A Canon Divergent set sometime in the future after Emma and Killian are married. A series of one-shots centering around a CS pregnancy. Pregnant -Emma’s POV - here,Pregnant - Killian’s POV - here,First Doctor’s Visit - Emma’s POV - here,First Doctor’s Visit- Killian’s POV - here,Heartbeat - Emma’s POV - here, Heartbeat - Killian’s POV - here ; First Movement - here; Ultrasound - here.
Dedicated to my friend @kmomof4 for allowing me to use her craving for Pink Lemonade while pregnant to have some Captain Charming fun.
Cravings
As soon as they found out the news Emma was carrying twins, Killian had added What to Expect WhenExpecting Twins to their weekly reading. The time had been one of discovery about the challenges women face carrying twins as well as the challenges they will face once they are born. He and Swan had a big task ahead of them but nothing they couldn’t handle, together.
He had to admit that the thought that he, a 300-year-pirate, had given his wife two babies at once had caused him to walk a little taller. However, when he discovered that his seed had nothing to do with the fact that there were two, he had been a bit disconcerted. He had rather enjoyed the possibility that the most wondrous of miracles had been because of him, but alas it was not to be. All the credit for that feat belonged to his lovely wife.
He was, however, pleased that it was his seed that was responsible for the gender of their babies. He hoped each little lass had his Swan’s blonde hair and green eyes and loved their papa as much as he already loved them. He didn’t care that they kept him and Emma awake making their presence known with their little kicks. Nor did he care that they preferred Henry’s music to his sea shanties. What he did care about was that in less than two months’ time, he would be able to hold them in his arms.
A Canon Divergent set sometime in the future after Emma and Killian are married. A series of one-shots centering around a CS pregnancy. Pregnant -Emma’s POV - here,Pregnant - Killian’s POV - here,First Doctor’s Visit - Emma’s POV - here,First Doctor’s Visit- Killian’s POV - here,Heartbeat - Emma’s POV - here, Heartbeat - Killian’s POV - here, First Movement - here It can also be found on FFas well as onAO3.
When they arrived for their ultrasound appointment, they were pleased to discover that they would be next and their wait time wouldn’t be long. Once Emma’s name was called, they were greeted by an older woman who introduced herself as Margie, the technician, who led them into a special room with a bed, chair, and the ultrasound device. It looked kind of like a robot on wheels Emma thought, with a large monitor, a base with buttons and dials, and the bottom was similar to a desktop with plugs and cords going in several directions. Next to the device sat a small table holding folded towels and sheets and bottles of some liquid. Glancing up a Killian, Emma smirked at the look on his face as he gazed around the room, and thought how it resembled that of someone who had stepped into a time machine. "Are you ready?“ She took his hand as much to comfort him as herself.
“Aye, love,” he smiled down at her, “are you?"
"Nervous, excited, scared, anxious. Shall I go on?” She shared hesitantly.
“There’s nothing to be scared of Emma. Our baby will be just fine.” And the sincerity with which he said the words immediately calmed her nerves.
“Promise?"
He kissed her tenderly, "Promise. Now up with you." He helped her up onto the table and to lie back and then moved to her side while the technician bustled around them.
As she was positioning Emma on the table and tucking towels in the top of her pants and along the bottom of her shirt to prevent them from getting wet with the gel, she was also asking questions. Sitting down behind the monitor, she put in Emma’s name and the date. "How many weeks pregnant are you?"
Emma smiled at Killian, "Sixteen.”
“And I understand that you are still feeling a large amount of sickness with this pregnancy. Is that correct?” Emma confirmed this before the woman moved on. "Alright, I believe I have all the information.“ She stood up and turned down the lights and then started adjusting the dials again. "Just a brief overview for you two of how an ultrasound works. I will be using this,” she held up a part of the machine, “and when I place it on your stomach it will send sound waves, and the sound waves bouncing back to me will give us a picture of your baby. Here we go."
Emma could feel her rubbing the wand around on her stomach while at the same time as she could see her twisting the knobs on the machine. While her view of the monitor was not unobstructed completely, she could see shadows coming and going on the screen. The technician moved the wand, and by the way she leaned forward to get a closer look at the monitor, must have locked in on something. After readjusting the wand and then looking closely again, she sat back quickly, "Oh!" And looked at Emma in surprise.
Her interjection caused Emma to glance quickly up at Killian. "Oh? What oh?” She questioned the woman, concerned at what could cause such a response.
I got a little stuck after my last update of Not Broken so I decided to tackle this little plot bunny that wouldn’t leave me alone. Instead, it became a monster.
Loosely inspired by The Private Lives of Pippa Lee, a little older Emma/younger Killian romance.
***
“Oh come on,” she whined at it, trying again. “Come on, you’ve never let me down before.” The Bug was ancient - as her husband and son enjoyed pointing out - but she’d had it since she was a teenager and she wasn’t going to give it up until it died. Which it had apparently decided to do today. “Really?” she demanded, aware that she was talking to a car but not caring. “Today? Of all days?”
She tried one more time. The sad, old engine grumbled, the car rattled, and then there was an awful screeching sound and it went silent. Emma gripped the steering wheel, her head falling back against the headrest and letting out a guttural cry of frustration. Just what she needed: one more thing in her life falling apart.
“Are you alright, love?” a concerned voice asked softly beside her. Her face somehow managed to pale and flush at the same time as she opened her eyes and looked over to see Killian standing outside the car, leaning awkwardly to see her through her window. Of course it was him, of course he was catching her screaming and abusing inanimate objects a second time. Her neighbour was going to think she was insane.
“The car won’t start,” she explained weakly. He pressed his lips together, brow pulling down and nodded.
“Do you want me to take a look at it?” he offered.
“Do you know anything about cars?” Killian gave her a wry smile and she realised that question may have been a little rude. “Sorry. My husband and my kid both love to mess with cars but don’t actually know anything about them.” She winced, remembering the old beat up vehicles they’d taken apart and laid to rest over the years tinkering. Emma stroked the steering wheel. She’d never let them anywhere near it. “This one’s… sentimental.”
He smiled again, nodding. “I promise not to hurt her. My brother was a mechanic. I worked with him for a while.” She didn’t miss the use of the word was and hoped his brother had just found a new profession.
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
He tapped the window frame, looking pleased that she’d accepted his help. “Pop the hood, will you?” She did as he asked. “Okay turn it on,” he called. “Okay, off.” She heard a few clanks and then he had her do it again before going back to work.
Emma waited there, feeling awkward sitting in the front seat quietly while he tried to figure out what was wrong, but realising it was probably even more awkward to stand there next to him while he tried to figure out what was wrong. He worked a little longer, Emma only catching glimpses of an elbow or a shoulder from behind the hood, noting that his left hand was a prosthetic like she’d guessed and wondering what could have happened to him. He was still so young.
Finally, he shut the hood and came back around to the window, wiping oil on the front of his jeans from his stained-black hand. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“The good news,” she said, needing some good news this week.
“You just need a new starter. It’ll cost a pretty penny but it’s easy to replace.”
“And the bad news?”
He winced. “It’s not going anywhere until you do.”
“Damn it,” she sighed, hands dropping into her lap. Neal had taken his car and she didn’t enjoy the idea of carrying armfulls of groceries for thirty people - half of them teenage boys - on the bus.
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
“The grocery store. I need to get food for a party we’re throwing Henry tomorrow.”
“Is it his birthday?”
“No, he’s moving out on Friday.” She tried to keep the sadness that always clinged to those words from her voice. “I’ve got to pick up some stuff to stock his fridge with too.”
“Oh right. He mentioned that,” Killian nodded. “Well, I could give you a lift if you want.”
“To the store?”
“That’s where you said you were headed, isn’t it?”
“I - yeah. But you don’t have to…”
“I don’t mind,” he insisted. “It feels like the neighbourly thing to do.” She should say no. It was too big a favour. But she was really desperate.
“Are you sure?” She found herself returning his infectious smile even as she still hesitated.
“Absolutely,” he beamed. “Let me just get cleaned up really quick,” he added, looking down at his hand and his grease covered jeans. He gestured towards the house, the invitation obvious even if he didn’t say it out loud. Emma grabbed her wallet, nodding and stepping out of the car. She followed him across the lawn to his house, hovering awkwardly on the driveway as he headed up to the front door.
“You’re welcome to wait inside,” he told her, then glanced up at the sky. “Looks like it might rain.”
She hesitated for only a moment, feeling a bit strange following a twenty-five year old (she guessed) into his house when any of the gossips on the street could see. Come on, Emma, you’re forty next month. Be a grownup.
“Okay, thanks.”
*****
Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from my tag list!
Sum’: It was a day like anyother. But Killian should have realized something was wrong the moment he didn’t saw Emma. Now he has to face the consequences while hoping his loves and himself will survive the intrusion of their unexpected guest…
Note: Almost forgot about that one haha So I always loved Wakfu and seeing the season3 last year had me think about some au with our dear Jones family. Hope you’ll enjoy that little piece of adventure made for the @captainswanmoviemarathon. Biggest thanks to @ultraluckycatnd who once again saved me by being my beta (she officialy earned the betasavior title haha)♥♥♥
—————————
“Come on, little love. Hold your stance!”
Hope took a deep breath, clenching the cutlass in her hands before shaking her shoulders and correcting her stance like her father asked her. That earned herself a wide grin from her daddy as he started another offensive attack.
Thank you to everyone who participated as writers, artists, betas, and cheerleaders - This was an amazing January! Thank you all for sharing your wonderful work ❤️❤️
After Emma’s dramatic flight from the diner, Killian promises the Charmings that he’ll find her and do everything in his power to convince her to stay. As he walks he considers the different ways of approaching her: his usual “cocky pirate” bravado probably wouldn’t convince her to stay, but acting like the lovesick fool he is inside would send her running for the hills.
“You’re making a mistake,” Killian says bluntly. Emma turns to watch him approach with a grimace, full defenses up.
“I don’t want to talk to you about this,” she replies, turning her gaze back to the pond as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“If you won’t listen to me, listen to your son. He thought this might remind you of what you’re leaving behind, your family,” Killian tells her, convinced that she’ll change her mind if shown enough evidence. He grabs the book out of his satchel and sticks it in front of her face until she takes it.
“Henry is my family, and I’m taking him where he’s safe. That’s it, end of story,” she says firmly, setting the book down next to her without a glance. Although he usually admires her iron will, the fact that she’s using it as a shield right now just pisses him off.
He has clearly underestimated her powers of denial, even though he already knows that she’s stubborn as hell. Memories of how many hoops he’d had to jump through to coax her away from life with the Monkey Man fill his brain, and it makes him see red.
“For fuck’s sake, Swan! The safety first nonsense is just that,” he cries, no longer willing to let her walk away without a fight. “I saw your life in New York, and I know that you thought you were content. Yes, you and Henry had a home and a life together, but your head was stuffed with Regina’s memories! What did you have there that you need to return to so desperately? Why do you want to go back to a life of lies?”
Emma looks stunned by his words, so she must have forgotten about his ability to read her so clearly. Her cheeks are aflame and her eyes appear glassy, but at least she’s willing to have a conversation.
“It was real for us, Hook! You don’t understand — for as long as I can remember, I’ve been running, looking for home. I hadn’t ever found it, until New York,” she tells him wearily, slumping down on the bench. He hates to see her physically deflate like that, and he curses himself for it.
“I know what that feels like, Swan; truly I do,” Killian admits, shifting uncomfortably. The sadness in his eyes gives her an idea of how deeply his pain must sit in his soul.
“I believe you, but eventually you found a home, on your ship. For me, running away was the only consistent thing I ever did before going into Bail Bonds. I want to give Henry a stable life, and we had that in New York,” she says, and he agrees — but only about what Henry deserves. The part he hasn’t told her, about where his home truly lies, will have to wait for another day.
He searches her eyes, wondering why she’s willfully ignoring Henry’s wish to live in Storybrooke. He asks her directly: “You know that Henry doesn’t want to leave, Emma. What’s stopping you both from having a life here, with your entire family?”
“Because of this, Killian!” she says with exasperation, pulling the book into her lap and opening it to the page illustrated with a curse cloud rolling over the Enchanted Forest. “I don’t see my family here. I see fairy tales, and stories of princes and princesses. Henry and I are from the real world — we were never meant to be a part of any of this.”
For a moment, he seriously considers telling Emma the whole truth: that he knows exactly how she feels, because without his ship for the first time in more than a century, he’s completely unmoored, and that he doesn’t know what he’s going to make of his life if she rejects him. She has no idea what he gave up, but finding out would be too much of a burden for her right now, so he keeps his mouth shut and continues moving forward.
“Then what are you a part of, Swan?” he asks gently, folding himself down next to her on the chilly bench. She looks down at the book, and when her gaze returns to his, there’s so much sadness in her eyes.
“Aside from this year with Henry, I don’t think I’ve ever been a part of anything,” she admits, and his heart screams at him to tell her how wrong she is. But he waits, because instinct tells him to be patient.
“But, Emma, you could be,” he says hopefully, but she’s already covering her emotions back up, and the moment is lost.
She snaps the book shut, handing it back to him. Putting her palms on her knees, Emma looks down at the ground for a few seconds before standing up, and her eyes are devoid of emotion. Killian is pretty sure that, short of a miracle, Swan’s going to fly the coop.
“I learned something a long time ago, Hook: home is the place that, when you leave, you just miss it. So yeah, I’m gonna keep running until I feel that,” she tells him, sounding bitter and broken. He feels quite bitter too, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check.
“So you’re just going to keep running, then? Swan, think about your parents - don’t you even care about them, or anyone in Storybrooke?”
“Of course I care…I just have to do what I think is right for me and for Henry —“ Emma tells him. The blinding burst of magic in the direction of Zelena’s hideout puts an end to the conversation.
What happens next is a blur, but within less than a minute, the out of control vortex of magic sucks them into its orbit, sending them hurtling towards the unknown…
A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken by what Emma swears (but can’t believe) was a shadow, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.
Thank you @elizabeethan for reading this over for me!
****
Chapter 2
“Is it true?” Henry demands when he meets her around the corner from his school.
She probably shouldn’t be sneaking around seeing him while Regina is at work, but the woman leaves him alone all evening. Emma had been a latchkey kid for most of her life, so many foster parents not caring enough to be home when she came back from school, and it sucked. So what’s the big deal if they grab a hot chocolate at Granny’s? What’s Regina going to do, curse her? Probably, according to Henry.
“Is what true?”
“They said there’s a man in the hospital and that you brought him there.”
“Who said?” she asks, frowning. What the hell kind of gossip mill does this town have that the events of last night have already reached the elementary school? Maybe she should be wary of seeing Henry like this, in case someone tells the Mayor.
“Everyone’s talking about it! Who is he?”
“I don’t know. He hadn’t woken up yet when I left.”
Henry hums. “I wonder if he’s in the book. He didn’t come here with the curse like everyone else - nobody knows him.”
Emma nods vaguely. She hadn’t recognized him. Though it had been hard to tell with so much blood fresh and drying on his face. She’d gone with him to the hospital, following the ambulance with the cherry on her bug after they loaded the unconscious man in. He’d been still by the time the paramedics arrived - Emma had been scared he was dead, her hand steady on his pulse to make sure he wasn’t.
Crocodile, the word’s been bouncing around in her head since he spoke it, voice laced with pain and anger and something darker, sadder, tired. What’s crocodile? It can’t be an actual giant lizard. Storybrooke is strange, she’ll give it that, but they’re in Maine, not Florida; there aren’t any gators roaming around the streets of this small town. So what then? A place? The name of a bar maybe? Or a person, she wonders, a code name or some kind or an alias. She shakes her head at herself. This is Storybrooke, she reminds herself again. There are no secret gangs and codename, no seedy underworld, just small town fundraisers and spiteful mayors.
SUMMARY: Emma and Killian have finally free to have their honeymoon and with Neverland now back to a place of dreams an desires Killian decides its the perfect place to get away. The island has a few surprises for them but Emma has her own surprises for her husband.
A/N: This is my entry for @neverlandnewyear. My writing muse was dead but my art muse decided to step in. The picture of Emma is my first manip so please be gentle with me.
Sometimes the muse just wont cooperate but we’re so glad the art muse stepped up! Enjoy the beautiful art and story teaser from @everything-person
Rating: This peek is Teen, I guess. I expect the rest of the fic to be Mature, maybe straying into Explicit? I’m not sure, it’s not finished yet!
Warnings: Abduction, Ransom, Mortal Peril.
Length: Currently over 70k… and still going…
Summary: One night, in every corner of every magical realm, every boy aged nine to seventeen disappeared. Not one remained. That was when Pan made himself known to the realms, and from that night the eve of every boy’s ninth birthday meant their disappearance, until finally the realms demanded to know what he wanted to return their children to them. Pan told them he wanted the saviour, and while most realms were confused Snow and David knew what he meant and confessed the role their daughter was supposed to have played in breaking the curse. The realms voted and agreed to Pan’s terms, and Pan stopped taking the realms sons, holding the children he’d currently taken as insurance of their compliance.
For the next fifteen years Emma’s birthday wasn’t a celebration, it was another tick on the countdown clock to the end of her freedom. Not that she was ever free in the first place, but to save every male child in the United Realms including her younger brother, Leo… She understood that she had a job to do, and she would do her duty with her head held high. What she didn’t count on was the sparkling blue eyes of the man Pan sends to escort her to Neverland in time for her twenty-first birthday.
