#cs ff

Passing by the library, Killian hesitantly broke the silence. “How do you think my brother and Belle got on?”

“How? Or Where?” Eyes widening and cheeks pinking, Emma hadn’t intended for the dirty innuendo to slip out.

Killian didn’t miss a beat. After a full-chested laugh he waggled his brows at her, quipping, “Indeed. I imagine they left the circulation desk, the conference table, and various stacks scandalized.”

“Are you suggesting my friend is a tramp?” Emma challenged in an amused and mock-affronted tone.

“I would never dream of besmirching Miss French’s good name,” Killian replied. “The only harlot in this scenario is my brother. Don’t let the self-righteousness fool you, love.”

Another laugh was not the only thing they shared as Killian pulled up to her house. Soft smiles and a gaze that spoke volumes passed between them. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Emma wet her lips and inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm her racing heart. The way Killian’s eyes fell to her mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing in response to her tongue’s action was not helping matters.

“We should, um…”

“Aye. We ought to…”

Awkwardly, they exited the car and headed inside.

“I’ll tell Liam of our meeting with Regina and get an update from him if you’d like to check-in with Neal and--”

“Killian? Emma?” Liam’s voice called out from upstairs. “You better get up here.”

Sharing a brief, worried glance, they swiftly headed up the stairs, the urgency in Liam’s tone adding haste to their steps.

Emma expected to find him in the guest room, and was therefore surprised to see him hovering at her bedroom’s doorway.

“What is it, brother?” Killian inquired from behind her.

Peering around the elder Jones, Emma’s brows scrunched tightly together. “Neal? What’s going--”

“That isn’t Neal.”

The quiet warning underpinning his words caused the hairs at the back of her neck to raise. Killian rushed forward to stand next to his brother, partially blocking her from the room.

Peering over the brothers’ shoulders, she looked at the man standing calmly in the middle of her bedroom and asked, “What do you mean that isn’t Neal?”

Murmuring under his breath, Liam answered, “He’s possessed by a spirit. I’m just not sure which spirit.”

“Emma, did you see Regina? Did you speak with her?” Neal - or rather, Not Neal - took a step forward with an air of desperation; an action that had the Jones brothers even more guarded than before.

“I, uh…”

“Please,” he said, keeping his focus on Emma. “I know I shouldn’t have, but taking over your boyfriend’s body was the easiest way for us to communicate. I need to know if you saw her. What did she say?”

“Are we to assume you are Daniel?” Killian inquired, inching into the room while still barring Emma from entering.

“Of course I’m Daniel,” Not Neal replied, urgently. “But we don’t have much time. I don’t know how much longer I can keep hold.”

“Why are you only now using this tactic?” Liam also stepped into the room, positioning himself a few feet to Killian’s left. “You haven’t used possession before.”

“I didn’t know I could,” Not Neal answered. “And even if I had, I don’t think I would have been strong enough before.”

“So, what’s changed?” Killian asked, his arm slightly extended from his body in an effort to signal her to stay behind him when she crossed the threshold into the room.

“Hope,” Not Neal exhaled. “Ever since you found those letters and understood what I needed you to do, hope began to strengthen me.”

“And you discovered you could possess the living how?”

Not Neal waved off Liam’s question and turned his attention towards Emma once more. “There’s no time for me to explain. I need to know about Regina. Please, tell me what happened before the other one can interfere and overpower me again.”

“Who is the other spirit? Who is keeping you subdued?”

“I don’t want to talk about her.” Agitation and impatience slipped through the genial facade and with an edge of menace, Not Neal demanded, “Tell me what you told Regina and what she said.”

Killian shifted his posture and shot a knowing glance at his brother before stating, “You’re not Daniel. Who are you?”

“I am Daniel!” the spirit protested, moving to close the gap between them all. “Emma, you have to believe me. You’re the only one who--”

Both brothers countered Not Neal’s approach, shielding her from the spirit’s advance.

“You don’t speak to her.” Killian’s lowered tone and threatening timbre had the fine hairs of Emma’s body raising in an altogether different way than it had been. “I’m the one you’re going to deal with. Tell me who you are.”

