise and Ruby and Merlin are doing the same. Killian is fighting alone and so is her father but Emma sees her dad maneuvering closer. She doesn’t see Dopey or Grace, so she assumes Dopey has the child hidden away somewhere and is acting as a guard. But, no, that’s not it because from the corner of her eye, she sees Dopey stealthily weaving through some fallen chairs, using his lack of height to sneak up on a trio of knights who are pursuing her father.
It’s just then that the shrill scream of a child rents the air and Emma twists on the spot to see several knights yanking chairs from the round table, one knight peering under it where Grace had apparently been hiding. In a frozen moment of clarity, Emma realizes no one is close enough to protect the child. Without regret, she turns her back completely on the Evil Queen and throws a whip of magic in their direction, then fists her hand and yanks the one closest to Grace away.
With the little girl as safe as she can make her for the moment, she pivots back to Regina just in time to see a stream of purple light soar past, heading right for Killian.
K&EK&EK&E
Killian’s heart is pounding in his chest, instinct and adrenaline guiding his sword. He’s not sure how he manages to hold them off. He can’t find openings to do mortal damage but he’s able to block the worst of the swings, picking and choosing which sword will either incapacitate or kill him.
A shout of rage rings out and then he feels a presence behind him – not another enemy, but the solid feeling of an ally covering his back. It’s a relief to say the least because with one side guarded, he can now fight back rather than just deflect and he does so immediately, cutting up through two blades and stepping forward to plunge his sword into the gap on the side of one of his enemy’s breastplates. Without hesitation, he turns to another, taking out his leg and twisting the man’s sword away with his hook.
A knight falls to the floor on his left, a fatal gash spurting blood from his neck that his partner must have landed, then another falls to his right, his armor clashing loudly into one of the men Killian had previously defeated.
The volume in the room is deafening, shouts of exertion and screams of pain ricocheting off the vaulted ceiling and echoing forcefully in his ears. He tries once again to find Emma but doesn’t get enough time to locate her before another sword appears in his vision. Reflexively, he raises his hook to deflect it, using the momentum to direct it toward another knight approaching from his left. When it pierces flesh, Killian spins on the spot, kicking out and landing a hard blow to its owner’s gut. The man stumbles back while the other collapses and Killian slices his blade up, tearing through the arm wielding the weapon.
He hears Grace’s scream and he frantically surveys the room. Just as he locates her, one of the knights trying to reach under the table is yanked away as though by an invisible hand. The next thing he knows, Emma’s heart-wrenching cry fills the air and he turns his head just in time to see the stream of purple magic coming right at him. It’s already too close for him to dodge it, but his partner – King David – must have seen it sooner and he’s already moving in front of him to take the hit. The king is quick, but not quick enough and the magic smacks into them both, its force enough to lift and fling them hard into the stone wall several yards away. Killian’s head hits first, a sharp pain that would have been bad enough without getting sandwiched between the wall and David’s full weight, but the combination has him seeing stars, the awful thud of skull meeting stone the last thing he registers before everything goes black.
K&EK&EK&E
Emma emits a bellow of rage when she sees Killian slump against the wall, spinning back to the smirking queen and letting loose a blast of magic so powerful that it nearly burns her palms as it releases.
Regina stumbles when the magic collides with her own but she manages to deflect it, sending it sailing into the rafters. With eyes gleaming in victory, she smiles from across the room. “So you’ve learned a thing or two,” she taunts, “But while I’m sure Merlin is a capable teacher, he’s got nothing on Rumpelstiltskin.”
Keep her talking, keep her distracted, Emma thinks to herself as the two of them begin circling one another, both with their hands raised and at the ready.
“And just what did you learn from Rumpelstiltskin that is so valuable?”
The first chance she gets, her eyes flick to Killian. He’s alive. She knows that much. His heartbeat is still filling her senses, the steady beat thrumming in her veins. He may not be moving, but he’s alive and their magic hasn’t so much as wavered in its strength.
“A great many things,” the Evil Queen replies, shooting a quick stream of magic into Emma’s path.
Emma feints away to avoid being hit and then resumes circling.
“Would you like to know the most important lesson he taught me, princess?” Regina asks with false amiability.
“How to cover your gray hair?”
Regina chuckles. “No, although that has come in handy.”
Another glance to Killian shows him beginning to rouse.
“What then?” Emma asks.
Regina stops moving, tilting her head in Killian’s direction and Emma sees her intent. “Love is weakness.”
With a lightening fast fling of her arm, Regina sends a ball of power toward Killian in the same instant Emma throws a shield. Regina’s magic hits it but rather than deflecting back at Regina as Emma had intended, it bounces off in a completely different direction, striking against the stone where the blade of Excalibur is still sheathed.
The stone shatters behind Regina, the blade landing next to the hilt and Emma sees the red jewel in the handle begin to glow brightly. Regina doesn’t notice, but Emma does and something blossoms in her chest.
A shout of frustration draws her attention back to Regina just as she turns the full force of her magic on Emma. Emma raises her hands as the stream of purple light approaches, shooting her own magic out to meet it halfway. The result is a straight stream of magic between them, half purple and half white.
A roar of sound and heavy winds fill the room, whirling around the walls like a hurricane. Emma tries to keep her concentration on pushing Regina’s magic back. She tries to gain ground but there’s something… something prickling at her senses. She ignores it at first, too determined to increase her advantage in the light battle to think of anything else.
But it’s… persistent. And it’s growing. A hum that vibrates in her blood. And with a quick flash of recognition, it hits her. It’s the same hum she felt when she and Killian reunited the blades. That mixture of serenity and violence, the whip of power that swamped over her.
And, suddenly it’s clear.
And now she knows what needs to be done.
K&EK&EK&E
Killian groans and rolls over, his head spinning so badly that he nearly passes back out from just that small movement. Violent winds howl around him, forcing him to squint his eyes when he finally manages to open them. The first thing he sees is David lying next to him, his face planted into the floor and blood dripping from his mouth. He gives him a quick shake and is relieved to hear David groan in response.
Lifting his head, he searches for Emma. He finds her and Regina in the center of the room, their magic forming a violently pulsing line between them. It mesmerizes him for a moment, the epic battle that had been foretold so long ago now filling his vision. Regina is darkness in its most terrifying form, her black dress flapping in the heavy winds while a sinister, purple light shoots from her hands. Emma though… Emma is pure light, and she’s… beautiful. It’s an awe-inspiring sight, her golden hair appearing almost white in the glow of magic surrounding her. It’s nearly blinding. She’s nearly blinding. But the most beautiful thing about her is her strength. She’s powerful and stunning, facing off against pure evil and holding it at bay.
A movement to his right has him snapping to attention, turning to find David gaining his feet to square off against a group of black knights who are heading their way. Killian rises to help him, the clash of swords nearly drowned out by the howling wind.
He and David fight side by side now, swords hissing and grunts rumbling. They may have depleted the black knight threat, but those remaining are skilled and taking them down is getting more and more difficult.
From the corner of his eye, he can see the light battle at the center of the room, neither Emma nor Regina gaining ground. Desperation guides his sword, an all-consuming need to rush to Emma’s side and add his strength to hers overpowering the fatigue weighing on his muscles. His blood is racing, and his head is spinning but these last few knights are putting up quite a battle and he can’t leave David alone.
“She’s not gaining ground,” David shouts over the whistling wind, echoing his thoughts, just as one of the knights slips off his sword.
Killian can do no more than grunt in acknowledgement, too concentrated on the sword currently crossed with his while his muscles strain against the brute strength of his opponent. The man has fifty pounds on him at least and he’s taking advantage of his size to angle the blade toward Killian’s throat. He tries to reposition into a better stance but there’s no room with how close David is standing so his only choice is to continue the contest of strength – a contest where he is outweighed, literally.
Killian has experienced danger before. He’s been in many tight spots where the only things he had were his wits and his sword. And there’s a certain quality about them that always amazes him later when he has time to reflect. Each and every time, there’s a moment of clarity, a moment when your mind sees in an instant what would usually take hours for it to process. Call it adrenaline, call it self-preservation, call it whatever you will, but that moment could mean the life or death of everyone around you.
And this moment, while he can do nothing but strain against the sword crossing his is one of those moments.
Flashes of memories, snippets of conversations – things that seemed insignificant at the time but now weave together to create a staggering understanding that blossoms more quickly than the ding of the Jolly’s bell. It crashes down on him, his eyes widening with the realization.
It was always right there, staring them in the face.
And no one saw it.
But now he does.
And, now, he knows what needs to be done.
Across the room, he can see the hilt of Excalibur lying on the floor next to the now shattered stone, the blade of it close by. The jewel imbedded into the handle is glowing, almost like it’s eager to fulfill its destiny. With renewed determination, his eyes go back to his opponent, a guttural growl releasing as he feints just enough to throw the man off balance so that his size works in Killian’s favor. That provides the opening he needs and he rips his hook into the back of the knight’s neck.
The behemoth falls with a loud crash, landing on the dead body of another knight just as Jeff and Patricia appear.
Killian keeps his eye on the glowing jewel as he battles through more of the knights, impatience eating at him. It’s frustrating to say the least that he can’t barrel past them all and head straight for the sword but the urgency to finish this makes his reflexes hyper-sensitive and he makes short work of those standing in his way. With one last mad swipe, his path is clear and he leaps over the fallen knights to run full speed across the room.
When he reaches the stone, he drops his own sword and tucks Excalibur’s severed blade into his belt, then he bends to retrieve the hilt. The jewel glows brighter the instant he closes his fingers around the handle and a hum fills his veins. He looks up to find Emma’s eyes on him even as the stream of light connecting her and the Evil Queen pulses wildly.
She gives him a small nod.
She knows what needs to be done, too.
The black knights are all but defeated now, the few stragglers all engaged with the others, leaving no one to block his path. Emma takes a step closer to the Evil Queen, then another, until they are mere feet away from each other, the light battle between them condensing into a sphere of purple and white light.
Regina grunts in exertion but holds her ground, her face a mask of concentration, giving Killian the opportunity to line up behind her without her noticing. Once he’s in position, Emma takes the final step, angling her hands to push the sphere up to the ceiling where it breaks against the mosaic. Then, before Regina has time to react, Emma’s fist pounds hard into her face, stunning the Evil Queen long enough for Emma to catch the hilt of the sword Killian tosses to her and plunge it into her chest even as he pulls the blade from his belt and sinks it into her back.
The Evil Queen stumbles away in surprise, gulping in breaths as she stares at the handle sticking out from her chest. Killian can see the moment of realization cross her features and then she raises her head with a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Did you really think this would work?” she spits, “it’s useless now. Nothing but a broken relic!”
“Not for long,” Emma replies.
Regina’s eyes narrow. “The spark of Prometheus is gone! And only the strongest of sparks can reunite –“
“Exactly,” Killian interrupts and Regina rounds on him. “Have you forgotten the prophecy, Regina?”
He steps around her to stand at Emma’s side. “‘Together they will light the dark,’” he quotes, “’She’ll be the flame. He’ll be the spark.’”
Regina’s eyes widen in understanding and she gropes for the hilt, trying to pull it out just as Killian clasps Emma’s hand.
It starts as a red glow in the Evil Queen’s chest, like her blood itself is filled with light. Then, it spreads, luminescent rays shooting from her eyes, her mouth, the tips of her fingers. Her skin turns translucent and her head falls back, light magic pouring out in every direction. It brightens like the sun, the strength of it filling the entire room until nothing but white light is visible. It pulses once, twice and then bursts in warm gust that washes over him like a wave.
When the light dissipates, the Evil Queen is gone and Excalibur, reunited and glowing, is laying on the floor directly in front of them.
“We did it,” Emma breathes. “Killian, we did it!”
She throws herself into his arms and hugs him close and he chuckles. “Aye, we did, love.”
*****
*****
That's it for now, folks. Keep a look out for an epilogue. It will be coming when I have time. Thanks again for joining me on this journey!! Your support has meant more than you know. Love to all of you!
Rachel
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Heart and Soul - Part 2
SUMMARY: Private music teacher Killian Jones wakes one morning to the sound of his ten year old neighbor playing the bane of his existence: the recorder. In order to keep his sanity, he offers to teach Henry to play any other instrument – though partially because it means he gets to spend more time with Henry’s mother, Emma Swan.
READ PART ONE: ao3 // tumblr // // PART TWO ON AO3
TW: mentions of alcoholism, abusive parents, backstory that goes a little deeper than necessary -- you know, the things I do best, apparently.
a/n: This fic was inspired by waking up one morning over the summer to hear my neighbor playing the trumpet – though, thankfully, Sam is a much better musician than a beginner recorder-player. I complained about it on discord, and bam! this story appeared, a joint effort between myself and Meredith (@captainsjedi) . Even though she was unable to help me finish it because of her busy work schedule, her ideas are riddled through the story, not to mention the incredible art she made for it.
Thanks to @csconcertseries and @clockadile, who gave me a reason to finish this story! It feels really good to actually finish something that I’ve been working on in the midst of the chaos of the world right now, so even though the event was a month ago, I’m still super thankful for the opportunity.
-- -- --
Waking up to a message from Tink Greene on an October Thursday morning is one of the last things he expected, not having spoken to her besides the friendly neighborhood hellos since he broke off their dalliance the previous spring.
The contents of the message are even more of a surprise:
I've been hearing Henry Swan play in one of the practice rooms, and I think he would make a great addition to our student showcase for the Winter concert. He told me you've been teaching him, which explains a lot. Do you think you and he could work together on something by the beginning of December for him to play?
Of course, the first thing he wants to do is share the news with Emma. He should probably shower first. And maybe actually answer Tink.
I think that’s a grand idea. Henry has shown more growth than some of my adult students. Could you get me a song in the next week or so?
Her response comes rather quickly, given the original message was from two hours before, but he imagines there’s not much for the elementary music teacher to do all day. I’m thinking either First Noel or Hark the Herald Angels. It depends on which the recorder students are better at. He also may play it with a beginner violin student, Violet, who’s doing exceptionally well. I think he knows her.
He wonders if this is the same Violet from his soccer team, the one the boy has brought up a few times in conversation — but Tink doesn’t need to know that. Hell, he probably shouldn’t even know that, though he’s thankful that Henry trusts him enough to update him on his life during their lessons or some of the nights Killian finds himself staying for dinner.
But he still needs a response. Thanks again for those recorder students, by the way. I turned down a whole dozen of them within the first two weeks of school, the infernal instrument.
When Tink only responds with a few emojis — he tosses his phone back on the bed and pulls himself up, wondering if he is too late to meet Emma for her morning run.
So he texts her. Because that’s something they’re doing now, after her inviting him to some of Henry’s games and his joining them for dinner most nights after Henry’s lessons. It wouldn’t even be the first time she has allowed him to join her on her morning run, invited him into her place of safety and security.
(He would like to think of himself as a relatively fit human, but even he will admit that three miles, Emma’s regular distance, is a little much for him to start with, though he has been working on it more and more.)
Is it too late for me to join in on the day’s physical activities?
Even he is surprised by the pounding of his heart in his chest as he rummages through his drawers to try to find his athletic shorts, waiting for her answer, hoping for a positive.
The soft ding of her response almost causes him to jump out of his skin. Just getting ready to go, actually. I’ll meet you outside?
Perfect, is all he needs to say, splashing some cold water in his face as he stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t even realize the strong grip he has on the edge of the sink until he lets go to reach for his toothbrush.
“Christ, Killian,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head as he runs his toothbrush under the water. It’s only a run.
But his nerves don’t disappear. If anything, they only grow exponentially, and by the time he meets her on the sidewalk outside her house, he is almost shaking from the adrenaline.
Good thing they’re going for a run, exerting this pent-up energy. He may even be able to keep up with her the whole time.
He spends the first block trying to figure out how to bring up his exciting news. And the second. But when she starts to slow down, asks him how his week has gone, he can’t keep it in any longer.
“Henry’s music teacher asked me this morning if I thought he should perform in the winter showcase.”
He can sense her excitement almost immediately, even before she slows to a stop, wiping the smooth sheen of sweat off her forehead with the bottom of her t-shirt before turning to him, the smile on her face making the physical exertion worth it. “And?”
“Of course I agreed. I know I’ve told you before, love, but your son is a very talented musician.”
She is still for a moment, looking somewhere over his shoulder, before she nods, gesturing for them to continue. “So, what, would it be a solo? Or would he be playing something with you?”
“Actually, Tink mentioned asking one of the girls in his class to play with him. A violinist, I think.”
“I wonder if it’s the same girl from his soccer team. He told me they met in orchestra, and I think that’s what she plays.”
“Violet, right? That’s what Tink said”
“Yeah, I think so. He’s got a bit of a crush, if you ask me, but don’t say anything to him about it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.”
“That’s so exciting, though. The kid deserves some excitement, with all the shit his dad is putting him through.”
At first, Killian isn’t sure that Emma even meant to say it, if they’re at that point in their friendship where she shares things like this with him.
“You know he’s trying to move away? Something about his dad giving him a job in the city, a corner highrise apartment, a position as a big shot in his company, when Neal can’t even manage to get his child support in on time every month.”
Now he really doesn’t know what to say — but she continues anyway.
“I try not to say anything bad about him around Henry, but my god, he just makes it so fucking difficult.”
Killian can’t help the chuckle that pushes through his lips. “I would assume my mum would have said the same about my father, if she ever had the chance.”
A moment too late, he realizes that it’s only the second time he’s mentioned his father, the only other being the first time they really talked when they shared lunch in her kitchen.
She doesn’t answer. He counts the time ticking away by their footsteps on the pavement, by the pounding of his heart in his chest.
She says nothing. They go almost a full block, slowing only to make sure they’re safe to cross the street.
He doesn’t know what he did. He doesn’t know what to do. So he just focuses on the pounding of his shoes against the pavement. Left, right, left, right.
“Sorry, I…” she says finally, the words going nowhere, but he feels the warmth of her fingers around his wrist, pulling him to a stop. “Can we go get lunch? Maybe that little place on Main Street? I know that’s not our regular route, it’s a little far out of the way, but—”
“Sure, love,” he says, not even needing to hear the rest of what she’s trying to say. Whatever it is, he will give her the time she needs to tell him — but there are more appropriate places for these sorts of conversations than on the sidewalk.
She asks the waitress for a table in the back, further away from the door and the line of regulars sitting at the bar, spending what feels like hours looking over the menu before the waitress returns with their drinks and to take their order. All she orders is a bowl of soup, Killian strangely in the mood for one of their salads, but the silence between them only returns when the waitress leaves their table.
Killian doesn’t mind, really. She decided that she wanted to tell him something, unlock some of the secrets of her past, which is more than he could have asked for.
“I was, uh, found outside an orphanage when I was just a few days old.”
Okay, it’s certainly not what he expected. It’s far more personal than he expected — but she’s telling him, and that’s the important part.
“I have no idea who my parents are, anything about my family, only that they wanted to name me Emma.”
Pausing, she takes a deep breath. A sip of her water. Her eyes don’t leave the spot on the table that they’re glued to.
He doesn’t mind.
“I was in and out of fosters for most of my childhood, and that’s how I met David. His mother was my last-ditch effort when I was seventeen, and if she didn’t work, I was going to be on my own. But, thankfully, she was an angel on this earth, and I spent a good few years with her, even after I aged out and as I went to college. I still think that’s why I kept coming back to Storybrooke, because it was the only place that felt like home, especially after everything that happened with Neal, except now he wants to leave Henry even more, move hours away to the city and see his own son even less than he does now.”
Still, Killian stays silent. If he’s honest with himself, he really doesn’t know what to say in the first place, and he gets the feeling that there aren’t very many people who just let Emma talk.
He will gladly be the one as often as she gives him the opportunity.
“Does Henry know that he’s trying to leave yet?”
She scoffs, looking up at him for a moment. Just a moment.
“I told him he had to be the one to tell Henry, to answer all of his questions. That he wasn’t allowed to just up and leave. But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to do it anyway.”
“I know it might not be want you want to hear, love, but sometimes it’s better for the parent to just up and leave if that’s what they need to do. He’ll still have to get you child support, no matter where he is.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
He doesn’t even know how to read her voice. She doesn’t sound upset, per say, but there’s definitely something much deeper than just curiosity.
“It’s just what my mother used to say, that we’d probably be better off without him than with him. But I can only hope that Neal is nowhere near the terror that Brennan Jones was.”
She nods, the very corner of her lips ticking up for just a moment. Says nothing.
And then it hits him: “Though, I suppose having a terrible dad around is something compared to having no one, no matter how much you may wish he wasn’t there.”
“Jackpot,” she mumbles. “But as hard as it is to admit, Neal really isn’t a terrible person. He can even be a good dad, when he tries to be, and Henry really looks up to him, which I don’t think he realizes. I just don’t understand how he can choose a job over his own son.”
“Granted, I don’t have the pleasure of offspring yet, but I would like to believe that I would feel the same as you do.”
Finally, she smiles. Actually makes eye contact with him. Warms his heart a few degrees. Just as the waitress brings their food.
Henry practically perfects the song — The First Noel — before Thanksgiving break, a whole three weeks before the concert. Killian even reaches out to Violet’s parents to offer to have them practice together in his studio instead of after hours at the school — or at either of their houses, which is a move that both Emma and Violet’s parents appreciate.
(Plus, with Henry taking the lead on their rehearsals, it gives him more time to sit in the corner of the studio, talking with Emma.)
They’ve built up a fine friendship since the first day of school, adding more weekly dinners as a trio, with Killian even joining Emma’s gym to work out with her with the weather getting colder.
Killian would even go so far as to say Emma and her lad have become a regular part of her life, though he still didn’t expect the day when she asked him out, sitting across the table from her brother and next to her at the Thanksgiving dinner table.
(What was different about this time? He had been to dinners with them, had spent time alone with Emma, but there was something about this that was different. He would be willing to bet it was the setting, the pressure of the situation.)
“So, Henry, your mom told me about your solo in the winter concert!” Mary Margaret says excitedly, trying to find a subject that Henry can take part in, since most of Emma and David’s conversation has centered around work.
Killian turns to the boy, seated at the far end of the table, just in time to watch his face light up in a smile. “Technically, it’s a duet, me and this one girl in my class, Violet —”
“The one from your soccer team? With the purple streaks in her hair?” David asks, the rest of the table watching Henry’s face turn bright red.
"Oh!" Mary Margaret practically squeals, which makes every eye at the table turn towards her, which Killian is sure Henry is thankful for — until she continues. “Do you have a crush on her?”
Henry sighs, his eyes falling back to his plate as his cheeks continue to turn as red as his shirt. Instead of answering Mary Margaret’s question, he says, “You know, I never understood why that’s what they call it.” His voice is small, incredibly embarrassed, as he swirls his fork around his pile of mashed potatoes. “Why is it a crush?”
Emma laughs, gently setting her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Aw, come on, you don’t have to embarrass him,” she jokes.
“Well, then,” David says, setting his fork down on his plate so he can cross his arms across his chest. “Should we talk about your little crush instead?”
“David!” both Mary Margaret and Emma say at the same time, and Killian can’t keep the heat from rushing to his face.
Why are you embarrassed, you idiot? he asks himself, trying his best to keep his thoughts off his face. They’re not even talking about you.
Unless… they are.
He almost doesn’t allow himself to even think it. Because it’s insane to even assume it.
And then Emma rolls her eyes.
Looks at him.
Pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth.
Blushes deeper.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
He tries to act like he missed her look, turns his attention down to his plate of food, but he’s sure it doesn’t work.
“Why can we bring up Henry’s and embarrass the poor boy, but I can’t do the same to my sister?” David asks, a wide grin spread across his face. Without even meaning to, Killian’s gaze rises, meeting David’s from across the table.
David winks.
Shit.
“You’re at least going to his concert together, right?” David asks, the same smirk still covering his features.
“I mean, we hadn’t really discussed it, but—” Emma starts, but Henry cuts her off:
“You mean, like a date?”
“No,” both Killian and Emma try at the same time, but it doesn’t work.
Mary Margaret’s poker face falters, turning into a grin that seems to brighten her already-shining aura. David somehow looks even more smug, though Killian wouldn’t have thought it possible.
And Emma, whose gaze Killian is very purposefully avoiding, is turning redder by the moment.
He’s sure he is, too.
(Because he desperately wants it to be a date.)
The next three weeks pass in a bit of a blur, between the holiday drunks that Emma has to deal with at the station and the last-minute lessons before recitals and concerts. It feels like the blink of an eye between their conversation at Mary Margaret and David’s thanksgiving dinner and Killian knocking on the door of the Swan’s house, making sure his light blue shirt is tucked into his dark jeans as he waits for someone to let him in. The waistcoat may have been a little more than necessary for an elementary school concert, sure, but there was talk before of Neal taking Henry and some of his friends for ice cream, giving Emma and Killian a chance to go out for dinner together.
Maybe even like a date, he allows himself to think.
It’s Emma that opens the door, and when he sees the same red dress that he remembers from last year’s concert, he’s glad he decided to go with the waistcoat — he would have been undoubtedly under-dressed without it.
Because, damn is she perfect, her golden hair falling softly over her shoulders and her lips a shade of red almost as vibrant as her dress. He tries his best to hide it, but his breath gets trapped in his chest.
She smiles. “Hey.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Killian, speak. He clears his throat. “Uh, hi. Is the lad almost ready?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Henry yells from just out of Killian’s sight, most likely from around the corner in the living room.
“How are you feeling, Henry?” Killian asks just as he comes around the corner, the bowtie of his suit unbuttoned but otherwise looking incredibly dapper from his gelled-back hair to the tips of his polished dress shoes.
He shrugs. “A little nervous, I guess, but that’s normal, right?”
Killian smiles. “Aye. Completely normal. But I know you’re going to be exceptional.”
At this, Henry smiles, slipping past Killian and out the front door. “Thanks. Now let’s go!”
Emma fiddles with her nails when she’s nervous. This is something Killian learns very quickly, sitting beside her in one of the front rows of the auditorium, especially after having noticed it in the car on the way here. It doesn’t distract him, per se; instead, it gives him something to focus on instead of his own nerves, the shaking of his leg, chewing on his bottom lip.
“He’s going to do great,” Mary Margaret says from the other side of Emma, probably sensing her nervousness the same way.
“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Emma says, never taking her eyes off of the index finger she is focused on. “I just—” she lets out her breath through pursed lips, turning to look over her shoulder to where Neal is sitting at the end of the row behind them. Killian follows her gaze there, only to watch his attention turn from the cell phone in his hand to the watch on his wrist. “He wants to tell Henry tonight, that he’s accepted his father’s job offer. He leaves at the end of the month, but I told him he wasn’t allowed to ruin Henry’s concert by telling him before it. I can’t really even argue with it, he at least listened to what I told him.”
“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret mutters, setting one of her hands on top of Emma’s, which halts her ability to pick at the skin around her index finger.
“I’ve always been surprised he stuck around this long in the first place,” David— helpfully— adds, arms crossed over his chest.
Killian can feel the daggers that Mary Margaret shoots at her husband when she turns to him.
Emma manages to let out a single, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “You’re right, though, David. I never expected him to stay around after we broke up, so the fact that he’s waited this long is a bit of a miracle.”
“That’s not going to make it any easier for Henry, though,” Mary Margaret comments.
Emma just shrugs, but when she goes to respond, the house lights quickly dim to black, the spotlight shining on Belle French, the school librarian and interim principal, standing at the podium. In moments, the entire room is hushed.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” she says, the gooseneck mic only catching the last few words, the auditorium humming with low feedback. “As you all know, we here in Storybrooke love to do all we can to ensure students have the opportunities to practice the arts they choose, and music is at the core of this. Every year, we are proud to hold this showcase for our elementary students, giving them the opportunity to show off their talents to the community, as well as our elementary band and orchestra groups, who have all been practicing regularly since at least the beginning of the year. To open our concert for tonight, we have the elementary orchestra group, led by our music teacher, Miss Tink Greene.”
The auditorium fills with applause as the spotlight fades away and the curtains open to reveal a stage full of musicians, smiling out at their families and friends in the audience. When Emma turns her attention to Killian out of the corner of her eye, the smile spread across his face conjures one of her own. He looks so proud, with many of the students on the stage students of his own.
Halfway through the second song, Mary Margaret leans towards Emma, setting her hand on her arm. “I always forget just how awful elementary orchestra concerts are,” she whispers.
Emma lets out a light laugh, nodding. “Like, I’m glad Henry found something he enjoys doing, don’t get me wrong, but listening to him play a botched song on a piano and listening to a bunch of them play half-tuned violins are two different worlds.”
“Swan,” Killian whispers, his eyes never leaving the stage, even as he reaches over to set his hand on her arm. “Shush.”
Even as she rolls her eyes, Emma can’t help but smile at him. But she also can’t help herself from leaning closer to Mary Margaret and whispering, “Killian wants us to stop talking.”
He doesn’t even try to hide his sigh, but he doesn’t move to respond to her.
He leaves his hand on her arm, though.
Neither of them seem to care. Neither of them make a move.
The second song comes to an end, and they quickly begin the third — the final song, Emma is relieved to hear.
They’re followed by a blonde girl in a bright red shirt and black slacks, who plays “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” on her cello; a small group of students introduced as the “elementary jazz band” who play a somewhat-recognizable jazzy rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”; and a trio that plays “I Saw Three Ships” in a round on their flute, clarinet, and violin.
Killian, of course, knows many of them, whispering things like, “Her mother tried to ask me out during one of our lessons,” and “They have the cutest little dog that really likes to lick my legs when they bring it with to pick him up,” when they are introduced.
(Emma wonders what Killian would say about her if he were whispering to someone else.)
And then next up is Henry. When the curtain opens, she doesn’t realize that she has changed her grip to holding Killian’s hand in her own — or, at least, one of them moved to hold the hand of the other — until she feels the way he straightens his shoulders, sucks in a breath between his teeth. But when she turns to him, taking her eyes away from her son, getting ready to perform, for just a moment, he meets her eyes.
Smiles.
Winks.
(The bastard.)
And turns back to the stage.
She’s glad they’re in a darkened auditorium, because she feels the way her face warms at the realization, hopes that Mary Margaret can’t hear the pounding in her chest that is only silenced when Henry starts to play, Violet playing along with him.
It’s much better than the sound of the full orchestra, Emma notices almost immediately, or any of the other groups that have played. It at least doesn’t sound like a bunch of screaming, dying animals.
Just sitting there watching him, she is overwhelmed by a sense of pride, something that washes over her like a wave as his fingers move perfectly across the piano keys. (Sure, it might not be completely perfect, maybe a handful of notes a little off between the two of them, but Emma doesn’t care.)
Killian turns to her, just slightly, if only because he knows just how bright the smile spread across her face has to be.
(He’s right.)
It warms him. It makes his heart pound in his chest, just how happy her happiness makes him. Of course, that’s not the point of taking on dedicated students like Henry, but if one of the perks of being able to share the joy of music with the lad is spending time with (falling absolutely head over heels for) his mother, he will certainly be the last to complain.
But, in looking over at her, he also happens to glance over her shoulder, where Neal is still sitting at the end of the aisle behind them.
Not even looking at the stage, his cell phone still in his hand.
Over the shoulders of Emma and Mary Margaret, David makes eye contact with him, raising one of his eyebrows in question, which Killian only responds to by nodding in Neal’s direction. David turns around, and Killian can tell by the rise and fall of his shoulders that he sighs. When he turns towards Killian again, he rolls his eyes.