Notes: So this is a sneak peek for my NLNY fic for 2022. I was hoping to have this written in time, but it’s become a monster and it’s not done. I can’t start posting properly until I’ve finished writing, so instead please enjoy the art up the top there and the opening of chapter one…
A huge, huge thank you to @kmomof4 for betaing this for me, and for being super supportive while I’ve been tearing my hair out over this. Thank you to the @neverlandnewyear mods for running this event again, and for letting me push my date back, even if the only thing it’s achieved is me getting the art done so I can share that… Ooops!
A Gentleman Never Tells (Chapter 2) | Neverland New Year 2022
Author: cosette141
Rating: T
Words (chp 2): 6.4k
Summary: Right after saving Henry in Neverland, Pan puts Emma under a Sleeping Curse that only romantic love can break. Hook’s kiss wakes her, but in the confusion of the moment, it appears to everyone else, including Emma, that it was Neal’s kiss that woke her. As the group celebrates and Hook empties his flask alone, he can’t help thinking it is better this way. CS
It spread like sunlight through her whole body. There was a sense of calm, of utter contentment in her chest. Like something just felt right.
The only other time she’d felt something like it was when she’d woken Henry from Regina’s Sleeping Curse.
Yes, that was what it felt like.
Love.
But there was something else to this feeling, something exciting, some elated part of it that she felt before. She just… couldn’t quite… place it.
Emma blinked a few times, staring at a wooden ceiling. She was lying on something soft, but her mind was a few steps behind.
A bed?
The last thing she remembered was rescuing Henry. They had been on their way back to the ship.
But after that… nothing.
But her puzzlement halted when she heard a door open. A voice floated in, and Emma managed to recognize it as Neal’s.
“…tried twice, but I—Emma!”
Emma turned her head, noting, albeit delayed, that she was in a cabin that looked like one of the Jolly Roger. And not just any cabin; Hook’s. “Where the hell am I?” she mumbled, even more confused.
Neal was at her side in seconds, pulling her into a crushing hug. “It worked!”
Emma tensed in his hold, her mind crashing into the present.
She didn’t exactly like being touched, and she’d barely started to hug her own parents. But hugging him…
She’d realized it when he’d embraced her in the Echo Cave.
She didn't want to.
It was a hold that used to bring so much comfort. He was the first person who ever held her like she was worth something.
Now, it all felt tainted and empty.
Neal, however, was too elated to realize the embrace wasn’t reciprocated. And Emma was still too confused about the whole situation to shove him off. “What worked?” she mumbled, seeing her parents, Regina, and Gold standing in the room. Her parents looked over the moon.
When a new curse hits, the Swan-Jones’ find themselves living a life that’s not their own. But when a book pops into their lives and infiltrates their dreams, will they work out the mystery of who they really are. Can they find their way back to Storybrooke? And how does Neverland fit into it all?
Notes:
This is my entry into Neverland New Year 2022. I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks to Kit and Elsie for reading through this story for me.
“It’s coming. The curse - it’s here!” Grumpy ran down Main Street, calling out. If he had a bell he would have rung it.
“That dwarf always has a way of being so damned pessimistic,” Emma said to her mom.
“He does, but he’s usually right about these things. You better go and find Killian and Henry. I love you, Emma. Just remember the family motto, we always find each other.” Mary Margaret gave her daughter a tight hug and kissed her on the cheek.
David burst into the loft. “Emma, thank God. Killian’s out of mind with worry.” He gave her a hug on her way out.
“I love you both.”
She ran down the stairs to find Killian and Henry waiting for her.
“Another bloody curse. Just what we needed. By the looks of those clouds, we’re not going to have time to get back to the apartment.”
Killian grabbed Emma’s hand and gathered her and Henry close to him. An urge to protect his family took over him.
Emma wrapped her arm around Henry’s shoulders. “Don’t be scared. We’ll be together this time.”
“Why did you say that, Love?” Killian asked her, curiously. He’d always found her insight marvellous.
“I don’t know. I just have a feeling,” she replied, as she looked into his blue eyes and gave him a watery smile. She hoped her feeling proved correct, because she couldn’t face another curse being pulled away from Killian and Henry.
As the storm clouds targeted the town once again, the Swan-Jones family crouched low and held each other tight.
“Whatever happens, we’ll get through this together,” Killian told his family.
Emma appreciated his strength at this time when their world was, once again imploding around them. “I love you, Killian; you too, Henry.”
As the curse hit, Killian and Emma’s lips connected in a kiss so intense. All the love they felt for each other; all the curses they’d endured both separately and together, was poured into the kiss.
Mokamotani - A Captain Swan Neverland New Year One Shot
A/N: Thank you to the @neverlandnewyear moderators for hosting again! This is one of my favorite events because I just love all the Neverland goodness packed into one month. Unbeta’d, please forgive the mistakes that I’m sure exist but really hope are not there.
Mokamotani - to speak straight, tell the truth
Manitou - peace
Summary:Emma thought the time for truths had passed with the Echo Cave, but a newly rescued Henry and a magical snack prove otherwise. If Emma thought the Echo Cave had been soul-baring enough for a lifetime, she has another thing coming. Hopefully Hook can step in and help save the day. Who am I kidding, you know what I write, of course he can. Fluff, Humor, some ugly truths, some funny truths.
A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken by what Emma swears (but can’t believe) was a shadow, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.
“Sheriff Swan.” Regina walks into her office like she owns the place, not bothering to knock. “Where’s my son?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well he’s not at home so I assume he must have snuck off to do something ill-conceived with you as that seems to always be the case.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t seen Henry since the weekend.” In fact, he’d told her that they needed to hold off on Operation Cobra because his mom was getting suspicious. She knows though that it’s because he’s mad at her. He has been since she had to tell him she had Killian committed. And he’s been avoiding her. “Are you telling me you don’t know where he is?” Emma demands as Regina’s face grows from smug and annoyed to concerned. “It’s after seven!”
“He didn’t come home from school. I just assumed… He’s probably with a friend.” Emma wants to snap at her. Even when Henry is concerned she can’t back down, needs to be right rather than admit she screwed up and needs help.
“He doesn’t have any friends - at least none his own age,” she reminds the woman, even though it’s painful to say. It’s Regina’s fault Henry never befriended any of the kids at school. How could he, with a terrifying mother who kept him under lock and key? “Did you check his castle?”
“No. I came straight here.”
Emma grabs her keys off the desk. “You go check the park. I’ll go to Granny’s and see if he’s been there.” She may hate the woman, but this is Henry. It seems Regina’s willing to put their mutual distaste aside for this as well since she shockingly agrees and follows her out to her own car.
“Call me if you find him,” the Mayor orders and Emma nods, demanding the same courtesy in return.
She reaches Granny’s quickly, both the owner and Ruby hurrying over to her when she walks in and she realises she must look as worried as she feels. “Have you seen Henry? Is he here?”
Granny shakes her head. “No. But he was here earlier pouring over the storybook and a couple others.”
“Which books?” Knowing her kid, wherever he is it probably has something to do with the damn curse.
“I’m not sure. Kids books from the looks of them. Ruby, you served him.”
Ruby shrugs apologetically. “It was busy. But yeah they looked like regular kids books - fairy tales and stuff. One had a picture of a ship in it. I only remember because he covered it when I came up to him.”
“A ship?” Ruby nods. “Maybe he went down to the docks?”
“Hey Leroy!” Granny calls and the gruff, stout man looks up in annoyance. “You see the Mills boy today?”
“Why would I be hanging around with kids? I ain’t a babysitter.”
“You’re looking for Henry?” David walks over to them, a tray of takeout cups in his hand. “Is he okay?”
“He’s missing. Have you seen him?”
“He came by the animal shelter about an hour ago. Wanted to know if we’d found any crocodiles.”
A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken by what Emma swears (but can’t believe) was a shadow, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.
“Sheriff Swan.” Regina walks into her office like she owns the place, not bothering to knock. “Where’s my son?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well he’s not at home so I assume he must have snuck off to do something ill-conceived with you as that seems to always be the case.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t seen Henry since the weekend.” In fact, he’d told her that they needed to hold off on Operation Cobra because his mom was getting suspicious. She knows though that it’s because he’s mad at her. He has been since she had to tell him she had Killian committed. And he’s been avoiding her. “Are you telling me you don’t know where he is?” Emma demands as Regina’s face grows from smug and annoyed to concerned. “It’s after seven!”
“He didn’t come home from school. I just assumed… He’s probably with a friend.” Emma wants to snap at her. Even when Henry is concerned she can’t back down, needs to be right rather than admit she screwed up and needs help.
“He doesn’t have any friends - at least none his own age,” she reminds the woman, even though it’s painful to say. It’s Regina’s fault Henry never befriended any of the kids at school. How could he, with a terrifying mother who kept him under lock and key? “Did you check his castle?”
“No. I came straight here.”
Emma grabs her keys off the desk. “You go check the park. I’ll go to Granny’s and see if he’s been there.” She may hate the woman, but this is Henry. It seems Regina’s willing to put their mutual distaste aside for this as well since she shockingly agrees and follows her out to her own car.
“Call me if you find him,” the Mayor orders and Emma nods, demanding the same courtesy in return.
She reaches Granny’s quickly, both the owner and Ruby hurrying over to her when she walks in and she realises she must look as worried as she feels. “Have you seen Henry? Is he here?”
Granny shakes her head. “No. But he was here earlier pouring over the storybook and a couple others.”
“Which books?” Knowing her kid, wherever he is it probably has something to do with the damn curse.
“I’m not sure. Kids books from the looks of them. Ruby, you served him.”
Ruby shrugs apologetically. “It was busy. But yeah they looked like regular kids books - fairy tales and stuff. One had a picture of a ship in it. I only remember because he covered it when I came up to him.”
“A ship?” Ruby nods. “Maybe he went down to the docks?”
“Hey Leroy!” Granny calls and the gruff, stout man looks up in annoyance. “You see the Mills boy today?”
“Why would I be hanging around with kids? I ain’t a babysitter.”
“You’re looking for Henry?” David walks over to them, a tray of takeout cups in his hand. “Is he okay?”
“He’s missing. Have you seen him?”
“He came by the animal shelter about an hour ago. Wanted to know if we’d found any crocodiles.”
A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken by what Emma swears (but can’t believe) was a shadow, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.
“Sheriff Swan.” Regina walks into her office like she owns the place, not bothering to knock. “Where’s my son?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well he’s not at home so I assume he must have snuck off to do something ill-conceived with you as that seems to always be the case.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t seen Henry since the weekend.” In fact, he’d told her that they needed to hold off on Operation Cobra because his mom was getting suspicious. She knows though that it’s because he’s mad at her. He has been since she had to tell him she had Killian committed. And he’s been avoiding her. “Are you telling me you don’t know where he is?” Emma demands as Regina’s face grows from smug and annoyed to concerned. “It’s after seven!”
“He didn’t come home from school. I just assumed… He’s probably with a friend.” Emma wants to snap at her. Even when Henry is concerned she can’t back down, needs to be right rather than admit she screwed up and needs help.
“He doesn’t have any friends - at least none his own age,” she reminds the woman, even though it’s painful to say. It’s Regina’s fault Henry never befriended any of the kids at school. How could he, with a terrifying mother who kept him under lock and key? “Did you check his castle?”
“No. I came straight here.”
Emma grabs her keys off the desk. “You go check the park. I’ll go to Granny’s and see if he’s been there.” She may hate the woman, but this is Henry. It seems Regina’s willing to put their mutual distaste aside for this as well since she shockingly agrees and follows her out to her own car.
“Call me if you find him,” the Mayor orders and Emma nods, demanding the same courtesy in return.
She reaches Granny’s quickly, both the owner and Ruby hurrying over to her when she walks in and she realises she must look as worried as she feels. “Have you seen Henry? Is he here?”
Granny shakes her head. “No. But he was here earlier pouring over the storybook and a couple others.”
“Which books?” Knowing her kid, wherever he is it probably has something to do with the damn curse.
“I’m not sure. Kids books from the looks of them. Ruby, you served him.”
Ruby shrugs apologetically. “It was busy. But yeah they looked like regular kids books - fairy tales and stuff. One had a picture of a ship in it. I only remember because he covered it when I came up to him.”
“A ship?” Ruby nods. “Maybe he went down to the docks?”
“Hey Leroy!” Granny calls and the gruff, stout man looks up in annoyance. “You see the Mills boy today?”
“Why would I be hanging around with kids? I ain’t a babysitter.”
“You’re looking for Henry?” David walks over to them, a tray of takeout cups in his hand. “Is he okay?”
“He’s missing. Have you seen him?”
“He came by the animal shelter about an hour ago. Wanted to know if we’d found any crocodiles.”
Crocodiles. “Did he say anything else?”
David frowns. “He wanted to know how long it took for my memories to come back. For the curse to work on me, I think is what he actually said. I don’t really know what he meant.”
Emma sighs, shoulders sagging in relief. “It’s okay. I do.” She knows where he is. “Thanks,” she nods at them all before heading back out to her car and heading down the road to Storybrooke General. She hasn’t been back since that horrible evening, since Killian swore she’d regret it. She almost did a few times, but her guilt got the better of her. Emma knows she did the right thing, but that doesn’t mean she feels any less crap for doing it.
She takes a deep breath, bracing herself for Killian’s anger and Henry’s inevitable tantrum before she goes down into the basement where the psychiatric ward is housed. She texts Regina that she found Henry and she’ll bring him home - if only for another way to stall a little longer.
The nurse at the front desk tells her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, there haven’t been any visitors, certainly not any kids. Emma nearly rolls her eyes, she knows her kid. He’d have found a way in, so she flashes her badge and continues on past reception. She’d expected to find Henry in or outside Killian’s room. What she hadn’t expected was to find him with a ring of keys in his hand, quickly trying each one while Killian watches through the window in his door, standing guard.
“Henry. What the hell are you doing?”
Her son freezes at the sound of his name, the small wince on his face telling her he knows he’s been caught. “Don’t be mad,” he says quickly.
“Don’t be mad? You’re trying to break a mentally ill patient out of the hospital,” she snaps, doing her best to not shout at him.
“I’m not ill,” Killian glares through the bars.
“Mom, we have to get him out! He’s in danger!”
“Kid,” she sighs, “I know you want to believe him but it’s not real. And if someone is trying to hurt him he’s a lot safer here than running around town.”
“But it is real!” he insists. “And if we don’t get him out of Storybrooke soon the curse will get him! Just like it did David.”
“David just got his memories back,” she tries to reason. “That had nothing to do with a curse.”
Henry shakes his head furiously. “No, it was the curse!”
“I -” Emma starts but he cuts her off.
“What about Graham?” he demands and her breath catches at the mention of his name. She doesn’t miss the way Killian’s head tilts with interest, noting her reaction.
Emma swallows. “What about Graham?” she asks weakly.
“He got his memories back and then he died.” The words are blunt and while she knows he doesn’t intend them to, they cut deep. “Killian can’t stay here so long as he knows the truth. Regina will either make him forget or she’ll kill him.”
“Henry,” she says softly, reaching out to brush a hand over his hair soothingly. How did she miss this? This whole time her son’s thought that his mother murdered someone he cared about. “Regina didn’t kill Graham. He had a heart attack.”
“No he didn’t!” he insists, stepping back from her. “And if we don’t get him out of here she’ll kill him too.” He sounds desperate, on the edge of tears - and resolute. She knows there’s no reasoning with him. Not now.
“Henry, go wait for me at the front desk,” she says firmly, playing the mom card she hates using with him and holding out her hand for the keys.”
“But -”
“Go. This isn’t a curse. This isn’t a game, okay - this is dangerous.” She glances up at Killian whose eyes narrow, hatred seething from his gaze. “Now,” she adds when he doesn’t move right away and Henry hands her the keys, dejected.
“I thought you believed me,” he says sadly before running off through the swinging doors. Emma sighs, heart breaking at having to hurt him. But this isn’t one of the fantasies she can indulge, not when there’s someone who could be put at risk as a result. It’s fine to let him believe Mary Margaret is a fairytale character, that she’s some fabled saviour. But feeding into a sick man’s delusions isn’t helping anyone.
“So what,” she says, looking up at Killian again. “You’re just going to manipulate a kid into helping you break out?”
He raises a brow at her, that anger still not leaving his eyes. “Your boy is the only sane one in this town.”
“He’s ten. He believes in fairytales.”
“The fairytales are true, love,” he bites. “You best start listening to the lad or there’ll be darkness coming for all of you.”
A chill runs down her spine. She knows it’s not real. It’s not. But listening to him, he believes every word of what he says and a small, terrified little voice in the back of her mind asks her what if he’s telling the truth. She shakes her head. Just because you believe something doesn’t make it true, she reminds herself.
“Stay away from my kid,” she warns.
“He sought me out. I can’t exactly go looking for him from this brig can I?”
“You’re not a prisoner,” she tries to reason.
Killian reaches a hand up to wrap around the bar on his window, eyeing her carefully, his smile is shrewd and laced with loathing. “I believed you the first time, Swan. Fool me once, shame on you.”
She doesn’t let herself take the bait. He can hate her. Emma can live with that. He just needs time to get better. He needs treatment and help, and if he still hates her after, well, she’ll have done everything she can - the right thing.
