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.
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.
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
“Are you ready to go love?” Killian asks. He’s in the kitchen, drying the last of the plates from dinner.
Emma peers her head out of the bedroom, a smile on her face.
“Almost, I just need shoes,” she says.
It’d been a week since Emma had made peace with the Queen. Killian is endlessly proud of her courage and wisdom. He knows for a fact that forgiveness isn’t easy. The fact that Emma was able to forgive the Queen so openly, well, he admires her for that.
It was earlier this week that Emma booked her flight home. Killian’s throat had caught as he looked at the date on the ticket- just a few days before Christmas. Less than two weeks away. He’s tried to imagine spending Christmas without this woman who had firmly planted herself in his life. The thought of Christmas with Ruby and Granny, which had previously been a comforting thought, now makes him feel empty.
It was from this anxiety that he’d suggested they take one last trip to the opera house together. Emma had admitted that she was uncomfortable asking the queen for tickets and Killian agreed. Instead, she’d gotten them from the international student center at the university. It was for a ballet and Killian thought it would be a nice goodbye to a place that had been part of their journey together.
He’s pulled from his thoughts as she walks out of the room a moment later with a smile on her face. She’s dressed in a knee-length black dress with long sleeves and a jeweled belt around her waist to accentuate her thin frame. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, curling over her shoulder. Killian’s eyes linger over her dark eyelashes and bright red lips.
“Do I look alright?” She whispers.
Killian swallows, thinking about how lovely she looks, and how little time they have.
“Wonderful, love,” He manages, before offering her his arm.
Emma grabs her purse, opens the door, and leans on him as they walk out of the apartment. The path to the tram from Emma’s apartment is second nature to Killian now, as is the signature way they board the tram- Emma first with her card and Killian with his leap.
With the change of season, it gets darker now. The tram ride is a blur of light against the dark backdrop of the night sky. Killian weaves his arm around Emma and pulls her close. He cherishes each tiny moment of closeness they get. He wants to feel her for every moment they have left.
They get off at “Opèra” and make their way up to the opera house. The seats aren’t in the private box this time, but among the other International Students in the balcony.
“Maybe we should have invested in opera glasses at this point,” Killian mutters, as he finds his seat. They are still velvet lined and comfortable.
“Nah, it’s nice to see the formations from here. Balcony is good for ballet,” Emma tells him. She glances down at her program. “It’s a guest performance by the Royal Ballet. I saw them do a different show in London. They were spectacular.”
Killian smiles at her, impressed that she’s become a ballet aficionado. Killian doesn’t even know what the show is. He reaches for Emma’s program.
“Anastasia?” He asks, looking at the font swirling on top of a grey background. It’s unfamiliar to him.
“Didn’t you even see the animated movie growing up? With Meg Ryan?” She replies.
He shakes his head after racking his brain and coming up with nothing.
“It was a classic at one of the group homes I was at,” Emma says. “I’d watch it all the time.”
“Is it about the Romanov girl?” He asks, thinking to a history class he had in England.
She nods. “Yeah, well, the movie is like completely fairy tale. It’s about an orphan who discovers that she’s Princess Anastasia and for some reason she’s in Paris and Rasputin wants to kill her. The songs are great. And there is like this cute, little singing bat.”
Killian laughs, trying to picture it. “We’ll have to watch it sometime.”
Emma nods, “Anyway, weird that there is a ballet about it.”
Killian flips through the program, looking for more information. Emma folds her hands on his shoulder and rests her chin on them, peering at it.
“But look, this ballet was made way before that kids’ movie,” she points out.
“What does that mean?”
But then the orchestra begins the overture and the lights dim. They both take their gaze from the program to the stage.
The first two acts are lively, full of pre-Revolution Imperial memories. It’s balls and family and ornate displays of royalty. It’s like the kind of vision that lives on the corners of Killian’s memory.
When the third act comes, everything changes. The ballet is now set in a mental hospital in Berlin. The girl who believes she’s Anastasia is dancing madly across the stage. Her steps are crude and wild. Killian shivers, gooseflesh appearing on his arms. She’s delusional. She’s mad. It’s terrifying.
Beside him, he notices Emma gripping the armrest of her chair, her eyes glassy and distant. He reaches out and strokes her arm, then cards his finger through a few strands of her hair. She glances at him, stirred by his touch. Her eyes are haunted and tired. He’d hoped that his touch would soothe her, but she looks so tense.
He tries to understand what could have provoked this. She’d seemed fine at the interval. Then a realization dawns on Killian: she could be remembering.
He’s kept his suspicion quiet for months, ever since Emma asked him not to mention it. He understands her request. No point getting your hopes up about something that might not ever happen.
But he still thinks she might be the real deal. A bit of his soul starts to soar as he thinks of it. For a moment, he lets himself imagine Emma remembering everything and discovering that she is in fact the Lost Princess. He imagines her being fitted for gowns and going to balls, looking brilliant as always. He imagines her moving into a castle, being taken care of properly for once in her life. He imagines her finishing out her PhD here, writing her dissertation while balancing her royal duties. He lets himself dream of her life being here in Misthaven, instead of oceans away on a continent he’s never been to. He likes the certainty of her in this fantasy and perhaps that is the true fantasy of it. A life where Emma is firmly beside him for good.
The final bows are taken and curtain drops. Emma reaches for his hand.
“Can we hurry out? I really need some air,” She tells him.
He nods, squeezing her hand and following her down the aisle. They don’t linger in the lobby. He follows Emma’s lead and they go right to the door.
Once they are in the cool winter air, he watches her take huge gulping breaths. He pulls her towards him into a hug. She doesn’t resist him and she rests her head on his shoulder. He realizes she’s shaking a bit.
“Are you okay, love?” He asks.
She purses her lips and shakes her head. “Not really.”
He doesn’t want to ask her, but the fantasy, the hope of epiphany, can’t leave his mind.
“Have you, erm, remembered anything that’s disturbed you?” He asks softly, letting his head drip down to speak into her ear.
She looks up at him, her forehead wrinkling, “What do you mean, remembered anything?”
He frowns, not knowing how to keep from her from realizing what he thought. Before he can explain, she makes the realization.
She draws away.
“Oh my god, Killian. You can’t still possibly think that I’m Princess Emma. That can’t be further from the truth and you know that as well as I.”
He grimaces, upset that he triggered this reaction in her.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, love,” He says, as Emma takes a few steps back. “I just saw your face and you looked so disturbed. I hoped, foolishly hoped, that it was because you were having some sort of lovely epiphany.”
“Well, I’m did and I’m not,” Emma retorts.
“So what is on your mind?” He asks.
“Let’s go sit by the river,” Emma says.
He knows she’s stalling some sort of conversation, but he follows her nonetheless. He’s pleased that Misthaven is having a small winter heat wave so that it’s tolerable to sit outside. They cross the love-lock bridge and sit along the quai, legs dangling over the water.
He thinks of their first night together at the opera, when they sat together in this same spot, sharing a bottle of champagne. That’s when he tried to kiss Emma for the first time and she shied away from his kiss. So much has changed since then. A wave of reassurance falls over him. If they can go from that embarrassing night to where they are now, they can surely overcome whatever is disturbing her now.
“I was just thinking about how that Anastasia, or I guess her name was Anna,” Emma says. “She had an excuse.”
“What do you mean an excuse?” Killian says.
“For what she was doing, all the pain she is causing,” Emma tells him.
“I don’t believe you’ve caused pain to anyone,” he says, perplexed. “If anything, you’ve made my life, the Queen’s life, much better.”
She shakes her head.
“I did have an epiphany during the show,” Emma says. “But not a good one.”
“Oh?” He questions, daring to reach out and stroke her hair again. She doesn’t draw away from his touch this time. He’s grateful for that.
“I was thinking about Alice,” she says. He can’t help but grimace at the name, a fresh wave of pain flooding over him. “And how disappointed you were that she wasn’t your daughter. You were so upset. I was too. It was like a true loss to realize that someone you thought was your daughter wasn’t.”
Killian nods, the grief still lingering in his bones.
“And I realized that it was exactly what we were doing to the queen,” Emma says. “We’re leading her on, celebrating our sabotage.”
Killian runs his hand down her back. “Emma, love, I don’t think that we’ve been trying to misinform her for a while. I think that she’s come to care for you regardless. Didn’t you say that she said that to you?”
“But it doesn’t matter if we’ve given up on it,” she protests. “That was our intention. We wanted to hurt her. We wanted to take advantage of her pain. We wanted to profit off of it.”
She looks up at him. “It’s despicable. I can’t imagine that we wanted to give that pain you went through to anyone else.”
“Oh Swan,” he says. “I know that was our intention, but can you accept that we’ve done more good than bad? You’ve made the queen so happy.”
“No, there’s no excuse,” Emma says sharply. “We aren’t crazy. We aren’t in a mental hospital, imagining that we are someone else. We were greedy. We were unable to see the Queen as a human person with emotions. It’s disgusting. I’m sorry I was a part of any of this.”
Killian frowns. “Sorry you’ve been with me?”
“No, no, Killian, never,” she says. “I just feel guilty.”
“I know,” he says.
He pulls her towards him. She rests her head on his shoulder.
“I love you,” she says softly.
He kisses her hair, “I love you too, darling.”
“What if we visited the Memorial Gardens tomorrow?” Emma asks.
“Of course, love. Your wish is my command.”
“I just feel like I need to make reparations with the real Princess Emma,” she says.
“I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” he teases. “But for now, let’s go home, shall we Swan?”
–
The cobblestone path curves up the hill, flanked by rows of houses. The architecture of the houses match the castle in a way. Emma thinks it’s nice. She’s never been in this part of Misthaven before. It’s on the Old Town side of the river, up the hill from the Opera House and Saint Anne’s.
The cobblestone path gives way to an elaborate iron archway made up of floral designs and patterns. A plaque against the wall next to it reads, “Misthaven Memorial Gardens.”
Emma swallows, thinking how bizarre it is that this path leads right to these gardens. It’s as if it’s always been leading her this way. It’s as if Misthaven itself in its fundamental architecture was leading her to these gardens. It’s funny then to think that she hasn’t been there yet. She’s been to art galleries and parks and mountainside hikes and to the opera house. Yet, she hasn’t been to the part of Misthaven that seems to truly lie at its heart. This place that has existed to capture and memorialize the pain of a nation. Emma’s engaged in that pain through stories, through personal testimonies, but she hasn’t let herself be fully immersed in it.
Until now. That’s why she’s here. She wants to feel it all. She wants to understand Princess Emma who was lost, who was murdered on this night. Maybe if she can make sense of it, she’ll stop feeling guilty for a crime she didn’t commit.
The gardens are wooded with the same lovely old trees that Emma noticed in their other forest walks and in the woods near the Du Bois house in Belgium. There isn’t any snow today, because of the unusually warm weather. Indian Summer is what Emma used to call it in America. She wonders if it has the same name here.
She reaches for Killian’s hand and leans on his shoulder. They walk through the forested path till they reach a clearing. It’s all neat gardens here, arranged in a European style with a long pool down the middle, flowering artfully arranged on either side.
“There is a walled garden over there,” Killian says, pointing. “And a bog garden over in that part. There is even a Japanese garden in that area. The Royal Family put it in while I lived there.”
Emma sighs. “I want to know more about that.”
“About what?” Killian asks.
“I want to know what it was like when you lived here. When you left here, that night. Can you tell me?” Her voice is small, soft.
He nods and tugs on her hand. They walk around the castle. Her eyes are drawn to the high ramparts, the swirling towers of the castle in the imposing grey stone. In this back part of the castle a long meadow stretches out, forming a grassy plane that gives way to the forest.
Killian beckons her to a bench. They sit.
“I don’t remember it perfectly,” he says softly. “I was very young.”
She nods, scooching over so that their legs touch. His arm wraps around her back. The other points up at a tower.
“Do you see that? It’s the princess’s tower,” he says. “We knew it was coming for weeks, that there was a threat to the kingdom, a barbarian rebellion brewing deep in the town. There were preparations made. The King and Queen worked out a plan with Liam to make sure the Princess could escape. They knew that their fates were likely fixed, but they wanted Emma to have her best chance to live.”
Emma looks at the tiny tower at the top of the castle, imagining inside a little girl’s bedroom.
Killian continues, “Liam was posted to Princess Emma’s room and stayed there day and night with her till the threat passed or came to fruition. I was ordered to stay there with her as well, so I’d have a chance to escape under Liam’s protection. Liam was to go to America with the girl to seek asylum there. I wasn’t allowed to go, there was worry that one more child would make the thing so risky.”
Emma nods, watching the story dance across Killian’s face.
“Gods, Emma, I wish I could forget that night. It’s haunted me my whole life. Sometimes I still dream about it.”
Regret seeps through her. She’s asked too much of him.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t have to keep going. I didn’t know-“
He shakes his head, before reaching out to stroke her hair. “Emma, I want you to know all my stories. Even the hard ones. The haunting ones.”
She reaches out to run a thumb over his eyebrow, then along his jawline.
“That night there were gunshots in the castle that awoke us and everything was put into motion. Liam smashed the window, the beautiful stained glass one in the Princess’s room. He had this repelling kit that was already ready to go. He had me hold onto his back and put the Princess flush against his chest. We repelled down and it was terrifying. We didn’t know if there were snipers in the woods. If there were, I’d be the first shot. There were arrows, no guns. It’s hard to get weapons inside of Misthaven, so we think now that they only gave those to insurgents. Anyway, the arrows flickered by my head and I wondered if I was going to die.”
Emma can’t imagine a boy so young dealing with such a terrifying realization.
“When we were half way down, I heard the worst noise I’d ever heard. There was a gun shot, then a scream. I recognized as the Queen’s and I knew she’d been murdered. If she was dead, then surely so was the King. I remembered how kind they were, caring for me and Liam after everything we’d been through. They gave me a chance at an education, a chance to have a good home, to be well-fed even. And now they were gone.”
Emma gulps. She thinks of the woman she knows who is full of more compassion than she’s ever known. She suddenly sees a new side of Mary Margaret. The side that cared for Killian as a child. She might not be her mother, but she was something of that for Killian. Emma’s heart soars at the thought. She can picture Mary Margaret doting on a tiny Killian, reading him books and giving him bon bons.
“My brother told me to run when we reached the ground. He told me I’d be safe at my grans. He took off in one direction with the Princess and I went in another. I didn’t know that’d be the last time I’d see him. I thought that maybe one day he’d return to me. Or he’d call or send for me. There was nothing. I ran through those woods on my own, my heart thumping in my chest, wondering if I’d get caught, if I’d be found. But I wasn’t. I made it to my grans’ safely. She was surprised to see me. She wasn’t particularly nurturing, too old to be as grandma-like as I’d hoped, but she provided for me.”
Emma senses his story ending and leans her head against his shoulder.
“I’m shocked that the queen survived. I’m still upset, sometimes, that Liam didn’t. I used to lie in bed at night as a teenager, when I was in the young offender’s institution, and look at the ceiling and think about that scream. I used to be so angry at the Princess. She was off in America with my brother and here I was alone and betrayed. It’s sad now, I suppose. They both are dead. I was the one who was better off.”
She presses a kiss to his cheek. His arms wrap around her back and he pulls her to him.
She doesn’t realize that he’s teared up until he says in a choked-up voice, “You don’t know how much joy you’ve brought to my life, Emma. I was so sad. I was struggling for so long. And you’ve given me so much hope.”
“Oh Killian,” she replies. “You’ve given me so much too. I’m so grateful for you. Every day.”
There was a part of her that was fighting for so long; that was angry and walled up and hurt for so long. But Killian broke those walls down. Mary Margaret did too. Misthaven truly has been responsible for everything good in her life.
She wishes she could thank it. She wishes she could give something back to this place that has given everything to her.
Her eyes sweep across the field, as she imagines little Princess Emma running across it with Liam. It’s almost too real, too vivid before her eyes.
Where the field meets the forest, she sees something for a moment that she thinks is a figure. At first she shivers, thinking they’ve been watched this whole time. But the figure is too still to be real. There’s three figures.
Oh.
“Is that a statue over there?” She asks Killian.
He nods.
“Let’s go see it,” she says.
They walk across the field slowly, hand clasped tight. The field is dotted with wild flowers, beautiful in the bright light of Indian Summer, but for a moment she imagines them as arrows. She can see the scene of horror, almost too vividly, almost too real, like a ghost of trauma that existed here. It’s like pain dwells so deeply in this space that she can see it before her, as if she was there.
They read the statue. It’s brass, shiny, showing how new the pain is. This isn’t the kind of revolution that happened years ago, but one that floods the memory of everyone in this small country.