Not Neal’s entire demeanor changed. Instead of a gentle and friendly expression, Neal’s face turned smug and bitter.

“Think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“Cleverer than most, though frequently underestimated.”

Not Neal scoffed and rolled his eyes, defiance and arrogance oozing from every inch of his body.

“We can stand here all day if you like, but you will answer our questions.”

A derisive hum vibrated against Neal’s lip and his form sauntered forward until it was toe-to-toe with Killian. “I’m sure your pretty face usually buys you a lot, but not my time.” Neal’s eyes shifted and met Emma’s, sending a cold chill down her spine. “You should have left well enough alone.”

Before any of them could respond, Neal’s eyes rolled back into his head and his body dropped towards the floor. Mercifully, Liam and Killian were able to catch him and lower him safely to the carpet.

“Neal!” Emma pushed past the brothers and knelt at his side, shaking his shoulders. “Neal, wake up!”

“Here,” Liam said, passing something to her. “Smelling salts. Should do the trick.”

Emma uncorked the small bottle and wafted it under Neal’s nose. The effect was almost instantaneous. With a wild jolt, Neal’s eyes shot open and he attempted to sit up.

“Woah, there mate,” Killian advised, placing a hand against his shoulder to keep him from getting up too fast. “Take it slow.”

“Wh-What the hell happ--”

“The unknown spirit possessed you, I’m afraid,” Liam said, sympathetically. “I know everything feels wrong and distorted, but I assure you, it’ll pass quickly.”

“Wrong is an understatement,” Neal muttered, shaking himself.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked. “Did they hurt you in any--”

“She,” Neal corrected. “It was definitely a she.”

With assistance from the brothers, Neal was hauled up to his feet. Emma reached out to help steady him as he swayed, annoyed at Liam’s immediate interrogation once Neal was settled on the edge of the bed.

“Were you able to identify her? Sometimes those possessed can gain knowledge of the possessing spirit. Any idea why she possessed you, or how she knew she could? Anything you can tell us could be helpful.”

“Liam,” Killian admonished. “Give the man a moment to collect himself.” Crouching down in front of Neal, Killian looked up at him with a sympathetic expression and asked, “Can I get you anything, mate? Water? Maybe something a bit stronger?”

His eyes cut over to Emma and despite her concern for the man seated beside her who was still clearly shaken, she let out an amused huff and attempted to stifle the smile Killian’s words engendered. The truth was, they all could probably do with a stiff drink right about now.

“I uh…” Neal’s utterances turned their attention back his way. Swiping a hand down his pale and clammy face, he said, “I don’t know how she knew she could, or even how it happened really, I just… all of a sudden I wasn’t in control of myself.”

Neal’s hand dug into the mattress, balling up the covers in his fist. Placing a comforting hand on his knee, Emma encouraged him to take his time then glanced at the Jones brothers. “Maybe we should give him time to rest a bit before forcing him to reliv--”

“No, it’s fine,” Neal countered with a slight bite in his tone. “There isn’t much I can tell you anyway… other than her identity.”

Taking his eyes off the floor for the first time since they’d helped him off of it, Neal met each of their expectant stares before locking his with Emma’s. “Cora. The other spirit is Cora Mills.”

“You’re certain?”

Even Killian rolled his eyes at his brother’s asinine question.

“What kind of question is that?” Neal spat. “Am I sure? You think that’s the kind of thing I wouldn’t be--”

“Apologies,” Liam offered with his hands raised in supplication. “It’s just… spirits can be tricky and we have to be sure the other spirit doesn’t want you to think it’s--”

“If he says it’s Cora, then it’s Cora,” Killian interrupted. Standing, he reached out and took Liam by the shoulder, guiding him towards the door. “Which means you and I have work to do. Let’s leave Neal and Emma be while we come up with our plan of attack.”

“Of course,” Liam acquiesced, a bit reluctantly. “I am eager to hear how things went with--”

“Aye, but it may be best to have that conversation outside.” Glancing around them, he reminded, “You never know who might be listening.” Before the two departed down the stairs, Killian called out over his shoulder, “We’ll be downstairs if either of you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Emma answered at the doorway, having followed them towards the door so she could close it, allowing her and Neal some privacy. With her back now pressed against it, she took in the pitiful sight of her boyfriend. She knew she ought to feel more in this moment. More concerned. More sorry. More upset. But…

It wasn’t that she didn’t feel those things, she simply wished she wasn’t the one expected to help him through it. If given the option, she’d much rather be downstairs discussing the day’s events and coming up with their next step.

