So I had to jump on the new Neal POV bungalow. And then I didn’t actually follow the formula :D This has no smut to speak of inside, however, there is definitely some things Neal would rather not notice.
Set in an alternative 3B where they stopped Pan’s curse.
This is going so overboard. Honestly. What’s all the fuss about? So some planks have come lose and a mast has fallen down. He is sure Hook – with all his boasting and swaggering – would say The Jolly has seen much worse and lived to set sail again or something pompous like that.
“What’s this?” he kicks lightly at the crate pushed to the side.
He has been on the Jolly Roger for a solid half hour now and no, he hasn’t really done anything. If Neal is being honest with himself – and hey, he has no trouble in that department – he is just here to watch over Henry and Emma and make sure the pirate is not trying to shove his way into hisfamily. He would’ve hoped he could trust David with that task but it turns out it was the man’s idea to “help Hook out with the repairs”.
“His Charming Highness informed me that you are supposed to provide refreshments when you ask people to help you move out, move in, clean up, put together furniture or— What was it again, mate?“
Hook’s pretense to have forgotten the last part is overdone in Neal’s personal opinion but any joy he might have derived from David’s eyeroll is offset by Emma’s clearly amused snort and the way her gaze seems to linger a bit too long on the shirt that is literally sticking to the pirate with perspiration at this point – yeah, right, very attractive that.
“Fix up your ship.”
“Aaah, of course! I knew one of those did not sound like the rest.”
“Is it sweaty, heavy-lifting work? Then we’re supposed to get beer out of it,” David states as if it is law.
“Hence, the ale,” Hook inclines his head towards the crate before turning his attention back to the rope he is securing.
“And you might wanna start helping, if you want any.”
Neal doesn’t appreciate David’s slightly derisive tone any more than he appreciates the way Emma hasn’t looked at him even once since they set foot on deck.
“Hey, what can I do?” Henry emerges from below deck, having put on the “work clothes” he brought especially for this “operation”.
“Nothing, buddy, you can just come check out the ship’s wheel with me.”
He knows that at least Henry will always be on his side. Which is why the way his son’s face falls is probably the harshest blow of all.
“But you already did on the way back from New York. And then Hook showed me on the way back from Neverland.”
Neal grinds his teeth and tells himself Henry is not the one he should snap at.
“I thought I will actuallyget to help.”
“Sure you will, kid, come here.”
Oh, fantastic. Now she is looking at him, that “your parenting is subpar” look. He gets enough of those from the fucking literal Evil Queen.
“Look at these,” Emma unfurls the managed sail and point to two singed holes.
Most of the destruction to the ship was the work of their latest mini-villain as Emma called them but, if the extra evil looks Hook was sending Regina the other day were any indication, those specific holes had been collateral damage in the witch’s contra attack.
Any villain that they manage to deal with in under a week is apparently a mini-villain. Frankly, Neal is tired of those as well at this point. Frankly, he may have missed out the last two. Whatever.
“You check how big those are and then Hook is gonna show you where you can look for cloth that will be big enough to fill them up, ok?”
It’s a stupid task if he has ever heard one but he can’t make himself scowl too hard when it brings that megawatt smile to Henry’s face.
The scowl comes natural though when Hook happily urges the boy below deck to show him where he keeps potential replacements. He is just about to ask if leaving the pirate alone with their son is really such a good idea, when David groans loudly.
“Alright, I know I suggested this and hey, I don’t mind the fresh air and Hook has a decent taste in beer but – remind me again why we aren’t using magic for this?”
Emma throws the length of the rope in her hand over her shoulder and Neal admires the light sweat that has already formed on the surface of her skin. What he does not admire are the arm muscles. They are not ugly, per say, but they are far from feminine and befitting a beautiful blonde like Emma, in his opinion.
“Because I think it will be at least another month before Hook allows Regina on his ship again and she herself didn’t seem all that eager to offer some help. And I know what guys are like with their cars and this is like… ten times that. Ain’t no way I’m trying to work my amateur magic on his baby.”
Neal follow her pointed look and sees that Hook has emerged back on deck. He hasn’t even noticed but, of course, Emma does right away. Figures.
Hook looks like he wants to say something less than decent – when does he not – but a quick glance at David seems to change his mind and he tries to replace the lecherous look on his face with a more sincere one.
“Come now, Swan, you’ve been working hard on your magic and it shows. I will… almost trust you with her.”
“Wow. I’ve earned myself an “almost”.”
She says it in a deadpan voice but only a blind man would miss the way she preens a little under the backhand compliment. Neal wishes he was blind.
“You know what, I really didn’t dress for this kind of mess. I’ll… I’ll see you guys at Granny’s when you’re done here, yeah?”
He doesn’t really wait for anyone to acknowledge him. Well, he does… just a minute… then he slips off the ship.
*****
The pirate is a fucking nuisance. Not only did he apparently accompany everyone else to Granny’s – which Neal is sure he had no reason to do – doesn’t he have food on that damn ship they’d been fixing all day – but now everyone has to listen to his idiotic attempts to handle a smartphone.
“That is not even a little bit what I did.”
“It is exactlywhat you did.”
“Are you blind? Is it the age? It’s the age. I should take you to get glasses. We’ll get the really big, thick black frames ones.”
Alright, so it’s not that everyone has to listen, it’s that Neal would prefer it if everyone was listening, instead of Emma being literally pressed against that man in the booth literally across from him – there are not that many people, there is no need for them to be sitting that close – whispering and fucking giggling – because, no, after a certain point too much laughter is simply annoying giggles and that’s that – over the smartphone that he was pretty sure she personally bought for the damn pirate.
“But why do you have to put in both a person’s name andphone number? I thought you said this phonewas smart, Swan. Shouldn’t it just know whose number it is without me having to tell it?”
Emma opens her mouth, obviously more than ready to answer the absolutely ridiculous question, and Neal simply cannot take the indulgent expression on her face a second longer.
“Jesus, man, it’s not that fucking complicated. Five-year-olds can work smartphones, you know? Figure it out on your own.”
