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statustemporary · 8 months

Text

and we'll put on a show

SUMMARY: “I get everyone else doesn’t want to go back, I get it. It’s nice being together and having the comfortable mattress and soft pillows and literal palace. But, actually, no, you know what unsettles me the most about being here?” she rants one day while she paces her bed chambers. Hook casually lays on the chaise lounge under the window, spearing grapes with his hook before sliding them off with his mouth, a sight that becomes more and more dangerous the more she sees it. His shirt is unbuttoned to a staggering degree and his chest hair is more of a distraction than she ever thought such a thing could be.

“Ogres? Flying monkeys? Genies?” Hook offers without any real thought.

|| Emma didn't mean to alter Pan's curse. She just wanted to keep her family together. The Enchanted Forest is interesting and all, but it would've been great if her alterations kept them together in Storybrooke where there's hot showers and a McDonalds just past the town line.

RATING: Teen

WORD COUNT: 6,572 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, Fluff, Humor

AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was going to be a quick, fun, ridiculous kind of one-shot and here we are 6k+ later. also, apparently i have 187 different writing styles so i call this one "no backstory necessary".

sorry not sorry for what you're about to read.

heh :)

***

When Pan’s curse was coming and Emma tapped into her deep well of highly untrained, incredibly powerful, and equally chaotic magic, she didn’t know what to expect. All that had been on her mind was staying together – her, Henry, her parents, Regina, Neal, Hook… She didn’t care how it happened or where they were, all she focused on was not being left alone again.

Wish magic, Mother Superior had told her when the smoke dissipated and they were all in the Enchanted Forest. Wish magic is already powerful but paired with your magic, and the wish magic in your heart, it is something I’ve never seen before.

The prospect was daunting. As if being the Savior wasn’t enough, every time she turned around, she had more power than before and even less of a mind on how to use it.

It would’ve been nice if her magic worked well enough to keep them in Storybrooke with hot showers and cars and food already meal prepped. Instead she’s back to chomping on chimera when she’d kill for a bear claw or some Pringles.

“I get everyone else doesn’t want to go back, I get it. It’s nice being together and having the comfortable mattress and soft pillows and literal palace. But, actually, no, you know what unsettles me the most about being here?” she rants one day while she paces her bed chambers. Hook casually lays on the chaise lounge under the window, spearing grapes with his hook before sliding them off with his mouth, a sight that becomes more and more dangerous the more she sees it. His shirt is unbuttoned to a staggering degree and his chest hair is more of a distraction than she ever thought such a thing could be.

“Ogres? Flying monkeys? Genies?” Hook offers without any real thought.

“Wait. Genies are real too?!”

“Is there anything about this realm that doesn’t surprise you, Swan?”

Emma groans and stomps over to her bed, falling back onto it and letting her legs dangle off the side. Her trousers ride up her backside in the most uncomfortable way but she’s too focused on her frustration to bother fixing it. The clothes in the Enchanted Forest are surprisingly soft and durable with even more flexibility than she’s used to. But she misses jeans and sometimes she wants to wear a nice heel that makes her ass look great and gives her an extra two inches of height. The ball gowns are definitely not her thing, at least not the first fifteen dresses that resembled more puff balls than evening wear. The red dress that her mother pulled out for her though – that is an exception.

“Ugh, what really pisses me off is I’ll never know if the last Game of Thrones book ever gets finished and I’ll never know if Derek dies and I won’t get to watch the new Star Wars trilogy with Henry.”

Hook sits up, eyebrows raised high. “Who is Derek?”

Emma groans again and covers her face with her hands. “I can’t even complain to you because you don’t know.”

“It would be helpful if you explained it to me, love.”

His words are soft and gentle and the verbal equivalent of him offering a hand to stand up. It makes her shiver in a way that reminds her of when she was in middle school and Zackary Theed kissed her behind the bleachers when they should’ve been running the mile. The excitement of something so innocent and sweet.

Leaning up on her elbows, she catches the quick glance of Hook’s eyes on the sliver of stomach her shirt exposes with her movements. When his eyes meet hers a moment later, he smirks but holds back the usual heat, giving her his undivided attention.

The dynamic between herself and Hook has been… interesting, to say the least. Especially with the entirety of Storybrooke’s impromptu return to the Enchanted Forest. Her parents, as much as she loves them – because she is accepting that she’s starting to love them – are overwhelming. They’re trying to be comforting and supportive but they’re so excited to finally live this life with her that they’ve always imagined. They’ve talked of balls and suitors and learning to rule when all Emma wants is a nap and some alcohol.

Henry is taking everything in stride, happier than he’s ever been in all the time she’s known him. Not only does he have both moms in the same palace but he also has his dad, a whole stable of horses to choose from, and archery and sword fighting lessons are part of his curriculum now. All in all, it’s every kid’s fantasy come to life and he hasn’t thought once about Storybrooke.

Emma wishes she could say the same but she didn’t grow up here. This isn’t who she is and finding a happy medium to settle at gets more and more exhausting by the day.

She spent her first week in the castle putting her feelers out and trying to gauge the reaction to the town’s sudden relocation. While some townspeople missed the conveniences of Storybrooke, many of them were happy to be home.

Hook kept himself sparce during that first week. Not only did he want to give Emma time with her family and to begin to acclimate but he also needed to find his ship. She wasn’t sure if he’d come back once he got it. His confession in the Echo Caves and their exchange at the town line laid heavy on her mind and played in circles when she tried to sleep the first few nights. He had been honest from the start and never pushed her to reciprocate his feelings. Feelings which, though he might not believe it, are there.

But the pirate spent centuries on the sea and she doesn’t know, when it comes down to the sea or her, who the more satisfying temptress is.

It was during Hook’s absence that stretched from one week to three that Emma accepted her feelings for him ran deeper than pure attraction. She’d find herself in meetings with the council, looking around for his face only to not find it. A comment would slip just under her breath and his resulting chuckle was nowhere to be found. Loneliness crept over her shoulders like a rolling fog.

Everyone else here had… someone. And once again, Emma did not. Henry bounced around between all his parents and was doted on endlessly by everyone, and her parents divided their time with her and their many duties. Even the friends she made in Storybrooke didn’t feel like they were still hers as they fell back into the roles of councilors and advisors for the crown.

Then Hook came back after three weeks with his ship in the harbor and a bottle of spiced rum from a far-off land for them to share in secret and she felt the loneliness ebb away bit by bit. Rum wasn’t the only thing he returned with. No, he had bundles of fabrics and clothes from the far reaches of the realm and trinkets like seashells for her and Henry to use to replace their cell phones.

He promised her at the town line with a curse coming for them that a day wouldn’t go by that he didn’t think of her. The curse never came but the promise stayed true, his acquisitions showed.

Even now, as they lounge in her bed chambers in the high tower of the castle, his attention remains solely on her. The thought makes her cheeks warm and his gaze, when she meets it, churns a longing low in her stomach.

“Derek is from a television show called Grey’s Anatomy and it’s been rumored he might die this season but I’ve been so far behind that I don’t even know if he did and now I never will!” she groans. The lid has been lifted and now she can’t stop even as she watches Killian’s eyebrows rise higher and higher. “The new Star Wars movie coming out this year was supposed to be a special thing for me and Henry to do together and now we can’t even do that! We used to watch Brooklyn 99 and Law & Order: SVU and reruns of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air together because those were our things but now we don’t have a thing! How do I compete with sword fighting and horses and freaking Robin Hood?!”

“You can always bring the lad to the beanstalk.”

She bites back the urge to say the beanstalk is theirs and instead shakes her head. “I want something we can do where one of the potential risks isn’t plummeting to our deaths.”

Killian smirks and stabs another grape. “I did prevent your fall, love.”

Not quite, she thinks to herself before the thought immediately overwhelms her and she feels her walls reinforcing themselves. She likes Killian, like-likes him and all that grade school crush stuff. But she doesn’t love the guy. Their friendship is still on new ground having only become allies in Neverland. And that kiss…

That kiss is as indescribable now as it was then and her hand twitches in an ache to touch her lips at the memory.

Attraction and chemistry burning red hot is what exists between them. But love? No way.

Emma sits up as straight as the walls she’s reassembled around her heart. “You also hit me in the head with your hook.”

“You survived, didn’t you?”

I might not.

“The point is, while this move to the Enchanted Forest is great and all, we all get to be a…” she struggles to find the right word. Family should be easy to say but she’s still struggling on that front. Mary Margaret and David still don’t quite understand but they’re trying. She’s just not there yet. Emma swallows. “A unit. But this wasn’t my life and I just miss some of that stuff from the real world.”

Killian pauses in his grape escapade and eyes her carefully. “The world is just as real here as it was in your realm.”

Emma sighs and rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Would you have stayed?” he asks after a moment of silence. “If you had the choice between Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest – would you have stayed in Storybrooke?”

“What does it matter?” she says. “I didn’t have a choice.”

His tone edges on sad but he tries to keep it neutral, interested. “Humor an old pirate.”

“I don’t know, okay? There’s a lot that answer depends on.”

Hook eyes her. “What does it depend on?”

“A lot of things!” she fights back. He presses the question again and Emma erupts from her spot on the bed, angry that he won’t let this go, and starts to pace. “Things like where Henry would be, where my parents would be, where you –”

She cuts herself off fast, eyes wide and heart pounding through her chest. Hook stands slowly from his spot on the chaise and licks his lips in anticipation.

“Emma –”

“Mom!”

Henry comes barreling in the open door of her bedroom like a force of nature. Hair windswept and toothy grin on his face, Emma’s always glad to see her son so joyful but especially now when his appearance offers her an escape. “Hey, kid. What’s got you so happy?” She smiles softly at him while ignoring the holes Hook burns into the side of her head.

“I want to show you what Grandma taught me during archery today. It’s so cool, you have no idea.” It’s easy to agree to her son’s request and she moves to follow him out the door when he stops and turns to her companion. “Hook, do you want to check it out too? I bet you probably haven’t seen this in the last 300 years.”

The pirate in question must read the panic on Emma’s face and smiles sadly at Henry, coming close enough to drop his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Unfortunately I have some business to attend to but if you don’t mind, I’d like to watch another day.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n!” Henry grins, salute and all, before he tugs Emma’s hand out the door. “Come on, we’re losing daylight and you won’t be able to see it in the dark!”

She feels the ghost of Hook’s fingers brushing her arm but she doesn’t look back.

Emma skillfully avoids Hook for just over two weeks. In all honesty, he might even be avoiding her with how little she’s seen him around the palace. Then again, she’s thrown herself wholeheartedly into learning her parents’ duties for the kingdom.

But then his ship is gone from the harbor and David has suddenly taken up Mary Margaret’s pastime of sending birds with notes so all evidence points to him leaving. Not that she blames him, no, after all, everyone leaves her eventually. Their relationship is confusing enough for her, she can only imagine he’s gotten fed up with her walls stacking themselves higher with every step forward.

Still, she thought his words before the curse would’ve lasted a little longer than this.

Loneliness sneaks up on her quick but this time she welcomes it with open arms. She has no right to Hook’s heart, not when she keeps pushing him away and hurting him. No sane man would stick around for more of that torture. No sane man has that kind of patience.

Then again, he did stay alive for over 300 years to exact vengeance on his enemy.

Nevertheless, the chaise in her bedchambers stays empty and all she has to rely on is the memories of his mouth fitting perfectly against hers in Neverland and how his breath puffed against her cheek and the absolute fuckstruck expression on his face as he was ready to dive in for more before she put a stop to it. His innuendos and never-ending confidence in her abilities echo inside her mind in the silence of her room and his presence haunts the halls as she leaves enough space to her left for where he would’ve walked.

The first time she lays eyes on him after she ran out of her room is nearly four weeks later and she only catches a glimpse of him from afar.

His ship isn’t in the harbor, that much she knows. Her bedchambers have the perfect set of windows to overlook the water and she’d lie if anyone asked but her morning routine has consisted of checking each ship docked below.

That doesn’t have to mean much, she rationalizes. His ship could be out in the water and he took a dingy to shore so he could make an easy getaway. Afterall, he did leave on the Jolly Roger four weeks ago without a single farewell to her.

Whatever the reason for his probable short stint back in Misthaven, David greets him far from spying eyes and listening ears. Even the roll of her wrist and warmth of magic bubbling in her palm does nothing to reveal the secret conversation between the two men as they travel far from the castle.

They don’t return for hours, which piques her interest. One thing she’s learnt about David, especially since coming to the Enchanted Forest, is that dinner is a requirement for all. To miss dinner means you better be sick or dying. So for the man of the hour to miss the meal completely and for Mary Margaret to not raise a single eyebrow at his absence has her mind whirling.

Emma corners David later that night when he sneaks to the kitchens for a midnight snack. Her nerves have been unsettled all evening and she falls back into her typical stakeout habits which includes eating terrible food while lying in wait for her prey. Of course it’s the Enchanted Forest though and junk food consists of a few sweets and maybe bread.

God, she misses McDonalds.

David jumps in fright when he spots her at the prep island in the main kitchen. He smiles tiredly a few moments later, steals some bread, swipes her butter knife, and closes his eyes contently as he eats.

“Are the ogres angry? Are they going to start another war?” she finally blurts out when the wait gets too long and the silence eats at her center. “Did you send Hook to prepare the troops?”

Silence answers her at first. David looks at her in confusion before a deep understanding settles so serenely on his face that Emma’s instinct is to run. Instead, she swallows it down and focuses on the part of her being nagged by Hook’s abrupt absence and silent return recently.

Shaking his head in amusement, David says, “Everything is peaceful here. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“So where did you send Killian?”

“Killian?” David replies, eyebrows raised but his amusement not flagging in the slightest. He looks like he wants to talk, or maybe just tease her about her slip-up, but Emma rolls her eyes in return and speaks before he gets a chance.

“So where did you send Hook?”

“I didn’t send him anywhere.”

She presses, barely able to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Then where did he go?”

The air in the kitchen shifts. There’s a prickling starting on the back of Emma’s neck and her senses go on alert as David gives her his full and undivided attention.

“Since when have you started caring where Killian goes in his free time?”

She fumbles. Her mouth refuses to function and her brain can barely think of a coherent response. “I – I don’t.”

“Mhmm…”

David’s stare bores holes into the side of her head as she darts her gaze elsewhere. She feels like she just got caught lying by her father which… she guesses is accurate on all accounts. Even if the admission is only to herself, her stomach clenches uncomfortably and her throat dries.

When did she start to see Killian – Hook – as someone to care about? Was it when he turned his ship around and brought them to the one place he swore he’d never return to just to help her save her kid? Was it their kiss, hot and heavy under the humid jungle leaves, a magnetic connection that called to each other so strongly it took a herculean effort for her to walk away?

Or maybe it was when they were at the town line and he told her he’d think of her every day and, when her magic decided to do its own thing, he stuck by her side. He never asked for more than what she was willing to give, every day learning more and more about her limits, her likes and dislikes. Instead, they found refuge in one another. For as much time as he spent around royals, first under their command then stealing from their stores, he felt as uncomfortable as she did within the palace walls and the pomp and circumstance surrounding it all.

He suddenly became one of the most important people in her life without her even realizing it and the thought takes her breath away.

David gives her a soft smile before stepping up to her frozen frame, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and pulling her close to press a firm kiss to the top of her head. She allows him without a fight, subconsciously leaning into his warmth and fatherly comfort, closing her eyes briefly. His whispers act as a soothing balm to her broken soul. So many breaks, so much pain. Yet his presence begins to fill the cracks.

“It’ll be fine, Emma. Just talk to him.”

She listens to his words, soaking in her father at her side. For once, it’s not overwhelming or uncomfortable. It almost starts to feel like coming home.

Of course, because she’s Emma, she doesn’t actually make an effort to talk to Killian the next day. Or the day after that. The conversation that’ll ensue requires courage she’s struggling to find.

Instead, she watches from windows and around corners as he is friendly with Henry and Neal, strikes up long conversations with Granny and Ruby, and even shares in a secret joke with Leroy, clapping the dwarf on his back as they chuckle and grin at each other.

Everyone but her.

He doesn’t even attempt to look for her, doesn’t make an effort to come by her side even after their eyes connect across the courtyard. He merely turns back to his conversation with Marco while Emma pulls Henry closer to her side and continues their walk along the palace grounds.

She refuses to say that jealousy kicks her in the ass to actually do something but when she sees him four days later with that stupidly attractive smirk on his face being directed at Tinkerbelle before Regina joins their secret meeting, she’s had enough. Since he’s clearly too cowardly to approach her, she’ll pull up her big girl panties and do it herself.

It’s not as if she didn’t already know that she’s been running from her own feelings the entire time. Reality only sets in, however, that she’s just as cowardly when she’s strolling down one of the palace hallways and stops short at the sight of him at the other end.

He looks good.

The black leather duster shines from the sunlight streaming through the palace’s stained-glass windows. His dark hair gleams and looks softer than it felt between her fingers in Neverland. Glowing skin, straight back, confident set of his shoulders. The pirate looks like a model at ease in the middle of a clothing commercial, all carefree and beautiful. She bets that if he grins, big and wide and all his pearly whites showing, a fucking sparkle will appear with a quiet DING! to accompany it like a fucking toothpaste ad.

Un-fucking-fair.

Air leaves her lungs at the sight of him and that causes her a delay in retreating. Too substantial a delay, it seems, as Hook chooses that moment to turn on his Emma Radar and look straight at her. His face lights up and he calls out her last name, looking as if the heavens are personally highlighting him with a pitch perfect song.

Seriously?!

She turns on her heel and makes a hasty retreat. She is so not ready for this conversation. If she can even keep it together enough to not pull on that stupid vest – a deep red color that looks to be made of velvet and probably soft to the touch – to drag the pirate into a nearby closet to kiss or kill him. The jury is still out on that decision.

“Swan!” he calls again, rushing to reach her. The cool metal of his hook encircles her elbow and turns her his way. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” he exclaims, relief in his voice and clear in the way his forehead relaxes.

“Really?” She snorts so unladylike she’s sure both Mary Margaret and Regina would be annoyed if they heard. “Because it seems like you’ve been avoiding me since you came back from who knows where.”

“I –” he starts before sighing. “Not exactly.”

Hmph. So he was avoiding her. The truth tugs at her chest in such a painful way that Emma only barely resists the urge to rub at the area over her silk shirt.

“Whatever, Hook.” Anger wraps around his moniker like a hot iron. He can hear it, the slight drop of his head and the glow fading from his features when it’s said, but he doesn’t allow her to run like she so desperately tries. “What?!” she hisses.

“Just come with me, love. I promise, you can be angry and hate me again after but… just let me show you something.”

Hook has only ever looked so earnest once before and her mouth drops open at seeing the sight again. Blue eyes plead with her as his eyebrows raise in encouragement. Emma feels herself nodding before she realizes what she’s doing and suddenly he’s ushering her down the hallway and towards the wide garden space behind the castle.

“I – I don’t hate you,” she says when the silence gets too much for her. Even when they fought on opposite sides and he annoyed her to hell, she never hated him. The thought he could believe such a thing unsettles her to the core. “Just because I’m upset with you doesn’t mean I hate you.”

“Your anger is well deserved. My apologies, love.” He shakes his head, pulling them to a stop before they enter the gardens. Ocean blue eyes stare into her meadow green and her breath hitches as he comes closer. The torches that line the hallway dim as her focus zeroes in on Hook. It’s been a struggle in the past keeping her eyes off of his mouth whenever he deemed personal space to be a nonentity. But this time his gaze keeps her locked in and she doesn’t even dare to blink. “Consider this part of my apology,” he whispers. “Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want.”

He steps away before she even comprehends the enormity of his statement and pulls her into the gardens.

The wide expanse of grass is freshly trimmed, the smell filling her nostrils and reminding her of summers at foster homes wishing for a family to laze around a backyard with. The flowers and plants that border the gardens are in full bloom offering an array of colors. Red roses, yellow shrubbery, pink Middlemist flowers. She’s been in the gardens a number of times since their latest return to the Enchanted Forest but now the colors seem brighter and more vibrant.

Hook gently presses his namesake to the middle of her back. Emma’s gaze shifts forward at the touch and she chokes out a gasp.

Down the center of the gardens sits a newly built wooden stage. Wide and made of a dark mahogany that sheens under the sunlight, it takes up nearly the entire width of the flat grassy area. Deep red curtains are pulled across the front of it, hiding whatever stands on the stage. They rustle slightly from movement behind it and Emma lets out a soft giggle at the sound of Hook cursing under his breath beside her.

Six rows of chairs divided down the middle face the stage and she recognizes many of the occupants to be folks working within the castle, or the Misthaven townspeople she used to see in passing around Storybrooke. They all greet her with a smile and nod as Emma is guided to a chair in the first row with a nearly center view of the stage.

“What is going on?” she asks Hook as he stands beside her seat. Her head turns on a swivel looking for a hint of what kind of performance they’re about to see.

“Patience is a virtue, love.”

“Seriously?!” she nearly whines, earning a chuckle in response. She huffs, eyeing him with a small upward tilt of her lips before she looks away.

Chatter is quiet behind her but there’s an excitement thrumming in the air. Voices whisper from the stage but they’re too soft for her to listen for any familiar inflections. Instead, she examines the corners of the stage and the gaps in the curtain that appear every few moments.

Her eyes are still soaking in everything around her when Hook drops his duster on the chair beside hers and grins mischievously at her. “Back in a moment.” He winks at her, slow and smooth and so unlike his terrible attempt when they climbed the beanstalk. She bites her lip to keep the grin from exploding on her face.

Hook stands on the wings of the stage with her father as they whisper in a tight huddle. The two of them duck behind the curtain for a moment before Hook exits and strolls back to her side, taking the seat he reserved for himself. Before Emma can fire off her questions, David emerges from between the curtains.

She watches in awe at how her father captures the attention of the crowd, how he spreads his thanks to Marco and Pinocchio for the stage and scenery, to Jaq, Gus, and Blue for the costuming. He leads into enthusiastic applause with each announcement and she finds herself just as enthralled as the rest of the crowd.

“Finally,” David says and Hook tenses beside her. “You all may know him as Captain Hook but I know him as a friend. None of this would be possible without him.” Her father looks at Emma for a long moment before he looks to Hook and she looks on in confusion as tears build in his gaze. “Killian Jones,” he says through heavy emotion and her companion shifts uncomfortably beside her. “I thank you.”

David steps aside and the curtains pull away to show the stage. It looks like a replica of Storybrooke General Hospital but a large banner hung centerstage says Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. The entire set reminds her of Grey’s Anatomy.

And that’s when it hits her. David’s words finally sink in and Emma turns to Hook – Killian – in shock. He avoids her eyes, raising his hook to gently scratch behind his ear as he looks up at the stage from a lowered gaze.

Leroy stomps on stage talking about an urgent medical case and Granny joins him a few moments later. The two of them bicker back and forth in a way that borders on flirty, their voices sounding far away and drifting into her ear, leaving Emma confused for all of a few moments before it’s revealed that they play Derek and Meredith respectively. She probably would’ve laughed at the casting – she never would’ve pegged Leroy for McDreamy but he’s honestly incredible on stage – but her focus is set on the man beside her who organized a fucking theatre troupe so she wouldn’t be left wondering about one of her favorite shows.

“Don’t make all my hard work go to waste, love,” he mumbles, cheeks red as he glances at her before quickly averting his gaze again. He nudges at her thigh with his hook and nods towards the stage. Emma doesn’t even realize her mouth is still hanging open until she tries to swallow and finds her throat dry.

With little else to do, she turns her attention to the stage and is immediately wrapped up in the story they’re telling. It’s clear that someone within the troupe is a hardcore Grey’s Anatomy fan and was clearly all caught up on the show while she fell behind due to Neverland. The mannerisms, the dramatics, the dialogue – all of it makes her feel like she’s actually watching it.

The forty-five-minute performance goes by in a flash and she’s amongst the loudest cheers when the troupe takes their bows. Her grin is wide and it’s nearly impossible to take her attention away from the stage.

Until Killian sticks his fingers in his mouth to give a loud whistle and Emma can look at nothing but him.

The ruthless pirate who has continually proved her wrong. The scoundrel who came back to help her get Henry even if it meant returning to Neverland. The lost soul who promised to think of her every day they were apart, even if that meant forever. The man who listened to her frivolous whining and delivered her all she had wanted for and more.

Killian tries to stay behind to speak with the troupe about some matter or another but Emma grabs him by the hook and pulls him to an alcove in the garden hidden by prying eyes.

“Swan, what’s – ”

She backs herself into the alcove, pulls on his vest, and crashes her lips against his, effectively stopping his sentence. Emma feels his sharp intake of breath before he sighs into the kiss, hand coming up to cradle her head against the stone of the palace. Their mouths move over each other slowly, stroking the heat in their stomachs to a blazing inferno.

When Emma pulls away, they breathe heavily in each other’s space, swaying closer together as their eyes remain shut.

“Thank you,” she whispers, biting on her swollen lip when she finally opens her eyes. His are still shut, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I quite like the way we show gratitude.” He cracks an eye open and grins, her own smile widening to match his.

Suddenly they’re courting.

Instead of Netflix & Chill, they have Storybrooke Storytellers & Garden Make-outs. A date night at the movies is equivalent to sitting in the garden as her family reenacts the original Star Wars trilogy, her parents as Han and Leia, Henry proudly swinging a lightsaber as Luke, and Neal fittingly as Darth Vader.

Killian whispers tidbits in her ear during each performance, like how Leroy and Granny fought over who was correct regarding one of their Grey’s Anatomy performances, Leroy winning at the end. “He’s got the bloody show memorized, love. Knows the whole thing front and back. Absolutely obsessed.”

Or how Henry assigned everyone’s roles for Star Wars and how it was unanimously decided that Whale would be the dead victim for their recent rendition of Law & Order: SVU, or even how Killian’s curious about the romantic comedies that Belle has brought to his attention. “The lad wants to do everyone’s fairytales as well,” he says, grin pressed against the back of her neck one afternoon. She laughs at the ridiculous image her son’s aspirations create for her, her soul feeling lighter with every moment.

It’s a little bit of the home she created in Storybrooke, right here in the Enchanted Forest. For a girl who’s searched for that all her life, it makes Emma’s heart race ahead of every performance they watch. No one has ever done something like that for her before and she tells him as much through tears one evening as they look at the stars from her balcony. He holds her close, murmuring sweet nothings into her hair and Emma realizes she wants to give him everything.

“Let’s go to the Jolly,” she says. Her head rests on his chest from their stargazing and she feels him tense under her. Eyebrows pinched together in uncertainty, she tilts her head up to look at him. “If that’s okay with you?”

He shifts uncomfortably, not at all in the way she wants him to be, and her confusion mounts. “There’s no need to go to the Jolly,” he answers with a tight grin.

She rolls her eyes, sitting up from her spot and steadies her focus on him. She says point blank, “I am not having sex with you under the same roof as my parents.” Killian sputters and Emma enjoys rendering him speechless for all of two seconds before doubt creeps in. “Do you not want to?”

At her hesitancy, he surges up to capture her mouth in a kiss that takes her breath away and leaves her dizzy. “There’s nothing more I would like to do right now than take you as you are, wherever you desire.” A growl comes from low in her throat as she threads her fingers in his hair and nips at his bottom lip. She whispers again for him to take her to the Jolly Roger only for Killian to halt everything and pull away with a grimace.

“Killian, what’s going on with you?”

Her pirate ducks his head low to his chest before he gathers the courage to meet her gaze.

“The Jolly Roger is no longer in my possession,” he confesses. A low swoop in her stomach causes her to fumble forward in her haste to press against his side. There’s pain in his eyes, the telltale sign of loss and grief that she knows so well. But it’s small and non-consuming, like a detail of life he just lives with now.

“Did someone destroy her?” she asks after a moment, her touch cautious and her gaze searching. Killian shakes his head.

“No, I – I traded her away.”

Her body is suddenly made of concrete, refusing to move despite her mind screaming at her legs to stop Killian’s restless motions. “Wh-what? Why would you do that?!”

Killian smiles softly then. The pain is miniscule but present even as his gaze softens and he reaches his hand out to cup her cheek. “Your heart’s desire, love. That’s all I want.”

Despite the late hour, the moon shines high in the sky and lights their way. Her fingers clutch tightly to his metal appendage, the weight of his admission weighing heavily on her, and she stumbles after him as he leads her to the old farm fields.

The area was abandoned before the Dark Curse, her father told her one time. It suffered from barren soil after years of overuse and needed time to recover. More time than thirty years’ worth offered and yet, as Killian leads them through a gate, the fields are sprawling with greenery. Vines trail along the ground and large leaves the size of their heads sprout so intensely that it’s difficult to see the soil beneath.

“What is all this?” she asks in wonder.

Killian grins and reaches down to pull up the end of one vine, a sparkling, translucent item hanging from it. “Look familiar, love?”

A magic bean glimmers under the moonlight, ripe for the taking. It is just one of what could probably be hundreds if not thousands of beans growing on the vast vines before them.

Amazed, she asks, “How is this even possible?”

She loves this man. Before he even starts to explain everything that’s been happening – taking his ship after their conversation in her bedchambers to trade it with Blackbeard for a magic bean, organizing the troupe to give her what she was missing while they waited for the beans to grow and mature, crafting a way to make the near impossible travel between realms into something as easy as tossing a coin into a fountain – she knows deep in her soul that she loves him.

All consuming, heart racing, fingers thrumming, glowing kind of love.

“Perhaps you can finally show me that Red Lobster you rave about?” he offers cheekily.

Emma huffs out a watery laugh, words abandoning her as she looks around. When her eyes lock on his, she swears he outshines the stars.

“You gave up your ship for me?” she asks quietly, hoping to convey everything she can’t verbalize in the way her hand reaches for his and grips it tight.

You gave up your home for me?

“Aye,” he says, just as simple but just as deeply meaningful, squeezing her hand in return.

You are my home now, Swan.

They come together slowly but the passion igniting between them is stronger than it’s ever been before. Her heart is bursting with so much joy that she could cry and it takes her all to keep the tears at bay, wishing to sink into the kiss forever. Her smile, however, is another story and so is his, as they grin against each other’s mouths more than they kiss.

She loves him and he loves her.

Theirs is the kind of love they write movies and shows about.

Theirs is the kind of love they write fairytales about.

#my writing #captain swan #temporarystatus #cs fanfic #my fics #captain swan fanfic #captain swan au #season 3 au #cs au #cs ff #and we'll put on a show

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sotangledupinit · 1 year

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running home to your sweet nothings

PROMPT: Enchanted Forest AU

SUMMARY: His informality is refreshing; like water in a desert, Emma is parched and desperate for more. “Take note, Princess, that I take no pleasure in pointing out the susceptibilities of your security or skills. It is my loyalty to you that wants you to remain safe.” There’s an earnestness to his voice and Emma feels her cheeks heat. His breath fans against her face in soft puffs as he speaks and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile. “What have I done to earn such loyalty other than wear a crown?” she asks in an equally quiet voice. She’s breathless as she speaks but she yearns for his unfiltered response. // or the four gifts of killian jones

RATING: Mature on AO3, Teen on Tumblr.

WORD COUNT: Over 16k words. (16,932 on AO3)

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Please note that the tumblr version of this story as seen below has been edited to be a T rating. If you want the M version, please click the AO3 link above.

Chapter 1 of 2

six and ten. spring.

The castle walls suffocate her. They act as a constant reminder that despite her position — Princess Emma Margaret Nolan of Misthaven — she is trapped. Guards follow her every move; every breath she takes, each time she blinks, and even the side of the mouth she chews her food on are all reported back to her parents. Her clothes are picked out for her, her day is scheduled to the second, and she isn’t allowed to venture outside of their grounds.

She understood, albeit begrudgingly, when she was a child. Regina had been a massive threat for most of her life. Fireballs scorched castle hallways for years, the Evil Queen’s magic able to break through the protection barriers only momentarily every once in a while. Out of an abundance of caution, Emma was confined to a singular wing of the castle grounds, limiting her already strained freedom. Worry lined her parents' faces whenever she saw them, and a great relief escaped their lungs whenever they saw her alive and breathing before them. They told her of Regina’s threats, of her power, of her determination and thirst for revenge.

So she understood the fear that took hold of their hearts for so many years.

But she’s sixteen now and Regina’s been dead for four months already. She needs freedom. She needs to spread her wings like her mother’s birds and explore their kingdom beyond the castle walls. Meet their people, understand their lives. Instead, her requests to her parents are met with firm denials as they say that the land is still unsettled and they haven’t determined all of Regina’s followers yet. They fear one of them might make a martyr of Regina and start an uprising of their own. And so she goes back to her days cataloged to the minute and her guards counting the steps she takes on one foot versus the other.

Five months post-Regina, Emma sees an opportunity.

The Duke of Atlantica is visiting and Emma, having been excused for the evening, finds herself in her room with minimal security outside and a lone guard sweeping the perimeter under her window every twelve minutes. She guesses everyone else is too busy protecting her parents and the Duke.

She puts on her riding trousers, a loose top, and a scarf around her hair and face. A glance outside tells her the drop from her windowsill to the courtyard below is a bit higher than she anticipated and her magic is still too unsteady to be guaranteed to work if she needed it to stop her fall. Instead she grabs bedsheets, dressing gowns, and a curtain and knots them together sloppily, tossing the bundle over the sill to billow in the breeze below. She tugs hard on her contraption and once satisfied, descends.

When she was young, less than half her age now, her parents and her would play a game. It was their way of tempering her restlessness and her thirst for adventure. The castle grounds by her wing of the castle quickly became her playground. They would take turns hiding while one of them sought the others. Her father would proudly proclaim their family motto whenever he finished counting.

I will always find you!

One such game led to Emma hiding amongst the buttercups she planted the spring before with Johanna. The flowers had started to climb up the stone walls enclosing the garden she played in and, as she ran her hand along the blocks, she noticed the area was rarely in sight of any of their guards or the towers. After the game, she’d searched out the area from her window and noticed a steep drop on the other side, a slope that ensured an inability to broach the castle walls.

But it didn’t stop anyone from leaving.

At first, she had a fear of the area. She questioned her parents about Regina being able to climb the wall and her parents had Blue cast protection charms over it to cease her nightmares.

But as she grew older and the restraint on her freedom grew tighter, Emma looked at the wall in a new light. Now, as she dashes across the castle gardens to where the buttercups grow wild and free, it is her salvation.

Emma’s eyes cast around for anything that could ruin her potential night of freedom but nothing seems amiss. The patrols have left the area and she has about four more minutes until they come back. Before she climbs the wall, she turns back towards her room and casts her hands out. Eyes squeezed shut, she whispers a spell to hide the evidence of her escape and glances up in time to see a glimmer across it. Releasing a deep sigh, she climbs the wall.

Her boots are muddy and Emma slides more than walks down the slope outside the wall. It’s steeper than she anticipated and the recent rain has left it hard to keep her balance. She’s not sure how she’ll go about getting back over the side but she supposes it’s an issue to figure out on her return.

Specks of mud have kicked up from her boots and onto her trousers and she winces at the sight. She knows she’ll have to hide them from the staff until her next riding lesson to ensure no one asks any questions. A lie will have to be prepared, ready to be said on the tip of her tongue, if anyone should ask about her whereabouts tonight. She knows she’ll have to practice it on the way back. But now she approaches the nearest village to the castle and lanterns are lit outside of the dwellings and there’s an orange glow cast around the streets like sunset had found a permanent home right there.

Boisterous laughter rings out of a nearby tavern’s open window and she hears the chittering of women in the building beside it. She can barely see it but further down the street, there’s a boy and a father at the docks putting on an act for bystanders and an upturned hat at their feet holding a few silver pieces.