She was a terrible person.

With a heavy exhale, Emma pushed away from the door and approached Neal with soft steps. “Neal, are you sure you’re ok--”

“No, I’m not okay!” he exploded, shooting up to his feet. “How could you even think I’d be okay after something like that?”

“You’re right,” she said, sheepishly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Stupid question. Sorry.”

Neal ran a hand down his face then let it fall dramatically down to his side with an equally significant sigh. “I think it’s time to cut our losses.”

Brows furrowing and head cocking to one side, Emma replied, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, fuck this!” Neal exploded once more, frantically gesturing around them. “Fuck all of this! Let’s get out of here. Pack up our stuff and leave this place behind.”

“Pack up and go where?”

“Anywhere! Anywhere but here. Anywhere but this house and this town.”

“Neal…” she began with a weighty pause. “You know I can’t do that. This is my home. Not just this house, but this whole place. This is where my friends are. Where my family is.”

Neal scowled and let out a derisive scoff. “Yeah, friends that think I’m a loser and family that thinks I’m not good enough for you.”

Unable to hold back the huff of amusement, Emma reminded him, “Yeah, well. David thinks that about everybod--”

“God dammit, Emma! How can you be so flippant? How can you want to stay? How can you even think of spending one more second in this house?”

“Because. It’s. My. Home, Neal.” She knew he’d been through a lot, but surely the man who had been brought up like her, bouncing from one foster home to the next until finally making a life for themselves on the streets would never think to ask that question. “You, of all people, should understand what that means to me.” Nibbling a piece of skin peeling from her lip, she added, “Besides, I can’t abandon Daniel. He--”

“He’s dead!” Neal shouted, now getting in her face as if an up close look at his anger would change her mind. “Dead, Emma. You don’t owe him a goddamn thing!”

“Well, what about Liam and Killian?” Neal’s expression hardened at the mention of the Jones brothers' names. “They came all this way to help us. Am I just supposed to send them packing in the middle of the job?”

“Some job,” Neal sneered. “Things have only gotten worse since they got here, but I get why that doesn’t seem to bother you any.”

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Emma. I know there’s something going on between you and Captain Guyliner.”

“Neal,” she said in a firm tone. She may be a lot of things, but a cheater wasn’t one of them. “There’s nothing going on between me and Killian.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he replied as he took a few steps back, his tone indicating he didn’t really believe her. “But you haven’t been completely honest about him. Admit it.”

“I told you we had a past. I never hid that from you.”

“Past. Right,” he clipped. “Then why does the guy use a half-naked picture of you as a bookmark?”

Emma blanched and dropped her arms. “Wh…What are you talking about?”

Approaching her again, he held her gaze as he relayed, “I’m talking about a picture of you, half-naked, wedged between the pages of some other guy’s journal.”

“When did you…?” Confusion turned to indignation. “Did you go snooping through Killian’s things?”

“Oh, no,” Neal said, waving his finger at her. “You don’t get to turn this around on me. Tell me why he has a picture of you, half-naked--”

“In a bikini,” Emma clarified, hotly. “I’m in a bikini in that photo, because I was on spring break.”

“So you admit to sending it to him,” Neal replied with an almost gloating undertone, as though he’d caught her in an ‘I gotcha’ moment.

“Of course, I sent it to him. We were in a relationship at the time.”

“Oh, and I guess you think it’s no big deal that he keeps it as a bookmark in that freaky journal of his?”

Emma could not believe they were having this conversation. With everything else going on, this… THIS? This was the thing he was willing to wage war over?

“Neal, I don’t have time for your petty jealousy right now. If you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you.”

He’d clearly not been expecting that. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” she affirmed with a vigorous nod. “You made your feelings about staying here very clear, and to be honest… I’ve thought it best for us to end things and for you to move out for some time now.”