The last group to play is the elementary band, who proves to be much easier on the ears than the orchestra. It’s not very large, just a dozen or so students spread across the three rows of chairs, with three percussionists standing in front of various instruments at the back of the stage.
And then, after the first song, out come the recorders.
It appears Emma spoke (thought?) too soon, trying her best not to wince through their rendition of “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas,” thankfully aided by some of the other band members to make it somewhat less terrible — but by a very small margin.
(Killian, however, does not have the same self-control, and every scrunch of his face is paired with the tightening of his hand, which still happens to be wrapped around Emma’s — though neither of them are complaining.)
The first words out of Neal’s mouth, while everyone else praises his performance, are, “You ready to get out of here, kid?”
The question is met with a glare from the rest of the group, all except Henry who just looks confused.
“Aren’t we taking some of my friends? We have to wait for them.”
Neal sighs, looking at his watch. “Well, can you rally them together? I have to be up early tomorrow so I don’t want to be out too late.”
“If you want us to, David and I would be willing to take Henry instead,” Mary Margaret says, her grip on David’s hand tightening to stop him from reacting.
Henry doesn’t answer, just turns his attention up at Neal, as if waiting to see how he responds.
He grinds his teeth together. “No, of course I’ll take him, I just — it’s been a long week and I’m a little exhausted.”
“I’m gonna go find Avery and Violet,” Henry says, obviously a little let down by Neal’s response, before walking away from the group — and, now that he’s gone, Emma allows herself to finally respond to him.
“I can’t believe you!”
Neal just rolls his eyes. Killian feels his jaw tighten, and David crosses his arms across his chest.
“God, Emma, just stop overreacting. You all knew this was going to happen someday, even Henry.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to tell him today. He just had his first performance, his first solo, and all he wants from you is for you to be proud of him, not to hear that you’re moving away.”
“Listen, you told me I had to wait until after the concert. The concert is over.”
“You know damn well this isn’t what I meant!” Emma moves to lunge towards him, but Killian catches her arm, holding her back.
“Not here, love,” he whispers. For a moment, Emma’s eyes are wide with anger, but when they meet his, they soften, and she nods.
Neal scoffs. “You want to call me out for being inappropriate, yet here you are, dating Henry’s music teacher.”
Mary Margaret rolls her eyes.
We’re not dating. Killian feels the words on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back — this is neither the time nor the place, and besides—
“That’s none of your damn business, first of all,” Emma bites. "I will kiss and date and sleep with whoever the hell I want to, you have no say in it anymore."
"You slept with him?!"
"Again, it's none of your business whether I did or not, Neal. That's the point. God, I don’t have the patience to deal with you right now. Just make sure Henry gets to soccer practice on time tomorrow, please.”
“Now you’re going to tell me how to be his dad? Like I haven’t been doing it for ten years?”
Killian has a feeling that if his hand weren’t still wrapped around Emma’s wrist, she would have lunged again.
“Come on, Emma, let’s go,” David says, stepping between them. “He’s not worth it,” he whispers.
Still, Emma doesn’t move.
Killian tugs on her hand. “Come on, love.”
She takes a breath, apparent by the rise and fall of her shoulders, before she nods, finally turning back to face him.
“Yeah. Okay.”
They find Henry in the music room behind the auditorium, gathering his belongings. “Hey, kid,” Emma calls, walking towards him. “We’re gonna head out, okay?”
He whips around, stopping in the middle of his conversation with Avery. “Okay!” He rushes across the music room to wrap his arms around Emma’s middle. “Thanks again for coming!”
“Of course we came, lad,” Killian says, mussing his hair with a smile.
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mary Margaret chirps from behind them.
“But you have fun with your dad, alright?” Emma says. “Want me to take your dress shoes home?”
“I don’t want to stay at dad’s tonight, I want to come home with you.”
“Henry, come on, we talked about this already. Your dad asked for you to stay there tonight even though it’s not his night, and you have practice in the morning anyway. Please?”
Suddenly, his eyes light up. “Why? Are you two going on a date?”
David scoffs. Mary Margaret laughs, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. Killian is useless against the drop of his jaw. But it’s Emma’s answer that Henry laughs at: “What? No, come on, we’re—we’re—” she stutters.
Henry puts his hands on his hips, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Killian recognizes the look immediately; he’s gotten the exact look from Emma before, on quite a few occasions.
“I can assure you, lad, I’m just taking your mother home.”
This time, it’s David who laughs, just a single bark — but it’s all Killian needs to really hear what he has just said, and he quickly feels as heat rises to the tips of his ears.
But Henry doesn’t hear it that way, thankfully, and instead flashes a large smile at them. “Then you can just take me home, too.”
“Henry, please,” Emma says, crossing her arms over her chest. Henry’s smile disappears, and he nods even as his gaze falls to the ground.
“Okay, mom.”
He goes to turn away from them, but Emma reaches out to put her arm on his shoulder. “Hey,” she whispers, waiting for him to look back up at her before she smiles. ‘C’mere,” she whispers, leaning down as she holds her arms out to him.
Henry complies, even managing to crack a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow after practice, alright?”
“You’ll pick me up?”
“Sure. I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, mom.”
After quickly hugging Mary Margaret and high-fiving David and Killian, the four of them make their way out of the building to their cars.
“So, are you guys going on a date?” The question practically explodes out of Mary Margaret, and David is useless against the smile that spreads across his face.
“No,” Emma says, but Killian takes a chance and shrugs.
“What do you say, Swan? Want to get something to eat?”
No one looks more surprised by this turn of events than Emma herself. Killian’s glad they’re out from under the harsh phosphorescence of the school lights so the redness of his face is (hopefully) less obvious.
David’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “Do I have to give you guys the talk?”
Killian doesn’t know how to respond, truthfully; instead, Emma hits his arm with the back of her hand. “Oh my god, David.”
Mary Margaret giggles — honest-to-God giggles.
“We’re leaving now,” Emma says, and Killian certainly doesn’t argue.
“So, do you want to eat, or not?” Killian asks, finally breaking the silence in the car as they pull out of the parking lot.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Emma mumbles, failing to hide the way she fiddles with her nails. “Wherever you want to go.”
He smiles. “I know just the place.”
Much to Emma’s surprise, he takes them home. To his house, more specifically, though for a moment she fears that he will drop her off at her front door and disappear forever. Instead, he holds open his front door for her, as nervous as she is.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, helping her shrug out of her coat, which he then drapes over the back of a dining room chair. “Water? Wine? I probably have some whiskey somewhere around here, if you’re looking for something harder.”
Emma smiles, finding his obvious nerves charming. “Wine would be great.”
He hums, pulling a bottle of white out of the fridge. Of course, with the way his nerves have been acting up, he’s surprised he hasn’t already started rambling, so he’s not surprised when he opens his mouth and is unable to stop words from falling from his lips. “Liam always told me that the best way to impress a lady is to cook for her, but I was probably not supposed to divulge that information on a first date.” He hands her the glass of wine, then pours one for himself. “I was half-hoping this is where we ended up, you know. That’s why I prepared a little bit, why I thawed this piece of salmon and made sure I had what I needed for my mother’s favorite pasta recipe.” Quickly, he turns to face her, unable to stop his hand from scratching the spot behind his ear. “I hope that’s okay, now that I’m thinking about it, I never even asked—”
Emma holds her hand out, resting it against his hand on the counter. “Killian,” she says softly, and between that and her smile, he snaps his mouth shut. “Whatever you have planned, I’m sure it will be perfect.”
He wants to dive across the kitchen counter and kiss her right there, the salmon be damned. But that’s not what he does, holding himself back. Instead, he just smiles at her.
“You have too much faith in me, love,” he says, forcing himself to move to begin readying dinner.
“Maybe I’ve just gotten to know you enough to be sure that I can trust you.”
God, I love this woman, he thinks to himself, only allowing himself to pause for a moment as the realization hits him, knowing that more will draw her attention for sure. And if he called her out, asked what he was thinking about, he’s not sure he would be able to stop himself from telling her.
Because it’s true, he realizes — there’s no use hiding from it anymore. It’s true that he has fallen absolutely in love with Emma Swan, and there’s no going back now.
But the silence of the kitchen — of the whole house — gets to him before the oven is even preheated, and he has to find something to talk about before he absolutely loses his mind.
“Your lad did a great job tonight, you know,” he says, daring to glance at her over his shoulder, if only to catch the smile that he knows is on her face.
“Well, he had an incredible teacher,” she says.
“That may be true, love, but he had real talent when he started.”
“Which really is a surprise.” Emma tells him, not for the first time. “I know neither Neal or I have any musical ability, or Neal’s dad. Mary Margaret used to play the flute, but she’s not actually family, and probably hasn’t picked one up since college.”
“I know you never knew them, but maybe it’s from one of your parents.” This time, when he glances over his shoulder, she has her thumbnail between her front teeth, so he adds, “Or maybe it’s just him. It’s not unheard of.”
She attempts to smile, but it doesn’t stick. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he turns back to the counter, adding the last few sprigs of rosemary to the pan with the salmon before sticking it in the oven.
“That’ll take a little while longer than the pasta, so I’m going to wait a bit before I start that,” he starts, but when he turns back to her, she’s gone.
Shit.
“Okay,” she calls from the living room, which slows the terrified pounding of his heart almost immediately. Even after months of friendship with Emma Swan, he still somehow thought she would have walked out on him.
“So we, uh, have a little bit of time,” he says, finding his own glass of wine before following her voice into the living room. Much to his surprise, she’s sitting on the piano bench, her long, thin fingers moving gently across the keys, but not making a sound.
“You know,” she says, turning towards him as he fills the space between them. “I do know how to play one thing on the piano.” With a shy smile, she moves over on the bench to give him room to sit with her, patting it gently when he doesn’t move to join her.
But he’s useless against her, and can fight it no longer, so he does, trying to focus on something other than the warmth of her leg pressed against his. “Oh yeah? What is that?”
He's afraid to hear the answer, knows what she's about to play down deep in his soul, but he still cringes when he hears the first few notes: “Heart and Soul.”
"Anything but that, love. Literally anything."
“I don’t know about you, Killian Jones,” Emma says, letting him slip her jacket back over her arms before he leads her to the door. “But I don’t think I’ve ever had a better first date.” Even in the low light of the entryway, Killian knows that Emma can see the blush rising to his cheeks. “And I know I said it before, but that pasta was incredible. Really, one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”
“Well, thank you, Swan,” he says, ducking his head to avoid her bright eyes. “I’m glad you think so. Both about the pasta and the date.”
“I may even let you walk me home.”
He’s at a loss for words — and even questions his own ability to speak when she follows up by running her tongue across her bottom lip.
“It would be my pleasure.”
“You’re a true gentleman, Killian Jones.”
“Always.” He even feels brave enough to wink at her, holding open the front door to let her through.
Their walk across the street is silent, save the light chuckle Killian allows when Emma threads her arm through his.
“This is my stop,” she says, turning to face him on her front porch. But instead of moving to open the door, she reaches out to take one of his hands in hers. Then the other.
“Yeah, I should, uh, let you get home,” he says, realizing that it is, in fact, the very last thing he wants to do.
She looks up at him, her green eyes bright in the front lights. “Yeah,” she whispers, barely audible. Swipes her tongue across her bottom lip again. And then leans forward, letting go of one of his hands only to wrap hers around his neck, and presses her lips against his. It’s soft, it’s gentle, it’s —
Perfect. Everything he imagined kissing Emma Swan would be.
And that’s why he loses himself in it, in her, for just a moment, living for the swipe of her tongue against his, before backing away. She takes a deep breath before opening her eyes, a soft smile spread across her lips.
“I don’t usually do this on a first date, love,” he whispers, leaning closer to her so he can rest his forehead against hers.
“Me neither,” she says back, her smile growing. “So take me out again tomorrow night and we can do it again.”
“Deal.”
She kisses him again, a single peck on the lips, and turns away.
tags: @let-it-raines @shireness-says @wellhellotragic @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @teamhook @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @superchocovian @carpedzem @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @lfh1226-linda @singersdd @tiganasummertree @alexannam16 @therealstartraveller776 @spartanguard @jennjenn615 @pepperspotts
#my writing#megan writes things#megan finishes things#wordsbymeganmichael#cs fics#cs ff#captain swan#I don't even know how to tag things anymore
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start to melt in your clutch
Summary: All obsessions start innocently. Tiktok, however, is a goddamned rabbit hole, one Emma Swan has fallen into and doesn’t seem to be able to get out of. Enter Killian Jones, who suggests she get that song out of her system. And Emma Swan has never ever backed away from a challenge.
A/N: I can’t thank @csconcertseries enough! Literally, this event kind of saved me from singing Snow Miser’s song all. the. time. And there are a few other songs mentioned in the fic that I’ve been obsessed with, of course. I wrote this fic in just a few days and it was absolutely therapeuthical - it didn’t help me forget all about tiktok, however, but eh, can’t really have it all, can I?
Anyway, big thanks to @clockadile for creating this event, @carpedzem and @shardminds for being awesome supporters and to everyone I’ve sent tiktok videos to and who would probably just want to strangle me. Sorry?
Rated not-even-much-M for mentions of smut at the end. Mostly, this is just crack.
Enjoy!
read on ao3
All obsessions start innocently.
That's what Emma Swan always tells herself to defend her latest addiction: she didn't obsess over colorful Converse on purpose; she buys all books in a series with the same cover style because that's the sensible thing to do, no matter if the new edition is prettier; she does not get obsessed over tv shows or movies because they are mainstream, she watches them because that's what Netflix offers and nothing else attracts her; she doesn't get one song stuck in her head for days to end because that's the song of the moment and everyone's supposed to know it. And, most definitely, she is not obsessed with Killian Jones.
Liar, liar, slutty dress on fire!
She growls at the silky voice of Tom Ellis in her mind.
Well, maybe she is a bit obsessed by him, but it strictly on a professional level.
And Tom is about to open his mouth again.
Alright, not exactly totally professional level. But he doesn't need to know that. He mustn't.
Killian Jones is just… the most talented make-up artist she's ever met. Those kids on YouTube can only dream to be like Killian, and even if some are his age, they still have a long way to go.
The stars call him all the time when he's not on set. Hell, Vanessa Hudgens and Blake Lively have him on freaking speed dial. And god, he got to do Lady Gaga's make up as well, once. Emma would sell her soul for such an opportunity.
Hers is not envy, though. No, Emma knows that's not how it works in the industry: you either are talented or you are not. If you are not, you're out.
Emma is good, very good, but compared to Killian, she's just a kid coloring inside the lines to his Da Vinci: he's the creative one, the one to always come up with new ideas for their stars' make-up.
There's some kind of rivalry between the two of them, but it's mostly a game. In fact, this is probably the problem: there's no serious competition going on, they both are good at what they do and spend so much time joking and entertaining make-up free conversations she would almost say they are friends.
The horror, Tom muses with what would be a sardonic smile.
Flustered, Emma clenches her teeth and rubs her brushes harder under the flowing water.
Alright, dude, she concedes, they are friends. Kind of. Friends from work. They don't really spend time together after work, they don't have the same group of friends even though they’ve had to move to Vancouver and both have apartments in Los Angeles they rent out and he’s been over at her house enough times for her cat to fall in love with him.
Friends. They are friends. Somehow. But platonic ones, they don’t do those things best friends do in books and movies and they are not pining one after the other. That’s… inconceivable.
Liar, lia-
Shut the fuck up, Tom!
She’s grateful she doesn’t snap the brush in her hand. That would mean admitting too many things and none of those would be on the same level of just having to buy a new brush. Adding that to the pile would probably make her cry, though.
Knuckles rasp against the trailer’s door, making her jump. Only one person knocks before entering anywhere, and said person is no one other than the one she can’t get out of her head. Tom Ellis is probably somewhere in her head smiling in delight.
«Come in!» she calls before Killian starts wondering why she’s not answering. Partially because of her nerves, Emma eases back into humming an old song she discovered only because of her newest obsession: TikTok.
No, scratch that, that’s not an obsession: that’s a goddamned rabbit hole.
It started as a joke, mostly, with Ruby sending her videos of funny stuff, animals, pranks, the sort of videos that were once on Vine, but ten thousand times worse. Sweet Jesus, the first few times she spent hours scrolling down, video after video, not even realizing it was well past two in the morning and she had to wake up at six because they were filing in the early morning. Fuck. Her. Life.
It didn’t stop there. Of course it did not.
Steering away from the kids - and boy, do twenty-year-olds look like children - she managed to find several people to follow, but she mostly stays on the infamous “for you” page, and keeps scrolling. At least she doesn’t go through the hashtags. Or rather, she didn’t until last night.
«How do you know that song?»
Of course Mr. Ancient knows it.
She whimpers, immediately embarrassed. «Do I really have to?»
Killian chuckles, settling down in one chair and swirling around to face her where she is, hands behind his head. At the sight, Emma almost lets out another pathetic whimper: it’s unfair the way he just keeps his shirt rolled up his forearms even in winter and has no problem in wandering around like that.
«Aw, come on, Swan, it can’t be that bad.»
It can, trust me. Biting her lip, she turns her focus back on the task at hand. «Have you thought about the make-up for the ball episode? They want it glamour and extravagant and the same time, so I thought to go with-»
«Love,» the word stops her immediately, and she feels her cheek burning, «the song. I don’t doubt your capabilities, I know you’ll do a bloody amazing job on Elsa.»
Fuck you, Emma wants to hiss, and Tom just bends backwards the newspaper he’s reading to look at her with raised eyebrows. She speaks before he can - either of them. «TikTok,» she spits out, almost as if it physically hurts. «It’s this stupid challenge people do in which they do half their face to represent winter and the other half usually looks like something’s aflame.» Emma glances quickly in his direction out of the corner of her eye. «I might have watched several videos. For hours to end. Happy now?»
And here he is, with his soft, sweeter-than-honey smile she simply cannot resist. Thank goodness she can casually lean against the sink as her knees buckle at the sight.
«Very much,» Killian has the audacity to reply.
Forbidding herself to pout like a child, Emma puts away the last brush and goes to the chair right next to Killian’s, swirling on it so she can face him. «Some are good,» she finds herself say, «and it’s fun to see what they come up with when they are not professionals. It’s refreshing.»
There’s a difference between being a good make-up artist and doing make-up tutorials for Halloween looks, because some of those are really, really good, and Emma had to pick up her jaw several times. It’s nothing she couldn’t do, but it’s the inventiveness behind it that surprises and hurts her at the same time.
«How many of them use SPfX make-up?»
Emma snorts. «A few, mostly for blisters or chilblains, but they don’t tend to exaggerate. I’ve seen a few fake icicles, though. Oh, and there was one who turned it into an elf cosplay. Some cosplay the actual characters and yes, Jones, I’ve searched where the song comes from.» She wiggles her eyebrows at him. «How come you know that song?»
Suddenly, his eyes become distant and sad, lost in a fond memory that also brings heartbreak. «Mum used to read the book to Liam and me, the movie came after, but the song still managed to get in my head. It’s been a while since I last heard of it.»
All Emma wants to do is wrapping him in her arms. She knows all too well what being lonely means, and though his brother is alive, he still is miles and miles away. Besides, nothing compares to a mother’s love, not that Emma would know.
Breaking out of his reverie, Killian shakes his head slightly. «You wanted to talk about the ball episode?»
And just likes that, all falls back into place and the sadness melts away.
-/-
«I'm Mister White Christmas, I'm Mister Snow. I'm Mister Icicle; I'm Mister Ten below,» Emma hums to herself, rather quietly, as she works on Elsa’s make-up while Ruby does her magic with the actress’ hair. The moment the last word rolls off her tongue, Emma mutters a curse.
Elsa chuckles, and so does Ruby, who looks at her with arched eyebrows. «I’ve lost counts of how many times I heard you sing or hum or whistle this song. It’s been what, two weeks already since you began?»
«Uhm, yeah.»
It’s ridiculous, really, and not just because one song managed to get stuck in her head for so long, but because of how childish said song is. Not bad, no, just… ah, who is she kidding? Emma Swan can turn into a child as well, with or without a song. Besides, Killian likes her singing it, and sometimes he joins in, so it’s not that bad.
«I know what we need here,» Elsa says typing on her phone before the first strings of Toss a coin to your Witcher fill the trailer. A pained groan echo in the large space, and Emma snickers, knowing everyone has seen the show by now and the song might have just left their systems.
Will curses at them, but his fingers can’t stop tapping to the rhythm while the others join in singing the chorus. Someone’s filming them, and soon they’ll be all over the web, but Emma doesn’t care, they’re helping her, and that’s more than anyone else ever did for her. They truly have become somewhat of a family.
Alas, forgetting one song ain’t that easy.
It doesn’t help that her birthday cake seems to have been baked whilst listening to the song on repeat, with fake shards of ice and rock candies. She hates them so much, almost as much as she loves them.
She’s enjoying a huge slice of cake during lunch in the shades of the trees where they filmed outdoors, the weather keeping up quite nicely, when Killian sits down next to her.
«I was thinking,» he starts while looking at the lake in front of them, legs stretched out.
«Mhm, bad things happen when you do that,» Emma jokes, nudging him with her shoulder, only to be nudged back. At her second nudge, he steals a piece of her cake. «Hey!»
Nothing can stop her breath to catch as her eyes fall on his lips in time to witness his tongue sweeping frosting and chocolate crumbs into his mouth.
Good god. Oh, she’s so fucked.
«As I was about to say,» Killian squints at her, eyes sparkling with a light she knows all too well, «I think you literally have to get that song out of your system.»
Emma splutters, choking on air. Did she hear him correctly? Does he mean-
«Mind out of the gutter, Swan, you can't exactly fuck a song.» Goodness, he's so brazen. «I merely meant doing that challenge yourself.»
Oh. Her eyebrows knit together. She never thought about doing that. Okay, she did, but never seriously and never for too long, definitely not long enough to form a plan.
«That’s actually… not a bad idea at all,» Emma concedes, thoughtful. It would be like scratching an itch, and heaven know she did plenty of that. Used to, not so much anymore.
Killian’s grin is so wide his dimples show and her heart tumbles a bit as it starts racing. «I know it’s not, and tell you what, I’ll raise the stakes: we are going to compete against one another.»
Shock must be clear on her face because his expression shifts from amused to concern and she’s not exactly feeling the absurd amount of muscles attached to her skull. Only when he appears to go up and down ever so slowly she realizes she’s nodding.
The concern doesn’t disappear, but he masks it quickly beneath a daring expression. «That is, unless you think you can’t handle it.»
Emma finds herself scoffing at his bravado. «Perhaps you are the one who can’t handle it.»
The way his eyebrow quirks makes the corners of her mouth twitch.
Oh, it’s so on.
-/-
Her cat loves Killian Jones.
There’s no point in denying it: Lucifer loves Killian almost more than he does Emma.
Right now, in fact, he’s stretched atop the back of the couch, tongue intent in licking Killian’s hair, making strands stick up like stalagmites. From his part, Killian is not bothered at all; in fact, as Emma takes a better look at him, he seems rather comfortable.
Her heart beats a little bit faster at the scene, at how homey it looks…
She swiftly takes a huge gulp of hot cocoa, the burning sensation doing nothing to cancel the image from her head. It is the last thing she needs today, with her house being almost assaulted by their friends because now their challenge has become public knowledge not only among the cast and crew, but the public as well. The audience went nuts over two make-up artists challenging one another, and now it has become some sort of “you have twenty-four hours to vote which one is best in our Instagram stories” with no actual prize in sight.
They are supposed to film the challenge in two different rooms and only two people are allowed inside, none of which being part of the make-up crew. Ruby is also banned from assisting them, but she’ll live and will surely post so many pictures and videos of Lucifer.
In the days leading to the weekend, Emma has formed a plan, never testing it - that’s one of the things they agreed upon - but doing calculations anyway because if she has to lose, she’ll do it with style. Including a time limit to the challenge was not her best idea.
Right at two o’clock, after a lunch Emma prepared - she has some skills, after all - Ruby comes into the living room whistling with two fingers in her mouth to catch their attention, as if it could be impossible to miss her.
She is, of course, filming - and whoever gave her the password to the official account of the show must be crazy, and Emma now knows there will be behind the scenes videos. It is strange for once feeling like the star of the show, but at the same time she doesn’t exactly mind.
«Alright, darlings, here. We. Go! You two, go get ready.» Ruby walks to the couch, scooping up the long haired black who meows his discontent. «Come on, Lucy, let’s leave Killy here go so he can lose to your mum, uh?»
Emma can’t help the smile ticking her lips upwards before she walks into her bedroom, all she needs neatly arranged on her vanity. For an outsider, the amount of products she’ll use would appear overwhelming and just too much, but it truly is all she needs for the perfect effect she’s planned.
An outsider, however, could definitely tell she’s more than nervous.
In order to calm herself down, Emma goes into the bathroom, changes into a strapless top and washes her face before carefully drying her skin.
A soft knocking makes her look towards the door where Elsa is leaning against the frame. «Come on, Ems, you can crush this. And don’t say you’ll lose for sure because he’s too good at what he does. Killian is amazing, but you are, too.» A wicked grin spreads on her lips. «I mean, I know it’s mostly pent-up sexual frustration, so maybe I should go say the challenge is postponed until you two fuck your brains out?»
At this point, Emma could forego the red paint she needs on half her face: her blush is enough. «Go away, Elsa,» she splutters, waving her friend out.
«Okay, bye,» the other blonde singsongs with a wink.
Elsa can be such a tease, but she’s a very good friend, one of the best Emma has here in Vancouver.
After dividing her hair in two ponytails and putting an hairband over her hairline, Emma steps out, her phone ready to record the first part of the challenge when she appears completely bare-faced and the song begins.
The first few seconds of recording are easy, she’s adjusting the headband and smiling conspiratorially at the camera. And then she’s off.
First there’s paint, covering half of her face in a way that has her cringe, because she might be a make-up artist, but she’s not one for too much make-up. As she talks with Elsa and Graham, Emma loses track of time, her movements quick and precise as they throw the bases for her masterpiece.
Briefly, Emma explains what the final effect should be like and doesn’t realize Graham is filming until she distractedly looks at him.
«What-»
«The network wants a behind the scenes to put up after the winner is proclaimed.»
Of course they want that.
Emma just rolls her eyes and goes back to the task at hand, humming the song to herself as she applies shade over shade of blue eyeshadow until it reaches a perfect white that she turns into a dull grey to give a bone effect. She’s going for a realistic touch, and with Halloween fast approaching, the more horrifying she looks, the better.
It’s Elsa that remembers her to film the parts for the challenge, and though she’s new to this whole TikTok stop-and-go thing, Emma is a fast learner.
Designing the teeth isn’t as easy as it might look, but what’s harder is giving the effect of a true skull: the depth, the way teeth and bones shine beneath the light so to not appear fake. What Emma fears the most, right now, is not being able to make the other side as good as she is the one on the right, Snow Miser’s one.
The effect is, in fact, quite stunning, if she dares say so, but Emma must not be too sure of herself. By the time she finishes the right side of her face, her skin - ears as well - is various shades of blue, grey, white and black. Theatrics demand she adds an eyeroll here and a wink there, and she does kind of feel like a fool, but she laughs it off with a shrug.
When her make-up is done, or at least half of it, with long white and icy blue fake eyelashes, Emma feels giddiness bubbling up deep inside: it’s not about the win, it’s about the fun she’s having.
Hairstyling is not exactly her field, but she’s had to work alongside stylist for the most part of her career, which allowed her to pick up a few tricks. Thankfully, she did try spray dye once or twice before, so she knows what to do to get the effect she wants, doesn’t matter if she’ll die intoxicated in the meantime.
Elsa gasps as soon as she realizes what Emma is doing: if there’s something holy for Emma, that’s her hair.
«Don’t,» Emma warns her friend as she sprays silver dye on her hair, «I’m already regretting it.» No pain, no gain, that’s how it is.
Her heart starts beating faster and faster as she applies light blue dye, and as soon as she twists the strands in a loose braid that falls on her painted shoulders, it almost stops. If she manages to do the other side of her head just as good, she’s going to win, Emma just knows it.
«I should say I’m used to them, but contacts are horrible,» she murmurs, carefully applying the full white one to the eye on the right.
Graham snorts. «Whoever thinks those who use contacts are used to or even like them, is a fool.»
Premade accessories are the only ones allowed in the competition, so Emma carefully takes the icicles hairpin she made that morning and secures it right behind her head where the braid begins so the tips of the icicles stick out just right. Last but not least, it’s the earring she chooses on a whim, because she can see how perfect it is. After all, Emma has a weak spot for Percossi Papi, and the moon earring with white and blue gemstones is just perfect.
«Damn,» Graham comments with a low whistle.
In the mirror, Emma sees Elsa’s shock as her jaw plummets toward the ground. «You’re officially hired for life.»
Emma laughs, and perhaps this is the victory she was truly aiming for.
Now, however, she has to concentrate, because even for make-up artists, mirroring the effect on the other side of the face can be tough.
Brushes fly over her face, paint and eyeshadows coat her skin with black and reds and white, and slowly it seems as if her skull bares itself to those in the room, so realistic Emma feels a rush of excitement run down her spine.
This time, her hair is almost completely red, fading halfway to orange and then a bit of enhanced yellow at the tips. The same goes for the roots, where Emma shaded the colours until it fades towards her natural blonde. The colors on the two halves of her face are blended together as well, not separated by a line or flames or just side by side, they blend together and that makes the skull beneath pop up even more.
When she adds the full eye black contact, Emma almost wants to weep: the effect is extraordinary and she just feels like the queen of the world. Or the underworld, as it is.
A few strands of flaming waves Emma otherwise lets loose are pulled back and pinned behind her head with a hairpin made of glass shaped into a flaming red flower. Another one of Percossi Papi’s earrings, a sun with reddish stones, complete the look.
When she gulps, the vertebrae she’s painted down her neck move. She needs to film the last bit, the last “I’m too much”, the final look, but she can’t bring herself to.
«How much time have I left?»
Elsa looks at the timer. «About thirty minutes.» She whistles, «You’re fast.»
Reining in the urge to stick her tongue out at her friend, Emma opens one of the drawers to pull out nail polish kit she’s not used in ages. Now or never.
«All I can do is praying that it won’t be a mess,» Emma mutters to herself, knowing even just one smudge or a chipped nail will send her into a frenzy. That’s why she goes for a some shade shifter nail polish in the lightest tones of blue and adds some snowflakes stamps.
«Time?»
«Enough for you to do the other hand just as beautifully. Breathe, don’t stress, you’re going to nail this!»
It takes them about two seconds before losing it, laughing so hard Graham can’t even hold the camera up and Elsa is lying flat on Emma’s bed.
«I hate you!» Emma sobs, desperately trying to keep the tears that have pooled in her eyes from falling; the last thing she needs is to see all her efforts ruined when she has no time to fix it. But she’s grateful for her friend’s timing, because that bad joke has the same effect of an anti-stress ball.
«You love me and you know it!»
Emma huffs out a laugh, shaking her head before getting back to the task at hand, choosing a polish she never thought she would ever use.
Behind her, Elsa scrunches her nose. «I thought that trend died ages ago. Hoped it did.»