“Goodbye, Killian.” He doesn’t answer, only glares and she hates how much it bothers her to have him look at her like that when only a few days ago they’d agreed to trust one another. She’s doing the right thing, she reminds herself, even as her conviction falters every time she has to repeat it.
“Sheriff,” He calls, when she’s nearly at the doors, the title mocking, an insult on his tongue. She turns back. “Keep your boy close. There are things in this world you don’t understand.”
She hates the dread that settles in her stomach at his warning, the way it turns her blood cold and her skin hot. She’s not going to listen to a man who tried to get her son to break him out of a mental institution. But she can only just make out his face and she knows from the way he still seethes that the warning isn’t for her - it’s for Henry. And the worst part is, she believes him.
*****
“We have to help him, Mom,” Henry begs as they make their way down the dimly lit streets back towards the Mayor’s house. The street lights are flickering, every few minutes one going out entirely until they’ve gone past it and it stutters back to life. It’s eerie and if this wasn’t Storybrooke she’d be walking a hell of a lot faster, dragging her kid along behind her to safety.
They should have driven. But he’d been so worked up when Emma had found him in reception that she’d left her car at the hospital, opting to let him walk off some of the pent up energy before he got home and it exploded with Regina nearby. She couldn’t risk him bringing up anything about Operation Cobra around him, not when it would only give Regina more ammo to keep him away from her.
“We are helping him. The doctors are going to do everything they can.”
“But he’s not crazy! He needs to get out of Storybrooke.”
“What he needs is medication, and probably therapy. Henry, he believes some dark sorcerer is trying to kill him, okay? He thinks all the fairies and mermaids and magic stuff is real. He’s not well.”
His eyes go wide with hurt and anger. “I believe in all that magic stuff. Do you think I’m crazy? Are you going to lock me up in the psych ward too?”
“It’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re ten, he’s a grownup.”
“You’re a grownup,” he insists. “You said you believed me; you said you believed in the curse.” Henry looks at her with hope that quickly shifts into realisation, and then anger. “You lied! You think I’m crazy - just like Regina.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy. But Killian isn’t well.” She doesn’t know how to make him understand, not without crushing him and destroying their relationship. “Besides,” she says, remembering suddenly. “You told me he’s not in the book. How can he be from the Enchanted Forest if he wasn’t cursed?”
“Because he came after,” Henry explains.
“After? How? From where?”
He grins, clearly taking her questions to mean she believes him now and she can tell he’s proud to have figured something out. “Neverland.”
Emma frowns. “Neverland?”
“Think about it,” he pushes. “He’s afraid of kids and said a crocodile is after him, he had a sword - he only has one hand…” Henry raises his eyebrows at her and Emma squeezes her eyes shut in exasperation.
“You think he’s Captain Hook?”
“He is! You even said he was talking about mermaids and fairies. And that story about the Lovell house - three kids disappearing out the window… sound familiar?”
She has to admit that it does all fit together. Except that probably just means the guy saw the movie or read the book and based his delusions on that. The street lights flicker once again and Emma’s breath catches as Henry smirks.
“Do you believe me now?”
“I believe that he believes he’s Captain Hook, if that’s what he told you. But Peter Pan is a book, kid, not a fairytale. It was written by a guy who actually existed like a hundred years ago. It’s not the same as something like Snow White or Cinderella.”
“It’s still a story,” he argues. They’re rounding the corner of the pawn shop now, the sky seeming too dark for the time of night, the street lights dimming the longer they walk. They should have taken the car.
“Not every story is real. If so, how come we’ve never seen Godzilla running around?” she jokes, trying to lighten the mood and ignore the chill running through her as the wind picks up suddenly.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you. I just think you’re wrong about this one. You need to trust me, okay. We need to let the doctors handle Killian from here.”
“He is Captain Hook.” He’s resolved now, clutching his bag with the book to his chest as he sets his jaw in a way that’s unplaceable but familiar. He looks up suddenly, face hardening in determination. “And I can prove it.”
Before she can ask what he’s doing, he’s run off across the street, narrowly avoiding a lone car making its way down Main street. She has to stop as the car honks, stopping her from following him wherever he’s going. She stares off after the car, debating flipping whoever it is off, but then she catches sight of Henry’s retreating form and she realises where he’s headed.
The Lovell house.
Fuck.
“Henry!” she calls, running after him, but he ignores her, pushing open the front window and worming his way through the opening before she reaches the property. “Son of a bitch,” she mutters to herself. That place is a death trap. “Henry, come on,” she tries, through the window as she attempts to squeeze inside. It’s a tight fit and she only just makes it, even if it takes her twice as long as it did him.
By the time she’s inside, the place almost pitch black apart from the sparse traces of moonlight breaking through the windows and the cracks in the walls, he’s already across the entranceway, past the painting of the old Victorian family on the mantle. Three children, she notes. Not four like in the story. Henry hovers at the bottom of the staircase and she calls his name again.
“Don’t go up there,” she orders. “It’s too dangerous.” He only hesitates for a moment, looking up at the rickety steps, at the one she broke through a few days ago. Then he faces her, resolute.
“I need you to believe me,” he says before running at full speed up the stairs.
“Henry!” she yells as she hears the steps creak under his weight, one breaks off halfway up behind him and lands at her feet as she reaches the bottom. “Henry, come on! I believe you, okay?” she shouts up.
“No you don’t!” he shouts back as he reaches the top of the staircase and her heart can’t decide if it wants to stop racing because he’s safe or pound harder because she doesn’t know how she’ll get him back down.
God damn it, she wants to scream as she realises what she has to do. Setting one foot on the first step close to the edge where she hopes it’s sturdier, and grabbing on to the railing for dear life, she begins her slow ascent to the second floor. Every few steps, the wood groans under her weight or there’s a terrifying crack, but nothing breaks thankfully, including her neck.
Henry’s gone by the time she reaches the top and she shouts his name, her voice echoing eerily through the empty floor like it’s mocking her, answering from every room all at once. She hears footsteps echoing too, unable to tell where they’re coming from, but a kid’s for sure. She calls Henry’s name again and he still doesn’t answer. She knows where he’s going though, trying to picture the outside of the house, that window he spoke about in his story, and goes left.
There’s another small stairwell at the end of the hall, this one less dilapidated than the main staircase, curving and narrow and she hears the footsteps coming from the top. He is so grounded when she finds him. He’s gonna wish she let Regina handle it, she tells herself. Henry’s speaking, something she can’t make out and she frowns.
“I can’t hear you kid, but whatever you’re saying better be an apology,” she says before there’s a small shout and her heart drops. Emma sprints up the last few steps, hoping he hasn’t fallen right through the floor or cut himself on an exposed nail or broken piece of furniture. But the room is eerily silent, empty. “Henry?” she tries. Nothing.
She scrambles for her phone, turning on the flashlight and shining it into every corner. It’s a nursery, the old-fashioned kind where the kids would live until they were old enough for the parents to want them around. Three beds rest against the wall to her right, moth-eaten sheets and dust-covered cobwebs draped across them. The rest of the room is littered in old toys: a dollhouse that’s almost an exact replica of the one it’s in, swords and stuffed animals and costumes. There’s a dresser with a drawer left open, a pincushion forgotten atop it.
A cold sweat breaks out on the back of her neck. She understands why everyone thinks this place is haunted. With every corner she flashes her light into she expects to find a child, equally as dust covered and desiccated as the rest of the room watching her. Frozen in time, forgotten. But there are no children here, most importantly, not her own.
She’s about to leave the room, go looking for him somewhere else when she notices the bench across the room. Light pours onto it from the open window it’s built under, and onto the one thing in this whole house that doesn’t look a century old: Henry’s bag.
Emma runs to it, to the window that’s thrown wide open, thoughts so flooded with panic that she can’t hear a single one and she grabs it, leaning out over the edge to the street below, expecting to see the worse. But there’s nothing, no body like she feared and she wants to cry in relief, a small sob leaving her as the worst fear she’s ever felt in her life subsides.
“Henry!” she calls again, and still she’s met with no answer. She takes the bag, checking the room again, checking every other room in the house, making her way down the terrifying stairs. Nothing. There’s no sign of him. She knows her son. She may not have known him long but she knows him. He’s reckless, and stubborn, but he’s not stupid. He wouldn’t disappear on her without any explanation. Regina, maybe, but not her.
She takes out her phone, dials Regina’s number. “Is Henry with you?” she demands before his other mother can get a word in.
“No. I thought you said you found him.”
“He’s gone,” is all she can manage to say. “Henry’s gone.”
*****
The entire town gathers at the Lovell house, every inch of it scoured by everyone she’s met and some she hasn’t. An Amber Alert is dispatched. The streets are combed, classmates are called and woken up. A search party is formed and heads off into the woods. They look until the sun comes up, Henry’s name echoing through the streets of Storybrooke like a taunt, reminding her with every unanswered call that she lost him, this is her fault.
“We’ll find him,” Mary Margaret reassures her, handing her a cup of cocoa as Emma sits on the curb outside the Lovell house, clutching her son’s storybook in her lap. “He’ll come back.” Emma shakes her head, already fearing the worst. She doesn’t even know which worse scares her more, that he ran away, that he was taken, that he had an accident… “Remember he took off to find you a few months ago? He came back then.”
“Yeah but this isn’t him taking a bus to Boston,” she answers, somehow sounding both broken and harsh. “He’s trying to find Neverland, Mary Margaret.”
“Neverland?” Regina demands, appearing next to them. “Where the hell did he get that idea?” She looks at the book in her hands. “Is this your doing?” she glares. “You and that book again?”
“Regina,” Mary Margaret tries to interject. “This isn’t anybody’s fault.”
“Don’t defend her!” Regina snaps. “And don’t try and placate me; my son is missing!”
“Our son is missing,” Emma corrects her. “I want to find him too.”
The other woman glares. “How do I know you didn’t take him? That this isn’t all some ploy to run off with him?”
Emma feels like she’s been slapped and anger rises within her. “Because I wouldn’t keep him from the people he cares about,” she snaps back. If Regina wants a fight, she’ll get it.
“Stop it,” Mary Margaret jumps in, more boldly than she’s ever heard her speak. “Both of you lost him, both of you want Henry back. Stop fighting each other and work together. You’re the Sheriff and the Mayor for goodness sake. You have a better chance of finding him if you’d just put everything else aside for a minute!”
Both of them stare at her for a moment. She’s right. Emma knows she is. And as much as she hates it, Regina is better to have as an ally than an enemy right now. She turns to Henry’s other mother. “He went into that house because he was trying to prove that Neverland was real. He got it into his head that it was like the curse.” She makes a point to leave out the bit about Killian, not wanting to risk Regina going after him. “He thinks the ghost story everyone tells about this house is about the Darling children. You know, the ones from -”
“Yes, I’ve seen the movie,” she cuts her off harshly, brow pinched tight, lip curling in a snarl. “Neverland. Of all the… Keep everyone searching,” she orders, marching off.
“Where are you going?” Emma asks in disbelief. Apparently only she had decided to lay down her arms.
“To find my son!”
*****
Another hour passes, and still there’s no sign of Henry anywhere. “Can you have everyone sweep the town again now that it’s light out? And the woods?” she asks her friend. “I’m going to check the house. Maybe there’s a closet or something that was missed.”
She nods, “Be careful,” and heads over to speak to the teams that have assembled themselves. Emma’s about to head back into the Lovell house when she notices Regina. She looks carefully behind her, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her coat before she slips into Gold’s pawnshop. What the hell? she thinks, not giving much thought to her decision before she hurries down the street after her.
The shop is still dark, the open sign unlit and Emma peers through the window as discreetly as she can, doing her best to hide herself among the displays. Gold is there a small vial of something on the counter in front of him and wearing that unflappable, infuriatingly polite grin as the Mayor snaps at him. At least she’s pretty sure she’s snapping at him. Her face is twisted in that same way it always is when she talks to Emma and while she can’t hear what’s being said, she can hear the muffled sounds of her raised voice.
Regina’s hand comes down hard on the counter, making Emma jump. But Gold doesn’t flinch, his expression calm and collected if not a little annoyed as he answers her with dismissively raised brows. He must be the only person in this town besides herself who isn’t afraid of Regina. Her voice is louder now, just enough for Emma to catch ‘owe me’ and ‘my son’ and ‘get there’, before she storms out.
“What was that about?” Emma demands as the door is flung open. Regina startles, then glares when she sees her.
“That was none of your business, Miss Swan.”
“Like hell it’s not! I heard you talking about Henry. If you know where he is or how to get him back you have to tell me,” she insists, wondering if her authority in this town would have any influence over this woman.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. Henry is my son. I’ll get him back safely. You need to stay out of my way, this is all your doing after all,” she accuses.
“My doing?”
“Bringing him around that man. Did you even think about how dangerous that could be, how susceptible that boy is?” She’s angry now, angry enough that she looks panicked for a moment, like she’s said too much when Emma asks about the man. “Go back to your search party, Sheriff,” she dismisses, turning to walk off. Emma grabs her arm and Regina reels on her. “Get your hand off me!”
“How are you going to find him?”
Regina gives her a determined look, jaw setting harshly. “I’ll find a way,” she swears before ripping her arm from her grip.
Emma baulks at her as she takes off down the street. She knows something. She knows where Henry is, or she has an idea - and it’s not in Storybrooke. But whether or not she knows where he is, she doesn’t know how to find him, how to bring him home.
All your doing, bringing him around that man, Regina had said. Which man? Killian? But he’s locked in a cell in the basement of the hospital. She’d just left him there before Henry disappeared. He couldn’t have done it - he wouldn’t have done it. Only… she remembers the warning he gave her son a few days ago, stay away from that house, all the glimpses he shared of whatever he’d gone through, what other children had gone through.
He may have imagined everything, but maybe there was a grain of truth in it, some trauma that he fantasised to protect himself. No, Killian can’t have been the one to take him, but he might know who did. And she locked him up.
She runs back to the hospital, her car still in the parking lot where she left it last night, dashing past Dr. Whale who tries to stop her, past the receptionist in the basement who barely gets a chance to check her badge before Emma grabs the keys off the rings and continues down the hall. She reaches his room, banging on the door with her fist, and then again when there’s no answer.
“Killian!” she practically shouts, hearing sleepy groans of disapproval from the rooms around her.
“I can hear you, Sheriff, no need to shout,” he answers with an annoyed sigh. She looks through the barred window, craning her neck until she can see him sitting up on his bed, elbow resting on his raised knee like he couldn’t care less. They’ve changed him into a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt, but even still, dressed down and locked up, he looks ready for a fight. He only glances at her, barely giving her the time of day before he asks, “Rough night?”
“The place you talked about, with the boys and the fae berries, the one you escaped. Is it real?” He cocks his head at her, frowning.
“I believe you declared it wasn’t, did you not.”
“Killian. Is it a real place? Neverland,” she clarifies, hating how ridiculous it sounds. But if there are real people who took Henry to a real place somewhere near Storybrooke, she’ll feed into his fantasy and call it whatever he wants
He raises a brow, a small, knowing smile curling his lips as realisation dawns on him. “Ah, I see you’ve been speaking to your boy.”
“Is it real?”
“I fear to answer your question would only have me sent to some other, even more disagreeable brig. Seems to be a bit of a pattern -”
“Killian.” She knows she sounds desperate and he must hear it in her voice because he smirks, his face shifting as he realises he has the upper hand, confidence dripping from his words as he answers.
“Aye, it’s real.”
“Can you take me there?”
“I could,” he concedes, nodding before standing and walking over to the window, fingers wrapping around the bars. “But I won’t.”
“I need you to,” she starts but he shakes his head.
“No. I’ll never go back there,” he swears. “Not for all the world. I earned my freedom and I won’t be dragged back.”
“Please, Killian, I need your help.”
He glares. “And why should I help you? You’re the reason I’m here. I trusted you. No, I won’t make that mistake twice.”
“I saved your life,” she reminds him.
He laughs, a sharp, angry sound. “Aye, you did, though I don’t feel quite so inclined to return the favour at the moment.”
“Then just tell me how to get there,” she snaps. “If you won’t help me.”
Killian scoffs. “You couldn’t find your way even if he wanted you. Neverland is about belief, love,” he tells her, words cold and chosen to cut. “And you, you don’t believe in anything - not me, not in magic, not yourself. no, something or someone took that from you long ago didn’t they?” he asks, eyes casting over her from head to toe and smirking when she doesn’t answer, realising he’s right.
“You don’t even believe in your boy,” he taunts and the words twist in her like a hand closed over her heart. Killian grins, satisfied with his work and turns his back on her, clearly expecting her to leave, deciding she’s not worth any more of his time.
“They have Henry,” she tells him, grabbing the bars, and fighting the tears in her eyes as she makes one last, desperate attempt to get him to help her. He freezes. “Whoever they are, they took him.”
“What do you mean?” he demands, whirling on her, his own fingers closing around the bar below her, face close enough that she can feel his breath on her cheek even as he glares at her. “How? This better not be a trick -” he starts.
“It’s not a trick. He ran into the Lovell house to prove a point. I couldn’t get to him in time and then he was just… gone.” His gaze darts to the floor, calculating, deciding. “What do you know about that house?” she pushes.
“Nothing,” he tells her before his eyes lift to hers once more. “But I’ve known others like it.” She takes a chance, hoping that if nothing else, he’ll help her for Henry’s sake, and lifts the keys, unlocking the door and letting it swing open. He studies her. He could run if he wanted. She couldn’t stop him and he knows it.