Hook and Emma fall silent. And so does every other person on their table. For a moment Neal almost feels guilty for cursing, then he thanks his lucky stars that Regina already took Henry home.
“Right,” Hook clears his throat and, despite the awkwardness that has settled into the previously cheerful air, Neal is gratified to see the pirate’s ears flame up and his shoulders tense up with an unusual bolt of self-consciousness. “I’m sure I can navigate my way through the numbers and internets.”
Neal rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to correct him. The dumbass probably doesn’t even understand that the Internet is not an actual net.
“Why?” Emma gently pries the phone from Hook’s white-knuckled grip before Neal can get a word in again. “It’s so much more fun to do it together.”
Beside Neal, David suddenly chokes on his fries and an oblivious Snow starts thumping him on the back while Neal grits his teeth and feels all the blood rush to his face as Hook’s eyes zero in on Emma, his damn eyebrows as far on his forehead as they can go.
“Like photos,” Emma supplies a full half minute later, the mock innocence in her voice certainly fooling no one but Snow White.
Then her hand reaches for the pirate’s hook and places it firmly on the table in front of Neal – for a second he is sure it is a threatening message and he cannot believe Emmais—
But then she puts her own next to it and curls her fingers so that her hand and his appendage form a heart before she pulls her other arm back and snaps a picture.
(Baby bit inspired by the current cold snap. Other reference because I couldn’t resist.)
—–
“It’s not fit for man nor beast out there.”
It sounds different in an accent, so different in fact that Emma doesn’t place the phrase right away. It’s only when Killian eases the front door closed to staunch the rush of frigid air that followed him into the house that she recognizes it. “Did you just quote Sports Night at me?”
The show is the latest in their Netflix binge, mostly because Emma wanted something funny to follow their weeks-long foray into the world of SVU.
“Is that where that came from?” a shivering Killian asks. “The phrase just came to me but it couldn’t be more apt.”
Emma pushes a mug of cocoa into Killian’s icy hand. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that Captain Hook, scourge of the Enchanted Seas, quotes a ‘90s comedy.”
He grasps the mug tightly, allowing the warm ceramic to reheat his fingers and palm. “I’m full of surprises, love.”
“Yes, you are. How was patrol? Aside from cold.”
“Quiet. Apparently nobody wants to go out in this, as well they shouldn’t. One wouldn’t think it was possible for a place to be this cold without magical intervention.”
Emma drapes a sherpa blanket around his shoulders and leads him into the living room, where a fire is roaring in the fireplace. He eases down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh.
As she settles beside him, she’s reminded of the night of the ice cave. Their places are switched now; he’s doing the recuperating and she’s doing the warming. So much has happened in between that night and now: darkness and death and True Love and resurrection and marriage. The road that has taken them here has been long and treacherous but the destination is worth every single obstacle they’ve had to overcome.
Killian sips the cocoa and allows Emma’s comfort to warm him inside and out. When he can move his fingers without the dull, frozen ache, he sets the mug down on the end table. “What’s on tap for tonight?”
And all of a sudden, cuddling with Killian in front of the fire with a heavy blanket on their laps sounds like Emma’s idea of heaven. She removes the blanket from his shoulders and spreads it out to engulf them both instead. Killian smiles, wraps his arm around her shoulders, and pulls her close. “Aye, love,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head. “Sounds perfect.”
The lovely cutieodonoghue prompted me to write a missing scene from Emma and Killian’s date explaining how she ended up wearing his jacket. My last one-shot was a bit angsty, so here’s some mega fluff to make up for it.
She’s making him nervous. Something about that realization manages to calm the butterflies in her own stomach, at least to a more balanced flutter instead of the swarm she’s been dealing with since first opening the door and seeing him look like that. And the hand, his hand, wrapped up in hers as they weave their way out of the restaurant, it’s both somehow anchoring and setting her adrift at the same time. She doesn’t know if she should talk to him about it, get the whole story of how he got it back and what it means to him, too afraid of drudging up painful topics on this, their first real date. Instead, she chooses to focus on the warmth of his fingers, the press of his ring against her knuckle and the way his thumb moves in a circle against her skin every time he catches her looking at him. And yeah, that’s happened more than a few times tonight already.
The cool breeze coming in from the water rustles her skirt as they step outside, prompting her to step a bit closer to his side as a shiver courses down her bare arms.
“Let’s get you to the car, love”
Her mind and body react simultaneously as her hand grips his just a bit firmer and she looks from her bug over to him with a genuine smile. She’s not ready for the night to be over, not quite yet.
Okay so before you get started, this isn’t much- and it’s slightly weird as I gave Killian an occupation thats differentfrom the normal tropes. I wrote this relatively quickly and haven’t edited so I’m sorry for that as per usual, but I do hope you sunflowers will enjoy it despite that! <3
The weary feeling had sunken deep into his bones, and he carried it heavily as he dragged his feet up the steps to their home. He fell onto the makeshift bench and used the last of his energy to pull off his boots. They dropped to the porch with a dull thud and Killian released a deep sigh of relief as he massaged the sole of his foot with his fingers, before his head fell back to rest against the siding.
He was sure by now that she had heard, that the word had gotten back to land and sent her into a tailspin as she sat idle at home, helpless. He wanted to go in and comfort her, to reassure her that it had never been him in danger, and yet, at the same time all he wanted to do was hold onto her tightly and find his own solace. He loved his job; at least that’s what he told himself every time he dealt with such a maelstrom.
He heard the creak of door hinge followed by the soft thumps of her bare feet slapping against their porch as she rapidly approached his still form. He took a deep breath before her body collided with his, her assault causing pain to reverberate throughout his sore muscles. He groaned but pulled her tighter to him as he felt the dampness start to seep through his shirt. His hand grasped the back of her neck and his fingers tangled in her hair there as he began to rock her gently; like he would an infant. He tucked his head down so that his every breath was coated in the smell of her hair, almost as if he would be able to breathe in her very essence. Her knuckles were white with strain as her fingers threated to tear holes in his jacket from the strength of her grip.
