#13spookycsdays

This ancient evil, Count Dracula, had ruled his isolated corner of the world for ages, but in coming to England and extending his reach, he was a threat to all mankind. Aurora had been only a prelude to what he intended. A monster of myth and legend had destroyed her innocent friend, and without pausing for rest, he had stalked and marked Emma as his next victim, only she had the advantage of awareness and warning enough to resist.

Though the threat was deadly, and knowing what she faced - stakes and dark graveyards and the betrayal of her very humanity from what she gathered of Aurora’s end that no one would speak of in full - Emma did not wish to be shielded and to wait hidden in safety while others risked their lives for her sake. She would have her hand in it, even if that meant to some extent playing the helpless damsel as bait in the trap.

To Killian, it was personal as well. He had still been a medical student long ago, traveling to study folk remedies in Romania when he met a darkly beautiful Countess, lonely and sad, all too eager to join him on his travels. She had set his world aflame - first in joy, and then in ruin, for she had not been as free as he had believed. He had fallen for her, and then seen her drained of life by her husband - the creature of night who had proven nightmares lived and walked the earth. Killian had only survived that first encounter because the Count wished him to suffer. For years, Killian had studied and prepared. He had made himself into an expert much different than he had once aimed, and he had intended for his suffering to end only when his life, or the Count’s, did as well.

There was a fine line to walk, however, between justice and bitter revenge. When he had seen the desire for reprisal in Emma after Aurora’s death, when she learned of the indignity to which the young beauty had been subjected and the lengths to which the men who cared for her had gone to assure her peaceful rest, she had sworn she would see this Count Dracula pay for his cruelty somehow. That was when Killian had told her all. “Do not fall into that trap, Swan,” he had spoken softly, though the import of his words was unmistakable. “That way lies ruin - only wasted years and endless torment.”

His blue eyes bored into her very soul as he strove to make her see. “When I lost my love, my Milah, I sore revenge upon her foul husband, the vampire who murdered her without remorse. I was nearly consumed, and when I finally came back to myself, I realized that seeking only retribution would make a monster of me as well. That was when I took on the name Van Helsing, obtained my licenses and degrees with it in fact, in the hope of evading his detection while I waited and watched and the years crept by. I must pursue the course for the sake of all, but not for my own ends, my own anger and hate.”

He would not release her eyes, his focus searing as he continued, “You too must find a way to separate yourself, to retain your purity of heart despite the terrible mission you undertake. Do what you must to save all, but do so without letting it twist your soul with similar darkness.”

And so, in their desperate alliance, they all had their roles to play - Aurora’s bowed but unbroken suitors, and she, Aurora’s dearest friend. The three gentlemen had rallied around Emma, swearing to protect her in her friend’s name. And Killian, their worthy advisor and leader, had not yet steered them wrong. She wanted justice and what retribution could be found for the torment Aurora had suffered. None of them would falter. They had taken solemn vows. Now all that remained was to see the mission through.

Emma could only wonder how had her life been altered so drastically in a few short weeks. Such thoughts replayed through her mind in what was at first a rose-tinged procession as she recalled how bright and full of promise she had been when first arriving on the coast of Whitby for a holiday with her childhood playmate. It had been some time since she and Aurora had seen each other, and those first days on the shore were spent in a haze of sunshine and laughter. They caught up with one another’s lives as they shared tea and biscuits on the wide veranda of the Spindleton’s gorgeous summer cottage. They giggled under the covers long into the nights, whispering of Aurora’s debut season, the many eager suitors who had vied to court her, and her blushing fondness for her chosen fiancé Sir Philip Thornswood, Lord Briarling. They also chuckled over Emma’s adventures - how she disguised herself in men’s pants to move freely while researching her stories, and the various pseudonyms she used when submitting her pieces for publication, subverting the male-dominated publishing world. 

It had been an idyllic change from the crowded, dingy part of London where Emma could afford to live and work. Aurora’s family belonged to the upper echelon of society, well-known and old-moneyed, and Emma had been mostly alone in the world for as long as she could remember. She was discovered on the front stoop of the Widow Lucas’ boarding house as an infant, wrapped in a snow white baby blanket with her name stitched in purple as the only clue to her identity. Fortunately, the Widow Lucas was a formidable woman, well-versed in making her way in the world against harrowing odds. She had already raised a granddaughter who was now off traveling the continent, so she took in the little blonde foundling and raised Emma as her own, teaching her all she knew. Though the tough older woman - “Granny” to all who knew her, especially Emma - had been gone for some years now, Emma remained eternally grateful that it was her doorstep her unknown parents had chosen that cold dawn so long ago.

Granny had even managed to scrounge and save enough, and was willing to spare Emma’s assistance twice a week, for riding lessons - where Emma had met Aurora Spindleton. Though poor Aurora had been an absolute lost cause at equestrian pursuits, Emma had excelled with enthusiasm, and everyone involved was relieved when she took the slightly younger future debutante under her wing during their lessons.

Emma loved the freedom riding gave her, and Granny was glad to know her charge would have the ability to get help quickly and effectively if ever needed - and defend herself too, if her skill in archery and marksmanship was any indication. In truth, Granny had been secretly delighted. She had lived long enough to know just how dangerous the world could be, and she wanted to see her girl as prepared as possible without completely tarnishing her outlook.

Though Aurora’s family was of a higher social standing, they had always been welcoming and kind to Emma whenever she visited their townhouse in Mayfair. She sensed that they were glad their only child had found a practical friend who could provide a steadying influence on Aurora’s naive, head-in-the-clouds sweetness. Since gossip photographers insisted on capturing and reporting the doings of the peerage, her parents were certainly relieved that Emma’s tips and encouragement had kept Aurora from being caught falling off her mount or in some other embarrassing faux pas. Aurora, for her part, was so endearing and open that Emma couldn’t resist being charmed. She might have been cosseted and sheltered, but she was hardly the sort of snob Emma had expected to encounter when mingling with the upper crust during her lessons. Instead, Emma was pleasantly surprised to make her first close friend - a friendship that lasted for years, with Emma always missing the Spindletons when they left for the shore in summer, counting down the days until her confidante would return.

This year, however, she had received a request, along with a train ticket, to join them at Whitby. It had been wonderful - strolling, swimming, and lovely summer hours blending together joyously - until all had gone horribly wrong. If only the happy, haze of sunshine-warm days had not gone dark and tinged with blood.

Aurora had already been betrothed to Philip by the time Emma had arrived. Still, it had been lovely to meet each of the worthy men who had sought her hand. With not an ounce of malice in her slender body, they had each sworn their friendship and fealty, even after the troth had been gently rejected. Even without Aurora there to blush and smile sweetly while introducing them, Emma could easily see why her friend might have been drawn to each in his own way, despite the obvious differences between them. All the men who had sought Aurora’s hand in marriage were honorable and true, respectable and worthy beyond reproach. Their faithfulness to Aurora tested beyond natural bounds and withstood the onslaught, and Emma felt the protection of their bravery as they had rallied around her when she faced a similar fate. If only any one of them had understood what had preyed on Aurora before it had been too late!

Philip Thornswood, Aurora’s betrothed, was the most like her young friend in Emma’s eyes. Upon first meeting the landed peer, she felt the warmth in his large, chocolate eyes, his gentle strength and charm, and she knew they would have melted Aurora’s heart irrevocably. There was a sad sweetness to his expression, as if Emma herself returned a bit of his lost love to him with her presence. He had bent over her hand to gallantly kiss its back, and she had blinked away tears for the happiness that Aurora would never enjoy, knowing the two would have been well-matched beyond her friend’s wildest dreams. All she could do was press his hand in return, and give him a wordless smile she only hoped might express her bittersweet feelings.

Graham Morris, from the wild, rolling hills of Ireland - a cowboy of sorts, as they would call it in the Americas - was a man of few words and swift action, easily winning and debonair, but  also a bit rumpled and informal. He was clearly happier out of doors, more comfortable in the woods and riding horses than in a crowd of people, and yet his easy good humor and almost bashful regard could easily have swayed her young friend. He was an excellent shot, ever on the alert, and a godsend to have in their desperate endeavor.

The third suitor, Dr. Jefferson Seward, was a celebrated and innovative physician who had fought to restore Aurora’s health with every fiber of his energy. If the foe he had battled had been a mortal man rather than an immortal being, Emma had no doubt they would have prevailed. Though he was slightly older, he was thoughtful and doting; Aurora would have naturally been fond of him. The affection between them had been undaunted by her choice of another - so much so that when Jefferson had found himself losing the fight for her life, he had urgently sent for his friend, the renown Professor Van Helsing, expert on the supernatural forces, to do what he could not.