Neal’s expression darkened and his jaw tightened. “Let me guess. About the same time you reached out to your old flame?”

“Before that, actually,” Emma stated, matter-of-factly. “But I don’t expect you to believe it.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re moving out.”

“I guess so,” he challenged, probably expecting her to take it all back if it seemed he really might leave.

“You can pack a bag for now then come back for the rest of your things later. I’ll have it all boxed up for you.”

He swallowed tightly, still hoping he was just calling her bluff and said, “No need. I’ll pack it all and be out of here tonight.”

“Great,” she said, holding out her hand, “Then I’ll just take your key and give you some space to do that.”

He stared at her for several moments, his eyes shifting between her face and her hand, until finally it seemed to click; she was serious. She really wanted him out. Out of her house and out of her life.

“Fine,” he growled, stomping over to the dresser where he kept his personal items and prying the house key off the ring. Slapping it into her palm, he said, “Just do me one favor.”

She closed her stinging hand around the sharp metal of the key. “What’s that?”

“Try not to fuck him the minute I leave.”

Emma rolled her eyes and made her way to the door. “Grow up, Neal.” Crossing the threshold, she grabbed the handle and couldn’t resist leaving without throwing out a final barb. “It’ll take more than a minute to strip the bed and put on fresh sheets.”

Slamming the door behind her, Emma stood seething for several moments before mortification set in. The ringing of anger within her ears had subsided, replaced by the deep timbre of the brothers’ voices as they conversed with one another downstairs.

Had they heard everything? She and Neal hadn’t exactly kept their voices down. Hopefully, they’d been outside discussing what each had learned from their morning’s inquiries for the majority of the break up. As assured and confident as she was that ending things with Neal was the right decision, it was still humiliating.

Although, no less humiliating than Neal’s behaviour the entire time Liam and Killian had been there.

She really could not believe she’d let the relationship go on for as long as it had.

One thing was for sure, Ruby would be insufferable over the news. The I told you so’s would probably never end… but neither would the celebratory drinks she’d insist on buying, so Emma guessed that would help balance things out.

Making her way downstairs, Emma found the brothers seated at the dining table hunched over a map. Hearing her approaching steps, the two glanced up. Liam gave her an acknowledging nod, then turned his eyes back down while Killian kept his gaze trained on her. The way he looked at her had always made her toes curl and her breath shaky in the best way. In an effort to mask her breathlessness and erratic heart rate, Emma tossed her hair over her shoulder and planted her hands against the table.

“So… catch me up.”

“Is Neal alright?” Liam asked with a note of concern.

“Um, yeah. He’s just…” Emma gestured vaguely in the direction of her room, not wanting to lie, but not quite ready to confess the truth.

“Probably best he rests,” Killian interjected, drawing his own conclusions to Emma’s response. “Possession isn’t something I’d wish on anyone.” Leaning back he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a chain with some sort of symbol as a pendant. “In fact, I think it best you wear this until we get Cora sorted.”

Reaching across the table, Emma took the necklace from him, her skin pebbling in response to the way their fingers brushed against each other’s.

“What is it?” she asked with her attention trained on the swinging pendant, hoping he hadn’t noticed the goose bumps.

“It’s an anti-possession sigil,” he explained. “Also known as a demon trap. It’ll keep Cora, or any spirit or being, from being able to take you over.” Flicking a more significant look her way, he added, “It’ll keep you safe.”

“Don’t you… What about you? Don’t you need it? For protection?”

Killian gave her a soft smirk and cut his eyes towards his brother. Pulling open the collar of his shirt, he said, “We’ve got that covered.”

Beneath the thick mat of chest hair, Emma could make out the sigil inked into his and his brother’s skin. A more permanent layer of protection that Emma did not wish to think too long on as to the circumstances that had led to such a choice.

“Here,” Killian said, rounding the table. “Let me help you with that.”

Gently, he took the necklace from her grip and motioned for her to turn around. Emma lifted her hair so he could wrap the chain around her neck and secure the clasp.