There is so much life and joy in the village and Emma wants to explore every inch of it. She stays on the outskirts at first, observing with a thrill of excitement as she tries to decide where she will explore first. The scarf had slid down her face during her hike from the castle wall and she hasn’t bothered to fix it as the different aromas from the village assaulted her nose. She breathes it in and decides her first place will be the inn where a most delicious smell seems to come from its dining hall.

A destination in mind and determination settling in her shoulders, she barely lifts a foot to step forward when one arm wraps around her middle from behind and another comes up to her throat, the shine of silver glaring in her eyes for a moment before she feels the cool metal of a knife against her throat.

“Shhh, love. Don’t scream.”

The voice that speaks in her ear is accented from a place far from Misthaven. It’s the first thing she notices before her fight instincts kick in and she wiggles in her captor’s grip. Her efforts are futile as she can’t free her arms from where he’s trapped them at her sides and the knife follows her throat with each moment.

“Let go of me,” she demands through gritted teeth, her words coming out stronger than she feels. “Do you know who I am?!”

“Aye,” the voice continues and then he lets go only to grab one of her wrists and spin her to face him. “That’s why I’m disappointed it was so easy to grab you.”

Shock doesn’t begin to describe how she feels when she faces her assailant.

He’s young, probably her age if not a year or two older. His hair is dark and disheveled and his piercing blue eyes meet her gaze. He sheathes the knife he had pressed to her throat just moments ago and sighs. The urge to run away – back to the safety of the castle, away from the troubles her parents always feared for her – pulls at her muscles yet her feet remain rooted to the ground. She holds the boy’s stare, only a little comforted by the fact the knife now rests safely against his thigh.

He glances around quickly before he tugs on her arm and brings her to the side of the building, out of the lantern lights and under the alcove hanging from the local blacksmith shop.

“With the tools and talents at your disposal, Princess, I had hoped you’d be on your guard better. Especially considering you’re wandering around alone. Are you even aware there’s still people who sympathize with Regina that live in the kingdom?!”

The tone of his voice reminds her of a reprimand she’d get from her parents and her nose scrunches up in annoyance. Who is he to be lecturing her? He was the one who grabbed and threatened the Princess of Misthaven with a knife to her throat. She opens her mouth and says as much. Every bit of moodiness she feels as a trapped woman just sixteen years of age bleeds into each word she speaks to him. It builds stronger as he stands there looking bored.

His answer, though, comes through a heated whisper as he steps closer to her in the darkness. She notices the way his eyes scan their surroundings and realizes he’s been keeping watch even as he points out her glaring mistakes. “I’m the one who could have killed the Princess of Misthaven because she’s too bloody foolish to pay attention and be on guard when she sneaks out.”

“Perhaps you’re the foolish one for attempting such a thing when I could have your head on a stake by morning’s light.”

“If it means the Princess learns to take better care of herself on her future adventures then it will have been a thankless action well done.”

Emma glares even as she tugs her wrist free of his loose hold. “How do you know I snuck out anyway? I could have a number of guards waiting to grab you on my signal.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes and the action looks so good on him that it infuriates her. He is nothing but a young man who thought himself a know-it-all. What she’d do to wipe the smug expression off of his face.

“You’re not exactly hiding, Princess. You’re like a swan swimming amongst ducks. I spotted you the moment you entered the edge of the village and there’s not been a single movement in the trees behind you nor a rustle of chain link in the air.”

The you’re alone is unspoken yet it rings as loudly in her ears as if he’d yelled it. Despite his sheathing of the knife, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she checks her surroundings from the corner of her eye. She hates realizing she was unaware of the vulnerable position she’s placed herself in until he so unceremoniously pointed it out and the thought makes her nervous. Had she really let her guard down so much that a stranger could come up on her and do this?

Foolish, indeed.

Her eyes give him a once-over, taking in his ragged clothes and the dirt on his handsome face. His fingers are red and he stands tall with a straight set of his shoulders. The knife at his side is low enough that Emma guesses she could nick it off of him and have herself with a means of protection should his intentions differ from his words, but that only remains the issue of how to get closer to him.

She imagines the blood vessels in her father’s forehead straining at the thought of her within a foot of a male her age. Unsupervised at that. Her mother would find the situation hilarious and provide her tips for the future. Similar to how I met your father, she’d say in amusement. Nevertheless, it is all with a plan in mind.

Clearing her throat, she holds her head high like her mother taught her and meets his gaze.

“I thank you for your service to, and protection of, the Royal Family of Misthaven, no matter how unconventional your means are.” He cocks an eyebrow, amusement dancing along his features. She swallows hard as she steps closer and extends one hand to him. The smirk remains on his face as he takes her hand in his calloused one and bends to place a kiss upon her knuckles.

“If you think you can take my knife, Princess,” the mystery boy begins, his lips brushing her skin with every word. It takes her breath away and she forgets to inhale. Mirthful blue eyes meet hers from under the cover of his eyelashes and she’s mesmerized. Few in the realm hold magic. Most users, like Regina and her mother Cora, learn through difficult training that involves more blood and soul than most are willing to give up. Very rare others, like Emma, find their power from being the product of True Love. As far as she knows, she’s been the only one for the last two centuries.

But as this boy – no, young man – stares up at her from where he is bent at the waist, she swears he must have magic. For there is no other reason that she would be so entranced by his gaze and the sound of his voice. It takes her a moment to realize that he continued speaking.

“… then you will be sorely disappointed.”

Her eyebrows pinch together as she stares at him in confusion. It’s not until he presses a gentle kiss, finally, to her knuckles and then stands while holding his sheathed knife in his other hand that she understands he was onto her ruse. She rips her hand from him and steps back despite the way he doesn’t move to hurt her.

“You must think yourself so clever.”

“Well, I’d rather hope I am. Otherwise the rather great army that Misthaven boasts about over-promises and underdelivers. Especially in matters pertaining to the skillset of their princess.”

Emma huffs but says nothing as he’s clearly shown her up on more than one occasion in their brief meeting. Instead, she inquires about his identity. “May I at least know the name of the person who takes such glee in pointing out our weak spots?”

He steps closer, the sheath held tightly in his palm rather than the knife’s handle. Voice dropping to a whisper, he dips his head as he addresses her. Everything about his posture and his proximity goes against the expectations of the court but she finds a thrill in it. Nothing about her interaction with him has been anything like her usual meetings with advisors and other royals. Stiff greetings and full addresses are nowhere to be found. When he addresses her as Princess, his tongue forms the word as if it’s a nickname rather than her royal title and it sends a shock of excitement down her spine.

His informality is refreshing; like water in a desert, Emma is parched and desperate for more.

“Take note, Princess, that I take no pleasure in pointing out the susceptibilities of your security or skills. It is my loyalty to you that wants you to remain safe.” There’s an earnestness to his voice and Emma feels her cheeks heat. His breath fans against her face in soft puffs as he speaks and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile.

“What have I done to earn such loyalty other than wear a crown?” she asks in an equally quiet voice. She’s breathless as she speaks but she yearns for his unfiltered response.

“Your heart,” he says as he takes another step forward. His toes touch hers and she prays he can’t hear the way her heart beats against her chest like she can hear its echo in her eardrums. “It is pure and light and, like your parents, you chose to see the best in people. Even if they don’t have the best of intentions towards you.”

He licks his lips as he looks at her. Not as the princess, not as a trophy to be won. But as if she were just another girl at the market. No, not just another girl. Like a girl who stole his attention and he has no thought but for her. It leaves her gobsmacked and a part of her wishes he would kiss her, be her first. But she’s not sure how many more lines she can cross tonight.

“What is your name?” Her question breaks his gaze from her mouth and it quickly darts up to meet hers. He scratches at the back of his head, just behind his ear, and she finds the action endearing. For all his suave moves and confidence, he is an awkward adolescent just like her.

The answer that laid on the tip of his tongue is stopped by an approaching voice.

“Killian?” the voice calls out, a deeper, more mature male voice with a similar accent to the mystery man’s.

“Bloody hell,” the figure before her murmurs with his head turned towards the alleyway. She assumes it is safe to assign the name to her companion this evening. As the other voice calls his name again, Killian turns towards her and adjusts her scarf over her hair and face before she can even blink, successfully concealing her identity for the time being.

Right as his fingers curl the cloth around the shell of her ear, the other figure emerges from the darkness.

“Bloody hell, Killian. I’d been calling your name for…”

The voice trails off as the person takes in the fact Killian isn’t alone.

“My apologies, Miss…”

The first thing that comes to mind is Killian’s earlier statement, the odd comparison he’d made, and so she blurts out before he can, “Miss Swan.”

“Evening, Miss Swan,” the gentleman says as he steps closer to the sole lantern light on the side of the building. He has a sharp jawline reminiscent of Killian’s with matching blue eyes. His hair curls close to his head and Emma notices he wears the uniform of her family’s navy. “Lieutenant Liam Jones. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, despite the late hour,” he says. The end of Liam’s statement is directed towards Killian in a way that reminds her of the subtle way her parents reprimand her when in company.

He takes her hand in his and bows as he bestows a kiss on it. It’s routine and perfunctory and so different from the one Killian had placed in that very spot moments prior. She only hopes that the turn of her head is enough to keep him from recognizing the uncovered parts of her face.

“Aye, apologies, brother,” Killian starts. He steps in front of Emma just slightly and she feels tension in her shoulders she hadn’t realized were built begin to release at his actions. “She’s a new servant for the royal family. It’s her first night away from the castle and she seems to have gotten lost. I was just escorting her back to her quarters.” Emma peers just slightly over his shoulder to see his brother’s narrow-eyed gaze fixed on Killian in contemplation. She wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t believe him.

“Let’s be on our way then, little brother. It is late.”

Liam looks at them expectantly and Emma barely pays attention to the mutterings of Killian's 'younger brother’ as blood pounds in her ears. This spells disaster.

Killian, it seems at least, would go along with her charade, not turn her into her parents and let her be on her way. Perhaps he’d have escorted her back but standard practices don’t exactly seem his way of life. Liam, on the other hand, exudes the essence of the perfect soldier. Straight back, formal introductions, and following the expectations of the court to the line. If he finds out who she is, Emma will never be able to escape again. Her father will have her under lock and key and her mother…

She’s not sure what her mother would do.

Being at the center of Regina’s turn to evil never rested easily on her mother’s shoulders. The ten-year-old little girl inside of her carried the guilt of a kingdom despite never truly doing anything wrong. Regina’s misplaced anger resulted in the suffering and death of far too many. It wasn’t an experience her mother took lightly. Emma’s heart breaks at what would become of her mother finding out about her activity.

But she knows of her mother’s own thirst for adventure, of the trials and tribulations that she faced when forced to fend for herself during Regina’s reign. The same kind of living that led to her meeting her True Love.

Emma’s True Love isn’t Killian; she’s positive of that from the way he grates on her nerves and his infuriating confident swagger. Snow, though, doesn’t need to know that – especially if it permits her more time away from the castle.

She shares a glance with Killian and he reads the short expression on her face like he spent all day in the library pouring over his favorite book and he immediately steps in to intercept his brother.

“I hardly think that both of us going is necessary. It’s just a short walk up to the castle grounds.”

Disapproval radiates from Liam in waves as he glares down at his younger brother. The minute shift in Killian’s stance would have been unnoticeable if she weren’t nearly pressed against his back.

“It would be improper to allow you to escort Miss Swan back to her quarters unattended.” Liam’s reply is only thinly veiled in a polite tone.

The trio trek in silence, dew from the grass wetting her already muddy trousers. She sticks close to Killian’s side and keeps as far away from Liam’s gaze as possible. Whenever he turns back to check on them, she turns her head away, allowing the scarf to conceal her identity from the angle of her tilt.

“Will you find yourself in trouble when you return?” Emma whispers hastily to Killian, lifting the edges of her cloak as they come upon mud spots. Her trousers and boots are already going to be a pain to clean, the last thing she needs to do is add to her secret laundry list.

“As long as no one finds out about tonight, Miss Swan,” he says, emphasizing the fake name she gave his brother. She levels a glare at the amusement that seeps into his words before he grows more serious. “Then both of us will be free of trouble. Let’s keep it that way.”

She huffs, turning her gaze onto the pathway leading to the servants quarters. Rarely does she ever find herself in that portion of the castle, but she’s thankful that her lockdown for the last sixteen years meant she had the chance to explore it more than once. The only trouble she’ll face is bypassing any servants that may see her.

Liam coughs as they happen upon the entrance, turning to Killian and Emma expectantly. “Goodnight, Miss Swan.”

Emma panics for a moment, glancing at Killian before she curtsies to Liam. The action feels strange in front of a party other than her parents or fellow royals but she hopes he’ll blame any clumsiness on a supposed shy servant unused to such attention. “Thank you, Lieutenant Jones,” she begins, turning to Killian next and curtseying again, glaring as she comes to a stand when she spots the quirked corner of his mouth. “Mister Jones.”

Killian turns to his brother and raises his eyebrows expectantly only for Liam to shake his head. But Killian persists. Emma acts as a spectator to the silent conversation between the brothers, confusion clouding her thoughts until Liam sighs heavily and turns slightly to the side, gaze away from the two of them. Killian waits a moment, staring at his brother’s back, before he moves.

He steps closer to her until his toes touch hers. Bending slightly, his face is a breath away from hers and her eyes widen. Killian has been the only boy - no, man - brave enough to get so close to her and her breath catches for a moment until he stands straight again, the knife from his thigh in his hand. He uses his free hand to lift one of hers until it rests on the scabbard. He curls her fingers around the knife and pushes it towards her.

“Learn to use it. You better be the one to surprise me next time.” He smirks, dipping his head for a moment to press a searing kiss to her knuckles before he steps back and speaks at a volume that allows Liam to hear. “Have a good night, Miss Swan.��

Emma’s eyes bounce to Liam’s imposing figure briefly before she locks her gaze with Killian. Despite how infuriating their encounter has been, it’s one she’s grateful for. She thanks him, her words quiet but no less genuine, and hopes he understands how deep they ring before she hastily curtseys once more, hurrying into the servants door and counting her blessings that it is empty for the moment.

As silent as she keeps her footsteps, she’s sure anyone within a ten-foot radius would be able to hear her racing heart.

- - -

nine and ten. summer.

Sweat trickles down her back down a familiar path created over the last hour. Hair pulled back in a high bun, the bangs that usually frame her face are plastered to her forehead as perspiration drips from her hairline. It pours from her in areas she didn’t know it could come from. Her breathing is hard and she feels uncomfortably hot in her disguised clothing.

The heat, she figures, is a combination of the unbearable humid summer night that waits outside the walls of the blacksmith’s shop and the roaring fire in the back of the room.

“Again!” Killian yells out to her, bringing his body into a starting fighting stance. He’s moved aside the tables he works at during the day and created a small area in the middle of the blacksmith’s shop for them to spar.

After that fateful spring night, Emma hadn’t seen Killian for three years. Managing to get her father to agree on a joint royal visit to the village had taken weeks and, where her past self would have been overjoyed at the ability to go beyond the castle grounds, her mind only drifted to seeing Killian.

He, though, was not in the village that day, nor on the other nights she snuck from her tower room. Life picked up after that, royal engagements and duties begun to pile upon her shoulders with great weight and a part of her missed the solitude from Regina’s torment. Her ventures to the village that were numerous at the start trickled down to once every few months as Emma found herself sitting in appointments and teachings with her parents. It wasn’t until she let her guard down during another spring festival, watching from afar yet again, that he managed to sneak up behind her.

He’d been disappointed at the fact it was so easy to do once more, and merely rolled his eyes when she told him she’d been practicing.

Her tutors weren’t suitable for the kind of fighting and defense she needed, he preached. Her tutors were the best of the best, she cried back at him in exasperation, they were teaching her well. It was a stance she held until he asked her to spar and had her on her back in twenty seconds.

“Propriety of the fight has no place when someone wants to kill you,” Killian said at the time. “On the battlefield, soldiers are fighting soldiers. They will follow similar rules of war. But for you, Princess, they will fight to harm you, to murder you. There are no rules at that point.” She remembers how he swiftly danced out of her range, using the objects within the shop to his advantage until he fought her to the ground again. “Listening to your tutors will get you killed.”

“So teach me,” she challenged through gritted teeth from where she laid on her back. She still remembers the way he contemplated the idea before he accepted.

Three months later and she’s yet to win a fight against him.

Her feet turn her body in a smooth spin on the sand of the shop and their swords clang loudly in the otherwise silent night. The shutters are closed, for they both know they can’t risk someone peeking in and seeing the princess in a sword fight, so the fire provides their only light. It glows against his tan skin like a sunset and she blinks in rapid succession as she feels vibrations from her sword down to her elbow.

Boots shuffling on the floor, she desperately tries to overpower him or dislodge his weapon from her own, to no avail. It is only as she is managing to move his sword above her head that he pulls from her and she sighs, yelping just a moment later as he smacks the flat of the blade against her backside.

“Hey!” she calls out, hand instinctively reaching behind her to rub at the sting. “You truly are a pain in my ass, you understand that, right?”

He smirks. “It is my duty as your friend to keep you humble under the weight of that crown. We simply cannot have you getting too comfortable.”

Emma shakes her head to hide her grin at his words. Friend. She doesn’t think she’s had one of those before. Most of the people she associates with have a large age difference between them and what interests her doesn’t typically interest them. She’s interacted with other royals her age but most of the encounters were awkward and stifling.

With Killian, things are easy. Awkward moments are few and far between, and he doesn’t tiptoe around her feelings. He is honest, if a bit too blunt, and open about what he thinks. There is no stuffy protocol or ‘Yes, Princess,’ ‘Of course, Princess,’ with him. In fact, she swears that he gets more enjoyment out of denying her almost anything she requests. So confident in that idea, she’d bet her crown on it.

Her arms feel heavy as she lifts them to her starting stance once more, without Killian needing to ask. “I’m ready,” she says through her labored breathing.

“Think you can handle it, Princess?” he taunts, that infuriating smirk glowing on his face.

“Please,” she scoffs, “you’re the one who can’t handle it.” She adjusts her weight and nods to him. “Let’s go.”

Their swords clash again, the ringing of metal meeting metal echoing in the blacksmith’s shop. While Emma is soaked in her own perspiration, she can only spot a few lines of sweat trailing down the side of his neck and small beads along his hairline. There’s a sluggishness to his moves, an effect of the two hours of training they’ve exhausted themselves with tonight, but her moves are far worse. She feels the delay in her response and the way she doesn’t see his sword come towards her.

She belated raises her own to stop him and the rattling is enough to spring the sword from her grip. Killian attempts to stop the unexpected downswing of his sword from the loss of hers, but it isn’t enough. The tip of his blade swipes across her open palm and blood immediately comes to the surface.

“Fuck,” he mumbles.

Emma merely stares at her hand in shock, the stinging sensation faint noise in the back of her mind.

She doesn’t remember the last time she bled this much from an injury. Perhaps it was when she was six and she fell from the tree in the palace gardens, stockings stained red. Maybe it was when she was eight and poked herself with a quill. It could have been from the split lip she got when she was eleven while fighting a stable boy when he wouldn’t leave a maid alone. One thing she is certain of is that most cuts and bruises healed incredibly fast once her full powers came in at twelve.

Cuts barely bled and what should have been black and blue bruises remained a light pink.

In the time since Regina, she’s barely had any instances to result in such an injury. The sight is mesmerizing, even if its implications are terrifying, and she barely registers the way Killian stands in front of her, readying a bandage, until a harsh and sudden sting, not from the initial sword swipe, causes a hiss to snake through her clenched teeth.

"What the hell is that?!” she whispers hotly as the liquid from his flask runs over her cut. She tries to pull her hand away but he won’t let her. All she succeeds with is getting pulled closer to him.

“Rum,” he mutters, eyeing the cut. “A bloody waste of it, too.”

The response that sits on her tongue never makes it past her lips as she watches the way Killian wraps a cloth around the palm of her hand, concentration on her injury. When he finishes, he holds the cloth in place with one hand, grabs an end of the material with his other hand and grabs the other end of the cloth with his teeth. He pulls, gently but enough to tighten the makeshift bandage around her hand.

She’s positively captivated by the way he looks so tempting in the glow of the fireplace. Scruff is finally coming in thick sections across his jaw, teeth a perfectly white shine that could make the stars jealous. And his eyes… Perhaps it is the firelight that makes it so, or it is the way he looks up at her from beneath his eyelashes with the end of the cloth between his teeth, but Emma’s never seen a sight so alluring.

“Now,” he says, voice low. Her head tilts closer to his, afraid to lose his words to the deafening silence of the night. “Hopefully those damned tutors gave you some proper first-aid lessons. Nothing like the sad excuses for combat training they’ve given you.”

“My mom taught me first-aid,” she whispers back. She takes pleasure from the way he looks up at her in surprise and slight embarrassment.

“Then you were in good hands, indeed.”

“Not as good as these ones, though, I suppose.”

Her breath hitches in her throat as she registers what she’s said. Wide green eyes stare at his ocean blue ones, the flirty tone of her words sinking in for them both. She swallows hard at nearly the same time he does and her heartbeat quickens under his attention.

“Is that so, Swan?”

She licks her lips, suddenly dry in the heat of the night, and feels her body grow hot as his eyes follow the movement of her tongue. Panic rises within her as she becomes keenly aware of her inexperience.

It doesn’t come due to thinking he’d judge her for it. No, she worries she could do something wrong or embarrass herself further and she cannot have that. Her ego can only take so many hits in a single night, most of which already occurred in their impromptu sparring circle.

Words come from her throat in response though she barely thinks before she speaks.

“Are you ever going to tell me where you were for the last three years?” she asks in a hurry. “You were here and then you disappeared.”

He clears his throat at that, drops her hand, and steps back. She feels cold without him near but there’s a comfort in the fact that static still dances in the air between them. The heat has gone from searing to simmering though she knows that it can turn up again with a single look. It’s happened to them in the past when their sparring has gotten them particularly close or in damning positions.

The answer rests on the tip of his tongue yet he remains hesitant to say it. He struts to the fire on the far side of the room and rests one arm above it, leaning towards the heat. Only when she opens her mouth to prompt him again does he speak.

“I’ve been in training at the naval academy,” he says. She suddenly feels like she cannot breathe, for a different reason entirely. “I was promoted to Lieutenant and assigned to my brother’s ship eight months ago and we’ve been away on a mission until this spring.”

“W-Why?” she stutters.

“That’s need-to-know infor –”

“Cut the bullshit, Killian,” Emma says. She feels anger rising in her chest and stares at him from her spot in the shop, hands clenching and unclenching while her breath quickens. “Why’d you join?”

“Why shouldn’t I have?”

“You could get killed, for starters!”

How could he value his life so little that he’d thrown himself into danger? He made a name for himself, if the villagers were to be believed, as the blacksmith’s apprentice and could have easier taken over so the old man could take a step back. If he didn’t want to do that, Emma would’ve found a place to put his skills to use within the castle.

His eyes shoot up to meet hers in a quick fury, the flames dancing beside him in a matching rage. The clench of his jaw is the only other sign she gets that he’s trying to keep his temper in check. “There are still rebel groups scattered throughout the Enchanted Forest who are loyal to Regina and –”

She glares, face hardening. “And what? You’re going to eliminate the few scattered remnants singlehandedly with your superior swordsmanship?”

Killian takes a step closer, leaving a large gap between them still, and curls his fingers into a tight fist. “Few scattered remnants,” he mocks, voice pinching up as he does so. He shakes his head. “Regina reigned for over two decades, and she tried to kill you for nearly all your life! Nearly forty years of hatred doesn’t disappear in a few years, love. Don’t be naive.”

Tears burn at the back of her eyes but she refuses to let them gather and fall. “Don’t patronize me,” she grits out.

“You need to understand what’s really going on out there. This isn’t a game; it’s not sneaking out to play with swords. Real people are putting their lives on the line for you and your family.”

Indignation keeps her tears from falling. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then start acting like you do!” he cuts to her, temper rising and anger barely under control. “Regina may not be here but the threat is still real!”

“But why did you have to join when we have armies already doing this work!”

“Why is it such an issue for you now? You haven’t cared about it in the past. This is something that’s always been done for the crown.”

“Of course I’ve cared!”

“Not like this.”

“Because none of them were you!”

The dead silence of the night invades the shop. Blood pounds in her ears as they stare each other down and she can see the way his chest heaves the same way hers does from their heavy breaths. The string connecting them is pulled taunt until Emma feels a shock travels across it, the two of them immediately jumping into action and marching towards each other.

Their mouths meet in a messy kiss, all clanging teeth, bruised lips, and fighting tongues. Her sword clatters to the ground around the same time his fingers thread through her hair. She completely surrenders herself to him and feels her body melt in his hold, his arm around her waist being the only thing holding her up. Her skin tingles under his attentions, a full-body shiver shaking her spine when his mouth descends onto her neck.

It reminds her of when she had magic.

The humid night air outside is nothing compared to what is boiling within the blacksmith’s shop.

She swears that when their passion cools from its rush and they exchange a short, soft kiss, the softest of the night, a spark of magic emits from her fingertips. The tingling sensation beneath her skin paired with the overwhelming warmth is the exact feeling she’d get right before performing magic. But Killian doesn’t yelp or flinch or react at all to anything other than their kiss.

Must have been a trick of her imagination.

Later, as they almost finish readying to leave for Emma needs to return back to the castle before the quickly approaching daylight beats her to it, he says, hesitantly, “This cannot happen again, love.” Her head shoots up from tying her cloak around her neck and he quickly amends his wording. “I – I don’t regret a moment. Trust me,” he adds with a grin that has her blushing. “But… this is not feasible. We cannot, Princess.”

It's a proclamation and a resignation in one. A reminder, too, of what exactly their roles are in the social hierarchy.

“My father was a shepherd,” she points out.

“Who was able to masquerade as a king before marrying your mother.” He raises an eyebrow at her and she’s never hated it so much before. Despite their two years age difference, the way he looks at her now makes her feel like a child and he the responsible adult.

As much as it was brought up in their past meetings, especially their first, the realization of their different lives and expectations never sunk in until then. While not outright forbidden, their friendship is taboo. At least to the eyes of the kingdom.

He is right that her father took on the role of prince from his deceased twin brother and no one was the wiser. The truth trickled out from the very start and once her parents took the throne back from Regina, it became Misthaven’s worst kept secret. In truth, half of their people believe it to be just a story, a little detail added to romantic love story of Snow White and Prince Charming to make it grander, more epic, truer.

Funnily enough, the people also seem to forget that nearly all of the council are regular folks just like themselves, Blue being the exception. Red, the dwarves, Geppetto – they were all just regular people who helped her mother when she had no kingdom, no throne, no knights. They continued to help her parents when they needed it, no expectation of being rewarded.

But things were different now. The kingdom had lived in fear and uncertainty for Regina’s return for sixteen years and only now is gaining a sense of security again after all the turmoil.

She knows what her people expect of her – to marry a man of noble standing from a foreign kingdom to help strengthen Misthaven’s armies, grow relations with allies, expand borders, and produce an heir. It is an expectation of any heir in order to help their kingdom thrive. While Killian doesn’t look at her like that’s what he sees in her future, it’s clear he anticipates it as a way of life and refuses to get his own hopes up. He’s lived in other kingdoms before he and his brother settled in hers; he’s seen the expectations and routine of royalty elsewhere. All he has to go off of is his own knowledge.

Emma isn’t sure what makes her say it but she finishes knotting her cloak and lets her words land heavily in the silent room.

“My parents want me to marry for love, no matter who it is or what they can or cannot provide for the kingdom.” She chances a glance up at him. “They know the sacrifice that comes with the crown, the sacrifices they have made over and over again through the years, and this is one that they will not have me make.”

Killian gulps and stares at her.

Clearing her throat, Emma nods her head at him. “You going to escort me back to the castle or am I roughing it alone?”

He shakes his head and gives her a wry smile. “At your service, Princess.”

She catches what he doesn’t say, what he means both in front of and behind the veil of his words. She waits until his face is turned away from hers, focused on lacing his boots, and asks, “When do you ship out?”

His fingers still their movements before resuming the action like she never spoke. “One week’s time.”

“Oh.”

The last three years without him were fine. She stopped looking for his dark hair around every corner in the village after the first month and she didn’t dare ask any of the townspeople about him directly, lest word get around that the young princess had a crush on the blacksmith’s apprentice. She even stopped coming up with excuses to drop in on her father’s meetings with the blacksmith himself, Atticus Brown, when they discussed new armory for their soldiers. He quickly faded to a thought that crossed her mind only once in a blue moon.

Then she spotted him in the market three months ago and their eyes connected like they were drawn to each other. She snuck out that night in hopes that he would find her again and walk her back to the castle. His ability to come up on her without recognition or fast enough retaliation led to her baiting him into teaching her how to truly fight – how to fight for one’s life.

And now it is at its to end and she’s not sure how she’ll make it through this absence. They’ve become friends now, albeit friends that, as of minutes ago, do more than friends normally do, but friends nonetheless. His presence has become a constant in her life and she can already feel the aching void he will leave on shore.

She sucks in a breath, unsure if she wants to actually know the answer, and quietly asks, “What’s going on out there?”

Killian scratches behind his ear as he diverts his attention back to the fire momentarily. He doesn’t want to let her in on the dark dealings he has faced, that much is clear to her, but she cannot be left unaware any longer.

Her inexperience is no excuse. She’s going to be a queen one day – she needs to be in tune with her people, their wants and needs, their worries and fears. Counselors and her parents can only keep her in the dark for so long. To succeed when she takes the throne, she cannot be left floundering for information because they’d been too scared or nervous to give it to her.

“The dissenters are getting desperate but it also makes them crafty. They’re taking on guerilla war tactics and picking off troops slowly until they are all gone. Right now they’re focusing on military camps and ships.”

“But…” she starts, eyeing him considerably. “You’re worried they’re going to go after merchants and civilians next, aren’t you?”

He shrugs, waving one hand away before it rubs at his mouth, his other resting on his hip. “I… I think I am the only one worried of such a thing but I know these types of people and there is only so long they can be held at bay with just this. They’ll keep pushing until they succeed, no matter the cost.”

“Shit.”

Killian’s sudden, booming laugh startles them both and Emma can’t help but fall into a fit of giggles. She quickly slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound but the moment she thinks it’s passed, a suppressed giggle leaves her shoulders shaking. Killian laughs quietly with her but he holds a soft look in his eyes, one that she can’t decipher the meaning of but she knows is the same as the look she gives him.

When they’ve finally calmed down a few minutes later, they both confirm they have what they need and begin their departure. Or, so she thought they would.

“Wait,” Killian starts. She turns away from the door and to him, words teetering on the tip of his tongue. He settles on just two. “Take this.” He extends his arm and Emma gasps.

“You’re not serious,” she whispers as she admires the handle of the blade she’s been using for the last few months. It’s one she recognizes, one that he’d been working on for his personal collection for the first month after they reconnected as he waited for her to come for their training sessions. She’s watched him a few times when he asked for a few extra minutes before they began and the proud smile once it was finished, his insistence that she try it out. It quick became her favorite and she repeatedly selected it to use in training.

The way Killian works with the weapons and metals in the blacksmith’s shop is how she imagines some people might admire her magic, had she still had any ability to use it. He works with an ease that makes his efforts look simple and he manipulates the heated metals in a way that leaves her speechless. On more than one occasion, her mouth has gone dry as she witnessed his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and sweat glistening on his skin.

In a way, it’s a shame that Killian’s joined their navy. He is a fine blacksmith and would have been an incredible successor to Atticus when he retires soon. None of the apprentices that he’s taken on since Killian’s left have been inspiring. But she knows, from her gut, that he’s an asset they cannot afford to lose in the navy. He’s on the fast track to captain, she’s sure.

Killian gives her a scabbard with a leather belt to sit around her waist. She struggles to get the sword in it at first, the angle awkward and the action unfamiliar.

“Here,” Killian says as he comes up behind her. Emma sucks in a breath and delights in the shiver that crawls down her back as he presses against it and takes hold of the wrist clutching her new sword. “Focus, love,” he teases. His lips brush against her neck as he speaks, deliberately so, and Emma whines. All talk of the fact they cannot have a repeat of earlier tonight is out of her mind until Killian clears his throat.

Words fill the air but she hears none of it. Instead, she concentrates on the feel of his skin against hers, the way his chest vibrates against her back as he talks, the smell of ash, sea water, and wood wax. She collects what little tidbits she can, even as he helps her practice sheathing her sword. For all she knows, this may be the last she has of it. Of him.

The thought brings tears to her eyes and she blinks them away, glad they are gone by the time she turns around to face him. “Ready, sailor?”

He grins and her heart flutters and its then that she realizes she’s in deep shit. “Aye.”

The inevitable freakout that comes from her startling realization is shelved until she’s alone in her room, away in her solitude. For now, she enjoys their walk back to her secret exit. They’ve done the route enough that they could make the trip with their eyes closed while walking backwards, but Killian remains vigilant and continuously scans the area for anything out of the ordinary.

The dawn’s early light is breaking over the hill beside the castle and Emma knows they only have precious few moments left. With that in mind, she breaks their comfortable silence.

“How did you recognize me? That first time?”

“You’re hard to miss. Like I said,” he teases, a grin tempting the corners of his mouth. “A swan amongst ducks.”

She gives him a wry grin. “That’s not an answer. Only a handful of people knew what I looked like then.”

Killian swallows audibly at being caught, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. They’ve moved close enough that she can feel the tensing of his knuckles against her own and a part of her longs to reach out and tangle their fingers together again. A blush works its way up her neck, warmth making her feel hotter than the humid air already has, as she thinks back to the first and last time they held hands earlier that night.

In all honesty, she didn’t know what she was going to say when she opened her mouth. Their first meeting certainly hadn’t been on her mind. But now that the question hangs over their heads, she has to know.

“I was there,” he says. Taking a deep breath, he focuses on his rings, fingers fiddling with the metal he probably crafted in the very shop they left. “That day, when you killed Regina.”

Her heart races. Blood pounds in her ears. The adrenaline rush she gets now is different from what she’s experienced before in his presence.

No.

No, this is panic. Fear. Anxiety. No one is supposed to know it was her doing that killed Regina. She can count on her fingers how many people do know, simply because it was unavoidable. So she does what she does best and hides her heart in a concrete vault, walls scaling higher than the castle tower they’re approaching.

She remembers the way her mother flinched back when the magic burst from her palms. How her father got caught in the crossfire and nearly died when her magic shot him across the room. What happened to Regina wasn’t what she intended. All she wanted was to stop her, protect her family from being hurt by her again.

Despite years of teaching and training, Emma’s magic was more powerful than anyone had seen in the realms before. The only one who came close to what she was capable of was the Dark One and he’d gone into hiding nearly two decades ago. With her incredible power came an incredible lack of control, no matter what she did or what Blue tried to teach her.

Little things she could do. Small spells that magical beings learn when they’re young. It was the stronger spells, the ones that required her to tap into more of her power, that gave her issue. The more power she needed, the less control she had. Her mind couldn’t find a focus, a singular thought, a strong enough pull to keep her centered.

She doesn’t remember much of the night Regina broke the magical barriers to the castle and attempted to murder her and her father in front of her mother. Attempts to recall the way in which Regina stole her from her bed and brought her to the highest tower of the castle result in a blank. How her and her father broke free of Regina’s magical holds is an unknown to her, one that her parents refuse to tell her.

But Regina’s murder – the way her own magic made her a monster… that she cannot forget.

The smell is what always comes to mind first. Burning flesh holds a rancid smell unlike any she’s experienced and incites her gag reflex. The sound is next. Regina’s gurgles as her blood boiled beneath her skin and her organs melted within her body makes Emma want to sob until she is dried of all her tears. Last is the vision. The sight of Regina crumpling in pain as Emma’s magic destroyed her body from the inside out, of the once evil queen begging and pleading for mercy while Emma’s magic wouldn’t let up.