And that was how she had come to be in this rattling horse-drawn carriage, racing up a treacherous mountain path. The devious monster who had taken everything from Aurora - and who now threatened to drain Emma’s own life as well - awaited her in the deserted outpost at the end of this long night’s journey. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. Every few minutes, her fingers reflexively gripped her reticule, its strap looped around her wrist, drawing comfort from the small Derringer hidden within its folds. She also took strength from the knife secured in a special holster at the top of her stockings, pressing against her thigh. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of Professor Van Helsing - Killian - explaining its purpose as he presented her with the clever sheath. He had been deathly serious about her safety, but there also had been a heated flicker of clear attraction when she shyly gestured to ascertain where it should be worn, a moment that had ignited a warmth deep inside her.

The gentle feathering of gray in his hair near his temples and sideburns reminded her of the vast experience and knowledge he had gathered in his life - the very things they were all counting on to help them survive. The deeper lines around his startlingly bright blue eyes and at the corners of his firm lips reminded her that he had once smiled much more than he allowed himself to now. It made Emma wish to see him do so again. Everything about the man radiated power and purpose, commanding her respect from the moment they met, just as Aurora’s terrifying affliction had reached its peak. 

They had not won the victory any of them had prayed for, least of all Lord Briarling. Emma had hardly been able to bear looking at the strong young man bowed by grief as she had boarded the carriage for her mission. Philip Thornswood had given her a hand up onto the step, and was the last to speak to her before Killian Van Helsing’s own farewell. The gloom in his demeanor made her very glad she was not leaving the young gentleman alone, but in the company of true comrades. Even so, she trusted that Philip would not allow himself to falter in their cause. That steady hand, such a gentle support for her own as she ascended into the carriage, might have trembled in the doing, but had not hesitated to drive a stake into the breast of one he loved most in all the world for the sake of her eternal soul.

Breaking from her reflection on the journey’s beginning, Emma remembered herself suddenly as an eerie calm seeming to settle over her surroundings. She was instantly on alert when the carriage began to slow. A shiver of trepidation ran up her spine, returning her harshly to the present and the task before her. Outside there was a foreboding, unnatural quiet, only the crunch of the carriage wheels and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the rough ground broke the eerie silence. They rolled to a stop, and Emma leaned from the window, intent on calling up question the driver.

To her utter confusion and horror, when she glimpsed the seat where the driver had perched, she found no one there. He was gone, and she was stranded alone in the dark. Uncertain of what to do, but knowing she could not stay on the desolate mountain pass in the cold, Emma exited the carriage and alighted on the ground. As her feet touched the rough stone and dirt beneath, some unnerving signal was sounded. The silence was broken by the howling of wolves - loud, spine-tingling, and coming from every side, all around them.

There was no way to outrun them, and as the echo and answer of their baying circled nearer, Emma knew there was no way through their number at any rate, even without being able to see. The horses stamped and tossed their heads nervously, panic driving them as instinct warned them predators lingered just beyond the faint circles of light from the carriage lamps. She would not leave them to be devoured; nor would she lie down and wait to be torn apart herself. She was nearly there!

Desperate and trembling, but steeling her resolve, Emma moved to the front of the carriage, intending to climb up onto the driver’s box, take the reins, and break through the pack, to drive them to the castle herself. It might have been her imagination, her terror breathing life into her senses, but it felt as though the creatures drew closer still. She could almost hear the heavy pants and growls between their mournful howls and feel their hot, slavering breath on the back of her neck. A nervous glance over her shoulder showed only moving flashes of grey fur and horrifying red eyes shining out of the shadows. She had gripped the metal railing to pull herself up when all seemed to fall away, the night going perfectly still.

A dark figure glided with unnatural grace through the mass of half-seen forms. The pack almost seemed to bow their shaggy, sharp-toothed heads before it, if Emma could at all reconcile that impression in her mind. One would almost believe they had been summoned.

The slim, dark, and sinister figure appeared before her, having reached her almost before Emma could mark his movement. Wearing a fine black cloak trimmed in thick fur and reaching almost to the ground, Emma saw little else but the flash of deep garnet in its lining and the glimmer of an evil, yet irresistible, smile. A pale hand reached out of the folds of the garment, outstretched to take hers in strangely formal greeting.

“I believe you are seeking me,” a sibilant voice nearly crooned.

Emma fought back a shudder at the sight of dagger-sharp nails at the end of long fingers somehow reminiscent of spider legs, pulling her into the web. She wanted to deny his claim, but all resistance failed her. What else could she do but allow the cold, dry hand to encase her own, and pull her forward through the wolves and dark and gathering mist? This was the nightmare she had come to find…

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm

@caught-in-the-filter @myfearless-love @grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd @kday426

@lfh1226-linda @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

@xarandomdreamx @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @donteattheappleshook @drowned-dreamer

That was, until a flash of golden brightness caught his eye, winking from the drab surroundings of brown and grey. The flower cart girl just behind and to his left had not caught his attention when he passed, had not seemed of any particular interest. Even now that the arresting color of her blonde tresses were peeking out of the rather flat, bedraggled hat atop them, she seemed to be busy at her own work, not noticing him at all. And yet, there was something almost too casual about her stance - a marked avoidance of his gaze, as if she were carefully watching him without wishing to seem so. Perhaps some movement had tipped him off unconsciously, but whatever the reason, Killian sensed she was his culprit. Or, if not, she had at least seen something she would rather not share.

Striding purposefully toward her cart of flowers for sale, Killian’s mouth formed a stern line as he prepared to confront the slip of a woman for her thievery. She was still concertedly paying him no mind, though he was certain that she tracked his path warily from the corner of her sparkling jade eyes.

Opening her mouth, she called out the flowers she had on offer along with their prices, pointedly turning away as he came to stand before her. Her voice rang out across the cobblestones clearly, if somewhat tangled by the thick Cockney accent that lay heavy on her tongue. Even if he normally cringed at the harsh sounds of the street vendors and ruffians of the area, he found himself somewhat charmed by the unabashed and almost proud bit of rough he sensed in this one.

Reaching out, he snatched the handful of carnations from her grip, and turned abruptly as if to leave, knowing it would get a rise from the intriguing guttersnipe.

“Oi! Get yer bloomin’ ‘ands off me merchandise if ya don’ mean ta pay!” she cried, her temper riled like a hellcat on the turn of a dime, much as Jones had expected it would be.

Swinging back to face her, which brought them practically nose-to-nose , as she had begun to charge after him, Killian waggled his brows insolently, making the challenge plain, even before he spoke. “Perhaps I might return them… in exchange for my watch, eh Lass?”

Jerking backwards, the impudent young woman eyed him warily for a second as if trying to gauge the true meaning of his words, to discern if he were just fishing for information, or if he really knew what she had done, and then she narrowed her pretty eyes at him, slamming a wall down over the openness he had glimpsed for a moment, allowing him to see past the scruffy interior to something more vulnearable, something (if he were even a bit more gullible) which might have seemed sweet. “Lookit Mister, don’t think that fine hat and pipe and your sharp suit gives you leave to muck about with foolish accusations. I ain’t about ta take none o’ your guff, an’ I don’ ‘ave your filthy watch, so just move on along why don’cha?”

Whether she realized she was doing it or not, the blonde had stepped right back into his space, nearly as soon as she had pulled away. The ridiculous chit actually had the pluck to act like an offended innocent, when Killian became all the more certain with each passing second that she had his pilfered watch hidden on her person even as they spoke. Her pointer finger jabbed into his chest next to the top button of his waistcoat for emphasis, and she wasn’t backing down an inch. She had fire, he would give her that; he was almost as impressed as he had initially been irked.

However, now that his challenge had been taken up, Jones felt his competitive nature roar to life within, and he intended to prove her wrong, to show her just whom she had trifled with and that he was not her average fool. He leaned forward as well, his lips nearly brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “Perhaps you’d allow me to search you and verify your statement?” Allowing his eyes to rove down from her face slowly before trailing back up again, his tongue poking into the inside of his cheek suggesting the sort of shameless liberties he would never actually take with a lady, no matter what her situation or social status. He might play at a bit of dashing roguishness, but he still considered himself a man of honor at his core.

Those green eyes flashed the same sort of warning color the sky out over the Thames took on when a storm was rolling in and the wise knew to run for cover; the sickening chartreuse of a deep, bruised wound and every bit as risky to provoke or fail to heed. Snatching back the finger that had been pressed against his breastbone, his beguiling nemesis raised her hand, clearly intending to strike him for his cheek - which, admittedly, he quite probably deserved - if he had not caught her wrist in a firm grasp that stalled the motion.

“Easy now, Love,” he murmured, enjoying her gumption too much to leave well enough alone. “Let’s not have you doing something we’ll both regret.”