“Please,” is all she says, trying to read the war raging behind the deep, conflicted blue staring back at her. His jaw ticks, fist clenching at his side and steps out.
“Come on. If he’s taken the boy… we don’t have much time.”
******
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A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken by what Emma swears (but can’t believe) was a shadow, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.
It’s still early when Emma makes her way down Main Street towards the pawn shop, most of the town still asleep - except of course her roommate who had been heading to school early every day this week, out of the house by the ungodly hour of seven. She’s not sure she believes her - some excuse about a science fair Henry never mentioned - but she has more important things to deal with this morning. She’ll ask Mary Margaret about it tomorrow.
Making her way past Granny’s, she notices David leaving, nudging the door open with his elbow, a coffee in each hand. He offers her a friendly but guilty smile and Emma nods back at him. She doesn’t have anything against the guy personally; it’s not his fault he broke her friend’s heart. But there’s something to be said about girl code, she reminds herself as she reaches the shop.
She doesn’t notice the glass until it crunches under her boot. Emma looks down, lifting her foot and noticing the shards that line the sidewalk just outside the door. Hand on the doorknob she notices the shattered pane in the window above it, patched up with cardboard and duct tape, and frowns. Another break-in? She double checks that she wore her holster today even though it looks like this happened a few days ago if Gold’s already patched it up. But he didn’t call her to report it and suspicion and intuition prickle at the back of her neck.
The bell above her head lets out a small chime when she enters the shop. “Good morning, Miss Swan,” Gold says, looking up from the ledger in front of him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” His grin is polite, as always, but she fights the urge to narrow her eyes at him, at the constant hint of sarcasm that always accompanies that smile. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, just barely hidden by his hair falling over it, but noticeable to someone used to looking.
“What happened here?” she asks, shutting the door behind her and crossing the shop cautiously. She can’t put her finger on it but something looks out of place. It’s not as if there’s ever been any real, discernable order to the store, but something just feels… off. She notices an empty display case, the glass missing where the others are locked shut and gives the owner a look she thinks might be a bit too accusatory.
Mr. Gold shrugs. “Local vandals.” His tone is dismissive. “Came in, took a thing or two. Nothing valuable.”
“And you didn’t think to report it?”
“They were teenagers from the high school. I came out of the back and scared them off - they must have thought the shop was empty. I didn’t want to get them into trouble. I’m sure you know better than most how devastating a run in with the law can be at such a young age.”
Emma bites the inside of her cheek at the sympathy mimicked in his tone, the knowing reminder hidden beneath it. “You didn’t have any trouble reporting Ashley when she broke in.”
“Ah, but you weren’t the law then, Sheriff,” he adds with a small, conspiratorial smile. She doesn’t believe him.
“They do that to you?” She nods at the cut on his forehead, bruising visible as he brushes his hair back to touch it, much worse than she originally assumed.
“This? No, no. That was another matter entirely. I was tidying in the back room and forgot my cane in the front of the store. I’m afraid my leg wasn’t up to it,” he explains, patting the leg in question. “I took a fall and hit my head on the desk.” Another lie. She eyes him suspiciously as he feins embarrassment, but it’s not as though she can do anything about it.
“Were you looking for something?” he asks then. Emma raises a brow in confusion and he sweeps a hand out towards the store. “A gift for the boy perhaps? I just got some books in that I think he might enjoy very much.”
Emma shakes her head. “No, um, thanks. I was actually hoping you might be able to help me find someone - or something.”
The corner of Gold’s lips twitch up. “How very cryptic and fascinating,” he muses. “I thought finding people was your specialty, Sheriff.”
A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken by what Emma swears (but can’t believe) was a shadow, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.
It’s still early when Emma makes her way down Main Street towards the pawn shop, most of the town still asleep - except of course her roommate who had been heading to school early every day this week, out of the house by the ungodly hour of seven. She’s not sure she believes her - some excuse about a science fair Henry never mentioned - but she has more important things to deal with this morning. She’ll ask Mary Margaret about it tomorrow.
Making her way past Granny’s, she notices David leaving, nudging the door open with his elbow, a coffee in each hand. He offers her a friendly but guilty smile and Emma nods back at him. She doesn’t have anything against the guy personally; it’s not his fault he broke her friend’s heart. But there’s something to be said about girl code, she reminds herself as she reaches the shop.
She doesn’t notice the glass until it crunches under her boot. Emma looks down, lifting her foot and noticing the shards that line the sidewalk just outside the door. Hand on the doorknob she notices the shattered pane in the window above it, patched up with cardboard and duct tape, and frowns. Another break-in? She double checks that she wore her holster today even though it looks like this happened a few days ago if Gold’s already patched it up. But he didn’t call her to report it and suspicion and intuition prickle at the back of her neck.
The bell above her head lets out a small chime when she enters the shop. “Good morning, Miss Swan,” Gold says, looking up from the ledger in front of him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” His grin is polite, as always, but she fights the urge to narrow her eyes at him, at the constant hint of sarcasm that always accompanies that smile. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, just barely hidden by his hair falling over it, but noticeable to someone used to looking.
“What happened here?” she asks, shutting the door behind her and crossing the shop cautiously. She can’t put her finger on it but something looks out of place. It’s not as if there’s ever been any real, discernable order to the store, but something just feels… off. She notices an empty display case, the glass missing where the others are locked shut and gives the owner a look she thinks might be a bit too accusatory.
Mr. Gold shrugs. “Local vandals.” His tone is dismissive. “Came in, took a thing or two. Nothing valuable.”
“And you didn’t think to report it?”
“They were teenagers from the high school. I came out of the back and scared them off - they must have thought the shop was empty. I didn’t want to get them into trouble. I’m sure you know better than most how devastating a run in with the law can be at such a young age.”
Emma bites the inside of her cheek at the sympathy mimicked in his tone, the knowing reminder hidden beneath it. “You didn’t have any trouble reporting Ashley when she broke in.”
“Ah, but you weren’t the law then, Sheriff,” he adds with a small, conspiratorial smile. She doesn’t believe him.
“They do that to you?” She nods at the cut on his forehead, bruising visible as he brushes his hair back to touch it, much worse than she originally assumed.
“This? No, no. That was another matter entirely. I was tidying in the back room and forgot my cane in the front of the store. I’m afraid my leg wasn’t up to it,” he explains, patting the leg in question. “I took a fall and hit my head on the desk.” Another lie. She eyes him suspiciously as he feins embarrassment, but it’s not as though she can do anything about it.
“Were you looking for something?” he asks then. Emma raises a brow in confusion and he sweeps a hand out towards the store. “A gift for the boy perhaps? I just got some books in that I think he might enjoy very much.”
Emma shakes her head. “No, um, thanks. I was actually hoping you might be able to help me find someone - or something.”
The corner of Gold’s lips twitch up. “How very cryptic and fascinating,” he muses. “I thought finding people was your specialty, Sheriff.”
“It is.” Emma settles her hands on her hips, cocking her head as she meets his gaze. “But everyone knows that nothing goes on in this town without you knowing about it.”
He looks genuinely pleased if not a little smug. “Well, I do like to keep my ear to the ground. What exactly is it you’re looking for? Or whom?”
“Has anyone new come into town recently? Anyone… strange?
“I assume you’re not referring to the one-handed vagrant?”
“You know about him?” she frowns.
“I believe all of Storybrooke knows about him. He caused quite a scene at the hospital from what I heard. Dangerous sort,” he shakes his head and she thinks she imagines the way his lip twitches before settling into its natural frown. “That kind of madness, it… consumes the mind.”
“You’re saying that like you know him.”
“I’ve seen it before.” His shrug is noncommittal, but he looks away, lost in thought.
“In who?”
“I lived many years before you came to Storybrooke, Miss Swan, and not just here. Seen a great deal more as well, I’d assume.”
Emma eyes him for a moment, wondering if he’s going to add anything, but when he stays silent she asks, “Have you heard anything about ‘The Boy’?”
He does smile this time. “There are several boys in Storybrooke, most of which you could find just across the alley out back at the school. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Not a boy. The boy. I think it’s an alias of some kind.”
“A rather silly one if you ask me,” he comments.
“So no?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Emma takes a step closer. The break-in, the shattered case, the obvious blow to his head, none of it fits. Or it all does - she just doesn’t know what yet. “What about The Crocodile?”
She sees it, the small darkening in his eyes, a fraction of a second. “Another alias?” he asks, but the question is more forced this time. Emma nods and Gold shakes his head. They’ve entered some kind of weird staring contest that she’s not sure who started, but she won’t be the one to break first. “These sound like the delusions of a madman,” he tells her. “I don’t know that you should be wasting valuable police time on fantasies. Surely there are more important matters to occupy the sheriff’s time.”
Emma nods, leaning on the other side of the counter now. “I forgot that your store shares the alley out back with the Lovell house,” she ventures as casually as she can. “Did you see anything, or hear anything that night? The night we found the stranger.”
“Afraid not.”
“You’re sure? He was pretty beat up. It doesn’t seem like something that would have happened quietly.”
“I wish I could help you, but I’d already locked up and gone home by then.”
Emma nods. “Is that the night you had the break-in?”
“Last night,” he corrects.
She looks around. “You cleaned up pretty fast.”
He sighs, starting to get a little annoyed and she has to try not to smirk. “I’m an early riser, and I take pride in my shop. Now if there’s nothing else…”
“Of course.” She knows he’s lying about something - and he knows it too. “Have a good day, Mr. Gold.”
“You as well. Sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance.”
“No problem.”
“And, Miss Swan,” he calls when she’s reached the door and Emma turns back. “I’ll be sure to keep my ear to the ground… should any crocodiles come wandering through town.”
Emma smiles, the same polite sarcastic one he favours. “Thanks.”
***
The sound of the TV resonates from the room as Emma makes her way to the door. She smiles at Ashley, sitting in the waiting room with her newborn, in for a checkup. She stops to nod at the guard still posted outside the door, offers to let him go for a coffee break while she’s there, and he eagerly accepts.
“So this black box tells stories at all times?”
“Yep.”
“And are the people inside the box?”
Emma frowns before a voice answers. “No. They’re recorded - like before. This is just them replaying it.” She knows that voice. What the hell is -
“Henry?” she demands, walking in to see her son sitting on the chair next to Killian’s bed holding the remote.
“Hi!” he beams.
“What are you doing here? You should be in school!”
“It’s a PD day.”
“What? No it’s not. Mary Margaret went in this morning.”
“Yeah,” he answers in that ‘duh, mom’ tone she’s sure will only get worse as he gets older. “Teachers still work. We get the day off.”
“Okay, but what are you doing here?” she asks, looking between him and the man who may or may not be crazy - who may or may not be prone to violent outbursts - the man who is sitting very still and silent as she interrogates her son.
“I wanted to see Killian. And you wouldn’t let me, so I came myself.” Killian. They’re on a first name basis already.
Emma sighs, pinching her temples between her thumb and middle finger. “Does Regina know you’re here?”
“Yes,” he says quickly and she raises a brow at him.
“You remember I know when I’m being lied to, right?” Henry looks slightly abashed and Killian cocks his head in interest. “Where’s your mom, kid?”
“She’s at work,” he shrugs.
“Hang on,” Killian interrupts, frowning between the two of them. “You said the Sheriff was your mother.”
“She is. I have two moms. Regina adopted me, but she’s actually the Evil Queen and she trapped everyone here. Emma’s my real mom and she’s here to break the curse. Only she can tell about the lies though. Regina believes what she wants to.”
The man looks at her now for an explanation. “It’s complicated.”
“Right. The lad came looking for you. He asked to wait here until you arrived.”
Emma narrows her eyes at Henry, knowing he absolutely didn’t come here looking for her. Henry only smiles sheepishly. “Henry, Killian needs his rest. You can’t just come in and -”
“But he’s not in the book!”
“What?” Kilian frowns again.
Emma gives Henry another look and he shuts his mouth before what was definitely going to be another rant about the curse and the storybook.
Killian clears his throat. “I don’t mind,” he says softly. “I thought it was better he be here than out on his own… Your son was just showing me how to work the black story box.”
If Emma keeps frowning like this she’s going to end up with permanent wrinkles. “You mean the TV?” He’s never seen a TV before? Both of them nod and Emma shakes her head. She’ll tackle that weird development later. “Come on,” she says, reaching her hand out to Henry. “We gotta get you home before Regina finds out you’re gone and tries to kill me.”
“But mom -”
“Henry…”
“Please? I promise I’ll go home before she does!”
“I have to ask Killian some questions about what happened to him, kid. This is work.” The man raises a brow at the mention of his name.
“I’ll be quiet,” he swears. Yeah right.
Emma looks at the man in the hospital bed who gives her a small shrug and she sighs. “Fine.” Her son beams and it almost makes it worth how much she’s going to regret this. “One hour. Then you’re going home.” She pulls up another chair, sitting next to Henry who is already reaching into his bag for his storybook.
“Did you remember anything new?” she asks Killian hesitantly. “About what happened that night?”
“Only that I went looking for the Crocodile. And I found him.” He looks away, gaze darkening even as Henry perks up beside him.
“You did? What happened?”
He stares at his blunted wrist for a long moment before answering quietly. “It doesn’t matter. The boy lied. It was all for naught.”
“What was?” He doesn’t answer and she tries to bite back her frustration. “So he’s in town?”
“Aye.”
“Where?”
“I told you it doesn’t matter.”
“Is he in the Lovell house?” Henry jumps in.
“The what?”
“The Lovell house. The big fancy broken down one. That’s where Mom found you, right?”
“Aye,” he says again, tone softening as he turns to her. “I remember that.”
“Maybe it was a ghost,” her kid continues.
Killian is fighting a smile as he asks, “a ghost?”
“Yeah. Everyone knows the place is haunted.”
“Henry. That’s just an old local legend. I’ve heard about five different versions of it since I got here.”
“He hasn’t.”
Killian seems more inclined to humour her son than she is. “What legend?”
“They say there used to be a family who lived there, like two hundred years ago.” Emma wants to point out that the town isn’t even that old but fights the urge when she sees how lit up he is telling his story. “They were very rich and had three kids. Or four depending on the version.”
“Which is your favourite?”
Henry grins. “They had four kids. But the oldest one died when he was still little, before the others were born.” Emma nearly groans. Of course her son likes the creepiest version of the ghost story most. The fact that he doesn’t get nightmares - that anyone thought it was a good idea to tell this version to a ten year old - is startling.
“So there were three left. But the fourth kid, the first kid, didn’t like that his parents had new kids and that they’d replaced him. And he didn’t want to leave or give up his family.” Killian nods obligingly. “So they say that one night, the parents went out and the kids were left at home and the ghost of the first son came back and convinced the other three to climb out the window - the one way up at the top of the tower -” he emphasises. “So that they could play together forever.”
The expression that crosses Killian’s face makes Emma pause even as Henry continues to tell the bit about how the parents came home and found them and there were now four ghost children. There’s a recognition in his eyes, like he’s heard this story before, and his expression which had been amused falls, that same look there again as in the cafeteria, dread.
“The parents abandoned the house and nobody ever took it over. But they say that sometimes, you can still see the shadow of the Lovell kids’ ghost in the window, and that if you go up there, they’ll drag you right out of it.”
“It’s just an old ghost story,” Emma cuts in quickly when she sees the way Killian’s hand fist at his side, knuckles going white. “That was made up to keep kids from going into a dangerous, condemned building.” Although, if anything, it’s encouraged kids to go up there - on dares, to prove themselves. His breathing is shallow, shoulders tensed and Emma puts her hand over his, almost jumping back when he flinches before recognizing her. “It’s not real.”
He swallows, nodding but still not focused. He’s somewhere else and she’s not sure how to pull him back. “I think you told your story a little too well, kid.”
“Sorry,” Henry says bashfully and Emma can finally feel the fingers in her grip beginning to relax. “It really is just a scary story… Nobody really believes it.”
“I think maybe he could use some cocoa, what do you think?” Emma asks then, her son nodding. “Think you can go get him some?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be right back,” and hurries out the door.
She turns back to Killian, curling her fingers around his and placing another hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” He takes a heavy breath, shaky, and then another, more even, nodding, a little more certain. “It really is a creepy story.” But there’s more to it, she knows there is from the way he looks at her. “You mentioned before, about a boy, and the little girls. Did the story…”
“Aye,” he agrees and she’s relieved to hear him speak.
“I’m sorry. Does having Henry here make you uncomfortable?” she ventures.
He shakes his head. “No. He’s a good lad.”
“And these people, the ones who did those horrible things, are they…”
“Not here,” he sighs, like it’s finally hitting him for the first time, the relief so immense she can see it like a wave, releasing his muscles one at a time as it rolls through him. “At least not now.”
But before she can ask him what he means by that, Henry returns with a plastic cup clutched carefully in his hand.
“Here,” he says by way of apology. “The machine was broken, but I swiped some jello off a tray.” He hands Killian the cup who slips his fingers from beneath hers to take it, inspecting the wobbly blue contents, poking at it with the spoon Henry stuck inside.
“Thank you.” Killian takes tentative bite, making and then hiding a face that Emma almost snorts at, realising he must not be a sweet-tooth kinda guy.