“I should have given it to you when we first arrived,” he murmured. “I never considered the spirit here would know they could or manage enough energy to completely possess either you or…” Spinning her back around, Killian stared down at her with wide apologetic eyes. “Gods, Swan! I’m so sorry. I never asked how you were doing. I know what a fright it can be to see someone you care for taken over like that. Are you okay, love?”

“I… I’m fine. Really,” she assured him with a softly placed hand on his forearm. “As awful as it was, I’m just glad we finally know the identity of the other spirit.”

“As am I,” Liam said, turning their attention back towards the table. “I just wish we knew how she found out about possession.”

Emma gripped her bottom lip tightly with her teeth and closed her eyes before blurting out, “I think it was because of Neal.”

The brothers’ heads shot towards her in unison.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What do you mean?”

With her shoulders slightly scrunched, not thrilled about opening this particular can of worms, she glanced at Killian and said, “He mentioned something about opening your journal.”

“Your journal?” Liam repeated with a furrowed brow. “Why would he be looking in your journal, brother?”

Killian shook his head for a moment until Emma saw the truth dawn within the deep blue of his eyes.

“The photo,” he said, his cheeks turning rosy from the heat of his blush as it crested the tips of his ears.

“Photo? What photo?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Killian waved Liam off and brushed past Emma. The two followed him to the study where they found the aforementioned journal lying open on the pull out.

“What were you thinking leaving your journal open?” Liam admonished.

“Give me some credit,” Killian shot back. “I know better than that.”

“Why would it matter if the journal was left open?” Emma inquired, hoping the question would distract both brothers from the photo of her in that damned, scandalous, red bikini only a few feet away on the mattress.

“The journal is protected by the sigil, which means no spirit or demon can access it when it’s closed. When it’s open, however…”

“They can rifle through the bloody thing.”

Emma glanced down at the journal and noted it was open to a page titled, Possession, at the top.

“I’m so sorry,” Emma said, feeling even worse about Neal’s invasion of Killian’s privacy.

“It’s not your fault, Swan,” Killian assured her. Reaching across the bed, he picked up the photo and tucked it back into the journal before closing it firmly. After stuffing it away in his duffle he peeked up at her through his lashes, his hand pawing at the back of his ear. Perhaps realizing she wasn’t upset at him for still having the picture, he gave her that boyish, lop-sided smile of his and Emma couldn’t help but smile back.

“Well,” Liam began, shaking them both from the shared moment. “Now that mystery is solved, I suppose we should move forward with our plans. The sooner the better.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “I say we try and deal with her tonight. With her out of the way, it may be easier for Daniel to move on, especially if we can contact him without her interference and let him know that Regina knows the truth. Or much of it, anyway.”

“When you say deal with her, I assume you mean…”

“Aye,” Killian said, gravely. “Fancy a trip to the cemetery, love?”

Emma’s quiet moan vibrated softly against his lips; her body leaned heavily into his, her heart pounding against his chest. He had imagined her in his arms countless times. The reality stole the breath from him. The wine on her lips was sweeter than any future he could have wished for.

He paused for air, their lips parting in a quiet whimper. He rested his forehead against hers, their panting breaths meeting in the narrow space between them. He met her questioning gaze with his own, but without his usual protections. Her features softened from curiosity to understanding. She pulled him into her; her kiss was softer, a gentle acceptance of the grief and brokenness he knew she saw in him.

His eyes prickled momentarily at the beautiful ache that burned through his chest. She saw him and was knowingly choosing him despite his darkness and the weight he carried. He poured his gratitude into their kiss, his thumb sweeping across her cheek.

He pulled her tighter and lifted her off the floor enough to carry her to the bed. The bed dipped beneath him as he climbed onto the bed after her. She shifted on the bed, her hand tugging at his trousers- a demanding invitation for a need he was desperate to meet.

He kept his eyes trained on her, ensuring the mirage wouldn’t disappear, and followed her to the headboard. Their eyes met again. He sat back on his knees, straddling her without putting his weight on her just yet. She bit her bottom lip as she took in all of him, something tender alongside the desire in her eyes.

He stilled, committing the sight of her — hungry for him, lip caught in her teeth— to memory.

“Killian.” His name was a command to continue.

She reached out, her fingers gently running along his sides under his shirt.