“Swan, not even Poseidon himself could keep me from you,” Killian whispered on a ragged breath as he attempted to pull her even closer, he had hoped he could strangle his fears amidst their embrace. She attempted to shake her head, but only managed to rub her nose along the collar of his shirt. He laughed feebly at her motion and pulled back just enough to look at her.
“Nothing could keep me from getting back to you.”
“We just heard the report over the radio, that they were air lifting someone out and my heart stopped. I can’t lose you,” her words were broken and they scratched against her throat as she murmured them into his chest.
His hands moved in a rhythmic pattern on her back as he clenched his eyes shut. Behind his eyelids the storm roared back to life, and the waves crashed relentlessly onto the ships deck. They were farther out than they should be, too far from shore and sitting ducks when the sea turned dangerous. Back and forth they rocked, the cages rattled and everyone did their best to man their stations, to keep the boat functioning despite the chaos of the weather. It was when one of the traps sprung loose that the real pandemonium broke lose. It clattered across the deck and rammed into Robin as the next wave hit.
“Come back to me.”
He opened his eyes and his stormy azure eyes met her worried, red rimmed olive ones. Her hands were gripping his cheeks and her thumbs were rubbing the short beard he had grown while away. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, his own hands moving to comb and tangle through her hair.
He tilted his head slightly and pressed his lips against hers. It started gentle but took on a different tone entirely as they both poured everything they had into it. They both knew what they stood to lose, and were thankful that in this moment they were still together. He pulled back and peppered any available skin in light kisses and felt the weight finally lift minutely as her airy giggle sounded through the air.
English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU
Killian is reading in the garden when it starts to rain. It’s not a lot, just drops against the thin pages of his book. He’s nearly to the end of Jane Eyre now. He’s honestly ready to be done with the book. Where it had once been enthralling, it now seems tiresome. The pain of the loss of Alice lingers folded in it’s pages.
He’s wondering if he should seek some refuge from the rain, when he looks up to see Emma running across the field. She’s windswept, her hair falling loose from her ponytail. Yet she’s still beautiful, like a Romantic heroine, her dress sticking to her torso. He can tell there are tears in her eyes.
He rises to his feet, striding as quick as he can to her. They meet in the middle. He wraps her in his arms quickly. Something is wrong, he notices instantly, from the slump of her shoulders and the desperateness she clings to him with. Her hands knots in the back of his shirt, holding on to him.
“Emma, love?” He asks into her hair. “Whatever is wrong?”
It must be the statue, he thinks. It must have gotten into her head. He should not have left her there by herself. She had heavy emotions that he should have been there to help her with.
“Killian, I can’t,” she mumbles, her voice half delirious.
“Can’t what?” He prods, fear trickling through his body.
She sniffles and whispers again, “I can’t.”
It’s windy outside, the rain picking up, and he can’t hear her well.
“Come, love,” he says. “Let’s get you inside. It’s getting bad out here.”
She shakes her head against his chest, “No. I can’t.”
He rubs his hands up and down her arms. “You’re going to catch a cold, love. I want to hear what’s upset you, but some place a bit less damp and cold.”
“No, no,” she says. “We can’t go into the castle. I can’t deal with it.”
“Deal with what, Swan?” He asks, slipping his hands down her arms to take her hands in his. He raises them to his lips to kiss them softly. They are already freezing.
“They’re going to tell me that I’m the lost princess,” she whispers. “And I’m not ready for it.”
He tries to process what she is saying. She’s the lost princess. She’s not ready.
His mind flits through all the evidence that he’s been trying to not point out for so long. The uncanny resemblance between the girl in Killian’s memories and Emma herself. The name. The accent. The right history. The scar on her shoulder. Even the chin. Killian’s spent so long trying to get Emma to remember something. For the connection to hold. And maybe, just maybe this visit to the gardens triggered the very thing that Killian’s been dreaming of. Maybe, even after last night’s fight, she has finally had the epiphany that he knows, he’s certain, must be coming.
But maybe that’s not it? Killian doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Reality rushes through him. Maybe the Queen or Regina just think that Emma is the lost princess and they want her to go public about it for publicity. Maybe now they’re manipulating her, asking her to pose as the princess. For what? For Misthaven Morale?
He’s going to need more information. Emma’s given him such few words, but his mind is spinning with possibilities. He knows, he’s certain, that something fundamental, potentially something he’s yearned for, is changing right here and now.
He brushes his hand against her hair softly, like he would a timid animal. She curls into him more, shivering.
What she needs, he realizes, obviously isn’t to go back into the castle. She needs to talk and in more than one way, unfreeze.
“Come love,” he whispers into her hair.
He leads her out of the castle grounds, the statues and winter garden behind them. Looking back now, he’s uncertain why he thought it was a good idea to take her there when she was in a bizarre state from the night before. As they weave down the cobblestone, she sniffles now, looking a bit less anxious. He thanks the gods for that.
There is a little tea shop in the grey stone shops lining the road. Called “The Castle Gate Cafe,” it’s lace doily sort of place. The counter boasts an assortment of cakes. He situates Emma in a table that’s tucked into a bay window off to the side that overlooks a damp patch of garden.
As he orders an Americano, a cappuccino, and a slice of lemon lavender cake, he glances back at Emma. Her face is distant, as if her thoughts are in another world.
When he comes back to join her, he presses a cappuccinos into her hands. She closes her eyes and takes a sip, her shivering subsiding.
“Sorry,” she says, after another pensive sip. “I must have seemed crazy back there. Or pathetic.”
“Emma, love, you seem traumatized,” he tells her.
She swallows, “I think I am a little.”
He takes a bit of the lemon cake. It’s sweet and soothing. He puts a piece of it on a fork and passes it to Emma. She takes the bite and gives him a smile.
“I was really affected by what I saw in gardens. I felt so ashamed for scamming the queen. I honestly couldn’t take it anymore. I was like in a weird trance or something, I swear. I felt like an out of body feeling, I don’t know.”
He takes a bite of cake and nods at her to continue.
She rambles, ”So, I went into the castle and all of a sudden, Mary Margaret was there and I just had to tell her everything.”
Killian chokes on his cake, “Everything?”