“Everyone likes Jello,” Henry declares with the certainty of a ten year old who would eat sugar with a spoon if he was allowed.
“I feel better already.” He sets it down, pretty far away.
“Maybe it’s time to get you home,” she suggests. “Give Killian some time to rest.” To her surprise, Henry agrees, getting his bag and putting his book inside. “You’ll be alright without us?” He nods. “Smith has my phone number. He can call me if anything changes.” Killian looks horribly confused but she’s not sure which bit she needs to explain.
“Bye, Killian,” Henry waves. “Thanks for letting me hang out!” The man smiles fondly at him, something melancholic in his eye that tugs at her heart and she wonders if he has children - if he ever did.
“Let’s go,” she says, wrapping her arm around her son’s shoulders, and giving Killian her own wave.
“Henry!” he calls suddenly right as they’re about to leave, making Emma jump. His eyes are unsettled again, not frantic like they were when he heard the story, but sombre and disquiet. There’s a long, weighted pause before he warns, “Stay away from that house.”
Her son stares at him for a long moment, both of them stoic, something she can’t understand passing between them, until finally, Henry nods solemnly.
***
“Have you looked at the Lovell house?” Henry asks as they make their way across town to Regina’s. “For like, clues and stuff?”
Emma shakes her head. “No. I found him out back. And I was inside the house that night. He wasn’t there.”
“Why were you there?” He eyes her suspiciously, like she’s working on some covert operation without him.
“Breaking up a party.”
“Did you see any ghosts?”
She half smiles. “You think I’d see a ghost and not tell you?”
Henry looks pleased, then concerned as he asks, “The story really scared him, huh? Do you think he saw a ghost when he was there?”
“He wasn’t in there,” she reminds him. “And I don’t think it was the ghosts that scared him…”
“What do you mean?”
Emma shrugs, not sure how to explain something she doesn’t even fully understand to her ten year old. “I think it had something to do with the kids being taken away.”
“Why would he be scared of that?” he asks, brow pulling down in a confused frown.
“Because… Sometimes when people have really bad things happen to them, they get scared of stuff that reminds them of it, even if they’re safe now. Does that make sense?”
Henry nods thoughtfully. “Is that why he was scared of me?”
“Of you?” He only nods and Emma thinks back to the other day, when he’d pulled a sword on her, when he’d swung around and seen Henry there, how he’d frozen. “Why do you think he was afraid of you?”
“He jumped out of bed and ran across the room when I woke him up.”
“When you…” She sighs, pinching her temples again. “Henry, you can’t just go waking hospital patients up. Of course you scared him.”
Henry shakes his head. “It wasn’t just that. He…” he frowns looking for words to explain emotions beyond his comprehension. “He looked like Graham. After I showed him the book.”
Graham’s name slices through her sharply, all the pain of his loss coming back at once for a moment, nearly cutting her in half with the grief. Her fingers find the boot laces wrapped around her wrist, remembering that horrible, final moment when he’d collapsed in her arms, dead before he hit the ground. She often wonders if she could have changed things, if she’d paid attention when he’d come to her the days before, when he’d gone to Henry for help because nobody else would listen. Maybe she can avoid repeating the same mistake.
“What happened?” Her voice is weaker than she’d like and she hopes he can’t hear it.
“I asked if he’d seen you and told him you were my mom,” he shrugs. “Then I asked if I could wait there for you and he said okay. I still can’t figure out who he is though,” he adds, right back into Operation Cobra. “I’ll check the book again tonight,” Henry promises as they reach the Mayor’s house, shouting “bye, Mom!” running around the back to sneak in.
Emma makes her way back down the street, planning to spend the day canvassing the neighbourhood for new leads. She can’t shake the image of Killian’s face from her mind, or the thought that she’s missing something, something big. It feels like some huge, obvious piece of the puzzle is missing and she just can’t find it. Who is he and where did he come from? Who was he running from?
Something happened that night and someone in Storybrooke must have seen or heard something. This town is too small for no one to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. This could be the first time everyone’s nose being in everyone else’s business might be a good thing.
She’s into her millionth hour of going door to door, the sun starting to get low in the sky - she really needs to hire a deputy - nobody having seen anything strange apart from Leroy. He’d grumbled about a boat being moored at the docks in the middle of the night which wasn’t there in the morning. She’s there looking for any sign of the boat when she gets the phone call.
“Sheriff?” It’s Smith, his voice sounds hesitant.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “The patient, he’s uh, he’s asking for you.”
“Why? Is everything okay?”
“I think so. I mean, nobody showed up and he didn’t try to run away. He says he wants to talk to you.”
“Did you ask him about what?”
“Yeah. But he just asked if I was ‘a golden haired, tempestuous sheriff in a red leather jacket’,” he quotes. “Guy’s got a hell of an attitude.” Emma tries to fight her smile.
“I’ll be right there.”
***
“Swan,” he greets her when she gets to the hospital room. He’s standing next to the bed where she left him and she’s relieved that he’s holding up his promise not to try to escape again. His face is twisted in a grimace as he tries to contort his body. “Bloody thing. Bloody ribs,” he mutters.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to get this damnable robe off. It’s sweltering.”
“What? Does leather breathe better?” She starts to laugh as he struggles but then stops herself when he shifts and lets out a small groan of pain, hand coming to his ribs as he clenches his teeth. “Here, let me help,” she insists, coming over to help him shrug the thing off carefully.
She can hear the smirk in his voice even as she stands behind him. “I knew you were desperate to undress me.” The fact that he can flirt with her while struggling to get out of a hospital bathrobe is astounding and she shakes her head. As she slides the sleeve off his arm though, she can’t help but notice the tattoo on above his wrist. Milah.
“Okay, Cassanova. I think they need to adjust your pain meds,” she points out when she notices him wincing again, his arms finally free.
“Killian.”
“What?”
“Killian, not Cassanova,” he corrects her.
“No, that’s not - he’s… Nevermind.”
She helps him back onto the bed, the groan he lets out making her worry. “Thank you,” he says as the pain starts to ease from his brow.
“Okay?” she asks and he nods.
The TV is still on, some soap opera playing in the background. She raises a brow. “You figured the TV out?”
“Aye,” he says. “Your boy showed me how to work it but I lost the bloody device that turns it off.”
“I can do that for you,” she offers, moving to get up and turn it off manually.
“No, no,” he says quickly and she pauses. “I’m interested to know if the gentleman will wake from his coma in time to find out he’s the child’s father… What?” he asks when she bites her lip hard against the laugh that wants to bust out.
“Nothing,” she shakes her head. “I just didn’t peg you as a soap fan.”
“Excuse you, I bathe quite frequently actually,” he insists. Then his tone switches from offended to flirtatious once again. “Though if you’re offering to help,” he raises a brow.
Emma rolls her eyes again. “The show is called a soap. Stands for a soap opera.”
Killian hums, giving her a well practised smirk. “Hmm, well the offer still stands if you’re so inclined,” he suggests, leaning towards her and she has a quip ready to throw back at him but he’s suddenly crying out and laying back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut and gasping in pain.
“I’ll get the nurse to come adjust your meds.”
“Don’t bother,” he breathes out roughly. “I’ve lived through worse than this,” he tells her, raising his left wrist.
“Doesn’t mean you have to again. Let me -”
“Don’t,” he says more firmly. “I want my mind clear.”
Emma frowns at him. “What for?” she asks, sitting down in her chair.
“The house from your boy’s story, I’d like you to take me there.”
That catches her off guard. She settles her elbows on her knees, eyes him. “Why? What do you think you’ll find there?”
“Answers,” he says soberly.
“Answers to what?” He presses his mouth into a hard line. “You can’t keep avoiding my questions forever, Killian,” she sighs, growing frustrated. “If you want to get out of here, you’ve got to give me something.”
“I thought I wasn’t your prisoner.”
“I’m the only reason you’re not a prisoner right now,” she almost snaps. “So just… tell me why I should keep helping you. I want to keep helping you, but I can’t if you don’t help me.” He’s silent again, watching her out of the corner of his eyes, face unreadable. So she pushes. “Who’s Milah?” His face hardens, jaw tensing and nostrils flaring and Emma almost regrets asking.
“Someone from long ago.”
“What happened to her?”
Killian’s hand goes to his wrist, fingers pressing into the scarred tissue as her own had with Graham’s bracelet and she knows before he answers that she died. “He took her.”
“Who did?”
“The bastard who took my hand.”
“The Crocodile?” she guesses, realising she’s finally getting somewhere.
He nods, expression darkening. “I came to this land to kill him,” he confesses. “But he got the better of me.” This Land? Storybrooke? America? Every answer brings up a hundred more questions.
“How?”
“Magic.” The word is like a blow to her chest. Magic, like the magic Henry insists is real from his storybook. There has to be some explanation. He can’t mean that he really thinks… “The boy promised he’d be powerless here,” Killian continues. “That this realm had no magic. But he lied, and now he thinks he can take me back. But he can’t. That wasn’t our agreement.”
“Killian.” He looks at her finally. “Who is the Crocodile?”
“The Dark One,” he spits. “The most powerful sorcerer to ever live. I’ve hunted the bloody coward for nearly three hundred years trying to find a way to destroy him.”
Her heart is racing. Shit. Shit. All of it, the Crocodile, the people after him, it’s all… “What about the Boy? The one who said he’d help?”
“The demon child who’s been the bane of my existence these last three centuries. Everyone yields his command. Even the bloody sea bends to his whims.There’s no escaping him - but I did,” he says harshly, fist clenching.
“Who’s everyone?” she ventures, a last, desperate grab at some sort of explanation, something other than his having lost his mind completely.
“The boys, the mermaids, even the fae are powerless against him.” Fuck.
“And why do you think you’ll find answers at the Lovell house?”
“The shadow. There are places that his shadow is drawn to. If I can catch it, then I can stop him - from ever coming here again, from ever dragging me back.”
Emma feels as though a hole has been dug in her chest, an empty, hollow place where her hope used to be, her belief in him and the idea that she could fix this. Now there’s nothing but disappointment, but a dull ache. Mary Margaret was right. She can see it in his eyes now, he hasn’t lied. He believes every word of the insane story he’s just told her.
She nods, placing her hand on his arm. “I’ll help you,” she promises, and his relief breaks her heart. “I just need to step out for a sec, okay? Check on something.”
The walk to the door feels long, horrible, the weight of everything that’s happened this week heavy on her shoulders as she shuts it behind her and turns to Smith. “Get some orderlies up from the basement, tell them to get a room ready. Quickly.”
He doesn’t ask questions, only radios someone as she stands silently next to him and waits the five minutes it takes for four broad shouldered, heavily built men in white scrubs to find her. “He’s in here,” she tells them, her own voice sounding far away to her ears as she leads them inside.
“Swan?” he asks, shoulders tensing as the men follow her inside. “What are you doing?” She can hear the doubt in his voice, the undertone of panic, then she sees the anger flare in his eyes as the men approach him. “Unhand me!” he shouts at them. “Swan!” she doesn’t answer and his voice becomes sharply cold in its steadiness. “You said I could trust you.”
“I’m just trying to help you, I promise,” she says weakly, his words ripping into her and tearing out pieces she didn’t know he’d left behind. “But, Killian, none of this is real. You have to realise that.”
“You’re making a mistake. Look at me,” he snaps, an edge of desperation in his voice as the men get him to his feet, his eyes almost pleading with her. “Have I told you a lie?”
Her heart breaks again. “Just because you believe something is real, doesn’t mean it is.”
She sees the moment he shuts down, whatever bond or trust had been built between them eviscerated as he looks at her with a coldness she’s only seen reserved for the monsters from his fantasies. “You’ll regret this, Swan,” he warns, struggling once more to free himself from the orderlies’ grasp, face twisting in pain before he glares at her. “Mark my words. You’ll regret it.”
****
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Even after all they’ve been through, she’s still getting used to how easy it is to just be with him because they’re not just sex, the usual urge to run away after a night full of pleasure never crosses her mind when she’s with him. Set in an undefined timeline of the series.
The first rays of sunshine bring her back to consciousness as they break through the thin curtain, and she lets out a short breath because yes, they forgot to close the blinds again. She keeps her eyes closed and focuses on the steady beats of his heart under her palm, her fingers glide through his chest hair almost involuntarily.
He lets out a puff of air and she suppresses a smile, burying her face in his collarbone, inhaling his familiar scent laced with her strawberry shampoo. She suppresses a smile.
She loves waking up before him (which is a rare occurrence considering his built-in alarm clock thanks to his Navy days that usually rouses him at the ass crack of dawn).
His arm then tightens around her (because he can always sense when she’s starting to wake up) and shift her closer, her bare chest molds to his sleep-warmed body. His right hand finds hers on his chest, engulfing it and stroking over her fingers with his thumb once, twice in a gesture that distinguishes him just as equally as his accent or the timbre of his voice.
He pulls her closer, his left arm sneaking under her hip and blunted wrist settling on her back, his nose nuzzling into her hair with a languorous inhale.
“Good morning,” she whispers, and gentle lips brush against her temple. “Sleep well?”
His nod is faint against her head, just enough that the stubble on his chin and jaw brush against her skin. She squirms a bit and feels him smile, his leg winding over hers to keep her still. His hand finds hers on his chest, tangling their fingers together. She tucks their intertwined hands under her chin, and his thumb frees itself to caress her cheek.
She never thought her favorite thing would be to wake up with Captain Hook.
Even after all they’ve been through, she’s still getting used to how easy it is to just be with him because they’re not just sex, the usual urge to run away after a night full of pleasure never crosses her mind when she’s with him. Set in an undefined timeline of the series.
The first rays of sunshine bring her back to consciousness as they break through the thin curtain, and she lets out a short breath because yes, they forgot to close the blinds again. She keeps her eyes closed and focuses on the steady beats of his heart under her palm, her fingers glide through his chest hair almost involuntarily.
He lets out a puff of air and she suppresses a smile, burying her face in his collarbone, inhaling his familiar scent laced with her strawberry shampoo.
She loves waking up before him (which is a rare occurrence considering his built-in alarm clock thanks to his Navy days that usually rouses him at the ass crack of dawn).
His arm then tightens around her (because he can always sense when she’s starting to wake up) and shift her closer, her bare chest molds to his sleep-warmed body. His right hand finds hers on his chest, engulfing it and stroking over her fingers with his thumb once, twice in a gesture that distinguishes him just as equally as his accent or the timbre of his voice.
He pulls her closer, his left arm sneaking under her hip and blunted wrist settling on her back, his nose nuzzling into her hair with a languorous inhale.
“Good morning,” she whispers, and gentle lips brush against her temple. “Sleep well?”
His nod is faint against her head, just enough that the stubble on his chin and jaw brush against her skin. She squirms a bit and feels him smile, his leg winding over hers to keep her still. His hand finds hers on his chest, tangling their fingers together. She tucks their intertwined hands under her chin, and his thumb frees itself to caress her cheek.
She never thought her favorite thing would be to wake up with Captain Hook.
She also never would have guessed he was a huge cuddler, all soft whispers and tender kisses in the morning. He likes everything quiet, unhurried, unstressed, and un-everything that used to define the typical chaos of a pirate captain’s life.
When they eventually make it out of bed and start the day, the teases and taunts, rolled eyes and flirty smirks appear. But she can’t fault him for something she actually enjoys now that she can freely return his innuendo-filled jokes. She likes that she’s the only one who gets to experience the Killian Jones that is underneath all the black leather and pirate swag.
She wiggles a little so his hold loosens, allowing her to scoot further up the pillow so their noses almost touch. His eyes stay closed, black eyelashes swept down and she slips her arm under his head and palm on his shoulder so now she’s the one holding him. He never resists her in the morning, snuggling into the space beneath her chin so his lips rest lazily against her collarbone. He gives her one small kiss when she threads her fingers into his already disheveled hair, her nails massaging his scalp in a perfected pattern that practically makes him purr.
Her lips press against his forehead, and he hums happily in response.
“Did you have a good dream?” she asks and his right arm over her waist moves, one fingertip trailing a line from the top of her ribs down to her hip before it re-settles on her stomach. “Victorious swashbuckling tales and chests full of gold?” She teases and he lets out a soft growl into her neck, rolling his hips into her.
She gasps at the feeling and then she’s on her back, cuddling a sleepy Killian with dawn coming in through the windows, and this was totally not how she imagined his next move. Even after all they’ve been through, she’s still getting used to how easy it is to just be with him because they’re not just sex, the usual urge to run away after a night full of pleasure never crosses her mind when she’s with him.
“A replay of last night, then?” A nod. “Very nice,” she says and presses a kiss into his hair.
“Amazing,” he mumbles, and she smiles. Her hand leaves his hair to cup his jaw, tilting him up so she can see his eyes flutter open for a brief moment.
“There he is,” she beams at him and gets her first taste of his lips, pressing her mouth to his as delicately as possible. They linger a little longer than they will later in the day, the pressure just enough to promise that whatever they face when they leave the room, they will come back here at the end.
She releases him so he can return to burrowing into her like she knows he wants to, his feet kicking off the sheet and comforter in the process. She sucks in a breath as goosebumps erupt over her skin under the blast of frigid air. He knows how cold she gets, but he’s always complaining that she’s a furnace, and the war of the blankets has only become more intense as time goes by.
She scrabbles for a sheet, but he dramatically yawns and rolls further on his stomach so he’s fully on top of her, the weight of his chest pinning her to the bed.