He lowered himself down - his arms on either side of her - to trail kisses along her neck, her shoulders, her cheeks. A beginning to the map he wanted to chart of her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as if pulling them closer together. Appreciation and awe — something close to reverence — whispered carefully into her skin.

His shirt had tangled as she ran her hands along his back. He propped on his forearm and tugged it off in a quick motion, relieving them of the constraint.

Smiling, Emma reached for her own top and, with a bit of wiggling, pulled it off without repositioning them. He held her gaze a moment longer before swooping down to capture a nipple in his mouth. Her hand was a sudden pressure on the back of his head as he rolled his tongue and explored.

The sound she made nearly undid him. He released a breath, her skin prickling as the warmth of it faded. She arched into him, a plea. He answered quickly, scraping his teeth along the sensitive skin. Her reply - arching and shifting beneath him so much he rolled his hips against hers to keep them both steady.

She drew in a quick breath.

Killian froze, eyes on hers, trying to translate the reaction.

Her eyes danced with mischief, and she had pulled that lip under her teeth again. Something in his chest loosened and sent heat rushing low in his stomach.

Then, she rocked her hips slowly, intentionally rubbing against the hardness that was undeniable in their new position.

A low growl vibrated through his chest.

Emma raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. Then, with a proud, mischievous smile, she repeated the motion. Another sound escaped him without his bidding, and he shook his head and let out a slow exhale.

“Minx,” he muttered.

“I’m not flirting, Captain Jones,” Emma chided softly. “I want you. Now.”

“If you wish it, so it shall be.” He studied her as carefully as he had the first time he’d spoken those words.

“I do.” There was no hesitation as she reached to begin removing what was left of her clothing. He did the same, matching her layer for layer, eyes lost in hers.

He was bare before her as she lay before him. The trust blanketing this moment, the trust she was gifting him, stole his breath. It was beauty unlike anything he had ever known. Compelled as he was to acknowledge how sacred the moment felt, he could not find the right words.

She opened her legs to him and pulled him back into her arms. He rested on his elbows, the full force of his attention on her face, as he slowly pushed their bodies together. The throaty sound she released when he was fully rested in her changed him in ways he didn’t understand. He would spend a lifetime trying to hear that again.

Her eyes fluttered open, locking with his, and his heart stopped at the shattered expression she shared with him. She didn’t blink or turn away, no shields locked into place. She interlocked her fingers with his and held his gaze as he slowly began to move and build up the pace.

§§§§  §§§§  §§§§

They lay together in a tangle of limbs. Emma traced scratches along Killian’s chest and arms idly as he drifted in and out of sleep. She couldn’t recall a time her heart felt so light and so full.

“You’re still here,” Killian murmured.

“Mhmm,” Emma confirmed.

“At the end of it all.”

She was in the pounding rain then, praying her umbrella wouldn’t collapse or blow inside out, and hurrying over to the spot where Henry’s sharp eyes had led her to glimpse a limping blur of dark fur only briefly before it had seemed to collapse in a lump at the road’s edge. She had thought brightly golden eyes peered at them for a moment out of the early evening gloom and the watery onslaught, but now she wasn’t as sure. She dreaded going back to the car to tell Henry either that she couldn’t find the small animal they had nearly hit, or that it was too late for them to help it, so she pressed on. Emma firmly ignored the little voice in the back of her mind that goaded she simply didn’t want to leave some pitiful lost creature behind like she had been left so often.

At last, peering through sheets of rain amidst the tall weeds bordering the road, Emma finally found what she was seeking. There, huddled in the scrubby grass near the side ditch, was a soaked, bedraggled mound of matted and curly dark brown fur wetted down by the continuous beating rain. Squinting through the torrent and trying to push back the sopping strings of her hair so she could see better, Emma peered at the barely moving ball now clearly identifiable as the small dog she had feared it would be. Checking both ways for oncoming traffic again, Emma pushed herself forward, despite the hesitation at what she might see.