«You and me both. But desperate times call for desperate measures,» Emma sighs, looking down at the crackle nail polish, black on a coat of a red-orange that could pass for lava. It’s not the best effect, and she would not endure it for longer than it was needed, but at least it gives her that little touch of craziness she needs to boost the look.
And then it’s done.
After hours of work, it’s done, and she feels like she’s just won the whole goddamn lottery.
«I can’t wait to see Killian’s face when he sees you like this.»
Graham snickers. «He’s probably going to ask her to marry him in no time.»
«How dare you?» Elsa gasps in mock shock. «He needs to court her first!»
The Irishman’s eyes widen. «What do you mean? He’s not courted her for the past two years of unresolved sexual tension?»
It's a very good thing that all that make-up covers her skin so heavily they can't see her blush, that would be catastrophic.
Ultimately, Emma decides to just throw Elsa a pillow and glare at Graham before standing up and making her way to the living room.
Curiosity spikes through her, because there’s no way she doesn’t want to see what Killian came up with.
Gasps fill the air upon her entrance, and Ruby is this close to drop Lucifer, eyes bulging. Emma smiles smugly, cocking a brow before twirling around, only coming to a stop when Killian strides into the living room as well, mouth hanging open to mirror hers.
He’s… stunning.
More than, he’s breathtaking.
The colors on his face, much like hers, are blended, showing some sort of continuity in the transition. At the center of Killian’s forehead, is a perfect half snowflake that meets a flaming sun, the details so perfect Emma wonders if he ever thought about becoming a painter.
Fake icicles hang from his right jaw and-
«You shaved?!»
Her high-pitched scream makes everyone laugh, but does nothing to diminish her shock: in all the time she’s known Killian Jones, he never ever shaved. Not until today.
The man shrugs, but there is a faint blush beneath all that make-up, she can see it. «And you used- hmm.» He leans closer, inspecting her hair. «Color spray?»
Emma clicks her tongue, arms crossing in front of her chest. «And you used… oh god, you did use color wax on your hair?»
The blush deepens, and only when Killian tilts his head slightly, Emma notices what additional accessories he used.
«Oh my god you went for the ice and fire elf effect!» she exclaims, pointing a finger toward the prosthetic ears he sported. As if he needs them! And on the top left temple, a dark horn is sticking out from a very much realistic hole.
Holy shit.
«And you went for the skull. Which, by the way, is bloody magnificent.» There’s a light in his eyes that tells her he’s restraining himself from inspecting her closer, and that’s then that Emma realizes Killian didn’t use contacts, making the blue pop thanks to his skills instead. There’s also no fake eyelashes in sight, because really, the man’s ones are already dark, thick and long as fuck, every woman’s wet dream.
When it comes to eyelashes goals, of course.
Inside Emma’s mind, Tom cocks a brow. Really, now?
Fucking British people and their fucking accent.
Emma blushes, muttering a “thank you” under her breath. Hoping not to embarrass herself further, she studies his hair: the fact that he used wax to dye his hair is obvious to her, and the effect is much more prettier than what she accomplished using spray colors. Half of his dark chocolate hair has been coloured in white, silver and blue, whereas the other half sports bright dark streaks next to orange and golden ones. She has to clench her hands into fists to stop the urge to run her fingers through Killian’s hair, to feel if it really is as soft as it looks. That would also knock the crown, half white crystals, half golden leaves, off his head.
It is Ruby who breaks the spell, smiling smugly as she announces the videos are about to be uploaded, therefore dragging the two artists to the couch, where they sit next to each other to admire their work.
At this point, Emma doesn’t really care about winning anymore, because probably, the most rewarding win is the awe in which Killian still looks at her.
-/-
It’s not until a few hours later, when they all ate too many snacks to have a normal dinner, that everyone but Killian leaves Emma’s house, both Elsa and Ruby winking at the blonde on their way out.
Emma rolls her eyes, which have been freed from the contacts, much like her lobes have been relieved of the heavy earrings and her nails are now back to their natural aspect. The headpieces she put together are now on the coffee table with Killian’s crown and the prosthetic ears. Lucifer, of course, is curled up on Killian’s lap.
Traitor. Emma squints at the two of them, so comfortably sat on the couch as if they belong there. Lucifer does, but Killian…
Wishful thinking, darling?, Tom taunts her with a grin.
She shuts him up, clearing her voice. «Do you want to stay for dinner?»
Did she just ask that?
Tom laughs. My, my, I didn’t peg you for that kind of girl. I’m impressed. Brava.
Killian must be shocked as well because he stares at her in surprise, eyes wide and god, the way they pop thanks to the make-up should be deemed illegal.
Then, he narrows his eyes. «Are you going to cook?»
Emma scowls at him. «I do know how to cook and you know it.» Walking past him, she starts removing the fake eyelashes. «I’m going to shower, first. You’re welcome to join me, if yo-»
She stops, dead in her tracks, spine as stiff as a board as realization dawns on her.
Oh dear, that escalated quickly. Tom Ellis as Lucifer is both the best and worst thing that she ever saw, because he seems to be trapped in her head, and her mind doesn’t need him to make fun of her at all when she’s just propositioned Killian.
Emma’s breath catches when she ears soft footsteps nearing her and then Killian’s presence is all over her; hell, she almost feels his body heat radiating off him. That’s crazy, isn’t it? But then his breath is warm on her skin and no amount of make-up will reduce the storm brewing inside Emma, how the butterflies just take flight and she’s very much away that Killian is just a few inches away from touching her back with his toned chest.
A sigh escapes her lips and her next words don’t surprise her as much as they should. «Please tell me you didn’t wax your chest.»
A low chuckle. «Why don’t you check for yourself?»
Suddenly, she’s spun around, her back pressed against the wall, just like every, every inch of him is. There’s no way he can’t feel the swells of her breasts pressing against the hard planes of his chest and the stiff bulge in his pants rubbing over her lower abdomen.
She hums, pondering his offer before she takes him by surprise untucking his Henley from his jeans and divesting him of it. The clothing lands somewhere nearby, not that she cares: all Emma can focus on right now is the vast expanse of skin bared to her eyes and still covered with dark hair.
A moan rips from Killian’s throat at the sensation of Emma scratching his stomach, just before he pounces and his mouth is on her, a bit sticky because of the make-up still covering their lips, but not their tongues and goddamnit, Killian Jones tastes amazingly. It may also be because of the sickening amount of chocolate he’s downed, so perhaps she needs to taste him a bit longer and on different occasions.
That’s a really nice thought.
One Emma acts on as they stumble inside the bathroom, clothes left in a trail behind them and muttered curses because holy shit, his body is a piece of work and the way Killian praises hers makes her want him even more.
They come together in every way that counts with blue and red and black swirling around their feet as part of their make-up and dye is washed off.
Killian stays for dinner.
And breakfast as well.
-/-
It takes no time for Emma to get obsessed over another song, so when she first sends the first verse of Break My Stride, she’s only a bit surprised that Killian replies with the second one.
Really, that man should be made Saint for putting up with her and her obsessions, but if he can live with that, she can definitely live with his neat freak ways and his absurd yet adorable love for Star Wars.
Ah, yes, they live together now.
And Killian got a TikTok account as well.
Which means he’s spiraled down the rabbit hole, too, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Emma laughs and pats him on the shoulder every time he complains about spending way too much time on that bloody app, but she can’t help the way her jaw crashes on the ground when What A Man Gotta Do by Jonas Brothers - another obsession Emma fell prey of because, duh, those are the Jonas Brothers, come on! - fills the air and Killian makes his appearance in the living room as she’s watching Lucifer on Netflix - again. What shocks her is the way he’s dressed, with just one of his shirts, a pair of white briefs and knee-high socks.
She’s too dumbfounded to move, not even to film the impressive dance moves he’s showing off, but she does join him in that crazy dance, laughing most of the time because she’s uncoordinated and is wearing one of Killian’s shirts and knee-high socks as well.
The only thing that differentiates her from Priyanka Chopra is the lack of an engagement and wedding ring on her finger.
Unlike her obsessions, though, that difference doesn’t last long.
#cs fanfic#captain swan#cs fic#cs fanfiction#captain swan fanfic#cs ff#cs au#emma swan#killian jones#captain hook#my fic#cs concert series
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CSSS 2019: The Christmas Bean
A/N: Merry Christmas @clockadile! “Tis I, your CS Secret Santa! It was such a pleasure chatting with you these past few weeks. My gift to you is this one shot inspired by some of our conversations. It is set post S6, the first Christmas after Henry leaves to go find his own story. I hope you enjoy it!!
Thanks to mods of the @cssecretsanta2k19 for putting this event together, and all my love to @kmomof4 and @winterbaby89 for giving this a once over for me
Summary: Canon compliant, post S6. Travel between realms has never been easy. Unless you happen to have a magical item that opens portals. When Emma and Killian are gifted with magic beans, they can’t quite agree on how best to use them during the holiday season.
Rated G / ~2250 words / Available on ao3 / buy me a coffee
~/~
It really shouldn’t have been so much of a surprise. Most of the town knew Anton (or Tiny, as he was affectionately known) had been cultivating a crop of magic beans. He’d already gifted one to Henry Mills in honor of his graduation, and the young man had used it several weeks later to go find his own story. Still. When the former giant had announced he’d be gifting beans to those closest to him, as well as several randomly selected townsfolk, so they could use them to visit loved ones in different realms over the holidays, the denizens of Storybrooke had been momentarily stunned with utter gratitude.
Tiny distributed the beans at Thanksgiving, along with instructions for their use since he’d made some modifications to this particular variety of legume. Each bean would open a portal to the user’s desired location, and the same portal would reopen twenty-four hours later, thus ensuring a way back.
Regina had wasted no time in announcing her intentions of using her bean to check in on Henry, and invited Emma and Killian to join her. The three of them were heartened to find their young man faring so well, even if they were astonished at how much he’d aged in those few short months after spending time in a realm where time passed differently than their own. They spent a glorious day hearing all about Henry’s adventures and even met a friend, Nick, he’d met during his journey. When the time came for them to return to Storybrooke, Emma had tried to give Henry her bean so he could come home whenever he was ready, but her son had flat out refused.
“No, mom,” Henry protested. “Use your bean to go see Elsa. I know how much you’ve missed her.”
Indeed, it had been Emma’s plan to take a trip to Arendelle after Regina had offered to take them all to see Henry, just as Killian had planned to use his bean to drop in on Nemo and his little brother, Liam. Killian took the lad’s side and encouraged his Swan to hold onto her bean so she could visit her friend at Christmas. Ever the sly pirate, though, he slipped his own bean into Henry’s pocket when he gave the boy - who was very much his own man, and one Killian could not be more proud of - a final hug of farewell.
In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Emma kept insisting Killian get the Jolly Roger ready to set sail so they could use his bean to see Nemo and Liam, unaware that he was no longer in possession of it. He waved off her suggestions, ensuring her there’d be time enough once they returned from Arendelle, not wanting her to know the truth of the matter, lest she forego the use of her own bean in an attempt to bid him to go see his family instead.
He should have known she’d suss out the truth, though.
“Killian,” she began one morning several days before Christmas.
“Hmm?”
“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to remember that I’ll know if you lie to me when you answer.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Swan. You know that,” Killian replied.
Emma cocked a brow at him and folded her arms over her chest.
Guiltily rubbing at the patch of skin behind his ear that always seemed to flare when she looked at him like that, Killian added, “I might side-step the question from time to time, or give an answer that doesn’t include the entire truth, but never with any nefarious intent. Do you really expect me to tell you what gifts await you beneath the tree? That would take all the fun out of it.”
“I’m not going to ask you what you got me for Christmas.” Emma rolled her eyes at her pirate’s attempt to skirt the issue and resolved to not let his charm override the seriousness of her question. “I want to know if you still have your bean.”
Killian furrowed his brows and gave his wife a perplexed look. “Why would you ask that, love?”
“Because you side-step the conversation every time I bring up going to see Liam and Nemo. And it would be just like you to give your bean away to someone you thought more worthy of getting to see their loved ones over the holidays.”
Killian sighed. His Swan knew him too well.
“I gave it to Henry,” he confessed. “Dropped it into his pocket without his knowledge before we left.”
The two stood staring at one another for long moments. Emma’s expression betrayed the war her mind was waging with itself, wanting to be angry with him for giving his bean away when he’d insisted she keep hers, but not able to fault him for gifting it to Henry, knowing how much they both missed him. Killian held his breath, waiting for her reaction.
It wasn’t one he’d expected.
Plucking her phone from her back pocket, Emma began to forcefully tap the buttons before putting the device to her ear. It took Killian several moments to comprehend what she was doing when she started conversing with the person on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Smee, it’s Emma. I need you to ready the Jolly Roger for the Captain and me.”
“Belay that order, Mr. Smee!” Killian hollered as he took hurried steps towards Emma.
“Don’t listen to him, Smee,” Emma countered while attempting to stay out of her husband’s grasp. “Call me back when she’s ready to set sail.”
Emma ended the call just as Killian caught her. “Swan, what are you doing?”
“Taking you to see your brother and Nemo.” She jut out her chin towards him, her silent act of defiance and stubborn resolve.
Killian let go another sigh and wrapped his arms around her. “You don’t have to do that, love. I know how you’ve longed to see Elsa. I won’t take that opportunity from you.”
“Yeah, I have missed her. But Liam is your family. Your only family. You should go see him. There will be other beans.”
“Exactly,” he argued. “In another few years, when Anton is able to harvest the beans again, I’ll go see Liam and Nemo. You should use your bean to go to Arendelle.”
Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Killian cut her off with a press of his lips.
“No arguments, Swan,” he murmured at the end of their kiss. “You’re using that bean to go see Elsa.”
“Fine. I’ll use the bean to go see Elsa,” Emma huffed against his lips before flicking her eyes open to look up at him from beneath her lashes. A smile started to lift at the corners of Killian’s mouth at his wife’s acquiescence, but was stalled by her next words. “As soon as you have another bean to go see Liam with.”
Patting him on the chest, Emma brushed past Killian as he muttered, “Bloody stubborn woman.”
And stubborn she was. For the next few days they were at a stalemate regarding the Christmas bean, each of them roping in their friends and family to try and talk sense into the other. It was all for naught, though. Killian was every bit as resolute as his wife, and refused to budge on the issue.
“Ugh! Why are you being such a pigheaded pirate about this?” Emma exclaimed while they were getting ready to go to Granny’s for her annual holiday party.
“That is your bean, Swan,” Killian reminded her for the upteenth time. “For you to go see your friend.”
“But Liam is your brother!”
“And Elsa is like a sister to you, and one of the only people in all the realms you can claim for your own.”
Emma blanched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Killian sank down onto the bed and beckoned his wife to join him. Once settled he imparted, “I know you have friends here, love. But none of them are… just yours.” He scrubbed his hand down his face, knowing he wasn’t making himself clear and desperate for her to see the issue as he did. “You told me when you first came here, how special a friendship you had with your mother before the curse broke. Even though you two are still close, I know it isn’t the same as it was. You miss that special bond of friendship you had with Mary Margaret and I suspect the only other time you’ve ever felt it was with Elsa.”
“I have friends here, Killian,” she assured him.
“Aye, love. But none that are just yours. You and Regina had no other choice than to become friends, for Henry’s sake. Most of the other ladies in town were your mother’s friends first back in the Enchanted Forest. And though you and Belle get on well, you consider her more my friend than yours. Elsa is your friend. Just yours.”
“But–”
“No buts, Swan,” Killian persisted. “You put everyone before yourself far too often. This time, you’re going to put yourself first.”
Emma’s shoulders dropped in surrender and she leaned forward to rest her forehead to his. “You’re absolutely sure?”
“Completely, love.”
The next morning, two days before Christmas, Emma relented and used her bean to make the long awaited trip to Arendelle. Killian usually despised being separated from his Swan, especially by realms, but had insisted she go without him in order to make the most of her and Elsa’s time together. He knew it had been the right decision when she returned with a big smile on her face, a rosy hue on her cheeks, and one tight hug with a lingering kiss.
“Miss me?” Killian cheeked with his arms still securely embracing his wife.
Emma gave him a coy smile and shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
Lacing their fingers together, they went inside the house where Emma told Killian all about her visit.
Later that evening, while enjoying some hot cocoa and snuggled up by the fire together, Emma sighed. “I wish travel between realms was easier. I hate knowing it’ll be years before we have another bean crop.”
“Aye, love, me too,” Killian lamented with her. “Wouldn’t it be grand to simply set sail on the Roger and bring our season’s greetings to all our loved ones in person each year?”
“Visit them on their birthdays.”
“Celebrate milestones with them.”
“Drop by your parent’s house unannounced, hoping to spend Christmas with them even though you don’t have any gifts to give them,” a voice added, snapping both Emma and Killian’s attention to their open front door.
“Henry?!”
“What are you doing here?!”
“I wanted to spend Christmas with you guys,” he told them while embracing each in a warm hug. “I used the bean Hook gave me - very sneaky of you, by the way - to get here.”
Emma embraced her son once more, fighting back tears and swallowing past the emotional lump in her throat. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Even if it is sans gift,” Henry joked.
“You’re the only gift we need, my boy,” Killian assured him.
Christmas Day, everyone was thrilled to see Henry when he, Emma, and Killian arrived at the Charming’s farm for the day’s festivities. They all ate their fill, played games, exchanged gifts, sang songs, and ate some more. When the time came for the Swan-Jones family to return home so Henry could catch his portal, Emma put on a full court press to convince her son to stay.
“Mom, I can’t. I have to finish this journey I started.”
“I know,” Emma relented. “I just wish I knew when we’ll see each other again.”
“Yeah, um… about that.” A smile teased Henry’s lips as he pulled an envelope out of his back pocket.
“What’s this?” Emma asked, taking the proffered envelope from her son.
“Your Christmas gift. Well… not just yours,” he hedged. “Go on. Open it, you’ll see what I mean.”
With Killian at her side, Emma lifted the tucked flap and pulled out a heavy piece of parchment. Written in Henry’s familiar script, it read:
From this day forth, travel between realms will no longer require the use of an object to open a portal. A portal will open in each land, at a designated time and place for its citizens’ to use at will. Objects, such as beans, will only be required should a person not wish to wait for the scheduled portal
Their eyes snapped up, both of their mouths hanging open, causing Henry to chuckle.
“Seriously? You can do that?”
“I’m the Author. Of course I can. Which reminds me…” Henry took the parchment back from his mother and pulled out his Author’s pen. “It’s not official until I finish the sentence.” With a quick stroke, he added the period to the end of the line and a sweeping energy seemed to vibrate through the air from where the page glowed with magic. A moment later, Henry’s portal opened. “I assume I can leave it to the two of you to spread the word about my gift to the realms?”
“Aye, son. Leave it with us,” Killian told him before pulling him in for one final hug.
“Yup,” Emma agreed, not letting Henry leave without one last embrace from her as well. “And I know just who to start with.” She gave her husband a pointed look which prompted him to pull out his phone.
“I’ll have Smee ready the Jolly Roger.”
The End
Tagging the Curious Crew:
@kmomof4 @sals86 @jennjenn615 @darkcolinodonorgasm @artistic-writer @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @heavenlyjoycastle @sunshine2632 @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @cocohook38 @unworried-corsair @aprilqueen84 @tiganasummertree @angellifedeath @ilovemesomekillianjones @ultraluckycatnd @wyntereyez @ultimiflos @superchocovian @qualitycoffeethings @facesiousbutton82 @theonceoverthinker @sherlockianwhovian @lillpon @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @shardminds @skystar87 @teamhook @therooksshiningknight
#cs ff#csff#cs fic#csss2019#captain swan#canon compliant#post season 6#cs holiday#Killian Jones#emma swan#henry mills#the christmas bean#art by hollye#words by hollye
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Until the Stars Are All Alight–Chapter 19: Toward the Land of Shadows
Hello, and welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2019! This au combines two story ideas I’ve wanted to explore for a while. 1. What if CS existed in a Tolkien-esque, LOTR world? 2. What would have happened if it was Killian rather than Neal that Emma ran into when she was stealing the bug? Huge thank you to my beta, @blackwidownat2814, to @clockadile for the amazing story and chapter art, to @kmomof4 and @cssnsfor putting this event together, and to the ladies in the CSSNS chat who have helped me think through this story. If all goes well, I should be posting every Tuesday, and the story will have approximately 18 chapters plus the prologue and epilogue.
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Summary: CS Lord of the Rings au: When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine. Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic. Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?
Rating: T
Word Count: 5088
Other Chapters: (prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (20) (21) (22) (epilogue)
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Chapter 19 (Toward the Land of Shadows)
Forest outside of Misthaven
Regina felt her heart rate increase the closer they got to the border. It had been years since she’d last been to Misthaven, but the pain and shame of her departure–banishment–was still fresh in her mind. Would they even allow her to enter, or would they bar her?
Robin stepped up beside her and took her hand, interlacing their fingers and giving a small, reassuring squeeze.
“It’s going to be alright, my love,” he said, soothingly. “The king who banished you has passed, and from what you’ve told me, Queen Snow is far more reasonable.”
“Maybe,” Regina said, eyes troubled.
After Emma Swan-Jones had successfully mended the broken sword, they’d reconvened to discuss the best strategy moving forward. It went without saying that the sword needed to be taken to the Underworld and destroyed without delay. It similarly went without saying that the Merry Men and the Misthaven elves would be sending their best and strongest fighters with the Savior and her husband to aid and back them up in any way they needed. Nothing was more important or urgent than this task.
But a question still remained. If their best and strongest soldiers joined the fight, who would protect their people who remained behind?
“I don’t know where the Underworld is, or where it is in relation to Nottingham or Misthaven, so I don’t know if this would be out of the way or whatever,” Emma had said, “but what if we take the rest of the people and drop them off in Misthaven? The kingdom’s still surrounded by a protective barrier, isn’t it? Don’t know that that would keep the Dark One out forever, but they’ll definitely have better protection than they have here.”
Regina’s first inclination was to reject this suggestion outright. She couldn’t return to her former home; she simply couldn’t. Even if they didn’t kill her on sight, the humiliation of it would be beyond devastating.
Robin had watched her with concern, knowing all of this; knowing just what this solution would cost her. She could see it in his eyes; he was prepared to turn down Emma’s solution if she were to say the word, and for a fraction of a second she considered it.
But then she thought about little Roland. She loved him every bit as much as if he were her own, flesh-and-blood son. She imagined him remaining here, unprotected. She imagined the horrors the Dark One could unleash on him.
In the end, there was no real choice to be made. Returning to Misthaven would be difficult, but turning from the best source of protection her new people could possibly hope for was impossible.
Regina nodded to Robin.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said, inclining his head toward Emma. “We gratefully accept.”
And so, without delay their people packed what essentials they could gather in a half-hour’s time, and then they set out.
It was rather slow going, transporting the entire group. A voyage that might have normally taken two hours took a good half a day, but there was nothing to be done about that. They’d remained on guard as they traveled, every moment expecting to be set upon by the Dark One or his minions, but to everyone’s relief, luck was with them, and they met no one more menacing than the occasional small woodland creature.
And now here they were, only moments from reaching the border.
“You know you have my full support, don’t you?” Robin asked intently. “You know if things go sour, my bow will be ever at your disposal, even against Misthaven. None will harm you while there’s still breath left in my body.”
Warmth spread through her. How she loved this man! “Yes, I know,” she said, giving him a gentle smile, “and I give you the same pledge. Whatever happens in the fights to come I’ll fight to protect you. If anything were to happen to you–”
“Let’s not think of that until we must, yes?” he asked. “One step at a time. That’s how we must proceed. That’s how we’ll win.”
She nodded, but before she could respond, their group was confronted by a solid wall of Misthaven soldiers.
They’d arrived.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Mom!”
Snow looked up as she heard her grandson’s shout. They were back!
Early yesterday morning Red and Graham had returned to Misthaven with Henry and an entire group of wary looking children. Snow had been momentarily alarmed to see that neither Emma nor Killian were with them, but Red was quick to assure her that her daughter and son-in-law had weathered the past battle with nary a scratch.
Her relief at hearing the news was short-lived, however, given the other news Red had to give them.
“He’s free,” she said without preamble. “We can’t know for certain, but there’s little doubt. The Dark One has managed to free himself.”
Snow went hot and then cold as the horror of that single statement washed over her. All her life she’d been taught to fear this man, to see him as the evilest, most dangerous creature ever to live, and she knew he was out to destroy her kingdom.
What was even worse, he was out to destroy her daughter, a daughter who wasn’t from this land, didn’t properly understand the gravity of the situation. Where was Emma? Why hadn’t she returned? Misthaven still held some measure of protection against the Dark One and his forces, although Snow wasn’t naive enough to believe that protection would hold out forever.
Graham assured Snow that Emma was with Killian, and that Killian was very much aware of the gravity of the situation.
“The only hope any of us have, Your Highness,” Graham said, “is for the blade to be reforged and then for your daughter to destroy it. To that end, they returned to Nottingham forest.”
It had been agonizing since then, knowing that there was little they could do but sit and wait–wait for news of Emma, wait for the Dark One and his minions to attack, wait to find out if their entire world was about to collapse.
Snow had wanted nothing more than to ride out to Nottingham herself, to join her daughter and lend her support, to fight alongside her, but she knew that wasn’t an option. Misthaven was the last holdout against the Dark One, and her people needed protection. They needed her guidance and leadership. In this war, everyone had a role to play; everyone had sacrifices to make. She must do her part, even if the fear and anxiety threatened to overwhelm her.
David, as always, had been her comfort and her rock throughout everything, and so it was fitting that he was here beside her as the news came to them that their daughter, her husband, and an entire village had arrived upon their lands.
A moment after Henry’s joyful shout, the great hall doors opened, and Emma, Killian, Liam, Merlin, and a man who must be Robin Hood strode to the dais where Snow and David sat.
Snow only had eyes for her daughter. Without standing on ceremony, Snow got to her feet and rushed to Emma, enfolding her in a tender, motherly embrace. It took Emma only a moment to return the hug, and when they pulled back, her daughter was smiling.
“Tell us what happened,” Snow said, stepping back so that David could embrace Emma, cupping her head and holding her to him.
It was the work of only a moment for Killian to lay out the events of the past day.
“And so, Your Highnesses,” he concluded, “the only solution we saw was to bring the people of Nottingham here. I do hope we haven’t overstepped in doing so.”
“Of course not,” David said confidently. “The Merry Men of Nottingham have been our loyal allies for decades. Their families are entitled to all the protection we can provide for them.”
Snow nodded in agreement. “Especially given the fact the Merry Men themselves mean to protect our daughter as she fulfills her destiny.”
Robin Hood nodded gratefully, but Snow could see a moment of indecision in his eyes. Something was troubling him. It wasn’t long before he put words to the concern in his eyes.
“Your Highness,” he said slowly, almost hesitantly. “In full disclosure, our people are not all we brought with us today. I’ve also brought my wife, Regina, formerly of Misthaven.”
Snow’s heart began pounding and her breathing became shallow at the sound of that name. It had been years, but she could never forget the terror the “Evil Queen” had unleashed upon Misthaven the last time she’d been in the kingdom. Death, destruction and fear followed her wherever she went, and for one brief moment, Snow had feared Regina would win, would kill her father and usurp the crown.
It had been a relief when the Evil Queen was defeated and banished from their land.
Beside her, David tensed, hand going automatically to his sword, though swords would be of little use against Regina’s magic should she choose to use it upon them. “Regina has been warned,” David growled. “She knows what will happen if she sets foot within this kingdom again, and if she means to challenge my wife, so help me–”
“It’s okay!” Emma hurried to reassure. “I don’t know what she did to be banished, but she’s on our side now.”
David gave Emma a look. “You weren’t here during her reign of terror,” he said, “you don’t know her powers of manipulation, of evil.”
“Your daughter does not know of Regina’s past,” Liam Jones said, stepping forward, “but I do. I’m well acquainted with the reasons for her banishment and how very warranted that punishment was, so be assured I speak the truth when I tell you she has changed.”
“My wife regrets her past actions,” Robin concurred. “She knows what she did warrants the steepest punishment, but I can personally vouch for her redemption. She’s spent every moment since arriving within the Shire trying to amend her life, and she has my full trust and support.”
“And what are you asking for her?” Snow asked, “that she be allowed to remain here with your people?”
Robin shook his head. “She wishes to atone for her past,” he said. “She wishes to accompany us and lend her aid. She wishes to enter her former kingdom once more before this fight before us. We know she’s broken her terms of banishment by returning to Misthaven, but we ask your leniency. She wishes nothing but to be of service to you and to your daughter.”
Snow took a step back, looking over at David, indecision written all over her face.
“What do you think?” she asked in a low voice.
David took her hands, his eyes catching hers in reassurance. “I will support you in whatever decision you make.”
“But what do you think?” she asked.
He was quiet for a moment, obviously giving the matter thought. “I think,” he said finally, “that our daughter has a hell of a fight ahead of her. Destroying the sword, particularly now that the Dark One is free, will take everything within her. The more help and protection she has with her in the fights to come, the better. If the Jones brothers believe that Regina has changed and is truly working toward our good, the only wise course would be to accept her offer of help.”
“Very well,” Snow said, turning back toward Robin. “We gratefully accept any and all help you and your men can give us in the endeavors before us. As for Regina, should she prove herself true in defending Emma, perhaps we can reconsider her terms of banishment.”
Robin smiled brightly. “That’s all we ask, Your Highness.”
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They left Misthaven at dawn the next morning. It would be two or three days of hard travel to get to the Underworld. Merlin had offered to magically transport Emma and the sword, but after some debate, the consensus had come in against the offer. The Dark One was, after all, out there, and it would be unwise to alert him to their whereabouts anymore than was strictly necessary. Merlin’s magic would leave an unmistakable trail.
And so walking it was.
Regina couldn’t say she particularly relished the thought of the hike–particularly as the heat and humidity intensified the closer they came to the Underworld–but it wasn’t to be helped, and she had her magic to protect her, her little boy safe and sound in Misthaven, and her husband at her side, so supposed she didn’t really mind it.
Truth be told, traveling with the Savior and her husband was far preferable to being stuck back in the Nottingham camp worried and waiting for a possible attack.
A curious joy had filled Regina ever since Robin told her of his audience with Snow and David. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her old home and her people until she returned and found herself barred from crossing the kingdom line. The thought that she might finally earn her redemption through helping the Savior filled her with joy.
Beside her, Robin took her hand, linking their fingers, and Regina smiled up at him, giving his hand a quick squeeze. To be sure, her banishment hadn’t been all bad, not by a long sight. If she hadn’t been tossed from her home, she’d have never met Robin or Roland; she’d have never known true love.
She ought to toast to the king's memory for that fact alone. Robin was the greatest blessing of her long life, and without him…well, it didn’t bear consideration.
Still, despite the joy of her banishment perhaps being lifted, Regina was far from carefree. There would be pain and sacrifice and a fair sight of trouble before all was said and done.
“You look troubled, love,” Robin said, looking closely at her.
She shrugged, realizing all of the sudden that what he said was true. She was a bit troubled, although she couldn’t quite pinpoint what precisely was bothering her. “I suppose I am,” she said finally.
“Care to let me share your burden?” he asked lightly.
He wouldn’t pry or coax her to talk if she didn’t wish to; he was good like that, but she knew from experience that he was quite the good listener.
“It’s nothing specific,” Regina said finally, “just a feeling of foreboding, like the darkness inside wants to rise up and take over.”