“So much better,” he sighs.
“Killian…” she complains, the comforter just beyond her fingertips.
“One would think…” he starts and pauses to yawn, for real this time. “You’re still stuck in that bloody ice cave. Unnatural…”
“Killian, please. I’m freezing!” She whimpers and he huffs before reaching for the blanket, his longer arm easily making up the distance she couldn’t cross. He pulls the comforter up and tucks the edges in over the top of her shoulders, almost covering his head from where it’s resting on her chest.
“Thank you,” she breathes in relief.
And all she gets in return is a grumpy sounding, ‘Mm-hmm.”
Once her shivers are finally gone, she brings her hands up and starts massaging his shoulders, paying special attention to the knots he gets in his neck from stress and what she thinks is actually a byproduct of tilting his head at people so freaking much. He stretches and turns his head, granting her the angles she needs, while a low rumble vibrates through his chest. It’s not often that he lets her take care of him, and she tries to make the most of it.
She listens as his breaths relax, so rhythmic that they almost put her to sleep. In fact, she thinks he may have drifted back off. She continues anyway until his muscles are loose under her hands, yielding to her suggestions without the slightest opposition.
When she’s satisfied with his comfort and comes to a gradual stop, he doesn’t seem to register it, and now she knows he’s asleep. Her eyes are just dropping closed when his left arm twitches, always the second part of his body that wakes up. She doesn’t think the first part really goes to sleep. He grumbles a moan and rubs his cheek against her, the feeling of his beard sends shivers down her body. He inhales her scent with the corner of his mouth perking up.
“Feel good?” She asks and he nods dozily, pressing a kiss against the curve of her breast. “You about ready to get up?”
His grin grows and she rolls her eyes, but doesn’t miss the scratch of his jaw when he shakes his head no.
“We gonna stay in bed all day?”
His nod is more enthusiastic than she expected it to be, and she can’t help but to laugh quietly.
“You sure you don’t want to go out? Visit the Jolly and teach me how to tie a proper knot?” She asks and starts combing through his hair.
“Gonna have to teach you inside,” he mutters into her skin. “It’s going to rain.”
“Nuh-uh. It’s supposed to be sunny all day.”
He works his right hand out from beneath the covers and holds three fingers. He takes them down to two, then one, and the moment his hand drops back to the bed a crack of thunder strikes outside.
“How did you do that?” She whispers, and his chest shakes against her belly in a silent chuckle.
“Once you’ve been a seafaring man for hundreds of years, you can just feel the pressure, darling,” he says and yawns again, not seeing her blush before she does her best to hide it.
She nods dutifully so he doesn’t look up and bust her for being overly happy at the endearment, going back to focusing on his hair.
“You need a haircut again,” she tells him, and he bats half-heartedly at her hands.
“No.”
“What? I didn’t say I was planning on doing it.”
He lifts his head so his chin is centered on her sternum, his skeptical gaze on a low simmer compared to what she’s received in the past. She bites her lip against a grin and he lays back down, not mentioning out loud what happened the last time she told him he needed a haircut. And then convinced him she could do it.
She winces at the memory. It’s a good thing his hair grows so fast.
“I’ll go tomorrow,” he says, and she doesn’t argue, just focusing on the patter of the rain starting against the windows. But she thinks he takes her silence for something else because he glances up at her again, and even though she smiles sweetly his face falls. The next thing she knows, he’s crawling further up and over her, plopping down on his side and shifting her so she’s curled up against his chest.
“I wanted to watch the rain,” she pouts at him, and with a roll of his eyes, he slides her over his body so she’s snuggled against his left side, facing the windows again. He pulls the blankets back up and straightens them from where they came loose, making sure she’s covered.
“Better?” He asks quietly, and she nods. “Good.”
They don’t speak for a long time, both of them silent as they watch the rain. His stump starts sliding down and back from her shoulder to her waist and she knows he doesn’t like when she’s on his left side because he can’t caress her properly, but he still abided by her whining and it’s not like she cares about it. It’s nice anyway, and she loves him more for it. He trails a line over her skin until all she knows is the sound of water on glass and his touch.
“Weather permitting,” he starts softly when he does speak, “you want to have dinner at that probably terrible restaurant you’ve been eyeing since it opened, recover with some drinking and watching something on the moving picture box?”
She stifles a chuckle because for the life of him he can’t memorize “television”, but he doesn’t mention, probably knowing how his nicknames for modern technology amuses her.
But she blushes when the rest of his words form a sentence in her mind. One of the things she never expected to learn when they actually got together is that Killian likes to date. And not in a let-me-buy-you-a-drink-and-get-you-into-bed way, even though she knows from their trip to the past that he used to do that too, but in a let-me-show-you-off-and-spoil-you kind of way. And she figured that even though they’re technically dating, the dating aspect was sort of unnecessary because they were already in love with each other by the time they became a couple.
Dating, to her understanding, is mostly about testing out a person to see if you could love them, and then after that, you were just together. Like dating a spouse, it just seemed to be a moot point. But a quiet part of her wonders if Killian worries about them becoming stagnant. That if he doesn’t constantly stoke that fire, it’ll burn out. And she doesn’t think it ever would, but she doubts she’ll ever get the chance to know because he wouldn’t dare risk losing her to something like inattention or complacency. Who would have thought Captain Hook would be the one teaching her about healthy relationships?
Because the thing is, they could stop going on dates. They could just always hang out at the house or grab to eat whatever was quick and easy (probably always at Granny’s), lounge on the couch and watch TV and they do those things too, and she loves the domesticity of it all, but he keeps her on her toes when he suggests things like tonight. It’s fun to get dressed up, go out to dinner and have him pull out her chair, laugh and flirt and tease and talk about them and only them, not discussing just the how-was-your-day or guess-what-problem-I’m-having stuff. They leave together and they come home together, but it’s surprisingly, wonderfully romantic.
“Sounds perfect,” she tells him, and he hugs her closer to him for a second before going back to brushing her back with his marred arm.
Dating also helps to kick them out of the bedroom once in a while. Which sounds like a weird problem to have, but they have to be careful.
They spent so long just as friends and reluctant allies. Incredibly close, and fraught with sexual tension, but still platonic. They built a relationship based on trust and respect and not just chemistry, though they have it in spades. And while she always thought the anticipation would kill her, it’s the knowing that’s the true demon between them. Because it’s good, so so good and addicting, and sometimes it’s hard to remember that they are much more than just sex. Especially now that they have the freedom to have it as much as they want.
(Although, another crisis can happen anytime. It’s Storybrooke after all).
His gaze falls to her and he presses a long kiss into her hair.
“I love you,” he whispers and she smiles, her hand on his chest reaching for his right one. They find each other and his fingers slide through hers.
“I love you,” she promises, and his grip tightens for a moment before he faces the window once more.
They have to take the time to see each other, hear each other, spend time loving each other with their words and not their bodies. It took them a long time to come together and they both want it to last, to work, and for that to happen they have to stay grounded to who they are and where they began. So they clean (he cleans and she distracts him). They cook (she cooks and he distracts her). They lay in bed and listen to the rain. They don’t always make it through without eventually attacking each other in a frenzy of passion, but they try. And it isn’t easy.
They can never seem to be together enough and Killian needs to know that she’s not using him for all that he’s between the sheets, and she knows he wants her to be reassured that as much as he jokes about needing to make love to her all the time, that’s not why he wants or loves her. So sometimes they say no for the simple reason of owing each other these moments, the promises that they are more. To respect their relationship enough that it doesn’t become focused on one, admittedly amazing, thing.
He’s careful about it, but it’s still there and he’s doing it right now. His body woke up ready to be joined with hers, and even though they’ve been laying here for a while, he hasn’t made a move to satisfy it. He’s been sweet with his touches and mindful to keep his lower half separate from hers since they’ve been in this position so she doesn’t feel his erection, and the thing is, knowing he’s doing it only makes her want him more, love him more.
She peeks up his face, relaxed and comfortable, unknown endless thoughts sifting through his mind. His arm is light on her back, trailing circles over the dimples above her bottom, his right hand laced lovingly with hers and lying by his hip. He clears his throat and shifts a little, his abs rippling and the sheet pulling down to highlight the deliciously bare, sculpted slant of his hips as he props a knee up.
One little movement. That’s all it takes.
“Killian?” Her voice is a little shaky, nervous even, though she has no reason to be.
She waits until he turns to look at her, calm curiosity in the way he tilts his head and how his stump never pauses, not even for a moment. His eyes are awake and clear, and beautifully unworried. It’s taken a long time for her to say his real name and have him look at her like that.
“Make love to me,” she whispers with a shy smile and he returns it, just the slightest hint of an uptick in the curve of his lips and it makes her grin grow to a full-out beam.
He brings their hands up from his side and flattens her palm on his chest, her fingers instinctively curling around the hair on it. He rubs the back of her hand in a move so smooth she doesn’t know when one action started and faded to another. When he’s sure she’s comfortable, he leaves it behind, his fingertips tracing her face from her temple to her jaw until they rest on her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek when he leans forward to kiss her.
“Thought you’d never ask,” he breathes right before his mouth brushes hers.
He only comes close enough to tease her into wanting more, letting her absorb the fullness of his bottom lip but not fully tasting him. He pulls away too soon but returns to nuzzle his nose with hers, his head tilting like he can’t decide if he wants to lean left or right.
It’s to the right. It’s always to the right.
Carefully, his mouth opens over hers, his tongue dripping in slowly like she’s something to be savored, as if it’s the only chance he’ll ever get and he wouldn’t dare to hurry. And when he does stop and start again, it’s the gift that keeps on giving, final words on repeat, and a prayer immediately answered. Tiny drops that equal a flood because Killian kisses like the rain.
She’s lost somewhere between the drizzle and the downpour when her legs slide over his hip, brushing against what he kept hidden from her all morning. His hand drifts down her body, but instead of pulling her closer, his palm lies on top of her thigh, keeping them apart.
She moans her disappointment and he caresses her skin tenderly, not giving in but asking that she be patient. She’s already forgotten what she was upset about when his hand draws up to her belly, flattening her with a throaty moan, and she can’t help but giggle.
“Something funny?” He mumbles into her skin and she nods her head, sinking deeper into the pillow when he pulls back, propping his head in his right hand to look down at her without rolling off. “Pray, do tell.”
It’s just…” she starts and shrugs, biting her lip as she caresses her hands up his back. “With as much as you were always staring at my ass, I never thought for a second that my shoulder was the real target.”
“First of all,” he says, and his handless arm slides under her, dragging it up her bottom and pulling her closer, “your arse wasn’t the only thing I was staring at. Second, it’s not like I ever stopped staring at it, thanks to whatever genius declared that jeans are socially acceptable to wear by women in this realm. And third, I happen to like this shoulder,” he says defensively.
“So I’ve noticed,“ she teases. “Is that why the two times I’ve dared to wear a strapless dress I barely made it out of the closet?”
“You should’ve known better,” he says seriously, and she can’t help but laugh. “And it’s not like you can blame me. I mean, look at it,” he says and gestures to the body part in question. “It’s smooth,” he tells her, bending to kiss it. “It’s soft…” Another kiss, longer this time. “Deliciously sexy…”
Her back arches when he scrapes her with his teeth, her hips rolling on their own, and just when she brushes against him, he tilts his hips away from her. She huffs a frustrated sigh and her hands leave his back, flopping down to the bed.
“Aw, don’t be like that, pouty,” he says and kisses her cheek.
“You’re being mean,” she tells him, and yes, she’s totally pouting.
“Not mean. Taking my time.”
She frowns a little, unable to argue with his reason despite her impatience. She releases a breath and tries to calm herself down, focusing on his touch. He’s sort of playing with her hair, brushing it back from her forehead in light sweeps as his gaze drifts over her. She studies his eyes, the faint crow’s feet that will only deepen with time, and she can’t wait. She brings up to cup his face, her thumbs massaging over the skin and down his stubble, still not a single silver hair can be found, but she’s a patient woman.
“What?” He asks softly and she blushes. “Really? Again?”
“Yeah,” she nods as adorably as possible and he rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he does it.
He lowers his head, lips lightly brushing her skin, and then he buries his face in her neck. She lets out an involuntary giggle as he starts rubbing his way to her cheek, leaving feather-light kisses on the skin he scrapes with his stubble.
“What does it feel like to you?” she asks when he moves to the other side of her neck and does the same.
“I imagine it feels the same as for you,” He lifts his head and tilts as he considers, then finally says. “Itchy.”
“It’s not itchy to me,” she laughs, and his eyebrow cocks.
“Really? Then how does it feel like, Miss I Know Everything?”
“It’s…it’s complicated,” she says, and he props his head on his hand again as though he’s settling in for a story. “Okay,” she says, and she can’t keep the excitement out of her voice that she’s getting to explain something to him that she’s spent a lot of time thinking about. And the fact that he looks eager to hear just urges her on. “You know how when your arm or leg or hand or whatever fall asleep, when it wakes back up it’s all tingly?”
“You mean when your circulation restarts and the nerves start firing?”
“Whatever,” she says, and he chuckles. “So, when I was a kid, I would always imagine that the feeling came from a Daddy Long Leg-”
“A Daddy Long Leg?”
“The spider,” she clarifies, and his lips twitch like he wants to laugh at her again.
“I’m sorry, do continue.”
“So, I always imagined that a Daddy Long Leg was walking around inside me, only his feet were getting stuck in my skin so every time a leg moved, it would pull at it and make this weird tingling feeling.”
Killian bursts out laughing, head thrown back and everything. It’s really hard to be offended when he looks so cute and happy.
“Let me get this straight,” he says and tries to catch his breath. “You’re telling me that it feels like you have a spider walking around in your face?”
“No,” she says, mock irritation. “Not walking, more like… ice skating. Wait, that’s too sharp,” she mutters and thinks. “Rollerblading!” she says happily. “Definitely rollerblading.”
“Mm-hmm. Because a rollerblading spider makes so much more sense.”
“It does! That’s what it feels like.”
“Itchy,” he whispers with a grin, and she rolls her eyes.
“You just have no imagination, whatsoever.”
He leans forward until his lips are hovering right over her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “That’s not what you thought last night…”
Shivers race through her body and her back arches on its own, pressing her bare chest into his. Her leg slips higher around his waist and this time he doesn’t push her back, his hand cupping her bottom and pulling her closer. Something between a moan and a whimper escapes her when his mouth travels to her neck, soft and wet kisses being placed one after another and everywhere he can reach.
The rain picks up outside and the steady thumping against the glass sounds like her heart in her chest, only increasing when he begins to slide down her. Light grazes of fingertips precede his lips, deliberately relishing every inch of her exposed skin. Maybe that sound is her heart after all.
Her eyes close with a sigh when he cups and massages her breast, the lines in his palm drawing her nipple taut, aching and anxious for the sharp scrape of his teeth. He rubs his cheek against it, rough and prickly hairs giving her some relief but not fully releasing the tension.
“Killian…” she pleads quietly, gasping when he flicks his thumb over her nipple.
His voice is low and deep when he murmurs. “I know.”
She gets one faint kiss but no bite before he continues kissing and adoring his way down her body, lingering over her stomach and her hips, petting and stroking every nerve and sensation to a blistering peak. Her hands come up to fist in her hair, tugging at the roots as she tries to control her breaths. Killian must notice, and she knows he doesn’t like it when she takes the tension out on herself, but she can’t help it. His palm slides up her arm until he finds her hand, untangling it from her hair and lacing it with his before he brings both back to rest on his neck.
“Use me,” he whispers and her other hand joins her first in his hair, but she can’t be anything but gentle when she feels him.
He hooks his left arm under her thigh and she squirms, shamelessly tilting her hips up towards him. It’s useless, though, because the more she rushes, the slower he goes, waiting until she’s still before he blows a stream of air across her clit that is a jolt to her senses.
He chuckles and she wants to dig her nails into his neck and wrench him closer until she gets what she wants, willing to do anything that will relieve the throbbing between her legs. Her grip must tighten without her permission because she hears him wince and then his hand weaves with hers, squeezing lovingly even as he pulls it away and lays it by her hip, his other arm petting her leg as he kisses the inside of her thigh.
She waits as long as she can stand, a plea for mercy ready to leave her lips when his tongue finally touches her: one long slick line from her entrance to her clit. A wave rolls through her body with the tortuously gradual movement, her back bowed by the time he pulls away with a rumble of approval. She collapses back down, panting and dizzy and uncontrollably restless.
“Breathe, Swan,” he says gently, and she can’t help but to laugh a little, unsure how she’s supposed to do something like focus on air when all she can think about is him touching her. How desperately she wants him to do it again. What she would sacrifice for him.
Everything. The answer is everything.
Her free hand threads into his hair and she forces herself to pay attention to the silkiness of the strands, trying to ignore the way his warm breath is somehow cooling her. One of life’s many mysteries.
“Don’t move,” he commands and her muscles lock until they quiver, his hand holding her steady when his tongue dips inside her.
A sound rushes from her mouth, but she has no idea what it is, a curse, his name, maybe both, and maybe nothing because the only thing in this whole world is soft but also firm, full and velvety and delicious as it strokes in and out, twirling and searching and feeling her. He could do this forever and she would never get used to how intimate it is, how special he makes her feel.
Her mind is flashing through all the ways she wants to show him, explain to him, repay him for how incredibly he loves her when he replaces his tongue with a slender finger, curling it inside her to pet the Holy Grail of spots he knows drives her insane with pleasure.