“I am NOT your love!” she spat back, wriggling in his hold and looking livid enough to claw his eyes out if he let her free to do so. “And if you don’t unhand me…” she hissed, the threat clear now, even as a glimmer of fear also surfaced beneath the fire in her gaze. Killian had no doubt that she would follow through on whatever threat she was about to make, but that flicker and the slight quaver it allowed him to hear in her sharp voice told him she also didn’t know what might happen to her in the meantime, before she could make good on her words. And that hint of trepidation, that she didn’t know his true intentions and felt in herself in danger, quickly doused the fire he’d felt rising in his blood and his own fun in their back and forth.

Quickly, he retreated a step and released her arm, though his boxing reflexes were at the ready, knowing he might well be ducking a slap or punch in the very next moment.

To Killian’s surprise, however, the infuriating lass pulled herself up to her full height, smoothed her rather bedraggled skirts, and eyed him disdainfully as was possible under the circumstances. “Right wise choice you made there,” she snarked, huffing her annoyance as if she hadn’t been the one to start the whole debacle by picking his pocket in the first place. The very real worry he had sensed in her only seconds ago had vanished as if it were never there. “You’d be sorry had I gotten me brother on the case. He’s Chief Inspector, and he don’ take kindly to blighters like you harassing me.”

“Wait a minute now,” Killian interrupted, holding up a hand as he considered her rant, for the first time in their entire interaction feeling a bit out of the loop. “You don’t mean Chief Inspector Nolan? Of Scotland Yard?”

“The very same,” she snapped, arms crossed in front of herself. “What of it?”

Killian’s mind - rarely ever puzzled or caught by surprise, and so all the more intrigued by the seeming anomaly before him - struggled to catch up with and match this saucy baggage before him with the straight-laced knight-in-armor type he sometimes counseled in particularly complex criminal investigations. Inspector David Nolan was as by-the-book, simple and solid as they came, not by any means dense, but certainly not possessed with as cracklingly sharp wit or tongue as the angry sprite squared off before him. The Inspector had also never mentioned any family whatsoever beyond his sweet, fresh-faced wife and newborn son, but then again, it wasn’t as if they were ‘mates’ either. Jones couldn’t exactly see himself kicking back for a pint of rum with the man, even if they did tolerate each other in the name of justice from time to time. 

He was about to tell the feisty harridan before him that he didn’t bloody care who her brother was, he would be having his watch back, when she stunned him once more, her chin jutting up imperiously as she added, “What? Din’ think a street rat like me ‘ad friends in higher places, eh?”

“On the contrary, Love,” Killian countered, purposefully emphasizing the endearment he had simply used out of habit before but now meant to annoy her, as he tapped the brim of his hat in the semblance of a bow. “I think you must have some remarkable friends indeed, or someone would have taught you a lesson in manners by now.” Her mouth opened and closed, floundering for a sharp retort no doubt, but he wasn’t yet finished. “Like it or not, I know you have something of mine, and I will see it returned.”

Nearly growling in frustration, she whirled away from him, turning her back and quickly moving away with the rest of her wares.

Jones watched her go troubled, curious, and stirred all at once; a curious cocktail he hardly recognized it had been so long since last he felt it. Though he didn’t have time to stand there long before he hurried off to meet Graham and Liam, sure that he would now be the one late instead of his elder sibling.

He didn’t notice - yet one more uncharacteristic slip in his usual near-omniscient awareness - the strange rosy glow in the twilight darkness of the now deserted street where he and the flower cart thief had argued. From around the corner of a packed nearby alley, narrowed dark eyes had watched the entire encounter, tracking either Holmes or the girl with avaricious interest. The reddish light glowed brighter for an instant as the excitement of its possessor swelled, so bright that for a moment if anyone had still been present it could not have been missed. Then, the red beacon was shuttered, going out like an extinguished flame. Once more there was only a nondescript London street, and the unseen watcher off on their sinister mission, having seen what was needed, unbeknownst to those who were observed.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @hollyethecurious

@grimmswan @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @donteattheappleshook

@revanmeetra87 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

 There is a decided increase of speed in their steps as they follow the streets toward their house by the water.  Even as they move further from the center of town, they can hear voices calling out in the night as folks bid each other good evening before parting ways and excited children begin to recount for their parents the things they’ve seen and games they’ve played.  They see Marco dutifully helping Granny gather up the luminaries which had lined the walk to the diner, Frederick taking his wife Kathryn’s hand as he cradles their little boy in his other arm where he had fallen asleep against his father’s shoulder, and with a smirking nod, Killian makes sure Emma catches a glimpse of Leroy escorting Astrid back toward the small cottage she and Tink now rent together near the school.  Together the awkward, but sweet, pair disappear around the corner and out of sight. All in all, the night has been a rousing success; all that Snow had hoped as she hatched the idea months ago and planned and prepared for the last several weeks. 

They soon reach their own front walk, and Emma’s seemingly languid and sleepy haze dissipates as they pause on the porch and Killian fishes for his key. A mischievous grin quirks her lips and trouble sparks in her eye as she leans forward to grasp the lapels of the red-orange-and-brown-checked flannel she’d bought him for the Festival and pulls him down to her anxious lips. The kiss tastes of apple and butterscotch, tinged with rum and the hint of salt from the fire-popped corn, and Killian sighs at the deliciousness of it - right in every possible way.

When they part, panting, foreheads still pressed together, Emma winks at him before prodding huskily, “Let’s get inside already before we give some stranger a show.” Pressed up against their front door as he is by her warm, delicious body, Killian is loathe to move, but his lovely wife is right. The sparks flying back and forth between them would rival the huge bonfire that had lit up the whole town square not an hour ago, and if they don’t get indoors soon, he hardly feels he should be held responsible for his actions.

“Emma love,” he purrs against the sensitive skin where her neck meets her shoulder, nose brushing over her skin until he feels her shiver in his arms. “Do you have some mischief in mind?”

She quirks a brow in playful challenge, skirting around him quickly to pull open the door and slip inside first with a squeal of glee as he whirls trying to catch her.

 It isn’t long before he has her pinned against the wall in the entryway; kissing, mouthing, nipping along her collarbone, his tongue tracing, “Going to answer my question, yet, hmm?”

 Breathlessly, Emma pants, half in a daze, green eyes glazed over, “Nothing a sweet tooth like yours won’t enjoy,” she finally manages cryptically.

 Tilting his head curiously, Emma can see that her husband is puzzled by her words - as she meant him to be - even though he waggles his dark brows at her, smirking, “And just what is that to mean, wife?”

 “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purrs, trailing a finger up his sternum to chuck him under the chin, then tugging at the top button of his shirt, adds, “Lose this, and wait for me in the dining room...maybe you’ll find out.”

 Grinning devilishly, pleased with herself even as the black pupils widening with arousal to overtake the blue in his eyes makes her own pulse begin to speed up and thrum unsteadily, Emma saunters away from him with intentional extra sway in her hips and a teasing glance back over her shoulder before she vanishes into the kitchen.  The way her husband visibly swallows hard, seeming completely gobsmacked, makes her plan (which is making her palms sweat with its daring) seem already worth it.

 Once in the kitchen, Emma reaches into the refrigerator for the bottle she needs, hidden behind several other items so that neither her husband or son would find it first and use it up, then setting it on the table, begins to shimmy out of her jacket, jeans and top, mouth dry with both nerves and anticipation.  Once she stands in the playful lingerie she’d picked for this very occasion - black boy shorts and a push-up bra, both with tiny candy corns and candy apples printed all over them - she blows out a tense breath, self-consciousness almost getting the better of her despite the fact that Killian has never made her feel anything less than beautiful.  Smoothing a hand over her hair, Emma focuses on the adoring look her husband only gets in his eyes for her, and biting her lip, she picks up the container and goes to find him.

 Stepping into the entryway from kitchen to dining room clutching the bottle of caramel sauce for dear life, Emma tries to strike a seductive pose, clearing her throat to gain Killian’s attention from where he stands leaning against the table, shirtless as she had instructed, but staring at his own feet, lost in thought. 

 At her entrance, his face snaps up to look at her, and his mouth drops open.  The sight of him bare chested with his weather-browned skin covered in dark hair that accentuates his toned pecs and abs before trailing down into his jeans makes her previously dry mouth practically water.  ‘ This will be fun,’ her mind cheers, even if she feels ridiculous at the moment.

 “E-Emma...wh-what are you…?” Killian stutters as he struggles to ask her what she has in mind, but she shakes her head, stalking slowly toward him, and his words trail off in stunned awe.