For decades, her parents showed Regina mercy. They gave her chance after chance to prove herself, never wanting to sink to her level. And Emma ruined that in a single night, providing one of the most gruesome deaths in Misthaven’s history.

Emma avoids his gaze, eyes fixed on that very tower before them as she feels her good mood dissipate.

“If what you’re saying is true, shouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

Her tone doesn’t reach the joking lilt she is aiming for so she nervously laughs to cover it. Killian’s small glare at the side of her head tells her she is doing a miserable job.

“What was it you said before, Swan? Bullshit?”

A warning tone takes hold of her voice as she says, “Killian…”

“No one else knows,” he prefaces. “I didn’t tell a soul, I promise.” She turns and holds his gaze for a few moments and he lets her, completely unguarded and honest like he always is. A few of her newly constructed bricks fall. He waits for her nod before he continues.

“I had just finished a meeting with your father, Graham, and Atticus regarding upgraded protections for the troops. Graham and Atticus left a few minutes prior and your father offered to help me gather the materials we brought. One moment he was handing me a chest plate and the next, he disappeared in a cloud of purple and gray smoke. I knew something had happened, something bad, so I went looking.”

“Why didn’t you tell any guards?”

“There were none.” Killian eyes her curiously. “How much do you remember from that night?”

“Only what I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

She remembers the aftermath even less. The incredible use of her magic left her asleep in bed for nearly three months as her body attempted to recover from the amount of power drawn that night. Physically, it helped her. Magically, however, is another story.

He stops her then, just outside of the wall on the hill that she uses for her escape. The jovial atmosphere that has come and gone throughout the night has completely disappeared. Killian’s hand gently gripping her elbow sears her skin, imprinting itself there forever, she hopes, and she is left stunned by the gravity of his gaze.

“Regina very nearly killed your entire family that night, love.”

The breath Emma sucks in is swift and sharp. A physical pain hits her chest at the thought.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever found out how she got through but when she did, she killed nearly the entire guard. The entire eastern side of the castle was decimated. By the time I made it to the tower where she took you and your family, she was holding your father’s heart in her hands and had a poisoned arrow held mid-flight, pointed straight for your heart.”

No matter how hard she tries, her mind cannot formulate the images he describes. It does bring to the forefront of her mind her mother’s screams as the events unfolded. She hears the echoes of her pleas for Regina to not do this. She feels the rattling in her chest from her mother’s earth-shaking sobs. The agony and helplessness that gripped her mother runs through her blood again and she feels the hot tingle of her magic beneath her skin despite nothing coming to the surface.

“So then you must have seen what I did to her,” Emma says. She meets his gaze head on, eyes welling with tears, and steadies her chin so it doesn’t tremble. “My magic made me a monster.”

“Your magic made you a hero.”

“I killed her. Slowly. Torturously. I listened to her beg for her life and I didn’t even feel sorry. That’s what a monster is.”

“I’m sorry, I must have missed the part where you did all of this as a grab for power or to quench your own bloodlust,” he shoot back at her, eyes narrow and frown etched upon his features.

“I went to her level, Killian.”

“Bollocks, Emma. Complete and utter bollocks.” Killian shakes his head as he begins a short pace back and forth, glancing at her every few steps. “I’ve heard a lot of asinine things in my life but never from you, until now.”

She takes a step back, hurt clear on her face. “What the hell!?”

“No,” Killian starts, shaking his head again before he approaches her, voice cut low so not even the early morning crickets can hear him over their musical sounds. “You are not a monster. Your magic does not make you a monster. It’s a part of you, Emma. A strong, beautiful part of you that comes from love.”

“But –”

“But nothing. Regina used magic through anger and bitterness to get revenge and hurt people. You used magic to protect the people you love. That makes all the difference. You are not the same as her. You never could be.” Any retort she has dies on her lips as his hands come up to cup her face. Their noses brush but their gazes remain locked. “I know the outcome of that night hurts you, but that’s because your heart is good. Your magic isn’t something to be ashamed of. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

She swallows hard. Her eyes flutter closed as she inhales shakily, her words a quieter whisper than even his. So quiet she’s surprised he hears her at all.

“My magic’s been waning since then,” she confesses. “I don’t know what’s happened, but I struggle to tap into it and whenever I do, it’s like there’s barely anything scraping the bottom of the well. I – I don’t think I have any left.”

“Emma…” Killian’s quiet, comforting voice is drowned out by the calling of her name from the tower beside them. The two of them break apart in a hurry, eyes darting up to see if they’ve been spotted but all that greets them is the billowing of her curtains.

“I need to go,” she says regretfully. She hoped they’d have more time for a proper goodbye. Her parents and her are travelling to the opposite coast to spend two weeks touring some of the villages and she won’t be able to see him off.

“Have your sword?” Killian asks. Emma pats her side where it sits in the scabbard. “Your dagger?”

“In my boot,” she answers, raising one heel to tap the side of her boot where the dagger he gave her years ago sits sheathed in its hiding place.

Killian surges forward, pulling her into a hug and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. “Be safe, Swan. Promise me.”

She clutches him as tight to her as possible, closing her eyes as she takes stock of him one last time. “Only if you do too.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, love. I’m a survivor.” She huffs out a laugh at that and shakes her head. A second call of her voice from the tower has her pulling away and whispering a final goodbye.

She feels his eyes on her back the entire time she climbs up the side and she bets he’d clamber over the side wall in an instant if she were to start falling. Not that she wants to test that theory. One of her legs swings over her windowsill and she takes the moment to look back at his waiting form at the tree line. She waves and her heart soars at his wave in return. Always watching, waiting, protecting.

Emma swings her other leg over the sill, coming to a stand in her room in a daze, soft smile on her face.

“You know,” her mother’s voice rings out from Emma’s bed. Snow smirks in delight and amusement as she watches Emma’s eyes widen and face pale. “Of all the times I snuck out of here growing up, I was never caught.”

---

three and twenty. fall.

Atticus Brown dies by the time Emma turns 22.

His blacksmith shop in town lays vacant for the first few months following his death until Emma starts holding workshops with potential apprentices from visiting blacksmiths of allied nations. It makes her feel closer to Killian in his absence while also serving the purpose of scouting a new royal blacksmith. They’re getting by, at the moment, but stores are waning and there’s only so much their allies can offer up without putting themselves at a disadvantage.

The answer comes in a blacksmith from a land Emma’s never heard of before.

A recommendation from Atticus in his dying breath of a man who responds to a letter with a royal seal in only three months’ time. Isaac Heller.

She heard the name in passing before. He’d been one of Atticus’ apprentices before moving away when he was her age. The man never kept up letter writing with Atticus despite the numerous ones he sent Isaac’s way, and that alone left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Then there is the slimy way that Isaac finagles his way into every conversation he hears. It’s like a habit of his, or even a curse. She can spot across a room the way his ears perk up, his back straightens, and his face instantly brightens in faux interest as he inserts his way in.

“I don’t like him,” Emma tells her parents one day once she’s positive Isaac has left castle grounds. “There’s something about him…”

“Is this because of your gut or because he’s not Killian?”

Emma’s cheeks burn at her mother’s mention of Killian while her father’s head shoots up in alarm.

“Killian? Killian Jones? Why would Emma be concerned Isaac’s not Killian?”

“Now is not the time, David.” Snow turns her attention to Emma as David glances between his wife and daughter in horror. “So, which is it?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “My gut says don’t trust him. He has a hidden agenda.”

Snow nods her head. “Your father and I agree. We’re not letting him in on any military plans, but unfortunately he’s all we have for the time being.”

“None of the apprentices from the workshops can do it?”

David rounds the table, coming to stand beside Snow. “They don’t have enough training and aren’t able to do what we need to. With anyone else, we’d have them continue a regular apprenticeship under our blacksmith.”

“But with Isaac being our only option right now, we want as little of his influence anywhere as possible,” Snow finishes.

She sighs, nodding her head in understanding. There had been a time, about a year or so ago, when one of their ships called Jewel of the Realm were making great headway on Regina’s loyal supporters. Apparently the captain and his lieutenant were battlefield masterminds on the water as well as the few times they took their crew to fight on land too.

Then a few months ago, deep in the Enchanted Forest away from any nearby villages, Snow’s birds started bringing her items to indicate a new, growing resistance in the name of Regina. They’ve all come to the conclusion that they found themselves a new leader to organize them into action, gaining numbers by the day.

“Can we get back to Killian and Emma?” David questions after a moment of silence.

“Nope,” Emma says, backing up with her hands in the air. “No way. I am out of here.”

The next time she sees Killian, she’s halfway through her third year in her twenties and it’s at a ball held in his honor. Sort of.

As a way to keep morale high amongst their troops as well as show their appreciation for all their sacrifices, her parents hold a ball to honor their servicemen who have been promoted. Liam attended a ball three years ago when he became captain and Emma faked sick, worried on the off-chance he’d remember her as the servant girl from that one night years ago. It was a risk she couldn’t take so she begged off and stayed in bed for the night. Sneaking out had been out of the question as the castle had been crawling with military officials. Now that she’s become more of a public figure, there were too many chances she could be noticed.

In all honesty, she considered contracting the same fake illness the night of this ball as well until her mother came into her room holding a beautiful red gown and a teasing smile on her face.

“I think Killian will be left speechless to see you in this.”

“That’d be a first,” Emma mutters to herself as fingers the silky material of the dress. It’s soft and smooth against her fingers, sliding off her skin like water. The red is a particularly eye-catching color, familiar too. Almost the same color as the vest Killian wore as an apprentice blacksmith.

Wait.

“What do you mean ‘Killian’?”

Snow grins, barely contained joy hidden beneath it. “Yes, I must have forgotten to mention it to you. Both Killian and Liam have been promoted for their efforts on the Jewel of the Realm and we’ll be honoring them tonight.”

The rush of blood through her system drowns out anything else her mother might have said and blocks her from noticing the servants who’ve come in to help her prepare. Emma moves with them out of habit rather than any real thought, her mind anywhere but in her room.

Killian and Liam were the ones on the Jewel, conquering both sea and land. Not that that should surprise Emma. Killian’s always been incredibly intelligent and strategic in the time she’s known him. He works hard to stay one step ahead of his enemy and it had clearly been paying off. Still, her heart lurches when she recalls how many close scrapes the Jewel has been through over the last few years.

Her mind races over the possible scenarios in which they see each other again for the first time in years. Would she trip? Would he still be excited to see her? Would this be another time that evil descends upon their castle and ruins everything?

Her palms are sweaty by the time she sits besides her parents on their thrones in the ballroom. She fiddles with her fingers constantly as allied dignitaries greet them and she half expects her mother to slap her hands away as if she were a child. Once the ball officially starts, Emma is immediately surrendered to the dance floor. She spends over two hours dancing with nearly every military officer there and considers her plan to contract a fake illness once again. Clearly Killian isn’t here tonight, nor is his brother. Her mother simply played a cruel joke to get her to join them at the ball.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Killian speaks from behind her, a gasp of surprise leaving her lips before she turns around. “You know,” he starts in a low voice. “You must have done something bad for your parents to torture you with these dances. I don’t think I’ve seen your toes stepped on so much.”

Emma huffs, barely able to keep the laughter out of her voice though she suspects her glee at his appearance is as obvious as his own. “Are you saying you won’t be one to step on my toes?”

“There’s only one rule, Swan,” he starts, coming closer and wrapping one arm around her waist as he grabs her hand with his free one. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Music starts and the rest of the ballroom fades away as they let the music move them. Their eyes immediately lock onto each other and Emma can’t help the upwards twitch of her lips. “Who taught you to dance?”

“Liam, believe it or not,” he confesses, his shoulders hunching up for a moment before he settles them down for the dance. “He said I’d need to know how to dance if I ever wanted to impress a princess.”

“Oh, just any old princess?”

“Aye. Your lot are a dime a dozen, love.” She only lets enough of a laugh escape for him to notice, their eyes twinkling as they bask in the moment alone together. “But are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Impressed?”

He passes his inquiry off as a joke but the earnest pinch of his eyebrows give him away. Anyone else could have looked at him and missed it but they know each other like their favorite books. So she smiles, the hand on his shoulder sliding over to the back of his neck and starting to play with the hair that rests at his collar.

“Eh,” she starts. He huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes until she whispers his name softly. “You’ve always impressed me.”

He swallows hard, the action audible to her in their close proximity. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

“I missed you too.” She blinks quickly and offers a reassuring smile at his concerned expression. His hand that had tightened against her back relaxes as they continue to move without thought. “Even if you are constantly putting yourselves in danger.”

“Anything to keep you safe,” he says even quieter than the last.

“When do you ship out again?”

“Not for a few weeks.” She tries her best to keep up her smile for him but it wobbles. It seems like she is only destined to get him for blips of time, never granted more than that. “But it seems that, as her new captain, the king and queen have requested that Misthaven’s capital be the Jewel’s homeport.”

Emma pulls back just enough to get a full look at his face, her eyes roaming over every inch to see if there’s any hint of a joke there. Not that he’d joke about that but she couldn’t let herself accept it until she knew it was completely true. The hopeful grin he gives her and the small nod he adds has a wide smile breaking onto her face.

“Really?” she asks in disbelief. His homeport is now the capital. She could keep an eye on the Jewel from her bedroom window.

“Aye.” His eyes finally broke free of hers as he glanced over her shoulder towards where the thrones sat on a dais. “Had a personal visit from Her Majesty to let me know the news.”

“Wait, seriously?” Killian nods again and Emma doesn’t hold back her laugh this time. There is no bigger meddler in the realm than her mother. Her father comes as a close second but her mother’s brilliant plans and determination keep her in the top spot.

It’ll be easier on her heart to have him so close, she decides in that moment. She knows Killian has no intention of courting her, regardless of what she thinks his feelings are. He’s grown up accustomed to the fact that princesses don’t marry commoners, even military officials. Nothing she says will convince him of it otherwise and part of her wants to hate him for denying them a happiness they most likely won’t find with anyone else. At least not in this way. But she understands too.

Her duties, her role as princess to her people, heir to the throne, must come first, same as his duties to the crown. Just like her, he acts in what he thinks is in the best interest of Misthaven. But her parents refuse to allow her to sacrifice love just to keep their kingdom. She knows that if she were to abdicate the throne for any reason, especially love, they’d understand and support her.

Killian would never forgive himself if she abdicated for him though, not that she ever thought of actually doing it. Since birth, Misthaven’s well-being has been her top priority. She loves her kingdom and her people and she wants them to thrive. She never thought she’d give it up for anything. But if it came to a choice, her kingdom or her… Killian, Misthaven stands no chance.

They may never be what she wants them to be, and she’s accepted that. At the very least, she will be able to keep him in her life, close to her heart even if he won’t accept her offering of it.

But their connection will not break. It’s too strong, taunt with tension that reinforces its binding, to ever break. She knows it will continue to tempt them and she knows they’ll fall for it every time. She’ll take what she can get, she decides. From the looks he gives her as they dance, she assumes the same to be true for him.

A respite among duties.

It’s not until they hear roaring applause that they stop dancing. The musicians who have been performing throughout the night are taking their bow and her parents are offering their thanks for their services. Heat seeps into her cheeks as she realizes she spent four songs dancing with Killian, none the wiser.

A flush dances on Killian’s neck beneath his collar as he clears his throat. “Liam will be disappointed.”

“Why?”

“He hoped to dance with you tonight,” Killian says, embarrassed. “He believes you were masquerading as a servant girl a few years ago and wanted confirmation on if he was right.”

Emma smirks. “Me? Pretending to be a servant girl? Why would I ever do that?”

He chuckles quietly, looking around the room as he licks his lips. Satisfied that the coast is clear, he leans down and whispers, “Meet me tonight?”

She nods before he can even pull away and they share a smile before Killian disappears into the night.

He wants measurements. At least, that’s how their visit starts. His hands trailed over her, his touch sending a burning sensation through the cloth of her riding blouse down to her skin.

“Bloody hell, love,” he grumbles. “Stay still.”

“I can’t,” she whines, hip lifting and her hand slapping his away. “I’m ticklish.”

“I’m never going to get this done if you don’t stop moving.”

“What is this even for?”

“Come on, Swan. It’s not a present if I tell you beforehand.”

“What? You gonna sew me a dress?”

“As much as I’d love to see you cut quite the figure in a few more dresses like earlier tonight,” he begins, a heated look making its way towards her before he attempts to get a measurement of her hips again. “I was a blacksmith’s apprentice, love, not a seamstress’.”

Her breath is lofty as she watches his deft fingers move across her then pencil notes on the parchment beside her body. “Is that what you prefer?”

“Hm?” he asks, distracted.

She licks her lips, watching as the fringe of his black hair falls into his eyes as he writes. She just barely keeps her hands gripping the table’s edge to not push it out of the way. No, she wanted his reaction to her next statement.

“Me in dresses and corsets. Is that what you prefer?” she asks and his head shoots up to her in an instant, writing paused. “Or is there another state of dress or… undress… you prefer?”

It takes him all of a moment – the parchment and pencil swiped to the side to clear the table – before he reacts, coming into her space, cradling her head, and crashing his lips onto hers.

The measures wait until another night.

---

five and twenty. early winter.

Isaac Heller could, well, go to hell, for lack of a better phrase.

Killian and Liam’s conditions are partially his fault, after all.

The first time she sees Killian after Neverland, he’s hiding away in the blacksmith’s shop with a bottle of rum that’s nearing empty, bloodied bandages wrapped around his empty wrist. Dark circles have found a home beneath his eyes and his face is gaunt.

“You sent them where?!” Emma roars, turning on her father in anger.

“They know the risks and they accepted them.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to send them!”

“They’re the best equipped, Emma. Liam and Killian are the only ones I trust with this.”

“It’s Neverland!” she shouts back. Frustrated tears well in her eyes and no matter how much she tries to blink them away, they simply multiple.

She knows that the trip is necessary. Regina loyalists have poisoned all their weapons with dreamshade and that, topped with the poor quality of armor and weapons that Isaac is overseeing, Misthaven’s armies are being wiped off the map. The advantages that they’ve worked hard to take back, all the effort Killian has put in as the Jewel’s captain the last two years, are gone.

“We need a cure. With it, we still stand a chance,” David says. He approaches Emma slowly, cautiously. “They know dreamshade is dangerous. They know Pan might still be around. But this is a risk we have to take. We have one chance at this.”

Emma sniffles. “They know you’re just trying to get the cure, right? That you’re not like King George or Regina’s loyalists and going to use it as a weapons?”

“Of course they do.”

“And – and they’re together, right? You sent them together.”

“I wouldn’t have done it any other way.”

Emma nods her head, trying to reassure herself the best way she can. David sighs sadly and pulls Emma into his arms, cradling her head to his chest as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Liam won’t let anything happen to Killian. And Killian’s a survivor.”

“He better be,” Emma mumbles. “Or I’ll kill him.”

According to the reports of Smee, Killian’s first mate, the Jewel of the Realm landed in Neverland’s waters without issue. Mermaid seas were quiet and the pixies left the crew alone. Pan led them right to the dreamshade with no issue, though not without attempts at manipulation. It wasn’t until Liam plucked enough of the plant to bring back and Killian raised a torch to light the rest on fire that Pan raised issue.

Sending the Lost Boys after the Jewel’s crew was a cruel decision. They were just kids, Your Majesty, Smee stuttered in his explanation as he cradled his red hat to his chest. We didn’t know what to do. But they were savages too.

She’s not sure how he did it but Killian led the crew through the ambush with no casualties on their side. Injuries, plenty, but miraculously no casualties. Most of the injuries came from fractured armor, simple strikes breaking the metal protection and leaving the men vulnerable. The worst of it happened to Killian and Liam.

With the rest of their crew being overwhelmed by injuries from the armor’s lack of protection, the two of them took on most of the battle themselves. It came to an when they fought Pan side by side, according to Smee, and the boy who never grew up didn’t want to give up. He used his magic to play dirty tricks and took delight in making the brothers suffer. He sliced Killian’s left hand off with his own sword, broke Liam’s back with a sliding boulder as he checked on his younger brother.

Pan was only stopped from finishing the job by the call of a strange bird none of them could see. Possibly the only thing that frightened him as he flew from the area in an instant. The crew rounded up the remaining Lost Boys to put in the ship’s cells and brought Killian and Liam straight to the healers once returning to Misthaven.

I’m a survivor.

He’s alive, yes, that much Emma can see from the entrance of the blacksmith’s shop, but did he survive?

“Killian?” she asks quietly into the still air of the shop. His head jerks up at the sound of her voice and he immediately hides his left arm behind him. “Oh, Killian,” she whimpers, striding up to his side and pulling him into a hug.

A sob cracks against her shoulder and Emma feels Killian drop his weight onto her, his tears wetting through the fabric of her cloak. They stay in their embrace for longer than she cares to count. Her focus remains solely on him and his hurt, her heart aching through his pain.

“I can’t go back,” he whispers as his tears dry.

“You will never have to go anywhere you don’t want to,” she reassures him.

“No,” he says with more strength. He pulls away from her, wipes his sleeve along his nose and cheeks. “I can’t go back into service.”

Her brows furrow in confusion. “You’re an asset to our navy. You’ll always be wanted. You’re brilliant and –”

“No,” he says more forcefully. “I won’t go back into service.” He glares at his left arm and she knows that’s not really the issue. Misthaven will take him in whatever shape he’s in, if he wants it. But there’s a darkness to his gaze now and a self-hatred that hadn’t been there before Neverland. Rage curls around her chest as she wonders what horrors Pan must have twisted and made Killian believe.

“Killian, you don’t have to go back into service if you don’t want to. That’s fine. We –”

“I have to take care of my brother. He’s spent his life taking care of me so I must attempt the same for him.”

“I can hel–”

“Leave, Princess.”

Emma stares, dumbfounded at his abrupt change of tone.

“Now.”

He doesn’t look at her as he speaks, anger and disgust in his voice as tells her to go. She doesn’t know if it’s directed at her or not but it hurts, nonetheless. She turns and walks to the door in a fog, stopping briefly before she goes.

She turns her head only slightly, just enough that she can’t see him but her words will still carry his way. “Thank you for making it back,” she says and it isn’t until she closes the door behind her that she hears his agonizing cries.

It takes all of her willpower to not march right back inside and wrap him in her arms for the rest of the night. But there are some things he doesn’t need or want her for.

Instead, she throws her focus into the young apprentices that had continued to study under the visiting blacksmiths. The next time she enters the shop, there’s no sign that Killian had been there aside from some scoffed hay. It pains her to see how easily he leaves no trace of himself.

Isaac only continues to oversee a dwindling quality of the armor every day, claiming the old materials they used to use are inaccessible due to the enemy’s bases. Sneaking into the bases and stealing anything is a no-go as someone in the loyalists’ camp is using magic to protect them. He says there’s no other areas they could mine for it but her gut tells her that’s a lie and she sets to work trying to find something.

In the meantime, she continues to encourage the workshops as a royal ambassador and hopes that one of the students will get skilled enough in time to save them from a suddenly losing war.

The second time she sees Killian post-Neverland is at one of the workshops. He comes into the blacksmith’s shop with an apron on and a hook where his left hand used to be. He seems startled to see other people in there and Emma takes pity on him, grabbing his elbow and bringing him aside. As much as their last moments together hurt her, she hates to make him feel anything other than wanted.

“It’s a workshop to train potential apprentices,” she offers.

“Oh.” Killian’s eyes studied the pack of students, only a small number of four. “Why?”

Emma sighs, crossing her arms with a roll of her eyes. “We need to get rid of Isaac and… this is all we have right now.”

“You have me.”

She turns sharply at his words, eyes narrow and her breath caught in her throat.

“I – I know I mucked things up when you saw me last,” he says, raising his hand to scratch at his ear. “And I’m sorry. I never should have taken my turmoil out on you. It had nothing to do with you. I promise.” He stares, waiting for an acknowledgement and only when she nods does he continue. “I’m not returning to the navy; I need to take care of Liam as he heals. But I can help with the workshops. Get these kids trained and ready.”

“You’d trade your free time to help with the workshops?”

“Aye.” A single simple nod to accompany his one-word affirmation. She reaches over and grabs his wrist, squeezing gently.

“Thank you.”

“There are a few places near Segovia that should still have available mines for the materials. Granted, it’s been a few centuries, according to the records, but hopefully that means that the stores have come back.”

Emma watches as Killian pours over the map on the council table, her parents on one side of him and Liam in a wheeled chair on the other, Graham, Red, and Blue behind them. He doles out strategies like he’s on his ship captaining her off to battle and the rest of the room listens like loyal crew. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and she’s fascinated by the way the leather brace for his hook contrasts with the color of is skin, and how the new addition to his body only accentuates the rest of him.

That’s not even to mention how attractive she finds him waving the hook around as he talks, like he’s already accustomed to having it instead of his hand.

She knows he still struggles. That he’ll still poke himself and accidentally bleed or create rips in his shirts and trousers. But he works hard to figure out ways to treat it like his left hand. It helps him in the blacksmith’s shop, he told her once. He’s able to change the way he handles his work and it actually works better for him than two hands ever did. It also helps him more on the few times he went sailing, borrowing a boat from the docks to get Liam back on the water for an afternoon of fishing.

His proud smile and the twinkle that’s starting to come back to life in his eyes only makes her grin.

God, she loves every part of him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, little brother,” Liam starts, sharing a teasing look with Emma as Killian mumbles a correction under his breath. “But this route skirts their main camp. It runs the highest risk of discovery.”

“Aye,” Killian heaves with a heavy sigh. “It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

“No.”

All eyes turn to Emma before she even registers that it was her who shot out a clear rejection of his plan.

“It’s a good plan, Emma,” Snow says gently. “It’s also the only hope we’ve got.”

“That’s why I’m going,” she replies. Her statement gets a round of denials and outrage from everyone but Killian, who stares her down. His hand and hook press hard into the table and she’s sure she’s the only one to notice the tear he put in the map.

“I’m going and you’re not, end of story,” Killian finally interjects.

“Absolutely not,” she fights back.

“Give me a good reason.”

“Oh, you just want one? Because I have several.”

“Go ahead, list them. I’m all ears, love.”

“Fine,” she scoffs. “My parents are out for the obvious reasons of not escalating the conflict further and not losing the rulers of the kingdom at the same time. Liam’s out because he’s still healing. Graham, Red, and Blue are our trackers and keeping eyes on the front line. And you’re out because we need you training the apprentices.”

“They can go a few weeks without me.”

“Well I won’t allow it.”

Killian shakes his head. “You can’t stop me.”

“I will have you arrested.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Do you like seeing me hurting?” she blurts out suddenly. The room falls silent and Killian stares at her with wide eyes. Varying degrees of shock play across the faces of the rest of the room’s occupants and Emma swallows hard. “Because I cannot go through again what happened with Neverland, and what happened with the battles before it, and the many, many close calls you’ve had. You might not give a shit but I do, okay?! And I’m not going to sit by and let you put yourself in a situation where you might die, especially when you clearly have no regard for your life, because I cannot go through it. I – I,” she stops herself, inhaling shakily before she regains her bearings and continues. “It’s out of the question. I’m not needed anywhere specific so I can be spared. It’s the most logical reason but it’s also the one I’m deciding on no matter what. I’m going. Ready a few horses and the best skilled knights we can afford to take from the castle. I leave in two hours.”

Emma doesn’t bother to give Killian another glance as she storms out of the room.

Her parents meet up with her quickly and try to talk her out of it to no avail. They see the determination in their daughter’s gaze and the straight set of her shoulders. Admitting defeat, they help her get ready.

Killian waits for her by the horses, pacing back and forth until he hears her footsteps coming closer.

“Good,” he breathes out in relief, immediately stepping into her space and adjusting the holdings on the armor he made for her a few years back as a gift. “You’ve kept it.”

“Of course,” she says softly. Her anger at his disregard for his own life melts away in an instant. “I keep all the handy gifts.”

Killian holds up his hook with a gaze playfully narrowed. “You trying to make a joke, Swan?”

She rolls her eyes but fails to keep the grin off of her face. “You’re going to be the worst, aren’t you?”

“Always.”

They grin at each other for another moment before the sound of the nearby knights startle them out of it. Killian’s grin falls as a grim expression overtakes his features, the gravity of the situation falling onto them with startling clarity and he’s unhappy at the turn of the events.

“Not so fun being on the other side, huh.”

“Most definitely not,” he agrees with a frown. “Are you –”

“Killian.”

“Aye, as you wish.” He sighs, his hand coming up to brush some hair behind her ear. “Please be safe, love.”

“I will be.”

“I want you to come home alive, Swan, got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Emma,” he says warningly. There’s a heat in his gaze that she files away for later. He closes his eyes briefly and when he reopens them, he focuses on readjusting the holdings again. “Got your sword?”

She taps the sword in the scabbard he gave her years ago. “Right here.”

“Dagger?”

She taps the heel of one boot to the side of the other. “In my boot.”

They look at each other, a longing pull tugging both of them closer. “Emma…”

“I’ll be fine, promise,” she says with a small smile and shrug.

“Not a moment will go by I won’t think of you.”

“Good.”

He walks her to the horse as if he’s walking her to her execution and her chest feels tight. Despite their friendship, or whatever you could call their friendship, they’ve never seen the other off. Their schedules wouldn’t allow them the opportunity. Now she can’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse, especially when every second she spends in his presence makes her want to go less and less.

As she turns to climb atop her horse, he stops her with his hook grabbing her elbow.

“Wait,” he pleads. She turns and gives him her full attention. “No matter what, please come home.” He pauses. “To me.” It’s as close to an admission as he’ll allow himself and her heart soars. Her fingers tingle and she swears that if she had any magic left, they’d be sparking.

Emma takes a page from her parents’ book and takes a step closer to Killian, gripping the lapels of his vest and pulling him down for kiss in front of the stables. She hears a clattering of chain-link and knows her knights are giving her what little privacy they can offer. It’s a short kiss, yet still full of passion and promise. “Have another gift ready for me and you’ve got yourself a promise.”

He laughs as she climbs her horse. “Any preferences, love?”

She smirks, pretending to think about it. “Something we can match.”

The knights follow her out of the stable compound a few minutes later, the hooves of the horses pounding a rhythmic beat against the forest floor. She feels euphoric.

Her good mood lasts all of five days before everything goes to shit.

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #my fics #temporarystatus #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #enchanted forest au

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thepirateandhisson · 1 year

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Once Upon A Mamma Mia Masterpost

Once upon a time, I half-jokingly made this post about an idea for a Captain Swan/Mamma Mia AU. And then I proceeded to write the first chapter hours later and it spiraled from there.

Anyway, this is a masterpost for links to each chapter of the fic, as I have finally completed it! This is my first ever completed multi-chapter story and I’m really proud of that fact. It was my first true venture into writing again after years away from it so I really enjoyed getting to work my creative muscles in this way after a lengthy absence.

If you’ve read this story, I hope you enjoyed it! If you haven’t, I hope you may give it a go one day! Once Upon A Mamma Mia

Chapter One: Honey, Honey (AO3)

It makes sense that, after finding Emma, Henry would start to have questions about his dad. If only they were easy to answer...

With Emma's silence on the matter, Henry takes things into his own hands and invites the three men from her past to his birthday party, determined to figure out which one is his father.

Chapter Two: Knowing Me, Knowing You - Part One (AO3)

A glimpse of three strangers in Storybrooke causes Emma to begin a trip down memory lane...

Chapter Three: Knowing Me, Knowing You - Part Two (AO3)

Nothing terrified Emma Swan more than the knowledge that if she took down the walls that so tightly guarded herself, she would willingly hand her heart over to Killian Jones.

Chapter Four: The Name of the Game (AO3)

With his potential fathers showing up in Storybrooke, Henry needs to figure out a way to identify which one is his real dad.

Chapter Five: Does Your Mother Know? (AO3)

Emma still isn't sure why her past has decided to visit her now, and all at the same time, but she's determined to get to the bottom of it. Meanwhile, Henry's determined to get to know his potential fathers.

Chapter Six: I Have A Dream (AO3)

Emma reunites with an old friend, Henry finally meets everyone in Operation Papa Bear, and chaos bubbles under the surface.

Chapter Seven: SOS (AO3)

Emma has to deal with the aftermath of Henry's stunt in Granny's, even if it means promising another meeting with the three ghosts of her past. But first, she needed to ground this kid.

Chapter Eight: Mamma Mia - Part One (AO3)

Much like Emma, Henry doesn't listen. No one else seems to want to find out but he needs to know who his father is.

OUTTAKE: the best things in life, the very best things, happen unexpectedly (AO3)

It's been ten years since they spent the night together on Halloween. But now he's back in her life and, despite the mess that's going on with Henry having three possible fathers, she can't stay away from him. Killian Jones was not a man that a woman could easily forget. [Rated M]

Chapter Nine: Mamma Mia - Part Two (AO3)

Dealing with Neal in the midst of a bar fight as Tiffany’s ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’ blasted through the speakers is not how Killian thought this day would go.

Chapter Ten: The Winner Takes It All (AO3)

Killian is making Emma feel better after Neal's antics but the guilt is weighing heavily in his gut. He has to tell her, even if it means losing her.

Chapter Eleven: Waterloo (AO3)

Oh yeah, Henry needs to get ready and Neal needs to be dealt with, but Emma can definitely do all of that before the graduation ceremony later that morning.

Chapter Twelve: Slipping Through My Fingers (AO3)

Henry was going to find out the results of the paternity test no matter what. He just hopes he likes what it reveals.

Chapter Thirteen: Thank You For The Music (AO3)

All adults want to do is talk and maybe all Henry wants to do is wish he never started this.

#once upon a mamma mia #ouamm #temporarystatus #my fics #masterpost #cs fanfic #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain cobra #captain cobra fic #captain swan cobra #swan believer #this fic was so self-indulgent it's almost ridiculous #but its my lil piece of indulgence #i love a lot of what i've put in here #it took longer to write than i anticipated but i'm so happy i did it and i'm so happy i finished it #i truly had next to nothing planned out so i'm pleasantly surprised at how it all came to be #:)

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iccimmigration · 2 years

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Do you want to extend your temporary status? Contact us today, we can help you with this.

#immigration temporarystatus visa iccimmigration didyouknow contactus immigrationcanada immigrationconsultant immigrationlawyer

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ao3feed-captainswan · 2 years

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holiday in handcuffs

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3qhdqK5

by temporarystatus

“Killian?” Emma calls out softly to the darkness.

He steps out from the corner and openly admires his love. Eyes turning black from the tantalizing sight before him, he says, “It’s not quite midnight and yet it seems Father Christmas already delivered my present to me.”

// not an AU of the movie

Words: 4514, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of 12 Days of Promptmas

Fandoms: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Emma Swan

Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Smut, Handcuffs, Oral Sex, Christmas, 12 Days of Promptmas

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3qhdqK5

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Captain Swan #CS fanfics

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motherkatereloyshipper · 2 years

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/35035807

A continuation of s4 e11 Shattered sight, we pick right up with Emma as she goes to the sorcerer's mansion with Henry and to support his other mother, and Emma’s personal journey afterwards.

This is from a discord chat based on when Captain Swan's "first time" was in the timeline, personally, this is where I think it is (Don’t get me wrong I will 100% read and rate any Neverland “Bae is not bae” up against a tree naughtiness anyone wants to write).

I have added a bit of redemption for Regina and Snow in here too as I think they are both being done a disservice in the writing at this point in the show and could have been kinder to Emma here, so, it's my head and that is how I wanted them to be so I wrote it.

There's some weird magical sexytimes in here, if you don't like it please don't be mean.

Massive thanks to https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporarystatus/pseuds/temporarystatus @sotangledupinit for beta reading this for me and assuring me that people other than me like sparkly magical sexytimes.