She shot him a quick look, half afraid her confession would concern or scandalize him, but she needn’t have worried, his expression never varied from the attentive concern he’d shown before she spoke.
“It’s an effect of the sword, I’d wager,” he said with a nod to her side.
Regina looked down at the scabbard, out of which the decorated hilt of the Dark One sword peeked, and she felt the relief fill her. Robin was right; of course he was right.
As part of their security detail, the assembled group heading to the Underworld had decided that they’d take turns carrying the blade. This would make it more difficult for anyone who might attack them to get their hands on the sword–and it would have the added benefit of spreading out the misery the sword brought, so no one person had to carry the burden alone.
“Robin,” Regina asked, “what if Queen Snow and King David hadn’t reacted the way they did? What if they’d arrested me, executed me for returning as the terms of my banishment entitled them to do?”
“They didn’t,” Robin said simply.
“But if they had?” Regina pressed.
Robin shrugged. “If they had attempted it, I would have fought to the death to defend you.”
He said it in such a simple, matter of fact way that it took her breath away.
“Would you really?”
He smiled tenderly at her then. “Don’t you know, Regina?” he asked, “you are the greatest love of my life. I’ll fight beside you, defend you, support you until my dying breath.”
She turned toward him, meaning to bring his lips down for a quick kiss, but from the corner of her eye she spotted them–an entire army heading their way. Deep within her, Regina felt her magic leap to life as she called a warning to her fellow companions.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hans, formerly of the Southern Isles and current king of Arandelle felt his elation soar as he spied the company of men and elves up ahead. This was his moment! This was the moment he proved himself to the Dark One, and in doing so cemented his power forever.
Growing up as the youngest of thirteen sons, Hans had spent his entire life scraping and fighting for every scrap of legitimacy and power he’d ever gotten. Perpetually underestimated, the butt of his brother’s jokes, his rage had built along with his ambition.
Finally, several years ago, he’d found a way to accomplish his dreams. The Dark One had approached Arendelle, proposing an alliance. Queen Elsa, naive, moralistic fool that she was, had rejected him outright, but Hans had far more cunning and insight.
He’d arranged an audience with the Dark One wherein he’d promised loyalty to the cause if the Dark One helped him topple Elsa’s reign and installed Hans himself as king.
The Dark One had been delighted to do so, providing Hans with a number of potential ways to bind or even eliminate Queen Elsa’s magic. It had taken a few tries, but in the end, Hans had succeeded in pulling the magic from Elsa and channeling it into a unique weapon–a small dagger, in the shape of a lightning bolt–that he himself could wield.
With her magic taken, the coup was mere child’s play. Hans had toppled Elsa’s reign with ease, and to show his true magnanimity, he’d even refrained from having her executed. He’d merely imprisoned her in the castle dungeons for the rest of her natural born life.
If, upon occasion, he visited her there to taunt her about his successes and her dismal failure, well, no one could fault him for a little crowing, could they?
Hans was not a stupid man; he knew his aliance with the Dark One would not be without cost. He knew one day the Dark One would approach him and ask for a favor as payment, and Hans was more than welcome to give it.
And so, when Rumplestiltskin showed up yesterday demanding his debt be paid, Hans was eager to prove himself true.
“You will find a company of men and elves,” the Dark One said. “They possess a sword, long and jagged. This sword belongs to me, and it is of the utmost importance that I get it back.”
Hans had nodded, understanding the mission. Retrieve a sword. It should be simple enough, shouldn’t it?
“How will I find this sword if they have an entire army?”
“They will be traveling with a woman,” the Dark One said, “the Savior. She will have possession of the sword.”
Hans had seen no value in delay, and so within the hour he’d assembled an army and set out in the direction the Dark One had indicated–toward the Underworld.
It had taken a full day of travel, but as he spotted the group up ahead, he knew his haste had paid off. Now was indeed his moment. Now was the moment Hans of Arendelle showed his quality.
It wasn’t entirely clear who was the leader of this ragtag group Hans had come upon, but there seemed to be a small contingent of the elite who were directing the actions of the rest–two elves, a sorcerer, a man with sandy hair, and two women–one blonde, and the other dark haired. Both looked quite fierce.
Two women.
Which one was the savior? Which one had the sword? It would take some cunning to determine, but Hans’s spirits were not dampened. After all, how difficult could it be to outsmart and disarm a woman?
The older of the two elves drew his sword and stepped forward. “What business have you with our company?” he asked in a hard voice.
Hans noticed each of his fellow traveling companions similarly drawing a weapon of their own, and from behind him, he could hear the murmuring of his men, who seemed to be itching for a battle.
He was more than willing to allow them to quench their bloodlust, should it become necessary, however he supposed he ought to make a token attempt at diplomacy.
“We wish for no more trouble than needs be,” Hans said confidently. “We know that you have a weapon, the sword of the Dark One. Give it to me, and there need be no bloodshed.”
From the corner of his eye, Hans caught sight of the dark-haired woman shifting her hand, resting it on a scabbard. Satisfaction soard. The dark-haired one; she held the sword.
“We wish for violence no more than you,” the wizard said, stepping forward, “but we cannot surrender the sword.”
Hans shrugged. “It is to be war then. So be it.”
With a lazy gesture of his hand, his troops advanced with a shout, and suddenly the plain was rife with the sounds and sights of a battle to the death.
Ignoring the chaos around him, Hans moved steadily forward toward the dark-haired woman. He watched as she produced fireballs from her hands and began tossing them toward the nearest combatants.
A witch, then. It would make this fight marginally more difficult, but he patted the dagger at his side. He had ice magic; it would be more than sufficient to defeat the witch’s fire.
Beside the dark witch, the sandy haired man dropped his bow and arrow in favor of a sword, obviously more useful in hand to hand combat. Hans continued to advance until he was within ten feet of the witch, and then with a flourish he produced his ice dagger.
“The sword, if you please,” he roared so as to be heard over the curses and shouts of pain that surrounded him on the battlefield.
The witch turned toward him with a sneer, hurling a fireball. He was ready for it, easily deflecting it with his dagger.
He pointed the dagger in her direction and let the magic fly, but his aim was off. His magic hit a man behind the witch square in the chest. The man cried out, as the magic spread, and a moment later, he froze solid.
The witch’s eyes went wide for a moment, but if Hans had hoped his display of power and magic would convince her to surrender, he was sadly mistaken. Her eyes narrowed in resolve once again, and she lobbed another tremendous fireball in his direction.
He met it with a beam of ice, the result of which was a harmless puddle of water upon the battlefield.
For several moments the two remained locked in a pitched battle, both evenly matched with diametrically opposed magic. Hans felt his strength begin to ebb; no one had warned him of the enormous toll the use of magic would have within him. He must change his strategy before his endurance was spent.
And then he caught a break.
To the right, another of Hans’s men attacked Regina, charging her with a sword outstretched and an unholy cry upon his lips. Regina dispatched him easily, but it was enough. That momentary break in her concentration was enough to give Hans the advantage he needed.
Pulling from the very depths of his being, Hans called forth from his dagger the strongest beam of magic yet and let it fly with a triumphant laugh.
The sandy haired man at the witch’s left saw what was happening just in time.
“Regina!” he screamed, shoving her out of the way as the full weight of Hans’s magic hit him directly in the chest, his eyes going wide with shock. The man turned toward the witch, murmured something, and then turned to a pillar of ice. The force of the blast continued his momentum, and he fell to the ground, shattering into a million pieces.
“Robin!” the witch yelled, a primal scream of anguish, as she watched what happened, helpless to stop it.
It was only after the sandy-haired man fell that Hans began to wonder if he’d miscalculated. After her moment of anguish, the dark-haired witch got to her feet, and the rage on her face made Hans gulp.
Calling forth an entire, raging inferno before her, she launched it toward him. Hans raised his dagger, but his energy was spent after his last volley. He felt burning, clawing pain as the fireball engulfed him, and then the darkness swallowed him and he felt nothing more.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After their leader and his secret weapon were dispatched, the soldiers of Arendelle beat a hasty retreat. The entire battle lasted no more than a quarter of an hour, and while few of Nottingham’s and Misthaven’s soldiers fell, the losses they suffered cast a pall over the entire assembly.
When the immediate danger was over and the adrenaline and anger from the battle had drained, Regina fell to the ground with a cry of anguish so primal it barely sounded human. Helplessly she reached out toward the pile of ice that was so recently her husband. The ice was already beginning to melt; soon there would be nothing left of Robin Hood.
For a moment, no one moved, paralyzed in their pity and horror, Regina’s grieving the only sound to be heard in the clearing. Finally Friar Tuck and Little John stepped forward, helping Regina to her feet.
“I don’t mean to be indelicate, my lady,” Merlin said finally, with no small amount of sympathy, “but we must continue on. It’s a certainty Arendelle’s men will not be the last to attack us. We must reach the Underworld with all haste.”
Regina turned on him, her eyes blazing with renewed anger. “You want me to just leave him here? He was my husband!”
“I’ll remain with him,” Friar Tuck said soothingly. “I’ll see that he gets a proper burial, a hero’s burial.”
“I should be there! I should be doing that!” Regina thundered.
Little John stepped forward. “There will be time to grieve, my lady,” he said gently, “but as difficult as it is, that time is not now. Robin gave his life for you, for the cause. Don’t we owe it to him to see this through? Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain. See this through.”
Regina took a deep breath, closing her eyes and letting a few last tears leak from them. When she turned back toward the group there was nothing but steely resolve in her eyes. “Let’s go,” she said.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Killian frowned as he walked along. The two hours that had elapsed since the battle were nowhere near enough time to dispel the horror of the day’s events.
A hand slipped into his, and he felt himself immediately relax. His wife’s touch had always had that effect on him. Without even saying a word she could dispel his demons.
“Did you know him well?” she asked softly, her thumb caressing his hand as she held it.
How to answer that question? “No…” he said slowly, remembering the leader of the Merry Men, “While I was within his camp, I was far more focused on being a good soldier, obeying my brother's orders, and watching over a certain lovely blonde lass within the palantir to make friends.”
He winked at her at that last statement, and she smiled in return, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“But his death does pain you, doesn’t it?” she asked after a moment.
He nodded. “He was a good man–strong, honorable, endlessly loving to his family. I believe if we’d been given the chance, we might have become mates.”
“I’m sorry,” she said simply.
“Aye,” he answered. “I am as well, but truth be told Robin is not what is troubling me the most at the moment–at least not directly.”
“What is it that’s bothering you, then?”
He sighed, thinking back to the worst moment of his life. “Regina,” he said. “I know full well what it feels like to lose one’s love in a sudden and violent manner.”
“Milah,” Emma said sadly, reaching up with her free hand to caress his arm.
“Aye,” he nodded. “Though it’s been centuries, and though I’ve moved on and found exquisite happiness with you…”
“The pain will never fully go away,” she finished softly, and he could hear the understanding in her voice.
“Precisely,” Killian said. “When I think back to those first few hours after it happened…the anguish was so sharp, so terrible it nearly felt like a physical pain. I thought I might die of it; part of me wished I would. And now Regina is feeling that same agony.”
He shook his head, brows furrowed. “I can’t say I ever truly got on with Regina; her tongue was always too sharp, her sarcasm too biting for my taste, but I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy.”
“Maybe you should talk to her,” Emma suggested softly. “Of everyone here, you’re the one who can relate to her most right now. Maybe you could give her some advice about how to survive.”
“I was thinking the same,” Killian said. “I feel great sympathy for her, of course, and I wish to help her through this, but it’s more than that as well. We’re far from out of danger yet, and we will need her and her skills to survive the battles ahead. I need to know that she can put the grief aside until the danger is passed and the sword is destroyed once and for all.”
For one moment Killian let himself think of his worst fears. In his mind’s eye, he imagined Emma lying cold and dead at his feet, and even the thought sent icy tendrils of dread through his entire person. Losing Milah had been terrible, but losing Emma was unthinkable. He would not, could not survive that.
“Hey,” Emma said, turning him toward her and cupping his face in her hands. “We are gonna win. We are gonna defeat the Dark One and destroy the sword, and then we’ll go back to Henry and live that whole white picket fence life we always dreamed of.”
He smiled wistfully at her. “I hope you’re right, my love.”
“Duh,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Course I am. I’m always right.”
He chuckled, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. “I shall endeavor to keep that in mind, but for now, I think I’ll have that chat with Regina.”
Having a chat with Regina, as it happened, turned out to be far more difficult than he might have anticipated. After searching through their entire company he couldn’t find her, and no one seemed to know of her whereabouts.
Had she left them? Had she gone back to Robin’s body after all?
Killian began retracing their steps, his unease growing with every passing step. He knew what she was feeling; he had great sympathy for her, but they needed her. If they were to survive the coming conflicts, they needed every advantage.
After five minutes, he found her stooped to the ground next to a giant oak tree. She seemed to be digging at the ground, her face still wet with tears.
“Regina!” he said, jogging to catch up with her.
She turned to look at him and rolled her eyes. “I’m not exactly in the mood for a lecture from the one-handed wonder,” she sneered.
Under other circumstances the biting remark might have raised his hackles, but he could see it for what it was, a desperate attempt to mask her pain.
“It’s not wise to fall behind,” he said gently. “We’re far from safe, and for the security of all, we must stay together.”
She rolled her eyes again. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, but–” his attention was snagged by a bright pulsating red light on the ground, and for the first time Killian realized what Regina had been doing. “Is…is that your heart? Are you burying it?”
She glanced aside for a moment, before turning a defiant glare on him. “What business is it of yours if it is?”
“Regina, this is not the way,” he said gently. “I know what Robin’s death cost you. I know, but quite literally burying the pain will not make it go away.”
Her eyes filled with tears again as she turned her angry glare at him. “Do you really? Do you have any idea what it feels like to lose your spouse? Do you have any idea how agonizingly, torturous it is.”
He nodded. “It feels as though you’ve been ripped limb from limb. As though a vital part of you is just gone and you’ll never again be whole.”
Her eyes widened at his description, and she nodded. “I forgot about Milah. I suppose you do understand.”
“Aye,” he said. “I understand from first hand experience, and I’m not so naive as to believe there’s no chance I might experience it again–only far worse–before this entire ordeal is over. I know what you feel, and I also know burying your heart will not make it go away.”
“But if I can dull it, just for a little while…”
Killian shook his head. “I may not have known Robin well, but I know how much he loved you. A blind man could have seen that. He would want you to heal and to get past the pain. Unfortunately there’s no way to do that without experiencing it, moving through the grief and coming out on the other side.”
“What if I don’t?” she asked in a small voice. “What if this pain actually kills me?”
Killian shook his head. “It won’t. It may not feel like it now, but you will survive, and you will find a way to find joy again, even if the pain of missing him never completely goes away.”
“You sure you’re not just saying that because you need me to protect your precious savior?” Regina said. “You know I can probably do that better without my pain weighing me down.”
“I’m saying it because it’s the truth,” Killian answered, “although I’d be lying if I suggested my wife’s safety isn’t also on my mind. I think you’re wrong, though. I think you’ll be the most effective with your heart intact and in your body. Use that pain. Think of Robin and the sacrifice he made for the cause. Don’t let his death be in vain. Use your pain and anger to avenge him–and the best vengeance you could give him is to ensure that the cause he died for is successful.”
For a moment, Regina simply looked at him, and then she slowly nodded. Stopping down, she scooped her heart out of the hole she’d dug in the ground. After brushing it free of dirt and debris, she took a deep breath, and then plunged it back within her chest.
Killian saw the moment the full effect of her grief returned to her, and her cry was so raw, so gut-wrenching that he could nearly feel it within himself. After a moment, she straightened, and he could see the fire in her eyes, the anger, the resolve, the determination.
“Let’s finish this,” she said.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunset was just beginning to paint the sky when the giant, foreboding mouth of the Underworld finally came into view. For one bright, shining moment Emma thought they’d make it without any more opposition.
And then all hell broke loose.
There were swirls of light, giant popping sounds, pillars of smoke appearing. When everything cleared and the dust settled, Emma’s heart plummeted. Their group was completely surrounded by what looked like an army of hundreds, maybe thousands.
One more pillar of smoke–this one red–appeared right before Emma, and when it cleared, a small man with sparkling golden skin and a nasty grin stood before her. She didn’t need the gasps and shudders of her companions to figure out who this man was. An air of evil and malice clung to him like his scaly, almost reptilian clothing.
The Dark One himself had decided to make an appearance.
“Emma Swan!” he said with a giggle that was anything but pleasant, “the Savior herself! Delighted to finally meet you in person.”
Emma crossed her arms. “Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One,” she drawled. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”
He giggled again, and the sound made Emma want to punch him in the face. He took one deliberate step toward her. She held her ground.
“You’ve put up a good fight so far,” the Dark One said, his face darkening, “I can appreciate that, but the time for fighting against me is over. Hand over my sword or suffer my wrath.”
Emma took the man’s measure immediately. She’d been tormented by her fair share of bullies throughout her years in the foster system. She hadn’t allowed herself to be intimidated by bullies then, and she damn well wasn’t about to start now. If she was going down here, she was going down swinging.
“Yeah, I have a counter offer,” she said. “Go screw yourself.”
Beside her, she heard Killian groan.
“If it’s war you want,” the Dark One said, “that can be arranged. Just know what happens next is on you!”
Emma felt the magic at her fingertips and she prepared for the battle ahead. “So get on with it, or are you gonna villain monologue all day?”
With a dramatic flourish of his hand, the Dark One signaled his troops and the battle began. Granted, Emma hadn’t exactly been in a lot of wars in her lifetime, but this battle was like nothing she’d ever experienced, like nothing she’d even imagined. The Dark One’s forces fought like absolute demons, with a speed and strength and brutality that would have been terrifying had she the time to think about what was happening.
The sounds of blades clashing, men and elves screaming in pain, curses were all around her, the smell of blood a sharp tang in the air. Emma moved back and forth between using her fists and using her magic depending on the particular soldier she faced.
She’d guessed the Dark One would go directly for her–it was her, and in particular Excalibur, that she held that he wanted, after all–but he kept a wide berth from her. She didn’t understand it at first, but then it came to her in a flash.
He can’t harm me while I hold the sword.
At least that was one mark in her favor, although the protection evidently did not extend to her companions. The Dark One attacked them with sadistic glee.
Emma punched the latest soldier to attack her, and he fell to the ground, knocked out cold. She glanced around, looking for her husband, needing to make sure he was still holding his own.
What she saw made her blood run cold. He fought off two attackers at once, his sword flying furiously as he fought with unrivaled skill. But his skill did not extend to having eyes in the back of his head. A third soldier approached him from behind, sword raised for the kill.
“Killian!” Emma screamed, “behind you!”
Killian whirled around in time to see his new opponent's blade swinging directly for his heart. Emma watched in horror as he braced himself for impact.
But the impact never came. Just before the blow landed, Liam pushed him aside, stepping in front of the attack. With a sickening squelching sound, the soldier’s sword plunged into Liam’s midsection, and he fell to the ground.
“Liam!” Killian shouted, making quick work of his attackers and then falling to the ground at his brother’s side.
There was so much blood, so very much blood, and Emma watched in horror as Killian put pressure on the wound trying to stop it. He had to get up! He had to keep fighting! They were still under attack!
She fought her way toward her husband, but before she could reach him, August did. “Killian! You’ve got to leave him!” August said.
“No!” Killian said frantically.
“He’s still alive!” August said, fingers at Liam’s throat looking for (and evidently finding) a pulse. “I’ve got him, but your wife needs you! You’ve got to get to the Underworld!”
The mention of Emma seemed to snap Killian out of it, and he got to his feet, his fighting spirit renewed.
They fought more fiercely than Emma had ever seen anyone fight, but it quickly became obvious that they were hopelessly outmanned. The enemy was making advances, and the elves and Merry Men were taking huge losses. Things were beginning to look dire, and for one very dark moment Emma was sure this would be the end. This would be where they all died. This would be where evil defeated good.
But then Merlin gave her a look, somehow both sad and determined. Raising his hands and closing his eyes, he seemed to be marshaling all his strength for…something.
With a loud, almost animalistic cry, Merlin sent forth a blast of magic that went over everyone present, hitting Emma in the face like a tidal wave. Once it had passed over the assembled combatants, every soldier in the Dark One’s army stood frozen where he stood, awake and aware, but unable to move.
For a moment, it was as though time stood still, everyone watching and wondering what would happen next. Emma looked to the Dark One, who seemed immune to Merlin’s magic. Her heart dropped as she saw the wide, delighted smile on his face.
This couldn’t bode anything good.
She cried out in horror as the Dark One plunged his hand into Merlin’s chest and pulled out his beating heart–the wizard’s full effort being spent on subduing the army after all.
“Mrs. Jones we have to go!” Regina said under her voice, pulling at Emma’s arm. “Come on! He’s buying us time!”
Emma couldn’t move; couldn’t look away as the Dark One began squeezing and Merlin cried out in pain.
Regina got in Emma’s face. “Robin died to make sure you got the sword to the Underworld, and I’ll be damned before I let that sacrifice be in vain. Let’s go! Now!”
Emma shook her head, finally breaking free of her horror long enough to take her husband’s hand and sprint toward the cave where they could finally, at long last, destroy the sword once and for all.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Merlin fall to the ground as the Dark One ground his heart to powder, and as the Dark One’s army suddenly unfroze.
Feeling an ache in her chest at the loss of their greatest ally, Emma turned all her attention toward her all out sprint. This time, occupied as he was with the battle before him, the Dark One couldn’t stop her and she, followed by Killian and Regina, sprinted the last few feet into the Underworld.
They’d made it.
Notes:
–Don’t say I didn’t warn you that this chapter would hurt! So Robin and Merlin didn’t survive the battle, but at least Emma and Killian did–and they made it to the Underworld! Btw, you all have the ladies of Discord to thank that Liam didn’t also end up kicking the bucket. I was very seriously considering killing him off, but they convinced me that I shouldn’t, so instead he just got seriously injured.
–Up next: We’ve reached this story’s climax with our heroes making it to the fires of the Underworld. It’s time for Emma to destroy the sword once and for all, but it can’t be as simple as just tossing it into the fire. Destroying the sword is going to require an agonizing price. Brace yourself; there are two more deaths coming up in the next chapter (although one of them I doubt you’ll be at all upset about.), but hey. After this chapter I think I’m finally done killing off characters.
–Two chapters plus an epilogue to go!
NEXT CHAPTER-->
#cssns#captain swan supernatural summer 2019#lotr/cs au#my fanfiction#until the stars are all alight
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caught in irons (1/1)
Summary: Cursed to become a monster at the rising of the full moon, Emma enlists Hook’s help to venture across the sea to find the only one who can cure her. But with the secret held tight to her chest and the full moon edging closer, sometimes secrecy and lies can be worse than the darkest curse.
Rating: M, for violence and blood.
Note: Here it is, my contribution to the @csrolereversal with @clockadile‘s amazing art! I’ve loved writing this and collaborating with @clockadile, and I hope everyone enjoys! Also tagging @cshalloweek since it’s a spooky time of year and this fits in perfectly.
Read on AO3 and see the full art here.
Emma tugs the heavy woolen cloak closer to herself as she hurries down towards the docks, tucking her face into the shadows of the robe. It’s early morning, the dew fresh and cool, a faint salty breeze rising up from the sea. She’s sore and stiff today, her muscles and bones re-adjusting to this human body, and her walk towards the harbour is more of a shuffle, a wince with each step.
She nearly turns around several times before reaching the tall, wide brig ship. She’s putting everyone at risk by stepping one foot onto its decks, but it’s her only choice. Since being cursed one year ago by a vengeful witch, each month has been tortuous, a mess of blurred memories and agonizing pain, and Emma can’t bear it anymore.
Her family had been supportive for the first few months, vowing to find a cure for the curse, but soon the frightened looks and wide-eyed stares started sticking around longer and longer, and Emma couldn’t stay there, not anymore.
The first month on her own was the worst. She’d disappeared into the thick forest, away from as many people as she could manage, and curled up in a thicket of branches, shaking against the pain in her bones as she lost her mind, lost her body, lost her sense of humanity all together.
Once she’d woken, shivering and bloody in the snow, crying and scared, a dead deer nearby, Emma had pulled herself together. There was no time to weep for her circumstances – not anymore. She’d found her shredded clothing, put on what remained, and set about to learn more about this curse and how to break it.
It was a fruitless few months, full of frustration and painful transformations that she was helpless against, but finally Emma learned of a witch across the sea rumoured to be able to break any curse. This witch has been legend and myth for years at this point; Emma’s not sure she’s even real, but she’s the best lead she’s had.
The next step was to figure out a way to get across the massive, kingdom-separating sea. She couldn’t take a naval ship, lest her parents have put out a search for her, and so had set out for the most notorious pirate port in the country.
Hence her appearance at the harbour this morning, standing before the large white-sailed ship. She’d met its captain two days ago – the day before the full moon – in a nearby tavern. She had pushed half of her gold towards him, begging for passage on the ship to the land across the sea. He’d taken it easily, his smile growing at the sight of the gold, his deep blue eyes glittering with the reflection of the coins.
“For this, darling, I’ll take you anywhere.”
“Just to the closest port across the sea,” she’d insisted. “As quickly as possible.”
“It will take us nearly a month,” he’d said, tossing one of the coins into the air. The gold had flashed against the tavern’s dim lighting, a golden orb against the black backdrop, and Emma had flinched.
“I have to be there before the next full moon,” she’d said, her heart thudding against her chest. “It’s – it’s critical. I – I have an appointment I cannot miss.”
The captain – Hook – had seemed unconcerned, tossing the gold coin back up into the air before catching it swiftly. That coin and the rest disappeared into the depths of his thick black leather jacket as if by magic, and he’d shrugged, unbothered.
“Certainly. We depart in two days’ time.”
And so, here she is, two days later, her muscles sore and aching, the after-effects of the moon’s curse a sharp reminder of just what she’s risking. But she has no other choice.
“There you are.”
Hook drops down from the gangplank, striding towards Emma. His hair is windswept, coat flaring out dramatically behind him. He extends a hand towards her to lead her towards the ship, and Emma accepts it, if only to stop herself from turning and running.
“Ready for an adventure?”
He says it grinning, and Emma manages a smile back. “As ready as I can be,” she replies, and lets Hook lead her onto the ship.
He introduces her to the crew, who seem pleased to meet their rich new benefactor, and they set sail from the port a few hours later. The first few days pass easily in calm waters and clear skies, and against herself, Emma finds herself drawn to this pirate captain. It’s perhaps because she’s been so alone the past few months, starved of any real human connection, but there’s something more to it too. She feels like she’s known Hook a lot longer than just the few days they’ve been on the ship. He’s courteous and polite, nothing like the tales she grew up hearing of the pirates who ransacked her parents’ coast and naval ships. While she’s not dissuaded entirely from those stories, for a pirate, Hook has been nothing but lovely to her. She is given his cabin to sleep in for the duration of the trip, and when she ventures out of it during the long days at sea, he’s warm and kind, showing her the ropes of ship life, so to speak. How to tie the numerous knots needed for the rigging, how to steer the ship at the helm, how to raise the sails high and strong to catch the wind.
The first few days, Emma eats alone in the cabin, but a week into the journey, Hook has joined her for meals too. He tells her about his life at sea, how he came to be the captain of this ship, of the many exotic and faraway lands he’s visited. Emma has heard of these many lands, been to a few herself, but it’s far more interesting to hear his stories. He tells them from the perspective of a pirate captain, of the sidestreets and dark underbellies, versus hers on the cosseted, well-planned royal tours.
She talks about her life in return, but leaves out the main details of who her family is and what has happened to her for being a part of that family. Emma doesn’t say what her appointment is across the sea, not even sure where to begin with a lie that could cover the importance of it. It’s obvious Hook senses the subject is difficult, and she’s grateful that he doesn’t ask any details.
One day, Hook brings out his sword, the sharp edge gleaming in the hot sun. He gives her one of his own to practice with, and Emma holds it evenly in her hand, balancing its weight. She thinks about telling him that she’s known how to fight since she could walk, taught by her father and mother personally, but she doesn’t get the chance before he’s lunged at her, and the swordfight commences.
Though, it doesn’t last too long.
“You’d make a hell of pirate,” he says with a laugh, as she reaches down to pull him to his feet, his hand curling tightly around hers. “Who taught you to fight?”
Emma smiles, even though her heart twinges in her chest at the thought. “My parents.”
He catches her expression, and he tightens his grip on her hand, his thumb running comfortingly across the back of it. “What happened to them?”
“I had to leave,” she replies honestly, because that at least is true. “But I hope to see them again one day.”
He’s watching her closely, eyes warm and knowing, and it takes a good deal of willpower for Emma to drop his hand and turn away, handing his sword back and then retreating back below deck to gather her thoughts. For the rest of the afternoon, Emma paces back and forth in the cabin, at war in her mind.
She needs to get a grip on herself; she hasn’t allowed herself to get close to anyone since leaving her family, and Hook is making it hard to keep that up. But, it’s for his own protection, she tells herself. The further away she keeps people, the less chance there is of Emma hurting them.
But … Emma knows that’s not really the truth – she’s not sure she could face the thought of another person learning the truth about her and backing away in fear. Of looking at her as though she’s a monster, something to be feared and hated. Though this curse has broken her beyond belief already, she doesn’t think she could handle that again.
As the days tick closer and closer to the next full moon, the apprehension and worry that always accompanies this time of the month starts to fill Emma with dread. Hook has said they’re making good time, but several days before the full moon, out in the middle of the sea, threatening storm clouds appear over the horizon.
“That doesn’t look good,” Emma comments to Hook, standing at the helm with him as the first winds begin to reach them, whipping their hair into tangles.
“No,” he replies, brow furrowed heavily. “No, it does not.”
Hook calls for the crew to secure the sails against the coming storm, and they manage to do it just in time before the first lashing of rain reaches them. Emma and Hook are soaked within moments, the calm ocean stirring into dangerous waves that rise high enough to drench the deck with icy seawater.
She hurries back down below decks, and settles herself in dry clothes as she watches the flashes of lightning and pounding rain from the windows of the captain’s cabin. It seems never-ending, this storm, and it’s a full two days before the winds and rain break, the ship flooded and groaning from its lashing. There’s minor damage all over the ship, and the crew spends several hours doing repairs as best they can with their limited supplies before the ship is sailing again.
They’re still on course, as far as Hook can tell, and when Emma rises late on the morning of the full moon, a sense of peace has settled over her. If all goes well, this will be her last transformation. They’ll make port this afternoon, she’ll disappear into the woods for the night, and then resume her search for the witch in the morning.
Emma spends most of the day sleeping on and off, trying to prepare herself for the night. The transformation is always exhausting, and she needs as much as sleep as she can manage. She’s not paying too much attention to the world outside the cabin, wrapped up in her thoughts about what’s going to happen, but when she awakes from one of her naps, thinking it must be late afternoon now, she glances outside the windows of the cabin and realizes there’s no land in sight.
A bubble of concern starts to grow in her chest, and Emma ventures up to the deck, joining Hook at the helm. He’s frowning at his star charts and navigation books, muttering to himself, and Emma’s sense of concern only deepens.
“What’s the matter?”
“The storm,” he replies, not looking up. “I thought we’d be mooring today, but … well, the storm sent us further west than I thought. It will be a few more days until we can make port.”