The statue is of a family, the Royal Family. She sees Mary Margaret at once. Her hair was longer then, wavy and young. She was so young.
And the King. Emma’s not thought much about the King, as if he was just a side character to this story, but she sees him now, kind-faced and noble. She wonders if he played little games with Princess Emma. She wonders if Mary Margaret loved him as fiercely as Emma herself loves Killian. Yes, she thinks, she must have.
Her eyes finally find the Princess. Emma can’t help but take a step closer. The small girl, with ringlets and a familiar tiara. With a lurch in her gut, Emma knows why it looks familiar. It’s the same she saw in the pawn shop where they met the hooded man in August. It couldn’t be… but she knows it could.
She follows the little girl’s features, her wide eyes, so full of curiosity and hope for the future. Emma fills with rage at everything taken from her, that future ripped away from the small girl.
Emma’s gaze finally lands on her chin. Without thinking, Emma lifts her hand to let her thumb rub over the tiny dip in her chin, just as Killian has done many times to Emma herself. They’ve all been right. They are the same.
It’s so silly, she thinks now, that they wanted to plan this giant con based on blond hair, an accent, and a dimpled chin. It only makes her feel more stupid, more guilty.
So guilty, in fact. It slams Emma in its enormity, tears springing unwillingly to her eyes. So much has been taken away from this family, from Queen Mary Margaret, and she was willing to continue that. Emma wanted to continue to hurt this woman who has been hurt more than anyone deserves in one lifetime.
Emma feels nauseous, dizzy. She can’t be here. She can’t be part of this. In even planning out the impersonation, she participated in this violence against Misthaven. She’s perpetrated the same crime that has been carelessly carried out by greedy girls, by violent men, by rebels who sought to hurt the country that has given her everything.
“Emma,” Killian asks, grasping her arm as she begins to sway. “Are you alright, love?”
She doesn’t want his companionship right now. She’s struggling for breath and the only thing that can free her is admission of the truth.
“I just need some space,” she says. “Do you mind if I walk a bit on my own? I need to clear my mind.”
“Yes, of course, Swan,” he says, dutiful as ever. “I’m going to read for a bit in the English gardens, just around the other side. Come find me when you need me.”
He presses a kiss to her cheek, as her eyes stay glued on the statue.
“Emma,” he whispers. “Look at me.”
She turns to him. He cups her face in his hands, his eyes sincere with concern.
“Don’t get lost in your thoughts, love. Don’t build higher walls.”
She tries to nod, but instead, he lurches forward to put a kiss on her lips. There is an edge of desperation to his lips, as if he is trying to keep her with him. As if he knows what’s on her mind and wants to keep her grounded, before chaos erupts. As if he knows they might only have now.
“I know,” she says, trying to give him a smile.
He squeezes her hand before he walks away.
Emma stays at the statue, her gaze meeting the Princess’s for a few moments as she watches Killian round the castle and out of sight. With her mind made up, she turns. She feels like she’s possessed by a force not of her own. It’s like her feet are willing her in the direction of castle, regardless of what her mind says is foolish or right.
She approaches from a side entrance. There are security guards there with metal detecting wands. They search her bag and let her enter. Inside, sits a desk with a receptionist. She’s struck by how tiny Misthaven is. If this was anywhere else, she wouldn’t even be able to get this far.
“Hi, I’m Emma Swan,” she says. “Is it possible I could speak with Prime Minister Mills? She knows who I am and I think she’d like to listen to me.”
The woman looks surprised, maybe at Emma’s accent or how forward she is, but she nods and picks up the phone. She speaks something in French for a few moments, before turning back to Emma.
“The Prime Minister will be down in a few moments,” she says.
Emma nods, trying to stay calm. She looks around what she thought was a lobby, but now she recognizes it as an entrance hall to a castle. There are twin tapestries on each wall, ornate gold cross hatching across the roof. A magnificent chandelier dangles in the middle of the ceiling.
She wanders closer to the wall, almost in a trance. She wants to reach out and touch the wall, feel the cold stone under her fingers. She feels like she’s lost in one of her old childhood dreams of castle corridors. She shivers as she pulls up the tendrils of memory from those dreams- being a Princess, waiting for someone to save her. She thinks again of social workers from her childhood. The ones who told her that her brain made up those stories, those dreams, to mask whatever truly horrible thing had happened to her as a child. She wonders if she and Princess Emma are akin in that way- having brunt trauma as a child. There’s that.
“Emma,” a voice interrupts.
She was expecting to hear the crisp tutting of, “Miss Swan,” from the Prime Minister. But instead, Emma turns to see the Queen. Her heart swoops.
“What are you doing here?” Mary Margaret asks.
Emma shakes her head, “I was looking to see the Prime Minister, but actually, you’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”
“Oh?” The Queen says.
“I think we should talk,” Emma says.
“Yes, okay,” Mary Margaret replies. “There is a quiet sitting room in the center of the castle. I’ll tell Prime Minister Mills to meet us there when she can. I was just visiting her earlier today and I know she’s quite busy with errands today. Poor dear, on a Saturday too.”
Emma doesn’t have words to form, so she simply nods. Her stomach feels queasy again and dizziness floats through her. God, her hand is shaking.
Emma knows what she has to say. She knows what she has to do.
She follows the Queen through the hallways, until they approach an insignificant looking door. The queen pushes the door and it leads to a small chamber. It’s a bizarre place, with octagon walls and only two doors- one of the floor and one at the top of a tall staircase that curves around the room.
“There are only two entrances,” the Queen explains. “One from the ground floor and one from the Royal Offices, which is now the Prime Minister’s office.”
“Oh,” Emma says, looking up.
An octagonal piece of stained glass covers the ceiling, filling the chamber with colored light everywhere.
“Shall we sit?” Mary Margaret asks. “I can ring for some tea if you wish.”
“No tea,” Emma says.
She feels weird being with the Queen not at her Summer Palace, or the Southern Palace. This space that feels so loaded with sad memories.
They sit in two armchairs in the room. There isn’t much in the chamber- an ornate rug, a fireplace, and a trunk being used a table. It’s so cramped in the small space, yet so much empty air hangs between them.
“I have to tell you everything,” Emma whispers.
“Tell me what, my dear?” The queen asks.
“I have to tell you about what we did, or tried to do,” Emma says.
“Whatever do you mean?” Mary Margaret reaches for Emma’s hand.
She pulls it away. “Killian and I. We befriended you under selfish pretenses, awful pretenses. And I feel wretched about it.”
Emma feels the tears returning, sticking in her throat. “I think I’ll feel awful about it till the day I die.”
The queen frowns and nods Emma to continue.
“We both were in need of money. I needed, and still need, to fund my last semester of graduate school. Killian’s always wanted to open a bookshop. We both had these dreams that needed funding. Killian was approached by a man who wanted to offer us money for me to impersonate the Lost Princess. We were both uncomfortable with the situation and said no,” Emma pauses to sniffle, to breath, to force the words out.
The Queen mistakes that for the end of her admission. “Thanks for telling me. You did the right thing.”
Emma shakes her head. “We didn’t. The more we thought about it, the more we realized that I am very similar to how the lost Princess, your daughter, might be. I have an American accent. I have blond hair, green eyes-“ Emma looks up at the queen, at the bits of her face that mirror her own. “I have your chin. We both knew that you might believe that I am your daughter. We sought out your friendship in hopes that we might profit off it. It was selfish and greedy. We celebrated each time that you thought I might be your daughter.”
“Oh,” Mary Margaret breathes. Her face is disappointed, as she should be.
“We kind of gave up on it over time. I think I realized that my friendship with you was enough. That I didn’t need to convince you to think I am your daughter for you to treat me with that same care. But if I really knew better, I’d have told you up front about our plan. I still deceived you.”
The queen swallows and frowns.
“I’m sorry,” Emma says, burning with shame. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to tell you. I’m sorry I got mad at you for keeping secrets when I was keeping secrets of my own.”
“What makes you tell me now?” The queen says.
“Ever since Killian found out that the child, Alice, wasn’t his, I’ve been realizing something” Emma murmurs. She realizes that there are tears on her face. “That same pain that Killian was going through, it was exactly what had happened to you time and time again. You’d gotten your hopes up. You thought you’d found a family, but you just were being tricked. And I was doing that to you too.”
There is a moment of silence between them, tension waivers in the air. Emma waits for her admonishment. Or a prison sentence. Or whatever she feels she need to tell Emma.
But Emma is free now. The guilt that has clung to her grossly, sticking behind her knees, making her scratchy, is gone now. She wipes away the tears that linger the creases of her eyes. Whatever comes, she said what she needed to.
“I’m leaving in just a few weeks or so,” Emma says. “But I can leave sooner. Or if there is some other punishment, whatever it is. I’m sorry.”
The Queen’s assembles her visage, before closing her eyes and sighing.
“Emma, this isn’t your fault,” Mary Margaret tells her.
“But-” Emma starts, looking at her hands. She twists them awkwardly, too ashamed to look at the queen.
“I told you months ago. You are valuable to me. You matter to me,” The queen says. “I didn’t say that to you because I thought you were my daughter.”
Emma looks up.
“I said it because you are my friend, my mentee,” the queen said. “I do admit, I got my hopes up at first that maybe you were her. I wanted to share things I loved about her with you. I wanted you to fill her void. But that day, when Regina found us when we were riding, I realized that I cared about you Emma Swan, not Princess Emma. I connected with you. With the girls that came before you, they were fake in their interests. They weren’t lovers of literature, like you are. They didn’t care about opera or tea or intelligent conversation. You’re different, Emma. You’re authentic.”
The queen’s speech makes her feel dizzy. She doesn’t know if she should fall into her arms and together share a soulful cry, hearts joined in a combined lost-and-found reunion. Another part of Emma, the part of her that is instinctual and conditioned from a lifetime of loneliness, just wants to start running.
Before Emma’s internal conflict can come to fruition, a voice interrupts them.
“Your majesty, your highness,” A voice says from above.
Both of their heads turn to take in Prime Minister Mills walking down the stairs.
“Prime Minister,” Emma says.
“Regina,” Mary Margaret echoes.
“I thought I’d interrupt,” Regina says, midway down the staircase, “I hope you don’t mind. I heard you were looking for me, Miss Swan, and I am in fact, looking for you as well.”
Emma turns to face where Regina has curved around the room on the stairs. Her stilettos beat out a staccato against the steps.
“Oh right, sorry to bother you Prime Minister,” she mumbles. “I heard you are very busy today.”
“No, you were one of the people I needed to see today, so honestly it’s perfect timing,” Regina says, walking down the final curve. “I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation, your Majesty, but I also believe that I am about to make an entrance at the perfect time as well.”
Emma and Mary Margaret exchange confused glances.
“This week, during our usual meeting, you mentioned that Emma had forgiven you and that you’d agreed to be friends again. As you both know, I’ve been concerned about your friendship for a while. While you both protested that there was no false hope between either of you, we both know that was a lie. You’ve both just said it yourself.”
Emma wants to protest, but she knows that the Prime Minister is right. They did just say it.
“So, I went ahead and did something a little wild. I hope you forgive me, but I am, in fact, Prime Minister. I had samples of DNA taken from each of your places of residence and tested. I must admit, I was a little impatient to get to the bottom of it and find out once and for all who this woman is.”
She gives a vague wave at Emma.
“The lab tests came back this morning. Emma Swan, Your Royal Highness, you are Her Majesty’s daughter.”
The news slams into Emma. She grips a table to steady herself as the world seems to move around her.
She’s the lost princess? She’s Princess Emma?
But she can’t be. It must be a joke. A prank. It must be some sort of “get this little orphan’s hopes up and then crush them.” Because she can’t actually be the kind of person that anyone cares about this much. She’s a fake. She’s an impersonator. She’s the kind of person who has had to work her whole life to every tiny thing. She can’t be a princess.
But yet, she looks up and Queen Mary Margaret’s eyes are full of love, tears rimming her eyes.
“Yes, of course, she is,” Mary Margaret whispers.
Emma tries to think of Mary Margaret as her mother. She tries to apply the word mom to the elegant queen before her. But all she can think about is how small the room is, how oppressive the walls feel, and trapped she feels. She knows she’s not trapped. She knows that she finally has a family, which is honestly what she’s wanted her whole life. But all she wants is to run.
“Sorry,” Emma says. “I just… I have to go.”
She doesn’t turn back to look at the shock on Mary Margaret or Regina’s face. She doesn’t try to process the tears in her own eyes or the fact that this lifelong instinct of running is kicking in. All she can think is that she has to get out.
–
Sorry for a long long delay on this chapter! Let me know if you read it so I can figure out if I should keep going on finishing it!
Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.
A/N: Sorry for the delay. The muse has no been very cooperative as of late, so I’m afraid I cannot promise that this will maintain the regular updating schedule I had intended it to. Rest assured, it willcontinue to update, as I am very much committed to finishing it. I just can’t promise when or how often those updates will be moving forward. I hope y’all understand and will be patient with me.
Winter was keeping a firm grip on Misthaven. The prison’s coal and wood supplies were becoming critical and all excursions out of doors had been suspended. Elsa had managed to convince the Warden to allow Emma supervised strolls along the interior of the jail, arguing that now, more than ever, she needed to keep up her strength.
At first, she was capable of walking the entirety of the block, mimicking the path the guards took on their patrols. However, her recent difficulty in maneuvering the stairs, as well as some of the looks and comments from certain inmates that Killian was either informed of by his officers or overheard firsthand, had made it necessary to keep her exercise confined to the upper Officers’ Hall.
He knew she was going stir crazy - Elsa called it nesting - seemingly incapable of settling down and resting. Killian had lost count of the number of times Swan had requested assistance in rearranging the furnishing in her cell, or how many times he himself had been tasked with reorganizing the wardrobe and trunk, shuffling the blankets, nappies, booties, and layettes in new configurations, only to have the final outcome be the same as when they started. If the approaching snowstorm turned out to be as significant as the town suspected it would be, then she would have not only his cooperation, but that of the entire guard staff at her disposal until the worst of it passed.
The whole of Misthaven could sense it, could practically smell it in the air and identify it in the clouds building on the ocean horizon over the past few days. The denizens had begun their precautions, stocking up on supplies and fortifying their homes in preparation of the gusts and gales, the snowy drifts, and the freezing temperatures. Similar actions had been taken at the prison as well, with the added edict that beginning today, all officers and their captain would be remaining at the prison around the clock to ensure shifts were covered and additional manpower was on hand to aid in any unforeseen complications the storm might bring with it.
Killian deposited his duffle on the cot he’d assigned himself, careful not to disturb those who had come off the day shift and were attempting to sleep while the opportunity was afforded to them. Making his way back into the prison proper, he took the stairs two at a time, eager to check in with Robin. He’d gotten caught up helping Granny with some final tasks before leaving the boarding house, and had then stopped by his brother’s, looking in on him and Elsa to ensure they had all they needed. Fat flakes had already begun to fall, with blustering winds making the trek to the prison a much more tedious and time consuming affair than it typically was, which meant Killian was now nearly two hours late in reporting for his shift. Fortunately, that meant the evening roll had already been called and the lanterns dimmed, prompting the inmates towards slumber and giving the guards a bit of respite before the overnight patrols began.
“I was beginning to think I’d have to send out a search party for you.” Robin was waiting for him in his office, standing at the threshold with documents in hand that would give a full account of the day shift and any matters of which he would need to be apprised - though Killian knew his second in command would simply give him the highlights.
Unable to keep himself from glancing over, Killian cast his eyes towards Swan’s cell. All was quiet. A fire was gently crackling, keeping the chill at bay, while Emma appeared cocooned in a swarm of blankets, her golden hair barely visible upon her pillow. If they were fortunate, the worst of the storm wouldn’t make land for a few hours yet, allowing her the much needed rest she required in these final days. Not that she was having much success in that regard, given her babe was set to arrive any time now, according to Elsa.
“Apologies,” Killian offered in response to Robin’s quip, taking the documents from his hand and gesturing inside for the man to sit so they might debrief one another.
An hour later, Killian ran his hand through his hair, then scrubbed it down his face.
“Not good news, I take it?” Robin inquired.
Killian had been reviewing the post while his second reported on the inventory of their stores.
“It seems Walsh found himself a post at Glowerhaven Penal Colony,” Killian informed Robin, a knot of discontent tightening in his gut at the memory of their former officer.
“Not sure I see that as bad news,” Robin commented with a dose of cheek. “Glowerhaven is notoriously merciless to both the inmates and guards alike. Such a post couldn’t happen to a more deserving fellow, if you ask me.”