#ouat fanfiction #CaptainSwan #MagicalSexyTimes #CanonCompliantIsh

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bellarkewrites · 7 years

Text

She Used to Be Mine

by temporarystatus

The last Bellamy Blake saw of Clarke Griffin, she was getting some air moments before their final program at Sochi. Left alone and humiliated on the ice in front of the entire world, Bellamy set out to get that Gold medal in Pyeongchang. He just didn't think he'd have to reunite with Clarke to do it.

Words: 3105, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: The 100 (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Bellamy Blake, Clarke Griffin, Octavia Blake, Marcus Kane, Lexa (The 100), Raven Reyes, Wells Jaha

Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ice Skating AU

Read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2hoU4D9

#Bellarke #Bellarke fanfiction

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ao3feed-the100 · 7 years

Text

She Used to Be Mine

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2hoU4D9

by temporarystatus

Words: 3103, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: The 100 (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Bellamy Blake, Clarke Griffin, Octavia Blake, Marcus Kane, Lexa (The 100), Raven Reyes, Wells Jaha

Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ice Skating AU

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2hoU4D9

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #the 100 #the 100 fic

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statustemporary · 6 months

Text

a work of art

SUMMARY: The swipes are precise. Hundreds litter her canvas with red streaks standing out against their pale background. Some are superficial while others gouge unsalvageable marks. Drips are unavoidable, Emma concedes, but the origin of these are the source of irritation.

Her job is not done. She has to work with these flaws to craft something he will be proud of. He is the experienced one, after all.

Emma and Killian are low-key serial killers but if you ask them, they're artists in love.

RATING: Mature

WORD COUNT: 1,686 words

TAGS: Modern AU, Serial Killers AU, Graphic Descriptions, Blood & Gore, Implied/Referenced Torture, Anti-Neal Cassidy, no magic, Dark Emma, Dark Killian, Toxic Relationship

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: got this idea from a whumptober prompt that was like "did i do good?" with a mentor/trainee and i misread the rest of the prompt and ended up turning it into a torture trainee wanting to please their mentor. and here we are. lol started out with dark ones but turned them into just serial killers.

this was a way for me to get into the head of someone twisted/evil. promise i'm mentally sane and emotionally okay, this was a writing exercise of sorts. pls dont worry hahaha

Please heed the warnings.

***

“I always have to clean up your messes,” she mutters to herself angrily, eyes glaring down at the red liquid on the floor. The deep color shines vibrantly in the candlelight as it pools together and grows larger as the seconds tick by. She snarls at the sound of labored breathing from the center of the room and slowly trails her eyes up to examine her work.

The swipes are precise. Hundreds litter her canvas with red streaks standing out against their pale background. Some are superficial while others gouge unsalvageable marks. Drips are unavoidable, Emma concedes, but the origin of these are the source of irritation.

Her job is not done. She has to work with these flaws to craft something he will be proud of. He is the experienced one, after all.

Anger fuels her as she moves, her arm sweeping this direction and that. The movements are practiced and learned though she’s used different tools in the past. For the first time, he lets her take the lead and she cannot disappoint him. Especially after all the work he went through to procure such a magnificent canvas. A gift for her.

Weak protests fight to reach her ears but her focus drowns them out, thriving on each new mark she adds, each swipe and each gut-wrenching twist expressing the hurt and the anger she’s held onto for so many years.

When she steps back, it is with a grin.

Neal’s body rests sprawled across a stone table in the center of the room. His lays bare but it goes unnoticed as he shows more blood than skin. His labored breathing is replaced by silence, brown eyes turning an empty black.

Blood drips down to the small puddle at her feet. It grows larger with each tick of the hall clock and she frowns as it pools around her new heeled boot.

Of fucking course. Neal can never let her have anything.

The room smells rancid, blood and sweat permeating the air. Darkness blankets the room like it does her soul, only scarcely lit by a few candles hanging on the walls. Moonlight struggles to shine through the cracks in the concrete to no avail. Emma prefers the darkness now. She thrives in it.

Wailing echoes fill the quiet.

The metal of her dagger is warm in her grip and she shakes her head at the blood that covers the blade. At least that’ll be easier to clean than her leather boot.

She sets to work washing her tools, leaving the rest of the room as it is. She wants him to see how long she kept Neal alive to suffer. How he was aware of every single way she tarnished his body until the very end. The way his nails scratched at the stone so hard until they fell off revealing bloody nailbeds. That even in death, his eyes remained open from his terror.

He still got off easy, in her opinion.

There’s a noise, the muffled sound of a door closing and Emma’s head pops up in delight.

Killian grins wide when he sees her emerge from the basement, sleeves rolled to her elbows and hair pulled back in tight bun. They come together in a messy kiss that’s more tongues and teeth than lips.

She loves the way he loves her with abandon. Every time their mouths meet, he practically devours her and she gives as good as she gets. Fingers wrap around the hair at the base of his neck and she pulls while his hook traces lightly on her skin enough to draw blood but not do any serious harm. It sends chills down her spine every time.

His hands are greedy and he makes an attempt to lift her shirt but she steps out of his arms instead.

“Swan?” he asks, voice gruff and hair mused. He glares at her even if there’s no heat to it and Emma smiles back, nearly giggles.

“I want you to show you something.”

Her hand reaches towards him and he leaves her hanging for a moment. They both love the push and pull of their relationship. To tetter on the edge of a decision builds anticipation. Rejection is just a split-second away but so is acceptance. Not knowing which one will be chosen sends their hearts racing. It’s an effect of their upbringing, she knows. She did take a psychology class in community college after all.

It only makes sense, really. His abusive childhood with a drunk father and a brother dead too young and her untethered young life moving from foster home to foster home without any roots or support. Pain has been something out of their control for so long. Something always inflicted onto them unwillingly. But meeting each other in the back of their Psych 101 class all those years ago gave them a mutual understanding.

Pain can be something they command.

Killian had fallen first. They both tried, for the first year or two, to be better than what they came from. They wanted to have the picturesque life so many promised was to come but they struggled. Depression and temptation waited around every corner and they felt themselves falling into a pit they couldn’t climb out of.

And then Graham kissed her.

Killian and she had been on a break at the time. He was spiraling and Emma was trying to stay on track. Their tempers rose and, for the first time in her life, she walked out on someone else. Graham had been kind, sweet, and unassuming. He worked as a campus security guard and was helping her find her shitty car when he kissed her. Killian had been leaving his class and had a full view of the moment it happened. Emma pushing Graham away only did so much to soothe the anger in his soul.

Then Graham showed up dead a week later in the woods by campus, bruises on his head, marks around his throat, and his chest clawed open with no heart taking up its specified space.

She’d been mad when she realized what Killian did. She threatened to go to the police, even. And then she saw the crazed look in Killian’s eyes, the way he pleaded for her to understand.

“Emma,” he begged. “He crossed a line. You don’t understand. You’re mine. He thought he could have what’s mine.”

Through his tears, she saw the love, the possession. It warmed her to her toes. The unwanted foster kid – wanted by him. She swore she fell in love even more that day.

Emma would lay in bed with him at night and asked how he did it. She requested details, wanted to know every step he took. He would hold her close, his fingers leaving permanent marks on her hips, and she floated as he shared exactly what he did to ensure she stayed his.

It was another two years before he struck again, her by his side this time. Arthur was full of himself, an asshole to anyone who didn’t make more money than him, and dead set on evicting the entirety of their apartment building so he could sell the property to a developer. No one shed any tears at the announcement of his death.

Nearly ten years had gone by and yet this is the most exciting one for Emma. Neal was her white whale, so they say. He’d taken advantage of her sixteen years of life when he’d been nearing thirty and split the moment she found out she was pregnant. Took all her cash and the food she bought the day beforehand for their motel stay. She was left alone as she let go of the child she so desperately wanted to have. Even after he left her, she was still cleaning up his messes.

But now she stands in the kitchen she shares with Killian and raises her eyebrows as she bites her lip in wait. Will he take it or ignore it? Her heart races. Her breath hitches just a moment before he takes her offered hand and she contemplates bypassing her art project to ride him in the kitchen instead.

Bringing him to the basement, she waits in the doorway as Killian steps over the threshold. His eyes scan the room in a slow, calculating fashion. Leaning over Neal’s body, he hums as he takes in her work. Fingers trace her cuts, one dipping into the gaping hole in his side. There’s little left of his genitalia, the ferocious way it was obliterated earning a cocked eyebrow from Killian before he looks over to her with a grin. She blushes at the pride in his eyes.

The squelch from stepping in blood draws his attention to the floor. He dips his hand in the liquid and lifts his fingers to his face. The puddle grew from when she was in there a few minutes ago and Killian takes a good moment to examine it.

“Did I do good?” she asks, hands in her back pockets. Eagerness is undeniable in her voice.

Killian stands suddenly and marches towards her. He grips her hips – the cold metal of his hook sending a chill down her spine as Neal’s blood from his fingers smear across her skin – and pulls her in for a filthy kiss. Their bodies are flush but it’s not enough and the way his tongue strokes against her own has her frantically clawing at his pants.

Wailing echoes in the silence again and they pull apart only slightly dismayed.

The crying brings a spark to Killian’s eyes and Emma is torn between where each of their thoughts are going, both outcomes bound to bring her pleasure.

Killian presses another firm kiss to her lips before he tilts his head towards the other end of the basement where their special project waits for their return. His own white whale he somehow conquered and takes pride in making submit to him.

She knows the question before he asks so she merely grins wide at him as he speaks.

“Shall we go skin a crocodile?”

#my writing #temporarystatus #captain swan #cs fanfic #my fics #captain swan fanfic #captain swan au #please heed the warnings #graphic descriptions #this was a writing exercise of sorts #trying to write evil/wicked/disturbed characters

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sotangledupinit · 1 year

Text

a little bundle of icing - My CS Gift Exchange Fic

Prompt: Giftee's Wants: Established relationship, cs family fluff, cs parents, modern au with established relationship. NO: character death, angst

SUMMARY: She thought the hardest part would be hiding the gifts from the (mostly) reformed pirate. In actuality, the hardest part has been wrapping them. For some reason, every chance she’s gotten has been foiled by one thing or another.// or Emma tells Killian she's pregnant.

RATING: G for General Audiences

WORD COUNT: 4,575 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, Christmas, Holiday fluff, Pregnancy

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this was fun to work with and try, as i haven't done much established relationship writing. hope everyone enjoys this!

hi @middlemistcs13 ! i picked your prompt for the gift exchange! as you already know (and read), this fic has been up on AO3 for a few days but here’s the tumblr post to accompany it! yay! for anyone who hasn’t read this yet - i hope you enjoy!

***

“And this Santa Claus… your world doesn’t consider him to be flagrant?”

The answering huff of a laugh from Henry is loud, even from the other end of the table. “Dude. Of course not. He leaves presents for you to reward a year of being a good person.”

“But aren’t you required to cook for him as well?”

Emma’s eyes drift to the end of the table where Henry and Killian stand side by side, each holding a piping bag of icing, one red and one green. Sprinkles litter the table and powdered sugar is dusted across Killian’s leather vest, not that he cares much. Their sleeves are rolled up to their elbows and a mixing spoon is still taped to his brace (a brilliant idea that he and her son supposedly had; the mess they have yet to clean up says otherwise).

She tries hard to suppress her grin at the image but she knows she’s failing miserably so she ducks her head and kneads the dough beneath her knuckles, listening along.

“Well, not really,” Henry says. Emma feels his eyes on her for a moment but she pretends not to notice. “It’s more like a donation or a gift.”

“Ah ha!” Killian cheers, mixing spoon gesturing wildly as he points a finger at Henry. Some of the red icing drips from the bag under the pressure and lands with a plop! on the counter between the naked gingerbread people and sugar cookies. “So it’s not from the goodness of his heart!”

At her quick glance up, she catches Killian’s eye and he winks at her. Her kid can be too easy to rile up sometimes, something Killian likes to do to get back at Henry’s quips about his struggles with modern technology. She doesn’t always understand their relationship, the way they can rile each other up one moment and immediately slide into the caring, supportive step-father/son dynamic the next – but she’s grateful nonetheless to have them be so close.

Henry rolls his eyes. “Yes, it is. He’s basically our world’s Robin Hood.”

“Didn’t this world already have a Robin Hood?”

“Oh my god.” Henry groans and then calls out to Emma, a gallop of green icing landing on the face of a gingerbread man. “Mom, you need to divorce your husband.”

“No, you need to start decorating those gingerbread cookies instead of the table.” She thinks she succeeds in keeping the amusement out of her voice but Killian’s quiet snickering tells her otherwise. “And you,” she continues, aiming her glare at the husband in question, “have to clean up. I’m not letting you two leave without cleaning up first.”

“Are you positive you can’t to come with us, love?”

There’s nothing more that Emma would love to do than pick out a tree with Henry and Killian for their first Christmas in their house when there’s nothing going on. No foes, evils witches, or snow monsters appearing out of nowhere to ruin any holiday plans. Storybrooke has been blissfully peaceful for the most part for the last two years following the Final Battle.

Emma still knocks on wood when those thoughts cross her mind. Best not to jinx it.

Still, as much as she wishes she could join the boys on their tree hunt, she can’t as she has far more pressing matters to attend to. Those being trying to wrap Killian’s Christmas gifts without him finding out what they are first. She thought the hardest part would be hiding the gifts from the (mostly) reformed pirate. In actuality, the hardest part has been wrapping them. For some reason, every chance she’s gotten has been foiled by one thing or another.

Her first attempt was when Killian was going out for a day excursion on the Jolly Roger with Smee. She waited until she was absolutely sure the ship left the docks to pull out her gifts only for her sheriff’s beeper to go off. By the time she handled the situation and returned home, the Jolly had returned to shore and it was only a matter of time before Killian came back.

There were a few more close calls at home after that – enough to make her consider wrapping his gifts at the station. By the time she actually attempted it, David had barged through the front doors at such a speed that Emma’s surprised she managed to hide the gifts in time. Despite what most of the town believes about her mother, there’s no worse gossiper or meddler in town than her father. The only thing possibly worse than Killian discovering his gifts early is finding out about them from someone else.

After that, she assumed her luck had almost completely abandoned her. Christmas is coming up quickly and she can’t bear to give him his gifts without wrapping them. Last year he took so much pleasure in showing Henry how easily he could rip through the wrapping with his hook. She can’t take the idea of preventing the look of glee on both of their faces appearing again.

Plus, she wants to be able to watch Killian unwrap one of the most life-changing gifts ever, see the different emotions play on his face as the realization sinks in.

“I’d love to but I really can’t,” she answers honestly. “I have to handle security at the school’s Christmas fair today and we can’t keep putting off the tree. At this rate, we’d be getting it in January.”

“We’ll pick out a good one, Mom, don’t worry,” Henry consoles. He winks at her once Killian isn’t looking and his comforting smile only grows bigger.

It’s her own fault, really. One of her earlier attempts to wrap Killian’s gifts only resulted in Henry coming home from school to see them laid out on her bedroom floor when he went looking for her. The surprise that crossed his face quickly turned into pure joy and Emma unsuccessfully willed herself not to cry.

No bribing was needed to make Henry keep the gifts a secret. He knows how special this is for her.

For the second time in her life, Emma’s pregnant. For the first time, it’s with someone she loves – her True Love at that – and she has no fear of what the future might hold for her and their baby. She’s excited.

All she needs now is just ten minutes of peace with a guarantee of No Killian so she can actually keep it a secret until Christmas.

Killian and Henry are able to appropriately decorate the gingerbread and sugar cookies after a few elbow nudges are exchanged while she puts the last batch of cookies in the oven, though there are some close calls that Emma has to shut down the moment her eyes catch what one of them is trying to do. She does not want to deal with her father’s sputtering and mother’s giggles at the sight of any cookie decorated in any way less than a G rating.

By the time they’re leaving and Killian is warming up the bug, Henry pulls Emma aside under the guise of finding his missing shoe.

“You’re not really missing your shoe, are you? Because otherwise you’re going barefoot, kid.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Chill, it’s in my backpack.” He hooks a thumb to gesture at the bag on his shoulders and Emma nods. “Grandpa’s already at the school and says he hopes you ‘feel better’. I’m planning to take my sweet time inspecting every tree with Killian. I’m gonna feed him a bunch of fake facts so that he gets really invested too. Should buy you like two hours.”

Emma worries her lip, shoving her hands in her back pockets so she doesn’t play with her ring, a sure sign that she’s hiding something if Killian sees her. “What if Killian’s researched about Christmas trees though? He may be a pirate but he’s also a nerd.”

Henry exudes a confidence that she doesn’t have, given her track record this season. “Trust me, I know how to rile him up.” She rolls her eyes goodheartedly at that. As much as Killian loved to tease and rile Henry up, her kid loved to do the same just as much. She worried at first that it meant the two didn’t like each other and couldn’t get along, but her worries were quickly tossed away when she saw the two sitting at her kitchen table as Killian spoke to Henry in low whispers, helping him with an issue in his friend group.

He treated Henry like an equal, let him know that everything he said, saw, and felt held value. A trust existed between them that Emma didn’t breach – not that she wanted to. She respected that as much as she wants to be able to do everything for her kid, sometimes he needs to seek out someone else and she’s thrilled that most times he chooses Killian. Ribbing on each other is just another way to show that affection.

Emma bids her goodbyes to the two. Henry’s hug leaves her feeling the warmth one only gets from being a parent, and Killian’s goodbye kiss sends tingles down to her toes. That tingling is the exact feeling that got her into this situation and if she hadn’t been already, the look he gives her as he shuts the door behind him would’ve done it.

She waits for them to make it to the tree farm, according to Henry’s location and update texts, checking in with David who’s covering her shift at the school’s Christmas fair. It is then and only then that she feels comfortable enough to wrap the gifts.

Hauling them out of the closet in no time at all, she makes quick work of wrapping them. Despite the assurances that no one would be bothering her, especially her husband, she still chances a glance over her shoulder every few moments, just to be sure. She’s come this far and she’ll be damned if letting her guard down ruins the surprise.

Wrapping goes seamlessly and Emma triple checks that she has gathered and wrapped all the gifts before she places them in the closet under the stairs with the others. One more thing she can cross off her list.

When Emma wakes up the morning of Christmas, it’s to soft humming against her neck, a Christmas song that’s been on the radio more often than not this last week. She’s just thankful it’s one of Kelly Clarkson’s songs and not Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Merry Christmas, love,” Killian whispers to her neck before placing a light kiss there. He wraps his arm tighter around her middle, pulling her back flush against his front, and she feels her stomach erupt in butterflies. He doesn’t know it yet but his hand rests right where their kid is growing and she works hard to refrain her glee for the time being.

Instead, she focuses on the trail of kisses he places down her jaw until he leans over her side to plant one on her mouth. She hums contently into the kiss, turning onto her back so she can wrap her arms around his neck. “Merry Christmas indeed.”

They share a smile before he leans back in for a short kiss.

“How long do you suppose we have before the lad comes stomping down the stairs for his gifts?”

Emma considers his question, furrowing her eyebrows when she realizes she forgot to charge her phone overnight and it’s dead. “What time is it?”

“Nearly eight.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s a matter of seconds then, not minutes.”

“Think we can distract him with his PlayStation?”

“Wait – PlayStation? Not ‘Playing box’? Not ‘Stationary play’?” He crinkles his nose at her poor imitation of his accent and shakes his head.

“Of course I’ve learned the names by now, Swan.” He ignores her interjection of ‘Jones’ though it does earn her a smile. “I’ve known them for quite some time. But Henry doesn’t know that and I quite enjoy annoying him with that bit.”

She laughs and runs her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly on the silky soft strands as her reprimand. However, his reaction shows it is anything but. “I don’t know which of you is worse. Honestly.”

The two of them lean in with the full intent to enjoy as much of a lazy morning in bed as possible on the holiday but their lips don’t even meet before it’s interrupted.

“Merry Christmas!” Henry yells as he comes down the stairs. His feet stomp on each step and Emma grins at the way Killian cringes. He pauses on the landing outside their door and shouts before hurrying down the steps with stomping feet again. “You’ve got five minutes before I force you out so get dressed!”

“Like a bloody ogre,” Killian mutters as he rolls off of her. Despite his grumbling, the smile he gives her as he helps her out of bed and pulls her close is soft. The walls between them disappeared long ago and neither of them are afraid of the openness that exists in their relationship. It’s another first for Emma, being able to be so unapologetically herself and so vulnerable with her emotions when before Killian, she’d always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Never before him did she allow such a complete offering of herself to another person. With him, it doesn’t feel so scary.

It's also why she’s so excited to have this baby. Being with Killian makes anything they face not seem so bad.

The thought of what lies beneath their tree brings a giddiness to her movements that even her husband notices.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” he asks as he puts on his brace. He sends her a wicked grin that has her toes curling as he attaches the hook – the same one he shined the night before so he could show it off to Henry in all its unwrapping glory.

“I’m just… really happy.”

“Aye,” he says once he comes close to her again, one hand on her waist and his lips descending upon hers. “So am I.”

Their moment is broken by Henry banging on their door, warning that they better come down that instant or he’s opening everyone’s presents. The notion gets a laugh out of her, knowing that despite his threats, her kid wouldn’t follow through with this one. Maybe.

Nervousness doesn’t come to her until it’s time to hand her gifts over to Killian. He sits in a pile of wrapping paper on the couch, the ‘Best Dad in the Universe’ mug Henry got for him sitting on the coffee table. Henry had been sheepish as he handed over the gift, calling Killian ‘Dad’ on occasion now and then, nowhere near a regular occurrence. Still, the sentiment behind the gift, and the true feelings it relayed, left both her son and husband emotional. They exchanged quiet words that left them both teary-eyed and Killian had wrapped it up by showing Emma the mug as if she hadn’t helped Henry design it online. He then sat it on the coffee table so gently like a prized trophy and couldn’t stop looking at it.

If he reacted this way to Henry’s gifts, she can’t imagine the emotion that’ll come with hers.

The two of them have led hard lives, obstacles in their paths trying to prevent them from wanting to push for the light at the end of the tunnel. But they both did, whether out of sheer stubbornness or resilience, she’s not sure, and it held it them together until they found each other. Then suddenly they weren’t navigating the ups and downs of life alone and everything became a bit more bearable day by day.

Fatherhood is something that always came natural to Killian, she could see, and something that he wanted. His pirating ways took him to many lands and realms but he’d gotten to the point where he wanted to settle down and have a family. To live a life of peace he was never granted beforehand. Villains didn’t get happy endings though so he assumed it was out of the cards for him.

Henry accepted him, made him part of their family, and looked to him as a father. The remaining Lost Boys sought out his comforting presence, a familiar figure, despite their tangled pasts or because of it, when they were feeling particularly lonely or destructive, and he provided a guiding hand back. Hell, even baby Neal latched onto him almost as quickly as he did her parents.

There was a contentedness to Killian when he stepped into the role of father-figure that she never saw before. It shined brightest with Henry but she always saw the longing look in his eyes when Henry left for a weekend at Regina’s or when they saw Sean and Ashley with their baby at Granny’s.

Her mother once said, “Happy endings always start with hope.” Their life together was the start. This is the continuation of it.

“Ready for my gifts?” Emma asks. She discretely wipes her sweaty palms on her thighs and takes the gifts from Henry’s outstretched hands. He gives her a reassuring smile and she can only manage a quick, tight but grateful grin in return.

“Thanks, love.”

Killian lifts his hook to open the smallest of the boxes when Emma shoots her hand out to grab his wrist, a loud ‘No’ leaving her lips before she even realizes what she’s done.

Concern fills Killian’s gaze as he leans closer. His eyes rove over her person, searching, cataloging, trying to get any hint of what’s happening. “Emma, what’s gotten into you?”

“Actually…” she starts with a sardonic laugh, tilting her head.

“Ew, gross, Mom,” Henry crimes in, face wrinkled in disgust.

She clears her throat while rolling her eyes and instead taps the biggest of the three boxes. “Open this first.”

“O-kay…” Killian eyes her as he gently, slowly, unwraps the biggest box. Instead it lies a photo album titled Daddy & Me. “It’s blank?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s for you to fill it with photos.”

“Ah.” Killian turns to Henry. “I suppose we should start filling this up, aye?”

A quick moment of panic flashes across Henry’s face as he looks to Emma for guidance, both of them floundering. “Uh, yeah!” he says in a hurry. “I can help you fill it up.” He then gives Emma a pointed look, Killian none the wiser.

“Open your second one,” Emma encourages. Killian takes another hard look at the album, the content in his gaze soothing any nerves that remained from Emma’s anticipation.

Earlier, Henry laughed smugly as Killian ripped through about thirty layers of wrapping paper to finally uncover the mug. Henry encouraged him to really dig into it, something that flashes Emma’s mind back to the beanstalk and made her laugh. Killian had taken the message to heart.

Now, he uses the hook to lift the edges of the wrapping paper and gently unravels it. Beneath the paper is a box and Killian gives her a watery grin once he sees what’s inside.

His very first Christmas ornament – or at least the first that’s meant specifically for him – lays inside. It features a large brown bear holding a baby bear wearing a diaper. Beneath the figures is a banner that reads, ‘Papa Bear, Est. 2022”.

Emma expects the questioning glance he sends her way and the subtle, confused one he gives to Henry. However, he receives no answers and Emma finally taps the small box. “Now you can open it.”

She bites her lip and her and Henry share a reassuring nod as Killian opens the last gift. Sitting inside the small box, cleaned off and surrounded in tissue paper is a positive pregnancy test.

Killian picks it up with a cautionary gentleness that she hasn’t seen before. His mouth drops open as he stares it down and he mouths the word ‘Pregnant’ over and over again as his eyes get misty. “Is – is this real?” he asks, voice full of emotion. Emma nods, blinking back her own tears.

“Yeah, Killian, it’s real.”

“Gods, love.” Suddenly, Emma is pulled out of her chair and swept off her feet as Killian tugs her into a tight embrace. He kisses every inch of skin he can find, pulling back every few kisses to catch her lips before he embraces her again. His arms are bound around her tightly, the squeeze between them only getting tighter as Killian urges Henry to join their hug. “You’re going to be a big brother, lad. The best there is,” he whispers and Emma nearly lets out the croaking sob stuck in her throat.

As much as it is a monumental moment for Killian, he still includes Henry and still makes sure that he’s wanted around. The notion makes her heart burst. Once again, she’s aware that she never needed any official True Love test to give her confirmation that Killian is it for her. The way he acts proves it more than enough. It doesn’t make her any less emotional, especially as Killian whispers, as giddy as she’d been that morning, “We’re having a baby!”

“Yes, we are!” she whispers back excitedly.

The trio embrace for a few more moments before Henry’s phone rings and lets him know that it’s Regina reaching out. He congrats the two of them, tells them what wonderful parents they already are, and then bounds out of the room.

“Wow,” Killian says with the long release of a deep breath. “You’re pregnant.”

“I am,” she teases.

Killian’s wide grin matches her own and even though he leans in to kiss her, they aren’t able to do much as their smiles keep breaking through.

It’s not until Killian places a hand on her stomach that her breath catches and realization sinks in. They’re really doing this. They’re having a baby. She can’t explain it but she thinks she’s having a girl. Even Killian’s seemingly decided so as well, babbling on about their daughter despite the fact that they won’t officially find out until Emma’s next appointment in two weeks.

They will have a baby. Together.

They’re going to bring someone into this world that’s half him and half her and it’ll be their responsibility to not screw them up.

With Henry it was easier. He was already ten by the time he connected with both of them, respect and manners already instilled in him. All they had to do was encourage them to flourish. But with a baby, they’ll be starting from scratch. In all honesty, neither of them know much of what to do aside from the basics to keep a baby alive, but she figures they’ll approach it like they do everything else: together.

“You know, little one,” Killian starts as he leans down towards her stomach. “Your grandma is a very wise woman and she once told me that happy endings always start with hope.” He swallows, glancing up at Emma for a moment as his voice gets even quieter. “I’m excited to meet you, Hope.”

4 years later…

“No, no, no, love, not like that.”

Emma looks up from drying dishes and fixes her gaze on the other end of the table. Killian and Henry are bent over it, heads close together. Between them, Hope kneels on a chair and squeezes an icing bag with so much force that fat glops of red icing plop onto the cookies, nearly covering an entire group of gingerbread men. She watches the way Killian keeps the rounded curve of his hook, sharp tip pointed away, pressed against the center of Hope’s back to keep her steady, attempting to guide her in how to decorate the cookie while she just wants to mix colors together.

One of Henry’s hands holds a gingerbread man in place for her, fingers turning red from the icing that’s slipped over the side, and he’s quick to grab the green icing bag before Hope’s grubby little fingers can grab it. “Oh no you don’t, munchkin.”

“I’m not a munchkin!” Hope pouts. Her glare is fierce as she turns her attention to Henry, cookies completely forgotten as she stands from her kneeling position.

“Oh really?” he eggs her on, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “How come you’re on a chair and I’m still taller than you then? Munchkin.”

“Stinky nose!”

“Short stack.”

“Hairy back!”

A whistle breaks through their teasing before Emma can step in and all eyes go to Killian. He leaves his hook pressed against Hope’s back even as he straightens and stands tall. “Enough of this nonsense from me crew!” Hope stares at him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, joy filtering its way into her features.

An aspiring pirate captain herself, the three-year-old takes great glee in seeing her father step into his, admittedly watered down, pirate persona. She turns towards Killian, bouncing where she stands in the chair. Her hands attempt to come together in claps but only succeed in dropping more icing all over her hands and Henry’s.

Killian plucks the icing bag from Hope and places it aside. “Now,” he starts, voice an octave lower. “This mess needs to be cleaned otherwise I’ll let Santa know to toss yer presents overboard! Aye?”

“Noooo!” Hope shouts. “He can’t do that!”

“He knows Santa,” Henry says. He nods to Killian as he catches the wet washcloth Emma tosses to him and begins to wipe his icing covered fingers. “He can totally make it happen.”

“Aye,” Emma adds, grinning wide at the way Killian’s nose crinkles. She holds a second wet washcloth in her hands and comes over to Hope, gently wiping her hands clean. “But perhaps me and Papa can clean up the kitchen while you help Henry put some tinsel on the tree instead. It’d be a big help.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Hope tugs at her hands, pouting when Emma won’t let them free yet. However, once she’s able to, she turns and jumps on Henry’s back, already urging him towards the living room.

“You know,” Killian says, “you’ve just granted her permission to make a mess even worse than this one.”

Emma grins, “Are you saying you weren’t also desperate for five minutes to ourselves?”

Killian hums, giving her a grin that she knows so well. His arms come around her waist while hers wrap around his neck and their lips meet in a soft kiss. When he tries to pull away, Emma keeps him locked with her and the heat between them rises. So lost in the progressing passion of their kisses, she doesn’t even realize Killian’s lifted her onto the table until Henry voices his disgust.

“Gross, guys,” he says. “We eat there.” He shakes his head, shuddering at catching them mid-make out, and reaches for the extra bag of tinsel on the counter. He holds it up and points at it before he leaves. “For scarring me, I am not cleaning this up.”

A snort comes out of Emma before she can stop it and she closes her eyes, content as Killian presses a soft kiss to her cheek. His hand drifts down to rest against her stomach and she feels the butterflies of excitement start up again. Only two more weeks before they can share their big secret.

“This will be a fun Christmas, love.”

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #henry mills #captain cobra swan #swan jones family #a little bundle of icing #my fics #temporarystatus #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #cs ff #captain swan ff #holiday fic

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thepirateandhisson · 2 years

Note

Ooh, ef pregnancy?

Ah, this was another one of my 12 Days of Promptmas fics that inspiration fled from. The prompt was Emma telling Killian she's pregnant so I decided to have fun with it! A quick summary is that, sometime before s7 once portals became a regular thing, people from other kingdoms/realms would come to Storybrooke, recognize Killian, and put bounties on his head for his past misdeeds. Under Snow & Charming's encouragement, Emma and Killian travel the kingdoms and realms to smooth over his image and show he's a hero. It's too bad that Emma can't stomach the food they're given. Because that's all that is. SNIPPET:

“It was bound to happen, Emma,” Killian reasoned with her from their kitchen table. Her mother sat beside him biting her nails as her father stood behind her, hands on Snow’s shoulders. Henry watched them all with a deeply vested interest. “I’ve been alive for centuries and I wasn’t a good man before you.”

“But they can’t just put a bounty on your head in Storybrooke!” she exclaimed in exasperation.

“They’re not going to get me, love. I told you, I’m –”

A resounding No! cut off his sentence and he looked at Henry in alarm.

“You can’t keep saying that when you’ve died like eight times.”

“I beg your pardon.” The offense is clear on his face as he speaks. “It was only… four… times.”

“Henry’s right, babe,” Emma agreed with a sigh. She paused in her pacing and crossed her arms, staring at her husband. “You’ve died enough. I’m not chancing it again.”

A silence formed over the table and Snow glanced around before speaking. “Maybe this would be a good time for you both to visit the Enchanted Forest again?”

Killian narrowed his eyes at her, fingers playing with the tip of his hook. “So my head could be delivered to you on a platter? I’d have expected that statement from Dave, not you.”

David rolled his eyes, patted his wife’s shoulders, and sat at the table beside her. “Snow’s right. This would be a perfect time for the tour of you to do a diplomatic tour of the neighboring kingdoms.”

“Everyone in Misthaven was brought back to Storybrooke after Charming and I cast the Dark Curse,” Snow adds. “They all know of the hero Killian’s become, what he’s sacrificed for all of them – for Emma – and as they resettle back in the Enchanted Forest, they’ll be spreading the word. But this would be a good time for the two of you to meet with the other rulers. As Princess Emma of Misthaven and her Prince Consort Killian Jones.”

She eyed her husband, both of them weary.

“Can I come?” Henry piped up.

#temporarystatus #my wips #i have so many wips #motherkatereloyshipper #killian jones #emma swan #henry mills #captain swan #captain cobra swan #cs au #cs ff

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sotangledupinit · 2 years

Text

just like a ghost whisperer

Happy start of CSSNS 2022! I was lucky enough to have the first posting date so of course this piece is a monster. So excited to see all the other works being shared for @cssns this year!

---

SUMMARY: It figures that the gorgeous house Emma’s renting on Boston’s coast has something wrong with it. She would have preferred a leaky sink or creaking stairs — anything but the ghost of Captain Hook haunting her. Between his annoying habits and flirtatious advances, the two of them work together to unravel a murder mystery, discovering something deeper along the way.

RATING: T for language, violence, and very very mild suggestive themes!

STORY WORD COUNT: 25,031 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, CSSNS, implied/referenced child abuse, ghosts, Just Like Heaven AU, Ghost Whisperer AU, mature language, violence, and mildly suggestive themes

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hahaha this was originally going to be 3k-8k words and then four days ago i decided to add massive plot. i'm so sorry hahahaha.

***

Packing tape smells horrendous. That’s the only thought running through her head as she seals another cardboard box shut.

60 days left.

The apartment that’s been home to herself and Henry for the last four years would just be another on a long list of residences they’ve spent time in. But Emma would not be able to stomach the $400 rent increase. It’s something engrained in her from the foster system and the years following Henry’s birth, stretching her dollar as far as it would go and sometimes going without if it meant her kid could have the formula he needed. Even though she can afford the price hike now, her gut refuses to let her stay.

Plus, she doesn’t think she can handle another leasing year with Albert Spencer as her landlord. Spencer thrives on making others miserable, she swears it. He even campaigned with the local and state officials to get rid of the cap on rent hikes.

Asshole.

Someone could tell her that his other company of vehicle rentals was a front for drug trafficking and murder and she’d believe it. He had a snide look on his face the moment she first signed her lease years ago, like he was about to swindle her out of all her money. Then came the disgust whenever he saw her paying her rent like he couldn’t believe he let the likes of her rent in his building.