 Once she reaches him, Emma presses her fingers to his lips for a moment, smiling wickedly, “Just hold still, and you’ll see,” she directs, raising the bottle of sticky sweet topping to wave before his eyes, then upending it to squeeze a bit of the caramel onto her fingers before returning them to his mouth. “Here, taste.”

 Killian’s eyes are blown wide as he opens and then sucks her fingers between his lips, his tongue caressing them as well, and making her breath heave despite her attempt to hold the upper hand. “Mhmm,” he hums, hands coming to rest on her nearly bare hips and pulling her closer, until she stands between his legs and his long, calloused fingers trace around to lightly clutch at the supple cheeks of her behind.

 Seeing that she has him where she wants him, Emma holds the dispenser over his chest, squeezing more liberally to line caramel across her husband’s collarbones, and back to center, trailing it down his stomach to the waistband of his pants.  She licks her tongue along his skin after savoring the taste of the sweet sauce and a hint of the salt from the sweat that has broken out over Killian’s body. His head is flung back and his chest is already heaving by the time she brings her tongue to swirl around his nipple and adds her teeth with a playful bite.

 Letting out a guttural noise that Emma honestly isn’t sure she’s ever heard him make, Killian suddenly lunges forward and wraps her tightly in his grasp, and in the blink of an eye turns the tables on her.  She got a bit engrossed in feasting off of his decadent body and forgot just how stealthy her husband can be. Before she knows what has happened, she’s lying with her back pressed against the table, her pirate leaning over her and encasing her there between his arms.  Eyes alight, he leers down at her devilishly and works the bottle of caramel from her suddenly nerveless hand.

 “Let’s see now, Swan,” he murmurs, adeptly drizzling caramel over her ribs and into her belly button before surveying her like some half-finished piece of living art.  He slides his hook ever-so-carefully into the waistband of her festive panties before deftly slicing them and tossing the scrap away with a single flick of his wrist. “That’s much better,” he muses happily, tracing the curve of his metal appendage along the edge of her bra cup next.  “Though these articles are quite humorously arousing, I believe I was the one promised a reward for my sweet tooth and yet you were having all the fun.”

 By this point, Emma is trembling all over, every hair on her body standing at attention. Killian always manages to make her quake with desire using his hook to disrobe her, and the thrill of this different, wholly abandoned encounter is almost more than she can stand. Almost whining in eager appeal, she reaches for his waist, getting his jeans unbuttoned before he pushes her hands away. Though the jeans fall open to yield a heartstopping view, Killian doesn’t pounce on her immediately as Emma aches for him to. Instead, he shakes his head at her in mock chiding, “Ah ah ah, not so fast, wife.  Not until I’ve had my taste.”

 So saying, he trails caramel onto her inner thigh, along the joint where her leg meets her torso and then flings the bottle somewhere behind them, swooping in to devour her with his mouth. His tongue swirls around her nipples, laving and teasing as she had done to him, leaving her gasping for breath and vibrating like a live wire waiting for the final spark to set her off. His whiskered face tickles the skin of her stomach before his tongue dips into her belly button, making her hips desperately lift off of the table toward him until he pins them back down with hook and hand.

 Luckily, before she can combust into a pile of ash, he finally moves in earnest, lapping along the crease at the top of her leg where he’d traced the sweet confection. He chuckles maddeningly against her quivering skin as she tries to buck in impatience, “Yes, Swan, you were right... delectable .” Then, without anymore hesitation, his tongue slides home, pillaging and plundering in earnest and setting her off like a bottle rocket. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They are a heaving, sticky mess of boneless limbs and sweaty skin by the time all is said and done. Cleaning the remnants of sticky caramel from each other in a steamy shower leads to more delicious mingling, and by the time Killian emerges, about five minutes after his insatiable wife, still toweling his hair dry, he is completely, pleasantly wrung out and utterly spent. Tossing the towel haphazardly toward the hamper, in a distinctly less neat than usual gesture, he pads across the carpet toward the bed, waiting only for Emma to return with the water she had insisted they both needed to drink to replenish themselves.

 A few moments later, his wife appears in the doorway, two cold bottles of water in hand, and she steals his breath all over again.  Clad in the flannel he discarded when they had first begun, and nothing else, her bare, shapely legs entice him all the way up to where the hem of his shirt stops, and her sated smile lights her whole face as she moves toward him across the room. The sight of his Emma wrapped in his shirt as she crawls into bed beside him is the sweetest treat he could ever receive.

Tagging: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @xsajx @apiratewhopines @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook

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The first time, she merely shook her head at herself; confused, but figuring that she must have snagged something at the gas station counter the last time she filled the Bug and then forgotten to replenish her stash. But it kept happening – a second, third, fourth, and even fifth, time. The radar which used to serve her well as a bail bondsperson tracking down skips in Boston had been set off and her suspicious nature engaged. A strange little mystery had presented itself in her house by the sea – and Emma Swan was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Henry was her first suspect, as she thought he might have just figured he was getting a quick advance on his allowance to take his friends for Cokes and cheese fries at Granny’s after practice or something like that. Yet, after watching her son for just a couple of days – and his allowance payout coming and going without him offering to pay her back – Emma ruled him out as the culprit. That only left her sneakily playful pirate husband, and honestly she should have known it was him without even having to test her findings.

Emma wasn’t sure how Killian was managing to swipe his loot right out from under her nose without her being able to catch him at it, and she was even more puzzled by what he could possibly be buying so often that she never saw a trace of, but then, she had never doubted how slick he was, and he’d had centuries to perfect his skills.

The whole little intrigue carried on for nearly another month before Emma finally got the lucky break that spoiled Killian’s secret. She came home early from the station one afternoon; her dad having arrived a couple hours ahead of his own shift to give her a break, and as she turned the corner onto their street – though theirs was really the only house on it as the land began to roll down toward the harbor – she saw Killian closing the door behind him as he disappeared back inside, while Robyn with one of her little Girl Scout buddies in tow hopped down the front steps and out through the white picket fence onto the sidewalk, the two of them giggling together conspiratorially as they did.

Pulling up beside them, Emma parked her car at the curb quickly and hopped out to catch them before they could get far. She met the girls at the sidewalk, and for a moment wasn’t sure whether to crouch down at their level playfully, or to cross her arms and give them her ‘Mom’ look to get the answers she suddenly sensed she had found at last. She went with arms crossed authoritatively over her chest, eyebrow cocked expectantly, not wanting to consider the fact that she must look like some sort of blonde cross between her own schoolteacher-princess mother and Robyn’s Aunt Regina when she meant business. All she said was, “What brings you two here?” with a hint of a jest in her words, even though her stance clearly expected an answer.

Robyn had the decency to flush and look a bit nervous, her eyes falling to study the squeaky-clean saddle shoes she always wore with her Girl Scout uniform, before snapping her eyes back up to the Savior’s with a smile that would have done both her snarky mother and her charming outlaw father proud. ‘Oh yeah,’ Emma thought, she was definitely seeing a bit of Zelena’s formerly conniving streak now. “Nothing really,” the girl tried brightly. “Laney had just never met Captain Hook before, and so I told her it was no big deal, we were tight, and brought her over.”

The other little girl said nothing to confirm or deny Robyn’s claim, though her awkward shifting from side-to-side easily spoke for itself. Not that Emma would have mistaken her for the ringleader of whatever shenanigan was playing out here anyway; that had her unofficial niece’s fingerprints all over it. “That’s all, huh?” Emma questioned, making her tone clearly convey her doubt.

Zelena’s little troublemaker she might be, but Robyn had a penchant for stepping into mischief that was all her own and everyone knew it. When Emma didn’t budge, it only took a few more awkward seconds of stare down on the sidewalk before the little schemer cracked. When she spoke again, it was with the sincere tone of Robin Hood, legend of Sherwood Forest, which she confessed. “Oh alright, fine! You caught us! But it was just too easy not to try!”

“Wait…what was too easy?” Emma questioned, momentarily more confused than she had been, tapping her foot on the concrete and giving the youngster an even more searching look. “What are you talking about?!?” she pressed in near exasperation.

It was at this juncture that Robyn’s little pal lost her nerve and deserted the cause, clearly not having signed on to face questioning by the Sheriff-Savior. She blurted out an excuse about her mom waiting for her, blushing and stammering as she did, and then turned tail and ran.

“Fraidy cat,” Robyn muttered in disgust, the curled lip and glower she adopted as she crossed her own little arms in annoyance reminding Emma so strongly of the now reformed Wicked Witch in her heyday that for a moment she almost burst out laughing at the expression on such a tiny face, completely ruining the serious stance she was trying to hold.

“Okay, Robyn,” Emma sighed, once it was just the two of them. With a guiding hand on the little girl’s shoulder, she walked them back toward the front porch, taking a seat on the steps with her. “Let’s have it – the truth this time. Whatever you’ve been up to, it can’t be that terrible. I’m not really mad, just ready to get to the bottom of this.”