Her stomach drops, and Emma reaches out to the helm, gripping it tightly to stop herself from collapsing into a heap on the ground.
“We … what?”
“It’ll be a few more days,” Hook repeats absently. “Hopefully your appointment can be delayed.” When she doesn’t answer, he glances up to her. His expression, which had been twisted into a grimace of annoyance, changes swiftly to one of honest concern. “Emma, what’s wrong?”
“We need to get to shore today,” she says, gasping against the mounting pressure threatening to send her into a full-blown panic. “Anywhere, any place.”
He frowns. “We’re miles away from any land.”
The world is starting to turn black at the edges of her vision. No, no, no … this will be worse than her first transformation, when no one knew what was happening, when she’d – when she’d hurt so many innocent people who were only trying to help her.
This time, Emma knows what is going to happen to herself, to the crew, to Hook.
She turns sharply away from him, darting back to the cabin below. She doesn’t know what to do, but she starts throwing her few meagre belongings into a bag, wanting nothing more than to get off this ship, needing to get off the ship.
“Emma, what’s going on?”
Hook has followed her, shutting the door to his cabin firmly behind him, and he crosses to join her at the small table, a comforting hand at her shoulder. But she pulls away from his grasp, and holds her hand out, warning him to stay back.
“I need to get off this ship,” she says, her voice barely a sound as her throat closes up in fear. “Now, before night falls. Can you help me lower the lifeboat to the sea?”
“The – the lifeboat?” He shakes his head. “No, Emma. I can’t let you take that, what if the storm returns? That would be a death sentence. Whoever – whoever you’re meeting for your appointment, surely they will understand a few days delay. They’d rather you show up late than not at all, which is what will happen if you go out into these waters in that little boat, which, mind, I’m not even sure if it survived the storm in fair conditions, we haven’t checked it yet –”
“I don’t have an appointment!” Emma shouts, interrupting his rambling, making him go wide-eyed. “I need to get off this ship now!”
She makes to move past him, to go up to the deck to search for the lifeboat, damn his considerations, but he blocks the exit, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
She takes a deep breath; there’s no time to deny or hide it now, not when every minute she remains on this ship is dangerous. The longer she fights Hook about this, the less time she’ll have to figure out a solution.
“Several months ago, I was cursed to – to become a monster. Every full moon. I can’t stop it; I can’t control it. I was trying to get to someone to cure me before the next moon, but – but now that we’re off course … Hook, I – I’m dangerous. I’m a killer and I can’t help it. I need to get off this ship.”
She explains further: how a witch cursed her over a year ago, how she’s been on her own for months searching for a cure, how she found out about the witch across the sea who could help her. How she loses all sense of her humanity when the full moon rises, her memories from the next morning only of blood and pain, how her bones ache for days afterwards, how she cannot stop herself no matter how much she wishes she could.
When she finishes, her voice trailing off into a miserable expression, Hook is staring at her now, speechless for the first time since she met him. His eyes are wide and alarmed, and Emma’s heart breaks. It’s the expression she’s been dreading for weeks, the expression of fear, of suspicion, of danger.
Of realization that she’s a monster.
She swallows back a sob, forcing her emotions aside, turning her voice to steel. She has to be strong, she must be – otherwise, they’re all doomed.
“If I can’t get off this ship, you have to lock me up. In the brig, or somewhere where I can’t hurt anyone. Now, before – before it’s too late.”
He regards her silently for a long moment before nodding once, his face now oddly expressionless. It’s nearly worse than the alarmed expression from before; Emma’s not sure which makes her heart break more.
“Alright. Follow me.”
He leads the way down into the depths of the ship, into an area used as a mixture of storage and sleeping quarters. It’s pitch black down here until he lights a lantern. The piled crates and the hanging hammocks cast eerie shadows, making it look like there are long, snaky hands reaching out from behind every nook and cranny.
At the far end of the storage area, there is a large wooden door that Hook pushes open with an aching creak. A handful of jail cells are in this room, with iron bars on three sides against the old hull. They appear strong enough to hold a pirate’s prisoner, Emma thinks, as Hook swings open a squeaky door to one of the cells, but certainly not strong enough to hold her.
She inspects the iron bars, her heart sinking, and she turns to Hook, standing outside the cell. He’s watching her closely, his expression still unreadable, and Emma tries not to flinch.
“Do you have any chains?” she asks, her voice as steady as she can make it. “This – this won’t be enough.”
He inclines his head in a brief nod, and disappears back the way they came, returning a few minutes later with four iron shackles in his hand and hook. They rattle and drag across the floor as he returns to her, and he looks at them and then her dubiously.
“Are you sure you’ll need these?” he asks, and Emma nods.
“Trust me. You all will be better off if I do.”
He remains doubtful, but helps her get the chains onto both of her wrists and ankles. They’re heavy iron manacles that are icily cold, sending a chill down Emma’s spine as they’re locked around her limbs. Hook links the chains through the iron bars, locking her in place in the cell, stepping back to observe her.
“Emma,” he begins, reaching out to her, but she leans back, as far as the chains allow. He drops his hand to his side, staring at her in concern, and he shakes his head once, distractedly. “Listen, it’s going to be okay,” he says, earnestly. “You’ll be safe here, and tomorrow, we’ll figure something out, okay? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Emma laughs, half-strangled and hysterical. The thought of tomorrow, once so hopeful and promising, now seems very, very far away. She drops down to the floor, curling her legs up to hug them, the chains rattling heavily on the floor as she moves.
“It’s not me that I’m worried about. It’s all of you.”
He remains silent for a few more moments before, to her surprise, he takes a seat across from her, on the floor outside of the cell. They don’t speak for a long while, Hook leaning against the wall and fiddling with the edge of his hook, Emma hugging her knees and trying not to cry.
“You know,” he begins, his voice slow and tinged with reassurance. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of monsters. Vengeful gods, sea creatures, mermaids, even cursed demons.” He gestures with his hook vaguely at the last point, a wry grimace across his face. “I know you’re worried about what’s going to happen, but it will be okay, love. I’ve faced monsters before.”
Emma appreciates what he’s trying to do, but there’s no consoling or comforting her, not now. “You don’t know me, Hook,” she says flatly. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
After that, he doesn’t try to argue the point anymore, and they descend into silence again. Time passes immeasurably, anxiety and dread filling the small brig as each moment brings them closer and closer to the full moon rising. And then, as it does every month, the start of the transformation begins with pain.
It’s agonizing, this pain. Her bones begin to fracture and re-form as another being, her muscles twisting and stretching to accommodate the changes, as her organs shift from one part of her body to another. Emma doubles over as the first wave of pain hits her, clenching her teeth and letting out a weak moan, unable to stop herself.
“Emma?”
“You’d best go,” she grinds out, her voice a hoarse whisper. “It’s – it’s starting.”
He hesitates, watching her helplessly, but at her glare of urgency, he rises. But before he gets too far, Emma’s hand shoots out from behind the bars, grabbing at his leg to stop him.
“Barricade the door to this room,” she pleads, half-gasping from agony already, “and don’t let anyone down here. No matter what you hear. Tell everyone to sleep up on the deck tonight. Promise me.”
He regards her seriously, before crouching down to her level, covering her hand with his own and holding her gaze steady. “I promise.”
And then he’s gone, taking the lantern with him and shutting the heavy wooden door and plunging Emma into darkness. He locks it, and she can hear him drag heavy barrels and crates towards the door, stacking them as a barricade as she asked. And then, when he’s done and his footsteps have faded, a heavy silence descends.
Now she’s truly alone, awaiting what she knows will be a night of agony and terror. The pain of the transformation grows and grows, her muscles and bones reshaping themselves into a monster’s, and she’s only able to conjure up a desperate prayer that the measures they’ve taken will work before she fades into darkness, lost to the curse once more.
xxxxxx
The smell of the humans linger in the sheets, in the discarded clothing, in the very air.
So hungry, always so hungry.
They’re near, the humans. So near she can almost taste them.
The moon’s blessing is not enough time, never enough time to satisfy the hunger.
The hunger needs more, more, always more.
The irons are cold, the bars are weak, and the barricade is nothing.
The hunger will not be stopped.
xxxxxx
After leaving Emma barricaded and chained in the brig, Hook gathers his crew and tells them of what he’s learned. They’re horrified and terrified, as they should be, but set about readying the deck for a night out under the moon, instead of down below. Night fell in the time he spent with Emma, and a heavy fog has rolled in, casting the ship in faint, grey light from the clear, full moon above.
It’s eerily silent for a long time; Hook and the crew sit nervously about the ship, all of them on edge, holding their breath. None of them, including Hook, really know what is going to happen to Emma, but from her fears and her tears, Hook knows it's something they should all be afraid of too.
A loud crash breaks through the silence, sending several crew members jumping to their feet in surprise. Several more crashes and bangs follow that, until it’s a near constant thundering of noise emerging from below deck. Howls and growls echo up through the wooden planks, and loud crashes and bangs startle everyone each time they happen. All of them turn to stare at the closed door leading below decks, as if at any moment it will burst open, which, Hook thinks, is starting to become more and more of a possibility.
“What kind of monster is she?” Smee mutters.
An ear-shattering crash booms from down below before anyone can answer Smee, the loudest of the cacophony by far. Hook is on his feet instantly, marching towards the door and announcing without thinking twice, “I’m going down there.”
His crew cry out in alarm, a few even rising to stop his path, and Smee shouts, “Captain, don’t be a fool!”
Hook shakes them away; he’s made up his mind. He can’t spend all night up here, listening to the chaos below. Emma made him promise to stay away, but he can’t let this go on without knowing that she’s alright.
The crew send prayers to any god they believe in and worried cries after him, but Hook ignores them. He shuts the door to the upper decks tightly behind him, ensconcing him in the darkness of the lower decks. And though the sounds of whatever chaos was going on down here above deck had been loud, as he moves deeper into the ship, there’s a heavy silence growing now, as heavy as the fog outside. Hook crouches down low as he maneuvers his way through the ship, to the area where Emma was locked up, on high alert for any sign of her.
Hook rounds a corner that leads into the storage and crew sleeping quarters, and immediately skids to a stop. Even though it’s pitch black down here, he can see the damage already done : the barrels and crates he’d barricaded against the door leading to the brig are scattered around, broken shards of wood and iron nails even reaching him at the other side of the room. Hammocks have been torn from their hooks, shredded into thin strip that hang limply from the ceiling. The cannons have claw marks dragged down their iron surfaces, scratches as long as the sword at Hook’s belt.
And there, half-obscured by a large crate and a row of the cannons, is what he assumes must be Emma. But there is nothing of the pretty young woman in this beast’s features. The eyes are a gleaming emerald, glowing out from the darkness, set against shimmery blonde fur. Though its wearing the same blue tunic as Emma had been, its seams stretched and bulging, that’s where the similarities end.
All traces of her are gone, and only a monster remains.
The beast hasn’t noticed him yet, and Hook drops to the ground, scooting up against a crate and out of the line of sight. His heart is hammering out of his chest, fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Emma hadn’t been kidding when she said she turned into a monster; she was able to escape from the cell and chains easily, the barricade nothing more than an irritant in her way.
He chances a look over the top of the crate. The beast is growling to itself, breaths heavy and strong, as it smashes into nearby barrels and crates, meandering its way towards him. It walks upright, towering at least two feet above his own height, its head scraping the ceiling.
He holds his breath as the beast stalks closer and closer. The heavy chains he’d put around Emma’s legs and arms earlier that evening are gone, except for one around the wolf’s left upper arm. The chain drags heavily behind the wolf, a thud, thud, thud with each step it takes.
When it is about three feet from him, the beast suddenly pauses, lifting its head into the air and sniffing. Hook is frozen in place, and the wolf whirls its head around to his direction, eyes locking directly on his.
The wolf acts before he can even think. It lunges forward, swiping out with a large, clawed paw. He just manages to lean back and away from its reach, scrambling backwards as quickly as he can. The wolf advances in turn, stalking towards him, rage and hunger burning in its eyes.
He shuffles backwards, slamming hard into the side of the ship. There’s nowhere else to go – the wolf looms over him now, baring its teeth. They’re as sharp as a sword, and the wolf’s breath is hot as it bears down over him.
“Captain!”
He chances a glance; two of his crew had followed him, and are standing in the doorway, gaping. The wolf turns its attention from him, distracted by the newcomers, and Hook takes the chance to jump to his feet, running and leaping over a crate in the process to get away.
“Run!” he shouts to the crew, and they don’t need telling twice.
The three of them race through the pitch black underbelly of the ship. Hook knows this ship like the back of his hand, but it has never seemed more threatening – each shadow makes his heart skip a beat and each creak of the vessel makes him nearly jump back in terror. It doesn’t help that the wolf thunders along behind them, smashing into the walls and crates as it comes. Its lack of familiarity slows it down enough for Hook and the crew-members to escape up to the deck, running for their lives.
Outside, amongst the fog now coating the ship like a fresh coat of paint, the crew have assembled themselves with weapons. As Hook and the two crew members run onto the deck, several crew heave a barrel into the door frame. It rolls and strikes the wolf in its front legs just as it was about to emerge, making it lose its balance and crash to the floor with a heavy thud.
The crew scatter after that – to the helm, to the bow, to the crow’s nest. Hook himself heads for the rigging, hauling himself up and away from the deck, as the wolf regains itself, now nothing but fury.
It tips its head back and lets out a long howl at the moon, just barely visible through the thick fog. The howl ricochets out over the ocean, cold and hollow, and sends chills down Hook’s spine.
The wolf surveys the ship as the howl echoes loudly around them all. It sets its sight on the nearest crew, and launches itself towards them. They scream and scatter, and a few fight it off as best they can. Their clubs are no hindrance to the beast, and their swords bounce uselessly off the thick hide, and they only succeed in making it angrier and angrier. The wolf lashes out with its claws, cutting and maiming as it goes, snapping with its jaw and making his crew scream in agony.
Hook watches from the rigging, frozen. A part of him is still struggling to believe what’s happening, that the young woman he’s come to know over the past month is this beast, attacking and injuring his crew, but another part of him, the fiercely protective and loyal captain part of him, is emerging too. If he doesn’t act, and act soon, this beast will kill everyone aboard this ship.
And he can’t let that happen.
“Hey!” he shouts, trying to draw the wolf’s attention away from his bloody and hurt crew. “Over here!”
The wolf turns, eyes focusing on him, barely flickering in interest. He throws a bundle of knotted rope down at the wolf; rope he and Emma had been using to practice earlier, he thinks faintly, as it soars through the air and strikes the wolf hard in the snout.
It does no damage, but the wolf abandons the crew and stalks towards the base of the mast, haunches raised. Hook pulls himself higher into the rigging, clutching at whatever he can with his hand and hook, as the wolf snaps up at the edges of his coat. Years of experience make it easy for him to scramble onto the large crossbeam of the mast, walking across it like a balance beam, but it’s not enough. With strength and agility he hadn’t thought the monster could have, the wolf scales the rigging like a well-seasoned sailor, advancing towards him as easily as if it was on solid ground.
He draws his sword, but he’s faced with an impossible duel – a murderous monster against a man who has no desire to kill in return. The wolf slinks towards him, bloody saliva dripping from its fangs, its eyes glowing through the fog. He takes a step back, nearly tripping in the loose ropes, and the wolf seems to almost grin in triumph.
A clawed arm lunges at him, ripping into his jacket and tearing it to shreds. It doesn’t draw blood from his skin – thankfully – but makes him lose his balance. He falls backwards, hitting the beam hard; the ropes on either side of the beam, holding up the mast and sails, act like a net, catching him before he falls to his death.
Though now he’s trapped as the wolf advances on him, opening its jaw wide for the kill, so he’s not sure the rope netting did him any favours. He squeezes his eyes shut as the wolf hovers over him, drawing up his hooked arm in a last attempt to protect himself.
But instead of the attack he braced himself for, it lets out another howl, so loud it nearly deafens him. This time, however, it’s a howl of pain, and he opens his eyes to see a jewelled hilt of a dagger sticking out from its lower back.
“Silver,” Smee calls out from the deck below, his face ashen and hollow. “They hate it.”
Forgetting Hook entirely now, the wolf drops from the rigging, landing hard on its feet on the deck. The beast rips out the dagger, stalking towards Smee, hitting out at him with its arm and knocking him backwards. The claws draw across his chest, his shirt blooming with blood, and he cries out in pain, clutching at his chest. The wolf roars and jumps up to the railing of the ship, as if searching for a better launching point to throw itself at the first mate, and at that, Hook sees his chance.
He’s managed to return to his feet, and from this angle he can see exactly what he needs to do. He and the crew can’t go back and forth distracting the wolf until morning; it’s too vicious and dangerous for that, and will only leave them all dead in the end. So instead, bracing himself for what he has to do, he reaches up for a loose rope, and wraps it tightly around his arm.
“I’m sorry, love,” he says, hoping that somewhere within the beast, Emma can hear him. “But I can’t let you kill my crew.”
The wolf isn’t paying him any attention now, stalking towards Smee and a few other members of the crew, all clustered at the base of the helm. Hook pushes off the mast, swinging out over the deck, the rope tugging painfully at his arm as it propels him right to the wolf. He kicks out his legs, and thuds into the side of the wolf, punting it off balance.
And right off the edge of the ship.
The wolf howls in rage as it plummets into the black waters below, its howl swallowed by the sea as it hits with an enormous splash that sends seawater nearly back up to the deck itself.
Hook, who’d nearly swung out over the edge of the ship himself with the momentum, lands back on the deck and disentangles himself from the ropes before hurrying over to the edge of the ship. The waters are dark and choppy below, but the wolf is easy to see, green eyes glaring up at him as it battles against the raging waves, struggling to keep its head above water.
The look in the wolf’s eyes are cold and animalistic, and though he still sees nothing of Emma in the beast, there’s something in that look, something human, something that cuts him to his core.
Betrayal.
He wrenches himself away from the sight, and turns to his crew. From what he’s seen of this wolf, choppy waves won’t cause it any harm, and his crew need his attention. They’re a sorry bunch, bloody and moaning, and Hook orders the uninjured to help the others, setting about doing the same himself, fetching clean cloth from down below to wrap injuries and bandage bleeding wounds.
“We should sail away,” Smee pants, pressing a wad of cloth to the wound on his chest, blood soaking through it instantly. “Lest it tries to climb back up.”
The others mumble in agreement, but Hook shakes his head. “No. We’re staying here. She’s cursed in this form when the moon rises,” he explains, looking up to the sky, to the glowing orb amongst the stars and black, inky sky. “If we leave, we’re condemning her to Davey Jones’ Locker when she returns to herself.”
The crew mutter to themselves, apparently perfectly fine to leave this beast to the depths of the ocean, but Hook is not. They don’t know Emma like he does; they didn’t spend the day earlier with her where she cried and warned him about what was going to happen, where she made him promise not to come down there. If he had listened to her …
After tending to the injured, the crew set about cleaning up what they can, or curling up to rest and recover from their injuries. Hook perches on the stairs leading to the helm, where he has a view off the starboard side.
The wolf is close by, snapping its jaws and butting its head against the hull. It claws at the ship’s side, looking for something to grab onto to haul itself up, as per Smee’s concerns, but unlike in the rigging, this time it’s unsuccessful. The wolf only succeeds in exhausting itself in its efforts, so it changes tactics, becoming something of a shark, stalking and circling, waiting for its prey.
The rest of the night passes slowly. Each minute is filled with another growl or headbutt from the wolf, assessing the damage to the ship, or tending to the wounded. He checks on the wolf in the water frequently, each time hoping against hope that even though the moon is still high in the sky, he’ll look down and see Emma again.
But it’s a good long while before that is going to happen. After a while, his body and mind numb and drained, Hook drifts off to a fitful sleep. He’s not sure how long he is out before he is awoken by Smee, but the sun has just begun to rise, the sky brightening with faint pinks and purples over the eastern horizon.
“Captain, it’s over! She’s human again!”
He’s up and at the side of the ship at once, but he can’t spot her immediately. It’s not until he sees a flash of blonde hair against the dark waves, glimmering slightly in the faint light of the rising sun, that he realizes she’s sinking. The remaining chain around her arm is pulling her down, and as he watches, her blonde hair slips below the surface and doesn’t re-emerge.
Without a second thought, Hook strips off the heavy leather overcoat, dropping his weapons to the deck, and he jumps up on the railing and over the side.
The water is icy, sending the air shooting out of his lungs, and he gasps as he re-surfaces, taking in his surroundings. There’s no time to waste, and he takes a deep breath, diving under the waves, into the stillness beneath the surface. It’s inky black below the waves, but he can still see Emma, sinking further and further away from him with every moment.
He dives for her, his lungs straining against the depths of the cold water. It feels like forever before he reaches her, grasping her tightly around the waist and swimming them back to the surface. The chain is heavy and pulling them down, even against his efforts. When they break the surface, his lungs filling with air again, he slashes at the chain at her wrist, breaking it free and sending it sinking back to the bottom of the sea.
Emma is unconscious, and doesn’t react when he taps her face or calls her name. Her clothing has been reduced to rags, and even amongst the thrashing waves, he can see the ugly wound in her back from where Smee had thrown the silver dagger. Dark purple bruises are peppered all over her body, but thankfully he can see her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, and he tightens his grip around her waist.
“Come on, love. Let’s get you back to the ship.”
The ship has drifted away from them, and the swim back is long and hard. Finally, when they reach it, the crew help them up with ropes, though they are rightfully frightened and wary of Emma now, and stay far back from her. Both of them dripping wet, Hook carries her down to his cabin himself. She’s still unconscious, and he bandages her back injury as best he can before covering her with blankets.
Then he drops into a chair, entirely exhausted, and just as he waited for the night to first arrive with her and then waited for the night to be over, now he waits again, for when she wakes once more.
xxxxxx
When Emma comes to, it’s the worst awakening from a transformation that she’s ever had. Her bones and muscles are in agony, and she’s cold, oh so cold, even amidst the pile of blankets someone has placed on her.
Emma sits straight up at that, and realizes she’s in the captain’s cabin again. Hook is sitting in the chair beside the bed, his head in his hand.
“Hook?” she asks, her voice croaky and hoarse. “What – what happened?”
He looks up, startled by her voice, and he edges his chair closer to the bed. He looks unharmed, though his shirt is ripped, and he’s pale and shaken.
“You’re awake! Are you alright?”
“What happened?” she asks again, ignoring his question. She needs to know what happened, what she did. “Did – did I get out?”
He nods slowly, watching her carefully for her reaction. “Guess you were right about the chains and the brig.”
Emma’s heart sinks, and she leans back against the pillows, as if the wind itself was knocked out of her with his words. “Did I hurt anyone?” she whispers.
“Not fatally,” he says simply, and Emma closes her eyes tightly, several fat tears escaping and rolling down her cheeks.
She knew the risks, and yet she still gambled with them.
“I’m so sorry. I should – I should have never come aboard. I should have told you, right away. Because you would never have let me come aboard, and none of this would have happened.”
“I should have listened to you,” he counters, and when Emma raises an eyebrow, he continues, “When you said to not come down no matter what I heard. If I had listened, perhaps … perhaps things would have been different.”
“That might not have even worked,” Emma says miserably. “You never know with me. My – my family tried a lot, and they … well, they ran out of ideas after a while.”
He’s quiet for a while, and then asks, “You said you need to find a witch to cure you?”
Emma nods, scrubbing at her eyes. “It’s the only hope I’ve found.”
Hook reaches forward, intertwining his hand into hers, and tilts her head up with his hook, the metal cool and welcoming on the bruise underneath her chin, so he can look into her eyes. “Then let’s find her and end this curse.”
xxxxxx
Emma spends the next few days drifting in and out of sleep. The moon’s events always leave her exhausted, but this time, it’s infinitely more, and she is hardly aware of night and day as time passes. The only passing of time she can make out is the fading of the bruises on her body, and the healing of the wound in her back. The silver dagger had done its damage to her as the monster, burning and scorching the wound from the inside out, and it takes Hook’s best healing potions for it to start to scab and recover.
But the hardest part of her recovery is facing the crew. Their injuries are far worse than any of her own, and though she manages to keep herself calm while she apologizes for lying and hurting them, when she’s alone in the cabin again, Emma cries and cries.
She doesn’t leave the cabin again, not until they finally make port a few days later. She’s cried herself dry of tears, and now, her resolve has returned. She needs to find this witch and find the cure, if it’s the last thing she does.
And thankfully, she now has Hook at her side too. He schmoozes or threatens as need be, and they soon learn the whereabouts of the witch. She is a recluse, residing in a small hut in the middle of the forest, and though the locals warn them of her tricky deals and getting in over their heads by seeking her out, there are no other choices.
They leave the Jolly Roger in the harbour with the crew, with a promise to return within the next month. They have repairs from the storm to attend to, not to mention the damage to the ship from Emma’s claws and the chaos she’d left behind below deck. The crew are happy to see the back of Emma, still traumatized by what she did and what she became, and Emma has already sworn a silent oath to herself that she will never sail again unless she is free of this curse.
Hook and Emma trek through the dark woods, following the directions they obtained from the locals, until they reach a small stone cottage nestled in the middle of tall evergreens, a thin plume of smoke rising from its thatched roof.
Hook knocks, and after a few moments, the door creaks open a few inches, the witch peering through the small crack. She is an old crone, coddled up in layers of raggedy clothing and a thick scarf obscuring her face, but she smiles crookedly at the sight of them.
“Ah,” she says, her voice hoarse and deep. “I’ve been expecting you.”
She swings the door open further, beckoning Hook and Emma in with a gnarled finger. They exchange a look before crossing her threshold. The hut is what Emma imagined a witch’s lair to be: hanging herbs, tables cluttered with bottles and jars of the strangest and grossest items she’s ever seen, a dusty broom by the corner, a blackened cauldron over a roaring fire.
The witch settles herself into an old rocking chair by the fire, picking up a twisted ball of yarn and knobbly knitting needles. She’s silent, focused on her knitting, and Hook nudges Emma, raising his eyebrows encouragingly towards the witch.
Emma clears her throat. “Um, I – I came here to ask you –”
“I know what you want,” the witch replies in a dreamy, singsong-y voice. “And I have what you need.”
Emma swallows, trying to suppress her bubbling relief until she has the cure in her hand. She’s had hope before, and she’s not going to risk losing it again.
“What – how much is it?” she asks, searching in her pocket for her bag of coins. “I have –”
“No money,” the witch replies sharply, pointing one of the knitting needles at Emma like a dagger.
“What, then?” Hook asks, narrowing his eyes at her.
The witch continues knitting, smiling dreamily off into the distance. “For something far more valuable than money,” she whispers. “For something infinitely rarer, seen only in a few special individuals. Something I have been searching for for a long, long time.”
Hook and Emma exchange a look; goosebumps are starting to rise on the back of Emma’s neck and Hook looks increasingly suspicious.
“What do you mean?”
“I will give you the cure,” the witch continues. “The cure for the beast you become every month for an exchange.” She sets her needles down on her lap, leaning forward towards Hook and Emma, one liver-spotted hand reaching out to them. “A lock of each of your hair.”
“What?” Hook and Emma say in unison, and the witch repeats herself, a wide smile growing on her face. She rises to her feet as she says her demand again, and Emma and Hook take a step backwards, out of her grasp.
“Why?” Hook asks suspiciously, his hand drifting to the sword at his belt.
“That is none of your concern,” the witch snaps, her voice no longer ethereal, but hard as a block of ice. “You either agree to my deal, or let your lady remain cursed forever.”
Hook glares at her, and after a long, angry staring contest, he finally nods curtly. “Fine.”
The witch grins, and raises her hand as she advances toward Hook and Emma again. A dagger has replaced the knitting needle in her hand, and before Hook can even flinch away from her, the witch has reached up and grabbed a handful of his hair, cutting away the ends and clutching them tightly in her gnarled fist.
His glare now is downright murderous, but the witch happily ignores him, turning to Emma. The witch does the same to Emma, and then picks up a clear glass bottle from one of her cluttered tables. She slides the hair into the bottle, shaking it so that the golden and black strands mix. A strange white glow envelops the bottle as they do so, making both Hook and Emma stare in surprise, while the witch’s eyes shine with delight. She snatches the bottle up from the table, slipping it into her heavy cloak, patting it securely, and grins widely.
“Just what I was looking for.”
Still disgruntled, Hook clears his throat pointedly, and the witch sends him a withering look as she shuffles to another table. This one is similarly cluttered, and she picks up a thin flask, as gleaming as the full moon.
“You must drink a mouthful every day,” she commands, pressing the flask into Emma’s hand. “It will replenish itself as needed. If you drink it faithfully, then you will no longer be cursed. If you miss a dose, the next moon will see you transform once again. Understand?”
Emma clutches the flask tightly in both hands, her sense of hope and relief finally crashing over her, as strong as the waves from the sea she’d been in on the way here. This – this is it. An answer to her curse, to her prayers, to the monster she’s become. A potion a day and a lock of her hair is a small price to pay, and she can feel her eyes welling with tears, of relief, of gratitude, of freedom.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Emma moves to leave, ready to get out of this place and take a swig of the flask, but Hook holds out his arm, stopping Emma’s path.
“How do we know it will work? What if this is a trick?”
The witch giggles, high pitched and cold. “Guess you’ll have to trust me, Captain,” she replies, and waves her hand. The front door swings open behind them, and she ushers them towards it. Hook, still glaring at her, steps out ahead of Emma, shrugging as if to shake off the air of the witch’s hut, but Emma pauses, turning back one more time.
“Thank you,” she says again. “This means a lot to me.”
The witch smiles, a twinkle in her eye, and says, “Have a safe trip back to your family, dearie.”
A drop of icy realization settles over her like a bucket of cold water, and Emma freezes on the threshold as the witch swings the door shut behind her.
The witch who had cursed her had used the same pet name of dearie.
Emma turns around, ready to pound on the door for an explanation, but the hut is gone. There is only a thick forest wall behind her, a thin plume of smoke fading into the trees any evidence that the hut and the witch had existed at all.
xxxxxx
The next month, when the full moon rises, clear and bright in the night sky above the Jolly Roger as it cruises silently through the calm waters back toward Emma’s kingdom, her home, her family, there is no pain, no terror, no horror.
Only peace.
#cs ff#captain swan#cs role reversal#cs one shot#cs halloweek#cs fic#caught in irons#sliding this in still on the 25th woot!
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It’s time for our last sneak peek of the event, y’all!!!
Tomorrow @seriouslyhooked will be posting Lost Souls and Reveries: Part II, the sequel to Lost Souls and Reveries from cssns18. Artwork by @clockadile. Here’s a sneak peek!!! Be sure to give her lots of love!!!
Sprinting through the woods as fast as her legs would take her, Emma knew it was only a matter of time until she was caught. Still, she would do everything she could to buy more time and try and get away. She and her wolf were in complete agreement about this – she had to keep moving. She had no other choice.
The rush of greenery around her was all new. These woods were unfamiliar, the area unknown, but instincts commanded her in the direction of the river. She ran and ran and ran, and she realized that if she could just get to the waterway, she could use the current to wash away any trace of her. That would buy her time, and what she needed more than anything was time.