A list of names, addresses, and photos are probably hidden somewhere in his own dwelling and he crosses off enemies as he goes, eliminating them by kicking them out, reporting them to authorities, and/or the possibility of killing them.

She’s only joking about that last part. Somewhat.

She’s kept them here for so long because it gave Henry’s life stability and the location was ideal. Who cares if she’s probably at the top of Spencer’s list because of the complaints from her neighbor Mrs. Norberry about Henry’s late night gaming - the price on top of everything else was too good to pass up.

In fact, maybe the increase wouldn’t be so bad?

“60 DAYS, RESIDENTS!” the man himself yells from the hallway, banging on doors as he passes them and repeats his message.

Nope. Definitely need to move.

Henry hasn’t had an issue with the prospect of them moving. He goes to his part-time job at the docks after school, then comes home and finishes his homework before spending the rest of his evening on different listing sites.

“Do you even want to stay in Boston? I mean, we can go anywhere.” His excited voice echoes in her head as she takes in the half-packed apartment. Part of her wonders if she’s doing the right thing.

Constantly moving, never setting down roots - that has been her whole life. Staying in one place for too long makes her itch but that’s the last thing she wants for her kid.

Despite what her long list of driver’s license address changes might say, she wants the house with the white picket fence and the dog and everything that screamed a normal happy life in every sitcom she watched growing up. The only problem lies in the fact nowhere has ever felt like home. The closest she ever came was a small cottage town further up the coast. They got plenty of snow in the winter and the summer never got unbearably hot like it did in Tallahassee. But she was young when she was there and the locals were getting suspicious of the nights she spent in her car with Henry in his carseat so she drove right out of Florida.

Hard to believe it’s been nearly 16 years since then.

Ding!

The chime from her laptop pulls Emma from her musings and she hurries to her feet. The packing tape rolls away from her and the scissors clatter to the floor but she pays it no mind. With the rental market being as insane as the housing market right now, a minute delay in correspondence could mean she loses out on a potential apartment.

Disappointment fills her chest when she sees it’s just a reply from one of her contacts but it quickly disappears when she notices what it’s regarding.

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: RE: Jones

Found some info that might be related to your missing person case. It’s a few years old so no idea if it’s even worth anything but figured it didn’t hurt to send it your way.

Will

Emma sits up straight, shoulders tense as she reads over the protected document he attached to the email. Most of the information included are things she already knows. However, at the very end of the document, she sees a new address that belongs to the person she’s been hunting for the past two years. It’s not listed under their name on any other forms or documents. Hell, they might not even still live there but it’s a start and it’s more than enough for her to go off of.

She spends the rest of the afternoon elbow deep in research at the cramped kitchen island. They’ve been able to make do over the past couple of years with such a tiny living space but perhaps the rent increase is fate stepping in. Paperwork she has compiled for this case over the last two years covers every inch of the island, extending over to the countertops and the coffee table. She prides herself on completing her jobs, or handing the few she couldn’t over to someone who could. But this case has been nagging at her since she took it up, even if it has become her white whale.

It was supposed to be easy; family separations usually are for her. She’s a pro at finding people, even if she’s never found her own parents, and the fact that this is the one case where the separated party completely dropped off the grid without any kind of job, social media, or education over the last ten years astounds her. They must be living in the midwest farmlands where there’s nothing for miles.

The address Will sent her, however, is for right here in Boston.

After cross-referencing the legitimacy of the information, she bites her lip. Temptation to check it out for herself, to know that she can finally close this case, almost wins out but she refrains. All her client wants is the information. What they do with it after is up to them and the last thing she needs is bad reviews or word of mouth telling everyone that she inserted herself deeper into personal matters than she was hired for.

Rolling her shoulders and cracking her fingers, Emma takes a deep breath and opens her email again.

Hello Mr. Jones,

I am happy to inform you that I’ve received information regarding your brother’s whereabouts. I assume that you still wish to avoid discussing this over the phone but I feel this will be best shared in person rather than over email. Are you available to meet in the future to review the information further? Please let me know what times work best for you.

Emma Swan

Private Investigator

617-555-0810

P.S.: I really think we found him this time.

Ms. Swan,

I was delighted to see your email in my inbox this evening. I appreciate the hard work you’ve put into this case over the last two years and look forward to this newest development. Have you heard of Book & Bistro over on Chelsea Street by Constitution Marina? I’m available tomorrow at 3:30pm if that works well for you.

I cannot express my gratitude enough.

Jones

Emma did, in fact, know Book & Bistro. The small cafe near the harbor was where she sat while Henry interviewed for his after-school job. Its placement on the corner of a large building makes it the perfect viewing area for the boats coming into Boston. While she’s never lived anywhere that felt like home, being near the water is the closest she can get. It calms her and lets her weary bones melt into her seat.

Most of the walls of Book & Bistro are covered in bookcases filled with every genre imaginable. What doesn’t hold books holds plants, the greenery adding life to the bright and airy space to keep it from feeling sterile. It feels like a retreat and the perfect place to get lost in a sandwich and a book which was exactly what she did while she waited for her kid.

It’s exactly what she does now as she waits for Mr. Jones to show up for their meeting. She nabs A Christmas Carol off the shelf despite summer creeping just around the corner, nibbles on her BLT, and waits.

And waits.

She checks her watch repeatedly, the minute hand slowly bringing her into the next hour. The door opens but no one even glances around the shop looking to meet someone. His email to her is the first thing she sees when she unlocks her phone, double checking the date and time.

Everything is correct. Mr. Jones should be here. The man spent months trying to get her to take his case, emailing her and even calling her one time, his accent distracting her just enough during the call that she missed his first name. (Things snowballed from there and she’s been too embarrassed and stubborn to ask for it since.)

Mr. Jones apparently had tools at his disposal to look into the search for his brother but couldn’t use them himself. Legal reasons, he had supplied and she shrugged it off. A good quarter of her clients are either hiring her from jail or have a record that any misstep could send them back. Who is she to judge with a record of her own?

Most of her means to find someone are legal, now easily figured out through social media postings. But she does have a few underhanded tricks that skirt the line of legality that any straight-laced person would shy from.

Sighing, she checks her phone again and texts Henry that she’ll be home in twenty minutes. He’s off from his job today and should be arriving at their apartment any moment now.

With any other client, Emma would’ve left a half hour ago but she decides to wait a few more minutes still.

Standing someone up doesn’t seem to be in Mr. Jones’ nature yet it’s the exact situation she finds herself in. It’s not the first time Emma’s been left in the dust by a client and it won’t be the last, but Mr. Jones’ guilt-ridden emails and pleas to find his brother leaves her surprised. She trusts her gut, her instinct being the only thing that’s kept her alive, off the streets, and away from jail again in the time since she left juvie. It tells her that his search is genuine and she can trust him.

She guesses even her gut isn’t infallible.

Pushing out of her chair and cleaning her space, Emma exits the bistro. She passes by a few emergency vehicles on the scene of an accident of sorts, nothing that uncommon in such a big city, and nods to the police officers she recognizes as she walks towards her car a block away. She calls Henry to let him know she’ll be longer than her twenty minute text message originally said. Sitting in traffic, she types up a quick email to ask Mr. Jones where he was today and if there was another meeting time that would work better before hitting send and turning up the radio to distract herself from the long ride home.

The apartment is quiet when she opens the door. Her keys clatter to the misshapen bowl Henry made in art class last year that sits in their entryway as she kicks off her shoes. It’s blue and doesn’t sit quite right but it reminds her of the art projects he brought home in kindergarten so she keeps it out even though he begs her not to.

“Mom, please,” he says. Clean room, nice shirt, and cologne - all signs that he was nervous about Violet coming over for their study date. “Can you please put that away?” He gestures to the bowl on the entryway table and reaches for it.

“Uh, no,” she responds. She softly slaps his hands away and stands in front of her new prized possession.

“But Violet is in my art class. She’ll know that it isn’t some project I made as a little kid. It’s embarrassing.”

“Well, if you want her to like all of you then that includes your minimal artistic talents. Seriously, stick with words, kid. Your writing more than makes up for your pottery.”

He whines and Emma imagines him stomping his feet like he did when he was small. “Moooooom.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupts them and she watches her son stand up straight and hold his head up high. He nervously runs his hands down his shirt and checks the mirror over Emma’s shoulder before giving her a look. It screams ‘Please go away’ and she decides to be merciful and hide in the kitchen as her son opens the door for his first study date.

The only thing she hears is Violet’s giggle and melodious voice as she comments, “Aw, it’s sweet your mom loves it so much she keeps it out here.”

Coming home to silence was an adjustment this year. Once Henry got his afterschool job to supplement his Fortnite addiction, often heading straight to the nearby harbor once class let out, Emma found the quiet of their apartment to be her companion more often than her son.

When summer break starts, Henry will only be home for a few days before leaving for the six-week writing program the University of Southern California is hosting for high schoolers.

It’s the longest they’ve been apart since she was in juvie. She’s tried to prepare herself for it as best she can, taking less cases while he’s home so she can busy herself once he leaves. But she knows she’s going to be lost without him and it’s not a concept she wants to deal with until he goes off to college. If then.

She shifts the pizza boxes from one hand to the other and calls for her kid only for him to come bounding out of his room with excitement clear on his face.

“Okay, hear me out,” he begins and Emma cries out internally. Henry’s taken up the habit of searching the Best of cities and searching how the housing market there compares with their budget. She’s not sure if it’s from an unstable life or his thirst for an adventure like the ones he reads in his books, but it’s becoming clear that her son doesn’t have a reason to care much for Boston. Especially after things with Violet fizzled out to just friends.

Oh God, is he trying to run from a breakup like she’d done?

Emma puts the pizza on the island, clear of yesterday’s paperwork which sits collected in a haphazard pile next to the microwave, and gives Henry her full attention as he holds his hands out in front of him like he’s calming a dangerous animal.

“How do you feel about the U.S. Virgin Islands?”

Five and a half weeks later…

She’s been ghosted by clients before. It’s unsurprising, given what so many of them hire her to investigate, but she’s never had a client wait two years for information just to drop their communication the moment she announces she has the final piece of the puzzle. Especially when the client is Mr. Jones.

But she brushes it off as best she can and takes on the easy cases of cheating spouses that she can work on while Henry finishes his sophomore year.

It becomes a painless routine for her.

Wake up, check apartment listings, see Henry off to school, follow scumbag spouse to insert seedy motel here and snap a few pics of them with a coworker, prostitute, or neighbor. The stakeouts are boring and she’s run out of podcasts to listen to but she keeps a vigilant eye out for movement. Apartment hunting is a pain and she’s often beaten to the lease signing by another renter.

And then Henry leaves and she surrounds herself with work. Her kid sends her sporadic video updates from the other side of the country between their lunchtime phone calls, Emma filling her calendar with cases after clearing it up for some mother-son bonding time before he left. Cardboard boxes have joined her lonely companionship with the apartment’s silence and, for someone who spent so much of her life alone, she feels empty. Having Henry consumed her entire life for the past 16 years in the best way possible. But now she doesn’t know how to have a life outside of him and his weeks away have left her floundering.

Now her main purpose lies with condensing their belongings into boxes and trying to make sure she can keep a roof over their heads. If it means swallowing her pride and signing for another year at the higher rate just so her kid doesn’t get an inkling of the uncertainty she faced at his age, it’d be worth it. All it would mean is more cases.

It’s right as her work email alerts her to a new message that Boston PD detective David Nolan gives her a call.

She knows him best from her time as a bail bondsperson when they first moved to Boston before starting her own business. He was her receiving officer more times than she can count and, according to Instagram, recently celebrated the birth of his first kid.

“Hey, David,” Emma says absentmindedly as she maneuvers her way through the growing pile of boxes. “How’s Baby Nolan?” Hearing from him is certainly a surprise, especially with a newborn at home. He’s probably wondering when she can come over for dinner one of these days. His wife insists that she and Henry join them for dinner at least once a month, though that went to the wayside with the baby along the way.

“Not letting us get any sleep, so good. Do you still need a place to stay?” David’s voice, despite sounding worn and worried, offered a pillar of strength she needed amongst her own stresses.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on a mansion just outside of the city.”

His chuckle reaches her ears and warms her chest. David’s the only man that’s never set off any alarms from her superpower and while their communication has become limited as of recently, his presence in her life is still that of a protective big brother. “Not a mansion, but definitely a place to stay for now.”

Emma perks up, her back straightening. “I’m listening. What’s the catch?”

“It’s being sublet on a month by month basis. And there’s a bit of construction on pause at the moment.”

“Meaning?”

“The owner was renovating when they ran into an unexpected incident and won’t be able to resume work anytime soon.”

Immediately, her shoulders drop. She’s not sure which condition is worse - living in uncertainty on a month by month basis or dealing in a stopped construction site. “I wouldn’t suggest this place to you unless I thought it could work,” David says soothingly. “It belongs to a family I know and they’re only asking for enough so it could help cover some of the taxes when they’re due in December.”

Emma sucks in a breath as David describes the home. Nestled in Storybrooke, a small area compiled of a couple of blocks in Nahant, the house sits at the end of a street right on the water. It has plenty of bedrooms that she won’t have to deal with any of the areas of construction and the view is incredible. Most importantly, the rent is cheaper than what she’s paying now.

“I’m in.”

“Kid,” Emma huffs, ear pressed to her shoulder to hold her phone as she hobbles through the front door with a box in hand. “This place is gorgeous. Half-finished, but gorgeous. I swear, David’s friend has to be a millionaire to get this property.”

Henry’s response is muddled between bites of cheesy puffs. His words only become clear once he swallows. “Think you’ll still be renting it when I finish up in three weeks?”

“Yeah kid,” she groans as she drops the box in the foyer, eyes glancing around to the kitchen and dining room to her left and the expansive living room to her right. From the way the house is positioned on the lot, nearly every window has a view of the ocean. In fact, the view from the living room’s bay window is her favorite. “We’ll have at least one week left by then before they realize how cheap they’re renting it for and decide to kick us out next month.”

“Mom,” Henry starts. She can tell he’s grinning by the way his voice changes, amused by her pessimism. “Have a little hope. Just a tiny bit.”

“You know you’ve got all the hope in the family,” she teases. “We balance each other out.”

He laughs and starts to say something before she hears chattering in the background. “Lunch is over so I’ve gotta go. Love you!”

“Love you too, kid.”

She smiles small, a gesture all for herself, as she puts her phone on the window seat. How lucky is she to have a kid like Henry? A kid who enjoys spending time with her and calling her while he’s away. Who isn’t afraid to tell her he loves her and when he misses her.

Taking a deep breath in, she looks around the living room.

This is what she wants to give her kid. The same thing she’s wanted for so long.

A home.

“The boxes won’t come in themselves…” she whispers to herself, sighing as she turns to head out to the U-Haul she rented.

Only she stops in her tracks, eyes wide and breath stolen for her as a man stands in the foyer just feet from her, open door behind him. Dressed in black leather pants, a billowing black shirt, matching velvet vest, and a black leather duster, his scruff looks artifully shaved and his blue eyes pierce into her soul. When she thinks back on this moment later, she’ll admit that the man is pure sin. A delectable treat for the eyes. But for now, she yells in surprise and rushes to grab a nearby object, the only one being a lamp. She pulls it hard into her hand, yanking the plug from the socket.

“Bloody hell!” the man yells at her. “What are you doing in my house?!”

“Your house?!” Emma nearly shrieks. “This isn’t your house!”

“Like hell it isn’t! I bought it specifically for that view there!” the stranger yells back. It’s only when he raises his left hand to point at the window behind her that she realizes he has no left hand at all. Instead, a hook protrudes from a cuff around his wrist. Her heart pounds as he leaves the hook arm up and steps closer, eyebrows furrowed in a menacing gaze. “I don’t know who you believe you are lass, but you better get off my - ”

Fight or flight instinct kicks in and Emma chooses both. She darts forward, right arm pulling back before launching forward in a punch. The action cuts off his sentence, his startled surprise at her movement the only sound she hears. Except he must have stepped back because her punch doesn’t land.

However, her escape out the open front door is now clear and she rushes past the stranger, down the porch steps and into her U-Haul. Kitchen pots and pans be damned, she can buy new ones.

Emma sits in the driver’s seat of the U-Haul as she watches the house, one hand on the ignition and the lamp resting in the passenger seat. The mystery man, however, never comes out. There’s something about him that doesn’t allow her to leave so she waits.

David arrives a half hour later, rushing out his patrol vehicle and to her driver’s side door in a heartbeat.

“Emma, are you okay?” he asks, eyes rovering over her person to assess any injuries.

She glares at him as she unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car. Technically it’s David’s fault she’s in this mess. He was the one who had a friend that had a place. A place where herself and Henry were supposed to be the only occupants of. If this actually turns out to be a roommate situation with all of the bedrooms rented out, she is gonna kill him then leave. “I’m fine but I thought you said the house was empty. I need you to talk to the crazy guy in there to find out if I’m out of a place or if he needs to leave.”

“And you’re sure you’re fine?”

“Yes, David, I’m fine. Now go fix this, please.”

David rolls his shoulders and sighs, turning to head into the house with one hand resting on his gun. Aside from the fact hers is safely packed away, the last thing she would ever want is something else on her record. Things are hard enough as it is.

Silence fills the area by the truck and her continual glances around the property doesn’t show any movement or the stranger making a run for it. So she waits.

And waits.

And honestly, if David isn’t out within the next two minutes then she’s going in, stranger be damned and–

As if reading her mind, David steps out of the house and makes his way to her side.

“All clear,” he says, hands on his hips. “No one is inside.”

“Where did he go then? No one has left,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Well, there’s always the ocean.” His joking grin is merely met with a glare so he clears his throat. “What did the gentleman look like again?” he asks, pulling up the notes app on his phone.

“Dressed in all leather, looked like a pirate.” She swallows hard before saying the next part. She knows she’s not crazy – she knows what she saw. But that doesn’t mean he won’t think she is. “And he had a hook for a hand.”

David immediately stops. He stares at his screen for a moment before his eyes meet Emma’s, scrutinizing her. Judgment complete, a sort of glee lights up his eyes, smirk playing on his lips, and she inwardly groans. “Are you telling me that Captain Hook is haunting your temporary housing?”

“I’m being serious,” she insists, slapping his arm as he begins to giggle. “I saw someone in there. They are real.”

“I didn’t see anyone. I can guarantee you that the owner won’t be around anytime soon. Are you sure you saw someone and you’re not just tired?”

She is exhausted but she trusts her gut and she knows she wasn’t alone. “David.”

The look David gives her is full of sympathy and it makes her want to cry. It took her a long time to discern the difference between sympathy and pity but David gets her and knows that pity would be the last thing she ever needed. “Look, I think you’ll be safe here tonight. Just remember to lock all your doors and windows. If you want, you can always stay on my couch until you find someplace new. You’d just have to take over my diaper changing turns.”

Emma snorts, a small smile making its way onto her face. “Nice try but no.”

“Do you want me to set up my patrol car out here and keep an eye out?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s not necessary. I’ll just stay here tonight.” She adds, without any convincing, “I’m sure you’re right and I’m just tired.

He gives her a look like he doesn’t think there’s anything to look into but she ignores it. Aside from the situation with Mr. Jones, her gut hasn’t led her astray in over a decade. If it tells her that what she saw wasn’t nothing then she’s sticking with it.

The night passes slowly. She sits on the bay window, Henry’s old baseball bat in hand, and keeps an eye out for movement in the backyard while she listens for footsteps in the house. The lamp is back in its spot on the end table but she doesn’t turn it on. Instead, flames flicker from the fireplace casting a dull light over the room. There’s no furniture in the house yet, just the end table and its lamp, but she thinks this is the kind of place people make a home.

It’s quiet on the water, the waves calmly lapping against the bulkheads in a way that’s so soothing she nearly falls asleep sitting up. She catches herself being mesmerized by the glow of the moonlight on the ocean and stifles her yawns until the sun comes up.

By the time early morning rolls around, she checks all the doors and windows again before going upstairs to where her air mattress sits on the floor of the primary bedroom. Catching a few hours of sleep before David inevitably checks on her is all she can think about now.

Sweat trickles down her back from the July heat as she continues unpacking the U-Haul. The rental is only for another 24 hours so she needs to be done by then, even if it means paying Will in beer to get him to come move a few things for her.

The first thing she did when she woke up was take out her gun. It sits holstered on her hip and she keeps one eye out for the mystery man’s appearance as she pulls tables and chairs from the truck but it’s been quiet since she woke.

It’s not until an hour later that she sees him. The sun glints off of the water creating a glare in her vision for just a moment but it’s long enough for the man to appear.

“Hey!” she yells, pulling her gun out and aiming it towards him. Her thumb sits on the safety, ready to flick it off at a moment’s notice. “What are you doing here?!”

“Lass,” he nearly groans, glare etched deep in his features. “We covered this yesterday. This is my home so it’ll be in your best interests if you leave now.”

“You’re the one who needs to leave.”

“Don’t make me get rid of you. Leave now.”

At his threat, the safety comes off and her pointer finger sits on the trigger. “Or what?” She knows that she’s egging him on, daring him even, but she won’t let him scare her.

He steps closer, hooked arm pointed towards her from his side, and drops his voice low. “Or I will forcibly escort you off my property. It won’t be pretty.”

“Stay back.” Steady voice and still hands, she continues aiming the gun at this Captain Hook figure even as she steps away from him.

The man merely laughs and rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Because if you were going to then I’d already be dead.”

“Try me and we can find out.”

He growls as he speaks, saying, “Get. Off. My. Property.”

“No.”

“I tried to be nice, lass,” he says, resigned and angry. He moves towards her, hooked arm extending to her person and in a flurry of motion, she pulls the trigger.

Vibrations run up and down her arms as she stares down the man in front of her. All that echoes is the sound of the gunshot. There’s no gurgling sound that she’s heard before as someone drowns in their own blood, there’s no gasping for last breaths, there’s no thud of a body collapsing to the ground. Her aim is impeccable, constantly getting bullseyes at the shooting range. So how could she miss?

“Bloody buggering fuck! Did you just fucking shoot me?!” he yells in disbelief, head tipping down to glance at his person in a hurry before glaring at her.

“Why aren’t you hurt?” she says, mostly to herself. Worry and fear seep into her voice and she doesn’t bother masking it as the shock overwhelms her. There was absolutely no way she missed.

“I can’t believe you shot me!”

Emma snaps out of her daze at that. Blinking, she moves her gaze to meet his.

“Of course I shot you!” she yells back, eyes narrowing on the man in front of her who has trespassed on the property twice and threatened her. Neither of them have moved which is fine with her because she doesn’t think her shaky legs can hold her weight at the moment.

“What do you mean of course?!”

“You threatened me with that!” She throws her arm not still holding the gun in the direction of his left arm, the hook shining under the July sun.

His eyebrows pinch together in anger as he holds it up for her to see, his words attacking her like it was a ridiculous assumption to make on her part. “You mean my hook? It’s practically my left hand now, love. I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“How was I supposed to know that after everything you said,” she shoots back. Then her nose scrunches up in annoyance. “And I’m not your love.”

The man has the audacity to roll his eyes at her and in a huff, she points out that he’s fine so clearly she missed.

“Oh but you were so close,” he says through clenched teeth and a narrow gaze. “Felt the wind like it went right through me.” It takes a moment for his words to register and it fully sinks in once he moves to pace, ranting about her and how she needs to leave but he won’t go near her lest she shoot him again.

Blinking wildly, she looks at the mystery man and notices the inconsistency in the shed behind him. Right behind where he stood just moments before, the white shed is marred with a black spot. Sparing him one more glance, Emma puts the safety back on and tucks her gun back into her hip holster, marching right by Hook to inspect the shed.

A hiss escapes her mouth as her fingers gingerly touch the metal of the shed only to pull them back immediately from the residual heat. Definitely her bullet then. Which means she didn’t miss Hook. So how isn’t he hurt?

A low whistle from just behind her rings in her ear and she stiffens, refusing to let the man know that he was able to sneak up on her. Instead, she keeps her eyes trained on the bullet she embedded on the shed of the house she was renting.

Fuck.

She was definitely going to have to pay for this and get the homeowner a new shed.

“You’re going to have to replace that,” the man says. Ignoring the way that his accent sends chills down her spine, she plants her hands on her hips as she faces him, one eyebrow raised.

“I didn’t ask for your commentary.”

“You’re a bit of an open book to me, love,” he says, the cheeky tone only making her want to shoot him point blank. He shouldn’t even be this close to her but for some reason she’s allowing it. Instead, she lets her other eyebrow rise up and her lack of amusement be clear on her face.

“Still not your love,” she comments, rolling her eyes. “Now leave or next time I won’t miss.”

“Ah, ah. That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not leaving my own property.”

Biting back a groan, Emma starts. “Listen here you – ”

Except her words get caught in her throat as she pokes her finger at his chest just for it to go through him.

What. The. Fuck.

The two of them stand in shock as Emma’s finger remains half inside the man’s chest. His body starts to glow around the area and she swears she can see right through him to the grass beneath their feet. It’s as if he’s becoming transparent before her eyes and she feels the blood drain straight from her face.

She really is being haunted by Captain Hook.

“Wh-what did you do to me?” Captain Hook asks with a shaky voice, his eyes fixated on her finger. She rips her finger out of his chest and the only thing she feels is a cool embrace along her skin.

“I - I didn’t do anything,” she stutters. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to argue, maybe call her a witch and demand she be burned at the stake or something, and she hates how she notices how this centuries old pirate, who probably didn’t even practice good oral hygiene while he was alive, has better teeth than her. She swallows to bring her focus back and manages to get out the words that neither of them can believe. “I think you’re a ghost.”

She hasn’t seen Hook since her realization the other day.

He had denied it, of course. Who wants to accept the fact that they’re dead and stuck as a ghost anyway? They spit words at each other, nasty words, and she may have wished him eternal damnation in hell, but he clearly wasn’t accepting the fact he died so maybe she could just scare him off.

Emma, though, isn’t one to take her chances. So after Hook turned and walked off – quite literally disappearing into nothingness as the sun glare from the ocean became too much – she figures that the best course of action is to discover what she should do the next time he appears. Because clearly he has some unfinished business with the property. Maybe treasure buried somewhere on it?

When she decides that her best course of research will be in obscure books that the library would take a few weeks to procure for her, she sets her sights elsewhere. Her growling stomach brings her back to Book & Bistro two days after the incident, the Reuben sandwich on their menu practically singing to her.

Belle, a short woman in tower-high heels, sensible skirt, and floral blouse rings her up before asking if she needs help finding a book to read while she eats.

“Actually,” Emma begins. Her eyes dart around the shop like she can’t believe she’s doing this but she sucks it up and asks anyway. “Do you have any books about ghosts? Err, getting rid of them specifically.”

Belle flits around the shop like she could navigate the shelves with her eyes closed, brown curls flying behind her. Something on her face must show her admiration when she’s handed a book for her small but growing pile. “I own the place,” the short brunette explains.

“Ah.”

“You might have to skip through a few passages but these four will have the most information regarding your concern.” Her smile is as white as it is wide and Emma can hear Henry in her head, joking that he’ll need sunglasses if she grins that big again.

Emma doesn’t realize she has a guest at her table until she takes a bite of her sandwich and glances up only to find Hook sitting opposite her. “Shit,” she murmurs between coughs, clearing her throat of the caught pieces of Reuben deliciousness. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses. No one in the cafe seems to be paying attention to her anymore after her coughing fit but she still doesn’t want to be seen as a crazy person. Belle’s inquisitive tilt of her head is her limit.

Still, Emma picks up her phone and holds it against her ear before turning to face Hook.

She doesn’t know why she expects him to be wearing something other than his pirate getup but he’s not. Dying in leather must mean one stays in leather as a ghost. Hopefully there’s no chaffing in the afterlife.

Ignoring the curiosity dancing across his features, Emma leans forward on the table under the pretext of studying one of her books.

“You haven’t answered me yet,” she whispers.

“Sorry love. I’m simply mesmerized by your skills,” he answers, part cheeky, part sarcasm, fully charming. His hook reaches forward as it to tap the phone and Emma holds her breath, eyeing it cautiously. She realizes now what an asshole she was, assuming that the hook was only there as a torture device and not something that was actually useful to have while on a ship.

Yes, she did her research, thank you very much. None of which ever mentioned Captain Hook being real.

“But I am here,” he continues and Emma blinks before meeting his gaze. “Because when you left today, I felt a tether linking myself to you. I was curious to test out its limits and surrendered to the pull. The next moment, I’m in the doorway of this fine establishment,” he breaks off for a second, a strange look on his face as he glances around Book & Bistro before he shakes his head and continues. “And you’re over here. I’ve felt small instances of this tether before, but never like this. And it never let me leave the property before too.”

She knows he’s telling the truth. Or at least her gut seems to think he is. Completely off her rocker or not, her gut rarely steers her wrong – Thanks Mr. Jones for ruining that streak – and it is not detecting a single lie.

“What, pray tell, are you doing here with all these lovely tomes instead of, say, at the library?” He lifts one eyebrow, an enticing look that has her leaning into his space subconsciously before she catches herself and looks at the pages before her.

“I am finding out ways to get rid of you.”

“Oi, don’t make me sound like a terrible houseguest,” he says, leaning back in his chair and tilting his chin up at her. “At least I don’t shoot other people.”

“Oh my god.”

She ignores his chuckles and spends the rest of the afternoon huddled at her table, Hook browsing over her shoulder on occasion. He disappears sometimes, where to, she has no clue, but then he comes back when she thinks of him or feels like she’s made a breakthrough and she’s not sure how to handle that. How does a ghost even get tethered to a stranger? Do they need to break the tether first before helping him move on or stop haunting the house? Her head starts to pound by the time the dinner rush comes in and she makes the executive decision to go home, Hook following or not, she doesn’t care.

So far she’s found no information about the tether and it leaves Emma stumped. She sure as hell doesn’t want to do anything that might hurt her. Self-preservation sits in her arsenal of survival instincts, always near the top and ready to be called on.

Unpacking had originally been her method to clear her mind. When she’s finished all of that – mainly the essentials because who knows when they’d have to leave this gorgeous home – she explores. Most of the first floor is done, the kitchen completely remodeled with light wood floors, a pale forest green on the cabinets, butcher block countertops, and the cutest white retro fridge and stove. There’s a room just to the left of the front door with windows lining all three walls. Bookcases fill the walls against the hallway and foyer, and she realizes within moments of entering that it’s a study of sorts, though the chair at the desk still looks brand new.

The rest of the floor is a gorgeous remodel that keeps the house’s original charm, from the window seat in the turret outcove to the brickwork scaling half the wall the fireplace is on, every inch of the house makes her jaw drop. That is, until she makes her way to the third floor.

The bedrooms on the second floor are in perfect condition, and the bathrooms hold the same exquisite marble slabs in the shower and subway tile backsplash by the sink. However, the third floor remains unfinished, exposed studs not clearly separating the area into defined spaces and the bathroom on this floor sits just as unfinished as the rest. Boxes of subway tile sit on the floor, supplies in front of the sink and only a few tiles actually on the way. It’s like whoever lived here before her just disappeared out of thin air.

So when she needs to contemplate what to do and she’s unpacked everything she can, she stands in the bathroom. Is it overstepping if she’s helping the owner finish what he started? Technically, she’d be a big help. Besides, one of her foster fathers worked in construction and brought her to the site to hang in the trailers when he couldn’t find a babysitter.

(Truthfully he didn’t care what she did as long as nothing interfered with his checks so she sat in on the tilers in the kitchen.)

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Emma hates to admit it but his sudden appearance makes her jump. Being a ghost and all, Hook doesn’t make any footsteps to warn of his arrival. He’s not even corporeal enough for her to attach a bell to.

“Yes,” she grinds out, putting all of her focus and then some on placing the tile in her hand onto the wall. In all honesty, she’s just glad she didn’t drop the tile. Knowing her luck, the contractor would have only bought enough to make no mistakes and it’d have been a super rare subway tile that’s been discontinued. Because, if the ghost haunting her new dwelling isn’t evidence enough, that’s the kind of luck she has.

“Your video device is proof of that?” He nods to her phone propped up on the counter playing a YouTube video.

“That’s it!” she exclaims in anger after pressing the tile on. “I am going to get rid of you even if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Last thing you do? Is that you wanting to spend an eternity with me, love?”

She can hear the smirk on his face in the way he presents his flirtations and it just makes her groan as she gets up and makes her way down the stairs to her room, but not before yelling out behind her. “And I’m not your love!”

The exorcist is first. Father Gold isn’t from a local church, as none of the ones in the immediate area have a priest readily available to perform such a task, but he comes dressed in his black robes and collar, a bottle of holy water in one hand and a silver crucifix in the other.

“Afternoon, Miss Swan,” Father Gold starts. She hears an echo of Hook in the kitchen practicing ‘Swan’ on his lips in different accents and it hits her that she never told him her name. Then Father Gold continues talking to explain what he’ll be doing. There’s an unease in her stomach as she listens, nodding along when appropriate.

At first, she thinks it’s because she feels bad for doing this to Hook. He’s not a bad guy, she’s come to accept. Just because he’s a nuisance doesn’t mean that she wants him to be melted with holy water. Still, she doesn’t interrupt Father Gold’s preparations.

It’s not until he starts (“May the power of Christ compel you!”) that she realizes the pit in her stomach is from Father Gold himself. He sweats like a sinner in church and from the way he stumbles over his introductory prayers, she initially puts it all down to nerves. She’s heard the stories, the difficulties of such tasks, but there’s something else with him. Something slimy about Father Gold.

“Have you even vetted your exorcist, Swan?”

Emma turns her head to see Killian standing beside her and watching as the priest holds his crucifix up near the fridge, the complete opposite side of the house they’re standing at, and waving his bottle of holy water in the air. Water droplets fall onto the wood and she can see Hook wince from the corner of her eye.

“You know you’re wiping that up, right? Too much water on these floors and it’ll warp the hardwoods.”

“Shut up,” she says from the corner of her mouth. Neither of them move from their spot, watching as Father Gold’s prayers increase in volume and passion and Emma’s face twists in disgust. “Is he even trying?” she asks herself, jumping slightly when she hears Hook’s snickering from her side.

She ignores him, refraining only just from rolling her eyes, and instead thanks the priest for his time once he’s finished, handing over the money donation for the church that Father Gold looks too eager to collect.

“You realize he was the one who needed an exorcism, right?”

“Shut up, Hook.”

“As you wish,” Hook begins, his gaze quickly darting down to the paperwork on the kitchen table. “Emma Swan.”

She likes the way his tongue works over every individual letter of her name. It’s like he caresses each letter like they’re his lover and it leaves her flushed, wondering what other things his tongue can do. Filing that thought away for later, she heads to her current bedroom, one that was probably Hook’s long ago, and makes her next call.

Zelena, the medium someone recommended on the NextDoor app, is as crazy as her curls suggest. Gorgeous red hair flows down her back in ringlets, the same kind of red Emma tried dying her hair to in middle school with Kool-Aid. The main difference lies in the fact that Zelena’s is completely natural… and that’s about the only positive thing she can say towards the woman.

The medium enters the house in a flourish, sniffing the air repeatedly before stopping in the living room. Hook eyes them suspiciously from where he lounges on the couch and Emma does all she can to not roll her eyes at his eyebrow raise.

“Hmm…” Zelena says, sniffing the air again. “Yes, yes. There is definitely a spirit here.”

“Yeah, I know,” she deadpans. “That’s why I called you.”

“Oh,” the redhead says, a smirk growing on her features as she steps closer to the center of the living room. “It’s a young spirit. One of a man.”

Hook sits up from his seat on the couch, instantly intrigued. He looks past Zelena to her and says, “She knows what she’s talking about.”