Robyn heaved a large sigh, dramatically aggrieved as only a little girl could be, and then finally started talking. “I just wanted our troop to sell the most cookies – and your husband’s such an easy target. You know that, right? I mean, I figured it out weeks ago when we brought you guys those ‘Thank You’ treats – Mom, Aunt Regina, and I… remember?”

Emma nodded, thinking back over evening meals since then, when Killian hadn’t eaten much and she had questioned if he felt alright, only to have him say he wasn’t very hungry; occasions where she had offered to make cookies and he had evasively insisted she needn’t trouble herself on his account, and again to the odd disappearance of her random bits of spending money. She was putting the pieces together even before Robyn finished coming clean.

“Your pirate just can’t resist us,” the kid shrugged, looking only a little bit sheepish now that she was caught, but not really sorry. “I don’t know if it’s the outfits, or little girls with big pleading eyes needing help, or if he just really likes our cookies, but every time I bring a new member of the troop by with boxes to sell, no matter how often we show up, he buys some more. It’s like he can’t help himself. And hey, who am I to complain?”

Emma snorted indelicately, struck by Robyn’s cunning and ingenuity, along with the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation. Shaking her head in both disbelief and begrudging affection that wouldn’t have him any other way, Emma wondered mildly for a few seconds how she hadn’t known this was the case from the start. ‘Fearsome pirate of the seas,’ she mocked in her head, ‘bested by a bunch of cute six-year-olds with baked goods.’

Knowing that she shouldn’t simply let Robyn off with being so opportunistic and sneaky, yet not really sure what to do about it either, Emma merely gave the little girl a wry smile and light one-armed squeeze to her side with a gentle remonstrance. “Well, it’s not like you’ve really done much harm – except to my pocketbook.” She did frown just a bit there, and Robyn looked genuinely contrite. “But no more, okay? I don’t know where my pirate has been stashing his loot, but he has to be almost out of room. We’ve made our contribution to the Girl Scouts for the year. Got it?”

Robyn nodded dutifully, and though there was no judging the mischief that her hurricane “niece” could get into, Emma sensed that she understood the game was up.

Ruffling Robyn’s hair, Emma felt a momentary pang in her chest, picturing Henry at that age and wondering what he had been like and if he had been as playfully ornery as well. Having her son with her now, the relationship they had forged, and the family they’d become was incredible – so much more than she had ever thought she would have – but things happened occasionally, striking her at the oddest times and there would be a melancholy moment or two of wishing she could take a portal back in time to re-live what she had lost with her son, who would be grown up and ready to leave them all too soon.

As if sensing her change in mood, Robyn reached out her little hand to lay it on Emma’s arm. “Aunt Emma?” she asked softly, her voice as hesitant and concerned as it ever got. “Are you alright? Your eyes got kinda funny and far away.”

Shaking the bittersweet reflections from her mind, Emma gave Robyn another gentle smile. “Yep, Trouble, I’m fine. Just got sidetracked for a minute.” She stood and pulled Robyn up playfully beside her. “Now, you’d better go home before it starts getting dark. We’re good, okay? Don’t worry. I am gonna have to call your Mom and talk to her about this, but I imagine if you don’t pull any more get-rich-quick schemes, we’ll all just put this behind us.”

“Okay, Aunt Emma,” Robyn agreed, bouncing back to her usual chipper self and past the anxious moment with a child’s usual resilience. She gave her honorary auntie a hug around the waist, which Emma gladly returned, and then set off toward Zelena’s little house a block over.

“Go straight home and get there safe!” Emma called after her in parting, to which she saw Robyn nod smartly and wave back over her shoulder. Emma watched her until the little girl rounded the corner at the end of the street and out of sight.

Turning, Emma opened their heavy oak front door and slipped into their home soundlessly, hoping if her luck held, that she just might catch Killian unawares with his prize. What she got as she stood in the entryway, flabbergasted and mouth hanging open, was not quite what she had expected at all. Standing almost directly across from her, frozen before the door into the cellar that until now they had both skirted around and almost never opened – demons purged, but still not eager to loose painful memories – looking both startled at patently guilty, was her husband. Caught red handed, Emma’s inner voice supplied smugly.

“Why, hello there, Love,” Killian finally greeted, trying for suave and “turning on the smolder” as Emma had often teased him in calling it since showing her pirate Tangled and delighting in his resounding approval of Flynn Rider. He would have succeeded too, if she hadn’t known him as well as she did. “You’re home early.”

“Yep,” she stated simply, popping the ‘p’ sound as he often did in his own speech and immediately causing a change in his demeanor, alerted that she was onto his subterfuge. Emma pushed away from the door and stalked toward him slowly, the heels of her boots on hardwood the only sound in the quiet foyer as her gaze pinned him in place – turning all of his usual methods back on him and loving it.

“Would you like to tell me what you’ve been up to?” she queried, her voice practically a purr as she reached out a finger to run lightly through the chest hair peeking out of his overly undone shirt collar and batting her lashes seductively at him, as if she really were some blushing damsel in his original realm.

“Why – uh – whatever do you mean, Swan?” he tried, an equally over-the-top stab at guileless innocence on his face and in those stunning blue eyes, even as she also saw him swallow hard and scratch nervously behind his ear, the one tic he couldn’t seem to rid himself of, no matter how much a dead giveaway it was.

“I mean,” Emma murmured silkily, eyes narrowing as she leaned in even closer to him, nose almost brushing against his and her breath hot along his collarbone as she practically licked her lips while studying her quarry. Granted, her own pulse had skyrocketed at his close proximity, but she was more pleased to revel in the way her husband squirmed nervously under her hungry gaze. “You’ve been discovered, Pirate. Your supplier ratted you out.”

At that, Killian huffed out a low breath, eyes falling as he gave a slight chuckle and shook his head, having known his wife would eventually get to the bottom of what he had been doing, and almost relieved to have the secret out in the open. He truly had not meant to gather such and collection of the things anyway, but he simply could not bring himself to say no to the adorable miniature females in their sharp skirt and vest ensembles, and by this point, he was pretty sure they knew it and kept arriving at his doorstep on purpose. At any rate, Emma might have his head at the amount of money he had pilfered from her and spent needlessly, but surely they would enjoy the spoils, if nothing else. At length, with a short dip of his head in a resigned nod, Killian answered, “Aye, I figured she might at some point.”

Emma couldn’t help cracking the tiniest smile, the whole thing so silly, so domestic, so normal, and nothing like the trials they had faced ever since meeting one another and the secrets they once held back for fear of losing the other they had fought so hard to find. She shook her head, leaning in to rest her forehead against his, simply enjoying the warm comfort of his skin on hers and the soft texture of his hair where her fingers had delved in at his nape. “You’re hopeless, Babe… You know that, don’t you?”

“As you say, Wife,” he agreed good naturedly, his voice low and mumbled against the shell of her ear, making her tremble helplessly to the point of being weak-kneed, the stern composure she’d been trying to hold long gone.

“Well, let’s see this stash of booty you’ve stored up,” she prodded, curious now just how many boxes of Girl Scout cookies he had managed to amass, and anxious to tease him just a little bit more about how he had been so taken in.

Sighing with mostly pretended reluctance, Killian took her hand and led her back down the cellar steps behind him, into the once dark room she had not ventured to for some time. Once there, to her amused shock and surprise, right up against the bars where she had once, while possessed by the Darkness, bound Gold as a prisoner, were stacked boxes and boxes of every type cookie the Scouts sold, nearly reaching up to the ceiling. There was nothing else to do but burst into a fit of helpless giggles, and when she did, leaning into her husband’s side to stay upright, Emma felt his shoulders shaking as he joined in.

Never again would she look at this space and see nothing but lonely dark and a depth of despair and hate. Unintentional though it might have been, Killian had placed a whole new memory front and center.

They ended up bagging the cookies in half dozens and giving them out to very happy trick-or-treaters the next week on Halloween night.

And if they enjoyed feeding the remnants of the last couple boxes to each other in bed… well, that was their own delicious secret no one else need know.

Tagging a few who might enjoy:  @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @xsajx @gingerchangeling

@gingerpolyglot @spartanguard @winterbaby89 @therooksshiningknight @brooke-to-broch

@ilovemesomekillianjones @thislassishooked @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @scientificapricot

@tomeandflickcorner @superchocovian @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @let-it-raines

@ineffablecolors @sotangledupinit @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @donteattheappleshook @zaharadessert

@elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @goforlaunchcee @lfh1226-linda @justanother-unluckysoul

@jonesfandomfanatic @eastwesthomeisbest​ @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @grimmswan

@kday426 @blackwidownat2814 @hollyethecurious @cocohook38 @resident-of-storybrooke

         Henry heaves a long-suffering sigh.  Killian can see his ever-broadening young man shoulders rise and fall with the action, and he again marvels at his stepson’s fortitude and good heartedness – most teenagers simply wouldn’t bother with a so much younger sibling, or their tempers would have long since sparked and led them to storm off in disgust.  Though Killian cannot see the lad’s face, he can easily picture how Henry must be biting down on his lower lip in consternation, the way he does when either holding back a sharp retort or concentrating hard.