“Aye,” Killian agreed. “But he has somehow managed to work his way up the ranks and now holds the position of captain, which means he has the power to object petitions of transfer.”
Robin groaned with fresh understanding. “Teach,” he said. “He has blocked Teach’s transfer.”
Since Emma’s arrival, and especially after the Board’s decision that her child should remain with her after its birth, Killian had been systematically arranging the transfers of Misthaven’s more ruthless and hardened inmates. Wishing to curate a less hostile atmosphere for both the mother and soon to arrive infant, inmates who had expressed any negative, derogatory, or threatening attitudes towards her had been added to a list of transfer submitted to the Board. Edward Teach, a brutalizer of women and convicted murderer of several prostitutes, was not the last of the dissidents that remained within the prison, but he was certainly the worst. Killian had hoped to ship him off to Glowerhaven, however, with Walsh’s knowledge of the man (and his own animosity held towards Misthaven and her Captain), it appeared they would be stuck with Teach for the foreseeable future.
Releasing a heavy sigh, Killian pulled out his pocket watch while attempting to forget the subject of both Walsh and Teach for the time being. “Shall we go down and make ourselves a pot before starting patrol?” Killian suggested, pocketing his watch and standing from his desk.
Before either man could move towards the closed door of his office, a faint sound pricked their ears, causing them to share a similarly perplexed look and furrowed brow.
“Did you hear that?”
Killian shushed his second when the sound - which could only be described as the muffled wail of a banshee - echoed through the outer corridor once more.
“C-Captain!” the garbled cry rang out, prompting both Killian and Robin out of the office. Swinging the door wide, Killian was met with the sight of Emma, clinging onto the bars of her cell. Her knuckles were white and her face was beet red, covered in a sheen of perspiration as another cry sounded from her lungs, his own name carried on the desperate wail.
“K-Killian!”
Rushing across the hall, he heard a splash of liquid hit the floor and Emma’s head snapped up, her eyes wide and fearful as they glanced down at the puddle she was now standing in.
“The b-baby,” she stammered. “He’s coming.”
Her eyes darted back up, meeting his with a desperate plea as a shuddering breath left her lungs. Forcing his own anxiety down, Killian peeled her hands from the bars and placed them in the firm grip of his own.
“Robin,” he instructed, never taking his eyes off Emma. “Send someone to fetch Elsa, then wake whomever you need to help cover the shift. Have all the spare lanterns brought up to Swan’s cell, as well as additional buckets of water for boiling.”
The quick retreat of Robin’s boots was all the acknowledgement Killian needed to assure him his orders were being carried out. Giving her hands a quick squeeze, Killian released them so he could fish her cell key from his pocket.
“What… What are you doing?” Emma asked, eyes still wide and panicked.
“Well, first,” Killian began, stepping into the cell and making his way over to her bathing corner so he could procure a towel, “I’m going to wipe this up, lest you slip and fall. Then, I–”
“But you can’t be in here!”
Killian left the towel to soak up the start of Emma’s labors and stood to face her. “Do you not want me in here?” he asked, realizing he may have been presumptuous in his actions. “If it is your wish for me to go, then I will, Swan. I only want to offer whatever comfort and support I can whilst we wait for–”
“What will Liam say when he finds you in here?” The hysteria in her voice reverberated through the room and trembled down her body. “He’s already separated us once. P-Please don’t give him reason to–”
“Emma,” Killian soothed, gripping her upper arms firmly and taking command of her gaze so she could see the sincerity within his eyes. “I promise, you have nothing to fear in that regard. Your focus ought to be on yourself and the babe, and as far as I am concerned,” reaching up, he cupped her cheek, brushing it softly with the pad of his thumb, making her eyelids flutter shut. “Until Elsa arrives, and just for tonight, I’ll be taking my orders from you.” Her eyes flew open, staring up at him with incredulity. “So, if it is your wish that I not be here, then–”
“No,” she protested, grabbing onto his arm as if to stop him leaving, though he had made no attempt to do so. “No, please. I want you to stay.” Her grip tightened as her features twisted in pain, an anguished moan escaping her lips as she cried, “Please don’t leave me!”
Killian adjusted his stance so she could brace herself against his forearms, his own fear and uncertainty spiking. While he had been privy to conversations she and Elsa had during their strolls in regards to labor, gleaning knowledge that few men possessed, it had done little to adequately prepare him for this moment. As much as the offer to relinquish command had been motivated by a desire that she feel some measure of control amidst the chaos of her emotions, it was also prompted by the fact that Killian had no bloody idea what to do. All he did know was Elsa had stressed to Emma the importance of keeping calm, saving her strength, and breathing.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Killian assured her, swallowing his fear and setting his resolve. “I’ll stay right by your side for as long as you wish me to remain.”
Emma nodded her understanding, her eyes clamped tightly shut and her face pinched from the pain. When her reddened complexion deepened, Killian realized she was holding her breath.
“Remember what Elsa said, love,” Killian coached. “Keep breathing. Breathe through the pain.”
A shuddering breath left her lungs and she swayed slightly, prompting Killian to wrap an arm around her in order to keep her steady. When the pain subsided, she took a deeper, cleansing breath and glanced up at him.
“Promise me you’ll stay.”
A soft smile lifted the corners of his lips. “I promise.”
They stood there for several moments, staring into one another’s eyes until the sound of footsteps echoed from down the hall. Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he relaxed his hold on her, and she stepped away when the officers came into view.
“We’ve brought the lanterns and another bucket of water, Captain.”
Killian waved them in so they could set the provisions where instructed, then turned his attention back to Emma.
“How are you feeling? Do you… do you want to sit? Lie down? Do you need anything? Can I–”
She took his hand and gave him a soft smile of her own, one tinged with an amused sort of pity. “I think,” she began, her other hand rubbing her abdomen as she looked about and contemplated her choices. Returning her gaze to his, she asked, “Could we walk for a bit? I think I’d like to keep moving. Perhaps a stroll down the Officers’ Hall? Would that be all right?”
“I told you, Swan,” he replied. “You give the orders tonight, so if it is a stroll you desire, then a stroll you shall have.” Removing his hand from hers, he crooked his elbow and offered her his arm, then cheeked, “Shall we promenade, my lady?”
Her cheeks pinked and a wide smile spread across her face before she demurely dipped her head and threaded her arm through his. “We shall, good sir.”
~/~
Wind howled and blustered against the stone walls, its icy whisper creeping in through every crack and crevice. The window at the far end of the Officers’ Hall was the only view Killian had to the maelstrom whipping a frenzy outside the prison, but it paled in comparison to the tempest raging on the inside.
Four months into her incarceration, Killian felt he had come to know Swan rather well, but as the hours and her labor progressed, he had witnessed a side of her he had never imagined. At first, she seemed to welcome his attempts to comfort her, grateful for the murmured words of encouragement as he kneaded the knots in her lower back whenever a labor pang took hold. However, at some point in the past hour her attitude had shifted, and his voice was now the very last sound she wished to hear and his touch was just as unwelcome.
Not that he blamed her for these wild swings of emotion. The excruciating work of labor glistened over her skin in beads of perspiration and could be felt in the bone crushing grip of her hand, to say nothing of the guttural moans and wails of pure agony that left Killian feeling more helpless and desperate with each passing contraction.
The only consolations were that as the pains intensified that meant the end was drawing nearer, and… he was not the only one suffering from her sudden change of temperament. He would not deny the satisfaction, nor the sheer pride he’d felt when, during one of her more recent contractions, Teach had bellowed a nasty edict that she keep her whore mouth shut, only to be met with the most severe tongue lashing from Emma before any of the officers could, themselves, respond. The silence following such a telling off had been deafening, until Philip had piped up in support of Swan’s reprimand, only to be cut by her sharpened tongue as well. Scurrying off with his tail tucked between his legs, he’d mumbled an excuse about the need to gather more lantern oil, and Killian had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing at the poor man’s folly.
“I’m so… sorry,” Emma panted, bracing herself against the bars of her cell, the iron clutched tightly in her hands. “I don’t know what’s… what’s come over me. Poor Officer Briar,” she lamented. “I should never have spoken so harshly to him… or you. I’m–”
Another pain cut off her words, and Killian rushed to her side. “It’s all right, love. Just breathe.”
“Where the bloody hell is Elsa?!” Emma shouted, bursting into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m–”
“Emma, stop apologizing,” Killian told her, attempting to keep the sharp edge of censure out of his tone. He wasn’t vexed with her, not truly. They were both weary, though he knew his exhaustion paled in comparison to hers, and with her pangs now coming at an alarming rate, both of them were anxious for the arrival of reinforcements. “Are you sure you do not wish to lie down?”
He made the offer tentatively, seeing as the last time he’d made the suggestion it had been met with a less than hospitable retort. Emma turned, her eyes glassy and expression weepy, and simply nodded as she waddled her way over to the narrow platform, suspended from the wall by a pair of chains fastened at its corners. As she climbed onto the thin mattress, Killian made his way to the privacy screen that had been relocated from her bathing corner. Hoping it would serve to shield her from the hallway as she gave birth on her cell bunk, Killian briefly exited the cell to ensure its current position would protect her modesty.
When he reentered, he found Emma floundering on the bunk, like an upended tortoise, struggling to right itself. With a watery huff of frustration, she went limp with defeat and a fresh sob worked its way up her throat.
“Here, love,” Kilian said, extending his hand towards her and assisting her into a seated position. “Can you hold yourself up for a moment?” She nodded, and once he was assured that she could retain the position without his help, he crawled onto the bunk and settled himself behind her. With one leg outstretched along the wall and the other bent over the edge, with his boot anchored to the floor, Killian coaxed Emma back towards him. “Recline against me, love. Save your strength.”
He could feel the reluctant tension in her - the intimacy of the position certainly was not lost on him - but her comfort was more important than propriety at the moment. Another contraction pushed all awkwardness aside, and her hand latched onto his knee, squeezing it to the point he knew he’d have fingertip shaped bruises come morning. More whispers of encouragement fell from his lips, his tone maintaining a steady cadence of peace that was in sharp contrast to the frantic rhythm of his pulse.
Where the bloody hell wasElsa? What if she did not get there in time? Would Emma be expecting him to deliver her baby on his own? Could he deliver the babe on his own?
Emma collapsed back against him, her grip easing on his knee. “Thank you,” she murmured, fatigue blanketing her tone.
“For what, love?”
“For staying,” she said. “For putting up with me, even when I was being awful to you.”
“I think you are entitled to a bit of lashing out considering the circumstance,” he told her with a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “I know of no man who would have been able to endure all you’ve had to withstand, Swan. And I speak not of this night only.”
A calm briefly settled over them; a moment of respite where they were able to gather their collective breaths, which had synchronized with her back pressed against his chest. Emma sought out his hands, placing them on her stomach with hers resting atop them, and allowed her head to fall back onto his shoulder. No sooner had she begun to relax than Killian could feel her abdomen tighten beneath his palms. Placing a chaste kiss to her sweat soaked temple, Killian laced his fingers with hers and once again encouraged her to breathe, all the while begging God to hear his prayer that Elsa would arrive soon.
A prayer the Lord finally deigned to answer, based on the commotion he could hear from his fellow officers.
“This way!”
“Hurry!”
“Thank God, you’ve arrived!”
“Get out of the way!”
Elsa swept into the cell, brushing snow from her cloak and looking thoroughly calm and collected despite the harrowing journey she must have endured in getting to the prison amidst a blizzard.
“Emma, darling!” she cooed. “Such a brave lass you are. You’re doing beautifully. Just keep breathing while I get everything set, then I’ll see how baby is coming along.”
Emma nodded while releasing short pants that Killian only now realized he was doing with her. Elsa bustled around, rearranging lanterns and laying out her supplies, as Killian coached Emma through the contraction, the pain subsiding as Liam peeked around the privacy screen.
“Do you have everything you need?”
“Everything except Ashley,” Elsa replied to Liam’s question. “You’ll make sure she’s brought straight up once she and Thomas arrive?”
“I will,” Liam assured her before turning his attention towards Killian. “We best leave the women to their work.”
“Actually,” Elsa objected before Killian had a chance to respond. “I need Killian to remain right where he is.”
Liam blanched. “I beg your pardon? A man remaining present for a birth, especially when that man is not the father, is highly unorthodox.”
“So is a woman giving birth in a prison, upon a cot that is not suited to such an endeavor, but here we are,” Elsa retorted, organizing her instruments at the end of the bunk. “I need Killian to stay just as he is so Emma can focus all her strength on bearing down, not on keeping herself upright.”
Liam sputtered as Elsa stood, and she raised her hand to stay the argument poised on her husband’s tongue. Guiding him into the cell, they retreated to the space beside the fireplace, so they might converse without being overheard by the assemblage in the hall, but not completely out of Killian’s earshot.
“Liam. You are warden of this prison, and as far as I am concerned that makes you lord and master here. But,” she clipped out, staving off another interruption from his brother. “Until that baby is safely delivered, and I have declared both mother and child fit, you would do well to consider me queenof this cell and my word sovereign. If I say Killian remaining is what is best for Emma and a successful outcome to this night, then that is all that should matter.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited patiently for her husband to respond while Killian struggled to keep himself from screaming at his brother to see reason and get the hell out so she could attend to Emma who was once again groaning in anguish in his arms.
“Fine,” Liam relented with a sigh. “Killian can stay.”
“Thank you,” Elsa said, stretching up to place a quick kiss at his cheek before dismissing him and getting back to the task at hand. As soon as Liam had exited, Elsa crouched down at the foot of the bunk and smiled up at Emma. “Let’s see how baby is doing, shall we?”
Killian averted his eyes as Elsa raised the hem of Emma’s nightdress and coaxed her legs into a bent and splayed position.
“Goodness! I can see baby’s head,” she declared excitedly. “I want you to start pushing with this next contraction, Emma.”
Obediently, to both her midwife and her body, Emma leaned into the contraction and began to push. When her foot slipped off the bed, Killian instinctively reached forward and grabbed her leg behind the knee, holding her in the position the bunk was too narrow to accommodate. Her skin was hot and slick beneath his palm, the muscles in her thigh and calf as taut as the rest of her body, with every fiber of her being working to bring forth the literal fruit of her labors.
“That’s it, Emma,” Elsa encouraged. “Little pushes now, then another big push when the next one hits you.”
“I c… can’t,” Emma panted, her head lolling back against Killian’s chest. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” Elsa insisted. “You’re stronger than you realize. Just a few more big pushes.”
“You can do this, Swan,” Killian murmured into her ear. “You heard Elsa. You’re strong and brilliant. A bloody marvel, you are, and soon you’ll get to meet your little one.” Squeezing her hand, he encouraged once more, “You can do this.”
“Here we go, Emma,” Elsa declared when the next contraction took hold. “That’s it! Baby’s head is out! Just the shoulders now, so I need one more big push!”
Killian would never forget the cry Emma gave as she finished delivering her child. A cry of torment, lamenting the season that was now at an end, even as victory rang through the final reverberations and hung in the air as Elsa rejoiced and declared, “It’s a boy! You’ve a son, Emma!”
Killian felt a shuddering sob work its way up his chest, matched by the one shaking in Emma’s shoulders. He could not help but peer down to where Elsa was swaddling the red-faced and wailing infant, his cord neatly cut and ready to be delivered into his mother’s arms. A breath of pure awe and wonder fell from his lips as Emma gathered him, cooing softly between her sniffles of joy.
“Hello, my little one,” she said with a soft reverence as she nestled back against Killian’s chest, all vestiges of the pain and struggle she’d endured these long hours seemingly forgotten. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Aye, love,” Killian murmured, reaching around to place his hand over the still fussing babe. “The bonniest of lads.”
With a soft squeak, the baby settled, and Emma craned her head back to look up at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. “He still responds to your voice,” she said with a hint of affectionate amusement. “Just like when he was inside me. He always recognized your voice, and it either excited him or soothed him.”
Words caught in the back of Killian’s throat. Unable to dislodge them, he continued to stare down at her and the baby, his heart fit to burst from the barrage of emotion suddenly swelling within it.
Elated emotions that were quickly snuffed out with Elsa’s strained request.
“Killian, I need you to take the baby.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she assured him, though the pinch in her brow indicated otherwise. “I simply need Emma lying flat on her back, so could you please move and take the baby so she can do so?”
Killian attempted to give Swan a confident and reassuring smile as he slipped out from behind her, and helped her lie back before gathering the baby in his arms. Taking a knee beside the bed, he adjusted her son so she could keep her attention on him and not whatever Elsa was busily doing behind his back.