In wolf form, the frenzied pace of a run was different. As a human she saw flashes, never fully picking up on everything before her, but this way she felt and saw it all. The animals in the forest stood stock still in fear, or darted into the brush to get away. Birds squawked in alarm from the tree line, and she heard the flutter of wings taking flight even through the wind cutting past her ears. Still she kept moving, pushing, fighting, trying her best to stay ahead.
When she finally reached the clearing and could see the river, she felt another rush. She’d done it! She made it! She just needed to –
Aren’t you glad this thing is dropping tomorrow?
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Dead in the Water (2/2)
Here is its guys, the epic conclusion to this fic, all inspired by @clockadile’s amazing work (just wait until you see her second piece!!!!). I hope you all enjoy it. I’ve had a lot of fun plotting this out with Clock, even if writing it was like pulling teeth at times. My own fault to be certain. It’s a bit strange to know this is the end of my fic writing, but I couldn’t have asked for a better event to go out on. Thank you again to @csrolereversal for putting this all together.
Summary:
Killian Jones may have just had the worst year of his life. The loss of his hand, of his career, and of his pride were almost more than he could take. In a bid to reclaim his life, Killian decided it was time to face his fears, and get back on the metaphorical horse, or in his case, back on the water. Only, the purchase of a haunted second-hand boat may just come at the cost of his sanity.
“The sea is like a cruel mistress. You can love her, you can hate her, but you can never trust her.” - author unknown
A/N: Just to warn readers, this is were the fic earns it’s mature rating for violence. It’s not discussed in extreme detail, but some people may find it upsetting.
Rating: M (foul language sprinkled in and some adult themes)
Also on AO3
Fall turned to winter and winter to spring. The leaves fell, littering the streets, only to be replaced by mountains of snow, which eventually melted off leaving a mess of sludge behind. The city kept going somehow. But The Jolly remained untouched for months, still left barely tied to the dock.
Killian hadn’t actually been out to check on her since his frightening encounter. Wasn’t even rightfully sure if she was still there. He’d been too spooked at first. Then too busy with work.
But by the time March came around, things at work had slowed a bit, and Killian began to wonder about that day. Months had passed and his memory just a little foggy. Had he really seen anything at all? Or had his mind just twisted something up? Like awakening from a dream and not knowing what was real or not. He’d been through so much in the year and a half before. It hardly would have been the first time he’d imagined seeing things.
By April he was all but convinced that the entire thing had been one huge figment of his imagination and was ready to give sailing another go. Starting with just a small trip out to build his courage, Killian waited until well after sunrise, hoping the extra hours of daylight would provide a slight respite from the chill still in the air. He didn’t even bother packing food as his plan was to not go so far out that he couldn’t see the marina.
The Jolly was still there, something he found slightly surprising as the winter waves had been known to blow sailboats clear down the shoreline and he’d barely tossed the rope around the deck cleat. She was also a little worse for the wear. Her sails a bit dirty and tattered around the edges. Soot from the melted snow covered her decks. But she was still afloat, and really, that was the best he could have hoped for.
He did his routine checks, making sure that she was sailable before pushing off, letting the gentle breeze guide her out to sea. He made it about a mile out, just able to still make out the apexes of the ships moored near his spot, and waited. For what exactly he wasn’t sure, but still, he waited for nearly an hour.
The time that passed could only be described as unremarkable. No oddities happening around the boat, no spooky sounds, and no ethereal visions. She was just a boat like any other and just as before, he’d imagined the whole thing.
After bringing her in and properly tying her up, he went to work on setting her to rights. Scrubbing the decks, replacing the frayed ropes, and tending to the sails. The headsail was easily salvageable, but the mainsail needed replacing after leaving it half rolled up. Water and dirt settling in the loose packing, icing over and weighing against it. He knew better, but he’d been in such a state that he hadn’t cared at the time.. He’d have to order a new one before he set out again.
Having eased his mind a bit, the next week went by for Killian in a blur. He’d ordered the new sail as soon as he’d arrived home, and luckily the company he’d purchased from was local to Boston and agreed to let him pick it up directly from their store rather than having it shipped.
Liam seemed a bit shocked at Killian’s previous reluctance to sail, but seemed even more surprised by his sudden determination to start up again. While he didn’t offer to go sailing with Killian again, he did insist that Killian call him before setting sail and after returning just to know that everything was ok.
For his part, Killian agreed, still not having told his brother of his previous difficulties with the lack of wind, nor of the ghoul he’d seen onboard. Not that it mattered much as it had all been a figment of his imagination. A haunted nightmare caused by the trauma of his past.
As Saturday approached, Killian found himself excited for the first time in months. He’d planned a trip to Nantucket Island. He’d never been there but by all accounts it was a lovely little place. It was the Brant Point Lighthouse that had really caught his attention though. Online, it was the quintessential image of New England, and he wanted to see it in person.
By his estimations, it was roughly a three hour trip, a tidbit that only caused him to second guess his plan for a few minutes as the theme song to Giligan’s Island played in his head.
A three hour tour…
Once he’d reclaimed a better hold over his sanity though, he finished planning his exact route, making sure to send a copy of his plans off to Liam, just in case.
He woke up early that morning, ready to replace the mainsail himself before setting off. There was still a bite in the air that left him searching for a sweater and his trusty leather jacket. The one Liam had gifted him just before his first assignment. He even grabbed the gold compass locket from the drawer he’d hid it in after his scare, not having wanted anything around at the time to remind him of that event. Now though, knowing that he’d imagined it all, he felt it only proper to wear it for his first true journey on The Jolly.
It was dark when he arrived to the marina, only the very first hint of light breaking over the horizon. It took longer than expected to get the old sail off, the fabric having fused to the lines over the past months. He’d had to cut some parts off, letting his hook do most of the work while his other hand just followed behind, pulling at the tattered scraps. Eventually the sun rose, the morning light turning from red to orange to yellow.
The sky filled with the lightest shades of blue as he worked on installing the new sail. He was just about finished tying off the last of it when he felt something, a shadow pass over him. Checking the sky above him, he found no clouds. Just an empty blue sky. He closed his eyes, willing his mind not to fail him again, to seize control over himself. But when he opened them again, the shadow was still there. A woman’s silhouette framed in the mainsail he’d just attached. Her hand pressed against it as if she was reaching out to him.
He swallowed thickly, willing the figure to go away, but it didn’t. He froze once again, waiting for it to pass, mentally repeating the mantra his therapist had given him for just such occasions, but no matter how long he waited, the shadow remained.
“Who..who’s there?”
He waited for what seemed like an eternity before he heard it again. The anguished cries, this time less distorted, but just as upsetting.
“Get out!”
That time he didn’t freeze; He didn’t wait for it to disappear. No. That time he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, despite cries from other people milling around yelling at him to slow down. He got in his truck and drove home just as quickly as he could, locking the door behind him and grabbing a bottle of rum he’d stashed in the cabinet above his freezer.
Everything after that was a bit hazy. The next morning he woke to find he’d texted Liam, telling him he was sick and would be out the whole next week. Something he didn’t remember having done.
He spent the entirety of Sunday held up in his apartment, watching bad cable tv programming, hiding from the world. Eight binge hours later, somewhere between Snapped and Homicide Hunter, Killian had a realization. If the spooks only ever happened on the boat, naturally, it stood that it must have been related to whatever happened before he bought The Jolly. It likely happened to the previous owner and that’s why he got such a deal on her.
He had to wait until the next day to contact Ariel’s Antiquities. They were insistent that the info they’d given him before was accurate. That the ship was repossessed from the previous owner for non-payment, but when pressed for details on the who the previous owner, they dodged his questions. Something just didn’t feel right. More determined than ever to uncover the truth, Killian turned to the internet, hoping that perhaps the original owner had registered the ship somewhere. His search of Boston and greater Massachusetts provided nothing. Eventually he stumbled on a national website that guaranteed to prove a comprehensive history report for only twenty dollars. Fortyfive dollars if he wanted addresses as well.
And that was how Killian found himself spending an indecent amount of money on a website called The Hulltruth. It took about thirty minutes before the report was emailed to him, but when it came in, he found that the boat was registered in Storybrooke, Maine and reported missing. The rest of the report was limited, just telling him that the boat hadn’t been in any previous accidents. No address, no name. Just that she was missing.
Of course he’d allowed himself into being swindled. Who else was lucky enough to purchase a stolen boat but him? With his full wrath backing him, Killian found the auction house’s office address and stormed there, ready to raise hell over his stolen second hand haunted boat. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the only person there airing a grievance.
A woman was there, arguing with one of the auction curators. As it turned out, the first edition one of a kind copy of Her Handsome Hero was not the two hundred year old book the house had promised. It was actually a well crafted replica. Despite the letter from an expert that the young woman had brought with her, the staff declared that all sales were final and sent her on her way. Killian wasn’t discouraged though, knowing he had the law on his side.
It took time, and there were threats made, but Killian finally discovered that the Jewel of the Realm had been found off the remote coast of Kittery Point, Maine by one of the auction house’s salvagers. Apparently a number of the items sold there under than label of authentic antiques were actually salvaged on abandoned beaches. Items lost or washed to shore.
The auction house brought the boat back to Boston and sold it as soon as possible rather than report it as found. They tried to claim that since the boat had been abandoned, that it wasn’t technically theft. When pressed about the damage to the boat, they conceded that while the hole had been there when they found it, they were the ones that removed the guts of the boat to make it a more appealing purchase. They told him that the wood was badly stained and they didn’t want buyers poking around trying to figure out what happened. A pointed remark towards him to be sure.
He left with no more answers, aside from the knowledge that The Jolly wasn’t stolen in the middle of the night from a different marina. Or at least so they said. Killian prided himself of behind able to read people, and while the man, Sebastian, had shown a range of emotions, he never appeared to be lying.
The next morning he was still unsettled, not really knowing what happened. Especially given that in her current state, the boat was unusable. He wasn’t going on it just to be frightened within an inch of his life again. The human heart could only take so much. Plus there was the added thrill of the mystery, not that he’d call what was happening a thrill in anyway.
But he needed to know. He needed to find the previous owner, to ask them if they’d had problems too.
That morning Killian packed up his car and headed up interstate ninety five, ready to get his answers. The report he’d bought didn’t have an address, but considering that there was a missing boat report, the local sheriff's station seemed like a good place to start. He’d spent the three hour drive coming up with a cover story. Telling them he’d bought the missing boat wouldn’t accomplish anything. They would simply seize it from him and then cut him out.
So instead he decided it would be best if he claimed to be a reporter, working on a story about a string of boat thefts along the northern coastline. That he was trying to see if they were connected. He’d even gone so far as to look for missing boats online while he stopped for gas. He thought of everything, was prepared for every eventuality, except for the one he got.
Storybrooke was a small quaint town. There were a few people milling about, but as he pulled up to the station, he found himself to be the only car in the parking lot. Slightly worried that he’d find the station locked up, he was surprised that the door was in fact unlocked. The building was small, just a short hallway separating the outside from a large room housing three empty desks. Along the back wall there were two holding cells, also empty. The place seemed to be deserted until he heard a shuffle coming from around the corner.
“Hello?”
“Just a sec!”
I took a moment, but eventually a tall blonde man in jeans and a button down appeared, offering him a handshake. He introduced himself as David Nolan, town sheriff. Killian gave him the reporter backstory and asked if he had some time to talk. He noticed the way the man stiffened a bit as they walked to his office, but the man made no comment. Just led him into another room where he offered him a seat across the desk from his own.
Killian started out vague, just talking about how he was an investigative reporter out of Boston, where they’d experienced a string of boat thefts recently, and he wanted to see if they were in any way related to an uptick of reports stretching through Maine. When he was done, there was nothing but silence as Sheriff Nolan simply looked down at his desk, his hand grabbing a photo frame and clutching it closer to his chest.
In time, with a wrecked voice, the man finally spoke.
“The report you’re asking about. It wasn’t a boat theft.”
“Come again? The report listed it as missing.”
“There’s more than one way a boat can disappear Mr. Jones.” The sheriff gave him a sad smile, passing over the photo. It was a picture of him with another woman. “Her name is Emma. Was Emma.”
Over the next twenty minutes Sheriff Nolan explained to Killian that Emma, a beautiful woman, was his sister. His adopted sister, but family none-the-less. She was a family lawyer in Boston, specializing in divorces and custody issues.
Emma’s job was extremely stressful, angry parents, threatening phone calls, so on the weekends she’d sail up the coast to Storybrooke to visit family. The alone time allowed her to decompress. To let the weight of the world fall from her shoulders.
About a year and a half earlier, just around the same time Killian found himself waking up in the hospital, Emma disappeared. It was a holiday weekend and she’d come up to visit her brother and sister in law. She’d stayed with them for a few days before packing up and heading back. The sheriff explained how he’d begged her to stay for one more day, that there was a storm coming, but Emma had insisted that she’d be ahead of it. That nothing would happen.
And no one ever saw her again. The ship had disappeared too and the assumption was that she’d been caught in the storm and been lost to the sea. They’d searched for weeks, David calling in every favor he could think of, but for all of the searching they never found Emma or The Jewel. The case still remained open, but only as a technicality.
The drive home, all Killian could think about was David, and how much pain he was in. He’d wanted to comfort the man, to tell him that his sister’s boat had been found just down the shoreline, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk losing The Jolly before he’d figured out what happened, and more than that, he couldn’t risk giving David false hope. Not after he’d seen the photograph. The flowing blonde hair, emerald eyes. Not when he knew that the woman in that photograph was the same thing that kept appearing to him.
When he got home, the first thing he did was look up Emma on the internet. She was in fact a family lawyer at Goldman and Mills, a prestigious firm based in Boston. By all accounts she was sharp, with a high success rate. Most of the hits he found were news reports from some of her higher profile cases.
Finally, on page three of his search, he found an article from the Storybrooke Mirror about her disappearance. It was just as the sheriff had said. The working theory was that something had gone horribly wrong and she’d most likely tipped and sank during the storm, too far off the coast, it was assumed that Emma sunk with the ship. All of which would explain why she was now haunting the Jolly.
He wasn’t crazy. His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.
But he did have a haunted ship to deal with.
He waited until Thursday to return to The Jolly, giving himself two full days to build his courage. The plan was to stay ashore, unsure of what might happen. He was ready to confront Emma, or whatever it was that looked like her, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get through to her, or if she was just a demonic apparition, tied to the boat forever. He really shouldn’t have researched spirits.
The marina was empty when he arrived. Most people were at work or already gone for the day. He supposed that may have been for the best. Killian’s ego was bruised enough without a large portion of Boston watching him scream like a young girl.
The Jolly seemed just as empty as it had when he’d bought her, but by now he knew better. She was there, somewhere, lurking. He just wasn’t sure how to reach her. There’d never been one thing that seemed to spark her arrival. The first time he’d been stuck at sea, and the second, he’d been docked simply replacing the mainsail.
“Emma?” Nothing “Emma Swan?”
Still, nothing happened, so he waited, taking a seat on the deck. He waited, and waited, her ghostly form never appearing. Not until the moment the locket slipped out from behind his button up shirt.
“That’s mine!”
He looked up to find her, Emma, before him, hovering above a wooden plank, a small puddle of water filling the deck below her.
“Get out!”
She said the same words just as before, but this time it was different. Gone where the unearthly voices he’d heard echoing around him. Instead, it was just one voice. Just her.
“Are you Emma Swan?”
He watched as her head tilted to the side, a glimmer of recognition at the name filling her wide eyes. Then fear. Unabating fear.
“Help me!”
That was all she said before she collapsed onto the deck, her form turned into a cloud of smoke, blowing away into the wind leaving behind only the puddle of water. He waited for hours after that, but she never appeared again.
He went home, discouraged. He had no idea how to summon her. Not that he necessarily had any idea of what he was trying to accomplish. Did he want to help her move on? Did he just need to find out what happened so he could give David Nolan some closure. Did he just want his ship back?
That night he tried to answer those questions. While it would be nice to have The Jolly ghost free, it was something more than that. He felt drawn to it, to her in a way. Finally, as he tossed and turned in bed, he realized what it was. She was in pain, just as he so often was, and while he couldn’t fully mend himself, he might be able to help her. To ease her burden in a way.
The next morning, he went down to the docks first thing, calling for her just as he had before. Met with silence once more, he sat, trying to mull over what could possibly help him. Thinking back on his research, some people claimed that spirits were attracted to objects, but the only object he could see Emma being attached to was the boat herself. There was nothing else left on the ship that belonged to her.
Nothing except the locket.
It was the first thing she’d mentioned the day before, claiming it was hers. He reached below the collar of his shirt, feeling for the chain and slowly pulling until the gold locket was fully exposed. But still, she did not appear. Desperate, he clutched the charm in his hand and chanted her name.
“I told you, that’s mine!”
She sounded less angry that time. Less confused as well as her feet seemed to actually touch the deck.
“Aye. I found it while I was repairing the boat.”
He did his best to keep his voice low and calm, not wishing to frighten her away.
“Repairs?”
“Yes. I had to replace the mast.” He watched as she scrunched her nose. “Do you remember what broke it?”
Her entire form stiffened, her chest heaving.
“No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.”
“Emma, it’s alright. You’re safe here.”
“Please” She just looked at him with desperation as her hand moved to her stomach. “It hurts so bad. Make it stop.”
Drip. Drip. Drip. He heard it before he saw it, but blood began to flow down her ivory sundress, covering the deck of The Jolly. Killian leapt to his feet, trying to help her staunch the bleeding but before he could get there, she was gone, and the wood planks were dry, as if nothing had happened.
He went out every day for the rest of the week, never taking the boat to sea, but always waiting for Emma, summoning her with the necklace. She only ever stayed for seconds to minutes, but each time she became a little more aware that something was wrong.
As Monday came though, he found himself stuck at work late, night after night. Dinner parties with potential clients. Drinks to celebrate newly signed clients. Liam’s company and his position kept him too busy to go down to the docks at all that week.
It wasn’t until Saturday that he was able to see her again. This time he took the boat out to sea, hoping that maybe a change of scenery might help to bridge the gap between wherever Emma was and the here and now. Once he was about two miles out he held the compass in the palm of his hand, calling to her once more. She came to him immediately, with more solidity than ever before. He spoke with her for a while, telling her who he was. When she vanished that time it was calmly. No screams of pain, no violence, no fright. Just peacefully.
He took the boat back to shore, tying her up properly. He’d promised Liam and Elsa he’d spend the day with them Sunday. Liam had started to worry about him after he took the week off of work, and he knew that if he didn’t concede to family time, Liam would start poking around. He wasn’t ready to explain it to his brother yet.
Yes, Liam. I’ve been spending all of my free time trying to talk to the ghost that lives on my boat.
That would have gone over marvelously.
So another week passed in full before he was able to see Emma again. Every time he saw her she was able to stay a little longer. To talk a little more. They hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room, sticking to safe topics instead. Her job. His job. She told him about some of her more eclectic clients, always using the present tense. He told her about the cougar he’d had to wine and dine the weekend before. He wasn’t sure how much control she had over herself and he didn’t want to risk upsetting her again.
Months passed, each weekend spent as sea. It was nice, just being able to talk to someone so openly. She never seemed to judge him. In time, he found himself rather vexed by her. She had witt and spunk. Just a little bit prickly but in a good way. A kindred soul.
It was a warm July morning when it happened.
“Killian?”
“Yes, love?”
He wasn’t sure when he’d started using the term of endearment around her, but she’d never objected to it.
“I’m dead, aren’t I?”
He nearly choked on his coffee, not expecting it in the slightest. She’d been so upbeat for the past few weeks, as if she’d had no cares in the world. He never would have guessed that she’d been considering her mortality.
“How long have you known?”
“Since the beginning maybe? I don’t know. I can just feel it, like I don’t belong here.”
His heart broke for her. He couldn’t imagine the feeling of knowing that her life was over. That everything was finished in a way, but that she was still stuck.
They didn’t speak. Just stood together in silence watching the horizon. His hand slid closer to hers, his pinky reaching out to caress her hand, but instead he just moved right through her. If she didn’t know before, there was no way she didn’t now.
Emma didn’t come to him the next day. Somehow he knew that she was in mourning, that she needed time for herself. It made his heart break all over. He felt for her in a way he hadn’t felt for someone in a long time. Not since Milah.
It was a week before he went out again, this time bringing flowers with him. She couldn’t keep them, but he hoped it would be nice for her just to see them. To know they were for her. She was solemn when she appeared. Not surprising given the state of things.
The two of them exchanged pleasantries and spent the day just soaking each other in, not speaking more than a few words here and there. It was nice in a way, but he craved more.
She enchanted him.
“Killian?”
“Yes?”
“May I ask what happened to your hand?”
It was another question he wasn’t prepared for. It was somehow easier and harder to answer. Something he never talked about with anyone, but something he found himself willing to share with her. So she could know him better in a way.
So he told her. He told her how he was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. How he’d risen through the ranks, dedicated his entire life to the service of his country. Of how he’d been on a routine training mission that went horribly wrong. The mine field they were doing maneuvers through was supposed to be dead, all a simulation. But one of the mines was live, and the ship exploded. He woke up in the hospital after spending an entire night clinging for dear life to a barrel. His hand was gone and so was his career. That he had night terrors and had to see a therapist because he’d lost his hold on reality.
He left out the part about his girlfriend being so disgusted by the stump that she left him, that she took a transfer just to get away from him.
When he looked at Emma again, he expected to see pity in her eyes, but there was none. She just gave him a nod of understanding.
They watched birds fly by. The sun moved from one side of the sky to the other. Just a peaceful silence, until she spoke again.
“I think I was murdered.”
“That’s not what everyone said happened. The newspapers, they said it was the storm.”
“There was a storm, but I remember a man too. It’s hazy, like an old dream. But he was there, below deck, hiding I think. I- I went down below and he was there. I remember screaming at him to get out, but he didn’t.”
She continued to recount the details she could remember, or that she thought she remembered. Her memories of that night where muddled and she didn’t know how much of it was true.
The man below deck was familiar, but she couldn’t quite remember what his face looked like. He smelled of wood, or maybe it was just the boat that did. She remembered being attacked, thrown against the hull, hearing a crack. There was a fight, she tried her best to fend him off, but it wasn’t enough. She remembered being thrown against the fiberglass again and again, hearing the hull fail. Glass from a mirror slicing through her stomach. The rest was a blur for her. The man was gone, and she tried to climb to the deck but her body was broken. She made it to the radio, but there was only static. Water began to fill the cabin, and it took everything she had to force herself up, to pull herself above deck as the storm raged on. Each droplet of water that fell feeling like acid against her battered skin. She told him how she held on as long as she could, and that was it. That was all she remembered.
She’d been murdered, just like she said. It explained the damage to the hull, why the mast had snapped, the stains on the wood the auction house had removed.
He had nothing to say. No words to offer her. His problems were nothing in comparison. Someone had taken her life, with purpose and malice. And now she was trapped in two worlds, belonging in neither, unable to move on.
He wished nothing more in that moment than to hold her. To be able to wrap his arms around her and block out all of the pain. To take away her sorrow and to give her hope. To let her know she didn’t deserve to die that way. That she didn’t deserve any of it.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do any of that. She wasn’t really there. She wasn’t solid. He’d never be able to so much as hold her hand.
A knife through his heart.
And that’s when he realized the true depths of his feelings for Emma. He was in love with her. He was in love with a ghost.
And all he could do was to be her friend. Her confidant.
“Where do you go when you aren’t here?”
It was a question that had plagued him since the beginning of their friendship, and while he was afraid to hear the answer, he needed to know that she was safe when he wasn’t there.
“Nowhere?” She turned her head up towards the top of the mast. “I think I just stop existing.”
That wasn’t the answer he was looking for. He was glad that she wasn’t in some realm being tortured but the idea of her just being gone? That was almost as bad. He went home that night thinking of her. Of what it would be like.
He knew. He didn’t want to admit it, not when his feelings for her had grown so strong, but he was being selfish, calling her back to a world where she was nothing more than an apparition over and over. He needed to let her go. To help her find a way to move on. He just didn’t know how, short of finding her killer.
She remembered nothing about the man though, only that he was a man. And Killian had no experience in investigating murders. It was a dead end.
He continued to think on it all week at work, even through the weekend. He didn’t go out on The Jolly that weekend, or even the next, still debating if it was more cruel to leave Emma alone, or to force her to face her death again and again.
August passed, and into September. Still he stayed away, unable to torture Emma any more than he already had. It wasn’t until someone at work had brought up the fight she’d had with her boyfriend, how he always made the decisions for her, that he realized that was exactly what he’d done. He’d never bothered to ask Emma what she wanted. He just assumed that it was worse for her when she was with him.
That was enough to ignite a flame under him. He left work early, driving out to the docks. The sky was scattered with clouds but there was still enough light out for a quick trip to sea.
He didn’t bother with his usually checklist or sending Liam a text on where he was going, too eager to see her face again. To talk to her and find out just what she wanted. To ask how he could help her, if she even wanted help.
The wind had picked up significantly from the time he’d left, sending him out farther than he’d planned, but he didn’t care. Not when all he could think of was Emma. The sky a bit more grey now, a slight shower starting.
“Emma? Are you here?”
He waited, clutching the compass so hard the metal around his neck snapped. He’d ripped the chain.
“You broke it.”
She was annoyed, but he honestly couldn’t tell if it was from the jewelry or from him having abandoned her.
“I, I’m sorry. I’ll replace it as soon as I get back to land.”
He wanted to talk to her, but she was too focused.
“My brother gave me that when I started at my firm. He was worried I’d become a corporate stooge. He gave it to me so that I’d never get lost.”
So you always find your way.
“I’m so sorry, Emma.”
“You can’t replace it.”
Killian wanted to cry, to scream, to go back in time and meet her before any of this started. But he’d never been a lucky man that way.
He held his hand out, watching as small drops of water fell into the gold face. Emma walked over, letting her fingers graze over the metal. It was different that time, he could feel the weight of her hand. She didn’t simply pass through him. He watched as she took the compass in her hand, solid as could be.
“Swan?”
Her head snapped up at him, completely unaware that she was real enough to hold an object.
He reached out, letting his knuckles caress her face. He could feel the warmth of her skin. She was real. He didn’t know how, but she was real.
“Killian? How? How is this possible?”
He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He nuzzled his forehead against her own, their lips only a hair’s width apart. When she didn’t pull back, he leaned in, softly pressing his mouth to hers. Just a peck. Her lips were soft. He tried to pull back but her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tightly.
They may as well have kissed for an eternity. He loved the feeling of being lost in her, not caring that the light sprinkle had turned into a full on downpour. That his clothes were soaking wet. Lighting flashed, illuminating the sky, and thunder crackled above them.
But he didn’t care. Not with Emma in his arms.
They broke apart finally, Emma’s laugh filling the air.
“Emma Swan. I’m in love with you.”
He hadn’t meant to just blurt the words out. Hadn’t meant to say them at all, but his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. Forever passed as he waited for her to say something. Anything.
“Killian,” there was sorrow, and he knew she wasn’t going to return his feelings. “It’s not fair to you. I’m a ghost, and I can’t control anything. You, you deserve so much more than I can give you!”
“But you’re here. I can feel you clear as I can feel my heart beating in my chest.”
She wasn’t there though. She could sense it even if he couldn't. There was a pull on her still, from whatever place she’d come from. Even in solid form, she didn’t belong there.
Lightening and thunder filled the sky once more, darkness all around them.
“Killian, it’s not safe out here, you need to go.”
He looked around, realizing for the first time just how far out the wind had blown him, would continue to blow him if he didn’t stow the sails. Emma helped his as best she could, but with the waves now throwing the boat back and forth, they had trouble controlling their movements.
The Jolly was still heading in the wrong direction though. Killian felt fairly confident that he could weather the storm below deck, waiting for it to pass, but the growing waves continued to batter the boat and Emma pleaded with him not to stay. Begging him to return to land. He caved, heading to the back of the boat to start up SMEE, but no matter how hard he tried, the motor wouldn’t budge.
Unable to do anything else, Killian headed back to the cabin, trying to call for help, but the radio wouldn't work either. It was just static on every channel. As he hit the main box, sparks flew into the air. The Jolly swayed from side to side, getting closer and closer to tipping each time.
They both went back above deck to see just how bad the storm was. There was only darkness as far as the eye could see. They were trapped. He was trapped.
Dead in the water.
“Emma, love, I have some life vests stowed in one of the front compartments. Go grab them and I’ll try the radio again.”
“No.”
“What?”
She stood at the rail, closing her eyes and breathing it all in, calm for the first time since the storm had started.
“It’s me.”
“I don’t understand. Just go get the life vests. We’re going to be okay.”
“No, Killian. It’s me. All of this. The faulty electronics, The storm. I don’t understand it, but I can just feel it. It’s, I feel it in my bones.”
“No. No. Emma-”
“Killian, you have to let me go. It’s the only way.”
“But I just got you. I don’t know how to let you go.”
She smiled at him, a sad heart wrenching smile and gave him a light kiss.
“It’s ok.” She held out the compass. “I think I can find my way now.”
It was the locket.
The thing that she was tethered to. It had never been The Jolly. The boat had simply been a means for her to stay and find it.
“I don’t know how to do this without you.”
“You’ll find a way.” She gave him one last kiss. “I love you too.”
And with that, she turned back into a vision, a veil between them. One last flash of light and she was gone.
Just as she’d said, as soon as she left the boat sprung back to life. The motor revving behind him. The waves continued to beat against the hull of the ship. He was frozen, his heart torn to shreds. But he couldn’t let that be the end. He couldn’t let her have died, again, in vain, so he pulled himself together. He used the motor to push him through, steering himself back towards land, any land.
He was lost after that. Spending days in bed, unable to get up, to do anything but cry. Her absence haunted him in a way she never had. Loneliness followed him. Emptiness filled him. Weeks went by. Liam did his best to get Killian out of the house, to bring him back to life. He knew his brother was worried, but he just didn’t have it in him to care anymore.
With time though the sting, still there became just a little less. The pain in his heart became a little more manageable. Everything just became less in a way, less and more. He made it out of bed. He had dinner with Liam. He even was able to go back to work.
He still felt her loss, but it got easier. However something still tugged at him. An inkling that something wasn’t quite finished. He was in pain, but at least he had closure. Emma did too, but her family didn’t. They still didn’t know what happened to her.
He debated on the best way to tell them, how to give David the details without including the part where he fell in love with the man’s sister’s ghost. Eventually, he decided that it would be best to do it over the phone. That way he could control the conversation.
He waited until just after noon on a Monday, calling the Sheriff’s station in Storybrooke, hearing the familiar voice of David Nolan pick up. He didn’t give David his name, just that he had information of the disappearance of Emma Swan. That her boat had been found by a company named Ariel’s Antiquities. That the auction house had destroyed all of the evidence on the boat so they could sell it.
David tried interrupting him, asking how he knew any of it, but Killian pushed through, finally giving the man the most important part, telling David that he was sorry, but that Emma had been murdered by a man familiar to her. He apologized for not being able to give him more information and then he hung up.
He could only hope that it was enough to give David some form of peace. That maybe it would be easier to know for sure that she was gone. Because sometimes the cruelest thing in the world was hope.
Time continued to pass. The pain in his heart turned to an ache. He still missed her deeply and thought of her often, but she’d given him something. She’d healed him, and nothing could take that away. It had taken him a while to realize it, to accept her loss. But her death didn’t negate the fact that she’d brought him back to life, and everyday he thanked her for that. Choosing to focus on the good rather than the bad.