“Yeah, about the opera and our old plan and everything,” Emma manages.
He frowns knowing this means risking her security in Mishaven, her trust with the Queen, and the possibility of her returning to the country- and to him. “What happened?”
“She didn’t care. Killian, it’s crazy. She said that it doesn’t make a difference. She loves me,” Emma admits.
He reaches out to take her hand. Killian knows how much this means to her- to get the Queen’s affection and approval, to be loved by a parental-type figure in the way she’s always yearned to be. He knows it because he’s wanted it too. That’s part of why he’s never taken Ruby’s Granny’s generosity for granted. He rubs his thumb against her palm, part of him so understands and is proud for Emma.
“That’s marvelous, Swan,” he says.
She takes another sip of cappuccino, before she presses her lips together, and looks up at him.
“But then all of a sudden, Prime Minister Mills walked in,” she tells him.
He lets an eyebrow lift in place of a question.
“And she said that she took DNA from us both, without either of us knowing,” Emma says.
Killian thinks back to the week before, the suspected break-in. Of course it wasn’t the hooded man, it was the Prime Minister.
“We’re related,” Emma tells him. “I’m Mary Margaret’s daughter.”
So he was right.
He’s been right all along. It’s her. Emma is the girl from his childhood. It was Emma who he used to play games with in the castle courtyard. It was Emma who he used to eat sweets with in the kitchens when the cook would make them an extra treat. It was Emma who he ran across the field with that dark night. It was Emma who saw his brother right before he died. It was Emma who was now his sovereign. Emma.
“You’re the lost princess,” Killian says.
He feels a weird bit of emotion well up in him, a feeling of completeness that now is crescendoing. The girl who disappeared that night has been found. The lost girl who never had a family has been welcomed home.
When Emma looks up at him and sees the emotion in his face, something changes in her too. Tears spring again to her eyes. He quickly moves from his seat to slide in the booth next to her. His arms wrap around her. His lips kiss her hair. He tries to hide his sniffles, but he can’t.
She wraps her arms back around him, burying her face in his chest.
“We found you, Emma,” he whispers. “You came home to us.”
She sniffles.
“Killian, I don’t know how to react to this,” she murmurs back. “You’re crying, Mary Margaret is crying. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t feel like a princess. I don’t feel like my life is changing. I still don’t remember anything. It’s not like a sudden dramatic flashback or anything. All of these people keep looking at me like I’m supposed to be crying, but I don’t even know.”
Killian tries to be attentive to her. He realizes that Emma isn’t experiencing this moment as he is. He needs to be there for her. Princess or not, Emma is his girlfriend. She needs him to support her through this emotionally cataclysmic moment.
“Don’t know what?” He asks, brushing another hand through her hair.
“How to be a princess? How to be a daughter? I’ve only ever been Emma Swan. I’ve only ever been lost or alone or fighting for myself. I just want to go back to Durham and write my thesis. I don’t want to learn how to curtsey or use dumb shrimp forks or whatever people do in those Hallmark lost princess movies.”
“I’m not quite sure what a Hallmark is,” Killian replies.
“It’s not important,” Emma says, sniffling and sighing. “It’s just. I’m not really sure I ever wanted this.”
“Emma, you have a family,” he says emphatically, tears still in his eyes. “You have a real life fairy tale. You weren’t reading Blanche Neige all these years to run away from that. Princess Emmaline Georgette Analise Charmant Blanchard Nolan, I promise this is everything you’ve ever wanted.”
She smiles and sniffles and nods, “Yeah, I think I know that. Maybe that’s what scares me the most.”
He hugs her tight.
“I still don’t know what to do,” Emma says. “I ran away from the Queen.”
“You ran away?” He laughs.
“Yeah, I didn’t know how to react and she was crying and I absolutely couldn’t be in that room another moment,” she says.
“Oh love. Oh Swan,” He says, amused. His voice is still ragged from tears. “I think we should go find your Mum now. She’ll be wanting to hug you too after all these years.”
–
They walk back into the castle. Emma has to fight against everything inside her that says to turn her back, head for the Misthaven airport, and take off for North Carolina. But Killian’s hand inside her own helps, a lot actually. She lets it ground her, stabilize her. He’s still looking at her with tears in his eyes that makes her uncomfortable, but she’s managing.
Queen Mary Margaret and Prime Minister Mills are standing in the foyer when they arrive. She realizes that everyone else is gone- the secretaries, the dignitaries and diplomats, or whoever else might be in the castle. It’s just them.
“Your Royal Highness,” Regina says, “I’m truly sorry for springing the news on you in an improper way. I apologize.”
Emma tucks some hair behind her ears. It’s still damp from the rain earlier, which has now turned into a gentle mist.
“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m sorry for running away. It’s an old habit, I guess.”
“Emma,” the queen says finally, her voice choked up.
Mary Margaret takes a step forward, her lips pursed to hold back a sob.
Emma realizes that like it or not, this is her life now. She can keep running from it. Or she can embrace it. It doesn’t mean she needs to give up everything. Those details- her thesis, her livelihood, the dumb shrimp forks- they can be sorted out later. But right now, she’s just found out that this woman who has been nothing but a kind motherly figure to her these last few months is her actual real life mother. The least she can do is hug her.
She crosses the space and steps into her arms. It feels like melting, like comfort. Like a blanket wrapped around you on a cold day. Like turning the doorknob on your apartment door. Like a bowl sized cappuccino made just how she likes it. Like home. Mary Margaret, Killian, Misthaven- this was her home. She has a home. She is home.
“I’ve had a few assistants go out to get some Mamie’s coffee and croissants for you,” Mary Margaret says. “And we’ll call in some take away later for dinner.”
Emma doesn’t say that they just got coffee, because really, she always wants coffee. And it sounds, oh so cozy, to drink more coffee in this castle with the Queen. With her mom.
“I was thinking that I could give you a tour of the castle,” Mary Margaret says. “And then maybe, this is silly, but we’ve got these old home videos David used to take of you as a child. They’ve been too painful for me to ever watch, but maybe, since you’re here- we could watch them together.”