         Making his presence known with a cleared throat and carefully arched brow, Killian swaggers into the room, turning on a mere fraction of the bluster and bravado he marshalled in his early days as Captain of the Jolly Roger, when he was still proving himself and making it known he was not to be crossed.  Directing a steady eye at his daughter, he calls out, “What have we here?  Dissent amongst me crew?”

         Henry turns partially to look over a shoulder at him, smirking despite the honest gratitude in his eyes.  Clearly the lad is about to reach the end of his rope in dealing with an obstinate three-year-old.  Killian gives him a nod, and Henry stands quickly, sweeping out of the room with the dramatic help of the heavy red velvet cape draped over his shoulders – his whole outfit a loving parody of his grandfather in full kingly Enchanted Forest attire.

         “Now, Lassie,” Killian intones, his voice sounding serious, but his eyebrows waggling playfully at the same time, not for anything wishing to genuinely scare her.  “What seems to be the trouble?  I’ll wager you have just cause for giving my trusty first mate such trouble?”

         Morgan dips her head, a mixture of hiding her eyes as she often does when she knows she’s been willful, and in bashful response to the complete pirate act he is putting on.  She almost giggles, but then, with a solemnity that surprises him and seems almost beyond her years, she looks back up to her papa – and he is glad that she still sees him beneath the façade, no matter what – eyes wide and sincere and answers, “He was trying to make me wear these!”  She wrinkles her nose and holds up the striped leggings, which would really look quite striking with all the red and black in her outfit, if Killian did say so himself.  However, his little marauder’s face is scrunched up in complete disgust.  “They aren’t fit for a piwate queen!” she protests heatedly.

         Now it is Killian who has to bite back laughter at her vehemence and the affront written all over her face.  The tyke has been set on being a pirate this Hallow’s Eve since the odd double feature of the demented Mr. Disney’s Peter Pan and Pirates of the Caribbean which Henry had suggested slyly one Friday movie night back in May.  He still shudders at the depiction of himself in the first film, but Morgan – whom they had not even thought was watching at the time – had become seemingly captivated by the sea, ships, and everything pirate, ever since.

         Killian kneels at her level, forcing complete seriousness into his voice and managing to master the humor he feels at the whole episode.  Reaching out with hook and hand, he snags the offending tights that he knows for a fact his beloved wife had chosen for how cute she had thought they’d be with Morgan’s pirate costume, as well as for how warm they would be while they were traipsing around town trick-or-treating in the chill Autumn air.  With his hand at her back pulling her in close, Killian holds the tights up on his hook before his daughter’s eyes.  “You believe these are not pirate garb?” he questions, preparing his story so as to make it utterly convincing.

         Morgan shakes her head stoutly, clearly ready to argue if anyone thinks they are going to make her wear something she doesn’t want. However, a look of slight doubt appears on her brow, as if she is curious in spite of herself. Her papa is after all her favorite pirate.

         “Well,” he tilts his head, giving his little lass one of his best rakish grins, “I’ll have you know that Mr. Smee, my right hand man on the ship for years, had long underwear he wore in the winter months which were striped just like these.  Bill Jukes once nettled him within an inch of his life after Smee split his pant seams in back and all aboard saw his “fancy skivvies” as Jukes put it.  Poor man never did live them down, but he refused to part with the things either.  Said nothing else had ever kept him half as warm as those when the truly icy winds blew in off the water.”

         “Really?” Morgan asks, still looking a bit dubious, but now studying the tights he holds out to her with renewed interest.

         “Aye. Really,” he affirms with a nod.

         “Alright then,” she concedes, reaching out to take the leggings and then plopping down on her rump to pull the stretchy material over her feet and up her chunky toddler legs beneath the gathered black skirt, red shirt, and black vest that all work to compliment the eye patch covering her right eye (and half her face) and the red bandana tied around her wild, dark hair so much like his.

         “Now your pirate boots, me hearty,” Killian offers, sliding them over to speed the process now that he has her cooperation.  He knew that Emma had intended them to already be at Granny’s by now, where they were meeting her parents with little Neal, Ashley and Sean Herman with Alexandra, as well as Philip and Aurora with their little boy to go trick-or-treating as a group.  Their first stop was the library to pick up Belle and Gideon, now nearly five and curiously anxious for them all to see his costume Belle had told them the other day with cryptic mischief in her voice.  Killian was somewhat dreading what the child of the Dark One might decide to dress as for Halloween, and had tried to prepare himself to take yet another highly unflattering portrayal of himself in good grace, and yet he couldn’t begrudge them letting mother and son join their party.  He knew Gold would not deign to dress up and parade around town with such frivolous intent and mingle with those he deemed beneath him.  Now that Gideon was once more a child the correct age and not out to hurt his Swan, Killian had no issue with him; in fact, the lad was quite good hearted – sweet and engaging – clearly taking after his mother.  And he always enjoyed Belle’s company, more than almost any other except his lovely wife, and welcomes a chance to spend a couple of hours talking with her as they follow their children and friends around Storybrooke, catching up with her and seeing that she is indeed well, even if she is married to his Crocodile.

         “Avast ye lubber!” Morgan calls out loudly and effectively shattering his thoughts.  She rockets to her feet with a chortle of glee at the pirate insult she knows she has flung at him, and now bounces anxiously on the balls of her little booted feet, ready to go at last.

         “That’s Captain to you, Matey!” Killian teasingly chastises, standing once again himself and passing the rather authentic-looking plastic cutlass to her at the door, finishing off her adorably fierce look, much to Morgan’s clear delight. 

         Clapping her tiny hands happily, Morgan grins and practically squeals with excitement, finally betraying the pirate persona she has clung to and looking like the ecstatic little girl she is.  “Up, Papa!” she commands, lifting her arms and wildly brandishing the toy weapon he barely dodges while bending to swing her up into his arms.

         “Is that an order, My Queen?” he asks, holding her slight weight with his good arm, while playfully poking her stomach with the dull curve of his hook, causing her to dissolve in laughter and throw her arms around his neck.  Her breath is warm on his skin and her tiny button nose presses in close to his ear snugly.

         “Yes, Daddy,” she says softly, stroking gentle, childish fingers over his neck and giggling once more, obviously both pleased with herself and his response.  By now they are clattering down the stairs, and he can see both Emma and Henry waiting for them at the front door. 

         Emma gives Henry a shrug as if to say, ‘at least he’s finally got her ready to go’, ruffles her son’s hair in a way he doesn’t often allow anymore, and then steps forward, smiling at her husband wryly and reaching up to right Morgan’s eye patch where it has gone a bit askew.  Now standing before them, she runs her thumb tenderly over the old scar on his cheek, as she speaks.  “Is the Queen of the Pirates finally satisfied?” she asks with equal seriousness, having learned the hard way not to upset their daughter’s good moods when they have them, as Morgan is both as passionate and stubborn as her mother and her father combined and as likely to fly into a temper as to charm them.

         Morgan nods, raising her plastic sword toward the front door, which Henry has opened and waits beside, clearly beyond ready to get going at last.  “Onward!” she commands, bouncing in Killian’s arms as if to urge him forward. 

         Once they move off down the porch steps and up the sidewalk toward the center of town, Killian leans over to whisper in his wife’s ear, “Sorry it took us so long, Love.  She needed a bit of convincing that the tights were proper buccaneering attire.  I hope by the time this evening is finished you still feel all this was worth your trouble procuring costumes and clearing your schedule to set up.”

         Emma merely smiles back at him, staring up into his eyes as she takes his hook in her hand, leaning into his side while they walk.  “It already is, Killian.  Look at this.  We have a family, both of us.  I never had this as a kid.  I know you didn’t either, but now… for Henry a little while yet, and for Morgan…we can give them what we wished for.  We can give them traditions all our own.  Thank you for that.”

         Killian bends to press a quick kiss to her brow, causing a “blech!” exclamation from a dismissive Morgan that they both completely ignore.  “Thank you, Emma,” he returns, the smile on his face adoring and soft enough to stop her breath in her throat.  “I love you – and this life we have – more than I can rightly say.”