He was a tiny thing, easily cradled in the crook of one arm so Killian could take hold of Emma’s hand and link their fingers together. “He’s remarkable, love,” Killian crooned, attempting to keep his nerves and fear from trembling through his words.
A tremble Emma was unable to keep from her extremities, shook through her hand as she extended it out towards her son, until it met his wee fist which instinctively wrapped around her finger.
“He certainly is,” she exhaled lovingly, her eyes fixed on his miniature features and looking relieved at what she saw - or perhaps did not see - within them.
“Have you decided upon a name?” Killian inquired.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and her eyes flicked first to Killian’s, and then downward towards Elsa. Though Killian could not see her over his shoulder, he was certain his sister-in-law cast a similar gaze up towards the new mother. After a moment of reflection, Emma shifted her gaze back to her son and stated, “Henry. I’m going to call him Henry.”
“Henry,” Killian murmured, his tone deepening with affection and affirmation as a smile swept over his lips. “A fine name for a fine lad.”
Another round of commotion sounded from the hallway, preceding Ashley’s arrival. Killian paid her no mind, for Emma began to gasp sharply with a pained hiss following it over her lips.
“It’s just the afterbirth, Emma,” Elsa soothed before turning her attention to Ashley. “There was a bit more bleeding than I like to see, but now that the afterbirth has been delivered, all seems to be as it should.” Killian let go a relieved breath, and the two women went about their work as he and Swan continued to marvel over young Henry.
He truly was a bonny little lad. Wisps of brown hair stuck out from his head as his eyes, a dark hue Killian could not quite make out in the dim illumination of the blocked lantern light, sleepily surveyed his new surroundings. He had Emma’s chin, that was certain, but Killian wondered what resemblance the boy might hold towards his father.
Saved from traversing that path of thought, Killian looked up when Ashley appeared by his side, staring down at him expectedly.
“What?” Killian asked, earning him a round of chuckles from the women.
“I said,” Elsa replied, “you can hand Henry over to Ashley so she can bathe him, then take your leave whilst I help Emma get cleaned up and settled.”
The tips of his ears flared from the heat creeping up his neck, chagrin over having so thoroughly lost himself in the moment he had not even heard Elsa speak. Passing the lad over to Ashley’s waiting arms, his gaze followed as she crossed the cell and began to prepare the babe’s bath. The grip of Emma’s hand on his forced his attention away from the baby and back onto his Swan.
Her lips parted, her expression revealing there was something she wished to say, poised at the tip of her tongue, but finding herself unable to utter the words. Her eyes flickered between his, swirling with the same silent earnestness she was still incapable of giving voice to.
“It’s all right, love,” Killian whispered softly, bringing her hand up to brush a gentle kiss along the backs of her knuckles. “You were brilliant, and I’m so proud of you.” He moved the back of her hand to his cheek and nuzzled against it, his eyes briefly falling shut. “So bloody proud.” Lifting his gaze to her, he allowed himself one last moment to dwell in the intimacy they’d been free to experience with one another during this harrowing night, knowing it must now come to an end. “Now it’s time to let Elsa and Ashley care for you, so you can care for your son. I’ll be back to check in on you both as soon as Elsa permits it.”
“Promise?”
Leaning in as he got to his feet, Killian threw caution and conviction to the wind. Pressing his lips to the cooling dampness of her forehead, he murmured, “Always, love. Always.”
It took every bit of strength he possessed to step away from her, though he did have to take a moment to collect himself before exiting her cell completely. Across the hall, his officers and brother were gathered in his office, an open bottle of half-consumed whiskey sat in the middle of his desk. Heads snapped in his direction when he approached the threshold, eager expressions of anticipation painted on his mates’ and colleagues’ faces.
“Well?”
“A boy,” Killian announced, unable to keep the wide grin from his face if he tried as a cheer rang out from the room.
“Oi!” a shout called out from across the prison, pulling Killian’s attention away from the swarm of men who were clapping him on the back and shoving a drink into his hand. Though Killian could not see from where the voice came, there was no mistaking Will Scarlet’s concerned accent.
“What news of the missus?”
Killian glanced at his brother, his brows raised with a silent request; one that was answered with a nod of Liam’s head. Tugging the bottom of his waistcoat in a futile attempt to straighten what he could only imagine was a bedraggled and far from regulation approved appearance, Killian grabbed a lantern and made his way to the catwalk to address the population.
“It is my great pleasure to announce the arrival of Master Henry, born this night to Miss Emma Swan. Both mother and son are faring well and resting comfortably, which I now encourage you all to do as well.”
Killian knew such an order would fall on deaf ears, the inmates’ reaction to the news matching that of the guards. His grin only widened at the sound of their cheers and the merry clanging of the bars as the occupants banged against them in their exuberance. A pride he had no biological basis to feel swelled within him and he tossed back the whiskey he still had gripped in his hand, a silent toast to his Swan and the babe they all apparently felt a collective, proprietary fondness for burning the back of his throat as he swallowed both the liquor and his emotions so he might be able to regain some semblance of his duty. Although, with the arrival of young Henry, the transference of his duty to both mother and son once again began to shift from the foundations of his occupation onto a new platform from which a new purpose with fresh aspirations would continue to emerge.
(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)
Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.
A/N:This update answers a couple of prompts I’ve received, but for spoiler reasons I won’t be sharing the actual prompts. I WILL tell you that we have FINALLY earned that E rating, so I hope you thoroughlyenjoy this update ;o)
Lots of love to @ultraluckycatndand@kmomof4 for their exceptional beta skills on this one! You can still send me prompts, but I do have a pretty clear path of where I’m going with this fic now, based on the prompts I have received, so no promises!
Emma cringed against the brightness flooding her senses as the cell lights turned on. Blinking past the pain searing her eyes, she realized she was alone in the bed and panic allowed her to push past the discomfort of being woken up in such a manner.
It didn’t take her long to find Killian. Stripped naked and strapped to a chair that had not been there when they’d gone to sleep, he had some sort of collar around his neck with metal bands securing his wrists to the armrests and ankles to the legs. Emma bolted upright and scrambled towards the end of the bed, only for the voice she had come to loathe with every fiber of her being to crackle over the speakers.
“Ah, ah, Emma,” it admonished. “Pan says, stay on the bed.”
Ignoring his command, Emma’s feet touched the floor, but she didn’t get any further than that when Killian’s features distorted. His hands gripped the end of the armrest and his toes curled up as the cords in his neck tightened in pain.
“Stop! Stop it!” she shouted, scooting back onto the bed in the hopes her compliance might end Killian’s suffering. The buzz of electricity she hadn’t noted before when his torment began suddenly stopped, and Killian’s muscles relaxed as a pained groan emanated from deep within his chest. Anger and fear rose within her as she realized what the demented little imp had fitted Killian with: a shock collar.
“Be an obedient girl or there will be more volts sent through his body,” Pan stated. “A highly unpleasant experience, I assure you.”
“Don’t,” Killian protested weakly. “Don’t listen to him, Swan. I can… I can take it.”
Before Emma could reply, Pan gave a fresh order, his words echoing through the room while appearing on the tv monitor overhead.
“Pan says, undress then lie back against the headboard.”
That was simple enough, it wasn’t as though either of them hadn’t seen her naked more times than she could count already. Emma immediately did as she was told, shucking her garments then reclining against the headboard with her arms instinctively covering her chest and her legs stretched out, crossed at her ankles.
“Good,” his taunting drawl praised, and Emma’s heart began to race in dread filled anticipation of what he was about to demand of her. “Now,” he began, his words scrolling over the screen before he uttered them, causing Emma’s eyes to fall shut in mortification. “Pan says, open your legs and pleasure yourself while Killian watches.”
“No!” Killian shouted, which prompted a quick response of another shock from the collar affixed around his neck. He was not to be deterred, however. “Don’t do it, Swan. Don’t let him use me against you like this, please!”
His features tightened involuntarily once more, his knuckles becoming white as his fingers clawed the armrest. The only way Emma knew to make it stop was to bend her legs at the knee and open them wide, exposing herself, not only to Killian, but to the camera from where Pan watched them. His torment stopped when her hand began to glide over her body, slipping between her thighs to the flesh not yet ready for her touch. Bringing her hand back up, she stuck her fingers into her mouth, wetting them thoroughly before running them through her folds and over her clit, willing thoughts and images to enter her mind that might help coax her arousal.
“Pan says watch, Killian.”
His eyes were clamped shut, the muscle above his jaw ticking like mad. His skin glimmered from the sheen of sweat his pain had released, and the muscles in his chest twitched from the residual effects coursing through his nerve endings.
“Killian,” Emma said, softly reminding him, “We agreed that neither of us would do anything we weren’t willing to.” Her fingers continued to slip through her folds, but she had to use her own saliva to moisten the area again. “Killian, please,” she begged. “Look at me.” He shook his head and she worried Pan would shock him again. “I want you to,” she told him on a husky breath. “I want you to watch. I need you to watch so I can…”
His eyes fluttered open and his lips parted, sticking in the corners as a stuttered breath caught in his chest. The clench of his jaw and tight grip of his hands along the armrests were for an entirely different reason now, and despite the trauma the shocks might have had on him, Emma noticed his cock twitch as it began to come to life from where it had lay flaccid against his thigh.
Finally, arousal pooled at her entrance and she used it to lubricate her clit, a moan escaping her lips as the ache of need began to throb behind it. For long minutes the only noise permeating the room was the sound of her wetness squelching from the friction of her fingers against her sex, the moans and desperate breaths of the chase as she sought her climax, and the pants shuddering from Killian’s chest as he continued to watch with narrowed, hooded eyes reflecting both hunger and guilt.
“Pan says, don’t come, Emma. Keep yourself just on the edge.”
A whimper fell from her in response to such a cruel command, but she backed off and slowed her rhythm, remaining just on the precipice of bliss.
“Pan says, tell me what you’re thinking as you watch her, Killian.”
Defiance flashed in his eyes and another zap pulled a sharp cry of pain from his lips.
“Tellme,” Emma pleaded on a moaning breath. “Forget Pan. Tell mewhat you’re thinking.”
His tongue swiped over his lip before his teeth buried themselves in the tender flesh, his chest heaving and cock nearly upright, red and weeping. Their eyes met for a moment before his returned to where she was open and exposed to him, and he ran his tongue over his lips a second time.
“I want to bury my head between your thighs and drink up every ounce of your arousal glistening against that pretty pink pussy of yours,” he said in a low, strained tone, the depth of his baritone sending a fresh wave of want straight to her core. “Gods, I want to taste you. I want to feel the weight of your breasts in my hands and roll your nipples between my teeth.”
Cupping her breast, Emma pinched her nipple hard and groaned at the way the pleasure it gave her connected to her clit, still throbbing unbearably as she staved off her orgasm.
“Finger yourself some more, darling. I want to see you slip your fingers into that greedy cunt.”
Fuck, did she love his filthy mouth.
“That’s it, love,” Killian praised when she filled herself with two fingers, thrusting and curling them in search of that spot just out of reach. “Show me how you like to be touched.”
Emma lost herself in his encouragement and began pursuing her pleasure once more, vigorously running her fingers over her clit until she could feel the wave of ecstasy nearly at its breaking point.
“Emma,” Pan warned, “Pan says, do not–”
“Come,” Killian commanded, cutting off Pan’s decree. “Fuck Pan and his rules. I want you to come for me, Emma. I want to see how glorious you are when you fall.”
Not able to hold back any longer, Emma let the surge of her orgasm break over her, crying out as her back arched off the bed and her toes curled. Furiously, she coaxed out every last ounce of pleasure, with stars exploding behind her eyes and gruff praises ringing in her ears before Killian’s words were cut off once more by the electric current dispensed to punish them both.
This time, when the current subsided and Killian’s features relaxed, a chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Worth it,” he groaned. A feral smile spread over his lips as he gazed at her with an unsated hunger in his blue depths, and predatory pants rose and fell within his chest while his cock bobbed against his stomach. “You’re gorgeous like this,” he murmured. “Skin flushed a rosy pink with your hair wild and that freshly fucked glow about you. I wish I’d been the one to do that to you.”
“Who says you weren’t?”
The cell door screeched open and Emma scrambled to cover herself as Pan’s Lost Ones entered. One of them shocked Killian with their cattle prod whilst tapping something at the back of the chair. The metal bands sprang open and Pan’s minion hoisted Killian to his feet, shocking him again when he tried to fight back.
“Stop!” Emma shouted, wrapping the blanket around her and rushing towards him, only to be halted by the second Lost One. “Let him go! Where are you taking him? Killian!”
Emma continued to scream out his name as the other Lost One dragged him from the room. When she attempted to go after him again, she was harshly admonished by the one that remained.
“You’ve already broken Pan’s rules, don’t make this any harder on yourselves.”
“Get out of my way!” Emma shouted, pushing against the Lost One. “Killian! Killian!”
“Emma!” the Lost One roared, silencing her. “If you care about Killian at all, then please, heed my words and stay put until Pan instructs you otherwise!”
Something in the man’s eyes, a look that seemed as if he almost… caredabout Killian, convinced Emma to comply. Nodding her acknowledgement, she stepped back and stayed out of his way as he picked up the chair and left the room, the door quickly sliding shut behind him. Trembling, Emma got dressed, then sat down on the edge of the bed, her insides writhing with fear.
What was Pan going to do to him?
~/~
The grinding screech of the cell door roused Emma from the turmoil of her imagination. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since Pan’s Lost Ones had taken Killian, but it felt like hours. When no one appeared in the doorway, Emma stood and took tentative steps until Pan’s voice crackled from above.
“Pan says, follow the yellow line.”
She’d noticed the lines on the floor before. The blue line led to the showers and the green one to the rooftop terrace where they had picnicked. In addition to those were red, purple, orange, and yellow lines, all whose destinations were still a mystery. Though it seemed, she was about to uncover the yellow line’s secret.
Padding down the long, dimly lit corridor, Emma was struck by the size of the place. Killian had deduced the building to be about three stories high, given their elevation upon the terrace, but because of some of the screens and foliage, neither of them had been able to hazard a guess as to the overall width and length. Having never been very good at judging distances, Emma could not say for sure, but when she stopped at the sealed door the yellow line led her to, she would have guessed to have traveled about half a football field or so.
Unsure what to do now, Emma raised her hand to pound on the door, but it began to slide out of the way before she could. The jarring, artificial light streaming out from the room caused her to blanch and look away until her eyes could adjust. It took several moments and a few tight blinks before she managed to take in the room. Once she did, however, she rushed in with a gasp falling from her lips and her heart leaping into her throat.
“Killian!”
Still naked, and bound at the wrists, his arms were stretched overhead with the rope looped onto a hook embedded in the ceiling. His head had fallen forward, lolling with his chin practically touching his bare chest, while his feet barely had purchase with the floor.
“Killian!” Emma shouted, raising up her hand and tapping her palm firmly against his cheek. “Killian, can you hear me?”
Jerking awake, it took him a minute to register who she was, his eyes wide and fearful until comprehension took hold and then began to survey their surroundings.
“Swan? What–”
The appearance of something behind her cut off his words, and Emma spun around to see the Lost Ones advancing. One grabbed her arm and led her away from Killian while the other positioned himself at Killian’s back.
“Let her go!” Killian struggled against his bindings, but his actions were halted when the Lost One grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head back.
“What are you doing? Let go of him!”
A pained cry reverberated up Killian’s throat as the Lost One injected something into his neck before forcefully releasing him, causing his head to snap forward.
“What did you just–”
“Poison.”
Pan’s voice supplied the answer before Emma could even finish the question, making her blood run cold.
“W-What?”
“Poison,” Pan repeated. “A delightful concoction that should take full effect in about twenty minutes, unless an antidote is administered.”
Emma was near hyperventilating, and by the looks of the rise and fall of Killian’s shoulders, so was he. Their fearful gazes connected, both of them waiting for Pan to reveal what it would take for them to earn the antidote.
“Pan says… on your knees for the captain, Emma. He thought having you come was worth my wrath, so I think it’s only fair you return the favor. You have twenty minutes to suck him off before the poison’s effects become irreversible and the antidote is useless.”
Emma hadn’t been aware of the Lost Ones leaving the room, but they were very much alone now. The doorway was sealed once more and a digital clock in the corner was rapidly counting down from twenty minutes with garish red numbers.
“Oh, God,” Killian exhaled, his entire body trembling. “He fucking poisoned me! I’m… I–”
“Killian, look at me.” Emma cupped his face and forced him to meet her gaze. “Forget the clock. Forget Pan. Focus on me, and breathe.” Inhaling deeply through her nose, she coaxed him to mimic her as she blew the breath out. “That’s it. Breathe.”