“Oh, God… Killian…” she mumbles as his lips circle her clit, his replying moan vibrating from his throat right into her, and her body spasms.
He’s restless even when tender, scraping and soothing, sips and flicks as he tastes all of her and it’s too much, too good, too strong, and too everything and she wants to make it last, but she never will. Not with the way he moans like he’s enjoying this as much as she is. Impossible when their hands join again, locking them together. Infeasible when he tells her what he wants, what he craves and that’s for her to come for him.
And she does.
Long and slow, wave after wave, he commands passion to pulse through her until she has nothing left to give. And she’s glad, because she’d rather he have all the best parts of her.
Sound comes back to her first, trickling taps of water on the windows, splashes on the pools that have formed outside. Lightning flashes and her world is silver, sleek lines punctuated by black hair, his head resting on her belly. Thunder booms and he looks up at her, a pleased tranquility playing across his lips that mirrors pure adulation in his eyes, and this is the look that tells her that in endless years, it will be his voice that she wakes to and the last one she hears before she sleeps at night. And she wouldn’t want it any other way.
He’s silent now, dropping a kiss to her skin before sitting up, smoothing his hand up her side and wordlessly telling her to turn over. She smiles and rolls onto her stomach, her hands hugging the pillow so she’s perfectly, wonderfully comfortable. There are no words enough to describe how much she loves their bed.
She shivers when his lips touch her spine, goosebumps racing up her back long ahead of his measured ascent.
“Cold?” He breathes when he reaches the shell of her ear and she shakes her head no, but he brings the blanket up and over them anyway, his body warm on top of hers.
He works an arm under her so she’s snuggled in an atmosphere of Killian, his cheek against her own so she can feel him smile between tender kisses to her neck and shoulder. Like they have all the time in the world and they’re going to take every minute of it.
“I love you,” she whispers, and his chest shakes once under a laugh.
“Tell me later,” he says quietly, and she nods because she knows better than to say that when they’re in bed like this. It’s not that he doesn’t believe her, but it’s easier for him to hear it when he knows she’s not being swayed by sex or anything other than her true feelings.
“I will,” she promises and turns her head so she can kiss him fully, re-giving him her words in the best way she can think of and this time, he accepts them.
They’re both breathless when he hooks his left arm behind her knee, drawing it up to her side so she’s open to him. He slides against her and she pulls her lips from his with a gasp, dropping her face into the pillow. The arm he has under her comes free and he sweeps her hair to the side, nuzzling her neck, and she trembles. Her hands need purchase on something more solid and they find the headboard, pushing her back towards him, where she knows he’s waiting.
Long fingers slip through hers so she never feels alone. His forehead drops to her neck and with his breath washing over her skin, he starts to push into her.
They moan together as she stretches around his swollen tip, gradually welcoming him into her body and glorifying in each solid inch he has to give until he’s buried as deep as possible. His heart is hammering against her back and in the pad of his thumb. He waits before he strokes into her again, fiercely controlled strength and hitting the spot he seems to be attuned to that strips her from reason.
Her head whips back and he stills, letting her settle before her moves again. His pace is relaxed and graceful while their bodies mirror each other, the same roll traveling from their hips up to their shoulders so their skin never separates. It’s amazing, like they’re the same person, same soul, all in one body. And it’s something that she’s only ever known with him, the way they can understand each other without ever uttering a word. They just know.
Because she wants to see his eyes, she needs to taste his lips, and as though he can read her mind he pulls out, helping to guide her so she’s once more on her back with her legs around his waist. He comes right to her, dropping his forehead to hers and entering her in one smooth stroke that pulls the air from both of them.
She wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately as he makes love to her, his hand sliding up her side and her back, brushing the hair from her face when he pauses to look at her with an affectionate smile. She has no idea how he makes everything so beautiful.
She barely presses against his shoulder, and he rolls them like she wanted, settling her on top of him. He props his knees up to tilt her forward, his hand and stump on her shoulder blades easing her down to him and it’s exactly where she wants to be, both of them smiling when their lips connect. She loves being able to make him happy, and she’s learned precisely how to do it.
She rolls her hips once and he moans throatily, his arms around her waist holding her tighter as he rocks into her.
“Don’t move,” she whispers into his lips, and he chuckles quietly at her repeated instructions. She squeezes her inner muscles around him, and his whole body jerks with a groan.
“That’s cheating,” he tells her, and she bites her lips wickedly.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t like it,” she says and squeezes him again, this time rewarded with a gasp for her efforts.
“Emma…” he starts and pauses when she distracts him with a swivel of her hips. “That is so not the point.”
She bends to kiss him and even though she knows he’s worried about finishing too fast without satisfying her first, she doesn’t see that as a problem at all. She wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t what she wanted. Killian just doesn’t understand that his pleasure means just as much to her as hers does to him and when she can get away with it, she tries to let him come out on top. Not that it ever works because he’ll repay her, over and over, but it’s worth a shot. He deserves to be prioritized.
Her lips travel to his jaw, hitting the spot she knows drives him crazy and scraping it with her teeth, kissing the hollow under his ear that makes him shiver. She’s tracing the vein in his neck with her tongue when she squeezes him gently, using the control she’s mastered to pull tighter against his shaft in one long roll, just as if it was her hand against him. He swells and twitches inside her, his back arching in a way that makes her ego soar.
“Stop that,” he mutters, and she holds in a laugh.
“Be still,” she reminds him and she knows that if he really wanted to stop her he could do it in a dozen ways before she could utter a word of protest, but instead, he just blows out a breath, his fingertips trailing up her spine. “Just relax, feel me.”
She shifts so her mouth teases his, giving him one flicker of tightening, and listens to his breathing hitching.
“Feel good?”
“Mm-hmm,” he nods and takes her face in his hand, looking at her like he’s never really seen her before.
“What?” She asks and he just shakes his head.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later,” he says softly, and her heart melts.
She leans down to kiss him and he holds her like she’s precious, like she’s something to be cherished. She just wishes he understood that he is, too.
She starts to move slowly, rolling her hips and muscles massaging him at the same time, working him up until his breaths are shallow and head tilted back, neck strained against all that he’s feeling.
He grits out her name and she tells him to let go, to come for her just as she did for him, his grip tight on her hip when he slams up to her, pumping his release where she can claim it as her own private reward.
His body unwinds under hers, taking long breaths to calm his pounding heart as she does her best to soothe him, stroking her thumb over the cheekbone and nuzzling the other side of his neck between light kisses. When he regains the ability to command his arms, he drapes them over her contentedly, good hand tucking her hair behind her ear before he shifts and presses his lips to her forehead.
“I swear, woman,” he says with a light chuckle, “you’re a danger to my reputation.”
“Ungrateful,” she teases, and he laughs again.
“Never. Just…”
“Just what?”
He’s quiet for a long time before he says, “That was entirely your fault, so you can’t blame me at all.”
She presses another kiss to his cheek and sits up. “That’s some apology you got there, Captain.”
“Aye, well I’ve had practice,” he shrugs, running his knuckles up and down her arm. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“You better,” she glares mockingly and crosses her arms. “Because I am horribly mistreated and if you can’t satisfy me, I guess I have to invest in a vibrator.”
His eyes widen with a devious grin, and then he’s flipping her onto her back, her breasts bouncing and hair fanning over the pillow.
“You are in so much trouble, princess,” he growls playfully and pretends to attack her neck, sending a burst of giggles to come unbidden from her lips. They cut off with a gasp when he pulls out and then slams all the way into her, still rock hard and hitting that perfect spot. He does it again and her breath seizes in her chest, her whimper of a moan giving light to a devilish gleam in his eyes.
“You were saying?” He says haughtily, and she attacks his lips, tightening her legs around him in an urge to feel him deeper. His tongue delves into her mouth as he thrusts harder, stopping suddenly when a crack of thunder shakes the house.
They both look at the window, what should be blue skies are now black with the storm, water pounding against the glass with no sign of letting up.
“So much for our date,” he mutters, and she smiles, turning his face back to hers.
“Killian,” she says and leans up to kiss him. “Just enjoy the rain…”
CS Neverland New Year 2022: “Hearts Like Wildflowers”
Summary: He was used to the darkness until she brought light into his life with her wild blonde curls and prickly attitude. Even on this godforsaken island, she manages to make him feel alive. (Canon Divergent from 3x06)
A/N: this is my contribution to @neverlandnewyear. This is my first time participating in this event, and I couldn’t be more excited to share this story with all of you! Hope you like it!
He didn’t plan to kiss her again, but it happened anyway.
They have been wandering the jungle for hours. They were still trying to locate Pan’s hideout and had split up from the others, which, if anyone had listened to him, was a bad idea.
The air is so steamy and humid it feels like it’s raining. Her blonde ponytail has doubled in size, with soft curls springing everywhere. It fascinates him a bit as he follows her, trying to figure out how to get her to let him take the lead. Even if he is enjoying the view. Now he’s convinced he can’t get them more turned around than they already are.
“Hey, you hear that? It’s a nightingale, supposedly a symbol of love and anticipation,” he says, trying to make conversation and keep his voice matter-of-fact, standing still. She turns to look at him and starts back in his direction, and he has no idea if she wants to punch him or just walk past him because they have passed that moss-ridden rock three times already.
But her foot catches on something when she almost makes it in front of him, and she stumbles. Her hand reaches out, landing against his chest. He puts his hand and hook on her arms to steady her. She looks up at him, her green eyes wide, and her lips slightly parted. She is very, very close to him.
Oh, bloody hell, he thinks with a harsh intake of breath. Then his hand and hook on her arms draw her against him, and he closes his eyes and kisses her.
Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation…
“Mary Margaret, close everything, even the entrance! Open only to those we know. If any bastard lurks here, shoot them. Emma, take care of Killian and I’ll look around to see if the coast is clear. “
Will acted like a newly minted training officer, his voice authoritative, but Emma had no intention of arguing with him. Mary Margaret merely nodded, indicating that she agreed with the order, and Will slipped out the door into the storm. Mary Margaret slammed the door behind him and began to put the locks on.
The house, like most of the buildings nearby, remained intact, probably because it was a rather sparsely populated area and the residents didn’t return to their homes until late in the evening. That was why David had chosen this apartment, and Emma could now see how good that decision had been. It saved their lives today.
She decided it would be best if she took Killian directly to the upstairs bathroom. She put her arm around his waist and lifted his arm so that it was around her neck. They started walking, slowly, at his pace. They made it their way up the stairs relatively quickly and stumbled into the bathroom. Killian lowered himself onto the edge of the bathtub while she retrieved a bandage from the cabinet and two towels with old bloodstains.
Yeah, well, she’d patched David up a few times too. It wasn’t her first rodeo.
“Are you completely out of your freaking mind? You could’ve died!” She couldn’t hold back her frustration any longer as she walked up to him.
It seemed so absurd, the way he sat there on the edge of the tub, in the flickering orange light of the ceiling lamp, with blood dripping from his skin.
“It’s nothing, Swan. I’ve had it worse itching my nose with the wrong hand,” he replied, looking kind of tired.
She turned up the heater a little, though she doubted Killian was cold at all. “You’re crazy,” she muttered, shaking her head as she gently reached for his chin and turned his head to the side so she could get a closer look at the wound on his temple. His five o’clock shadow tingled her fingertips.
“A simple thank you would suffice.” His lips twisted into a smile and Emma rolled her eyes. She believed he must be feeling better.
“Okay. Thanks. But don’t do that again! Look at your hand, too! By the time I’m done picking out the shards itbe will be morning,” she grumbled, but she wasn’t annoyed by the potential night’s work, but by Killian’s ability to be completely insane.
As if he didn’t care about his life at all.
“Okay, I don’t think that needs stitches,” she said after cleaning his face. He calmly let her treatment wash over him without making a sound. She could see, however, that he was gritting his teeth as she reached for his wrist.
“They’ll come out on their own soon enough,” Killian said with a shrug as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
She gave him a withering look and he seemed a little embarrassed.
“Oh, yeah. And in the meantime, you’d be screaming in pain, completely beside yourself. I saw what happened in the car when your body was trying to get rid of the shards. No, don’t even try to deny it,” she waved him off as he opened his mouth.
She spread one of the towels on his lap. “Now, hold on, this is not going to be pleasant…” she warned, then grabbed the largest shard of glass as carefully as she could and pulled it out with a determined motion.
She could feel his whole body twitch, but only a soft hiss left his lips.
“Is your hand going to be okay? I mean, a human would definitely not be able to use it after that…” She tried to make him talk and distract him so he paid as little attention as possible to what she was doing.
“Sure,” he nodded, then glanced down at his hand. “It’ll be as good as new in two days at the most.”
“Two days?” she asked, puzzled. “But so far your wounds have healed much faster…”
“The healing doesn’t always work that well… It’s um… periodic,” he muttered, wincing again as she plucked out another piece.
In fifteen minutes, she had managed to remove all the shards from his hand. He didn’t say a word during the “surgery”, but when the bandage was applied around his palm, he let out a barely audible sigh of relief.
“Thank you, love. I’ll go down and see if Will is back…”
“We’re not done yet,” she informed him as she grabbed another towel and reached for his shirt as a matter of course, completely forgetting herself.
“Oh, there’s no need, it’s really not serious…” He shook his head, almost in fright, and tried to bounce off the edge of the tub, but the result was a painful “oomph”.
“I can see that. Don’t be such a child, I promise I’ll be careful.”
“No.” His eyes gleamed with horror and his face flushed.
She grinned against her will.
Well, well.
“Are you… seriously shy?” She burst out laughing.
When she noticed Killian’s cold and impatient look, her sudden joy evaporated.
“Sorry, I was just surprised,” she apologized, and at his grim look she began to wonder why he really didn’t want to take his shirt off. “Look, Killian, I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to-”
“It’s alright,” he waved off her apology. “Just leave that here and I’ll take care of the rest.” He gestured to the first aid kit next to the sink.
“How? You can’t even use your hand. Let me help you,” she pleaded softly.
“I’ll figure it out,” he continued stubbornly.
She couldn’t understand why he was so opposed to her help. What does he think is going to happen? That she would run screaming out the door screaming at the sight of a male torso? Come on.
When her eyes fell on his face, she realized it was exactly what he was afraid of, and her cheeks grew hot again. It wasn’t nice of her to laugh earlier.
“Arms up! I want to see it,” she declared firmly, stepping closer to him.
“Pardon?”
“You heard me,” she sighed, reaching for the hem of his shirt and was about to pull it up, but Killian, anticipating her intention, captured her hand.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” He stared at her in shock.
“I’m undressing you,” she replied with a sly grin to make him relax and not feel so uncomfortable.
She had to look at the wound, he had already lost a lot of blood. Unfortunately, he wasn’t immortal, he couldn’t survive everything, even if he sometimes acted the opposite.
“You know this is sexual harassment, don’t you?” he finally smiled. He seemed amused by her impatience. She, on the other hand, was immensely relieved. Sometimes, he really did act like a man-child. It was much better to see him like this than angry and desperate, so she felt better, too.
“So sue me,” she played along, letting out a soft laugh. “Now, come on, arms up!”
He grumbled for another half minute, but then, at the sight and knowledge of the amount of blood he had lost, he changed his mind and bitterly raised both his arms — as far as his wounds would allow — and she pulled off the once black, now rather dark red, blood-soaked fabric. She tossed it into the laundry basket, then turned to Killian, and on a sudden impulse, brushed a lock of his dark hair from his forehead.
Looking down, she immediately understood why he protested, but she didn’t even flinch when she saw the many scars and scalds tarnishing his lightly sun-kissed skin. It was nowhere near as repulsive as he believed and expressed. He tried to cover a larger scar with a tattoo of a compass, with more or less success. The drawing was beautiful, the motif was adorned with an unknown type of flower, but it still couldn’t quite hide what Killian wanted so badly. On the other hand, his upper body was muscular and lean, the dark hair that always peeked out from under his shirt spilling across his chest.
“Beautiful, is it not?” his voice tinged with intense irony.
“I really like the compass. It goes well with your pirate shtick you got going,” she replied, pointing to his earring and eyeliner, noticing how his eyes bore into her in amazement. “You look really good,” it slipped from her lips before she could even think about what she was saying. She would have liked the ground to just swallow her because she didn’t want to let him know that directly. She could feel her cheeks reddening dangerously fast.
“You really don’t see…”
“Of course I see them, Killian. But those are just a few scars. Now stop being a child and sit back down. Or if you can stand through it, then by all means.”
As she cleaned the wound above his belly button, she felt his eyes boring into her head. She tried to focus on the cut, which, unfortunately, needed stitches. It was long and deep enough, but thankfully free of broken glass. Killian was obviously not concerned about her having to stick a needle into his stomach without anesthesia.
“It wouldn’t be the first time. I have had to endure this before,” he said with a shrug. “I can suffer through it now, too.”
Only a few quiet groans escaped his lips during the entire procedure.
“I think it’s done,” she announced solemnly after bandaging the remaining minor wounds.
She tossed the two bloody towels into the wash next to his shirt, which he probably wouldn’t use again.
When she finished cleaning up, she walked over to the tiny window and glanced out over the city. The rain was tapping rhythmically on the glass, and from here, in this part of town, everything seemed fine. The world showed every sign of being peaceful again, and today’s events just seemed improbable, as if it were just a nightmare she had finally woken up from.