         As the night goes on, their whole motley crew gaily pillages and plunders the town of all its delicious goodies, earning delighted exclamations for their creative dress and festive spirit.  Granny sends the adults who desire it on their way with rum-spiked hot chocolate, a wink to the former pirate as she bestows his on him giving away her rarely-won affection. Garnering the most laughter and applause of all is young Gideon Gold, dressed – to everyone’s surprise – in a head-to-toe green outfit that Belle has clearly sewn herself, as an actual toothy crocodile, complete with ticking alarm clock tucked under one arm.  Killian has to tip his hat to the boy, and his gumption – though he wisely refrains from asking if Gideon’s father saw his outfit or what might have been Rumplestitltskin’s response.

~~~

  Long past midnight, when the revelry is through and all are tucked in bed, Killian and Emma have a bit of adult dress-up and plundering of their own, introducing yet another tradition that neither of them would object to upholding for years to come.  The following Halloween, they have a three-month-old to outfit and take with them on their yearly trick-or-treating venture, but if anyone else questions them, neither Savior nor Captain admit to that being anything more than a happy coincidence.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @xarandomdreamx @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly

@donteattheappleshook @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree

@teamhook @revanmeetra87 @bluewildcatfanatic @kday426 @blackwidownat2814

@winterbaby89 @grimmswan @hollyethecurious @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv

Reaching out affectionately to straighten Henry's green woolen cape and then the quiver slung over his shoulder, Killian feels the corners of his mouth pull up in a reluctant but sincere smile at the picture the boy paints in his get-up with his assorted motley band of outfitted family. There had been heated debate whether Henry should dress as knight like his Gramps or a pirate like his adopted stepfather until the boy had eventually settled the dispute by dressing like Robin as a bandit of the forest. His other surrogate parent had tried to appear casual about it, but the glimmer in his eyes as he loaned his old cape and quiver had given away how flattered he was, not to mention the Queen's grin of joyful satisfaction and the couple rogue tears she had brushed away. It warmed Killian's ancient pirate heart as well, even though he had lost out on having a miniature double for the night's festivities.

The boy gives him a nod of thanks, and pirate and young prince's eyes meet for a charged moment of bittersweet understanding, both knowing Emma should be there with them and yet not wanting to voice how much her absence hurts. Not wanting to speak sadness into an evening that is trying to enjoy the good moments.

Then, with a steadying hand on the lad's shoulder, Killian vows to follow him and make sure this "Outlaw of Storybrooke Forest" rapidly becoming a young man enjoys himself tonight. Emma would wish it, and someday – he swears to himself – he will tell her about tonight's hijinks, and her parents dressed as Bonnie and Clyde (whoever they might be) with Regina and Robin as Romeo and Juliet in tow. Little Roland looks a bit out of place in their group dressed as a "minion" – which Henry had explained was in some moving picture the little lad had just seen – and bouncing around the rest of them as if he simply cannot wait another moment from them to be off.

The night progresses beautifully, with laughter and smiles that Killian knows he will hold in his memory for years to come. Being drawn into and accepted as part of a family, and necessary for its happy celebrations, was a gift he had long since forgotten and never expected to be a part of again. Yet, he cannot help wishing Emma could be here with them, looking on proudly as Henry takes care to see that Roland doesn't get too far ahead and become lost, that his little uncle is given his fair share of their sugary haul, and constantly glancing back at the group of adults who love him as if making sure that they too are happy and content. His Swan would be so proud of the good heart and concern for others her son continues to show, despite moving into those sometimes troublesome teenage years. He wishes so fervently that she was there beside him, her small, strong hand slipped into his, her head laid gently on his shoulder, just barely leaning into his side as they walk, that his hand clenches into a tight fist at the absence. Those easy, safe, and comfortable times together seem so far removed now from the cold distance that the Darkness has formed between them.

Still, there are many good moments too: Granny and Ruby offering wolf-shaped cookies and hot chocolate to all those who come to their door, with Ruby smirking and shooting a playful wink to he, Snow and Charming from beneath the painted wolf face and ears she wears atop her dark curls and asking, "Well, what else would I be for Halloween?" with a playful giggle; Belle meeting every child at the door to the library all lit up with carved pumpkins in each window, eager to give them a handpicked book of their very own, and taking a moment to slip a gilt-edged paperback into his hand as well. "It's The Princess Bride," she whispers surreptitiously to him with a sympathetic smile. "Emma mentioned how much she liked it once, and when I re-read it, I knew that you would appreciate it too, Killian."

By the time the group reaches the mines where the dwarves and fairies are giving lighted tours of the caves and sending their guests off for home with hot apple cider to warm their hands and stomachs, Killian is truly feeling cheered – if only at the happiness of those around him and the comfort of being welcomed wholeheartedly into their midst. When he parts ways with Henry and the rest of Emma's loved ones at the loft, savoring the hug Henry gives him before bounding after Regina, Robin, and Roland to get back to their house and go through all his candy, and possibly holding on a bit too tightly to the lad for just a moment, he pauses in the street lights' glow, peering into the night and mulling his next course of action.

Eventually he turns back toward the Jolly Roger and the docks, walking slowly and trying to keep himself from whispering Emma's name into the quiet evening. He knows that bringing her to him when she is not herself will only bring him more pain; their last encounter in his private quarters had taught him that lesson all too well. However, as he boards his beloved ship, strides across the deck and comes to stand by the wheel, gazing up at the clear night's multitude of stars, he does leave her a small remembrance. "I know you're out there somewhere, Love," he whispers to the breeze. "I cannot hold you tonight as I desire, but you were never far from all of our minds. Enjoy your Halloween treat."

He slips below quickly, knowing that tangling wits and words with her now will only make things worse. Head bowed, he can only hope she will sense how much he misses her in the gesture and that she – the real Emma - will feel a moment of his care. The captain has entered his cabin, leaning against the closed door and praying desperately that she is not lost in torment somewhere with no one beside her, when on the deck above him, a swirl of magical smoke clears, and Emma appears by the ship's wheel, a tentative, tiny smile upon her lips. Picking up the still-hot cup of cider he has left for her there, she takes a sip and imagines that the warmth spreading through her at first swallow is from him being able to hold her close once more. For now, it is the only treat they can allow themselves… so she closes her eyes, thinks of him, and tries to let it be enough.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @lfh1226-linda

@teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul

@drowned-dreamer @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @blackwidownat2814 @elizabeethan

@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @anmylica

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @resident-of-storybrooke

@hollyethecurious @cocohook38 @winterbaby89 @jonesfandomfanatic @ohmakemeahercules

Startled out of her reverie and the loving perusal of his face, her eyes tracing its strong, handsome lines beneath the stars, Emma's attention was pulled abruptly back to her son, focusing in on the words he was reading to make sure she didn't miss her cue. Henry's writing had set the mood perfectly; an atmospheric tale of an abandoned navy cutlass much like the one they were all on at that very moment, drifting on the open sea, empty and alone except on quiet nights when a bright full moon shone down on the ghost of the mad captain's sweetheart, a pale, white shadow haunting the deck where her faithless love and mutinous crew had all died, doomed to walk the site of her heartbreak forever.

Drawing a deep breath into her lungs and calling on every bit of poise and composure she could muster, Emma topped the steps and with measured gait began to glide across the rough wooden planks to the bow, hoping to convey the solemn, otherworldly, floating quality of a restless ghost. They had powdered her hair white earlier that afternoon, and her mother had applied thick, pale stage makeup – something that had been used in a production of The Christmas Carol at the school at some point and had then wound up with Snow – to Emma's face, neck, and hands, getting into the bonding moment of a mother helping her daughter put together a Halloween costume, even if it was a decade or so late. Those spots were all that really showed beneath the high-necked, long, bell-sleeved diaphanous gown Emma wore, which Snow had tearfully drug from some trunk in the loft when Emma had first mentioned the whole idea.

Now as she progressed the length of Killian's ship slowly and she heard him call out lowly, "Avast, me hearties, look there!" to their youthful audience and gasps of shock and surprise at the appearance began to repeat, she knew the effect was working.

She almost broke character to shoot a concerned look over her shoulder as Killian's voice sounded oddly strangled, stumbling halfway through his well-rehearsed and overly cheesy line, but he continued more softly yet. "Yonder at the bowsprit, it's the ghost of the ship's lady!" as Emma stayed her course, pausing like an eerie statue to look out over the moonlit waters.

Henry's story continued to its end, everyone playing their parts, and though she badly wanted to turn and see the children's final reactions and Henry's face at the choruses of "Again! Tell it again!" and the hearty clapping, she didn't want to break the illusion.