Emma smiles. She could do this. And maybe the home videos might even help her process and visualize and remember.
“That sounds great,” Emma tells her.
“I’ll just see you later then,” Killian whispers from behind her.
“No, no,” Mary Margaret says. “Please, Killian, you are family. Stay.”
Emma turns to smile at him and offer him her hand. “Stay.”
–
It’s late that night when they make it back to Emma’s apartment. After the long, harrowing, revelatory day, the clean white apartment and cozy house plants are the perfect greeting.
Emma is pretty sure she’s never been so tired. The rain and the emotions of the day have left her past drained. She leans on Killian as they walk in.
“Shower,” she mutters, as she stumbles towards the bathroom.
When Killian doesn’t follow immediately, she turns to him, “You too.”
He chuckles, before following her into the bathroom. She turns on the shower and cranks it up as high as it will go. That’s all she can think of right now- warm water and then a long sleep in her bed.
She strips off her clothes. Despite how tired she is, she glances behind her to see Killian’s expression. It’s something of admiration as he takes her in. She smirks and raises her eyebrows, before stepping in.
He’s inside the stream with her, sooner than she expects. The hot water alongside Killian’s arms wrapping around her lulls her and she feels the stress of the day leave her. She lets her eyes flutter closed as she leans back against his chest.
“What did you think of the evening with your mum?” He asks.
Emma smiles at the fact she has a mother. It’s a fact that is going to take a very long time to accept and set in, but for now she’s honoring her personal intention to embrace it.
“It was good,” Emma says.
“You know you can be honest with me,” Killian tells her, his hands moving to rub her shoulders. She realizes all the tensions she’s held in.
“No, I’m being honest,” she insists. “It was like having a family. A very rich, ridiculous family. But a genuine cozy little family.”
Killian nuzzles her hair, before moving to get her lavender aromatherapy body wash. He dabs it on a loofa and begins to rub it all over her.
“It was weird with those videos,” Emma murmurs.
She thinks back to the happy memory from less than an hour ago: of her, Killian, and Mary Margaret piled on a couch in one of the more comfortable lounges of the hilltop castle. They’d had takeaway pizza, which Emma could process now as a gesture from the Queen to be “chill” and let her ease her way into this.
They’d watched these videos of Emma with her family as a child. Baby Princess Emma waltzing with her father. Baby Princess Emma riding around on Prancer in the woods. Baby Princess Emma giggling as she plays tag with Killian down palace corridors. It’s weird to look at that little girl and know that it was her who did those things.
“I guess,” Emma says, as Killian switches from washing to shampooing, “I’ve been thinking for the last months, since I got here, that Princess Emma is this other person. A person who probably hates me for impersonating her. A person who is far more innocent than myself. A person who is probably dead.”
Killian starts rubbing shampoo into her hair and it’s fundamentally soothing. She lets out a soft sigh.
“It’s just weird to think that she’s me,” Emma says. “We are one in the same.”
She turns to face Killian and looks up at him. “You aren’t saying anything. I’m just monologuing here.”
He shakes his head as he runs his finger along the scar on her shoulder.
“I know, love,” He says softly. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve thought you were her this whole time. I know you don’t want to hear it.”
She takes his hand from her shoulder to bring it to her lips to kiss his palm.
“No, it’s fine,” Emma says. “As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew you had your suspicions the whole time. Even last night, you did. And in the end it doesn’t matter, because here we are anyway.”
Killian reaches behind her to turn off the water. He kisses her softly before opening the curtain. He passes her a towel and she wraps it around her shoulders, following him out of the bathroom.
She pulls on a Duke Writing Studio t-shirt and a pair of underwear, before toweling off her hair and crawling into bed. Killian is already there, arms ready to pull her close.
Her eyes flicker closed naturally and she sighs softly.
She supposes that is another good, but terrifying thing about this whole situation: every obstacle of distance that was between her and Killian has faded. Misthaven is her home now.
She knows that she has plenty of thoughts about that to fret over in the future. A tendril of fear and another of anticipation wind in her stomach, but for now the wave exhaustion crashes over and pulls her under.
–
The next morning, Emma tries to fall into her normal schedule. She needs routine and hard work to ground her. She always has. It’s a coping mechanism.
Killian is still sleeping when she wakes. She makes coffee in the French Press before heading to her desk overlooking the park. She pulls the soft grey blanket off the couch and wraps around herself, before opening up her thesis materials. She’s just a happy little Emma in her quaint, minimalist Misthaven apartment enjoying her coffee and working on her PhD.
She doesn’t know much about what the future holds, but it has to hold her dissertation. She’s spent so much time on it. She’s put in so much work. Looking at it now, she hopes that she won’t look ridiculous for writing her thesis on her own mother’s work or specializing in the literature from the country she is now sovereign of. But she thinks that if she can keep the Blanche Neige secret under wraps and she can probably pass off a decent thesis.
She smiles fondly at herself as she starts typing- she can be the first Princess with a PhD. She googles it just to fact check herself. Frowning, she realizes that a Japanese princess has already beat her to it.
A princess , she reminds herself. She’s still processing it. If she’s being honest, she’s probably at a sort of denial stage in the process because she’s feeling pretty chill about it. The shock of it has worn off, but she’s certain that the reality hasn’t set in yet either.
“How is my princess this morning?” A groggy voice asks from behind her.
She turns to see a disheveled Killian leaning against the door frame of her bedroom. He’s just in boxers and his hair is sticking up in all directions.
She purrs, “Come here.”
He walks behind her chair and loops his arms around her. She feels the scruff of his beard on her cheek as he leans down to give her a kiss.
She turns her head to kiss him on the lips, her hands cupping his face to pull him down to her. His body curves around hers to deepen the kiss and pull her close. She feels so soft and delicate, like she’s something so precious to him. She’s grown to like that feeling- like she matters.
Her arms lift to his shoulders and he uses his own arms to lift her. Her legs curl around his torso.
“Sorry about the coffee breath,” she whispers, self conscious.
“Dammit Emma,” He whispers, as he falls onto the couch.