Glaring at him, Emma turns to Zelena with her hands on her hips. “So how do I get rid of him?”

“Let yourself…” The medium pauses, running her hands up and down her boy in frantic yet sensual motions. “Be free with him.”

Like the cat that caught the canary, Hook’s grin is wide and his eyes keep darting to her face but she refuses to acknowledge the flush that’s taken over her skin. Blaming it on anger seems like the easiest escape route. “You’re not seriously suggesting I offer myself up for ghost sex?!”

“Oh, I like her.”

“It seems that your ghost has some pent up issues,” Zelena says.

Crossing her arms, Emma glares at Hook, eyes sharp as daggers. “Clearly.” The pirate merely smirks and leans back into the couch again.

“I have reason to believe that he is… emotionally constipated, if you will.” It takes every ounce of acting ability that she’s honed over her years of bail-bonding and private investigating to not laugh out loud at the way that Hook’s face drops. “His inability to connect with someone of flesh before he passed on is preventing him from moving on. He regrets his failure to experience that action.”

Fighting to keep the amusement out of her voice is a spectacular failure but not one that Emma cares much for losing. She eyes Zelena and just barely keeps her smirk at bay. “So you’re actually suggesting I take a ghost’s virginity?”

“Why yes, dearie, exactly that.”

“Swan! She doesn’t know what she’s talking about!”

Emma grins wide at her and places her hands over her heart, an attempt to look far more sincere than she is. “I’m so glad you know what you’re talking about.”

She steps aside and watches as Zelena prances around the living room, herbs and incense being waved about as the medium speaks to the ghost in her living room, asking him to open himself to them. Said ghost sulks in his seat, glaring at the redhead while he interjects every few sentences to assure her that while he’s not certain of many things, he’s certain he’s very practiced when it comes to enjoyable activities with a woman on her back.

Handing Zelena the fee for her appointment feels a lot like handing money to Father Gold. Both with underhanded motives and slimy smiles and ugh she just hopes their tactics work and are only experiencing a temporary delay, and she’ll wake up tomorrow with Captain Hook out of the house.

“For your information love,” Hook starts the moment Zelena leaves. He practically jumps out of the chair as he approaches the foyer where she stands, looking at her from under his eyelashes, tongue sneaking out to wet his bottom lip. “While I am no blushing deckhand, she may have had a point about – ”

“Absolutely not,” Emma cuts him off, face screwing up in disgust. “Entertain yourself with your hook instead.”

There has to be another option.

She has gone crazy. That is the only reason she actually scheduled an appointment with so-called ‘Ghostbusters’.

Greg and Tamara walk around the first floor of the house, the black machines strapped over the shoulders of their tan jumpsuits humming loudly and emitting various beeps at random. Hook stands by the bay window, eyes trained on the ocean just beyond the glass. He looks at ease there. Tension leaves his shoulders and if he could breathe, she imagines him taking long, deep breaths.

Much like the previous attempts, the two she’s dubbed as Ghostbusters Lite have no clue what they’re doing. They yell to each other from opposite sides of the first floor about the readings on their machines. The two of them inch closer to her basement door and Hook just raises his eyebrow at her like he can’t believe they’re actually letting these two go through with their scheme.

Greg and Tamara join at the basement door and do a show of yelling, shaking, and lights from their machines before they finally stop and take heaving breaths. “I believe we’ve got ‘em,” Tamara says as she wipes an imaginary bead of sweat from her forehead.

“Oh?” Emma says with feigned interest. She makes a show of a slow perusal of the first floor, narrowing her eyes only fractually as Hook remains by the window giving her the most unimpressed look she’s ever seen.

“Still here, love.”

“Yeah!” Emma suddenly says, grinning wide at Ghostbusters Lite as she digs in her purse. “I think you did too! Thank you!”

She hands the money to Greg and he counts it in front of her, his eyebrows furrowing as he sees she gave him the exact amount they agreed upon. “What? No tip?”

She refuses to tell David.

The last thing she needs is to have him concerned that she needs to do a stint under medical supervision for hallucinations. God, and she doesn’t need him laughing at her attempts to be rid of the ghost of Captain Hook.

Henry, however, is a different story.

“Is the place really haunted?” he asks the next afternoon after she lets slip about Ghostbusters Lite and their complete failure.

“I - uh,” Emma looks over at Hook standing in the bay window again, hand and hook clasped behind his back and posture straight as a board. “Yeah, kid, it is. But I’m trying to get rid of it.”

“Why?” She knows she shouldn’t, and she wouldn’t have if they weren’t over the phone, but she smiles at the whine in her son’s voice. For as much as he’s growing up, it reminds her of when he was younger and wanted to stay up to read just one more chapter, one more comic book, play one more level on his video game. Now he doesn’t have a bedtime, acting as self-sufficient as any adult. “Ghosts are cool,” he tries to reason. “Plus, it’s perfect writing inspiration when I get back. I could totally turn this into a science-fiction book or a horror novel. Mom, please don’t get rid of the ghost!”

“Henry,” she warns. “There is no way that I am going to let a ghost hang around the house annoying me – ”

“ – I beg your pardon! – ” Hook chimes in.

“Just because it might serve as inspiration for a book. Nice try kid, but no.”

“Moooooom!”

“I said no. Now,” she sinks down into the couch, happy she’s pulled the curtains back on the French doors so she can see the calming ocean waves from her perch, “tell me how your workshops are going.”

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“What are you talking about? I’m doing it just fine.”

“You’ve messed up the pattern, love.”

“No, I haven’t. I’m following the pattern exactly.”

“Yes, if whoever’s planning this work wants that wall’s design to be backwards.”

“Ughhhh!”

Emma stands up in a quick motion, hastily pulling her gloves off and throwing them to the floor. She angrily swipes at the hair that’s falling out of her bun and into her face and glares at Hook. If he weren’t dead already, he would be from the way her gaze burns him to the core.

“I am done! I don’t know how I’m doing it and I don’t care but I will be rid of you!” she shouts to the ghost relaxing against the third floor bathroom framework. “Come on now, Hook, don’t be shy. Tell me your unfinished business so you can leave me alone.”

He snarls, pushing himself off of his perch and standing straight. “No. I am not leaving my house, be it in my life or in my death.”

“Well you’re going to have to because I am not going to entertain a ghost for my summer!”

“Then you can leave!”

“You’re the one who needs to leave! Go find the light or the fiery pits of hell, I don’t care! Choose one and go!”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO!”

His chest heaves as if he’s struggling to breathe and she watches as he swipes his thumb against his lips, fury coming off of him in waves. For as much as their first interactions were full of yelling, she’s never heard him shout like this. With so much pain and anger. Not at her, though, but at himself. She imagines that this is the kind of feeling that he’d latch onto as a villainous pirate captain pillaging and plundering enemy ships. Vivid imagery of the hook coming out as a weapon rather than a hand comes to mind. He’d threaten his enemies with the point of the hook to their necks, use it to slice their stomachs open wide, dangle them from it over the side of the ship.

Blue eyes searching for the words he can’t bring forth, he drops his head in defeat. “I – I…” He makes a noise of frustration from the back of his throat. “There are things that I know and I don’t know why I do. But I do. Frivolous things like Netflix and the hairdryer! But I don’t recall a damned thing about my own life. Bloody hell, it’s like sailing through a fog.”

He paces back and forth in the unfinished third floor, tracing the steps again and again as he runs his fingers through his hair and taps his hook against his hip.

“You clearly remember enough to criticize my tiling.” Except her joke doesn’t land. She’s never been one to know what to do in emotional situations. Growing up, no one was at her side or holding her hand through it. Henry she could handle because he’s her kid so it’s different. Still though, there are more than enough moments where she struggles through it. Emotional breakdowns from the ghost haunting her house? She has no clue what to do but put her foot in her mouth.

“No.” He stops his pacing to snarl at her, his upper lip twisted to bare his teeth. “You have no idea what it is like to see a tendril of what might have been your life and go after it just to have it slip through your fingers leaving you adrift.”

“You have to figure out how to remember so that you can move on!”

“Pray tell, how do I do that, Emma? Since you seem to know bloody well everything else!” His anger is met with silence because she doesn’t know how. How can she help a ghost from hundreds of years ago remember?

His voice becomes increasingly hysterical and desperate as he stalks towards her, fire ablaze in his eyes. “I have no bloody clue who the hell I am or anything about my life. So stop forcing me out of the one place I do know. Because I’m not leaving.”

It’s not like it’s her fault that he’s stuck as a ghost in limbo. She didn’t do anything to cause that and she’d appreciate it if he’d stopped acting like she did.

Clenching her hands into tight fists at her side, she straightens her shoulders and stands tall. He will find that she can be defiant too.

She imagines he plans on striding downstairs, his leather duster swishing behind him as he gets in the last word but she won’t allow it. Instead, she bitterly lets out, “Join the club,” and steps right past him.

Memories of her past don’t haunt her dreams anymore. Or at least, they haven’t in so long that she forgot what they are like.

Tonight, she revisits her time with the Langston family and the mother who could barely keep herself upright from how badly she ran herself ragged for the other foster kids they accepted and the father who would be more concerned with how many beer cases or cigarettes he could purchase with the state checks. Mrs. Langston tries her best and has good intentions at heart but Mr. Langston looks at them with dollar signs in his eyes and for some kids even worse thoughts. The worse she has ever gotten from Mr. Langston has been when he uses her as his ashtray.

Most times she’s able to dodge out of the way of the cigarette butt touching her skin, her clothes filling with holes and burn marks that she tells teachers are from her playing with matches (that’s more likely to get her to a different foster home than anything of truth). Once she’s not quick enough. She’s not paying attention and his hand comes down and he burns the skin below her collarbone with his cigarette and he holds it down there like he knows what he’s doing and wants to dig as deep into her skin as he can.

The pain is searing hot and steals her breath instantly. She’s 12 but her wails remind her of that of an infant’s. No one comes to her aid.

Mr. Langston finally lets up and tells her to shut up and she weeps silently as she makes her way to the bathroom to do what she can for the wound. Mr. Langston wouldn’t dare spend a moment for her well-being, much less a dollar for a trip to the doctor and she’s seen what he does to Mrs. Langston when he feels she’s stepped out of line.

So she grabs the ointment after doing what she can to clean the wound and applies it gently. Except it feels like it won’t stop hurting so she rubs harder and harder, ignoring the pain and the tears that spring to her eyes and the way that she feels like she’s drowning in her sobs. She rubs and rubs and rubs until she sees blood.

And then she wakes up.

She sits up in bed with a gasp and feels the lingering burning sensation from her dream over the skin below her collarbone.

“Does it hurt?”

Emma’s eyes dart up to see Hook sitting in the bay window in the bedroom. Situated directly above the one on the first floor, it offers up an even better view of the water. The only thing is that he’s not looking at the water but at her.

“Huh?” she asks.

“That,” he answers with a nod of his head towards her chest. Furrowing her eyebrows, she looks down a moment later to see she’s been absentmindedly rubbing at the scarred skin.

“Oh.” She forgets he’s there as she continues to gently rub the spot until he comes to sit beside her on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“How’d it happen?” His voice is quiet and Emma takes a moment to study him.

She thinks a part of the reason she so badly wants him to move on is because growing up, death meant freedom. Not that she ever did anything to herself, but she always viewed death as being the only time she’d find peace since life wasn’t granting her any growing up.

And then she had Henry and life with him, amidst all the chaos, is as close to peace as she’s ever felt.

But for when the day comes, she doesn’t want to be a ghost stuck in limbo without a clue of the past. She wants to be able to move on to resting for eternity and be at peace.

Taking her silence for hesitance, he speaks softly, the softest she has ever heard from him. She supposes that she must have been thrashing and yelling in her sleep, something she hasn’t done in over a decade, and even ghosts take pity on the living. “I don’t remember much but I do know wounds that are made when we’re young tend to linger.”

Hair slips over her shoulder, covering the burn mark, and she watches with baited breath as Hook acts on instinct, leaning forward and collecting the hair with his hook to push back over her shoulder. Except his hook doesn’t collect any hair, instead going right through it. He frowns and apologizes as he steps back, coughing awkwardly and scratching at the back of his ear while she sits up straighter in bed focusing on the cool, soothing sensation his action has left on her body. She can’t explain it but it was like she felt him in a way.

Her thoughts start to overwhelm her as they jump from one conclusion to another and she feels herself losing control. Clearing her throat, she brings her knees to her chest and looks over at Hook’s awkward form in the doorway. He turns, giving her his full attention.

“We’ll figure out how to get your memories back,” she promises quietly.

Hook’s answering grin is rueful as he says, “Aye.” Once he leaves the room, a heavy weight settles in her stomach. Emma just found a new white whale.

Her last correspondence with Mr. Jones sits at the top of her email, pinned for her convenience and curiosity. The fact the man just disappeared off of the face of the planet right when she gets the information he wants baffles her. Her unsolvable case has been solved and yet she’ll never be able to share it since Mr. Jones has decided to ghost her.

Ugh, between Captain Hook and Mr. Jones, she has enough ghosts in her life.

She sends him one final email, wishing that he is well and that she has the information ready to be handed over when he returns from his absence, noting the final balance they agreed upon when she sent over contracts for her services two years ago. Hitting send, she takes a deep breath and decides to spend her afternoon researching how to help a ghost with no memories move on.

Search results focus on fighting one’s inner ghosts and famous ghosts in media; a part of her is hoping she’s been dreaming everything since her first return to Book & Bistro and this is her mind’s twisted take on A Christmas Carol but she knows that this is real. It’s as she’s reading through an article from a faux ghost hunting show that she gets an alert for a new email.

Hi Emma,

My name is Ruby Lucas and I was hoping you could help me with something. Do you have an office or somewhere that we can meet?

The two women agree to meet at Book & Bistro which, Emma realizes, is quickly becoming her go-to spot. She’d deny it if she had any real friends but part of her hopes to run into Mr. Jones here. Not that she knows what he looks like, but maybe it’ll be like fate and she can finally close the door on that case.

She takes a seat at one of the tables outside the lunch eatery, pulling out a chair beside her to put her bag on only to find Hook swiftly snatching it up as his own. She glares at him and drops her purse down anyway, smirking slightly at the oof from the weird feeling it caused as it went through him.

Ruby strolls up to the table moments later in skintight red jeans and black tank top, her black leather jacket making Emma sweat in the summer heat.

“Oh, she’s real,” Hooks says, his tone downright seductive as he licks his lips. A jumble of emotions play in her stomach, some that she doesn’t dare name, so she pushes them as far down as they’ll go and focuses on her annoyance.

“Really?” she deadpans. “We’re helping her solve her boyfriend’s murder.”

“Don’t worry, love,” Hook continues, the cheeky grin on his face growing as he notices the flush in her cheeks. “You’re still the most beautiful woman here.”

“Oh shove it.”

“Hi! Emma Swan, right?” Ruby’s cheery voice greets and Emma immediately stands, holding her hand out for the gorgeous woman to shake.

“Yes, and you’re Ruby Lucas?”

“That’s me, unfortunately,” the black-haired beauty said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m sorry about Billy,” Emma offers.

Ruby’s smile is small and sad, her eyes glistening until she blinks the tears away. “Thanks, me too.”

She looks around the area, glad for the sounds of the boats to block their conversation from any outside observers, with Hook being the exception. Still, she leans forward when she speaks. “Can you tell me more about what’s going on?”

Ruby pulls strength from a well-fortified part inside of her as she tells Emma everything.

She’d been dating Billy for about a year and a half when he was killed and his former employer is starting to point fingers at her since her first, and only other, boyfriend also died. “A bee sting, believe it or not,” she shares, resigned to the heartbreak life has dealt her.

Billy was different though. No allergies, no drugs or rival gangs like what she ran into when she found her mother. Billy was as straight and narrow as they come, the sweetest man in the world, and who Ruby thought she’d spend her life with. Or so they both thought.

“You see, he’s a mechanic and was saving up to get his own garage. He wanted to be able to buy me a ring first though,” she says with a wistful smile. “So he got a second job transporting cars for this old guy. His company seemed legit – Billy always researched everything to a point where it could get annoying,” she huffs out a laugh, “but he wanted to be sure. And everything checked out.”

Tension flows over the table as Ruby looks down, fiddling with the rings on her fingers before she gathers the courage to continue. “Then one day he shows up dead in an alleyway and there’s no explanation. His boss keeps implying I hired someone to kill him to get his savings or some bullshit and the cops have questioned me three times already and I just know it has something to do with his job but I don’t know how to prove it. That’s why I need your help.”

The plea in Ruby’s voice hits her straight in the chest and Emma doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until she eyes Hook from beside her and he nods in agreement. She blinks and shakes her head, wondering when she started looking for him for his opinion and instead focuses on Ruby.

“What have you tried so far?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?” Ruby waits for her nod before continuing. “I can feel his presence around me sometimes. Like he hasn’t moved on yet and I don’t think he will until we solve his murder.” She sighs, eying Emma’s face of shock before saying in a hushed and shameful tone, “I even hired a medium hoping that she could connect with him but he’s been too elusive.”

She doesn’t mean to, truly. The laugh that escapes her mouth is a complete accident but Emma can’t help but find humor in the irony. Ruby stands up quickly from disgust and gathers her items into her purse, jarring Emma back into reality and she shoots her hand out to grab the other woman’s arm.

“Wait! I wasn’t laughing at you! I promise,” Emma rushes to explain. “Trust me, you’ll laugh when I tell you what was so funny. And then I can help you.”

Ruby snorts, pulling her strawberry milkshake from between her lips as she starts laughing. Emma hands over a pile of napkins through her own giggles and Hook sits there unamused even though their guest can’t see him.

“So let me get this straight,” Ruby says as she finally calms down. “I have been desperately trying to get in contact with my dead boyfriend for over a year with no luck and you have a pirate captain haunting you that you can’t get rid of?”

“Sounds about right,” Emma grins.

Ruby takes a sip from her milkshake before asking as innocently as a sinner, “Is he hot?”

The look Emma gives her in return is as friendly of a glare that she’s willing to give new clients and/or friends. “He’s sitting right beside me.”

The other woman simply smirks, reaching for her drink once again. “I’ll take that as very.”

“Can we keep her around?” Hook asks from his seat and Emma rolls her eyes. She goes to kick his shin but instead only feels a cool sensation again before her toes slam into the chair. “Wish all you might but you can’t touch me, Swan.”

“I hate you,” she glares but neither holds much heat.

Ruby watches with interest but says nothing for the rest of the appointment.

Irony seems to run everything about Ruby’s case because when the woman hands Emma information regarding Billy’s employment at his second job, the first thing she notices is who the owner is.

Albert’s Automotive & Boat Transports. Owned by one Albert Spencer.

Of course once she gets out from living under his thumb, she’s almost immediately thrust into investigating his company.

She always knew there was something wrong with his company and now it’s led to someone’s death. A very innocent someone at that. So she starts collecting every piece of information she can find about the company through both legal and illegal means. Employee lists, registered vehicles, routes, customers. If it appeared on the internet at any point in time, she nabs it.

From the tip of things, the company operates like a well-oiled machine. Not a single bad review, no late arrivals, not even a scratch on any vehicle. All of which shouldn’t be suspicious but are. No company is that perfect, no matter what measures are in place. Especially when only one employee has ever been recorded as taking a sick day.

Just over two months ago, one Barrie Rogers is recorded as going on an extended medical leave. No reasoning as to why, no doctor’s note or incident report. Just a flag in his closed file. Her gut tells her that Billy’s death runs deeper, that there’s so much more going on and that Barrie Rogers is connected somehow. She will find out.

The first course of action she takes is visiting the scene of the crime.

A little over a year after Billy’s death most of the blood in the alleyway is gone though some stains are still visible. The sight churns her stomach.

She’s passed this alleyway more times than she can count, perfectly placed smackdab in the middle of her route from the old apartment to Henry’s job at the docks. The first few weeks after Billy’s death, when the stench of blood and other bodily fluids permeated from the tiny space behind the police tape, she’d hold her breath, avert her eyes, and speed walk right by it. Knowing Ruby and what she’s shared about Billy, she feels bad about that now.

“This feels… familiar,” Hook says behind her as he looks around the alleyway.

“That’s great,” she says, her tone odd and distracted. As much as she’s going to help Hook remember who he was and what’s keeping him tethered to this world, she needs to keep her focus on Ruby’s case. Cops breathing down her client’s neck is never a good sign but at least this time her gut agreed with her initial thought that Ruby is innocent.

“No, there’s something about this alleyway…” Emma goes to ask him to be quiet as she reviews the area when she notices the look on his face. His eyebrows press together in deep concentration as his hand ghosts over the brick wall marked with the last of Billy’s blood.

“Do you think you knew Billy somehow? Maybe you shared the same haunts?”

She sucks in a breath at that, closing her eyes and mentally chastising herself for the accidental pun. She simply wanted to ask if his ghost perhaps ended up at the same places as Billy before it became tethered to her. When she opens her eyes, though, it’s like Hook hasn’t even heard a word she’s said. “Hook?”

The man in question stands stock still, frozen on the spot with his eyes wide in horror. “I know this alleyway,” he repeats absently. “I’ve been here before…”

Approaching him slowly seems like the best course of action as his head swivels this way and that, taking stock of the area. Her hand reaches towards him, stopping just short of the arm she knows she’ll go through, and says as calmly as she can, “Hook, maybe you should leave?”

He looks up at Emma with a fear-stricken expression consuming his features, finally noticing her presence. Gazes locked, his fear slowly melts away and he coughs, shaking his head and scratching behind his ear. “Apologies, love. I don’t know what came over me.”

She eyes him warily as he rotates his neck. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive!” he says with the fakest grin she’s ever seen. He doesn’t want to dwell on whatever just happened and she isn’t one to push so they move on. “What - uh - what exactly are you looking for here?” She watches him wave his hook hand around before tilting his head and investigating a pile of trash from afar.

“I don’t even know,” she says. “I guess I was just hoping something would come to me. There’s no cameras that catch this alleyway. I used to live in an apartment building a few blocks down and the police always had a tough time catching crime here. They installed a camera a couple times but it kept getting knocked down.” She sighs, eying the wall where Billy spent his last moments and turns to leave.

“Are you positive there’s no cameras?”

“Yeah. Come look.” Emma motions for Hook to follow her to the edge of the alleyway and she points out the different cameras on the nearby storefronts and explains their vantage points. “Anyone that lives around here knows there’s no cameras to catch the actual alley.”

“You’re not afraid of being here during the day?”

She releases a humorless laugh and shakes her head. “They might not catch the crime but during the daytime, those cameras will catch whoever’s leaving with ease. Unfortunately for Billy, he was killed at night.”

“Hm…” Hook hums to himself. He turns in a circle, looking up at the balconies with interest.

“Don’t even bother,” she says. “None of the residents heard or saw anything.”

He ignores her though and keeps looking, stepping back towards the mouth of the alleyway. He stops a few feet away from a second floor balcony where flower pots circle the edges, blooms falling through the railing.

Hook turns back to her in glee and points up. “Swan, is that what I think it is?”

Emma hesitantly steps closer. She’s learned not to raise her hopes too high in the middle of a case but his joy is contagious. Eying him warily for another moment, Hook raises his eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes and looks up.

Right into the lens of a hidden camera.

Bingo.

“I can’t believe you knew to look there,” Emma says breathlessly as she rushes up the stairs of the apartment building. “How did you even figure that?”

“A pirate knows all the best hiding spots, love,” he teases with a smirk that she can’t even find it in herself to be annoyed with. It’s endearing, almost, to have him by her side as she works the case. He’s handling things like a champ though she guesses there’s quite a bit of intelligence required to come out on top of a band of pirates and lead them successfully.

When they reach the desired apartment, Emma knocks in quick succession against the wood, glancing at Hook apprehensively. The wait couldn’t be more than a few moments but it stretches like years. Taking care of bad guys? No issue. Having to deal with everyone else? She’s not the biggest fan of.

Probably why most of the PTA at Henry’s school hates her.

The wide oak door is dwarfed by the large man that opens it, though he does so only fractionally. He stands tall, built wide, and long curly hair frames his face. He only lets part of his face be seen as he crouches behind the door. Voice skittish, he calls, “What do you want?”

Sparing only a glance at Hook, taking note of his inquisitive expression all the same, she says, “My name is Emma Swan and I’m a private investigator. I’d like to speak with you about something your camera might have caught.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rushes to say before moving to shut the door.

Emma sticks her foot out to stop the door from fully closing. “Your camera may have caught a murder and by helping me, you can put a guilty man behind bars so he doesn’t do it again.”

The man eyes her, scrutinizing everything he sees so she jumps at the chance again.

“Look, I could have gone to the police to tell them and let them take your camera and whatever else from this apartment that might be deemed as evidence, like your computers,” she says, pointing to the elaborate desktop setup behind him, “Or you can let me in, we review the camera footage, and if it has what I’m looking for then you can make me a copy and I won’t say a word.”

Unsure what to do, he steps from foot to foot before sighing and opening the door wider. “Fine. Just – don’t touch again! The things here are precious collectibles.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says with a fake grin. Hook follows in behind her, shoulder going through the door which makes the pirate grit his teeth. She shrugs a sorry in his direction before standing at the man’s desk. “What’s your name?”

“Family calls me Tiny.”

“For the irony?”

“No,” Tiny says in all seriousness. “Because I’m the smallest in the family.”

“Oh.”

“What am I looking up?”

“I feel like I’ve been here before too…” Hook says as he looks around the room. He walks around, inspecting the collectibles as Emma gives the details of Billy’s death. When Hook stops on a particular item – a pirate whose sword looks recently glued on – Emma inquires to both stranger and ghost.

“What’s up with this?” she says, pointing to the figure. Tiny rushes over and gently directs Emma away from the display.

“That, ma’am, is a one-of-a-kind original concept Captain Hook.” He grumbles to himself once back at his desk. “Someone broke it and I finally found the sword the other day. Now, I have the video you asked for. An undercover cop came by about three months ago asking for the footage too. Didn’t even know I had it. But I can make you a copy.”

“What’d the cop do with it?”

Tiny shrugs. “I’ve got no idea. Seemed like an upstanding dude but I haven’t heard anything since.”

Emma drops it at that, knowing that the legal system, like other government systems, doesn’t always operate like it should. She drops herself down into the chair besides Tiny’s and listens as he explains that the video is graphic and sickening to watch. He says he won’t pull any tricks on her and just give her the exact copy if she feels she can’t stomach it. But she’s never done anything without being able to vouch for it first so she shakes her head and insists he presses play. Tiny must have already seen the video, probably with the undercover cop, and turns his head away. “I can’t watch it,” he says quietly with a shake of his head.

The video is grainy for a few moments before the picture becomes clear. The camera’s night vision mode turns everything to green and black hues but Emma spots a young man she can only assume to be Billy in a mechanic’s jumpsuit standing against the alley wall.

Billy checks his watch, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground until another figure enters the video feed.

Albert Spencer.

The bastard himself comes towards Billy irate. She can just barely make out the way their mouths move in the silence but she understands that Spencer is questioning the disappearance of some drugs, apparently, something which Billy has no clue about. Spencer grows angrier and angrier by the second as Billy grows more defensive until Spencer grabs the young man by the neck and slams him into the wall. She sees the glint of metal on the feed and watches as Spencer spews nasty words to Billy, the younger man choking out more denials, before Spencer slices his neck, stepping back before a drop of blood can touch him. Instead, he spits beside Billy’s rapidly dying body, a pool of blood forming under him, and walks out of the alley with his head down and no one the wiser.

He left Billy to die amongst trash while he walked free without any remorse.

Until now.

Revulsion doesn’t even begin to cover the feelings swirling in Emma’s mind after watching the video. Her gut always rebelled against Albert Spencer, something in the way he held himself that made her wary. For all her jokes about the man murdering someone, she never thought she’d actually see it.

Bile rises in her throat and she excuses herself to the kitchen after swallowing it down, pacing back and forth as she fans herself. Hook follows her, standing in the doorway like a pillar of strength she can collapse into if need be. Not that she could, because of his whole ghost predicament, but the sentiment slows her racing heart. As terrible as the situation is, his unyielding support makes all the difference.

Disgust, frustration, injustice, heartbreak. The list goes on and on but she keeps a single-minded focus on securing the video and making her own copy in case the one from Tiny ever falls into the wrong hands. Just holding onto the video evidence feels like a weight is lifted off of her shoulders with a heavier one dropped in its place.

She sucks it up, giving Tiny her thanks once again, and leaves to go back to the house with Hook following silently behind her.

“You’ve been quiet,” she comments.

“Doesn’t this feel… wrong?” he asks, gesturing to the DVD.

She almost corrects him, almost explains the functions and ability of a DVD when she realizes that he can read her like an open book. The same discomfort she feels is reflected on his face. Neither of them seem to be a fan of holding onto graphic video evidence of murder.

“Listen, I don’t like having a copy either. But we need a backup in case going to the cops doesn’t work.”

Preparing herself for a lengthy discussion about financial influence and politics and how that plays into the law system, Hook just nods his head and drops the subject.

“What? No counter?”

“On a matter much less grave than this, you can count on my opposition,” he teases before sobering. “I trust you, Swan. If you say this is necessary then it is.”

“Oh. Okay,” Emma says, dumbfounded. “Got it. Thanks.”

No one besides her kid has ever placed their trust in her without question or without demanding she prove herself. Hook stands beside her like it’s the most natural thing to do, the obvious choice, and her breathing becomes stuttered before she regains control over herself.

That night, as Emma waits for a reply from Ruby about the evidence, she joins Hook at the bay window with two tumblers of rum.

“I don’t even know if you can drink this but… This is all the cabinets had and I feel like we should embrace the nice night,” she says when she takes her spot beside him and places a tumbler in front of Hook.

“This is my rum,” he says incredulously when he catches a glimpse of the label. “You just stole my rum!”

“Not stealing if you’re dead.”

“Oh, but it still is.” He grins at her, one of those damned eyebrows raised in amusement as he waggles his finger at her. “I knew there was a bit of pirate in you.”

She blushes under his praise and shrugs her shoulders, turning to look out at the ocean. Hook leaves his drink untouched.

When she glances at him from the corner of her eye, he remains deep in thought. Being in the alleyway and Tiny’s apartment seemed to be triggers for him and she wonders what’s going through his mind. He hasn’t said anything about what he possibly remembers but she can’t blame him much for that, not when she’s been less than forthcoming with her own past.

“Thanks,” she begins. He turns to face her suddenly in surprise and uncertainty and she takes a deep breath before continuing. “For having my back about the DVD. It’s not an easy choice and I’m grateful you didn’t fight me on it. Even if you don’t agree.”

“The right choice is rarely the easiest one,” Hook says. “I understand your reasoning. Truthfully, I’d have done the same too.”

The smile that breaks onto her face is small but no less soft and genuine. Henry always had her back but he’s a kid. Sometimes she just needs another adult to back her up and support her. She knows David would want to hand everything over to the police at once, make sure that there’s no other copies around, but her own past with law enforcement leaves her less than trustworthy. It’s part of why she left bail-bonds.

Tilting her head back and swallowing her rum in one gulp, Emma licks the remains from her lips before placing the tumbler down onto the windowsill. She crosses her arms as she feels herself taking down the brick walls around her heart.

Friends are few and far between in her life. She has David and his wife Mary Margaret, she reaches out to Will every once in a while though she’d call them more acquaintances than friends, and then there’s Ruby who she might be able to add to the list.

God, how sad is that? Having more fingers than friends.

Out of everyone she’s met, the parents of Henry’s friends and the sources she gets to know, the only people who know a fraction of her past are David and Mary Margaret. Even that is just the bare minimum since David gave her a ticket for a past-due inspection when they first met. Letting people in is not an easy thing for her to do. When she was younger, she’d throw her trauma and issues at whoever tried to get close, scare them off before they could hurt her. Then Henry started to grow up and understand pieces of what she was saying and she locked that instinct down immediately. He looked at her like she was his hero and she couldn’t let go of that image, of being something good to someone.

It wasn’t until he was 14 that she sat him down and told him the ugly truth about everything - her days in the foster system, her run-ins with law enforcement, Neal. She really should have given her kid more credit because he understood and told her it changed nothing. The thought makes her want to cry all over again.

So she takes a shuddering breath and looks up at Hook, his gaze questioning but patient, and tells him everything.

She tells him about being abandoned as a baby, about the Swans and the Langstons and Ingrid and every foster home in between. She tells him about Neal and the watches and how receiving the twenty-thousand dollars in jail was the second and only good thing he did for her, Henry being the first.

She tells him of their money struggles and no one wanting to hire a teen mom with no GED, of nights in her car and crappy apartments until she finally got a break. She tells him of Graham, the one man she just started letting into her life a few years ago only for him to be killed on the job by a rogue cop who had her hand in everything.

She bares her soul but doesn’t have the courage to look him in the eyes as she does so. His ghost may be tethered to her but she’s sure there’s ways for him to avoid her after if he wants. He can disappear and she’ll never have to see him again. If he rejects her, she doesn’t know if she’ll recover.

The thought twists her insides.

Since when did she give so much power to the ghost of a centuries-old pirate captain?

“I believe I may have been a law enforcement officer.”

Her head snaps to the side to look at Hook as he runs his thumb back and forth over his bottom lip. “What?”

He shakes his head and she can feel the confusion coming off of him in waves. “Everything about that alleyway and the apartment felt too… familiar. Like I’d been there before looking for the same clues. Recently, at that.”

She raises her eyebrows dubiously. “What? You think you might be the undercover cop Tiny mentioned or something? How does that explain the Captain Hook getup then?”

“I don’t have an answer for that.”

Head bent low as he examines the hook on his hand, Emma tosses a life preserver to drag him from the storm brewing below the surface. “Hey, maybe you’re onto something. Maybe that’s how you knew to look at the flower pots on Tiny’s balcony.” He offers her a small grin but the defeat is still etched onto his face as his fingers trace the hook. Trying again, her hand hovers over his bicep, close enough that she wonders if he can feel her heat the same way she can feel the cool emanating from his ghostly form. “What else do you think you remember?”

His eyebrows pinch together and Emma can just imagine him finding his way through the fog of his memoires.

“I don’t think I had a happy childhood but… I think I had a brother.”

Truthfully, there’s not much further they get than that for her laptop loudly alerts them to a new message in her email.

Hook rushes over first, effectively ending their conversation by letting her know Ruby’s gotten back to her.

It’s a simple response, thanking her for finding the evidence needed to put Billy’s murderer away and saying that she’s available to meet up tomorrow around eleven at Book & Bistro before bidding the other goodnight. She sends her a confirmation before turning to Hook.

Back at the bay window, he stands with his back to her and his fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. She’s almost hesitant to disturb him but she knows how consuming dark thoughts can be and whatever memories he is slowly getting back, she can tell they aren’t good. “Hook?”

The man in question turns and gives her a wide, fake grin. “Well, I’m glad to have been of service to you and Miss Lucas. Hopefully Billy can be at peace now.”

“Hook,” she says softly and steps closer to him. “Do you want to talk about – ”

“ – You should get some rest, Swan. It’s been a long day.” He gives her a stiff nod, the fake smile still plastered on his face, and turns back to the window.

The cold that washes over her has nothing to do with the way his shoulder brushes her chest and everything to do with the fact that, after opening up to him, he’s shut her out.

Rejection has never stung her quite so badly.

She bites out a short goodnight, ignoring the rustling of his duster and the call of his voice as he says her name, every letter dripping in remorse. Instead, she quietly makes her way to her room, envisioning an imaginary ‘temporary’ sign hanging over the door that blinks bright red like every motel vacancy she shuffled her and Henry through in their early days.

A reminder to herself to not get too comfortable. Not at the house that she’ll have to leave some time in the future and not with the ghost pirate who needs to move on.