As Killian continued to take shaky breaths with her, Emma let her hands slip from his face and trailed her fingers over his skin.
“That’s it,” she encouraged, her tone tuning husky and eyes hooded even as she forced her own terror deep down. “Forget everything else and focus on me.”
Skimming her fingers through his chest hair, she flicked her gaze up at him beneath her lashes when a gasp fell from his lips at the feel of her nails raking over his nipples. The muscles in his abdomen, stretched taut from the way he was still suspended, jumped beneath her touch as she moved further down, and a groan rumbled through his chest when she reached the thick thatch of hair at his groin.
“Focus on my touch.” She pressed her palm against his cock, cupping him in her hand while her fingertips toyed with his balls. Leaning in, she whispered against his neck, “Close your eyes and focus on how good I can make you feel, or…” she placed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, then sank down onto her knees, “keep your eyes open and watch as I take care of you.”
When he looked down the length of his body towards her, another shuddering breath escaped his chest as she wet her lips and wrapped her fingers around his half-hard cock. His eyes flicked over to the corner where the clock continued to count down and Emma gave a hard tug to his member.
“Ah, ah,” she admonished, his cock hardening even as a hiss fell from his lips. “Just you and me. You aren’t allowed to focus on anything else.”
“You didn’t say Swan says,” Killian quipped, his voice deep, yet strained as she continued to work him with her hand. “Although,” he drawled, pushing his hips forward. “I believe the edict was for you to use your mouth for other purposes.”
She could still see the fear in his eyes - and it matched the panic still coursing through her - but there was lust and need there, too. A burning desire, making his gaze almost as heated as the flesh Emma was stoking to life with each stroke of her hand.
“Fuck, Emma,” Killian moaned when she flicked out her tongue and teased his slit before circling the head of his cock. His hips jerked at the feel of her hand sliding from the base of his shaft to between his legs so she could fondle him as her lips wrapped around his tip before fully taking him into her mouth.
Lifting her gaze, a bolt of lust shot down to her core at the look on Killian’s face. Lips parted, eyes clamped shut, an exquisite expression of anticipatory pleasure was etched upon his features as his hair hung over his brows, which twitched and danced in time with his staccatoed breaths.
“Yes,” he exhaled. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.”
Emma hollowed out her cheeks and wrapped her hands around his ass, embedding her nails in the taut flesh which made his hips thrust forward again. Her movements were languid and thorough, exploring every inch of his length from the salty tip to the hard base where her nose would brush against his coarse hair. Wet, sloppy sounds echoed off the metal walls while grunts and pants reverberated through the room and down Emma’s spine. Tempted as she was to check the clock in the corner, she did not want to risk taking Killian out of the moment. She needed him to focus on his pleasure, but she recognized they were running out of time.
Releasing him with a pop, she replaced her mouth with her hand, vigorously pumping him as she glanced up and sultrily asked, “Tell me how to please you. Tell me what you want.”
“I-I want,” he stuttered, groaning at the feel of her hand sliding over his saliva coated length before grazing her fingers along the ridge of his underside, where she then rimmed the puckered muscle of his ass. “Fuck! I wanna fuck your mouth,” he growled. “I want to feel my cock pound the back of your throat again and again and ag–”
His words cut off when Emma swallowed him down, leaving her jaw slack and throat as relaxed as she could. He was tentative at first, clearly concerned for her comfort, but soon his thrusts became uninhibited and punishing, fucking her throat with adandon. Tears welled in her eyes and she found it difficult to breathe, but it was all worth it when his movements became erratic and a gutteral sound erupted from his throat before hot spurts of release began to fill her mouth.
She had the presence of mind to keep herself from swallowing, knowing Pan would require proof that his orgasm wasn’t for show. Cheeks full and lips bruised, she slipped her mouth off Killian’s cock, even as his body continued to convulse, then opened her mouth for the camera positioned just above the countdown clock.
“Good girl,” Pan crooned, forcing a shudder to slither down her spine. “Now, Pan says, swallow.”
She promptly obeyed, then opened her mouth wide a second time to prove her compliance. The door behind her slid open, and she scrambled to her feet, staying out of the Lost One’s way as he administered a second injection. Without warning, the rope securing Killian to the ceiling was cut and he stumbled forward, falling into Emma’s arms, nearly toppling them with his weight.
“The antidote is laced with a sedative, so you’ll want to get him back to your room before it takes full effect,” Pan told her.
Those effects seemed to be coming on quickly, as Killian was barely managing to hang on to consciousness as they made their way out of the room.
“Come on, Killian,” Emma urged. “We have to keep moving.”
“I don’t think I…” Killian’s speech was slurred, his eyes glassy, and his complexion pale. After a few more steps, Emma could no longer bear his weight. Before he could slump to the floor, one of the Lost Ones appeared - the one who had warned Emma to not incur Pan’s wrath - and hoisted Killian over his shoulder. Gesturing for Emma to follow, he carried Killian all the way back to their cell and deposited him on the bed.
“Wait!” Emma called out when he turned to leave. “Who are you?” As much as she wanted to climb into bed and hold Killian, reassuring herself that he was going to be okay, she could not let an opportunity for answers pass her by. “Why do you seem to care about Killian? Do you know him? Do you know why Pan brought him, brought us, here?”
The Lost One stared down at her with his dark brown eyes, and though unfamiliar in hue, there was something familiar in the way he looked at her. Long moments passed until he finally spoke, his voice soft with an equally familiar timbre.
“There are only two reasons people find themselves here,” he told her. “Because they have either crossed Pan, or because they are the punishment for those who did.”
“Are you…” Emma wet her lips and swallowed her trepidation. “Are you saying, Killian and I, we’re… someone’s punishment? That Pan brought us here to–”
“Your presence is a torment for someone Pan wishes to punish. He shows no mercy to those who cross him. You’d do well to remember that.”
Without giving her an opportunity to find her voice after that stunning revelation, the Lost One left the cell, the door grinding back into place as soon as he crossed the threshold. It took her several minutes to shake herself from the paralyzing shock and crawl into bed next to Killian. Comforted by the fact his breathing was even and steady, and his complexion had a bit more color than it had when they left the yellow line room, Emma wrapped him in her arms and let her mind race with speculation.
Had he been telling the truth? Had Pan brought them here, not because of anything they had done, but because it would serve as punishment for someone else? Someone else who had crossed Pan and was now paying the price? If so, then… who? Was that Lost One being tortured by Killian’s presence in Pan’s clutches? Who was he to him?
And whose misdeeds towards Pan had brought herhere?
(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)
Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.
Two days had passed, and Killian had managed to find some semblance of clarity to his situation. After much introspection - and a fair bit of pulling rank on Booth, letting him take the lion’s share of the patrols - Killian deduced he could not go wrong with keeping his focus on his duty. Duty had never failed him, and so long as he adhered to what his obligations required, then whatever changes his association with Swan might conceive in him, he should be able to weather them with honor and a sense of good form.
Confident in his newfound resolve, Killian had relieved Booth and taken upon himself the task of escorting Swan and Elsa on their morning walk. They were fortunate to have such mild weather for late November. It was not unusual that by this time in the year the elements proved too inhospitable to take the prisoners out. Killian worried about how Swan would fare being cooped up in her cell for weeks on end as she approached the end of her pregnancy, especially with Elsa’s insistence that physical activity was more important than ever in order for her to keep her strength up for the delivery.
Perhaps he could beseech Liam to allow her time out of her cell during the night while the other prisoners slept in order to get her necessary exercise when the weather did not permit excursions out of doors? Or if not within the cell block, the nearly deserted officer’s wing might prove useful. There, she would be away from any prying eyes that might take the advantage of appreciating her through the concealment of the darkness.
Advantages such as appreciating the glow of her supple skin, or the way her hair freely cascaded down her back or curled around the fullness of her breasts, rounder now than they had been when she’d first arrived. Much like her abdomen, its protrusion undeniable and no longer capable of being concealed beneath shawls or overcoats. Creating a great many changes to Swan’s form and mobility.
Unaware of how greatly he himself had been appreciating the woman during these brief moments into their walk, Killian smiled as he noted how her pregnancy had even changed her gait, giving her a bit of a waddle in her step. Steps that suddenly halted when she doubled over, clutching her abdomen as a hiss left her lips, before a deeper, pained groan caused her eyes to slam shut.
“Swan! Are you alright?”
“Emma,” Elsa said in a soothing voice, contrasting harshly with the panicked tone his own had taken as he rushed to her side. “I need you to breathe,” Elsa coached, her hands lightly resting on Emma’s shoulders as the woman took a shuddering breath. “Killian, take a knee.”
“What?”
“Emma needs a place to sit. Take a knee so she can rest a bit.”
Killian dropped down to one knee, his bent leg creating a perch for Emma to sink back upon, guided by Elsa until she was assured the woman was steady. Catching Elsa’s eye, Killian mouthed to her the fear currently running rampant in his chest.
“It’s too soon.”
Elsa gave him a pitying look before turning her attention back to Emma who was still taking in and releasing shaking breaths.
“These aren’t true labor pangs,” Elsa assured them both, and Killian felt the tension in his shoulders ease up a bit at the news. “Though not at all pleasant, they are nothing to be concerned with and will pass in due time. Just keep breathing, Emma. Think of it as practice for the real thing.”
Another pang must have gripped her, for no sooner had she appeared to relax than Emma twisted, clutching low at her side, which threw her off balance. Out of instinct, Killian wrapped his arms around her in order to keep her from toppling to the ground, which in turn allowed her to grasp at his shoulder with one hand, anchoring herself to him.
Focused as he was on Emma’s pale, pain-filled face, Killian missed the look his sister-in-law gave him at the endearment he wasn’t even aware he’d let slip. Nor did he see the shrewd glimmer that sparkled in her eyes when she moved the hand Killian had splayed across Emma’s back towards the base of her spine and instructed him to begin kneading the muscles there.
Killian raised a brow at her. “Why?”
“Many women find relief in having their lower backs massaged, and your hands are much stronger than mine,” she answered before repositioning herself in front of her patient, continuing to speak words of comfort and support.
Everything hit Killian all at once. The press of Emma against him, the way it felt to have her back in his arms, the rose scented soap that perfumed her hair, all were an overwhelming assault to his senses, but none of them affected him like the moan of sweet relief that escaped her when his fingers began to work the tense muscles of her back beneath her layers of dress. She hummed another sound of pure ecstasy, her grip tightening on the shoulder of his jacket, and Killian knew that emission would haunt him later while he lay awake in bed, willing himself to force away thoughts that would tempt him to take himself in hand. Thoughts he had no business thinking, especially now.
So much for good form.
“I think… I think it’s passed,” Emma said shakily a few moments later, easing her grip on his shoulder.
“Are you sure?” Killian asked, unwilling to relinquish his hold on her until he was certain the episode had passed.
“Yes,” she breathed out, a tentative smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “You can, um… you can let go now.”
“Right. O-Of course,” he stammered. Dropping his arms, he allowed Elsa to help Swan to her feet before he stood and adjusted his uniform. “You’re positive you’re alright?”
“She’ll be fine,” Elsa answered with a glimmer Killian couldn’t quite place twinkling from her eyes. “But we should probably get her back inside so she can rest.”
“Aye,” Killian replied, gesturing for the women to take the lead back to the prison, his eyes never leaving Swan’s form as they made their way back to her cell.
~/~
“Captain Jones? Mr. Hopper will see you now.”
Killian stood and fastened the buttons of his coat he had undone before taking a seat within the waiting room. With his hat tucked beneath his arm, he smoothed a hand over his hair and followed the clerk down a long corridor of offices until he was gestured inside a door that read Archibald Hopper, Esq in faded and peeling gold leaf. A man with thinning red hair was rummaging among the files teetering along the shelves of a credenza, his back turned towards the door until the clerk cleared his throat, causing the man to spin around.
“Oh! I beg your pardon, Captain!” the man exclaimed, waving him forward. “Please, please. Come in. Take a seat.”
Killian moved to one of the chairs in front of the desk, but paused when he found a stack of papers littering the cushion. The clerk cleared them away, shifting the heavy pile in his arms and grumbling something untoward under his breath as dropped them on the desk.
“I apologize for the state of things,” the red-haired man said, settling into his own seat while scanning the desk in search of something, his eyes squinting as he continued. “As you can imagine, Mr. Glass’ sudden resignation and relocation to England has left us all a bit discombobulated.” The man, whom Killian could only deduce had to be Mr. Archibald Hopper, lifted up the corners of paper stacks and shuffled various items, still searching while muttering something about his glasses under his breath.
Killian cleared his throat, gaining the man’s attention, then pointed to the top of his head. Hopper’s eyes flicked upward, as though he’d be able to see atop his own head, and his hand reached up to find his spectacles perched upon his crown.
“Ah! Thank you!” he said, positioning them back into place. “As I said, things have been a bit chaotic.”
“Aye, you mentioned that in your letter,” Killian said, pulling the missive from his pocket. “Though I confess I was rather shocked to hear the news of Mr. Glass’ sudden departure in response to the letter I sent.”
When Killian had not heard back from Emma’s lawyer after sending his initial correspondence, he’d followed up with a second letter, only to be told Mr. Glass had left his position with the firm and had gone overseas. The news had prompted Killian to request a meeting with Emma’s new attorney, assigned to her by the Magistrate, hoping to find out what had caused Mr. Glass to leave the continent, as well as discover what was being done about the petitions he and Mother Superior had sent.
Mr. Hopper leaned forward, his expression conspiratorial and concerned as he whispered, “Actually, I believe it was the inquiry you sent Mr. Glass, mentioning the oversights regarding Mrs. Cassidy’s case that caused Mr. Glass to flee.”
Killian mirrored the man’s posture, shifting closer to the desk and nearly crushing his hat, which he’d laid in his lap, in the process. “What makes you say that?”
Hopper’s eyes jumped to the door, left open by the clerk who had already exited. Standing, he hurried over and closed it, then resumed his seat, snatching several files from a pile. “Many of us had our concerns and doubts during the trial as to whether Mr. Glass was truly working in his client’s best interest, but given those involved at the time we were… hesitant to voice such speculations.”
“So, you do not think Emma received a fair trial?”
“No,” Hopper answered, unequivocally. “I do not. And as her new attorney, I will do all I can to see this miscarriage of justice is overturned, but…”
“But what?”
Hopper sighed and gestured vaguely to the mayhem surrounding him. “The files are a mess,” he said. “I haven’t been able to make heads or tails of the records Mr. Glass left behind, and I am dubious as to their accuracy.” Pulling a sheet of parchment from one of the files, he handed it across the desk to Killian, whose brows furrowed as he attempted to understand what he was looking at. “I have filed a complaint with the Magistrate, along with a request that an official investigation be launched.” Hopper pointed towards the piece of paper in Killian’s hand and explained, “I’ve noted all the unethical behaviours I’ve been able to uncover thus far, and suspect Mr. Glass may very well have been paid off by Mr. Cassidy’s father in order to ensure a guilty verdict. I also have my suspicions that the man had a hand in the convent closing and the nuns being relocated,” Hopper continued, digging out another piece of evidence from the file, some sort of correspondence between the senior Mr. Cassidy and Bishop Spencer. “It seems he and the Bishop were old schoolmates back in England in their youth.”
Rage boiled in Killian’s veins, and the paper in his hand crinkled as his fingers gripped it tighter in his fury. He’d had his suspicions, but refused to indulge in them much, not wishing to wallow in conspiracies without proof, reminding himself he was too close to the matter to be completely impartial. Now, with those speculations all but confirmed by a third party, someone who had no vested interest other than seeing justice done, Killian allowed the grievance done to his Swan to wash over him in a wave of righteous anger.
“How can I help?” Killian asked, trying to keep his rage from clipping his words.
“I understand you and Mother Superior have petitioned the Prison Board on a number of matters regarding Mrs. Cassidy.”
“Swan,” Killian clipped out, eliciting a balking response from the other man.
“Pardon me?”
“She prefers to be addressed as Miss Swan,” he clarified, bringing his tone under control. “I understand for legal purposes she’ll remain Mrs. Cassidy within the official records and documentation, but perhaps you might do her the courtesy of–”
“Of course!” Mr. Hopper snatched his quill from its holder and dipped it into the accompanying inkwell, quickly scribbling onto a scrap piece of paper then tucking it into the file after setting the ink. “Thank you for informing me of that,” he said. “I’d hate to get off on the wrong foot with her when we meet.”
“And when do you think that will be?”
Again the man sighed, his expression pensive. “I want to meet with her as soon as possible, but not until I have all of this-” he swept his hand over his desk and gestured to the pile behind him as well “-sorted. I don’t want to add to her burden, unable to answer her questions or give her any sense of reasonable expectations.”