She transitions perfectly into straddling him. Her hands dive into his gloriously disheveled hair. His head lowers to kiss her neck, then her collarbone, before he settles to lick at the base of her throat.
She hums in pleasure. All her thoughts, her worries, her cares are gone. All she can think of is Killian, the man she loves- and it’s bliss.
Then a phone’s ringtone strikes the air and the spell is broken.
Emma stumbles off of him to head for her bedroom where her phone is lying on her bedside table.
“Hello,” she asks, not pausing to glance at the number.
“Emma, darling,” replies Mary Margaret.
Her mom. The queen. Blanche Neige. It’s almost dizzying.
“Oh hey,” Emma says, sitting on the side of her bed.
“I was wondering if you and Killian would like to join me and Regina for brunch,” she says. “We have a lot to go over- publicity, citizenship, castles, balls.”
Emma can hear a smile in her voice, but her own stomach churns. The denial phase is slowly slipping away into something else, some sort of reality setting in. She can’t have slow and silly mornings with her boyfriend because she has princess responsibilities.
But she feels, alongside of that, a weird sense of duty well up in her. Of course, she must be at this meeting. She can tell that just like the night before, the Queen is trying to make it easier for her. She isn’t throwing her into royal duties, just inviting her to a casual brunch.
“Yes, certainly,” Emma says. “We’ll be there.”
“It’ll be at my place,” Mary Margaret says. “The Summer Palace. I’ll send a car for you in about a half an hour. See you then!”
Killian pokes his head in and she explains the brunch meeting.
“I’ve actually got work this morning, love,” He explains. “I can skip it, for certain, darling, if you want. I don’t want you to go alone if you are nervous.”
Emma can’t believe she forgot that Killian has a life outside of her. But of course he does. She senses that everything for them is going to change very soon. “Publicity” the queen said. It may be one of the last times that Killian will get to work in peace, or work at all.
“It’s fine,” Emma says, rising to meet him and kissing his cheek. “Go to work, Killian.”
They launch into action, mutually displeased to leave behind their moment on the couch, but both busy with their plans. Emma changes into a pair of black jeans and a sweater, hoping that it’s a nice enough outfit for brunch with the Queen. Her hair, messy and tangled from sleeping it in wet, goes up into what she hopes suffices as an elegant top knot. A spritz of perfume, a bit of concealer and mascara, a peck on Killian’s lips- and she’s out the door to meet the car.
The Christmas decorations are up in their full glory when Emma arrives at the summer palace: fairy lights, garland, and wreaths of evergreen adoring the palace. She exits the car and is greeted by a doorman who informs her that the Prime Minister and Her Majesty are in the Forest Room. Emma nods and makes her way through the palace, trimmed with Christmas cheer, before finding the tea room.
“Emma, darling,” Mary Margaret says, crossing the room to envelop her in a hug.
Emma wants to resist, because that is her instinct. Flashes of Ingrid, of other foster parents flash through her mind. People she thought she could trust, but proved her wrong. It’s hard to believe that there is actually someone here who truly loves her and won’t leave. But it’s true. So she lets her mother hug her and lets herself relax into the hug. A part of her that has always been raw and ragged, now feels soothed.
“Did you sleep alright?” She asks.
Emma nods.
“Well there is fruit and patisserie on the sideboard, coffee and tea as well. If you prefer a hot breakfast, you can just order from one of the footmen,” The queen directs.
Not being fussy, Emma takes some strawberries and a pain au chocolat. She fills one of the dainty mugs with coffee and then joins Mary Margaret and Regina at the table.
“Shall we dive into it?” The Prime Minister asks. “We need to decide when to send out the press release. I’ve already had it drafted and you can review it if you please.”
She pushes Emma a piece of paper with the official Misthaven seal on it. Emma tries to skim it, but her mind is too all over the place to focus.
“I think it’s best to do it as soon as possible,” Regina informs her. “It would be disastrous if the information was leaked from someone else. Obviously there will be a lot of commotion about it at first. This is, afterall, a nearly impossible event to happen- lost princess finds her way home. So I expect that we’ll have a fair bit of international coverage. It’ll be best if you lay low during that time, avoiding reporters and the like. However, once it dies down, you should be fine. Misthaven is too small to have the insane paparazzi that English and Swedish royals face.”
Emma nods. The words paparazzi makes her squirm and want to run away. She thinks about the simple pleasure of drinking coffee at Mamies or sitting, editing her paper, in Killian’s pub. She wonders if she’ll ever get that pleasure again. Or at least how long she’ll have to wait to do that again.
“We’ll hire you security as well,” The queen adds. “At least until the hype dies down and even after, so we all know you are safe.”
Emma nods again. She wishes she brought a notebook to take notes.
“You’ll obviously move into the house in the Southern Valley,” the Queen tells her. “And we’ll have to make plans for the Christmas ball. It’s a bit last minute for a dress, but we can figure something out.”
Emma feels her forehead crinkle, all of it hitting her too fast to process.
“But, I’m leaving Misthaven next Thursday to be back in America for Christmas,” Emma says. “I already bought the ticket.”
The only way that Emma could buy the ticket was through her grant and fellowship. There was no way she could afford it on her own. She couldn’t just buy another one because she changed her mind about when she wanted to go back.
“What do you mean going back to America?” Regina asks, perplexed.
“To go back to Duke and finish my PhD,” Emma explains.
“Well clearly that isn’t important now, is it?” Regina says.
“What do you mean?” Emma says, startled. Her mind races with defensive thoughts. She can’t lose her thesis. “That’s everything. My life’s work.”
“Emma will finish her PhD,” Mary Margaret says. “Of course she will.”
Emma feels her pounding heart decelerate.
“It might be in your best interest, however,” the Queen says. “To take a semester off. See if you can take a small leave of absence. I’m sure it’s understandable, just so you have time to transition.”
Emma wants to say no. She wants to say that she spends Christmas with Belle and her father each year. She wants poinsettias in the green house and presents under the tree.
But then she thinks about waking up on Christmas morning with Killian beside her. A Christmas tree in her own house. Emma’s never even entertained the thought of having a house of her own before because it seemed too impossible. But now she’ll have one and a family of her own to spend Christmas with. Yes, she’ll have to stay. It seems silly now to have even thought otherwise.