It was only when she heard Belle announce it was time for popcorn and hot apple cider below in a real pirate's galley, where both her parents waited to serve the refreshments dressed as a ship's cook and first mate, and Emma heard the excited hoots and hollers of excitement and all the pairs of little feet moving to follow Belle's lead, herded at the rear by Henry and Violet, both blushing and Violet clearly impressed, moving to the stairs below deck, that she ventured a glance behind her and relaxed her stance to lean against the ship's railing.

She was startled when she did so to find Killian right at her back, a tormented look of pain emblazoned across his face. "Killian, wha – " she began to ask, concern creasing her brow, fingers reaching up to brush soothingly across the scar on his cheek. The movement was aborted and her words knocked from her by the fierce way he lurched forward and clutched her to himself tightly. His grip was almost desperate, and Emma's confusion and concern only grew as he held on, the trembling in his wiry frame plainly felt throughout her own and his heart pounding as though he had run for miles to reach her. Though she couldn't really think what it was, she knew now that the distressed note she had heard in his voice during the story, that catch which had made her think something was wrong, had been all too real.

Finally, he released his grip a bit, took a step back and tilted his head to stare into her eyes. "Emma, love, I just…" he sucked in a ragged breath, eyes wide and almost wild, as he pulled her in again, whispering against her hair "I just need to hold you for a moment. Seeing you that way – as a wraith, a shade – it ran my blood cold. I was not prepared for that."

It nearly stole the breath from Emma's lungs to see the raw anguish on her True Love's face. For a second, it genuinely did look as though Killian had seen a ghost, and Emma's heart ached for him at the fear she knew had been awakened once more, that he would again lose the one person he loved most in the world. There wasn't a thing she could do to take the awful, sinking sensation away, but she tried all the same. Running her fingers through the gentle curls at the nape of his neck, she aimed to soothe, squeezing his back and whispering, "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. It's just a costume. You saw it earlier."

He shook his head, the strangled little noise in his throat twisting her gut in sympathy. "I know that, Swan. But that for a moment…you were so pale, almost unreal… for a moment it seemed as if you were already gone…"

She merely nodded, running her hands up and down his spine and out over his shoulder blades; anxious to provide even a bit of calm. Slowly, she felt the tremors between them begin to subside. Killian blew out a deep breath, and Emma could sense him steadying himself and bringing himself back under control.

Resting his forehead against her, Killian placed his hook under her chin, fingers smoothing her windswept hair back off her face in a gentle caress. "I cannot lose you, Emma," he whispered hoarsely, voice controlled once more but still fervently sincere, wobbling the slightest bit as he added, "I won't survive it, not this time."

Shaking her head, Emma reached across to press her hand over his heart, eyes drinking in his beloved face and swearing with all she had, willing both her love and herself to believe. "You won't have to, Killian. We'll find that third way."

He nodded, rubbing her upper arms to chafe warmth back into them in the chilly night air off the open water. For several long minutes, neither of them spoke, merely stared into each other's eyes – not wanting to lose the soft moment together, however it had come about, and turning to look out over the waves back to the lights of Storybrooke in the distance. Then, laughter and the rush of exuberant voices began to drift toward them again as their young charges began to climb back above deck for the short voyage home.

Reminded that they weren't alone and their passengers needed returned from their Halloween excursion, Emma gave one last squeeze of the hand to her pirate, whispering quickly before moving to help get them underway. "It's because of you that I finally know we deserve this future together," she vowed, "and I intend to have it."

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @donteattheappleshook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @scientificapricot

@hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @grimmswan @blowmiakisscolin @hookedonapirate

@laianely @bluewildcatfanatic @jonesfandomfanatic @teamhook @revanmeetra87

@xarandomdreamx @anmylica @goforlaunchcee @kday426 @gingerchangeling

@resident-of-storybrooke @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree

@4getfulimaginator @undercaffinatednightmare @everything-person @ohmakemeahercules @gingerpolyglot

Lounging against the mast with arms and ankles crossed was a boy not much older than her son. Although there did not appear to be anything remarkable about the adolescent youth, his mere presence had prompted the man beside her to draw his sword and ready his stance; his expression wary as the muscle in his jaw pulsed over clenched teeth.

“Surely you must have felt it,” the boy continued. “I would be disappointed if you hadn’t. I spent so much time curating it thus.”

Emma took a tentative step forward, but was stopped by Hook’s sharp tone.

“Swan, don’t.”

“Why?” she asked, though her senses were on high alert as well. “Who is he?”

“Oh, did I forget to introduce myself?” The boy straightened his posture. His stance was wide and his hands were braced on his hips as he proudly declared, “I'm Peter. Peter Pan.”

Fury erupted within her and out of some primal instinct she flung her hands out towards the smug-faced boy and shot a bolt of magic square at his chest.

“No!” Hook cried as Pan deflected the burst, sending it straight back at her. He was too late to take the jolt himself, but bodily put himself between her and Pan as she recovered from the blast of her own making.

“You've got fire. I like fire,” Pan crowed. “Well done, Captain.”

An icy flow of foreboding flooded Emma’s veins, freezing her to the marrow. “What… What does he mean by that?”

“Nothing,” Hook snapped, his attention focused on the boy whose gloating radiated across the deck. “Don’t listen to him, Swan.”

“Come, come, Captain,” Pan tutted. “We both know she is no fool. Do you really expect her to believe it was a coincidence that you, a pirate in my employ, tethered to do my bidding, would just happen to seek out the one witch whose child my shadow took flight with?”

“So, that’s your game,” Hook shot back. “Well, joke’s on you, mate. Emma is more than capable of sussing out the truth from lies.” Relaxing his stance, he sheathed his sword and tucked his thumb in his belt before casting a bored expression Pan’s way. “Neither of us are in a playing mood, so let’s save time shall we? Where’s the boy? Why the hell did you take him if it was your son she was indebted to?”

“He's a very special boy,” Pan replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Hook remarked sincerely, then hardened his tone once more. “That doesn't answer my question. What do you want with him?”

“That’s for me to know,” Pan taunted in a grating sing-song voice.

“Then why come here?” Emma demanded. “What do you want from me?”

“I came here to see who I was up against. The Witch of the Wood. Gotta say,” he drawled, looking her up and down and making her skin crawl. “I'm not disappointed.” His attention snapped back to Hook whose shoulders had remained tight, and his demeanor, though appearing to be at ease, held an anticipatory guard. “I’ll go for now. Leave the two of you to clear up a few things.” His eyes shifted back to Emma, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth - his very punchable mouth. “I imagine she has questions regarding your true intentions, Captain. I do hope they don’t get in the way of any… budding romance between you.”

Emma balked. How did he…

She blinked and he was gone, startling her once more. Her eyes darted about the ship, ensuring Pan had indeed left, then settled on the pirate who was turning towards her with a sigh on his lips as he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“He does so enjoy his games,” Hook grumbled.

Trepidation shook its way through her body as she recalled Pan’s words and insinuations.

“You… Why did you seek me out? Of all the practitioners of magic… Why me?”

Hook’s eyes snapped to hers, a surprised expression blanching through his features. “I… I assure you, love,” he began, his voice soft and earnest though she could detect a distressed sort of anxiousness in the delivery. “Finding my way to your doorstep was a coincidence. I had no prior knowledge of who you were, nor your connection to Pan or any of his kin.”

Emma swallowed hard. She wanted to believe him. Was desperate to believe him, but…

“Use your magic,” he urged, gesturing towards her bodice and the enchanted pendant that lay beneath. “See that I am telling you the truth.”

She didn’t need to. “I know there is truth in what you say, but…”

“But… what?”

“But what if…” Running her tongue over her lips, she swallowed again in an attempt to combat the choked feeling in her throat. “Why were you in the village? What brought you to that specific shore?”

“I was sent there on orders from--” His words fell away as realization dawned. “Pan sent me there to deliver something to one of the merchants. As is my custom, I made inquiries about any purveyors of magic who might be able to help me with my binding.”

“And those inquiries led you to me.”

“Aye,” he replied on a grieved exhale. His eyes slipped shut and his jaw clenched, the deep bob of his Adam’s apple preceded the solemnness that shone from his forget-me-not gaze. “I suppose it is possible that Pan orchestrated our meeting, but if so, I had no knowledge of it. You must believe me.”

“I do,” she assured him, causing a premature rush of relief to escape his lungs. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I am here because Pan wants me to be, and you…” She paused, glancing past the confines of the ship and honing in on the high peak that was barely visible over the jungle canopy. “You work for Pan, and I… I can’t take the chance that I am wrong about you.”

“Swan, don’t,” Hook pleaded, desperately. “Please, don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, raising her hand and hoping her magic would be able to navigate her. With a flick of her wrist white mist began to swirl and the corrupted power of the island gave way, allowing her to leave the deck of the ship with Hook’s final plea ringing in her ears.

“Swan!”