Crouching by the side of the road, Emma reached out tentatively, not wanting to get herself scratched or bitten by a frightened animal, but also knowing that the longer she lingered with her car in the way, the more annoyed and dangerous she would make any other traffic she blocked. When she touched the wet fur, a breath of relief escaped her upon also feeling shuddering tremors beneath her hand as they shook the small body. The pup - it must still be quite young, or a relatively small breed of dog - was also obviously breathing, as she could see a rise and fall of its side now that she was nearer and closer to eye level. She hesitated to pick it up, though, even to get it to the car, warmth, and help. Emma could easily surmise that animals were enough like people that jostling the poor thing without knowing what might be broken or punctured inside was not the best idea.

Still, ‘needs must’, she decided practically and with a quick look to see that there were now sets of headlights stopped behind her own, honking horns and questioning calls beginning to ring out on the air, Emma moved quickly and carefully; there was nothing else for it. Dropping the umbrella and shrugging out of her jacket, she laid the fabric over the shivering little dog and wrapped it around the quaking form, trying to slip her arms under while jarring it as little as possible. 

Scrambling to her feet once more, she hurried back to the vehicle, completely drenched and already beginning to shiver. Henry had been anxiously watching and was already leaning across to open the door for her.

His eyes were wide, and his lower lip trembled a bit against his determined show of strength as Emma slipped in and gently laid the soppy, sweater-wrapped bundle of puppy across his lap. She focused on her son’s worried, “Were we in time? He isn’t… dead, is he?” rather than the growing cacophony she drowned out by slamming the door closed behind her and putting the VW back in drive.

“He’s still fighting, Kid,” Emma assured as they started forward again. The gulping swallow he’d had to take in the middle of his question had torn at her. Her son was so hopeful and empathetic, traits she wished she still possessed, and which she intended to keep him from losing, if it was at all within her power. She might come to regret her roadside rescue attempt yet, if the dog didn’t make it. She would be sad, of course, but she could already see that it would break Henry’s young heart.

Hoping to distract him, even slightly, with a purpose, Emma glanced over before focusing back on the road, then asked, “Have you noticed a veterinary clinic along this road, Henry? Or have we already passed it? Do you remember?”

His brown eyes lit up eagerly, pleased to have an answer that might help. “Yeah, there is! Not far past that pharmacy on the right, remember? One street over from us?” He was nodding emphatically even as he struggled to keep the rest of his body still, gently stroking the wet head beneath his hand.

Emma nodded grimly, glad her recollection had been right; their surprise passenger needed more help than she knew how to give, as soon as they could get it. “Then let’s just hope they’re still open and ready to go in this storm,” she said grimly, hands clutching the wheel just a bit tighter. 

Henry nodded his agreement, but neither of them said anything else for several minutes as they drove cautiously, peering through the rain still slicking the windshield. 

“There!” Henry called out again. His finger pointed ahead to a square, white building with a modest parking lot, thankfully illuminated by a lighted sign proclaiming: Park View Animal Hospital: 24 Hour Emergency Service.

“Finally,” Emma breathed out in a whoosh, her shoulders slumping gratefully for just a moment’s release of tension as they came to a stop in a parking space. Then, she was hurrying around to Henry’s side, taking the dog from Henry’s lap, and trying to carry it smoothly toward the front door as Henry ran ahead to open it.

Their entrance was a little dramatic for her liking, as they had both just managed to stop in the entryway, when a strong gust of wind pulled the door handle from Henry’s grasp and slammed it closed behind them with a window-rattling clap of thunder as punctuation. They were already starting to leave a puddle on the linoleum floor, Emma realized as she looked around sheepishly, glad the waiting area seemed largely empty.

The young woman at the admitting desk jumped up with an exclamation of surprise at their sudden entrance, but a more welcoming smile quickly graced her countenance as she rounded the counter behind which she sat, rapped smartly on a closed office door at the start of the hall leading further into the building, and greeted them with a welcoming smile. She was tall and slight, moving with a willowy grace that was immediately arresting. Her voice was low and soothing, and her straight, white teeth stood out even more clearly against her deeply tanned face and jet black hair worn coiled in two braids around the crown of her head. Despite the casual beauty and bearing that might have been rather intimidating, her gentle voice put Emma and Henry both at ease from the first words. “My, what a storm we’re having out there! Thank goodness you arrived safely. I’m TL, the vet tech and after-hours receptionist. What seems to be the problem?”