Killian nodded his understanding and did not envy the man the task before him, which prompted him to repeat his earlier question. “What can I do to help things along?”
“Just what you’ve been doing,” Hopper replied, raising his hand to stay Killian’s protest, surely suspecting he would not think it was enough. “Keep putting pressure on the Board by sending in those letters,” Hopper advised. “And if anyone visits Mrs…er, Miss Swan who might have testimony to give regarding the injustice she received from her first trial, encourage them to write to the Board as well.” Giving him a sympathetic look he added, “That’s all we can do until these files get sorted and I uncover more proof.”
“What do you think the odds are that our petitions will be granted?”
Swiping a hand down his face, Hopper reclined in his chair. “Honestly, I don’t know. We have an uphill battle before us, and they are under no obligation to even consider the requests we’ve all made on Miss Swan’s behalf. Although…” he paused, his eyes flicking to a calendar hanging on the wall beside him, “they’ll have to come up with some sort of decision regarding her child soon, and with your endorsement that she be allowed to keep it in the prison with her once it’s born, I wouldn’t be surprised if they ruled in favor of that rather than having to come up with another solution.” His eyes flicked back to Killian’s, a knowing and commiserating look reflected in his kind eyes. “They do so love passing the burden onto others.”
Nettles of guilt prickled up Killian’s neck. He never did tell Liam of Mother Superior’s visit and of her petition to the Prison Board, nor the fact that he had sent his own letter in support of the idea.
“I can see you want to help Miss Swan,” Hopper said, drawing him back to the conversation at hand. “You wouldn’t have reached out to Mr. Glass or written to the Board or requested this meeting otherwise.” Leaning forward over his desk once more, Hopper gave him an earnest look, his features reflecting the tender heart Killian had already determined lay within the man. “I know it doesn’t feel like you’re doing enough, but believe me… you are. Keep her spirits up, and celebrate the little victories with her. Help her prepare for the baby’s arrival and do all you can to make that transition easy on everyone within your charge. Rally the community and their support, because public perception is what got her the lesser sentence in the first place. And finally, just be her advocate. Your position will go a long way in convincing the Board to act, and if you think you could get your brother, the warden, to maybe speak up on her behalf as well, that would be very helpful.”
Killian swallowed past the tight knot the lawyer’s words had produced in his throat and nodded, mulling over all the things the man had said.
“Is there anything else I can do or answer for you?” Hopper inquired.
“Aye,” Killian croaked out, his voice still strained from the gamut his emotions had already run during their meeting. “Do you know what might have become of Emm… I mean, Miss Swan’s things?”
A brief flicker of something twitched in the man’s brows in response to Killian’s slip, but he quickly schooled his features and made no mention of the familiarity in which he’d nearly evoked her name, his expression becoming grave and rueful. “I’m afraid I don’t, but… I do know the house she shared with her husband was owned by her father-in-law. It’s my understanding he had it cleaned out and sold when he was here for the trial, so I imagine her things would have been tossed out or destroyed in the process.”
Killian’s shoulders slumped in disappointment, not that he hadn’t suspected as much.
“I’ll look into the matter, though,” Hopper told him.
Killian stood and waved the man off. “No, it’s fine. You have enough on your plate.”
Hopper offered him an apologetic look, then stood to escort Killian to the door. “Well, please do not hesitate to call upon me if there is anything you need.”
“Likewise,” Killian reciprocated, allowing Hopper to open the door for him.
“And please tell Miss Swan I will be in touch soon,” he said as Killian made his way through the door. “I’ll schedule a visit just as soon as I can.”
“I’ll tell her,” Killian assured him, shaking the man’s hand before departing back to the prison, his shift set to begin in a few hours.
~/~
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?!” Liam shouted, the vein at the side of his temple pulsing in such a way Killian feared it might burst. “Did you not think I ought to be privy to considerations the Board would make regarding myprison?”
Killian stood at attention, biting his tongue and waiting until his brother asked him an actual question and not rhetorical ones, knowing that if he spoke out of turn his brother was liable to blow a gasket. Though… he was already well on his way, waving orders he’d received from the Board in front of Killian’s face before slamming them down on his desk.
“To say nothing of the courtesy a bit of fair-warning in regards to preparing for such an edict you might have deigned to give me!”
“What on earth is going on in here?” Elsa inquired, breezing in through the door that had been summarily slammed closed moments ago, the reverberations a warning to all within the prison that the warden and his captain were not to be disturbed, but unheeded by the one person who had always been exempt from such edicts. “Are you aware your bellows can be heard from outside the prison wall?”
“How did you get in here?” Liam demanded. “You have to be escorted–”
“One of your new recruits… Thomas, I believe? I persuaded him to escort me up to your office.”
Liam stuck out his finger and wagged it in Elsa’s direction. “I’ll not have you beguile and charm my new recruits into compliance with your schemes like you have–”
“Put that finger away,” Elsa clipped out short-temperedly, marching up to her husband and squaring off with him. “How dare you admonish me as though I were one of your subordinates.”
Killian tucked his lips between his teeth, desperate to keep the smile off his face at the way his brother cowered before his petite wife.
“And Killian may well be your second in command, but he is your brother first and deserving of much more respect than–”
“Respect?” Liam snapped, though his tone was a bit more controlled now. “You mean like the respect he showed whilst going behind my back, petitioning the Prison Board in regards to Mrs. Cassidy’s child, which has now caused them to issue an order that-” he snatched the missive from his desk and read aloud “-necessary provisions be put in place so Mrs. Cassidy may be able to adequately care for her child, which shall remain within her care after its birth, with much haste and within the current budgetary allowance allocated towards the prison’s operations.”
Elsa plucked the letter from Liam’s hand, her eyes wide and misty as she read over the decree from the Magistrate’s office. Her head snapped up once she reached the end. “They’re letting Emma keep her baby? Here?”
“Aye,” Liam grit out, swinging around to face Killian once more. “It seems my little brother wrote to the Board, advocating for such an outcome on her behalf.”
“Oh, Killian,” Elsa sobbed, throwing her arms around him. “Did you really?”
Unable to stay at attention for fear his sister-in-law’s exuberance might knock them both to the floor, Killian reciprocated the embrace with one arm, whilst bracing himself against the back of a chair with the other. Once steadied, he pulled away and fixed his attention on his brother as much as he did Elsa, while acknowledging, “It was Mother Superior’s idea. In fact, she’d already written them on the matter when she came here.”
“When did she–”
“When you were gone to your niece’s birthday party.”
“Remind me to never leave you in charge again,” Liam muttered, crossing to his desk and slumping into his chair.
“Oh, Liam, stop being such a bear,” Elsa chided. “This is wonderful news!”
“Wonderful?” Gesturing at the page still clasped in Elsa’s hand, Liam retorted, “Did you not read what it said? We are to care for an infantin an environment most hardened men struggle to survive, without any additional financial support!”
“Yes, I admit that does pose some challenges, but surely you do not begrudge this woman the opportunity to keep her child?”
“Of course not,” Liam exasperated. “But have you considered that her sentence is five years? What are we to do with a child living in the prison for five years?”
“Actually…” Killian said, wincing in anticipation of his brother’s reaction. “We’ve petitioned the Board to consider a pardon as well, or at the very least a new trial, so with any luck–”
“A pardon?!” Liam roared, slamming his hands on his desk as he stood and sending his chair toppling from the swift movement. “New trial? Am I hearing this right? My Captain of the Guard, whose job it is to help carry out justice the Magistrate has seen fit to–”
“Justice?!” Killian exclaimed, his brother balking in surprise in response to his volume and tone. “What justice? You cannot believe for one moment that Emma received a fair trial. Her new attorney suspects that her original solicitor was bought off by her husband’s father. He’s requested a formal investigation into the matter, and–”
“When did you speak to her new attorney?”
“The day before yesterday. I requested a meeting with him when I learned her original lawyer had fled the country.”
“Who gave you the right to–”
“No one gave me the right! I did what I thought best under the circumstances! She doesn’t belong here, Liam! Surely you can see that!”
“What I see, little brother, is a man totally blinded by some schoolboy infatua–”
“That is enough!”
Both men’s heads snapped in Elsa’s direction when she shouted at them and stamped her foot. “There is nothing we can do about the length of her stay here, whatever the outcome of these petitions. All we can do now is make arrangements for the most immediate need, which is the impending arrival of her baby, so,” she swung the door open and gestured across the hallway to the vacant alcoves that had once served as offices, but were long past the need of refurbishment, “I propose we make use of that space, converting it into one large cell where she’ll have room enough for herself, the baby, and all their necessities, as well as the comfort and use of a fireplace.”
“You cannot be bloody serious!”
“Raise your voice to me once more, Liam Jones, and you’ll have your choice of working the night shift with your brother or sleeping with the dogs out in the yard, because you’ll not be permitted in my bed tonight.”
The three of them stood there, chests heaving and bodies tense from the mounting aggravation and their heated tempers, until Liam swept his hands through his hair and backed away, leaning against his desk and motioning for his wife to continue with an apologetic air.
“As I was saying,” Elsa began again, smoothing her hands down her dress in an effort to calm her own frayed nerves. “I believe the space across the hall would be more well suited for Emma’s needs going forward, and I think many within town would be willing to give of their time to see the matter done. I know you have concerns about the fire, but darling, we are talking about a vulnerable infant, who must be kept warm. You yourself said that many hardened men struggle to survive this place, and that is for two reasons: warmth in the winter and overall nourishment. Emma will see to the baby’s nourishment so long as we keep her well-fed. Granny has been, and I believe will continue to be, more than generous in that regard. And with her cell being right across the hall, in full view of both yours and Killian’s offices, surely the risk of a prisoner having access to fire would be nominal at best?”
Considering her words for a moment, Liam finally nodded. “Very well, my love. You win. Shall I leave the endeavor in your capable hands then?”
“Do you mean it?” Elsa asked, her voice filled with relief and a measure of reserved gladness. “Truly?”
“Aye, truly,” he affirmed, closing the distance between them and rubbing his hands over her arms. “Why don’t you have one of the new recruits walk you over so you can give Mrs. Cassidy the good news as he escorts you both on your morning walk?”
Lifting herself up onto her toes, Elsa planted a kiss to her husband’s lips. Killian diverted his gaze with an awkward hue tinting his cheeks.
“Thank you, my darling. She’s going to be so thrilled.”
Elsa reached over and gave Killian’s arm an affectionate squeeze before she poked her head out the door and called out to a guard she spied further up the corridor. “You there! Your warden requires that you accompany Miss Swan and me as we take our morning stroll.”
Killian chuckled and shook his head as he watched Elsa take her leave, then pass by the door again with one of their new recruits in tow. Although he would have preferred to be there when Emma received the joyous news, he had to admit it was probably best to wait and join her celebrations when his emotions were more stable. There would be time enough to rejoice with her later that evening when he reported back for the night shift.
As Killiam made his way towards the door, he was stopped by his brother who was closing it once more. “A moment, please, brother.”
Suspecting he knew what this was about, Killian waved him off and said, “No need to apologize. We both lost our heads and said things we did not–”
“I’m not apologizing,” Liam stated in a hard tone. “I want you off nights.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said, making his way back to his desk. “I want you back on days, effective immediately. Robin can take your place while Booth finishes his rotation, then he can be replaced by one of the new recruits youwill spend the day shift training and getting up to snuff.”
“But why must I–”
“I’m putting a stop to it, that’s why,” Liam grit out between clenched teeth in an effort to keep his voice lowered. “No more morning walks or heartfelt conversations late at night by lantern light. No more furtive glances or endearments slipping off your tongue.” Raising his hand, he pointed an accusing finger Killian’s way. “I warned you not to let this woman get under your skin, not to let her cloud your judgment.”
“I haven’t.”
Liam cocked his head and raised a dubious brow. “Haven’t you?”
Killian fought the urge to paw at the patch of skin flaring behind his ear, knowing Liam would recognise it as a tell of his guilt, but he could not stop the heat cresting up the tips of them.
“I want your efforts focused on training our new recruits and seeing to the necessities of getting us all through the winter. You are not to have any unnecessary contact with Mrs. Cassidy. Do I make myself clear, Captain?”
Liam rarely addressed Killian by his rank, had always preferred a more casual camaraderie between them, despite the hierarchy of both their birth and occupational positions, so the use of it was meant to underline the seriousness of his intent and to leave no doubt as to the weight of its command.
(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)
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)♥♥♥
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“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.
A/N: This was prompted by a conversation I had with @jadepersonaldriscal on Tumblr. It started with a simple question: “you think Silver ever branded him (Killian) and Liam while they had to work on his ship?” and snowballed from there, lol. Thanks for all the lovely ideas, Jade! And for letting me fic them, lol. Also, a big thanks to @kmomof4 for giving this a once over.
Summary: Like with all his scars, Emma tenderly ran her fingers over it with a question in her touch, silently waiting and giving him space to tell her about it or not. She never asked, not out loud anyway, but he knew she was curious about this one scar in particular from when he was branded, then rebranded long ago.
Like with all his scars, Emma tenderly ran her fingers over it with a question in her touch, silently waiting and giving him space to tell her about it or not. She never asked, not out loud anyway. Never pressed him for answers or demanded explanations, though he knew there were a few, like the one she was currently caressing, that made her blood boil and filled her with righteous indignation, the howandwhatevident in the unmistakable account that remained etched on his skin with only the whoand the whyleft untold.
The pads of her fingers traced over the raised, mottled flesh in the middle of his upper back, causing the skin around it to ripple as a shudder ran the length of his spine. Misinterpreting the reaction, she pulled her hand back and offered a quiet apology before rolling away. Turning onto his side, Killian reached out and pulled her back to him until she was nestled against his chest, her head tucked under his chin as her fingers now wound their way through the coarse hair of his chest.
“It’s all right, love,” he assured her. “I know you’re curious.”
“No… I mean, yes. I am curious, but you don’t have to… please don’t feel like you have to–”
Killian shifted back and placed his hand beneath her chin, lifting her face towards his so he could press a soft kiss to her lips.
“I know I don’t have to, Swan,” he murmured low, his breath mingling with hers as they lay close together. “I want to. I want you to know everything. It’s just…”
The fringe scattered along his forehead was swept away by her hand, which then began to card through the hair at the back of his head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed tightly, the memories washing over him in waves that made his stomach roll.
“I’ve had a mark there for as long as I can remember,” he told her, his words hesitant and difficult to get out at first. “Though it has been… modified from its original design over time.”
“It’s… It’s a brand, isn’t it?” Emma inquired, her voice small and pained.
Killian’s eyes fell shut when she pressed her forehead against his, falling silent once more and giving him room to navigate through the tale.
Oh this was so beautiful!!! I love their love so much!!! And I love how much Emma cares about the pain that Killian endured and how much she really wanted to take it away all these years later!!!!
Thank you so much for this!!!! It was much needed today!!!! I love it so so so so so so much!!!!!
Summary:A CS Neverland Canon Divergence: When Emma and Hook find themselves in Neverland, with only one another as ally, they must find a way to put their past and distrust aside in order to rescue Henry from Pan’s clutches. Emma needs Hook to help guide her past all the dangers the island has to offer, while Hook needs Emma’s help to not make the same mistakes he made the first time he found himself trapped in Neverland. Trapped in a deal of his own making; one he is most unwilling to repeat.
A/N:I am lying, liar who lies. I totally thought I would have this wrapped up in one last chapter, but… things got wordy (Sorry?). That means y’all will be getting one more chapter after this, and I am hoping to have it ready to post next Sunday.
Much love to @whimsicallyenchantedroseand@kmomof4 for giving this the once over for me! Also, a big thank you to the @neverlandnewyear mods for hosting this event again (and letting me use the banner as cover art!), and all the lovelies in the Discord for your enthusiasm and support!
The tension was almost as thick as the jungle humidity. With Hook leading the way towards Dark Hollow and Neal bringing up the rear, Emma was left sandwiched between two men who would have had enough issues to work through without throwing some sort of ridiculous rivalry over her affections into the mix. She supposed she should be glad they had heeded her chastisement from earlier and set aside their petty feud in favor of getting back to the task at hand before she absolutely let them have it. Besides, despite the things she knew she’d have to face at some point, the feelings and longings and desires she’d have to sort through when their mission was complete and they were all safe and sound back in Storybrooke, in this moment, if either of them pressured her to make some sort of choice, she would choose Henry.
He’s the only love I have room for in my life right now, Emma determined to herself while suppressing any and all wayward thoughts or feelings that might argue otherwise.