Silence fills their every stride heading to Book & Bistro the next day. Hook has tried to apologize more than once earlier that morning but she couldn’t stomach the thought and avoided it at every turn. If there was one thing in life that Emma can proclaim she’s the best at, it’s running.

Ruby waits at the same outdoor table they sat at just a week ago and she offers Emma a mimosa as a greeting. Hook sits silently at her side and sends her a look, practically challenging her to drop her purse through him again, but instead she takes the DVD from inside and places the bag at her feet.

“This DVD has everything you need to clear your name. It has proof of Albert Spencer murdering Billy,” Emma says, holding it up. Ruby reaches a hand out to grab it but Emma pulls it back just slightly. “Listen, you can do what you want with it but watching this? It’s not going to do you any good. Trust me.”

“I - I don’t want to watch it,” Ruby says. Red lines her eyes, only faintly visible beneath the thick black eyeliner and Emma knows instantly that the meeting has been weighing on her as much as it has them. “I just want to do what I can to bring him peace and put Spencer behind bars.”

“He’s here.”

Emma does a sharp turn to her side, finding Hook with a faraway look on his face. “Who’s here?”

“Is that Billy?” Ruby asks, sitting up straight as her eyes begin to water. “I can feel him. Is he here?”

Hook nods. “Yeah,” Emma relays to Ruby. “He’s here.”

The experience that follows is one that Emma will never be able to replicate or explain. Hook and Emma work as the bridges connecting the living world to the dead. She can’t see Billy the way she can see Hook but she can feel the way his embrace wraps around Ruby.

“He wants to tell her hello,” Hook starts, his eye line just above Ruby’s head. “And that every time she’s felt him, he was there.”

Emma takes a deep breath, waiting for Hook’s nod before she tells Ruby. The woman seems to melt in relief at the words, eyes fluttering under the threat of tears as she reaches one hand to her shoulder. She can imagine them together now, Ruby sitting at a table with the man from the video behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Grins lighting up both their faces as they converse with friends. Then she blinks and she’s left staring at a broken-hearted woman only just beginning to heal.

“He says that he’s sorry he’s put her through this pain for the past year,” Hook continues, still looking at Billy. “That he wishes more than anything they could have followed through with their dreams and he could have married her. He thinks she looks great in white.”

Ruby laughs when Emma tells her this, grabbing a napkin to dab at her eyes. “He used to tell me he dreamed of our wedding day,” she tells her. Emma smiles sadly and reaches a hand over to her, the other woman squeezing it appreciatively.

There’s a pull in her gut and Emma turns her head to Hook’s ghost to find him already looking at her. Genuine heartbreak fills the cracks of his features but more overpowering is the stronger, pure emotion that takes over him as he speaks Billy’s next words directly to her.

“He just wants her to know that she has done more for him than she will ever know and he will always be grateful for that. That she burst into his life like a ray of sunshine and chased away his dark days. He doesn’t know what’ll happen next but the very best part of his life and death was loving her.”

Emma chokes out the words through her tears, not able to take her eyes off of Hook’s sad expression for one moment. They stare at each other quietly until Ruby softly asks, “Did he move on?”

Hook clears his throat, smiling over Ruby’s head and nods to Emma.

“Yeah, Ruby,” she says. “He’s at peace.”

The ordeal is incredibly draining for the three of them so they say goodbye fairly soon after, Emma giving Ruby the card for David’s line at the station in case she needs anything in regards to Billy’s case.

Hook is quiet at her side, more contemplative than the tentative hostility that surrounded them this morning, and she takes strength from having him beside her through it all.

“I’m sorry,” she says once she gets out of the car at the house. “For how I acted last night and this morning. You aren’t obligated to tell me anything.”

Hook shakes his head, holding up his hand and hook in a motion of surrender. “No, Emma, it's I who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, especially after everything you told me. It wasn’t good form.”

“Hey,” she offers up, “we’re all allowed our secrets.”

“Would you be willing,” he asks, “to hear mine?”

They walk over to the bulkheads lining one side of the property and she promptly sits down, taking off her shoes and dropping her feet into the cool waters of the Atlantic. The feeling is replicated when Hook sits beside her and his hand covers her own. Not for the first time she wishes to know what his skin would feel like against hers. Was it soft and smooth? Or was it rough from his many hours on a ship?

Or from his hours handling a gun, if his theory of being a cop is right.

“I had a brother,” he tells her. She nods, remembering his words from the night before. “I think I orphaned him.”

“What do you mean? Like you killed your parents?”

“Father. And I didn’t kill him.” He releases a ragged sigh and scratches the back of his ear. “My father abandoned me as a boy. He pulled our ship into port without tying it down, ran on foot while I slept, and left me on our boat to go adrift back out to sea. I was found by fishermen a few days later, dehydrated and starving in the middle of the Celtic Sea.”

“Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger,” she repeats his words back to him in a whisper and he huffs out a humorless laugh.

“I was never quite able to let go of that betrayal. When I got word that he’d come to America, I had to find out. It took a few years, but I did find him. He was tucking his son, my little brother, into bed and whispering the same promises to him that he said to me. I heard him through the window that he’d never hurt him. Then he turned off the light, closed the door, and proceeded to throw a drug party in the living room.”

“What’d you do?” she asks.

He shrugs, blinking rapidly. “I don’t remember much. I think I called the cops because they took the bastard away.”

“And your brother? What happened to him?”

“I refused to take him,” he says. The words that leave his mouth are watery and Emma looks over to see tears in his eyes.

Even ghosts can cry.

“I told myself that I wasn’t in a position to take him in but I knew it was more that I was too angry and bitter. That I’d look at my little brother and hold everything my father did against him.” He takes a deep, labored breath. “I have many regrets in my life, I can feel that for certain, but this is the one I regret the most.”

She eyes their hands, how their pinkies interlap, and she wishes she could give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “The right choice isn’t always the easiest,” she says. “But I choose to see the best in you because of how you feel about your past.”

“And I you.”

They share a grin that’s broken by the sound of a car door slamming and Emma realizes that in the chaos of the last week, she forgot what today was.

“MOM?!”

“Henry,” she whispers happily to herself.

“Your boy?” Hook asks and she nods quickly. “Go say hi. I know you’ve missed him.”

She gives him a smile of thanks before rushing to her feet and around to the front of the house. Violet’s father waves from the car before he backs out of the driveway and Emma laughs at the look of awe on her kid’s face.

“Can we really afford this?” he asks her as he continues staring at the house.

“Don’t jinx it, kid,” she laughs. She can’t help but pull Henry into a tight hug, not caring for a moment that his heavy bags slam against her thigh. “I missed you.”

His words are muffled against her shoulder as he says, “I miss you too, mom. But now you’re squeezing me and I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry, sorry!” She steps back and takes a good look at her son. He’s only been gone for six weeks but it feels weeks longer. His skin has a healthy glow to it due to California’s sunshine and she can spot at least four more notebooks peeking out of his duffle bag than what he left with. A part of her wonders if he grew in the time he’s been gone but that’s when she knows she’s going crazy. “How was it?”

“Mom, it was the best. Thank you so much for letting me go! I learned a lot like how… to…”

“Henry?” Her face pinches in confusion as Henry trails off, eyes set on a point beyond her shoulder. “You okay?”

“What’s Killian doing here?”

She cups his face in worry, forcing his eyes to look into hers. “Kid, who’s Killian?”

But Henry steps back in confusion, looking over her shoulder again and pointing at something behind her. “He’s Killian.”

Emma turns in growing confusion, only spotting Hook’s approaching figure but no one else.

“Killian!” Henry calls out next and Hook stops short, staring at the two of them. She can make out the concentration on his face before he begins to blink in quick succession, shaking his head for a few moments. A look of clarity falls over his features before he answers hesitantly.

“Henry?”

“Tell me again how you two know each other?” Emma asks once the three of them make it into the house.

“Killian works at the docks for Albert’s Automotive & Boat Transports. He’s off on Wednesdays and does Pirate Storytime as Captain Hook for the local library on his personal ship. He gives me cash on the side to help out,” Henry says like it’s no big deal. Instead, he has a greater focus on filling up his plate with every food item she’s recently purchased. Apparently his writing camp didn’t feed him.

Emma sighs. “That explains the pirate costume at least.”

“And how are you able to see me, lad?” Hook – err, Killian asks. Henry only shrugs his shoulders, spraying crumbs everywhere when he speaks with his mouth full.

“I can’t believe Killian is the ghost.” He swallows, swiping his mouth with his arm. “I didn’t even know you died.”

Killian sits up straighter at that. “No one told you I died?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Emma interrupts. “Can we back up for a second?” They look at her and she raises her eyebrows, demanding confirmation. “Did you just say Killian works for Albert’s Automotive & Boat Transports?”

As if things couldn’t get any more convoluted, it turns out that she was right – Albert Spencer’s second business - the car and boat transport business - was a front for drugs. And murder, considering Billy’s situation.

“A few months before Billy was killed, I was able to go undercover in the company under the alias Barrie Rogers,” Killian explains over their table. “It was suspected that Spencer hid drugs in the framework of cars and boats he promised to transport for customers and my mission was to find evidence of it. Then a chuck of the drugs on one transport went missing.” Looking at Emma, he explains, “I think it was on a car that Billy towed. He didn’t steal them, some low level guy Smee did. He could find anything that wasn’t supposed to be found. But Spencer wouldn’t hear it and, unfortunately, Billy got killed.”

“So you were investigating the alleyway and went to see Tiny, right? You knew there had to be something that was missed,” Emma concludes.

He nods. “Spencer went there all the time for his illegal activities, so there had to be something. One day when I was checking it out, Tiny was watering the flower pots and I spotted the camera.”

“So what happened to you?” Henry cuts in.

“Yeah,” she adds. “Spencer reported Barrie Rogers as on an extended medical leave. Do you think he hid your body or something?”

Killian shakes his head, straightening his shoulders as he tenses from the memories. “No. Because I don’t believe I’m dead.”

It turns out that nearly three months ago, Spencer’s paranoia began to eat at him. He felt like someone was close to uncovering his entire operation and his other deeds, namely one concerning his former employee Billy. He sent the dogs on Ruby, digging up her tragic romantic past and using that to evade cops' noses. Except the paranoia remained. He believed someone under him was feeding information to the authorities.

It was unfortunate for Killian that Spencer’s paranoia correctly zeroed in on him.

Everyone else under Spencer had been affiliated with him for years. They all got a piece of the pie, perks of seniority apparently, and Killian was the only fresh blood of the group besides Billy.

So Spencer sought him out one Wednesday a little over two months, watching as Killian did his weekly storytime for the library and waiting until he was alone with his guard down.

The old man walked onto the ship, red in his eyes and fire in his veins. He accused Killian of trying to take down his whole operation, something Killian vehemently denied to save his own life. More accusations came flying out of Spencer’s mouth, some on the nose and some so wildly out there that it made Killian laugh.

Then Spencer threw the first punch.

“I don’t remember much of the fight, too much adrenaline and pure instinct,” Killian says. “The pirate costume is about 90 pounds of dead weight and wouldn’t let me put up the fight I wanted. I think he knew that. All I can remember is a searing pain at the back of my head.”

“How do you know you didn’t die of a brain bleed?” Emma inquires.

The possibility that Killian isn’t dead, that this is just some apparition of his living self projected out into the universe for some reason or another, is almost too much for her to bear. She refuses to get her hopes up, refuses to think that it’s still possible for him to fix what he regrets.

That it’s possible he might still want to be in her life when he’s back to himself.

“I remember now I have an older brother too, actually,” he tells her with a small smile. “He’d be raising hell right now if I was killed and there’s no way a smart lass like yourself would have missed that.”

“So what happened to you?” Henry asks.

“I don’t know. But I think the best place to start is at Liam’s.”

Henry whines over the fact he can’t go, like he’s six instead of sixteen but Emma reminds him that one stranger is hard enough. “He doesn’t need two people he doesn’t know talking to him about his brother,” she explains. “Especially when said brother is currently a ghost or spirit or whatever.”

“Killian,” he pleads to next, giving the ghost-spirit-pirate-cop his best impression of a puppy dog face. “Don’t you think this could be a great learning experience to add to my pirate adventure book? The one inspired by you?”

“Oh, you play dirty, lad,” Killian says, his words dripping with amusement. One side glance at Emma’s stern expression sobers him up and he nods his head to her as he tells Henry, “I think you should listen to your mother though.”

Liam lives on the other side of Boston, a modest townhouse near the water. He keeps the front impeccably manicured and his grass a vibrant green even under July’s unforgiving sun. A sleek white car sits in the driveway and the front door is open with only the screen door preventing any bugs from entering.

“How well do you think this is going to go?” she asks as she stares down the house.

“He’s going to think you’re mad,” Killian admits, though he’s straining his neck from inside her VW bug to inspect the area.

“Great.”

From the little Killian’s told her about Liam since regaining his full memories, his older brother is as stiff and strict as they come. If good form were a person, it’d be Liam with no tolerance for nonsense, which, if he answers the door, is going to be all he gets from Emma.

The man that comes to the door is tall with broad shoulders. Short curly hair sits atop his head and Emma can see the family resemblance between him and Killian when her eyes meet his and they’re the same striking oceanic blue.

“Can I help you, lass?”

Emma sucks in a breath and steals a glance from Killian at her side as he lets out a breathy call of his brother’s name.

“Hi, you don’t know me but my name is Emma and I’m a friend of Killian’s,” she starts, catching his interest. “Can we talk?”

Liam eyes the area outside the townhome with suspicion, eying Emma too before glancing behind him. “I have somewhere to be so you have to make it quick.” With that, he unlocks the screen door and lets her in.

“Thanks for taking the time to speak with me.” The townhome looks a bit like a disaster, if you ask her. For how well-kept the front looked, she anticipated the same orderliness on the inside. But there’s a pile of clothes on the couch and a duffle bag by the door, toys strewn through the living room, and containers upon containers of tupperware on the kitchen island.

“How do you know my little brother?”

“Younger brother.”

“Younger brother,” Emma corrects on instinct after hearing Killian utter the words. Liam gives her a look and she smiles apologetically. “Sorry, it’s like I can hear him in my ear.”

“Very funny, Swan.”

“But, um, I actually stole his shot of rum at the bar.”

“Oh really?” Liam inquires, not believing her for a moment. “What kind?”

Her mind flashes back to the bottle she stole from his liquor cabinet and the tastes that danced on her tongue for hours after, wondering if that’s how Killian would taste. Ignoring the flush overcoming her, she says, “Mount Gay’s 1703.”

Liam hums noncommittally. “What do you do for a living, Emma…”

“Swan,” she tells him. “I’m a private investigator.” He hums again.

She subtly looks to Killian for help but he’s running his hand through his hair and muttering curses under his breath. All she wants to do is ask him what’s going on or to grab his hand so she doesn’t feel so alone but Liam grabs her attention first.

“Miss Swan, while I am sure you enjoyed extracurricular activities with my brother, he is going through a serious matter that I won’t discuss with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am sure that your career path helps you in finding out intimate details about your subjects but I will not be sharing anything about my brother with you.”

Emma scoffs, crossing her arms as she lets her fury brew deep in her gut. “You know, for all the talk of good form, your brother never mentioned you were such an ass.”

“Emma,” Killian whispers from beside her. “Love, he won’t believe us.”

“Oh yes he will,” she mutters to herself.

Liam continues to eye her, not at all helped by her half-seen asides with his brother. “You need to leave, lass.”

“It’s a lost cause. Let’s just go,” Killian urges and she swears she feels the metal of his hook at her elbow but she shakes him off.

“I am not leaving,” she tells them both though she remains in a staredown with Liam. “I need to know what happened to Killian.”

“I am not telling you anything. Now leave.”

“Emma, come on.”

“NO,” she shouts, uncrossing her arms and turning towards Killian. “I won’t leave until your thick-headed brother listens to us. Damn it, Killian.”

It’s not until she faces Liam again, face pale and eyes wide in frantic worry, that she realizes her mistake. To the outside observer, she just yelled at thin air.

“Fuuuuck,” she groans to herself. “Damn it.” Taking a fortifying breath, Emma steps up to the kitchen island, focusing on Liam on the other side, registering the steak knife he clutches in his hand. “I am going to sound crazy and I know it but I just need you to hear me out and not because you think I’m some one night stand of Killian’s but because I am his friend and I care about him. I moved into his house – ”

“ – You’re David’s friend? The one I’m subletting Killian’s house to?” Liam cuts in.

“Yes!” Emma shouts excitedly. “And you see – ”

“You need to move out of there right away.”

“What.”

“Either you leave and move out right away or I’ll call the police and get you for harassment and trespassing.”

Killian groans to her side and she knows it’s been shot to hell so she doesn’t bother hiding it as she asks him, “Got any other ideas, Hook?”

“You’ve done so wonderfully that nothing else is coming to mind, darling.” She rolls her eyes at his sarcasm and sets her shoulders back. Liam is looking for a fight and that’s all she’s done her entire life. He will have to arrest her to get her out of here.

“I know I sound insane but when I moved into your brother’s house, he started to appear to me like he was a ghost. I thought he was dead but we just found out that he might not be. Where he is, we don’t know. But we’d like to so that he’s not wandering around lost like a ghost. I know it sounds as far-fetched as you can imagine but it’s the truth.”

“All you’ve proven to me is that you’re a stalker and insane,” Liam growls. “Now leave before you wake my daughter because I don’t want her to see this.”

“Tink?” she hears Killian ask to her side.

“Who’s Tink?” she asks him but Liam jumps in at the sound of the name.

“Tink? You’re not really that deranged that you’re dragging Tink into this too, are you?” Liam questions with narrowed eyes and a white-knuckled grip on the knife.

“Tink – she’s his wife,” Killian explains. “She passed away two years ago. She’s here though.”

Emma licks her lips nervously as she looks back at Liam, realizing just how badly she is playing with fire. “Killian says your wife is here.”

“Bullocks. I’ve had enough of your tales,” Liam starts but Emma backs away, repeating the words that Killian’s telling her.

“Tink says she’s always around and watching over you and Delilah. She says that when you find glitter on one of your ties, it’s her letting you know she’s with you. Or when Delilah finds a four-leafed clover in the backyard. She is always with you and will be forever,” Emma chokes out. Red-faced, from grief or anger, she’s not sure, Liam swallows hard. “She says that she knows you’re not as happy as you were before but that she’s so proud of how you’re keeping things together for Delilah.”

“Stop it,” Liam growls.

She sucks in a breath and shakes her head. “Tink knows how strong you’ve been and she says to remind you of the friends you have and of your brother, that you’re not doing this alone.”

Through gritted teeth, hatred consumes every word as he says, “You better shut your mouth, lass.”

“She says that she used to kiss your eyelids every night before bed because you’re her angel,” Emma tells him in a rush. Devastation hits Liam like a train and he gasps, dropping his knife. Speaking through her own tears, she adds, “Tink says you’ve been her angel for so long that it’s her turn now.”

Head dropped to his head, Liam whimpers, “Get out.”

Emma looks to Killian helplessly, the man looking as wrecked as his brother, and she opens her mouth unsure of what to say. “I – ”

“I think you’ve caused me enough pain,” Liam growls out, eyes bloodshot. “Not only are you reminding me that I will have to pull support on my brother in mere days but you have to bring my wife into this too?” She’s too stunned to speak so she can only watch as Liam keeps himself from drowning in grief by latching onto his anger. “The very last thing you can do is leave.”

She turns in a hurry, flying past the toys in the living room and the clothes on the couch and rushes outside, the screen door bouncing off of the frame. “Don’t you ever come back!” Liam shouts to her retreating figure.

Paying him no mind, Emma goes to the bug, sliding into the driver’s seat and buckling up before Killian’s spirit has the chance to catch up. She turns the key in the ignition and pushes hard on the gas pedal, jolting the two of them out of there.

“I had no idea he’d react like that. I’m so sorry, love.”

Emma shakes her head, wiping the few tears that escaped with the back of her hand. “It’s not your fault he’s an asshole.”

“He’s grieving.”

“Doesn’t give him a right to be an asshole.”

Killian sighs, “I know. I’m sorry to have put you through that and not gotten anything in return.”

“What do you mean?” she asks him. The corner of her mouth darts up in a small smile as she says, “That gave me plenty.”

How does one tell a spirit that the body they belong to is in a coma? That they’re relying on life support that’s going to be pulled soon. If there’s a guide for it, Emma would’ve liked to know.

Telling Killian comes through a rush of words as she explains her theory. Of course, denial sets in quickly.

“My brother would rather die than do anything to harm me,” he protests. “He would keep me on those machines for as long as possible.”

“Do you have any other explanation?” Emma says. “I mean Killian, come on. You got in a fight, hit your head, you’re balancing between the world of the living and the world of the dead, and your brother just talked about pulling your life support. All signs point to a coma.”

He shakes his head, pacing the length of the living room as Henry plays his video game. “Like I said, Liam wouldn’t take me off life support. Not willingly.”

“Hey,” Henry cuts in. He pauses his game and leans over the back of the couch to face them. “Did you sign a release form or something when you became a cop that dictated your medical wishes? He could be forced to follow that.”

“How do you even know about something like that?” Emma asks, coming over to ruffle his hair. Henry rolls her eyes but grins up at her and she feels herself soften to the core.

“Like every emergency service drama on TV right now has a plot about it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now that you mention that, I may have.” Killian uses his hook to brush hair off of his forehead and she wonders how often he wears it. He’s clearly comfortable with it, and he declared during their first meeting that he uses it as his left hand, but she wonders about the story behind it. The one story they haven’t gotten to yet.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out…”

It takes three hospitals before Emma is able to find the one Killian is resting at. Visiting hours are close to ending and she doesn’t know if she can stomach a night of uncertainty so she books it.

Getting put onto the visitor list is not her favorite moment, especially when it comes to dragging her kid into it, no matter how willing a participant he is.

“His brother doesn’t like me,” she explains. “We got off on the wrong foot and he never got over it. But Liam’s been dodging my calls since Killian went MIA and I could never find out why. Killian’s my fiancé, just tell me.” She looks away, willing the tears she fakes so well to come to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mutters as she reaches for a tissue.

“Please, can we see him?” Henry pleads next. “He was supposed to be my step-dad and teach me how to sail his ship.” His bottom lip wobbles and Emma glances behind her to see Killian just as impressed with her kid’s acting skills as she is. Definitely something to look out for in the future. And maybe he should consider a career in acting with these theatrics. “Please,” he continues, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “At least let me say goodbye.”

The nurse relents at that, adding their names to the visitor list and directing him to their room.

They’re just feet away when she hears the doctors conversing inside and stops Henry from entering.

“... with the minimal brain activity to start, what we wanted to see was an increase, not a decrease. I suspect that he’ll lose total brain activity within the next few days,” the doctor says. She can hear the faint scribbling of notes and wonders if he brought a nurse with him or a class of residents. The idea that Killian is being used as a teaching tool while he fights for his life churns her stomach. “His brother is aware of this and has agreed to honor the affidavit Mr. Jones signed when he joined Boston PD.”

Unable to stomach any more, Emma strolls into the hospital room with Henry following hesitantly behind her. Killian is slowest and last to enter, keeping his eyes averted from where his body lays in the center of the room.

“Excuse us,” the doctor and his group of residents say, nodding to her before leaving the room.

Once they’re alone, Emma’s eyes find Killian’s body.

He’s pale with a healing cut on his cheek, just below his eye, his right hand set in a cast and the stump on his left covered with a sock to keep blood flowing. His black hair lays dull and flat against his head and the Killian in the bed has less weight than her ghost Killian, a feeding tube sticking out of his side as the main source of nutrients for the last few months.

“Wow,” Henry says. His eyes dart between the ghost and the body, not sure who he should address.

“Aye,” he says solemnly, finally making eye contact with his own person.

It must be weird, she thinks, to see yourself laying stock still in a hospital bed. To know that your actual body has been bed bound while your soul has been galavanting freely. The detachment that comes with it must be freaking him out.

His fingers stick out of the cast, slightly more swollen than she anticipated, but she reaches out still to hold his hand like she wished to do on the bulkheads.

“Swan?” Killian rasps out.

“Hmm?” She turns her head in his direction to see him holding up his hand in amazement, staring at his fingers.

“I can feel that.”

Disbelief overwhelms them, coming out in short puffs of laughter, growing only when Henry comments, “I guess hope isn’t lost for you after all, Captain.”

Their laughter comes to an abrupt stop, however, when they hear security being called over the loudspeaker and Emma feels fear strike her to her core. “They know,” she whispers and the three of them quickly rush out of the room, blending into the small crowd of visitors also leaving their floor. Getting caught would do them no good, especially when they don’t know how to help Killian yet.

“So why do you think we can see you and no one else can?” Henry asks over a slice of pizza once they get home.

“Your mother and I had theorized that it had to do with the house but that doesn’t seem to be right otherwise Liam would see me as well.”

Emma frowns, sipping from her glass of rum. “Do you have any unfinished business? Something tethering you to the world of the living while your body’s in a coma?”

Killian just shrugs. For the first time since she’s met him, he is without his leather duster and vest, his rolled up sleeves and unbuttoned shirt a delicious tease that Emma needs to stop focusing on. “Not that I can think of, at least nothing that can be changed.”

“Not regretting not giving me boating lessons?” Henry teases.

“Of course I regret I didn’t start that sooner,” he jokes back. He glances up at Emma for a moment and she feels his eyes on her mouth. “I have regrets about things like that. But those are ones I have after the incident, not ones I held before it.”

“What about your brother? Your other one?” she asks.

“Ah, yes, well, I had looked into that,” he says. “I can’t remember the name for the bloody life of me but I contacted a private investigator and I don’t think they ever found him.”

“Good thing that’s what I do,” she says with a grin. “Come on, try me. Same last name?” she asks as she strolls over to her laptop, bringing it back to the kitchen table.

“Aye.”

“Let’s see what we can find,” she says with a grin. The grin that immediately drops when she opens her laptop and her emails are the first thing she sees. Pinned at the top is her correspondence with one Mr. Jones. What had been her white whale.

The same Mr. Jones that is sitting beside her?

She opens the latest email from him and checks the sender.

[email protected]

“I think we just solved more than one mystery,” she says to herself.

“What are you talking about?” asks Henry, a new slice of pizza hanging from his mouth.

“I believe Killian’s the Mr. Jones I’ve been emailing for the last two years.”

Liam Jones II, like his older brothers, lives near the water in Boston. His apartment building is one of the older ones, an odd architectural design that scared buyers away in the 80s but is coming back as hip nowadays. It’s clear the community takes pride in their odd buildings and homes and work together to keep things looking clean and fresh.

Emma parks the bug across the street from Liam II’s apartment, right in front of the seaside park. She watches as Killian’s younger brother weeds the flowerbeds and an older man watches over with a fatherly grin. They tease one another back and forth, the comfortable familiarity between them a balm to Killian’s broken soul.

“I wish I had been able to apologize for how I wronged him,” he whispers to Emma. She swears she can feel his breath dance across his lips as he leans over the center console, gaze set firmly on his brother. “I don’t regret arresting our father, but I do regret the pain I’ve caused the boy. Perhaps if I told Liam then things would be different but I will never know.”

“I think the fact that you want to apologize shows how you’ve grown,” she says when she recognizes the start of a spiral into self-loathing. “You can’t take back the decisions you made but you can do better. At least you can know that he’s happy.”

He gives her a small smile and nods before politely asking her to leave. She takes one last look at the apartment building, swearing the older gentleman smiles at her as they leave, and she brings him home.

Henry waits for them on the porch steps, grinning wide as Emma gets out of the car. “There are tons of fireflies tonight.”

“Did you get started without me?”

The grin he gives her lifts her mood tenfold from the gloomy car ride back and she can’t help but respond in like.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Let the competition begin!”

“Hey! Cheater!”

“Not a cheater, Swan, but a pirate.” Emma turns at Killian’s voice behind her, smiling softly at the grin on his face. “Turns out his mother isn’t the only one with some in her.”

“I’ll just wait for your admittance of being a bad influence,” she teases. He smirks but doesn’t deny it. At least now she can surmise where her kid picked up his dice tricks from.

“So what is this competition he’s bellowing about?”

Emma watches Henry running around the backyard and calling out numbers like he’s her little boy all over again and her heart warms at the sight. “When he was little and I couldn’t afford a lot of games, during the summer, we’d have a competition every night to see who could catch the most fireflies. If I won, he went to bed early. If he won, I had to let him read until he fell asleep.”

“Who knew pirates could be such bookworms?” Killian teased but Emma only raised her eyebrow.

“I’ve seen your study, Hook. You’ve got more books than I’ve seen in a library.”

“Come on, mom!” Henry calls from the side of the yard. Only his head sticks out from behind the house and she watches as he snatches another firefly, yells his number, and then lets it free. “Stop flirting and start catching!”

She rolls her eyes at her kid’s antics and turns to Killian. “Wanna try?”

“Oh, I’ve never – ”

“What? Never tried catching fireflies?” she asks, stepping away for a moment to gently capture one in her cupped hands. She can feel his eyes on the line of skin that gets exposed from her jumping capture and thanks every god and deity she knows that her blush is hidden under the dark of the sky.

“I don’t even know if I can catch one in my state,” he whispers regretfully.

She whispers back, “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

Checking that the firefly is still in her hands, she looks up to ask Killian if he’s ready only to be floored by the soft look he gives her. There’s such an open tenderness to it that she feels her jaw drop slightly, her own eyes searching the depths of his. The yearning in her chest is almost unbearable and she feels it mirrored in his gaze.

For so long, they’ve been hurt by life and left alone. They have been let down by those they trusted and even disappointed by themselves. With each other, there’s no judgment. Understanding runs deep in the bond that connects them and Emma has never felt herself so at peace with someone before in her life.

She finds herself standing at a cliff’s edge and imagines a hook in her hand, the tall, dark, and scruffy pirate by her side. Her heart in his hands and his in hers.

“Ready?” she asks breathlessly, not even certain she’s asking about the firefly anymore.

He looks at her with such admiration that she doesn’t even notice his hand brushes the hair off of her shoulder, the murmuring of his comment about a glowing angel. Instead, she focuses on the way his lips firm one word a few moments later, so confidently and with such finality that she feels her knees go weak.

“Always.”

And so they jump.

The bay window has become their seat, she realizes. They gather in front of it that night as they have already done so many times before and stare at the ocean. If he were sitting there in his body, their knees would brush with every movement they make. Instead, she gets to see how the moonlight shines on his form and wishes she could see it for real.

“If tonight was your last night on Earth, what would you do?”

She’s not sure what prompted the question but now she hangs on every second for his answer.

“Probably teach you how to do the right tile design upstairs.” She rolls her eyes as they both chuckle at the memory before she leans back against the wall, eyeing him under the moonlight as if she could commit the image to her memory.

“Seriously, what would you do?”

“Exactly this.” He says it with no hesitation, no joking tone. Pure sincerity dances across his face and it steals her breath away. “I’d spend every moment right here. With you.”

If he were here, for real, she’d kiss him. She’d kiss the holy hell out of him and then probably drag him upstairs to her room. His room. Their room?

Or she’d kiss him and then cuddle against his side in the bay window, listening to him point out the constellations overhead.

Or she’d hold him close in the tightest embrace she could manage and never let him go.

If he were really here, there’s so much more she’d love to do but he’s not so she settles for resting her pinky over the ghost of his and smiling wide at him, her heart beating so loudly in her chest she swears he can hear it.

“Sounds perfect.”

Waking up the next morning is disorienting.

Her back hurts from where she fell asleep in the bay window and her neck has a kink in it. She rubs the sleep from her eyes as the rising sun blinds her, calling out, “Killian?”

The lack of response has her sitting up straight and pinching her eyebrows together in worry. Killian doesn’t sleep, not in his state, and he’s always been around when she wakes up. Calling his name again, she feels relief begin to flood her system at the thumping on the stairs only for fear to grip her heart when it’s just Henry.

“Is Killian with you?” she asks in a hurry, rushing over to the stairs.

Henry eyes her fearfully. “No, I thought he was with you.”

“Shit.”

The two of them fan out across the house and the yard, calling out Killian’s name with no response. They meetup in the kitchen, panting and sweating from the summer heat. “Where did he go?” Henry asks.

Like an ice bucket has been dropped over her head, Emma feels her face fall. “We need to get to the hospital. Now.”

Emma and Henry rush through the halls of the hospital, their visitor stickers haphazardly stuck to their shirts. Everyone else moves at a slow pace like someone they care about isn’t dying and it leads to more than a few run-ins, not that she cares.

These people are fine and Killian is not.

Once they reach his floor, she sees Liam standing outside of Killian’s room with his head down.

“Liam!” she calls out in desperation, Henry following at her heels. “Please, Liam. Please tell me you didn’t do it.”

“Emma, bloody hell,” Liam says, dropping his coat to the floor and pulling her into his arms for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry for how I acted the other day. I’m so sorry for not believing you. I’m – ”

She pulls out of the hug quickly, examining his red eyes and she feels her heart drop. “What – Is Killian okay?”

“They just turned off the life support machines.” His voice cracks as he tells her and all she wants to do is punch him, yell at him, throttle the man for not holding on a little bit longer for his brother.

“Is he dead?” Henry asks brokenly from her side. She reaches an arm out to rest around his shoulders and pulls him close.

Liam swallows and glances at the room, the faint sound of a heartbeat echoing in the space over the quiet chatter of doctors and nurses. “Would you like to say goodbye?”

They slowly enter his hospital room, the gleeful state of before being replaced with grief. Henry rushes to Killian’s side and gently places a hand on his elbow as they remove the breathing tube from his throat. Emma is slower to come over, waiting until almost all of the machines and wires are gone with the exception of the tracking of his vitals.

“I wish we had more time,” she whispers to him.

Her fingers trace his cast down to where his own are exposed and she grips them as tight as she can. She wants him to feel in his last moments, to know that he wasn’t alone. She just hopes he knows it was her by his side.

She can hear Liam waiting at the doorway and she accepts that she has no right to prolong her goodbye. His brother has been by his side his entire life, has respected his decisions and has offered him more than she ever could. She’s just a woman who was able to see him during his time of limbo.

“Goodbye, Killian,” she whispers before leaning down and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth.

Waiting for a moment, she hopes to see his eyelids flutter open, for him to greet her with a smirk and those twinkling blue eyes. But nothing happens and the monitors remain the same. “Come on, kid,” she whispers once Henry finishes his goodbyes. He comes to her side and they walk over to Liam, thanking him for giving them this.

“I really am sorry, lass. You have no idea,” he whispers. Emma doesn’t say anything in return, just gives him a sad smile.

Before she can take another step, one of Killian’s monitors starts to go crazy, the beeping sounds taking over the chatter of the medical staff still inside. She turns in awe, standing still as nurses rush in from the hall and bump into her, muttering about how signs of brain activity are increasing and it looks like he’s waking up. She doesn’t know if it’s a miracle or if it’s the last bit of strength before his death, but she feels the hope in her chest rise.

And then nurses are ushering her and Henry out of the room, closing the door behind them, and she’s left with nothing.

He’s awake and recovering, the email said. She’s read it enough in the weeks following her getting it that she remembers the words within by heart. His scans are good and the doctor says that aside from some abrasions and his cast, he looks as healthy as can be.

I asked about his time in the coma, if he remembers anything, and so far nothing. His mind is a bit fuzzy at the moment – he keeps mentioning Tink – but he doesn’t remember you.

I’m sorry, lass, Liam wrote to her. He’s staying with me for the time being if you’d like to see him. Don’t worry about the house, you can stay there as long as you need. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.

She hasn’t though. Reached out, that is. It’s been three weeks and she’s been focused on making sure Albert Spencer is brought into custody for the murder of Billy Angus and the assault on Killian Jones, undercover officer with the Boston PD. Watching him being brought in wearing handcuffs in front of a dozen cameras felt like sweet justice, but only for a moment.