A year had passed. Exactly three hundred and sixty five days without her. His plan was to head to Robin’s and have one drink in Emma’s memory before heading to the docks to take the Jolly out. She was still there, a part of her in those old wood planks. He could feel her warmth in every inch of that old boat.
Robin’s was overcrowded though, so he skipped the drink. Emma didn’t need an alcoholic toast. So he headed straight to the Jolly instead, stepping out of the pub’s doors just before the headlines changed, the little ticker tape running across the screen blocking the bottom of the Man United pitch.
Woman found alive on Kittery Beach after missing for over three years.
He missed the headlines again when he decided to stay out just a little longer, wanting to watch the sun sink below the horizon. He missed it one more time too when his phone rang. An unknown number from Storybrooke, Maine.
He’d almost let it go to voicemail, worrying that it was David Nolan, having discovered it was him that called all of those months before. But something in his gut pushed him to answer.
It took a second for a voice to sound on the other line after he answered, but when it did, he nearly dropped the phone.
“Killian?”
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Captain Swan Role Reversal Halloweek Pairings & Dates
My, my, I’ve heard from the Witchnews that Artists and Writers have been paired up. Right now, spells are bieng cast, potions prepared, fresh sources of blood searched for, houses haunted... and so much more. There are also pumpkins, of course!
But we are not here today to just chat, we are here to lift the veil between the worlds just a tiny bit. So come, now, I’ll take thee away, just for a while ;)
Anyone wants to know which people’s heads will roll and when? I know I do :D
October 25th
- we have @courtorderedcake and @awkwardnessandbaseball joining forces
- but we also have @clockadile and @swanslieutenant doing the best they can against the darkness
October 26th
- @hollyethecurious will face the unknown alongside @capnjay21
- while @darkcolinodonorgasm and @sherlockianwhovian will try to stay alive as well - though there’s beauty in the afterlife hehe
October 27th
- @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 and @stahlop are gonna rock it, I’m sure - unless some kind of evil makes them dance until they die, of course. we shall see
- @artistic-writer and @lillpon oh, well, I don’t know what to espect from these two, I think the forces of evil will just have their jaws drop to the floor - that’s the usual effect they have on me
October 28th
- here we have @clockadile once more, finding a new companion in @wellhellotragic (who strangely can’t be tagged, is it because she’s a ghost? Hmm)
- and again @courtorderedcake seems to have found another companion, too. will her fate be a happy one with @snowbellewells next to her? who knows ;)
October 29th
- @cocohook38 will join forces with @hollyethecurious and damn, I bet they’ll make the devil shake in his pants
- much like @kitsunewingstar will surely do with @gingerchangeling - a kitsune and a changeling? that’s only meant to be epic!
October 30th
And here we have not two, but three pairings:
- @cocohook38 will have to stand side by side with @darkcolinodonorgasm - damn, I really hope we can survive this!
- @hollyethecurious will have to make through hell alongside @theonceoverthinker which will be a battle to the last laugh, I guess... or torture... or both
- @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 has a new partner in crime, too: @profdanglaisstuff and together I’m sure they’ll create something spectacular!
October 31st - this is halloween, this is halloween, halloween, halloween
- on the last day of our Halloweek, @carpedzem and her pumpkins will join forces with @lassluna - you go girls!
- @darkcolinodonorgasm (again) will enter another world with @thisonesatellite and the question is if they will make it back in one piece - hmm, could be, could be not, there’s no way to know yet
- and finally, but not less important, we have @mariakov81 and @pirateherokillian braving the world of darkness, too!
Gather your weapons, sharpen your pencils and arrows, we have work to do people! Let’s rock this Halloweek!
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Hallow : ch I - CSSNS 2019
Thank you for reading this, it's my baby that I have written over and over for two years now.
Countless people have given me advice, changed my way of thinking, changed the way these characters think, and given me love and support. It has been a labor of love and terror, as I have been unwilling to let myself publish this out of fear of reception. What if people hate what I have loved so long?
What if people dislike the characters I've watched grow in my own words, from two flawed characters in their own right, to two flawed characters who know their strengths and use them? Will anyone understand the idea of two unlikely and hopeless people in the worst circumstances coming together? Will the choices they make over all make sense in the greater story?
Without the people I have had cheering me on, I don't know how I could have gotten to a point where I could have asked those questions.
So this is for you, my loves. Kmomof4 for being an unending supply of positivity, even when I wanted to give up all together.
UltraLuckyCatND, for being the best, most patient, understanding, detective of context without context, punctuation machine level efficient Beta a lady could ask for. Your commentary was like waking up to Christmas presents, especially when you liked my curse words.
Shireness, Bleebug, Clockadile, Svenja, ResidentofSB, Salem, Doodle, Sherlockwhovian, K-Whump, and Hollye for always answering my off the wall questions with very little detail perfectly, and with no judgment.
To the newcomers to the Fandom who I may (definitely) stalk, and who unknowingly made me realize that this pairing can go to space, infinity, and beyond. That means you Satellites, Prof, Cyn, and Raines.
To the many others who I Tag, message, who have sent me kind words about Riptide or my Horticulture problem, those who read my crack fic(s) and didn't blacklist me from CS events, those who know I will go to bat for them, and that I know will go to bat for me, and those I know will hate this with every fiber of their being but be unwilling to say so outside of private spaces that collect dust in their stagnation.
I present, Hallow.
-----
"The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.
Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King's will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time."
This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.
Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.
Read on AO3 here.
Ch 1 / ??
-----
It started when Emma was young and mostly alone. There were very few other children in the Royal Court, let alone the palace lands. Emma had no siblings or cousins to play with either as Fae birth was rare and arduous. She had her parents when they weren’t busy appeasing some Duchy or Lord and Lady, those in the court who tolerated her, or the staff when they weren’t busy with their duties, but it wasn’t enough. Emma felt as though no one really gave her any real one-on-one attention, and with no need for a nanny (the ones nannies they had tried and she drove to madness as proof positive) in the confines of the palace, Emma roamed from room to room and hallway to hallway in search of anything to do or anyone to be with.
Her parents loved her fiercely and she grew up knowing this; the times they spent together were wonderful. She especially loved holidays and the spare moments where her mother conjured her namesake snowflakes, or her father whistled at elk to come closer to nibble apples. Her father thrived in the sunny plains, wildflowers and crops bending to hear his whispers, winds obeying his laughing commands. Her mother preferred moonlight on branches covered in silver ice, blue birds in spring singing while red birds in winter cracked seeds in their beaks, the way water moved in gurgling streams, and the coziness of a nap in root hollows. Palace life kept them away from their special places more as Emma grew.
The palace of the Fae was the grandest in all the realms, or so she had read. Most of the structures were newly built after the Great War , but some pieces had been brought through a portal from the mortal realm, their stunning beauty remarkable. The palace itself was huge, sections unused but for celebrations happening only every few centuries. The main palace consisted of the kitchens, the Royal suites, the courtier suites, dining areas, library, music room, receiving rooms, the grand halls, and servants quarters. She found refuge in the kitchens occasionally, their excellent cook Granny allowing Emma to help, or on some days play with her granddaughter Ruby. They had originally played tag and made mud cakes, but Ruby's grandmother had been in such a snit after, that she punished Ruby with forbidding her to play like that again. They instead played dolls or made bead necklaces, but Granny kept a watchful eye, usually making Ruby work instead.
Granny said she was strict because their friendship wasn't properly sanctioned, although she had petitioned. The King and Queen had written they were to be away a few more weeks, so it was unsurprising. Promising to be careful, Granny eased off slightly, and Emma looked forward to those few hours each week as she wandered lonely halls.
It was in one of the older sections of the palace that she found him during her weekly wandering.
He always answered her, no matter the time of day or night, and most importantly he was kind. He had a wiseness in his voice that as a child was soothing, as he happily watched her play with dolls or spin a hoop.
When she began her schooling, she read to him in passing moments.
“And thus, the Goblin horde released a great evil that corrupted their land and sought a host. The Goblin King was… was… Pre…” She faltered on the word.
“Prepared. The Goblin King was prepared,” he corrected.
“Thank you! The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred and rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent. The Fae Navy was culled, all but a few regiments surviving. We honor those lost to The Dark Massacre on Gray Day." Emma felt her throat tighten at the thought of the dreary holiday and its muted muslin gowns. They sat in silence for a whole day, lighting candles as those who had lost someone made their pilgrimage. Liam made a soft tutting noise when she didn't continue after a long moment.
"It was no matter, for the Goblin King had a special blade to command the Darkness, the Vorpal blade. Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King's will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time. Long live the Fae dil N'lans Court, long live The King and Queen dil N'lans.”
“Lovely job Emma!” her painting whispered.
The name plaque below revealed his name. ‘CAPTAIN LIAM JONES, FAMILY BLACKWATER, IN MEMORIAM’ she read, tracing her fingers on the raised golden letters. He had been in the Fae Navy, the same that had their sails on display in a tapestry room. The same Navy that had sacrificed everything, her lessons making sure to remind her. She dutifully laid flowers and folded banners across stone cairns when she was trotted out at Navy remembrance events with some understanding. Death and the wars seemed to be such abstract thoughts, never having experienced them but in her studies. In fact, Emma wasn’t sure what memoriam meant in its entirety. Having a vague idea of someone being gone was the only thing she had to compare, but when she asked Liam, he told her not to worry. She trusted him and followed his advice.
As she grew into a woman, Emma learned what it meant, and understood his reluctance - and her own subconscious'. The painting that had been her closest confidante and holder of all her precious secrets (for example when she had stolen a plate of cinnamon pastries meant for a Lord, eating them all high up in a tower) was just that. A painting. A painting of a man that had been a captain in the Great War, until he had perished in the Dark Massacre. There was no real Liam - just an imaginary friend that kept her company until time passed and she could truly take her place among the court.
This realization did not stop her visits nor his wise voice in her head. She visited as often if not more than before, bitterness from stretched days of being told how to sit just so, or how to cover her glare when a noble acted like a pretentious ass in her presence seeped into her conversations. He soothed her loneliness as it leaked further into her life, and she would not part with him.
She told Liam about her parents.
How she couldn’t leave the palace without a royal escort, a dozen men accompanying her to pick a bouquet as their horses trampled the meadow, destroying the flowers. Or how she snuck down to a grotto and swam, sometimes in just a slip for the thrill of the indecency. Emma longed for any of the village children as playmates, but her royal duties, courses, and “proper decorum” (as her mother would say) kept her from any sort of real connections. Her books, all of the tales of the realms and the old world weren't enough anymore without being able to see outside of the palace, but any talk of change was ended in heated argument. She knew nothing but the safety of her palace, but how could she dare opine, and to who? Not for lack of trying or arguing - King David passed down his courage, and Queen Snow had passed down her stubbornness. Emma heard their remarks of what a combination it was every quarrel.
While some of the other young ladies of the court had taken suitors or begun courting, Emma was sure the result of any such thing happening to her would cause her father to go truly mad. King David had almost caused interrealm diplomatic incidents in trade with his attitudes towards certain sons of Lords that had looked at Emma too long.
She told Liam about her tutors.
Ruby, a woman beyond skilled in tracking was easily her first real, and royally approved, friend. The Queen herself had allowed the girl further privileges in the palace, placing Ruby in the same decorum classes as Emma, much to Granny's delight and Ruby's dismay. Ruby made do by skipping them, a feat that Emma could never attempt. Ruby's talents were wasted on sewing, curtsies, or dancing; her quick wit and ridiculous half true stories leaving her as cunning as a wolf. She easily talked King David into letting her have a tutor position teaching Emma about snares, edible plants, and tracking game or predators. Afterwards, Granny would bake Emma and Ruby treats with their foraged items, with extra to stow around for the Court.
Emma adored her tutors August, a wood elf who specialized in History, and Jefferson, a pixie that taught the Arts. They had come together to the court after being married during war time and were easy to feel safe with. Jefferson could sing well enough to rival Queen Snow herself, and August gazed at him in constant adoration. While Emma studied her history quietly, August would make small wooden flowers or other creations that she would find in the music room the next day, lying on the piano or near the harpsichord. Jefferson’s prized possession was a broken and battered violin August had carved for him in the old world, the wood from the same tree as their small cabin. It was the only thing he took when they fled.
There was Graham, a Fae that didn’t hail from any court that Emma knew of. Although, for a princess, or any woman of the court for that matter, it was rare to use a sword, The King and Queen demanded it. Graham was easy pickings next to her father. Her father had hired him to teach her sword play, but had since made no qualms about regretting it for various reasons. Emma was sure it was due to Graham's gaze beginning to linger too long on her lips.
Liam had heard about her various refusals to court anyone due to her father, but when Graham brought Emma flowers at the beginning of a lesson and her father saw, he heard her rant about Graham's idiocy for hours. Now, the King stood sentry over every lesson, watching Graham sweat from swordplay with the addition of knowing that any slight flirting could end with him having to search for another job with one less arm. Emma hated that her father watched them.
The newest member of the court was a renowned bowsmith, one Mr. Locksley, hired by the Queen to teach Emma and fuel her passion for archery. Emma had never really felt a use for it, but dutifully accepted another task to fill the hours of her days - particularly if that task was avoiding her tutor of magickal arts, decorum, and deception. Regina.
She studied magical forces for harm with Regina, decorum, potion making, alchemy, lying, seductive disarmament (it was all in the cleavage, lewdly enough), state secrets, cryptography, political history, strategy, and trained herself against poisoning. Regina was one of her favorites to complain about.
“She hates me, Liam. She makes it her mission to make me feel stupid. I can’t tell you how much we go over the same things, about how my parents united the realms with their marriage, how the realms are all connected but for one, and how the Goblins are banished until their next appeal,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “How many times do I have to hear the stories about brides getting stolen or my parents sealing the Darkness? I’m the proof they were successful, that the Darkness and Goblins are sealed away! Every appeal the Goblins have made has been either a disaster or violent. Sometimes both. Nothing is going to change.”
“Never bet against things changing, Emma,” Liam spoke in his low voice as she sat next to his painting, blowing blonde hair from her face.
“Now you sound like her,” Emma pouted.
l
“Good. She’s teaching you something. Education is important and so is knowing your history. Our history.” He emphasized the last words, and Emma felt a pit in her stomach.
“I hate that you’re right.”
“You wouldn’t come here and sit with me if you liked me being wrong.” She could hear a smirk in his tone, though his portrait always showed him with the same determined grimace.
Sometimes Emma asked him about his life, on which he mostly stayed silent, his few answers vague.
“What were you like?” she'd whispered by candlelight as snow fell one evening.
“I loved my family and my land,” he told her, in an even reply.
She sighed, annoyed. “Yes, but I mean, were you a good man? A good leader? Did you deserve the love you were given?”
He was silent for a time, before speaking slowly as if with great thought.
“Emma, you'll learn this one day. Being good is subjective. What one man may think is good, another will see as monstrous. A good man can fall into darkness, someone steeped in the farthest trenches of evil can find the strength to redeem themselves. I believe I was good.” He paused, sighing lightly. “And no man can ever tell you if he deserved the love he received. Only the one who gives it willingly can.”
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
It was bright outside as Emma walked barefoot in the grass. Ahead of her, Graham stood as stars fell from the sunlit sky like diamonds.
Graham offered her a bouquet as he had last autumn, filled with buttercups, lavender, tulips, baby’s breath, cone flowers, and daffodils. His hands had lingered, warm and rough, as he stepped closer to her form. Her breath caught and her heart beat faster than any swordplay could bring. He’d looked at her lips, but this time her father hadn’t taken the crook of her arm to pull her away. This time, he stepped in closer, a hand cupping her chin as he led her to his lips and -
A hard smack of a book against her head pulled her out of her dream.
“Princess Emma.” Regina’s clipped tones were unmistakably irritated, even more so than usual. “Since you are so keen on paying attention, I suppose you’ve memorized the realms and their unique histories regarding our own?”
Emma sighed. No luck, she was still with Regina, still trying to fend off her parents’ worry as the Goblin appeal moved closer.
“I’m sorry Regina.”
“You should be. The King and Queen have been up for days now preparing for the upcoming appeal, and the judgement of the realms. Do you think anyone but you are taking having Goblins in our realm lightly? Or that having the Royalty of the United Realms here will be easy?” She glowered at Emma, and Emma squirmed in her chair.
“No I don’t, but I am ready to finally be apart of something more -”
“Princess, this meeting is more important than you will ever know. The outcome of this will change everything for you. You've been too young for the last three, and this one is more important than ever.” Regina smacked the book down on Emma’s table. “Recite.”
“And thusly, the accord was struck. The Darkness sealed in the old palace. The Goblins may appeal their desire for peace every 250 years in the service of a fully seated council. Regardless of the appeal’s outcome, trade will continue between realms, and the Goblin kingdom will present Dwarves with the iron they need to forge what Fae cannot, to mine Pixie Dust crystals for the Fae realms.” Emma recited from memory. She winced at the thought of iron. She couldn’t imagine how painful the burns would be, and envied Dwarves for their ability to work with it.
Regina smiled. “Good. Continue.” She paced, opening a fan to provide a breeze for herself. The Baroque style was her favorite to wear, deep cut necklines and a fan her go to wardrobe choice any time visitors were in the palace.
“This trade must occur, or the Forge of Seven will cease to enchant the tools to extract dust and Pixie dust will be unable to be cultivated for the stability of the realms portals, shields, and wards,” she intoned.
“And?” Regina asked, extending her fan.
“Which in turn could let the Darkness, hidden somewhere in the realms free, destroy the realms, or allow banished Fae in, creating turmoil in the face of thousands of years of peace.” Emma finished, and looked up, still indifferent.
“Alright. Now off to your music lesson. You’ll be playing for guests in the Blue Parlor.” Regina’s face had gone back to its normal dour expression and she shooed Emma off.
Emma hated visitors, never knowing when she would run into a dignitary, ambassador, or royal who expected her to hold conversation; or, as she was now, never knowing when she would be forced to entertain. Her parents’ worries had become an itch under her skin. No one believed she was ready for the Appeal. Admittedly, her decorum was… at best, icy. None of the Royals or courtiers were terribly interesting, content to discuss trade or gossip. Whenever possible, she bucked formality and toed the line with rules she thought were preposterous. Rituals and traditions she found unfavorable were done robotically and with constant sarcasm or little joy. Her reputation as a beautiful and quiet princess was paired with warnings of her lethal verbiage, and unwavering disdain for the older laws in Fae culture, leaving her circle of courtiers almost entirely closed. Those that sought her favor were quickly shot down, and those that persisted played on the razor-sharp edge of the Princess's amusement. Emma wanted more.
She still visited Liam, even with the visitors milling around. His wing was dusted and set up for the lower courtiers who would not arrive until the appeal was in motion, which made it relatively safe. They wouldn’t be here for another few days.
“See this?” she said, pointing to a picture in the book she found in the library. She showed him a picture of a bear. “They’re tiny in the old land and they can’t talk well. Have you been there? Or to any of the other realms?”
He didn’t answer, only made a humming noise of amusement.
“I just… I want to see everything.” She closed the book, tracing its peeling leather binding. “Liam, can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
She sighed, letting her head knock back against the stone. “I don’t want to rule.”
“It’s your duty, it isn’t a matter of want,” he said after a moment. He almost sounded wistful.
“I know, but…” She looked up at the frame of his painting, trying to pretend that for just a moment the expectation of her birthright wasn’t a duty. “I just wish I’d had a chance to see anything. To do anything. To change things, and not sit rigidly until someone decides I can take my place in step with the set tread. I am going to be three thousand years old before I’ve even been kissed at this rate.” She thunked her head against the stone again. “I just want to know what the world has to offer before ruling it.”
“The world outside these walls isn’t everything. It’s good and bad, and a lot of in between.” His words were slow, and tired sounding. “Not everything is always going to be this way, no matter how much things seem to stay the same. Even you. Change can sneak up on you in an instant, Princess. You may find in time, the throne seems less like a cage and more like its own pair of wings.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She gathered up her books, heading back to her chambers. “I’ll see you after the appeal.”
She didn’t hear a reply.
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
“Emma!” Her mother sounded so surprised to see her, having only spoken in passing for weeks now. “Oh, Emma, you look beautiful.”
Emma sighed, the white dress beautiful on her frame. She fidgeted, and heard the seamstress hiss before a pin poked her thigh.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, Highness. Just, please stop moving -”
Emma huffed, uncomfortable. The appeal was starting soon and today had been a blur of misery. Her mother had managed to take time to see her here, and soon they’d walk to join her father in a greeting line. They’d greet the realms in order, lastly welcoming the Goblin envoy to their appeal, beginning the proceedings. This was the most important event she would have to attend at her station, her role heavy on her mind. All day she’d been puffed and preened, Regina had quizzed her for hours as she endured an ungodly amount of undergarments tied onto her.
“There. You look stunning, Highness.”
Emma looked in the mirror, and surveyed herself. Her hair was long and curled, white flowers and baby’s breath braided in a complex style along her crown, pieces pulled in loose waves that traveled down her back. The dress was fitted, the sharp square cut of the neckline made softer by the long lace sleeves falling about her wrists and a flare at the waist where layers upon layers of lace had been placed over traditional formal skirts. An over corset in the same white lace, pulled far too tight for her liking, finished the dress along with a train that fell behind which was only slightly less annoying.
It was another reminder that it was for no one. She was a naive, protected princess who would have a match picked for her one day. Emma sighed.
“Emma, you look radiant. Just beautiful,” her mother gushed, helping her off the seamstress’s pedestal. Emma's satin slippers made no noise on the stone floor. Another reminder that she was barely here at all, an ornament in an ongoing display.
“Thanks.” She took a step, and to only further her annoyance, realized she’d have to hold up her skirts as she walked if she wasn’t to trip down a set of stairs. Emma huffed, but when her mother's head snapped up, she hid it behind a cough.
“Are you ready for this?” Snow asked her, eyes gentle. Emma nodded, all emotions buried deep. ”Good. You’ll be fine.” She led Emma down the hallway, her father joining on her other elbow with a small, tired smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“There you are,” he whispered. “The two most beautiful women in all the realms.” Emma couldn't help the blush that crept up her cheeks, even if it was only her father saying it for kindness. She'd always been closer to him and his sunny disposition, finding comfort in his dismissal of the Royal Court’s norms. Lately, he chafed at her brisk dismissals, requests for freedom, and soured attitude regarding her duties; but today, it had been made abundantly clear, was about peace.
He held the rigid posture and thin lipped smile that the weight his title demanded. Emma looked down at her slippers. The beading caught the light as they stepped into the chamber where a procession of their courtiers awaited. Everyone was dressed in their most garish finery, most chatting quietly amongst themselves. August and Jefferson were quarreling over if they looked too matched, August assuring his jittery husband that they looked fine and shooting a wink towards Emma.
Ruby was talking animatedly with the others her age, telling tales as she often did to spook the courtiers.
“Watch the Goblins… they'll take you as a bride if you aren't careful! They make you drink their blood and you get married in the dark all alone, no one to hear your -”
“Screams!” Graham jumped from behind them, causing several shrieks while he and Ruby laughed. Emma felt a flare of jealousy, not realizing Ruby and Graham had grown so close. It wasn't surprising, her docket had been full of late, and they were allowed more free time. They were allowed fun, and rendezvous, no chaperone or appointments to keep. Taking a breath, jealousy joined the other feelings that were neatly bottled away within and concealed.
Regina stood apart, giving orders to several servants with Granny, confirming finishing touches and coordinating various tasks to solve anything that had gone amiss. Emma watched in bemusement as her archery instructor Locksley tried to gain a moment of her time to give her a rose for her hair, only to be ignored. He'd gone to tap her on the shoulder, only to have her scowling form round on him.
Emma didn't hear their conversation, but giggled, her parents both shooting her a look. She stifled it quickly.
With a clearing of her throat, Snow called the court to order.
“To another peaceful Appeal, and to the realms!” Snow proclaimed.
The court echoed her, their voices carrying as they led the procession to the meeting hall, where royalty and representatives were arriving.
There, guards on either side of the archway leading to the Receiving Hall and Grand Reception beat their staves to grab attention. The hall hushed into quiet anticipation. The Receiving Hall steps had been decorated with a plush purple runner, covered in luminous dust and moon flower petals, white flamed chandeliers making the polished marble floor gleam like bone in contrast. As her parents were announced, Emma swallowed the stone in her stomach as she stepped forward when her turn arrived.
“Princess Emma Swan N’Lan.” After a pause for bows, the guards used their staves to make three more echoing beats. “All may rise, and proceed to greet the Royal family.”
The procession that made its way to them was led first by their close kin, other Fae that held themselves to the Royal family's rule. Wood and Dark Fae greeted Emma with excitement, the latter in silvery clothes and kohl, the former in soft silk the color of autumn leaves. Pixies joined them shortly after, the rainbow of colors in their clothing shimmering only when hit by the light, reminding Emma of a beetle’s shell.
The Dwarves came next, short and full of pride, jewels and ribbon braided through their long beards or coiffed hair. Many of them offered rings or jewelry to Emma or her mother, but protocol dictated she must decline as to not show favor, much to her dismay. Her mother wore a Dwarf fashioned tiara, and snuck in rings or jewels regardless of perception, but she showed favor to most - on the surface, at least.
Their other close kin, the Elves, followed after. Tall, prideful, and very reclusive, they kept to themselves in a strict caste system. Emma had heard her father bemoan their interactions, calling them snobby and boring. Emma only thought they were beautiful, even without the ability to bend magic without a wand or channeling tool. They also could have children easier, which led to being reclusive in the first place, and the restrictive caste system leading to strong, ‘pure’ genes. Emma found that less beautiful, often decrying it to Regina in heated debate.
The elementals that followed next were thin, tall, robed Fae, in a rainbow of colors and swathed in a myriad of shimmering auras that corresponded with their element. Shape-shifters, they were a delight to the eye to behold. Dark brown or moss-green elementals stood tall as trees, root and vines or wildflowers climbing their skinny limbs. The few silver or albino wore halos of moon flower on antlers, glowing faintly under the chandeliers. A few simply looked human, wearing court finery that was barely distinguishable between Emma's own.
Their queen came last, a tall Hol blessed with the ancient curse of elemental enlightening, followed by her attendees that carried the same heavy gift. Snow had told Emma many times that it was these touched souls that had granted Emma her light magic, as it was written in their culture that her birth heralded a cosmic shift in balance after the war. They were a neutral party, never fighting unless the balance of the world had leaned, seeing all that could be and all that wasn't at once. Many of them traveled through time and the pocket realms to maintain the magic there, and prevent passage with unsanctioned portals or magic. Whatever side the scale tipped to in the end, they would find itself an ally in the Elementals.
In an absurd twist, one of the younger of the Elementals had been appointed to Emma for a small amount of time. He had measured her magic, disconcerting at first due to his brilliance and his shifted appearance of a young child. Named Henry, the Elemental turned out to be mischievous, making plans with code names, and reviving Emma's love of pranks. After she was chastised soundly for 'Operation Cricket', the Duke terrified to open his closet to retrieve his trousers, their friendship had been mitigated. They had been cordial, but Regina had loved having a child (even just in appearance) around the palace again, and took over separating them from each other. For to short a while it was like having a sibling. Henry had chosen another form since then, no longer a child but a man. He gave a sly wave and Emma winked at him.
The Seafolk (Sirens, Naiads, Mermaids and Nymphs) followed after, many wearing charms that allowed them to walk on land or suspending themselves in water. Emma shook hands with a curious crimson haired Mermaid princess encased in salt water, King David watching them amusedly as he spoke to the King of the Seafolk. The Anisapi tensed, but said nothing in that regard. There had been a long fight between the two races over the treatment of a race cast out by the war. Regina made it clear that Emma should know as little as possible about the entire sordid debacle, as not to ever show favor to either the Anisapi or the Seafolk. Any excuse to escape a lesson seemed good enough.
The procession finally ended, the court taking a reception with the different realms as they awaited the Goblins. Emma felt exhausted, her cheeks aching from the fake smile she had been wearing. An Anisapi approached her, a tall monkey with golden fur and large brown eyes in a dark emerald waistcoat. He spoke for several minutes during which she nodded politely and enthusiastically, until his paw had found its way into her hair, and his reedy voice had lowered.
An Anisapi female hurried over, another monkey with green ribbons braided in her reddish, bristling fur. She pulled the Lord away with multiple apologies and platitudes, and Emma composed herself. Anisapi were rarely so forward. Being primarily Fae and animal, they were trickster spirits yes, but not to their kin. Their Vizier, Pann, lounged on a chaise in his velveteen emerald vest coat, his goat haunches twitching as one of his satyr attendant boys fed him grapes. He gave Emma a saucy wink before pouring wine down his throat.
Emma marched over his way, shooting glares at giggling fans and satyrs that Pann kept in his clutch, their self placed moniker of Lost Boys disconcerting at almost a millennia old. The court whispered rumors about him being a treatise breaker, but her parents had never caught him and had only pleasant dealings to speak of. Many still swore that he broke their laws with flagrant disregard, returning to the human world with impunity. Some even said he had a realm of his own, a terrible lair of horrors beyond imagination, called ‘Neverland’.
Emma was unfrightened. The Anisapi leader, Heston, was a wise and honorable Anisapi; one of the last true forest Gods of the old world. He was ancient, but very brave and incredibly strong, a boar the color of a thundercloud, tusks long and unforgivingly sharp. Pann stood no chance against him, even with deceit and trickery.
“Do you mind Pann? Drinking before we begin seems -”
Pann snorted, arrogantly and without conceit. His snide tone reminded her of the trail a slug left, sticking to her skin like autumn leaves after rainfall. “Princess, I know you'd normally be in bed by now with a glass of milk, but wine is how some of us get these droll events over with. It's not like we can ritualistically disembowel a human anymore for fun.”
When her eyes widened and she gasped, he let out a loud guffaw echoed by his tittering following.
“Oh, Emma. Do calm down, we never did that at political events.” When Emma let out an indignant sniff, and whirled to turn away from him, she heard his snide reply call from behind her. “That was only on the solstices, darling.” More laughs came from behind her.
Stomping away, Emma retreated to a window to get away from the growing din of the excited crowd. She gazed out a window, waiting for the Goblins to appear at the castle gates. The sound of a throat clearing caught her attention, and she turned to look at a scaled man, green and gold mottled pale skin, topped with a shaggy head of brown hair mixed with eagle feathers. The Goblin, or half Goblin, had one brown eye and one reptilian gold, his teeth and nails sharp. Emma stood taller.
“I'm so sorry, good sir. I was unaware the Goblins had arrived and I beg pardon.” Emma curtsied, bending low. The man chuckled throatily.
“You must be Princess Emma. Your beauty becomes you, a truly beautiful woman and Fae." Emma blushed, the compliment so direct and forward, but within convention. The Goblin was well mannered, and it caught her unaware.
"I am, yes." Raising her head, she gave her hand for him to kiss, surprised by the delicate way he held it. His palms were a mix of soft and scaled smoothness, a long claw scraping along her wrist sending a chill across her skin. Emma pulled away harshly, his eyes narrowing in a way that made her feel increasingly uncomfortable. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing, with and without such formality?"