She leaned against the cool tiles and turned her head toward Killian. He poked at the bandage on his stomach and managed to put a smile on her face. Few would use the word ‘cute’ to describe him, but that was the first word that came to mind as she watched him.
After he finished fiddling with the gauze, he lifted his eyes to hers, and after some hesitation, walked slowly over to her, but for some reason, she felt that his unusually leisurely pace had nothing to do with his injuries.
“Thank you,” he finally blurted out when he had been standing in front of her for a good half-minute, and that made her smile.
Was that why he put his body so close to hers? To thank her? Well, not that it bothered her. In fact, his closeness felt frighteningly good. Her fingers reached out to him almost involuntarily, longing for him to embrace her. To kiss her.
She was still scared to death of her own thoughts and feelings, and was half sure that she had just fallen into his trap like a silly little mouse and it would be very painful to get out of it. But for now, she wanted to enjoy the pleasure of this “cheese” and forget about what was probably still waiting for her.
“You’re welcome.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Was it right? Not right? Was it allowed? Or was it forbidden? Honestly, she really didn’t care about the answers, she just wanted him, plain and simple. She wanted to live with the knowledge that someone really and truly loved her. A small glimmer of hope lit up in front of her, and that was enough for her to solidify her decision. She trusted Killian. She wanted to trust him. He would never hurt her.
While she had thought that would be the case with every guy in her past, they had all turned out to be major disappointments.
He must have seen the desperate and frightened look on her face. He took a step back, but as if her arm had taken on a life of its own, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.
“Swan? Are you all right?” He tried to decipher her thoughts through her eyes, but she wouldn’t let him. She closed her eyes and turned her face away from his scrutinizing gaze.
“No. Nothing’s all right,” she murmured, more to herself, but of course Killian understood her every word crystal clear.
He lifted his hand and gently stroked her face with his thumb, and she let her cheek rest in his palm as her heartbeat quickened.
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Killian, I’m afraid of almost everyone,” she admitted, and she thought she had managed to surprise him again with her answer.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he assured her, and she had to grimace. But for him, she was happy to believe it. Oh, sweet, blissful ignorance.
He put his arms around her waist and hugged her, and she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. His hot breath tickled her skin on the side of her head and she melted completely into the embrace. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, snuggling up to his entire body as her heart tried to burst through her ribs with a furious thump.
“Shh, calm down, lass. It’s alright.” He stroked her hair and she didn’t understand why, but a single tear rolled down her cheek. He was too kind. Until now he had been like a rock, but she had seen the real Killian, and was no longer fooled by the tough and stoic exterior. She could trust him.
“Do you want me to leave?” It wasn’t an accusation, just a polite offer. He couldn’t decide what would be better for her and he wasn’t alone in this dilemma.
“No. Stay.” She pressed tighter against him and he stroked her back reassuringly. He lifted his head from her shoulder and leaned over to her again. He pressed an innocent kiss to her lips, hesitant as a teenager on a first date.
Until it became anything but.
Emboldened, he tasted her lips with renewed passion when he saw she didn’t protest at all. The softness of his mouth and the gentle advance of his tongue spoke to her, giving him permission and fiercely returning the kiss she so dreaded, yet so longed for.
Gently, she ran her sharpened nails over his back, careful not to break his exposed skin. She could feel the scars beneath her fingers, weaving thickly around his skin. Her heart sank, for he deserved a much better life than his wounds told her.
He took a deep breath, sighed into the kiss, then his lips left hers in favor of the side of her neck. He bit gently into the sensitive, heated skin and kissed her, when the bathroom door suddenly flew wide open.
Killian threw his head back in surprise, and Emma blinked over his shoulder in alarm.
Ruby stood in the doorway with her mouth and eyes wide open. With a similar expression, Eloise stood behind her. Then, within seconds, they thankfully overcame their minor shock. Ruby’s mouth twisted into a wide grin, but Eloise just stared rather unkindly at Emma.
“I see you’re feeling much better, Killian,” Ruby remarked with a mischievous grin. ”Emma’s first aid skills are spot on, they don’t need us here. Come on, Eloise,” she chuckled, and then quietly closed the door behind them.
“Great,” she muttered dejectedly.
“What’s wrong?” He pulled her to his chest again.
“Eloise is going to run straight to David with the news.”
“And?” He didn’t seem to give the slightest thought to what that meant.
“And David made me promise that I would stay away from you. I guess you know he doesn’t like you very much…”
What was the little bitch doing here, anyway?
“Of course I know that. He’s already made it perfectly clear and even threatened me,” he added. It seemed that David’s behavior only amused him. Her, not so much.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I haven’t had a chance to. It just happened last night when we came back from the woods. Somehow it got through to him that we were out there together,” he replied calmly, David’s hostility not troubling him in the slightest.
“But what exactly did he say to you?” She was deeply upset by her brother’s behavior. What the hell had he been thinking? Threatening Killian? She couldn’t believe it.
“Just the usual thing when one’s brother is worried about who his sister is spending her time with. He told me that if I so much as touched you with a finger, I’d surely regret it. That he would beat the crap out of me. Oh, and that he would castrate me. I think that’s all of it.” he grinned.
“I’ll talk to him later. But you should rest now—”
“No, I’m completely fine,” he protested, as if he was more afraid of being in bed than David himself. “And I should go anyway—”
“Go? Go where?” she asked, confused.
“I have a few… things to do,” he blurted out reluctantly.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to tell me what?”
What the hell was so urgent?
“Because I’m not going to,” he answered quietly. “Maybe later—”
“Killian, don’t do this,” she groaned in exasperation. Why was he being so goddamn secretive again?
“Just trust me, love. I promise I won’t do anything… wrong.”
She turned her head away from him. “Go get some rest in my room, I think the guest room is occupied now. I’m sure you don’t want to sleep in the same room with David,” she murmured, turning to leave the bathroom. But before she could do that, Killian grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back.
“Swan, don’t do this. If I could, I would tell you.” He held her face between his hands and scanned her face anxiously.
“Okay,” she replied softly. “I’m not mad, I’m just… scared.” She took his hands and pulled them away from her face. “Take care of yourself!”
She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He stared at her for a while, then she hurried out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
-/-
Killian didn’t come after her, although she stood outside the door for several more minutes. But not a sound came from the room, and she finally made her way down the stairs to meet the other members of their ragtag group. Eloise, as usual, stared at her with a cold expression on her face and the hatred in her eyes didn’t subside. Ruby blinked at her in surprise, obviously questioning the absence of Killian beside her. Will, Mary Margaret, and the guy named Arthur lingered under the arch that led to the kitchen while August and David argued heatedly about something.
Emma stood hesitantly at the foot of the stairs for a few seconds, but before she could bring herself to scold her brother and the Elf, David pushed himself off the wall and walked right up to her. He gave her a dagger-like look, but she suspected hers was similar. This time she wasn’t impressed by his anger.
“Where is he? Is he in your room?” He tried to march up the stairs beside her, but of course, she wouldn’t let him, stepping in front of him and pushing him back to the foot of the stairs.
“Leave him alone! He needs to rest. And by the way, in case you haven’t heard, he just saved my life! And Mary Margaret’s. And if I remember correctly, he saved your life, too,” she growled, apparently loud enough that everyone in the room turned to look at her.
“I don’t care! I talked to him and that’s not what we agreed on!” David hissed.
“That’s not what happened. You threatened him, that doesn’t exactly fall under the category of agreement,” she raised her voice and her brother became even angrier. The whole thing was turning into a full-blown argument. But it was too late for her to stop herself, David had managed to piss her off irrevocably.
“Don’t you realize that I only want what’s best for you? That bastard is just taking advantage of you! And I’m going to talk to him now, whether you like it or not! I don’t even care if he’s dying!” he shouted in her face, pushing past her and striding up the stairs. She stumbled against the banister and almost fell over.
“David! Stop right there!” she shouted after him and hurried up the stairs as well. She took two at a time so she could catch up with him. She almost managed to grab a hold of his sweater, but it slipped from her fingers.
He dashed down the hall, straight to the door leading to her room, and burst through without knocking. He opened his mouth in surprise.
“David!” She was at the end of her patience, his ridiculous behavior had to stop.
“I told you!” David’s triumphant grin confused her and she came to a halt.
She stepped up beside him, confused, and a little afraid.
To her surprise, the room was completely empty and the window was wide open. The dark blue muslin curtain was swirled around by the cold, biting wind.
Icy fear coursed through her limbs and she couldn’t believe her eyes. He was gone.
“Why are you so surprised about this? I told you he was just a petty—”
“Shut up!” she shook her head and stumbled into the room.
Killian obviously hadn’t rested on the bed for even a second, the bedclothes were completely untouched. She walked over to the window and leaned over, but there was no sign of him outside.
“Seriously, Emma, I don’t know what you were expecting. I thought you’d be smarter than that. He played the gentleman and you fell into his arms the first chance you got. That’s not you.” David shook his head and continued to ignore her completely. “I have no idea how he managed to seduce you, but I bet you anything that he was lying through his teeth.” Emma tried not to pay attention to David’s words, but each sentence reverberated uncomfortably in her head, and she felt like her skull would crack if he kept talking. He didn’t seem to care in the least that every single word hurt her physically. She slumped on the bed and buried her face in her hands.
“Did you really think that beast would turn into a lovesick puppy-dog? And now I’m the bad guy for trying to warn you! Now look at you! This is exactly what I was trying to prevent…” David’s voice gradually softened and then fell silent.
Emma felt him sit down next to her on the bed. He tried to hug her, but she pushed him away. She was still angry. “Get out! Leave me alone!” She pushed him off the bed and barely waited for him to get to his feet before she shoved him out of the room. Once he was outside, she slammed the door with all her might, and the bang echoed through the empty hallway. She didn’t understand what had come over her, she was afraid of herself. She was acting like a crazy person.
She plopped back down on the bed and tried to convince herself of Killian’s innocence. He couldn’t have tricked her, but… everyone thought she was wrong about him. What if they were right?
She didn’t understand herself or what was happening to her. Why was she so upset? Surely he couldn’t be that important to her. It didn’t make sense that she had gotten caught in this particular trap. There had to be a way out. An escape.
No! Everything was all right! Killian would definitely be back tomorrow, and then she would discuss everything with him. Everything would be fine, she had nothing to worry about!
She took a deep breath and the thought that everything would be settled tomorrow calmed her down.
Her gaze slid to her desk, where at least half a dozen photos adorned her homemade picture frames. Her favorite, however, had been carved by Neal. She knew he had been working on it for over a week, but his hard work had paid off, it had turned out beautifully.
She put her favorite picture of them in it, it fit perfectly in the frame with the tree leaves intertwined. In the picture, they were lying on their backs in the woods behind the house, facing each other. Their heads were side by side and for once, he was the one holding the phone. She was always the one taking pictures like crazy, capturing everything she liked.
She picked up the frame and gently stroked the smooth, cool surface of the glass, and for a moment, the fading, silvery glow of the moon shimmered on the picture. Neal never lied to her, he never hid anything from her.
Her thoughts returned to Killian, she couldn’t help but think of him. Had he really lied to her? It didn’t make sense, because why would he do that? But then what did he have to hide?
The only thing she was sure of was that David had managed to rattle her again. The thought that Killian might be leading her on hurt like hell, and it settled relentlessly in her mind.
She glanced at the photo again. She missed Neal terribly and the security that only he had given her so far in her life. Guilt also curled in her stomach with renewed force; she felt like she was betraying him. And she felt like she was betraying herself as well, because she had promised never to let anyone near her again. But Killian managed that too; she had undoubtedly fallen in love with something in him.
She hugged the picture to her chest and leaned back on the bed. Joyfully, she surrendered to the sweet, empty nothingness that suddenly weighed on her. She enjoyed the almost intoxicating coolness of the wind caressing her face and every thought slowly left her mind…
-/-
She didn’t think there was another fool in the house who could wake up at four in the morning and wander into the kitchen, but she was clearly mistaken. August seemed to have been sitting there for a long time when she entered, with only the flickering light of the candle in the center of the table to keep him company. He propped his chin on his palm and stared into the small flame. He didn’t even look up when she entered.
She deliberately refrained from greeting him, trudged stubbornly to the refrigerator, grabbing a jug of milk, and took a big gulp.
“What are you doing up so early, Emma? Or did you not go to sleep at all?” August finally looked at her, and his cautious gaze worried her a little. He studied her ruefully.
She was already thinking of a biting retort when he sighed and pulled one of the chairs toward her.
“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
That piqued her interest, and she quickly decided she wasn’t going to be a jerk this time.
Without saying a word, she walked over to the offered chair and took a seat. She placed the milk in front of her and looked questioningly at August. “So talk.”
“It’s about Killian,” he began with an embarrassed cough. “Over the course of the evening, I have noticed something that I just can’t place. You probably already know more about it than I do, and it will no doubt make more sense to you—”
“August, I swear to God…” she warned and he immediately continued.
“I don’t know if you know this man, Arthur—”
“No, I don’t know him. Can you get to the point?” she interrupted him impatiently. Her nerves were on the verge of snapping.
“All right, I’ll tell you. So, the Guild’s bounty hunters came up in a conversation. I’m sure you’ve heard about them.”
“Maybe David mentioned them once. They’ve done spying and assassinations in the past. But I thought their activities were banned years ago. How is that relevant now?” She raised her eyebrow. August’s expression wasn’t reassuring in the least. He was clearly torn, which was not at all in keeping with his habits, and his always determined actions were evaporating.
“The group of the Bounty Hunters hasn’t been disbanded at all, and Arthur is one of them. I was surprised when he told me that. They’re not exactly shouting it from the rooftops. But it doesn’t matter, it’s up to him to decide how much he wants to blab about his own life. But he also told me something much more interesting,” August remarked somberly.
“What is it? Please just say what you want to say!”
“So Arthur is working as a spy, infiltrating the Vampires and other creatures. He said the new leader had been chosen before yesterday’s disaster, but under somewhat stormy circumstances. The two most likely candidates were someone named Regina and Zelena, Vampire sisters. Which is why it’s shocking what happened. Regina killed her sister and declared that anyone who would dare to question her power, would find death. And yesterday’s bloodbath was arranged at her request and in her honor,” August explained, watching her face carefully, waiting for her reaction like a predator lying in wait for prey, but she was very careful not to twitch a single facial muscle. She didn’t want to give anything away, certainly not about Killian’s past.
She stared at August impassively. “Yeah? This is all very interesting, but I still don’t understand the connection. What does any of this have to do with Killian?”
“Then you know very little about your knight in black armor,” he snorted harshly.
“What are you talking about?” she whispered, freezing in her chair. She was beginning to have a very bad feeling.
“Arthur had to spend a lot of time in that filth and mentioned that he saw Killian there an inordinate amount of times, plus he moved in pretty elite circles, so to speak. He seemed to be very good friends with their leader, Regina. However, Killian is not one of the Bounty Hunters of the Guild, at least not as far as Arthur knows. And that’s more than suspicious, because usually, they know about each other. If you’re not a Bounty Hunter, you can’t do missions like that at all.”
Emma didn’t answer, she had no idea what to say. Her mind was completely blank, just staring at August. She seemed unable to digest and comprehend what she had heard the first time.
“It’s a lie,” she finally whispered. That was the only explanation. Killian would never do such a thing, he was…
“Emma, listen to me! If he really was a spy, he should have reported to the Council that night, along with Arthur and—”
“How do you know he didn’t?” she snarled, losing her patience. That was it! That was the solution! Killian worked for the Hunters too, but he just didn’t tell anyone he was a spy! A triumphant grin spread across her face. She knew Killian was innocent.
“I know because Arthur returned a few hours ago and the Council hasn’t heard from your precious boyfriend in over twenty-four hours.”
CS Neverland New Year 2022: “Hearts Like Wildflowers”
Summary: He was used to the darkness until she brought light into his life with her wild blonde curls and prickly attitude. Even on this godforsaken island, she manages to make him feel alive. (Canon Divergent from 3x06)
A/N: this is my contribution to @neverlandnewyear. This is my first time participating in this event, and I couldn’t be more excited to share this story with all of you! Hope you like it!
He didn’t plan to kiss her again, but it happened anyway.
They have been wandering the jungle for hours. They were still trying to locate Pan’s hideout and had split up from the others, which, if anyone had listened to him, was a bad idea.
The air is so steamy and humid it feels like it’s raining. Her blonde ponytail has doubled in size, with soft curls springing everywhere. It fascinates him a bit as he follows her, trying to figure out how to get her to let him take the lead. Even if he is enjoying the view. Now he’s convinced he can’t get them more turned around than they already are.
“Hey, you hear that? It’s a nightingale, supposedly a symbol of love and anticipation,” he says, trying to make conversation and keep his voice matter-of-fact, standing still. She turns to look at him and starts back in his direction, and he has no idea if she wants to punch him or just walk past him because they have passed that moss-ridden rock three times already.
But her foot catches on something when she almost makes it in front of him, and she stumbles. Her hand reaches out, landing against his chest. He puts his hand and hook on her arms to steady her. She looks up at him, her green eyes wide, and her lips slightly parted. She is very, very close to him.
Oh, bloody hell, he thinks with a harsh intake of breath. Then his hand and hook on her arms draw her against him, and he closes his eyes and kisses her.