Moving boxes fill the living room of the blue seaside house, her and Henry’s belongings once again being put in cardboard. The U-Haul truck sits in the driveway and she’s determined to fill it with as many boxes as she can before Henry gets home from work.

She signed a 7-month lease on a small cottage twenty minutes north. She figures it will give her enough time to find somewhere permanent to settle down without being assaulted by memories of Killian and what could have been. Henry thinks she’s being ridiculous, and she probably is, but Killian remembers Henry. They developed a bond from his time at the docks before everything happened, something Emma never had until he ended up in a coma. She can’t face him and see the lack of recognition in his eyes. For certain, that would be the thing that breaks her.

Standing up, she grabs a box of knick-knacks and makes her way to the moving truck, cursing the sweltering August air. Maybe they should consider moving to Alaska; Boston was never supposed to be this hot.

“Need a hand, love?”

Emma stumbles down the porch steps and promptly drops the box at her feet, thanking every god and deity that nothing fragile was inside. Breath catching in her throat, she looks up to see Killian standing at the U-Haul, dark jeans, white shirt, and a plaid button-up gracing his figure instead of the pirate leathers she’d become so accustomed to.

“You know,” he starts with a smirk, casually strolling towards her. “I was going to ask why you never visited but I see you wanted to skip town before I could call out your tilework.”

She huffs out a laugh in disbelief, eyes stuck on him as he stops in front of her. “I thought you couldn’t remember me,” she whispers, hating the way her voice cracks and her vision gets blurry with tears.

“You, I remember perfectly. Just had to give me a few weeks,” he says, grin widening with every moment as she feels relief flood her body. “What I don’t remember, though, is the kiss from an angel that woke me.” She blushes under his gaze but can’t fight the smile forming on her lips. “Now, that isn’t fair, is it?”

“Would you like me to refresh your memory a bit?” she asks, quirking her eyebrow up to match his.

For the first time ever, she feels his arms wrap around her waist and she can run her fingers through his hair like she’d seen him do so many times. She revels in his touch and he closes his eyes under her attention.

“Every day,” he whispers in the happiest voice she’s ever heard from him.

So she does.

#captain swan #captain swan supernatural summer #cssns #cssns 2022 #cssns22 #cs fanfic #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #temporarystatus #just like heaven au #ghost whisperer au #this got out of hand #i'm so sorry #killian jones #emma swan #i don't know what to say #lmaooo #my fics

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sotangledupinit · 2 years

Text

free fallin’

annnnd here’s my second fic for @cssns! it’s a rework of a fic i did for cs halloweek 2021 so i hope you like my changes and are ready for another multi-chapter fic! :D

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SUMMARY: On a dark and stormy Halloween night 27 years ago, five people stepped onto an elevator. They never stepped off. Now 28, Emma Swan and her son Henry work together to discover what caused her parents and the other inhabitants to suddenly disappear. //rewrite of previous work, expanded to a multi-chapter.

RATING: T for teen, though there’s some graphic descriptions of horror elements in the first chapter.

WORD COUNT: 7084 words

TAGS: Tower of Terror AU, Captain Swan, CSSNS 22

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hi! some of this may seem familiar to you if you read my original story for CS Halloweek 2021, but i've changed some things, added stuff, and reworked it better to be a multi-chapter fic. so yay! based on the theme park attraction Tower of Terror at Walt Disney World as well as the 1997 film starring Kirsten Dunst of the same name (and inspired by the same attraction).

***

“Are you absolutely certain you’re okay with this?” David asks one more time. He stands besides Mary Margaret, each of them slowly shrugging their coats on as their eyes stare at their daughter as if memorizing her every feature.

“Yes, we can always bring Emma with us so you can enjoy the party too!” Mary Margaret agrees, hands reaching out towards her baby girl.

Granny Lucas shakes her head, adjusting the baby on her hip. A single woman since her early twenties, Granny’s exteriors are rough and stern. She’s had to put up with more malarky than is right but it molded her to be fierce and stand her ground. Once she glares in their direction, David and Mary Margaret know they’ve lost their fight. “Absolutely not,” she says. “When was the last time the two of you had a date night? Emma’s just turned one – you two need some time alone. As a couple.”

David sighs, buttoning up his coat. “I have my pager on me. Beep me and I’ll call right away.” He takes Mary Margaret’s red scarf from their coat rack and wraps it around his wife’s neck.

“And I’ll have my cell phone in my purse. I also left the numbers for the hotel and the party on the refrigerator.” She rushes over to Granny and presses a featherlight kiss to her daughter’s forehead, smiling softly. “I love you, Emma.”

She feels David approach behind her and he places one hand on her back and the other cradle’s Emma’s head. “We really don’t mind bringing –”

“Go.” Granny’s exasperation pours through her voice. Her feet bring her to the front door of the apartment the couple lives in. Opening it brings in the chilly October air that hung in the hallway of the building. “I have Emma handled. I did raise three children and a granddaughter all by myself. Emma’s a breeze.” The couple looks at each other, still hesitant as they stand in their threshold. “Regina’s going to be mad if you’re late to her party.”

They kiss their daughter goodbye once more, giving themselves the extra second to cherish the moment, and then thank Granny before leaving.

Regina sighs as she stands at the reception desk of the lobby. The man behind the counter – Liam, his nametag says – is on the phone with the hotel’s house band. The one she booked months in advance for the Halloween party didn’t find it worth their effort to show up. Taking a sip of her champagne, her red lipstick leaves a mark on her glass and she figures she can get a refill once she gets back upstairs, barring no further problems.

Full moons brought out the crazies, and, she surmised, bad luck.

A light drizzle painted the street just beyond the hotel’s front doors, lights from the Hollywood Hills in the distance looking brighter.

When she became mayor of Storybrooke, it was a rundown ghost town just outside of Los Angeles. Half the shops on main street were closed down and the neighborhoods housed more foreclosures than people. She worked hard to make it the perfect picture of suburbia it is today, with a multitude of locally owned stores and restaurants, excellent schools, and safe, well-run neighborhoods.

Election year is next year and she’s already decided not to run. Nearly thirty years as mayor, yet nothing notable in her personal life.

Well, there always is Mary Margaret and her child. The thought makes her snort into her glass and she searches for a napkin to wipe her chin with. How sad is that thought?

Humidity warms the cool October night making the skin on her arms sticky. She pats at herself and waits for the phone call to end.

“Mayor Mills,” the accented man says. Liam’s dark curls are gelled to styled perfection and as cleanly done as his pressed uniform. She knows from her dealings with Brennan Jones – the years of board meetings and permit approvals and plans being run by her desk for the Hollywood Tower Hotel – that he’s grooming his eldest to take over. Brennan has never been the noblest man to sit with, always looking with one eye to seem sincere but glancing away with his other to check no one can see his crossed fingers behind his back. “The house band is already setting up in the Tip Top Club. If you have any other concerns, please let me know.”

He holds his hand out to shake but Regina turns away instead.

She leaves her empty glass at the counter and makes her way to the bathroom to freshen up. Hair tickles her cheeks and she can already tell the humidity is ruining her carefully crafted look. It’s going to be a dreadfully long night.

Liam waits until Mayor Mills exits the lobby before heading back to the staff lounge. He leaves the front desk in the trusted hands of his assistant manager Starkey and goes in search of peace and quiet for five minutes.

Things have been weird at the hotel since just before the party goers arrived. The storm outside is beginning to pick up and he groans as yet another hallway light flickers. The toilets in the upper floors began to flush by themselves and the card readers for the rooms on the front side of the building stopped working, all by six o’clock. Maintenance isn’t the issue, he reasons. He oversees the building’s maintenance and does what he can with what little leash his father gives him. Where all the issues came from is a mystery to him.

Something isn’t right, something… not natural.

His hand grips the knob of the staff lounge only to find it locked. Groaning, he knocks heavily on the door. “Killian!” he practically hollers. “I need you to open up!”

The dark wood door swings open and Killian stands in its threshold, shirt unbuttoned and tie hanging loose around his neck. It’s unfair that his little brother is a hair taller than him. He recalls when Killian used to ask him to reach up for something on the top shelf or looked to him for protection. For their father being around nearly their entire lives, his presence was consistently absent.

“The door wasn’t locked, brother,” Killian says. Liam ignores the lie on his brother’s lips as the younger Jones steps back to allow him in.

“There’s an issue with the band Mayor Mills hired. The house band is filling in but…”

Killian sighs as he realizes where Liam’s train of thought is going. “But Whale is nowhere to be seen and you need me to fill in?”

“You’re wonderful, little brother. Brilliant, truly.”

“Bloody hell, Liam. I’m 30 and I’m taller than you. I’m younger, but most definitely not little.”

“Now, now. Let’s not turn this into a measuring contest,” Liam chastises, though his amusement cracks his stern exterior. “I do appreciate you giving up your night off.”

“Well,” Killian says with a sigh, rebuttoning his shirt, fixing his tie, and heaving up his guitar case from the corner of the room. “Enjoy this while you can because soon I’ll be on the ocean where you can’t pester me to fill in. By the way, I expect overtime for tonight.”

“Regina!” Mary Margaret calls out. They’ve dropped their scarves and coats at the desk, David’s black suit looking straight out of a catalog and perfect for his Bruce Wayne outfit, her dark blue gown swirling around her ankles creating an elegant Snow White look. She prances over to her stepmother like a fairytale princess in the Disney cartoons and Regina only barely manages to hold in her disgust at the display.

“Well it’s about time you showed up,” she says to the couple. Her eyes dart to David and she teases, “Even your brother arrived on time. Clearly he’s the better twin.”

“You invited my brother?” David groans as they walk together to the elevator.

“You can thank your lovely wife,” Regina says. She rolls her eyes when she sees Liam and another hotel worker waiting at the elevators too.

Mary Margaret fidgets next to her husband, apologetic. Ask forgiveness instead of permission. Regina can’t say she disagrees with that line of thinking. “No one should be alone on a holiday. Especially family.”

“It’s Halloween,” Regina deadpans. The ding of the arriving elevator sounds, putting a stop to the conversation. Liam holds his employee back and lets them board first. The employee holds a large guitar case and, glancing at the eyeliner rimming his eyes and the rings on his fingers, she groans. He better not be part of the band.

“Really,” David whispers to his wife as he enters after Regina and Mary Margaret. “You invited James?!”

“He’s your family,” she hisses back, pasting a pleasant smile on her face as a way of greeting the employees. Moments before the elevator doors close, she spots James coming from the back of the lobby and heading towards the stairs, waving in his direction while David grunts. His brother merely smirks and raises his glass, the metal doors starting to slide close. It’s the most perfect look for anyone dressed as Two-Face.

It really is a toss-up, which brother grates on Regina’s nerves more. Only slightly less holier-than-thou than her stepdaughter, David has the whole shtick down. Animal rescue, helps old ladies cross the street, probably picks up garbage from the gutter.

Ugh, he’s so good it makes her sick.

His twin, on the other hand, couldn’t be more opposite. Poor Ruth Nolan would probably be run into an early grave if she was only raising James. The man is a hellion, is known for collecting paramours, and has an angry streak to make anyone flinch.

Despite her earlier jest, she’d prefer to deal with David any day of the week over his brother. James can take his smirk and glass of liquor and go to hell.

Regina only just barely held back a snarl, making sure it’s the last thing James sees before the doors finally slide shut.

“Mayor Mills,” Liam nods, pressing the button for the Tip Top Club. The elevator begins its ascent with a light jerk. He gives her a nervous glance she pointedly ignores. Clearly Brennan Jones put no investment into his hotel’s transportation if the elevators were still as slow and jerky as when the building originally opened, nearly 90 years before his purchase. “This is my younger brother, Killian. He’s incredibly talented and he’ll be the guitarist of our house band tonight.”

Lovely.

Soft sounds of the music playing from a boombox at the party waft through the elevator shaft as their car quickly approaches its final stop. It's some pop hit that she finds more horrible than Mary Margaret’s hope speeches before election night. Nothing like what her father played growing up in Puerto Rico before moving to Storybrooke.

She opens her mouth to question his decision in bringing aboard his brother, a downright unkempt scoundrel by the looks of it and in no form for the classy Halloween party she’s hosting, but right as the elevator is about to reach the Tip Top Club, their car jerks to a stop.

“What’s happening?” Mary Margaret asks. David rests a comforting hand on her back and Liam looks to his brother before turning to face the elevator panel next to the door.

Finger just inches away, a purple electric shock shoots out of the panel and gets Liam. Killian is quick to jerk him back and the second he does, the lights go out.

Darkness envelops them, their breaths caught in their throat as no one says a word. The emergency lights lining the ceiling are useless as they refuse to turn on. It’s only when there’s a flicker, just the smallest bit with a tint of purple to its glow, that the elevator lurches then drops into a free fall.

Screams erupt in the elevator car. Regina sees the couple next to her in each other’s arms and the brothers on the other side clinging to the rails of the car. Her stomach is in her throat and her hair rises as her body falls. The last thing she sees before their elevator crashes is a flash of purple light.

27 years later…

Emma stares at her son, her eyebrow raised and lips pressed into a thin line, waiting for his answer.

Henry only grins back at her, a small gap between his front teeth.

“Your teacher… who I grew up with… assigned you to write a story about the Hollywood Tower Hotel?”

He fidgets in his seat and her eyes narrow. In turn, he becomes stock still with his gaze wide-eyed. He even refuses to breathe. Got him.

“Okay, so Miss French didn’t actually assign me the Hollywood Tower Hotel. I chose it.”

Emma stares at him in disbelief. “…Why?”

Their history with the infamous hotel is well known around the Los Angeles area but most especially in Storybrooke, where nearly all of its inhabitants knew her parents. It’s part of why she ran away from her Uncle James when she was sixteen. And part of why she hesitated greatly when contemplating moving back almost a year ago.

Grandma Ruth had been too distraught by losing her son that she wasn’t fit to take in Emma when she was a baby. Despite Granny’s attempts to take care of her, she wasn’t blood so Uncle James took her in. Though, he was far from a parent. No rules, little guidance, and an absence of fatherly love meant Emma became self-sufficient before she was ten. It hurts now, to look at her son at the same age and know that she was practically living on her own. Uncle James was more a body that took up space in the living room and who signed school papers until she was able to forge his signature convincingly.

School was another thing entirely.

If there is one thing to be guaranteed, it was that when kids saw an easy target, they pounced, eliciting a thrill from goading their full childhoods and families over her head. She’d been called a freak and a loser but the taunts that hurt the most were the ones calling her unlovable and an orphan.

Those ones were true.

At first she tried to combat the bullies by telling her teachers. That gave the incidents more fanfare and opened her up to even more bullying outside school grounds. So in fourth grade, she taught herself how to throw a punch.

The only bullies who bothered her after that were the ones brave enough to say something to her face. Somehow, the whispers that started up behind her back afterwards hurt more.

“We had to pick a moment in history and create a story from it so why not one about our family?” He shrugs his shoulders, leaving Emma dumbfounded. She forgets her son hasn’t been affected the same way she has, that the fated night doesn’t haunt his every quiet moment like it does hers.

The happenings at the Hollywood Tower Hotel on Halloween night 27 years ago have become the stuff of legends. More than one amateur sleuth has traveled far to see the hotel up close and solve the mystery of how the two elevator shafts protruding from the front of the building suddenly disappeared that night, taking five people along with them.

Ghosts, curses, aliens – you name it, every few months someone shows up claiming to know the truth of what happened but none have been proven real. Moving out of Storybrooke didn’t allow her an escape from the shadow that encased her life. She’s been dodging requests from reporters to talk about the event for her entire life. They hunted her down in Storybrooke before she left, when she was still just a kid, and then followed her to Tallehasse and Phoenix and Boston and everywhere in between. Every once and a while, a brother of one of the occupants will pop up and ask for anyone who knows the truth to come forward with information, but it all leads to dead ends.

Honestly, the whole thing feels like an episode straight out of the Twilight Zone.

“Henry,” she begins, mind searching for the right words to say. “I don’t know if this is a good idea…”

Her son gets up from his chair and comes to stand beside hers, face set in determination. “Maybe we can solve this mystery together.”

Let it be known that Emma will do anything for her kid. Even if it means standing outside of the hotel her parents disappeared from so Henry can get a vibe of the place for his writing assignment.

“I know you and Grace have snuck out of her house and come here before,” she says as she leans against the cement fencing that lines the property. A wide wrought iron gate sits at the entrance, kept closed with a rusted chain and lock. The plants around the property are overgrown and she sees weeds popping out from cracks in the cement. She thinks the original owner died some years ago but can’t be certain. If it’s not news about her parents, she looks the other way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he evades. Standing on the tips of his toes, he tries to see beyond a particularly wild bush at the edge of the driveway just beyond the gate. His brow furrows when he doesn’t find what he expects.

A breeze blows through the trees and down the driveway, leaving Emma with a chill. Her son seems unaffected and a part of her wonders if it’s her mind getting to her.

People who have snuck onto the property or inspected it to solve the mystery swear the hotel is haunted. They share stories of unexplainable events taking place on the deserted property and supernatural occurrences, both of which make Emma snort. Things like ghosts and magic and vampires – ugh, that theory in particular, one where the inhabitants of the elevator became vampires and turned the hotel into their private bat cave, grinds her gears – are not real.

“Do you have everything you need?” she asks, shifting from foot to foot, eyes refusing to look at the hotel any longer.

Henry bites his lip as he looks up at her. “Can you tell me again what happened that night?”

She sighs. It’s not a story she likes repeating, especially since most of it is secondhand information. “Mayor Mills was throwing a Halloween Ball in the Tip Top Club. My parents, Mayor Mills, and two other people boarded an elevator to go to the club. There was a storm, the entire city lost electricity, and when the lights came back on a minute later, the elevator shafts disappeared, leaving no trace of anyone who was inside.”

“You know,” a young voice says behind her. She turns quickly, surprised to see a guy, not much older than 18, behind her with keys in his hands. He has sharp blue eyes and his brown hair is parted down the middle, the ends brushing his ears. A thin frame, his Hollywood Tower Hotel blazer hangs large on him. He gives her a nervous smile, “A lot of people claimed my papa cut corners getting the hotel fixed, that things weren’t working correctly and there were wiring issues. Which, I guess could be true, but that doesn’t explain the elevators disappearing and no debris.”

“You’re the owner’s son,” Emma guesses. She crosses her arms, eyeing him warily.

“I am.” He directs his attention to Henry who is watching the man in awe. “See the scorch marks on the outside of the building there?” His finger points to the front façade, burn marks in two identical vertical lines permanently staining the building. “That’s the only evidence left of that night.”

“Wow,” Henry says. Running back to the gate, his face pushes between the spaces and he fixes his gaze on the marks.

Emma eyes the newcomer, stepping into his eyeline so he can’t see her son. “Unless you’ve got an issue with us standing on the street, we’re good here. I don’t need you to put ideas in my kid’s head.”

The young man looks confused, mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out what to say. “But you – you emailed me?”

Shaking her head, she immediately responds, “No I didn’t.”

Henry jumps away from the gate with a grin. He stands beside Emma and looks up at the man. “That’s because I did! Liam Jones, right? This is my mom. She’s Emma Nolan.”

Liam nods, his cheeks red, and says, “I actually go by LJ, not Liam.” Emma raises her eyebrow at this. He gestures to the building and shrugs, sighing, “I was born about seven years after that night, named after one of my brothers who disappeared then. But it’s weird, right? I kind of felt like my papa was trying to replace him with me.”

She swallows, nodding her head. “I’m sorry.”

LJ waves off her apologies and approaches the gate, flicking through the keys. “So you wanted a tour?”

“Yes!”

“No!”

Emma and Henry turn to face each other. She glares as much as she can at her son but he has his eyes wide, his hands clasped together, and – crap – he just stuck out the bottom lip.

The chains rattle as LJ removes them from the gate, Henry hot on his heels with every move.

“So you still own the hotel?” he asks him, pointing at the embroidered jacket he wears.

LJ nods. Creaking from lack of use, the gates open to the winding drive up the hill to the front doors of the Hollywood Tower Hotel. Sunlight beams through the breaks in the overgrowth and for a moment, Emma understands all the hype about the place in its heyday. There’s a peace that settles over her shoulders, like she’s in a long-lost private garden, and she takes a deep breath in.

Reality crashes down as LJ starts talking again, leading Henry up the drive with Emma following behind.

“Papa closed it for the investigation to see what happened to my brothers. It took years. Police investigated him and the property for faulty construction issues. Some people thought he demolished the two elevator shafts in order to expand, but there was no debris so that was ruled out. He was so broken up by everything – the disappearance, the investigation – that he vowed the hotel should not be opened again until the mystery of what happened that night is solved or my brothers are found.”

Emma trips on one particular crack in the driveway and the gravel breaks under her foot. “How can you afford to pay taxes and… maintenance?” A quick look around makes her wonder if any maintenance has actually been done, but the front of the hotel appears before her eyes and she gasps softly.

It’s one thing to see the glitz and the glam of a luxury hotel in photos but it’s another to see it in real life. A covered walkway with arches leads up to the front doors, mosaic tile covering the floors of the outside. The chairs on the patio on either side of the doors offer an unobstructed view of the Hollywood Hills with the Hollywood sign looking picturesque. She bets the backside of the hotel offers remarkable views of the Santa Monica Bay.

“Papa made a trust to pay for the upkeep. Plus I’m in school for mechanics and learning some building maintenance as I study. Things are a little dusty, but the lights still work. I can give you a tour,” LJ offers and Emma shakes her head.

“Oh no,” she starts. Her hands go out to grasp Henry by the shoulders before he can move inside and she shakes her head. “We are going to stay right out here.”

Henry eyes her suspiciously. “Why can’t we go in? Are you scared of ghosts?”

Emma represses the shudder that goes through her body at glancing up and seeing the empty lobby in front of her. The thought of being in the same place as her parents last were before they disappeared leaves an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

“I’m not scared,” she says to Henry. “Let’s just walk around the outside, okay? I bet there’s spiders in there.” She only feels a little bit bad when Henry shakes his whole body and sticks by her side, but sometimes she has to do what’s needed.

LJ leads them around the hotel, pointing out little details in the railings or on the tiles. She tunes most of it out, knowing her son is sucking it all up like the curious sponge he is. Instead, her breath is taken by the view of the water from the back porch, drawing her from the group.

The water glistens, far enough away that she can’t hear the waves but the sight still leaves her stunned.

“Awesome, isn’t it?” LJ says with a grin a few moments later. She nods, stepping closer to the railing and lets the sight roll over her shoulders in calming waves. What it must have been like, to be a guest here when everything was grand and to have this room from the hotel room. Incredible.

When she turns around though, LJ is just a few feet behind her but Henry is nowhere to be found.

“Henry?” she calls out. LJ follows suit, both of them looking for her son but he doesn’t appear at her voice. Her heart starts pounding and she wonders if the same thing that caused her parents to disappear so long ago just did the same to her son.

Curtains billowing in the wind catch her eye and Emma frantically makes her way over. The door to the hotel is slightly ajar, the cool breeze sweeping off the porch and into the back seating area leading to a number of hallways. She cautiously steps through, looking behind her to check with LJ, before fully entering.

Dust and cobwebs cover the furniture. Books are strewn on coffee tables, bags and suitcases are still piled on the luggage carts, and flowers long dead remain in the vases. “I thought you did routine maintenance?” she questions with a raised eyebrow, unamused.

LJ’s bashful look is accompanied by a scratch at his jawline. “It’s more wiring and keeping up with the electrical and pipes than cleaning…”

She hums, rolling her eyes and continues calling her son’s name. The front lobby is in much of the same state as the back and she looks for indents in the dust or a sign that something’s been moved. A glass on the reception desk glints from the sunlight beaming through the tall windows above the front doors and she can still make out the dark red lipstick staining the rim.

Glancing behind the check-in desk proves to be a waste with still no sign of Henry and her heart rate ticks up again. A chill is settling in her bones the longer she’s in the lobby and she studiously avoids the elevator shafts in the middle of the floor.

“Mom?” Henry calls out, voice scared and wobbly.

“Henry?!” Emma replies, pushing herself away from the counter and rushing around the corner. She hears music, like a boombox playing in another room, but when she runs through the tall white doors in the hall, she enters an empty ballroom and sees no boombox, no radio, not even a band. She calls her son’s name again but hears no response.

She feels the sensation of a breath along the back of her neck before she hears the voice in her ear.

“Welcome to the Hollywood Tower Hotel,” a deep voice says from behind her. Emma jumps in sudden fright and lets out a quick scream before her fight instincts kick in. In an instant, she reaches for one of the centerpieces on a nearby table, a heavy glass vase filled with flowers that have been long dead. She readies her arm as she turns around but there’s no one behind her when she looks. No door is swinging and no footsteps echo in the space.

The tension that coiled in her back keeps her body rimrod straight and straining. She eyes the empty ballroom and struggles to keep the quick succession of her breaths quiet. Though she desperately wants to call for her son, she worries any sudden noise could send danger in his direction. A chill runs down her arms to her fingertips and she tightens her grip on the vase.

A table cloth just a few paces over flutters in an imaginary wind and Emma feels the presence first. Pivoting, she immediately spots a handsome man standing in the middle of the ballroom, dressed in an impeccable bellhop’s uniform, the deep red complimenting his light skin and dark hair. He smirks at her, not afraid to show his enjoyment in the cat and mouse game he’s started, and he stands up straighter, arms behind his back.

She swallows hard at the image, a far cry from what the man – one of the Jones’ – looked like in photographs, vase still held high, as unease settles in her stomach. A wicked glint enters the man’s eye right as she opens her mouth to question him, but his words bet her to it.

“Checking in?” he asks, the devil on his lips and staining his words, smirk widening as he pulls a butcher’s knife dripping with blood from behind his back.

Holding back a scream, Emma tosses the vase with all her might.

Only for it to land right at his feet.

He clicks his tongue, chastising. “That hurts, love.”

The man, sin draped in red, starts a slow approach towards her and she immediately puts a table between them. Demands for Henry’s whereabouts rest on the tip of her tongue and she steels herself to face the man down when she hears her name echo from the hallway. The man’s brow furrows as his attention is momentarily taken by Henry’s yell and she uses it to her advantage.

With all her might, she pushes the table forward and straight towards the man. She doesn’t wait to see the impact, instead immediately turning on her heel and rushing out the white doors, leaving a cacophony of crashes in her wake.

Emma runs through the hallways, yelling out Henry’s name in quick intervals, her voice frantic and on the verge of becoming hoarse. He calls back to her, more frightened than she’s ever heard before, and she nearly barrels through the wall as she rushes into the kitchen.

“Henry!” she cries in relief, rushing over to hug him and falling to her knees in the process. He stands still in shock as she wraps her arms around him. Relief floods her system and she kisses his cheeks, murmuring how she’s happy she’s found him but that they have to leave. Except he doesn’t move. “Henry?” She pulls away from her embrace and examines his face, pale and sweaty. His breathing is as quick as hers and his eyes seem fixed on a point beyond her shoulder.

Standing up straight and turning to face whatever has her son in a trace, Emma immediately knows why.

Sunshine filters through two windows on the far wall of the kitchen as if putting a spotlight on the long stainless steel rolling table in the middle of the room. A lone figure lays on it, white sheet covering their body with one arm hanging loose. An uneaten apple rests precariously in the figure’s hand, blood dripping from the fruit onto the figure’s fingertips and down to a growing puddle on the floor.

“Let’s get out of here, kid.” Despite speaking in a whisper, it’s as if her words shatter the delicate calm over the room for not a moment passes before the figure sits up straight without effort. Emma and Henry scream in terror, jumping back but unable to tear their eyes from the sight before them despite her efforts to push her kid behind her.

Emma knows that figure.

Dressed in a dark gown with a matching black corset situated on top, the tall collar of the dress nearly reaches the figure’s ears. The vibrant red lipstick, their trademark, makes this figure – this Evil Queen – unmistakeable.

She’s studied the photos of the disappeared enough to recognize Regina Mills when she sees her, be it through photographs or in this… projection of sorts. The last photo of the former mayor of Storybrooke had been by Sydney Glass for the newspaper and it was taken right here, in the kitchens of the Hollywood Tower Hotel.

Emma knows the photo well. It was a posed shot, the mayor’s perfectly poised persona coming through in every shot as if being photographed by Vogue instead of the Storybrooke Mirror. The kitchen photo was of Regina leaning over an apple bite, a sampling on a fork hovering in the air on its way to her mouth. The piece in the newspaper was supposed to be about how Regina made her own desserts for the charity Halloween ball, her famous apple pie chief among them. The perfect kind of writeup for someone preparing to run again.

This Regina feels like a completely different person from the one she imagined through the photos. This one has a wicked grin and a narrowed gaze, portraying the perfect villain for a storybook tale.

Her voice runs like a smooth velvet down their spines as she inquires, “Won’t you stay for a bite?”

The wicked grin transforms into a sickly-sweet smile on her lips and Regina lifts her arm, long fingernails painted a shiny black adorning her blood-stained fingers and brings the dripping apple to her lips. She tilts her head at Emma and Henry who stare at her in shock and takes a large chunk out of it. In an instant, both Regina and the apple sizzle.

The apple rots before their eyes, turning as black as Regina’s nails, melting into her hand and sliding in large wet chucks to the floor. The former mayor is next, her skin drooping, cheek growing flaccid until it drops as low as her chin before falling to the metal table, revealing muscle and bone in its wake. Those too begin to droop and melt like the apple had, the sizzling noise growing louder as more of Regina disappears into a puddle.

Her smile, the sickly-sweet one that turns Emma’s stomach, remains on the mayor’s face despite their screams of terror and despite her body literally melting away before her.

Emma and Henry don’t stay long enough to watch the puddle that was Regina drip to the floor.

Her son’s tiny hand clasped in her own, Emma leads the two of them back to the lobby and the only exit she knows. Their lungs burn with fright and fatigue. They only come to a stop once they reach the lobby, their pants filling the silence as they take in the scene before them.

Leaning as far back in his chair as possible is LJ. Absolute terror colors his features and he shakes his head frantically as a womanly figure dances under an isolated cloud in what looks to be acid rain. The water’s green glow shines through the lobby and when she spins, a few raindrops leave her circle and land on the armrest of LJ’s chair, hissing as it burns through to the ground. He pulls his legs up to his chest to make himself as small as possible.

A second figure approaches LJ, a tall gentleman in a tailored suit and perfectly styled blonde hair. His attention is fixated on LJ and when he reaches a hand towards his own head, Emma turns Henry’s shoulders and presses his face against her stomach in anticipation of what’s to come. She’s glad she followed her gut as the moment Henry’s vision is no longer of the scene in front of her, the gentleman pulls his head from his shoulders dropping his hand to his side as the head in its grip continues talking some nonsense about enjoying their stay.

Emma merely gasps out a shuddered breath, feeling like she barely has any air in her lungs left so she can scream.

Oh no, she thinks, that’s my parents.

“A tad dramatic, isn’t it?” an accented voice drawls behind her. She cautiously turns her head in its direction as she holds Henry tighter in her arms. The man from the ballroom stands by the check-in desk looking bored and not as devious as he’d been a few minutes ago. “I prefer the subtle scare,” he continues, lifting his bloodied knife from beneath the desk. Her eyes widen as her breathing staggers again.

Even if she didn’t study their photos so much growing up, she’d know from the captivating blue eyes that this was LJ’s brother. Killian Jones.

There’s been plenty of information about most of the people in the elevator that night. Regina had been mayor for as long as anyone could remember, her parents were staples in the community for their jobs and their volunteer work, and Liam Jones was the eldest of Brennan Jones’ two sons, poised to take over the hotel once their father retired. He’d met with vendors and local residents to ensure smooth relationships, and he captained the many events the hotel entered. His younger brother Killian was a mystery though.

She had nothing to go off of when it came to him, making him the most terrifying of everything she’s seen tonight.

Liam Jones walks out from one of the employee back rooms decked out in his fully Hollywood Tower Hotel uniform and shakes his head at Killian. “Be honest with the lass, little brother. You’re just mad those two have finally upstaged you.”

The elder of the two plucks the knife from Killian’s lax grip and holds it up for inspection. Emma feels the moment Liam’s eyes peer at her just over the bloodied metal.

He points the knife at her. “This yours?”

Emma doesn’t know if he’s asking after the ownership of the knife or its blood but she’s had enough. Adrenaline is leaving her body at a fast pace and she will not allow her son to be trapped inside this god forsaken place.

It’s been years since she’s picked up Henry in her arms but she does so in an instant with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. His body is wrecked with tremors and he clutches tighty to her shirt, his legs wrapping around her waist without hesitation as he buries his face into her neck. She cradles him to her chest as she rushes back out to the patio, around the hotel, and to the driveway, only glancing back at LJ once to see him scrambling from his seat and rushing after them.

The Hollywood Tower Hotel glooms over them from the sidewalk like a proud enemy declaring victory. It makes her sick.

“What the hell was that?!” Emma yells the moment she regains enough breath to do so. Her side is in stitches and her fingers shake uncontrollably. She can’t help but bend at her waist as she takes in her son. Tears have stopped rolling down Henry’s cheeks, the drying tracks the only sign of his fear, and he stares up at the hotel in deep thought.

He’s going to need so much therapy after this.

“How could you let him go in there?!” she continues, glaring at LJ. He leans back against the cement fencing, sweaty and pale with wide eyes.

“I-I didn’t know it was haunted!”

“It’s your hotel! You do the maintenance!”

“Yeah, I can do it all from the outside!” LJ shrieks. “I’ve never been brave enough to go in before!”

The admittance sits on her chest like a heavy weight. All three of them entered the situation in the dark, no knowledge of what to expect. If Emma knew what horrors laid on the other side of the gate, she would have hauled Henry back to his room immediately.

For the rumors and paranormal investigators that followed her for her entire life, she guesses they weren’t wrong.

So maybe the Hollywood Tower Hotel is haunted. And not by any regular ghosts but by her parents and the others in the elevator.

“We have to go back in and help them!”

She looks away from LJ to stare at her son incredulously. “What are you talking about?!”

Henry seems to be taking things in stride as he presses his face through the gate again, eyes fixated on the hotel. “We have to help the ghosts.”

“I think they’re beyond wanting help, kid,” Emma says. She straightens up slowly and with a wince, the pull in her side from carrying Henry down the hilly drive becoming more prominent. “They literally just scared us out of the building. Or tried to kill us, take your pick.”

A frustrated sigh leaves his lips and Emma already feels her resolve waning. Ghosts are not real. This is not real. None of this can be happening. It all sounded so crazy.

She closes her eyes and pinches her arm long and hard, hoping that when she opens her eyes, she’ll wake in her bed. When she opens her eyes, she’s agitated to see herself still outside the hotel.

“Come on, you heard all the stories about Grandma and Grandpa!” Henry explains. “They wouldn’t act like that! Maybe something bad is keeping them there and they’re trying to stop anyone else from being stuck.”

LJ is still as white as, well, a ghost. He eyes the two of them wearily and shakes his head. “Be my guest,” he says, tossing his arm towards the hotel, “but I am not going back in there.”

“Henry,” Emma starts gently. “We don’t know them. Maybe they were like that and played cruel jokes on people when they were alive.” His lip wobbles at her words and she does her best to steel herself. She doesn’t think she can face her parents again either, not if they’re bitter ghosts who live to frighten the daylights out of anyone they see. “They scared us. I don’t want to help them.”

Henry shakes his head, turning away from Emma to gaze up at the building through the fencing. “Maybe they’re just scared too.”

#captain swan #cssns 2022 #cssns22 #captain swan supernatural summer #my fics #temporarystatus #tower of terror #tower of terror au

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