If there had been any doubts as to whether she and Neal could have reconciled and made another go of things if he hadn’t been shot and fallen into that portal, they had been sufficiently dealt with given her reaction to the news that he had survived. A reaction that churned guiltily in her stomach, made even worse by the sensations that had already been present there. Swooping sensations and small flutters that flittered up into her chest cavity, brushing against her heart with their wings of fancy whenever a certain pair of forget-me-not eyes caught her own. Though much more pleasant than the feelings Neal’s gaze brought up, they were not ones she was ready to give credence to, preferring instead to file them away in the back of her mind as nothing more than an attraction that would most likely fade once she managed to gain some distance and perspective.
Distance she was not getting as the trail grew narrower and more overgrown, causing both men to hover more closely to her while urging her to watch her step, each with a helpful hand at the ready whenever an obstacle presented itself.
This story is inspired by a post that’s been circulating on social media and I thought it was perfect for our beloved Captain Swan. Many, many thanks to @motherkatereloyshipper who created Liam’s tombstone picture for the pic set, @apiratewhopines who constantly fluffs my aura and who gave me useful feedback for the story, the ladies on the CSMM Discord for their help on the pic set, and (you know what’s coming next!) my dedicated and loyal beta @hookedmom, who has been with me through thick and thin and who makes every story I throw at her 100% better!
Story Summary: Emma Swan makes a mistake when ordering a DoorDash delivery and tells the driver to keep the food for himself. The response she gets moves her to tears and has her hoping to meet the man in person someday.
“Dammit!” Emma Swan cursed, reading the message on her phone.
This is Killian, your DoorDash driver. I’m here to deliver your food.
In her haste to get lunch delivered while she had a break between regional business meetings, she forgot to change the address for delivery to her hotel in New York City, instead of her apartment in Boston. Now, some poor guy was standing at her door with her food order, and she was going to have to resort to stale vending machine snacks.
I’m sorry, I forgot to change the delivery address. Enjoy the food. Lunch is on me.
She quickly checked her hair and makeup in the mirror, gathered up her room key and purse, and was on her way to the door when her phone dinged with another notification.
Umm…okay. Thanks very much.
Sighing, she went out into the hallway and turned left, in search of the nearest vending machine.
*********
Emma’s meetings in the hotel conference room stretched on into late afternoon, while she grew increasingly bored and hungry. How many times could they reiterate the plummeting sales numbers and explore possible interventions to halt the decline and improve the bottom line? She knew she should be more concerned, but at the moment, her growling stomach was demanding more attention than the lack of sales.
When the final speaker of the day began wrapping up his presentation, Emma chanced a look at her phone to check the time. Her screen displayed another message from DoorDash and as she read it, tears instantly filled her eyes.
Oh this made my heart song!!!! What a beautiful story!!!! What an amazing concept!!!! I love how you made the meet cute and all of the subsequent meetings were flirty and happy and just about two people opening themselves up to finding love!!!!! I love love love love love this!!!!! Thank you so so so much!!!! And as soon as I finish this I’m going to read it again!!!! Love it!!!!!
Warnings: For me this is super tame, but Neal is an ass so… he threatens some things.
Length:~5k
Summary: Three years ago, Neal Cassidy halted his pursuit of Emma in favour of the fortunes of an heiress by tarnishing her reputation. Now he’s back intending to collect his prize, but Emma isn’t the wide eyed ingénue he courted so easily last time. When he invites himself to join the family and some other guests for dinner, the night yields far more than anyone bargained for.
Notes: Great thanks to @kmomof4 for once again being a wonderful beta. The art is by the lovely @undercaffinatednightmare, I had so much fun talking to you about it, it really has brightened my time being ill over the last couple of days. You should all thank her too, if she hadn’t made it, I wouldn’t be posting this.
This fic was inspired by a visited to the National Trust property called Upton House. It is the house featured in the art in fact (we’re clever like that!) So honestly it’s pretty British, even if the ‘era’ isn’t overtly stated it’s meant to be regency in feel.
So I hope you enjoy, and thank you for the support!
Emma usually loved the house parties her parents threw at their country home; they were more relaxed than the ones that happened in town and she felt under less scrutiny here. Anyone who was invited was a friend, and didn’t know or didn’t care about what had happened three years ago. But tonight was different, and she found herself having to step out of the long gallery and onto the terrace when the men came through from the dining room because she simply couldn’t bear it anymore.
This is amazing!!!!! And I wanted to cut Neals balls off for what he was trying to do Emma!!!! And I love that Killian tried to protect Emma from what Neal tried to do!!!!!
Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.
A/N: Well… it took more than a year, but at last I am back with an update to this story. I have to be honest, there were times in the last year when I doubted I would ever write a fic again. I felt that I had written the stories I wanted, and with my graduation and a new demanding job, I couldn’t find time to sustain the hobby. But with summer fast approaching, I have had a little time to look back and to search for inspiration. I knew I needed to finish this short story. I HATE that I have left it this long, but I hope, if you’ve liked it so far, you’ll reengage and revel in the conclusion of this sweet little fic. Re-reading the first two chapters, I remembered the mix of humor and pure fluff I was going for. It made me smile so big, and if part three does that for any of you, I will be more than pleased. Thank you so much for continuing on, and I hope you enjoy!
Six months later
Thump,thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, Thump. Unsteady, loud, and reminding him at every quiet moment of how much he was missing his Swan. This was the state of his heart since rising this morning, leaving the bed he shared with the woman he loved and clutching at cold sheets.
The action of waking up alone, while regrettable, hadn’t been the issue that set his cardiac system into full blown assault. Much as he hated to be parted from Emma, it was a somewhat natural occurrence. They weren’t always blessed with aligning shifts. Still, she had the day off today, and he’d imagined the morning going rather differently…
Facing the start of a new dawn with Emma in his arms made the hours to come more than bearable, and though it may mean fatigue down the line, he always began the day just as he ended it, reminding her of how remarkable she was. He’d start with soft touches, taking her in and tracing the lines of her lithe figure. His eyes swept over every part of her, from her golden hair to sun kissed skin and the freckles on her arms that became more prominent with warmer weather. At first, he’d always forget that this was now normal. He had to remind himself that she was real, and his process of remembering meant using all his senses, brushing kisses on her skin as she slowly came awake.
Welcome back my friend!!!!! I will tell you that I have missed you so so much and I squealed in delight when I saw this come up!!!!!! What a wonderful ending to this amazing story!!!! Thanks for writing it and for coming back to finish it!!!! Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you so so so so much!!!!!!
Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.
Two days had passed, and Killian had managed to find some semblance of clarity to his situation. After much introspection - and a fair bit of pulling rank on Booth, letting him take the lion’s share of the patrols - Killian deduced he could not go wrong with keeping his focus on his duty. Duty had never failed him, and so long as he adhered to what his obligations required, then whatever changes his association with Swan might conceive in him, he should be able to weather them with honor and a sense of good form.
Confident in his newfound resolve, Killian had relieved Booth and taken upon himself the task of escorting Swan and Elsa on their morning walk. They were fortunate to have such mild weather for late November. It was not unusual that by this time in the year the elements proved too inhospitable to take the prisoners out. Killian worried about how Swan would fare being cooped up in her cell for weeks on end as she approached the end of her pregnancy, especially with Elsa’s insistence that physical activity was more important than ever in order for her to keep her strength up for the delivery.
Perhaps he could beseech Liam to allow her time out of her cell during the night while the other prisoners slept in order to get her necessary exercise when the weather did not permit excursions out of doors? Or if not within the cell block, the nearly deserted officer’s wing might prove useful. There, she would be away from any prying eyes that might take the advantage of appreciating her through the concealment of the darkness.
Advantages such as appreciating the glow of her supple skin, or the way her hair freely cascaded down her back or curled around the fullness of her breasts, rounder now than they had been when she’d first arrived. Much like her abdomen, its protrusion undeniable and no longer capable of being concealed beneath shawls or overcoats. Creating a great many changes to Swan’s form and mobility.
Unaware of how greatly he himself had been appreciating the woman during these brief moments into their walk, Killian smiled as he noted how her pregnancy had even changed her gait, giving her a bit of a waddle in her step. Steps that suddenly halted when she doubled over, clutching her abdomen as a hiss left her lips, before a deeper, pained groan caused her eyes to slam shut.
“Swan! Are you alright?”
“Emma,” Elsa said in a soothing voice, contrasting harshly with the panicked tone his own had taken as he rushed to her side. “I need you to breathe,” Elsa coached, her hands lightly resting on Emma’s shoulders as the woman took a shuddering breath. “Killian, take a knee.”
“What?”
“Emma needs a place to sit. Take a knee so she can rest a bit.”
Killian dropped down to one knee, his bent leg creating a perch for Emma to sink back upon, guided by Elsa until she was assured the woman was steady. Catching Elsa’s eye, Killian mouthed to her the fear currently running rampant in his chest.
Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.
A/N: I continue to be blown away by the response to this fic. Thank y’all so much!
In answer to a question I received after the last chapter posted, this fic IS written entirely from Killian’s POV.
As the weeks passed, the Captain of the Guard and his unusual charge settled into a familiar routine. Every night Killian would spend time outside her cell, talking with Swan about all manner of things. He would bring her books to read so they might discuss them, and she would share with him the local gossip she’d heard from Granny or one of the other ladies Elsa had recruited to keep her company during visiting hours and the morning walks he still oversaw before leaving each day.
It warmed his heart to see her cell filled with items gifted to her or crafted by her own hand with the yarn and knitting needles she’d come to master. Soft blankets, hats, and booties were overflowing the trunk Marco, the town carpenter, had made for her to hold such keepsakes. Another trunk had been approved to house the garments she’d collected through the generosity of her new friends in order to accommodate her expanding waist and keep her warm during the frigid nights as winter swiftly settled over the prison.
Nights like this one.
Killian turned up the collar of his overcoat and shivered past the drafts seeping in through every crack and crevice within the old stone prison. With a new, heavy blanket in his arms, he made his way to Swan’s cell, intending to spend a few moments with her while Officer Booth (who had replaced Robin on night watch) finished his patrol.
A few of the prisoners nodded at him as he passed, the cold making sleep difficult for them, and one or more groused under their breath at the sight of the blanket. Towards the end of the block, dirt-stained arms hung over the cross brace of the barred door, and one of their newest inmates, Will Scarlet, gave Killian a look bordering on insubordinate as he cheeked, “Something to help keep the missus warm, Captain?”
Killian ignored the man’s question, pausing before his cell only to issue him an order to get back in bed.
“It’s just…” Scarlet continued with a tone of ribbing. “I think someone’s beat you to it.”
Killian’s brow arched up his forehead. Before he asked the thief what he meant by that statement, the soft sound of Swan’s hushed laughter perked his ears. Setting off, he rounded the corner and found Booth standing outside her cell, a bright smile stretching over his usually wooden features as he passed a thick quilt through the bars.
“Officer Booth,” Killian barked, causing the man to balk and snap to attention. “Have you finished patrol?”
“No, Captain,” the man answered.
“Then I suggest you get back to it before I write you up for dereliction of your duty.”
Booth gave his captain a stiff nod, his eyes flicking back towards the cell as if unsure whether he could risk saying anything more to the woman inside. Resolving it wasn’t a risk he was willing to take, Booth made his way past Killian and back to the cell block to continue his patrol. Killian’s flickering jaw muscle practically chased him as he went.
I am loving this!!!! I don’t love that Emma is in prison for “killing” Neal but I know that she will be okay and she will be cleared. I’m only sorry that Neal is already dead so he can’t face the consequences of what he did!!!! Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh!!!!!!!!
Hello, and welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2019! This au combines two story ideas I’ve wanted to explore for a while. 1. What if CS existed in a Tolkien-esque, LOTR world? 2. What would have happened if it was Killian rather than Neal that Emma ran into when she was stealing the bug? Huge thank you to my beta, @blackwidownat2814, to @clockadile for the amazing story and chapter art, to @kmomof4 and @cssnsfor putting this event together, and to the ladies in the CSSNS chat who have helped me think through this story. If all goes well, I should be posting every Tuesday, and the story will have approximately 18 chapters plus the prologue and epilogue.
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Summary:CS Lord of the Rings au: When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine. Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic. Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?
Regina felt her heart rate increase the closer they got to the border. It had been years since she’d last been to Misthaven, but the pain and shame of her departure–banishment–was still fresh in her mind. Would they even allow her to enter, or would they bar her?
Robin stepped up beside her and took her hand, interlacing their fingers and giving a small, reassuring squeeze.
“It’s going to be alright, my love,” he said, soothingly. “The king who banished you has passed, and from what you’ve told me, Queen Snow is far more reasonable.”
“Maybe,” Regina said, eyes troubled.
After Emma Swan-Jones had successfully mended the broken sword, they’d reconvened to discuss the best strategy moving forward. It went without saying that the sword needed to be taken to the Underworld and destroyed without delay. It similarly went without saying that the Merry Men and the Misthaven elves would be sending their best and strongest fighters with the Savior and her husband to aid and back them up in any way they needed. Nothing was more important or urgent than this task.
But a question still remained. If their best and strongest soldiers joined the fight, who would protect their people who remained behind?
I’ve been posting some angsty stories the past couple of weeks, so I thought for this Easter morning a bit of sweetness and fluff was in order. I hope everyone has a happy and blessed holiday with family, friends, and loved ones if they celebrate, and that they will enjoy this little glimpse of future CS family goodness!
“Oh husband of mine…” Emma Swan’s voice drifted into the living room from the hall with a playful lilt she’d never had much occasion to use before meeting and falling for Killian Jones. Well, she amended to herself wryly as she came up behind where he sat on their couch, hunched over furtively and clearly hiding something, at least not beyond skips she had intended to seduce before taking them down. Still, using it to toy with her pirate a bit before catching him in some form of mischief was a much more entertaining scenario.
She peered over his shoulder, eyes sparkling and a smug smile on her face, almost certain she knew what she was going to find, even as her fingers ran up his neck and scruffed through his coarse, dark hair before gipping it and pulling his head back a bit to meet her eyes where she hovered over him.
Satisfied merriment flickered across his devilishly handsome face and in Killian’s brilliant blue gaze as she stared him down – almost as if he had wanted her to catch him all the time. It was in rare moments like this, precious bits of down time for the two of them together, in their home, safe and comfortable and able to simply be themselves, that Emma saw the playful, boyish side of Killian Jones emerge gleefully. He’d had to grow up so fast, just as she had, that when the little boy he had been before betrayal, slavery, pain, and deprivation, felt assured enough to peek through just a bit in play with her, with Henry, or with their daughter, it was beautiful to see. As a ship’s captain in a dangerous realm, fighting beings like Rumplestiltskin or in tenuous cahoots with such devious compatriots as Cora or Pan, his buoyant, youthful nature had found little outlet for hundreds of lonely years. Now, however, it was sweeter, gentler than that, and it warmed Emma’s heart.
As her eyes trailed from his, she easily spotted the bag of individually wrapped miniature candy bars which she had been hiding in the kitchen cabinet behind her cocoa mix. There were also three or four crumpled metallic gold Twix wrappers on the coffee table in front of him which Killian had not had time to hide. Not to mention the small trace of chocolate in the corner of his smile that she was already hankering to lick away in a slow, sultry kiss.
I’ve been posting some angsty stories the past couple of weeks, so I thought for this Easter morning a bit of sweetness and fluff was in order. I hope everyone has a happy and blessed holiday with family, friends, and loved ones if they celebrate, and that they will enjoy this little glimpse of future CS family goodness!
“Oh husband of mine…” Emma Swan’s voice drifted into the living room from the hall with a playful lilt she’d never had much occasion to use before meeting and falling for Killian Jones. Well, she amended to herself wryly as she came up behind where he sat on their couch, hunched over furtively and clearly hiding something, at least not beyond skips she had intended to seduce before taking them down. Still, using it to toy with her pirate a bit before catching him in some form of mischief was a much more entertaining scenario.
She peered over his shoulder, eyes sparkling and a smug smile on her face, almost certain she knew what she was going to find, even as her fingers ran up his neck and scruffed through his coarse, dark hair before gipping it and pulling his head back a bit to meet her eyes where she hovered over him.
Satisfied merriment flickered across his devilishly handsome face and in Killian’s brilliant blue gaze as she stared him down – almost as if he had wanted her to catch him all the time. It was in rare moments like this, precious bits of down time for the two of them together, in their home, safe and comfortable and able to simply be themselves, that Emma saw the playful, boyish side of Killian Jones emerge gleefully. He’d had to grow up so fast, just as she had, that when the little boy he had been before betrayal, slavery, pain, and deprivation, felt assured enough to peek through just a bit in play with her, with Henry, or with their daughter, it was beautiful to see. As a ship’s captain in a dangerous realm, fighting beings like Rumplestiltskin or in tenuous cahoots with such devious compatriots as Cora or Pan, his buoyant, youthful nature had found little outlet for hundreds of lonely years. Now, however, it was sweeter, gentler than that, and it warmed Emma’s heart.