“What about my flight home?” She asks. “I already bought it.”
“Don’t take it, obviously,” Regina says. “I’m not even sure why we are talking about this. You’ve just inherited a hundred million euros, I’m not quite sure why you’re hung up on this.”
Oh.
Emma tries to process a hundred million.
She thinks about stealing concealer from the drugstore because she couldn’t afford it and she wanted to cover up the bruises.
She thinks of eating a grilled cheese every other day and sleeping in the library.
She thinks of all the opportunities she said no to- studying abroad, nights at the theater, dinners out with professors- because she couldn’t afford it.
And now she has a hundred million euros.
Emma doesn’t realize she is crying until her fat tears fall into her coffee cup, a sob coming out of her chest.
“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, coming over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “My dear, what is it?”
Emma tries to breath and chokes on her breath, a hiccup forming.
“I’ve never had money like that,” she says. “Nothing close to that. I’ve always had to scrape and fight for scraps. I don’t know how to have this life now.”
Mary Margaret and Regina exchange a look and the Prime Minister leaves the room. The queen lowers herself down so that she meet Emma face to face.
“Emma,” the queen begins, rubbing her back as tears tumble from Emma’s eyes. “I am terribly sorry that you’ve lived a life you didn’t deserve. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to experience such horrible poverty and so much financial anxiety. I’m sorry for every moment you’ve been lonely. Every moment you’ve wondered where your mum was. I’m sorry that I couldn’t tuck you in at night and take you on nice holidays and buy you new books. I can’t begin to understand what your life has been like, but I can tell you it’s going to be better now.”
Emma sniffles and looks up at her.
“You’ll never want or fret about money. You’ll be able to help others with that money, make a difference in the world. You and Killian will be able to give your kids everything you didn’t have,” The queen says.
The queen beckons Emma into another hug and she obliges.
“You are going to have a good life now, Emma,” the Queen tells her.
Eventually Emma’s tears lull and Regina returns. They start to make plans for Emma’s move, which is to happen in two days. They take her measurements to send to the dressmaker for Emma’s dress for the ball, which will also double as her public debut. And they pass along a debit card for her new royal bank account. Regina advises she starts updating her wardrobe with pieces that are “couture” and informs her that once her move is finished, a stylist will come to help her look a bit more sophisticated.
The comment makes Emma want to roll her eyes, but she decides that isn’t very princess-like and resists.
It’s overwhelming and totally new. But Emma is trying, with all her might, to shove the walls down. If they come up now, she’ll only hurt Mary Margaret and Killian. She hasn’t worked this hard to turn on them.
As the driver takes her back down from the mountaintop palace, she leans her head against the window. She imagines herself turning into a tree, roots growing deep into the ground, branches reaching towards the sky. She tries to think of herself as being unmoved here, firm of purpose and place. Growing a home here in this place, here in Misthaven.
She has the driver drop her off at Mamie’s, where she gets a cappuccino and reads a book of fairy tales. Emma decides she needs to make the most of her last few days of anonymity. It starts to rain again, the weather decidedly cold now, Indian summer behind them. From Mamie’s, she can see Killian’s pub across the street and across the blustery street she can just make him out at the counter. She sends him a text telling him to come over when he finishes his shift.
As she flicks through her phone, she realizes she has a text from Belle.
Sorry to change our usual plans girl, but Will invited me to Misthaven for Christmas to meet his family. Any chance I can convince you to stay in Misthaven for Xmas as well?
Emma taps back.
Haha I just decided today to stay in Misthaven for Christmas too.
Emma smirks to herself and sips her cappuccino as she waits for a response.
Yes, amazing!! Can you stay with Killian then? Is it okay if Will and I take back his apartment?
Rolling her eyes, Emma replies:
In a huge plot twist, I’m actually getting my own place in Misthaven. I’ll explain more later on facetime when I am not at a coffee shop. Loooong story.
This fic sequel to @totheendoftheworldortime ‘s stellar “This Isn’t Everything You Are” takes us to Camelot and back again for a stunning showdown with more than one formidable adversary before all is said and done. I loved the overarching mystery from the previous story to this one. I loved the growth and depth Emma and Killian’s relationship continued to gain in this second part of the series, I loved the Arthurian setting and the characters from that mythology interacting with our pirate and princess. All of it is seriously wonderful!!! If you haven’t read this one, clear your schedule. In my mind, it’s a classic favorite, and you won’t want to stop once you’ve started it!!
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 ❤️❤️
Emma & Killian have found their way back to their own time, but finding their home again will prove to be another adventure entirely…The Tale of a reunited family, an inescapable destiny and the marvels of indoor plumbing.
Thank you to the world’s best beta and most wonderful human ever @elizabeethan
♥️♥️♥️
“I can see three from here, lad,” Killian heckled, delighting in Henry’s frantic searching of the bookshelf, the small multicolored wrapped chocolates glittering in the morning sunlight. He had stayed up late, having plotted for weeks since learning of this pirate-approved holiday- it’s religious, babe, not pirateous- mapping out the perfect places to hide his grocery bag of loot- hiding treasure? That’s a pirate activity, Swan.
She had stolen a handful of eggs from his bag, and he tsked his tongue at her, setting a small egg on the ledge to ensure it would stay in place, before snatching it back and moving to the next location he had selected. “That’s not a word, Swan.”
“It’s on Urban Dictionary,” she defended, cheeks bulging from the eggs she had popped into her mouth lest he try to retake them. His answer was a disgruntled grunt and the side look he shot her told her exactly what he thought of the dictionary he had never heard of.
The morning was slightly less chaotic than Christmas, but the children vibrated with an energy echoing the sugar which awaited them, and Killian couldn’t help but feel swept along with their enthusiasm, heart skipping as he watched Henry kneel and point to the eggs he had hidden in plain view for Hope.
The sight settled something, a small piece of his soul which still remained anchorless and drifting, calling out to the memory of a home they left behind. This was better, his heart whispered, warm and solid in his chest, this is far, far better.