"I am Prince Nil of the Goblins, it is my pleasure to see you ripe. I have heard that we are both kindred spirits who push at formality and it's bindings. Is this true, beautiful one?” He gave a small bow, his words and the way he leered made Emma's skin crawl. His tongue flicked out, long and shinily wet, unmistakably forked as he licked his lips with not only far too much suggestion and luridness. Emma took a step back in spite of herself.
“I'd have you remember yourself, my Prince. It is… It is unbecoming for me to listen to or respond to such lewd language even given as a token of flattery. I beg of you to be less coarse.” Focusing with all she could muster of Regina's teachings, she glared pure ice.
“Ah, but it is me who must beg in your court.” He pinned her to the glass, his breath hot against her skin. Dragging a nail down from her ear to her neck, he grinned lavisciously. “In my own kingdom, I would not. I'd have you without treatise, without meetings, without conversations over diplomacy. Goblins take what they want. Formality has no place in true law.”
“Luckily for the both of us then, that I have a voice here to say no. I would keep my diplomacy and any other manner of dignity.” Emma ducked out from under his arm, eyes steely. “Good day, Pri-”
He snarled, harshly pulling her arm and yanking it with violent force. Emma let out a yelp but his hand clapped on her mouth as he pulled her head back by her hair.
“You do not dismiss me, you pompous Fae wench. I dismiss you. You are beneath me, a tool for a greater cause. I dismiss you, and in the underground, bitches like you have no voice." She bit at his hand, and the hiss that escaped his serpent mouth not in pain but something darker. Emma struggled, but his long fingers pushed against her tongue sharply, the sharp movements making her gag. "You are such a prize, my golden treasure, I will have you as mine."
Nil's breath was hot on her neck, withdrawing his fingers alshe took a gasp of air as he wiped them on her bodice, groping there, her embarrassment and rage at his lewdness finally snapping her out of surprise.
"Let go of me, you weasel swallowing, ill mannered, swine tongued -" Emma punched and kicked, his hand falling from her hair as she pushed Nil away. He caught her arm in mid blow, twisting to spin her into him, his front against her back so that she had to feel his body. He smelled like mildew, soil, garlic, and Emma gagged again.
The prince chuckled at her reaction, rubbing against her in a rolling motion that pushed him against her in ways left for a marriage bed. "We take them, just like we take our women, and that goes without questioning. Remember that Princess. I have a feeling you'll find it ever so important in your formalities .”
All etiquette fled her mind as she fought, trying to get away from the nightmarish creature. With an ungrateful twist, he wrenched her back further, grinding his pelvis against her lewdly before throwing her to the ground. Emma hissed up at his face, but Ruby and Graham interrupted them as the Goblin prince turned away, happily striding back to the party. Ruby ran to Emma's side, immediately worried.
“Emma, are you alright?” Ruby whispered, and Graham looked her over before glaring in the direction of the Goblin.
“Emma, did he -” Graham started, but Emma pushed herself up and shook her head with her best regal smile.
“I'm fine. Go back to the party, I'll speak with my parents about this. Don't worry, and no mention of this, it'll be fine.” Emma watched the two exchange worried glances, but they bowed and made their way back to the party with a few quick looks back. Emma let her face fall, chewing her lip. So much for everything going smoothly.
Hurrying to talk to her parents, she could hear their raised voices from the council chambers far before she entered, the council in place early by a quarter hour at least. Something was very wrong as a heated discussion was taking place.
“Absolutely not, Gold. We haven't considered it for various reasons, and feel maybe in the next couple centuries -”
“You're acting as if it will be a choice when it's clearly a demonstration of unity, strength, and power, bringing the realms together finally -”
An Elf spoke, “If that is the case, all kingdoms and realms should have claim, and a chance to give their dowry, not just you,” she cleaned her fingernails, bored. “Although it is a beneficial union.”
“My daughter has a choice in this!” her father hissed, and a few nobles laughed before realizing that it was not a joke. “She is a grown woman, and has made it clear she is not ready for -”
“I'm not ready for what?” Emma said, fury set in her resolved face. She walked towards her empty seat, her mother looking at her warningly, and her father looking ashamed and apologetic. “I believe that at last time I checked, I did have my own voice,” shooting a perfunctory glare at those who had laughed, she continued, “and I definitely have the power of choice.”
Her father sighed and started to speak before the Goblin cut him off, his voice registering as the man her father had called Gold. Rumplestiltskin Gold of the Gold bloodline, King of the Goblins.
“Princess Emma, my son and I have requested your hand in marriage to unite our kingdoms.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes and looked unnatural on his face. Emma stared at him, the taste of unsaid truths pouring off of him. This was not an ally. Something was wrong. “My son is taken with you, and begs of me to modernize. We -”
“Your son accosted me earlier, Your Majesty.” Gasps went around the table, the nobles shifting uncomfortably. Emma heard a dulled bang from far off, but ignored her parents exchange of looks. “And I am not some trophy to be won or pet to be caged. I am afraid that I will be declining your offer, even with the well deserved belief of modernization raised. I may be an outspoken critic of the way we go about our traditions, laws, and rituals, but I am also an outspoken critic of throwing them and decency out the window.”
“Well.” The scaled man slumped his shoulders and looked down, greasy strands of his stringy hair covering his face. “That is bad news then. I'm sorry to hear it.”
Snow moved subtly and slowly in Emma's peripheral as her father tensed. The Goblin King began to laugh, a strange giggling thing that shook his shoulders. Emma took a step back as he looked up, eyes full of impish glee and a true, sharp toothed smile on his face.
“I thought we might be able to do things the easy way, Dearie.” He cocked his head with that too large reptilian grin, and chaos rained down on the room. Powder exploded in different shades, guards leapt up while magic shot past from hands, wands, staves and who knew what else. Emma was transfixed until her mother yanked her through a wall panel and into a dark corridor.
“Mom, what -”
“Emma, hush. Listen, we're under attack and I… They're targeting you, alright? It isn't safe for us here. It's not safe for you.” Pushing open a loose tile, they dropped into a small closet as Snow raised a finger to her lips. Moving the tile back into place, she slid another panel open revealing more stairs that they used in haste. Catching their breath, Snow caressed Emma's cheek. “I need you to be braver than you've ever been, and more cunning than ever before. Your life depends on it; everyone's lives depend on it.”
They moved through the walls, her mother sometimes stopping to peer through a portrait as Goblins flooded the palace, iron weapons in hand. Other times her mother would open a passage for them to run through into another path, full of winding tunnels, spiraling staircases, and peepholes Emma had never known about, circling deep into the castle's depths.
They eventually reached a latched door that dropped into a crawlspace, both dropping down before coming up to stand in a windowless room the size of a larder. A small box rested on a lone shelf, and The Queen held it gingerly. Opening the lid, she pulled out a silver chain with a jagged piece of steel at its end, putting it over Emma's head where it lay coolly against her warm skin. Emma examined it carefully, noting the pointed end looked like either a sword tip or an arrowhead.
“Mom, What is this? Where are we going -”
“There's so much I don't have time to explain, and so much we tried to protect you from, Emma. I regret it now, but we don't have time to get into that either.” Her mother was crying, digging at the tiles on the floor that revealed a deep, dark, stairwell into rock hewn walls. “That's a piece of an ancient blade, the Vorpal blade, used to control the Darkness that tried to destroy everything in all worlds. It wanted, no, wants to cover everything in shadow, in pitch, and your father and I destroyed the blade with our love… and you. You're the purest light this world has ever known. With this shard, the Darkness cannot hurt you. We’ve kept you away from everything to keep it so, and now you are the only one who can fix what we couldn't.”
“I don't understand, what do I need to fix? What do I have to do?” Emma whispered. Her mother looked at her pleadingly as the wall in front of them began to shake.
“The Darkness had taken a vessel, and we… We decided that it deserved a chance, just like the Goblins. Your father and I tried, but it… He… He can't be redeemed, he can't see beyond his revenge. He's too dangerous, too dangerous to ever let out, until now. You have to seek his help, and not fall for his tricks, his offered deals, or his diversions, and then destroy him. You were born to destroy the Darkness and save us.”
The wall cracked, splintering. Her mother kissed her forehead and guided her down the stairs in front of her, pushing Emma into the murk of what lay below.
“I still don't know what -”
“I'm sorry, Emma. You are so strong, and so powerful. We are so proud of you, and believe in you. You are our daughter, our goodness, and love, and everything we've ever dreamed of you being. Go. Go and be safe.”
Letting go of Emma and pushing the tiles back in place, Emma called for her mother but stopped when she heard the outer wall splinter as her mother screamed.
“Snow… I tried -” Her father's voice, ending in a gurgling wet rasp.
“Quiet now, King David. Wouldn't want me to cut out your charming larynx in front of your wife, all because you were trying to play hero.” Gold’s voice, laughter mixing with his son's who was somewhere nearby.
“Don't hurt him. Please. You have our willingness to comply with whatever demands you make,” Snow said calmly. “I just ask you to please, let my husband and daughter go.”
“Your daughter? She's with you, you had her with you -”
“We lost each other when we came across some guards,” Snow raised her voice, convincingly selling the tale of her missing daughter. “She was supposed to hide. I told her to hide, and I would -”
“My concern involves finding your daughter, and the missing piece of the Vorpal blade I have in my possession. Find the princess. I want a true unification of the realms to begin as soon as possible, and everyone will suffer until I get my way,” Gold seethed. Emma held her breath as she heard footsteps move away. Quietly, she moved down the dark stairs into the damp underbelly of the caves to see what awaited her below her home.
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I just read the last chapter of Once and a Future Thing and it was amazing! I was wondering if you could maybe tell us or write about Beth's adjustment to the world and the rest of her family's reactions? Thanks so much for your awesome writing! I always love when you update Little Pirates and I always enjoy your other stories!
Notes: Okay, I owe you the biggest apology. This has literally been in my inbox for half a year? I honestly don’t remember when this entered my inbox but I know it was a long time, so long that whoever sent this probably forgot all about it. I wouldn’t be surprised. Anyway, I hope you can forgive me for how long this fucking took. I was inspired to work on the Jim and Beth reunion by @clockadile and I knew that I couldn’t work on it or post something new OAFT-related without doing this. Now, I don’t really have Beth adjusting to life in Storybrooke, so much as her family’s reactions to her return, namely Harrison’s because he is legitimately the sanest and most well-adjusted member of the Jones family, and I say that objectively. He is. So, I felt his POV might be best for this chapter or coda or whatever. Anyway, a special thanks to @shireness-says and @optomisticgirl for allowing me to spam them with this nonsense. I hope you enjoy it. There’s a bit of Arabic in it, but it’s translated at the bottom.Summary: Beth’s quest for vengeance against her boyfriend’s killer goes a bit haywire when she and her former best friend Jim Hawkins are sent into thirty years into the past. Now, they must figure out how to find a way back to the future without wrecking the first meeting between Beth’s parents, Emma Swan and Killian Jones. Rating: T+Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Epilogue | Coda IWord Count: 4,300+
–
The large clock on the wall said 6:30am and years ago that would have meant that it was way too early for him to be up, but Harrison Jones didn’t sleep anymore. Time had simply muddled together and all that mattered was that he got at least one cup of coffee on the hour or his brain was going to ooze out of his ears. He wasn’t quite what he was going to die from first – his heart exploding or exhaustion.
His fingers tap impatiently against the kitchen counter as he stared down the ancient machine gurgling to life. He never liked coffee, in fact he hated the very taste of it, but it become so integral to his daily functions that he no longer gagged at the bitter taste.
Feeling agitated, he began rummaging sluggishly through the cabinets in search of the sugar. When he found the container in the back of the spice shelf completely empty, he threw it against the wall while muttering dark curses under his breath. He knew exactly who was behind this crime against humanity. No one had a bigger sweet tooth than Wes and he had a tendency of finishing off products without replacing them.
He hoped his younger brother’s wifi wasn’t working this morning. The asshole deserved it.
Bitter and disappointed, he put as much cream into his coffee as he could. Taking a seat at the breakfast table, he picked up his kindle and began reading the last few chapters of his Ken Follet novel. The house was quiet at the moment and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. As long as he had been alive, the Swan-Jones house had been one prone to chaos and any lull of silence was worth its weight in gold.
“Holy Christ, Harrison, you still live here? At twenty-seven? Jesus.”
The coffee mug slipped from his fingers, missing the table by a fraction of a hair and falling to the floor with a loud crash. Pieces of ceramic glass shattered as they made contact with the hard tile, scattering everywhere.
Harrison barely registered it.
He was too busy staring at a ghost.
She looked so much older and impossibly thinner than the last time he saw her, but there was no mistaking the green of those eyes and that riot mess of untamed dark hair. His sister, whom he hadn’t seen in three years, was standing in the doorway in a probably the most dramatic pirate gear that he had ever seen.
“خرة,” he breathed out in disbelief.
“What did you just swear at me?”
“In Arabic, yes,” he responded faintly.
“I’ve never been prouder of you,” she laughed merrily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. He continued to gape at her, unable to process what exactly was happening.
“I swear. Always have. I’m not a saint, despite what you all think.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father move past his sister as if everything was normal and ordinary. Without even commenting on the broken mug at Harrison’s feet, Killian Jones made a beeline for the coffee machine and made himself a cup. He offered no comment on the fact his long-lost daughter was standing in his kitchen.
“Are you going to just gawk at me like an idiot or are you going to say something?” His sister asked somewhat impatiently, crossing her arms in front of her chest and arching her eyebrow at him mockingly.
“You’re alive?”
“Did you think I was dead?” She snorted in amusement at the question, but Harrison didn’t find anything about this to be funny.
“Well, yes.”
“Well, considering I’m standing right in front of you. I can assure you, I’m alive.”
“Considering how sleep deprived I am, I was convinced you were a hallucination.”
She scoffed at him, stepping forward. She rose up on the tips of her toes and poked him between the eyebrows like she used to do back when they were kids; back when she was trying to get his attention away from his guitar. It was annoying then and Harrison found it even more annoying now.
“I can’t believe you thought I was dead. I’m insulted.”
“Well, I haven’t heard from you in three fucking years, Beth. What the hell was I supposed to think?”
“That’s…fair…I guess,” she replied. She took a step backwards, shifting on her feet uncomfortably. The move reminded him of when they were younger. She always did that whenever she was caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Simpler times.
Her eyes shifted back towards their father who was still leaning across the cabinets, watching them both with tired eyes. She seemed to be silently pleading with him.
“Don’t look at me,” he said to her as he took a sip of his coffee. “This is your hole to dig out of, not mine.”
“Thanks Dad,” she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
“No problem, minnow. I told you this wasn’t going to be easy.”
“Yeah, you got that right.”
“Well, honestly, Beth, what did you expect?” Harrison replied, raising to his height and crossing his arms in front of his chest, anger fueling him faster than caffeine could ever have. “I hate to be repetitive, but it can’t be ignored. It’s been three years. Three fucking years. No phone call. No note. No nothing. You just vanished. As if it was nothing. As if we were nothing.”
“I understand why you’re mad. Look, I get it —"
“No, Beth. You don’t get it,” he interrupted, nostrils flaring in anger.
She flinched at his words, but he having a hard time feeling sympathetic. Her disappearance had nearly torn them all apart. He still remembered the sound of their mother crying in the back room of the police station, the amount of times he had to walk their father back to the house because he had drunk himself into a stupor on the docks waiting for her to come back and how they had put Ned through counseling because he thought it was all his fault. He could see Wes in his mind’s eye running himself ragged trying to find the right locator spell and how he had torn through her room trying to find a single strand of hair to use. He could still recall the nights of he stared blankly at sheets of paper, unable to write music because his mind kept drifting back to her and the maelstrom of emotion she had left inside of him. His knuckles were still scarred for the times he had tried to beat his self-loathing and anger into a punching bag until it broke, and sand spilt onto the floor of his basement. She owed him at least seven bags.
“You don’t get it,” he repeated. “And you don’t get to say that because you weren’t here and that isn’t okay. This entire family almost crumbled when you left. Ned almost failed out his senior year and almost didn’t get into college.”
“Ned’s in college?” She whispered in disbelief.
“Yeah. He’s in his second year and if you were here, you would have known that!”
“That’s not fair, Har.”
“No. What’s not fair is that we’re still picking up the pieces that you left behind and now you think that can be just swept under the rug.”
“Harrison.” Their father straightened himself up, giving him a warning look. “Enough.”
“Are you kidding me right now? I know she’s your favorite but this is ridiculous! She broke our hearts! She broke your heart, Dad! You drank yourself into the bottom of a bottle waiting for her to come back! You’re just going to let bygones be bygones?”
“I don’t have favorites, Har.”
“Bullshit. Look me in the eye and tell me if I pulled the fucking nonsense she did that you wouldn’t punch me in the face if I dare showed my face afterwards.”
A muscle in Killian’s jaw ticked and there was a dangerous look in his eyes, but Harrison stopped being scared of his father the minute he was taller than him.
“Don’t go putting words into my mouth, lad. I never said any of that. There is a time to address things. And that time isn’t now. Right now, let’s focus on the fact that your sister is home.”
Harrison worried at his jaw, glaring at him. He took three steps forward, away from his sister and crowded into his father’s personal space. Any other man would have shrunken away from a fight with a man of Harrison’s stature, but not Killian Jones. He met his son’s gaze with his own furious blue eyes, straightening his shoulders and refusing to backdown. For a brief moment, Harrison thought his father might actually punch him.
“Good morning everyone.”
The tension in the room was immediately cut by the appearance of Nasira. She gave them all a tired smile as she walked into the kitchen, their three-month old son cradled in her arms. Harrison immediately turned his back on his father and ignored the choked noises Beth was making in the background. His focus was on the love of his life and his infant son.
“هلتتصرفبنفسك?” She asked him, raising her eyebrows at him as she rose up on her toes to kiss his chin. He was making an effort not to be insulted by her insinuations about his behavior.
“دائما.”
She gave him a look like she didn’t quite believe his reassurances but didn’t say anything to him as she adjusted her hold on their son and turning to address his sister.
“Hey Beth. It’s been awhile. When did you get in?”
All three Joneses jolted at Nas’s nonchalance. Her tone held no underlaying sarcasm or anger. It was a friendly, casual remark, as if she were talking to someone that she had seen almost every day of her life. Killian nearly spat out his coffee while Beth stared at her, clearly shaken by the question.
“She got in this morning,” Harrison answered tersely, scowling still.
“توقف,” Nas responded, striking Harrison across the abdomen in reproach. She then turned her attention back to Beth and smiled at her. “Your brother can be an ass.”
“I’m well aware,” Beth managed to croak out, still looking a bit uneasy. “You’re too good for him.”
“Absolutely not. I can be an ass too. We’re just the perfect amount of ass for each other,” Nas responded with a laugh. “But how have you been?”
“Busy. But you seem to have been busy as well…” She gestured to the child in Nas’s arms.
“Yeah, yeah, I definitely have,” Nas beamed. “Between him and his brother, I’ve been very busy.”
“B-brother?” Beth’s eyes went wide. “You have more than one?”
“Yep! I had Sam nearly three years ago. He was a bit of a surprise, but we loved him so much that we decided to have another. We’ve had Kam for three months now and he seems pretty good, so I think we’re gonna keep him.”
“You have babies.” Beth looked like she was one second away from having a panic attack.
“Yep!” Nas responded brightly, deliberately ignoring his sister’s obvious discomfort. “They’re great. I would ten out of ten recommend.”
“I don’t think that’s in the cards for me.”
“Nas, my love, my jewel,” Harrison spoke up, giving Nas a tight smile. “I’m so glad you’re happy and proud of our children, but I feel the need to point out to everyone, because clearly seems you’ve all forgotten, but Beth has been out of our lives for three years. She left us. For three years. Without a word.”
“Harrison, my love, my sweet, gentle, understanding man,” she responded, giving him the same time smile and now speaking a sugary tone that belayed a message that was more steely than sweet. “I’m so glad that you’re happy for my happiness, but I feel the need to remind you that this is Storybrooke. We deal with all sorts of things from time-traveling witches, cursed gems, megalomaniacs and not to mention brothers who try to pull political coups to try and steal your kingdom. This family drama? It’s honestly just a blimp on the radar. We’re getting married. Your sister is going to be in the wedding party. I’m not having the groom feuding with his sister.”
“You guys seriously aren’t married yet?” Beth asked in disbelief.
“No,” they answered at the same time, Harrison sounding angry while Nas was wistful.
Beth immediately turned to their father. Killian merely shrugged his shoulders at her and sipped his coffee.
“I don’t know why you keep looking at me for answers. You’re all adults. I have no control over your decisions.“
“We just haven’t found the right time,” Nas replied, giving a placating smile.
It was then that Kam started crying and Nas began making shushing noises, bouncing him up and down in hopes of calming him. Harrison envied his infant son’s ability to be so free with how he felt. He wanted to scream too.
Harrison opened his mouth to make a comment but was stopped when the front door opened loudly, and a very familiar voice called out.
“Good morning Vietnam!” Wes shouted merrily, making his way towards the kitchen. Harrison winced at the volume, afraid that his brother was going to wake his still sleeping three-year old and their mother.
Wes seemed to be in good cheer, chuckling to himself as he swaggered in. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and the tightest pair of pants that Harrison had ever seen. The smell of cigarettes immediately filled the kitchen and it was quite clear that he had come to the house straight from closing up the bar.
The smirk died the second Wes’s eyes land on their sister. For a brief moment, the entire room was silent, save for the tail end of Kam’s whimpering. No one spoke as Wes stared at Beth. Their eyes met for exactly five seconds. Harrison counted them.
“Nope,” Wes said quietly, shaking his head and turning on his heel.
“Wes!” Beth shouted, stepping forward to run after him.
He stopped at the sound of her voice. He turned again to face them, his face pinched with concern. He tilted his head and took a tentative step towards her.
“Guys,” he said slowly, still staring at their sister. “Don’t get mad at me, but I think I might be a little high from getting hotboxed all night at the Hole…because I’m legit seeing Beth right now and there’s no way that could possibly be happening right now.”
Beth scoffed, rolling her eyes at him.
“Good to see you haven’t changed a bit.”
“She’s snarking me right now. Fake Beth is snarking me, guys.”
“Fake Beth is Real Beth and she’s five seconds from punching you in the face.”
“And now, she’s threatening me!”
“We know,” Nas snorted. “She’s real and we can hear her and so help me, Westley Jones, if you’re high around my children, I will castrate you with a rusty spoon.”
“Oh,” Wes blinked dumbly before turning to look at their father. “Dad, I’m going to need your flask, because…damn.”
“Sorry, it’s empty,” Killian responded, not looking up from his coffee. It was very clear to everyone in the room that he was lying.
“Okay,” Wes responded, drawing a shaky breath before heading towards the sink. "This calls for drastic measures.”
He bent down and took out the emergency bottle of rum that they kept behind the dog treats. He uncorked it and placed it down on the counter before grabbing a clean glass from the drying rack. He contemplated it for about three seconds before placing the glass back down and deciding to drink straight from the bottle. He took a long drag from it before turning to address them.
“Okay, good,” he said, smacking his lips. “Good. Now I can deal with this.”
“Are you going to share that?” Beth asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Absolutely not. You owe me at least ten years of alcohol.”
“I was gone for only three!”
“Yeah, three years plus the seven extra years I’m going to spend talking about this in therapy. Welcome home, sis.”
“You’re an ass.”
“So are you,” he replied, taking another sip. “It runs in the family.”
“Why am I not surprised that you’re taking this so casually?” Harrison snapped, feeling irritated.
“Well, to be honest, I’m still not convinced I’m not hallucinating right now and it seems kinda silly to argue with a hallucination.”
“Trust me, I thought she was a hallucination too, but I got past that pretty quickly.”
“Yeah, well, you’re more well adjusted than me. I’m a little mad at my subconscious right. I mean, seriously? My sister? Why couldn’t my hallucinations be more hot? Kate Hudson? Sienna Miller? Giselle? Something I could actually enjoy seeing?”
Beth moved forward and hit Wes across the shoulder. He let out a yelp of pain, massaging his shoulder and glaring at her.
“See? Not a hallucination.”
“God, I forgot how vicious you are.”
“You’ve gotten soft without me.”
“Well, it’s not like I have any good sparing partners. The last time Harrison and I fought, he picked me up and tossed me over the fence like I was Benny Booth.”
“Benny Booth?” Nas asked, frowning in confusion.
“The asshole who nearly knocked up our sister. Harrison threw him over a fence, except he didn’t quite clear it and Moe French had a fence with an ass shaped cut out for like three weeks,” Wes explained with a quirk of his lips.
“He didn’t nearly knock me up,” Beth scowled.
“Henry bought you a pregnancy test. He nearly knocked you up,” Wes volleyed back at her.
At that comment, their father spat out his coffee and began to cough profusely. Harrison gave him a healthy whack on the back.
“He did not!”
“He did!”
“He. Did. Not.”
“Yes. He. Did. Your eggo was almost preggo.”
“Ugh! Stop talking! To think I actually missed you!”
“You actually missed us? Wow, maybe you’re the one whose gone soft.”
“Beth?”
Their mother was standing halfway down the stairs, staring at her daughter the same way Harrison and Wes had previously – like she was looking at a ghost. Beth returned her gaze with one of her. This time she didn’t look self-assured, however. She looked on the verge of tears.
“M-mo-mom?”
“Beth? Is that you? Is that my daughter?”
Emma didn’t wait for an answer. She raced down the stairs, nearly tripping over the final step. The stumble seemed to wake something inside of Beth because she finally regained her senses and was scrambling past Wes to meet her. Their mother grabbed onto their sister’s arms and yanked her almost violently forward. Beth fell into her arms and a loud, almost inhuman sob sounded through the entire kitchen as the two embraced each other, rocking side-to-side in a forceful but erratic sway.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Beth’s voice was muffled by Emma’s shoulder, but Harrison could still hear her words as she kept repeating them like a broken record.
“You’re home” was their mother’s mantra. He could tell by the waver in her voice that Emma was also crying.
Harrison couldn’t stand it.
It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He couldn’t handle this any longer. If he stayed, he was going to break something. His father and Wes’s easy acceptance of Beth had been hard enough to swallow but seeing their mother tearful and happy to see the daughter that had abandoned them was just too much.
Nas seemed to sense this.
“هلانتبخير?” she asked, looking at him in concern.
“Can you give me the baby?” he asked in a barely measured tone. “I’m thinking he could use some air.”
Nas studied his face for a moment, frowning. He briefly thought she might not comply with his request, but she gave him a curt nod and handed over their son without a word. Kam was whimpered loudly, clearly unhappy with being given over to his father.
“Thank you,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her cheek before making his escape.
While everyone was focused on the reunion between mother and daughter, Harrison made his escape with his son in his arms. He went out the back door and leaned against the deck railing, staring out into the backyard at the old rusted swing set. It had been a long time since anyone had used those swings and he tried to think of the last time Lucy had used them.
It was equally surreal and frightening to think that his own children would soon be old enough to use them.
“Do me a favor, bud, and don’t grow up too fast,” he murmured to the infant.
Kam stared up at him crankily but waving his arm in displeasure and hitting him across the nose. Harrison jolted at the unexpected contact, rearing his head back away from his son. He adjusted his hold so he could massage his injured nose. He felt equal parts proud and embarrassed about getting whacked in the face by a mere infant. It was almost comical.
“You might have more Jones in you than we realized,“ he mused aloud, trying to appease his unhappy son.
“Which is a bit shocking considering he’s your kid and you’re a helluva lot more Charming than you are Jones,” a voice called out.
Beth.
She was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her chest and looking at him with pensive expression.
“Aren’t you supposed to be chatting with Mom?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow at her.
“You know when you do that, you look disturbingly like Dad. Like really disturbingly like Dad. I didn’t really see it when we were kids, but I can see what everyone was saying now. You look a lot like him.”
“So I’ve been told,” he responded, eyebrow lifting even higher on his forehead. “And you’re avoiding the question.”
“I am,” she nodded.
“You know, when people ask questions, they kinda expect a response.”
“Those people should get used to disappointment.”
“They already have.”
Beth flinched, staring down at her feet and biting her lip.
“Look, I know you hate me, but —”
“Beth, I don’t hate you,” he cut her off. “I honestly wish I did. Things would be easier then. If I hated you, I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t have lost sleep worrying about you for the last three years. I wouldn’t have cried. I wouldn’t have let Nas stall the wedding for you.”
“Nas stalled the wedding? What!” She looked horrified.
“She accepted my proposal and refused to plan the wedding without you,” Harrison responded, trying to keep his voice even. “She said if you weren’t there, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”
“I’m sorry…”
“You can be sorry. I’m glad to hear it in fact, but that doesn’t mean I have to forgive you…”
“I know,” she sighed. “I know. And I don’t blame you.”
“I love you. You’re my sister and you’re always going to be my sister, and someday I’ll probably forgive you, but I can’t today. Not today. There’s been too much pain, Beth. I can’t just forget that. I can’t look at you without thinking about how Dad destroyed his liver over you, how Mom threatened the Dark One to find you and how they tracked to track you for years despite the fact you obviously bought protection spells against that. I can’t just forget that Ned went to actually depression and almost stopped playing baseball, which he loves more than life itself. Henry worried himself sick enough he had ulcers. And Wes? Wes was so focused on finding you, he forgot to shower and Gideon begged me to come over and literally force him away from his research. I can’t just get past that. I’m not like that them, I can’t forgive and forget like that. I know you guys like to call me perfect and if I was, I could forgive you, but I can’t.”
“Oh, Harrison, they haven’t forgiven me,” she laughed bitterly. “No one is letting me off the hook. They’re just in shock right now. Like you said, I’ve been gone for three years. Once that shock fades away, the anger will be there. Just you wait.”
“That anger is justified.”
“I know that,” she snapped, hot angry tears spilled down her cheeks. “Lord knows, I know that. I know I deserve it. I half expected to be disowned upon arrival.”
“We don’t do that.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” she replied, wiping her cheeks and turning away from him. “I’ve come to except the worst.”
“Expect the worst but hope for the best.”
“Hope is a very dangerous thing. Nothing worse than false hope.”
“Dangerous, but powerful. A little hope can go a long way, Beth. You’ve proved that, yourself.“
"You really are a Charming. You legit sound like Grandma.”
“I know you’re trying to mock me but I’m being serious,” Harrison replied, slightly frustrated. “The thing about hope is that…it can drive you, but it can’t take you all the way there. You have to put the work in too…No one is going to forgive you unless you actually try. Don’t just say you’re sorry. Show us you’re sorry. Until you put your money where your mouth is, nothing is going to get accomplished. I can’t forgive you until I see it.”
“That’s what Dad said…That the path to forgiveness…I need to put the work in.”
“He would know better than anyone else,” Harrison said gently. “And I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge.”
“Never,” she responded fiercely, eyes flashing with determined. And for the first time since he saw her, Harrison felt a flash of warmth. He had missed her fire.
“Good.”
He pushed himself away from the railing, tightening his hold on Kam as he did so. He made his way towards the doorway, his sister watching him warily. He bent forward and placed a brief kiss on her cheek.
“Nice to see you, Beth.”
“Nice to see you too, Har.”
–
خرة - shitهلتتصرفبنفسك - are you behaving yourself?دائما - alwaysتوقف - stopهلانتبخير - Are you okay?
#cs ff#cs fanfic#cs fanfiction#cs au#little pirates#little pirates fic#my fic#my shit#a once and future thing#beth jones#harrison jones#wes jones#nasira sultana#kam jones
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