Emma & Killian have found their way back to their own time, but finding their home again will prove to be another adventure entirely…The Tale of a reunited family, an inescapable destiny and the marvels of indoor plumbing.
Thank you to the world’s best beta and most wonderful human ever @elizabeethan
♥️♥️♥️
“I can see three from here, lad,” Killian heckled, delighting in Henry’s frantic searching of the bookshelf, the small multicolored wrapped chocolates glittering in the morning sunlight. He had stayed up late, having plotted for weeks since learning of this pirate-approved holiday- it’s religious, babe, not pirateous- mapping out the perfect places to hide his grocery bag of loot- hiding treasure? That’s a pirate activity, Swan.
She had stolen a handful of eggs from his bag, and he tsked his tongue at her, setting a small egg on the ledge to ensure it would stay in place, before snatching it back and moving to the next location he had selected. “That’s not a word, Swan.”
“It’s on Urban Dictionary,” she defended, cheeks bulging from the eggs she had popped into her mouth lest he try to retake them. His answer was a disgruntled grunt and the side look he shot her told her exactly what he thought of the dictionary he had never heard of.
The morning was slightly less chaotic than Christmas, but the children vibrated with an energy echoing the sugar which awaited them, and Killian couldn’t help but feel swept along with their enthusiasm, heart skipping as he watched Henry kneel and point to the eggs he had hidden in plain view for Hope.
The sight settled something, a small piece of his soul which still remained anchorless and drifting, calling out to the memory of a home they left behind. This was better, his heart whispered, warm and solid in his chest, this is far, far better.
Hope vibrated with excitement, hoping like a bunny through the living room as Henry helped her find enough eggs to fill her small basket. She was sated for the time being, small fingers diligently unwrapping yet another foiled chocolate egg- she probably doesn’t need any more today, kid- attention entirely on her task as she ignored the dramatic hunt taking place in the next room, Killan’s laugh reverberating through the main floor- warmer…ah, no…. cooler now…. warmer- dressed in bunny pajamas Mary Margaret had brought the evening before, declaring she had informed the Easter Rabbit- it’s a bunny, Mom- that it was to stop by the loft on its way through town.
They were heading to the loft for dinner, instructed to bring baskets for the eggs that the Rabbit would leave- rabbits are the same as bunnies, Emma- and the boardgame Henry was telling them about the weekend before.
“Ugh.”
“Getting warmer.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re cheating,” Henry groused, dragging a chair from the kitchen over, the feet scraping angrily over the gleaming hardwood Killian insisted they keep polished with the floor attachment her mother had bought him for Christmas- aye, Swan, I do like this contraption- before hopping on the seat, cawing gleefully when he seized a caramel filled egg from the top shelf.
“I would never,” Killian scoffed, hiding a smile behind the mug of coffee Emma had pressed into his palm, weary eyed and grumpy over the early morning- enjoy this for me, babe.
“You do,” Henry surveyed the room from his new perch, leaping down and dragging the chair behind him to retrieve two candies from the window ledge. “All the time!”
He found two more eggs before gloating that there could not possibly be any more left hidden, and he was more than prepared to move on to the kitchen.
Killian’s response was to raise an eyebrow, push dramatically away from where he had been lounging on the sofa and swipe four eggs Henry had missed from the picture frame above the mantel- Hey! Wait!- smirking as he unwrapped and popped them into his mouth. “Now, the living room is clear,” he ruffled Henry’s hair and picked the chair up to return it to the kitchen.
Emma & Killian have found their way back to their own time, but finding their home again will prove to be another adventure entirely…
The Tale of a reunited family, an unescapable destiny and the marvels of indoor plumbing.
Thank you to the world’s best beta and most wonderful human ever @elizabeethan❤
♥️♥️♥️
The motor whined in protest as Emma shoved the vacuum across the carpeted landing, annoyed with the confetti they were still finding- how is this possible? Are we producing it?- from the New Years Eve party her mother decided to throw in their new house. Christmas has been a complicated affair, and while he knew a key to surviving it would be to keep Emma content and comfortable on the sofa with her cranberry ginger ale- these are amazing, babe, you need to try one- and the mess contained as much as possible to the kitchen, it hadn’t been a smooth evening, and there had been more than one awkward silence.
“Everytime you vacuum it smells like burning, love.”
“That’s not my fault,” she snarled at the vacuum, malice taking over her face as she banged the poor contraption against the floor, a veiled threat bordering on a meltdown.
Her emotions had been an erratic mess the last few weeks, far more so than they had been at home. He stopped, hand extended to take the vacuum from her grasp, the threat of tears clear on her face. No, he corrected himself, forcing his body to move once more. This was home.
It had been a mantra of theirs since they had moved into the house, entirely unfurnished and so very much like their move to the cottage that they had both cried that first night, overwhelmed with longing and the old-new-wrongness of Storybrooke. It wasn’t the same. But it was home.
“Have you cleaned it?”
“It’s a vacuum, babe, you don’t clean it, you clean withit.”
“That’s a no. So it will be full of your hair again?”
She huffed and stomped down the stairs, and he counted to ten before the refrigerator door opened.
He pulled the plug from the socket at the wall- it’s not a tripping hazard if you know you need to step over it, babe- coiling it quickly and hauling the small machine down the stairs. He had set up a small workshop in their garage, which had come in handy several times already. Henry had sat beside him holding a laptop steady as a video played on repeat- this is YouTube, and it’s awesome- to teach him how to repair whatever it was that had broken.
“There is more of that juice you like in the garage, love,” he pressed a kiss against the top of her head, the smell of her shampoo, something floral and almost right, filling his chest, “I’ll go get it, aye?” She merely nodded, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a jar of fruit preserve- it’s called jam here, or jelly I guess, I don’t know if there is a difference- which she had happily produced from her shopping bag the day before.
The garage was dark, the high ceiling with it’s exposed rafters reminding him of the barns he had spent the last three years working in, but the smell of animals was replaced by stale motor oil and he supposed, hoisting the vacuum up onto the workbench, there was something painfully poetic in that reality.
Emma has asked him, voice quiet against his skin as he read to Hope one night from a brightly coloured book about a rainbow fish, if he thought Soarise noticed she was gone. His voice had caught in his throat and Hope pulled at the pages as he held the book, falling loose in his grasp. He nodded, not knowing which answer was best, but choosing honesty over anything else.
A slip of bright paper floated in the gentle breeze from the half open door, confetti from over a week ago, and he watched it as it settled in the corner, fluttering as if cornered and alive. A pinboard was hung on the wall in front of him, a leftover remnant from the last owner of the house, and he swiped the square of paper, bright blue like the sea, like the dress Emma wore for their wedding, like the bright clever eyes of their child, and pinned it to the cork. It may not have been the most successful of parties, but it had been theirs.