As her eyes trailed from his, she easily spotted the bag of individually wrapped miniature candy bars which she had been hiding in the kitchen cabinet behind her cocoa mix. There were also three or four crumpled metallic gold Twix wrappers on the coffee table in front of him which Killian had not had time to hide. Not to mention the small trace of chocolate in the corner of his smile that she was already hankering to lick away in a slow, sultry kiss.
This is just a short little one shot that diverges from 5x11 in an alternate way, but I’ve always been fond of it, and now at last I have made it some cover art and am running it as this week’s little promo from my backlog…
Summary:A bit of “Swan Song” canon divergence: Emma makes a vow worthy of the pirate she loves…
I realize that this isn’t the way things happened in “Swan Song”, but it’s more the way I’d have liked to see Killian’s sacrifice and he and Emma’s parting play out. For one thing, the possibility of rescuing him from the Underworld would have seemed more probable to me if he had been taken alive. I tried to get this out of my head and tell myself it was pointless to write since that isn’t the way it went, but it begged to be written, so I did.)
For one stark, horrifying moment it becomes crystal clear in her mind – just what it might have been like for him all those years ago. Her heart stops in her chest, her pulse pounds desperate and blinding behind her eye, her tongue freezes to the roof of her mouth, trapping all the words she’s frantic to say, that she needs him to hear, needs him to know before he is gone. Emma can suddenly understand the loneliness, hopelessness, and blank acceptance in Killian’s eyes when she first met him, when they had spoken atop Anton’s beanstalk of their losses and what it meant to be orphaned. That same despair creeps up on her now at the prospect of losing him.
She told him once that she wasn’t a tearful goodbye kiss person, but as Emma clings to his hand, savoring the warmth of Killian’s calloused skin, the feel of his heavy, bejeweled rings against her fingers for every last possible second, she finds she is unable to let go, the tears can’t be held back; her anguish and need are on full display, and she can’t even bring herself to care. In this moment, the tearing agony and desolation that a young, idealistic naval lieutenant must have once suffered as his captain, his anchor, his beloved older brother died in his arms, rocking his world off its axis forever, tearing him from his moorings and turning him into someone else entirely, is felt in her own chest. She suddenly knows the loss and helplessness of watching while bound to the mast of his own ship as a monster murdered his love and left him to hold her as she died in his arms – not even able to whisper a last ‘I love you’ before she was gone.
Emma sees the Furies – three of them – drawing near, lingering with menace over Killian’s shoulder. But she isn’t letting go easily; she will fight them for him to the very end. She will make sure she sees him off with her love for him on her lips, make sure that he carries the knowledge with him, even on the ferry down the River Styx.
Reaching out now, tenderly, wistfully, she takes his other wrist in her free hand, lightly grasping the curve of his hook and remembering the ball in Camelot, the awestruck look in his eyes and the smile on his face as she had descended the stairs in Arthur’s great hall to stand before him dressed in fresh, innocent white with flowers in her hair, feeling like a girl again – young and new with a chance to start all over. She remembers the gentle guidance in his touch that evening as he led her across the floor and through the unfamiliar steps, never letting her stumble, keeping her from embarrassment or worry though she had never danced that way before. Remembers too the way she had spun and twirled to take his hook as simply as if it were his outstretched hand and the way he had beamed at her gratefully – like she had hung every star in the sky above – and her heart had swelled with love for him. Remembering it now makes this moment, this parting, all the more painful and wrenching as she clings to the curve of steel – a part of him she loves like all the rest. How can she possibly be forced to release it and let him go?
Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.
A/N: This fic was inspired by the true account of Martha Casto who was incarcerated in the Missouri State Penitentiary in 1843 for manslaughter. I first heard her story on an episode of Who Do You Think You Are, featuring the lineage of actress Cynthia Nixon. While I have taken some details of Martha’s crime and sentencing to weave into the story, mine will not be a retelling of the accounts of her time in prison. Also, while I am setting this fic in the same time period as the inspiration (mid-1800s), I will be taking some historical liberties.
Thanks to my amazing betas, @snowbellewells and @kmomof4. Also, shout out to @sotangledupinit for the assist in debanging (don’t make it dirty, people) Killian for the art.
“You cannot be bloody serious.” Killian’s eyes jumped from the order in his hands to his brother’s face. “They’re sending her here?”
“This is the only prison within Misthaven County,” Liam reminded him, seemingly unperturbed by the proclamation that a woman, who had just been found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to serve five years for the crime against her husband, would be housed within the stone walls he was charged with overseeing as warden.
Killian shook his head and tossed the missive onto the imposing mahogany desk in front of him. “This is madness,” he said, running a hand through his hair while trying to grapple with the logistical nightmare the magistrate had set upon them. “Her presence will cause chaos among the other prisoners, to say nothing of how she will affect the guards.”
“I see no reason why her incarceration here should cause such disastrous waves of which you seem concerned.”
Killian stared slack jawed at his brother, who had resumed his seat and began scratching quill to parchment. “Brother,” Killian began with an incredulous tone once he again found his voice, “We are not equipped to see to the needs of a woman here, especially one who is with child.”
“We will see to her needs as we do the men under our supervision. However,” Liam held up his hand to stay his brother’s protest, “I recognize that a few concessions will be necessary in order to ensure her safety and well-being whilst she is here.” Setting the ink he had just finished applying to the page, Liam stood and handed the paper to Killian. “As Captain of the Guard, I entrust these added measures into your authority. See to it the other guards are aware of my instructions and that they are upheld.”
Killian grit his teeth, but held his tongue. He knew a dismissal when it was issued, and though Liam was his older brother, he was also the prison warden and Killian’s superior. Positions Killian respected, even if he did think his brother was being purposefully obtuse about the reality of the circumstance about to befall them.
Upon exiting his brother’s office and returning to his own, Killian settled himself in his desk chair and read over the principles by which Liam would have them all handle the presence of Mrs. Cassidy. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Killian released a long sigh before glancing out the window that looked across the open corridor to the upper level cells that stood adjacent to the officers’ wing. From where he sat, Killian had a clear view around the corner to the secluded stretch where lay the cell Liam had determined would house the infamous ax-murderess.
The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and limited means murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial when neighbors and members of the man’s family had come forward with their testimonies of character, painting the victim in portraits of virtue while his wife was further vilified. In the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that had saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Killian’s problem to contend with.
And she would most certainly be a problem.
Keeping order within the prison was a challenge on the best of days. They were woefully underfunded and understaffed. Though not as deplorable in condition as other prisons Killian had seen, Misthaven Penitentiary had always relied on the charity of the local convent to see them through hard times. With its closing earlier in the year, and the nuns dispersed to other parishes, Killian was not sure how they would fare in the upcoming winter. To say nothing of how they’d fare having an inmate of the fairer sex within their midst.
A scoff of scorn erupted from the back of Killian’s throat when he read back over his brother’s edict. No man shall enter Mrs. Cassidy’s cell for any reason, lest it be a matter of life or death. Liam was a damn fool if he thought such a decree would dissuade some of the more… unsavorymembers of their guard from the temptation the woman would present, and it would be left to Killian to maintain order and discipline, not just from the sentenced population, but from his own men. A task he was not relishing in the slightest. Nor was he overjoyed by his brother’s commands that essentially made him her own personal jailor, a notion which left him with a sour taste in his mouth and equally unpleasant sensation in his gut.
Checking the time on his pocket watch, Killian stood and made himself presentable for the shift change. Liam would be addressing the whole of their guard staff, informing them of the impending arrival of Mrs. Cassidy, as well as a dozen or so other new inmates to follow, which meant longer shifts would be required in order to make the necessary preparations. Killian’s hopes of spending some time along the coast while the autumn weather was still agreeable were well and truly snuffed out, much like the desk candle he extinguished before leaving his office.
Here is the conclusion to the story and I hope it was worth the short wait. The tags promised angst, but also a happy ending, which you’ll get…eventually. Thank you for the kind response to this story!
Happy birthday once again to Mary. I hope this is the start of a much better year for you!
Story Summary: After a painful break-up with the love of his life, Killian Jones writes a song for her and sings it every weekend at the bar. One night as he’s playing, he sees her in the crowd with a man he despises, and it leads to an eye-opening discussion between Emma and Killian.
Rating: M
Words: (Ch. 2 - 6320, Total - 11,100)
Find Chapter 1 on Tumblr here
Also found on Ao3 and ffn
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“May…may I come in?” she whispered.
Killian stepped back to open the door wider and watched her brush past him, every muscle in her body tense. He hurried to move his guitar off the sofa, offering her a seat. She perched on the very edge and kept her eyes on her tightly clasped hands.
Killian sat also, leaving a cushion’s width between them. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not. You…you were r-right. Those pictures were fakes. Once I looked at them closer, it was so obvious, but when I first got them, it was…I was…I just couldn’t…” She sucked in a choked breath and exhaled a sob. “How could I be so stupid?”
“I’m sure they were very realistic if what Belle said about Milah’s work is true.”
“They were, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that I thought they could be real.”
“No, it doesn’t. You told me love is built on trust, but…you…you didn’t trust me. When I told you I hadn’t been with any other woman, you should have believed me.”
This is the ending that I was hoping for!!!!! I am so happy that they got to the HEA!!!! Them working to get their love back and the trust that should have been there all along. But we know how Emma is and it is very sad that she never really truly trusted Killian before. But I love that they worked through it.
As for Neal and Milah, well let’s just say that they both got what they deserved! I would have loved Killian punching Neal but I am glad that Emma was the one who confronted them! And they have the balls to lie right to her face! Taking one of Emma’s own photos and using it against her ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh! How freaking low can you get?!?!?!? And Milah being so gross and doing that for her grown son?!?!?!? Yuck!!! Mommy needs to cut the cord now!!!!!
I absolutely loved this!!! Even though it broke my heart several times, it put it right back together again!!!!! Thank you thank you thank you thank you!!!!! I love love love love love love this!!!!!
Several months ago, I heard a commercial which turned into a prompt for this story. When I pitched it to my beta @hookedmom, she came up with lots of ideas for it, so I decided to write it for her birthday in April. I almost feel guilty saying it’s her gift, because she had to do a lot of work to help me clean it up, but here it is. Happy birthday, Mary! Very few of my stories would have been completed without you!
This chapter has several flashbacks and changes in Point of View. These are the symbols for each:
~*~*~*~ = flashback
<<<<<>>>>> = change in POV
Summary: After a painful break-up with the love of his life, Killian Jones writes a song for her and sings it every weekend at the bar. One night as he’s playing, he sees her in the crowd with a man he despises, and it leads to an eye-opening discussion between Emma and Killian.
As Killian tuned his guitar prior to walking out onto the small stage, his mind wandered once again, back to the day when his life, for all intents and purposes, ended.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Don’t lie to me, Killian!”
“I’m not lying to you, Swan! You’re the only woman I love. I would never cheat on you!”
“I saw the pictures of you having sex with another woman!”
“There aren’t any bloody pictures! How could there be pictures when I haven’t been with anyone else?”
“You can’t deny it was you in them! I might be stupid, but I can still identify the man who’s supposed to be my boyfriend!”
“You’re hardly stupid, which is why you should know I would never cheat on you. You always say you can tell when somebody is lying to you, so use your superpower now, Love.”
“Don’t ever call me that again! Love is built on trust and I can’t trust you now, Killian. How can I?’
“Emma…”
Her voice, which had been nearly hysterical, dropped to a whisper and it cut through him more deeply than her shouting. “It’s over, Killian. We’re through.”
Then she was gone, and he spent the next eight months trying to figure out how it all went wrong.
Okay I need Killian to break Neal’s face and soon!!!! Ugh what a bastard!!!! And don’t even get me started on Milah’s part in all of this!!!! She needs some comeuppance for her part in believing her spoiled brat of a child!!!! And I’m sorry but what give either one of the right? Neal thinks he can just have whatever he wants or he he gets mommy to fix it for him? Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh!!!!! I think I scared everyone in my house when I was reading that part and I just let out a scream!!!! I wanted to find a way to real punch Neal and bitch slap Milah!
And I’m sorry but Emma is not innocent in all this! She believed that Killian would cheat on her and I’m sorry that just proved that she didn’t trust Killian!!! And girlfriend that ain’t cool!!! You trust Jefferson over your boyfriend?!?!? Really Emma!!!!!
I can’t wait for tomorrow!!!! I really love this!!!!! I just need to rest!!!!
Here is a little glimpse of my new story, which languished under the description “Sad Musician Killian” until my beta @hookedmom and I were finally able to nail down a title for it! I intended to write it for her in honor of her birthday next week, but she has worked just as hard on it as I have, so it isn’t a surprise at all for her. I’ve decided to post the first chapter on Saturday, and the second and final chapter on Sunday, provided I get it all cleaned up and ready to go by then.
Summary: After a painful break-up with the love of his life, Killian Jones writes a song for her and sings it every weekend at the bar. One night as he’s playing, he sees her in the crowd with a man he despises, and it leads to an eye-opening discussion between Emma and Killian.
Rated: M
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He was three songs into his set when he made his usual announcement, unwilling or unable to change it, even though it always tore at his heart. “I wrote this song for the love of my life.”
As he played the first chord, he wondered again why he chose to torture himself. She was never going to hear this song, no matter how many times he played it.
You are my dream
The sweetest I have ever known
My heart is in your hands
It’s yours, no longer my own
I live for you
And the happiness you give me
You’re everything and more
With you, I’m the best I can be
My beautiful love
Straight from heaven above
You helped me to see
Just how sweet love can be
How can I tell you
I love you more every day
I’ll never be the same
Since you stole my heart away
With it in your hands
To protect it or to break
I need to know your choice
What decision will you make?
My beautiful love
Straight from heaven above
You helped me to see
Just how sweet love can be
My life’s not the same
And your love is to blame
Our fate is in your control
Please don’t crush my soul
My beautiful, beautiful love
My beautiful love
As his broken voice finished whispering the lyrics and the last notes faded away, greeted by a smattering of applause from the few people in the bar who were listening, he thought he was having a hallucination. Because she was there; her golden hair glowing in the dim lighting, giving her an ethereal quality which further convinced him she was a figment of his imagination.
He blinked several times and refocused his eyes on the same spot, shocked to see she was still there. He almost involuntarily took a step toward her, until he realized she wasn’t alone. Neal fuckingCassidy was sitting beside her with his arm draped over her shoulders and an arrogant smirk on his face that said he won.
And that’s when it clicked.
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I hope you’ll join me for this story filled with angst, a little smut, and, of course, a happy ending!
Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.
A/N:This update is not based on a prompt, but it does help set up a prompt that I’ll be tackling in a future update. Mentions of childhood sexual abuse do occur in this chapter, but nothing graphic. As always, please feel free to message me if you need clarification or have questions before reading.
Lots of love to @ultraluckycatndand@kmomof4 for their exceptional beta skills on this one! Also, much thanks to @elizabeethan for her invaluable input on this chapter!
“You both must have a terrible case of cabin fever by now,” Pan’s voice commented through the speakers overhead. “How would you feel about the chance to go outside and get some fresh air?”
“What’s the catch?” Killian asked, trying to keep any notes of eagerness he felt over the prospect out of his tone.
“Pan says…” His dramatic pauses were starting to lose their effect, “Tell each other your worst sexual experience for the opportunity of going outside.”
“That’s it?” Emma snorted. “He’s losing his touch if his goal is to make these difficult for us to answer. The only difficult part is choosing which one is theworst.”
“My first experience was the worst,” Killian replied. As it was prone to do, the memory spiked his anxiety and caused his panic to rise until he remembered the technique that helped alleviate it. Closing his eyes, he focused on keeping his breathing even, but before he could run through the steps that grounded him, Emma responded with a fresh quip.
“What? Were you too eager? A little premature ejaculation action? Tell me the girl didn’t laugh at you… or is that why it was the worst?”
Summary: A CS Neverland Canon Divergence: When Emma and Hook find themselves in Neverland, with only one another as ally, they must find a way to put their past and distrust aside in order to rescue Henry from Pan’s clutches. Emma needs Hook to help guide her past all the dangers the island has to offer, while Hook needs Emma’s help to not make the same mistakes he made the first time he found himself trapped in Neverland. Trapped in a deal of his own making; one he is most unwilling to repeat.