Hope vibrated with excitement, hoping like a bunny through the living room as Henry helped her find enough eggs to fill her small basket. She was sated for the time being, small fingers diligently unwrapping yet another foiled chocolate egg- she probably doesn’t need any more today, kid- attention entirely on her task as she ignored the dramatic hunt taking place in the next room, Killan’s laugh reverberating through the main floor- warmer…ah, no…. cooler now…. warmer- dressed in bunny pajamas Mary Margaret had brought the evening before, declaring she had informed the Easter Rabbit- it’s a bunny, Mom- that it was to stop by the loft on its way through town.
They were heading to the loft for dinner, instructed to bring baskets for the eggs that the Rabbit would leave- rabbits are the same as bunnies, Emma- and the boardgame Henry was telling them about the weekend before.
“Ugh.”
“Getting warmer.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re cheating,” Henry groused, dragging a chair from the kitchen over, the feet scraping angrily over the gleaming hardwood Killian insisted they keep polished with the floor attachment her mother had bought him for Christmas- aye, Swan, I do like this contraption- before hopping on the seat, cawing gleefully when he seized a caramel filled egg from the top shelf.
“I would never,” Killian scoffed, hiding a smile behind the mug of coffee Emma had pressed into his palm, weary eyed and grumpy over the early morning- enjoy this for me, babe.
“You do,” Henry surveyed the room from his new perch, leaping down and dragging the chair behind him to retrieve two candies from the window ledge. “All the time!”
He found two more eggs before gloating that there could not possibly be any more left hidden, and he was more than prepared to move on to the kitchen.
Killian’s response was to raise an eyebrow, push dramatically away from where he had been lounging on the sofa and swipe four eggs Henry had missed from the picture frame above the mantel- Hey! Wait!- smirking as he unwrapped and popped them into his mouth. “Now, the living room is clear,” he ruffled Henry’s hair and picked the chair up to return it to the kitchen.
Did you guess it was me? Let me tell you, capitalizing my first person pronouns and remembering to turn on anon were hard, so very hard, but the hardest thing to do was NOT CLICKING ‘LIKE’ on every one of your responses, because i loved them all SO MUCH.
i know this time of year is not the easiest for you, but i am sending you LOVE and HUGS, and i want you to know that i had the most wonderful time chatting with you these last 3 weeks.
Also, you like canon, and therefore i wrote canon – actual, compliant canon – and there can be no greater proof of my love.
But seriously, i loved writing this for you, absolutely enjoyed playing in your sandbox, tackling the original characters, and i hope hope hope you like it.
i also hope December gets easier for you next year and i wish you ALL THE GOOD THINGS, because you DESERVE THEM ALL.
You are wonderful.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
PS: There’s one small reference to firefly in this because i cannot help myself sometimes.
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Thanks as always to the amazing @profdanglaisstuff who laughs out loud these days when i say i don’t write canon. And who makes sure i don’t fall down rabbit holes. Laugh it up, fuzzball. (Yes, honey, i’ll quote Han Solo any time i damn well please.)
And thank you so much to the organizers of @cssecretsanta2020 for being so lovely and wondeful.
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SUMMARY: December happens and Killian has questions. Not about Christmas.
About his place in Emma’s life.
But then cookies are baked, hugs are given, smiles are smiled, and it turns out traditions are just the things you choose to keep.
Or the things you choose to start.
Set during the six weeks of peace in S4. Canon compliant if those six weeks include the month of December.
The thing about Christmas in the Land without Magic is that people keep explaining the wrong things.
“We get a tree,” Snow says one morning at Granny’s, in full teacher mode with her earnest eyes and her sincere smile. “An evergreen. Last year it was a fir, even though I prefer spruces.” Her smile turns wistful for a moment. “They remind me of home.”
The way she says ‘home’ makes it abundantly clear that she does not mean anything remotely near Storybrooke, and the irony of Snow White referencing the Enchanted Forest while lecturing Killian on the nature of Christmas trees is almost too much for him.
Especially since he asked her out for breakfast to find answers to a whole different set of questions. Questions which are much more important.
“And then we put lights and ornaments on it,” Snow goes on.
“Yes,” Killian says, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes. “Many of the children in Neverland spoke of Christmas when they first got to the island. Seems Pan delighted in taking them right around that time of year. There was lots of talk of Christmas trees and presents and meals which included geese and pudding. Although they seemed to have widely different opinions on what constitutes a ‘pudding’.”
“Oh,” Snow’s face falls. “Of course.” She falls silent.
“I’m sorry,” he says, because she looks sad now, and he doesn’t want that. “I didn’t mean to cut you off. Please tell me what else you do.”
Snow smiles.
“You’re being kind,” she says. “You probably know more about this realm’s traditions than I do.”
He grins. “ Kind is not usually the first word that comes to mind when one thinks of me.”
Snow laughs out loud.
“Maybe not,” she says, and then her voice gets very quiet. “But you are.”
He can’t speak for almost a minute. Snow doesn’t miss a beat, just pats his arm and then focuses on her waffles until he gets his bearings.
“Thanks,” he mumbles once he finds his voice again, and she just looks up, nods at him briefly, and then says, “We’re baking cookies tonight. Did Emma tell you?”
And that, that is much closer to what he’s actually confused about.
Killian Jones is a detective tasked on making sure the streets of Seattle are safe, especially during the night. When he comes across a young prostitute named Emma Swan, he immediately takes a liking to her. He vows to help make sure Emma gets off the streets, as difficult as it may be for Emma, as that is the only way she can earn money. She feels safe with Killian, and she soon begins to develop feelings for him—feelings she hasn’t felt in so long—and that scares her so much; she doesn’t want to lose Killian. The only other person she had deep feelings for left her abruptly. What she doesn’t know is that Killian would do absolutely anything to keep her safe…
So I kinda just made this by accident while trying to put together my weekly list (which I really need to get back to now…) so yeah, here’s a roundup for the month! This event was a lot of fun and I just want to send @initiala a huge thank you for organizing it and @wellhellotragicand@branlovesouat for helping out and congratulations on it being so successful!