She indicated the shaking bundle in Emma’s arms, brow furrowed with concern. Emma stepped forward quickly to let the capable-looking woman see for herself. She was about to explain how they had found the poor dog, and what little she knew of the situation, when the office door opened, and a man in scrubs and a white lab coat stepped out to meet them, summoned by his assistant’s knock, no doubt. One look, and all of Emma’s words seemed to evaporate on her tongue. For several long seconds, she was dumbstruck- much as she hated to admit it, even to herself - and she swore her knees went as watery as jello for an embarrassing few moments. 

Bright, intelligent, and somehow searing blue eyes arrested her, and in the strange interim, Henry piped up quickly. Emma blinked to clear her vision of the man’s striking looks, thankfully letting Henry ramble for a moment while she gathered her wits. If it seemed the startling blue depths of that gaze twinkled a bit with controlled mirth at her apparently obvious predicament, Emma tried not to dwell on it. By that time, her son was finishing his spiel with, “...so Mom got him in the car - I held him! - and we came here. Can you help him?”

A warm, deep rumble of an easy laugh came from the dark-haired, deliciously scruffy man before them as his eyes shifted from hers to Henry’s with a reassuring grin. “Well, that’s quite a request, Lad, but I will certainly do my best.” He gestured them further into the clinic to where they could just see an open exam room waiting beyond. “Come, let’s bring him in and see what can be done.”

When they stopped before a tall, sterile lab table, Emma rather gratefully laid the trembling bundle of wet, brownish, curly fur on its surface. Standing before the gorgeous man who was already murmuring low, soothing words to the frightened and vulnerable creature on his table and running large, capable hands over the poor dog’s slight form, seeking unseen injuries, caused her to shiver in response almost as much as the damp material clinging to the front of her body.  The reverberations of his soft crooning ran through her, making Emma’s cheeks heat, and she had to seek desperately for something to focus on other than his hands and their deft, gentle touch.

“You alright there, Kid?” she asked her son, diverting her eyes to Henry at her side. Though he was wide-eyed with curiosity and interest in what the doctor was doing for his new four-legged patient, she could also tell by the way he bit his lower lip nervously that Henry was worried for the pup as well, no matter how grown-up and calm he tried to appear. Her boy was already attached to the small dog, even if the whole incident had unfurled so far in less than an hour.

Wordlessly, Henry nodded his assent, but Emma wasn’t completely surprised when his hand reached across, and his fingers slid into hers. Offering a reassuring smile, she squeezed lightly, hoping to offer what comfort she could.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Emma steeled herself to look back up to the veterinarian, praying that she would see some sign of good news on his visage. Granted, she was never one for doling out false hope, and she wanted to prepare herself and Henry if the news was bad. At the same time, without even realizing she had done so, Emma found that she was placing all her hope on the doctor standing before them, anxious for him to prove as exceptional as he appeared.

She was reaching the point of blurting out a demand for information - what he saw, what was happening, what he was going to do - when the dark head bent over the trembling dog in intent examination rose to look into her face seriously, the shocking blue of his gaze bearing an intensity that made her breath catch. A few molasses-thick, long, heated moments passed before the deeply accented voice that had greeted them upon arrival spoke with measured and soothing calm. “Well, Ms. …apologies, I don’t believe we even exchanged names, Lass.”

Emma flushed, ducking her head in an attempt to gather her thoughts with a chuckle. “We did kinda bust in like a whirlwind, didn’t we?” she agreed. “I’m Emma… Emma Swan, and this is my son, Henry.”

The frankly stunning veterinarian smiled warmly, “It’s good to meet you, Ms. Swan, and you, Master Henry,” he added with a playful smile. “I’m Dr. Killian Jones, and I’m very glad TL and I stayed late to take care of the cleaning and filing that never seems to get done during the day. Sometimes when things are this slow, I’m here along ‘on-call’, but I like to have an assistant in the surgery if at all possible. It’s a good thing that you found this little guy and brought him here when you did. With the storm going on out there, being wet, exposed to the elements, and with the temperature dropping for the night, he would have been in an even worse state than you see now.”

Killian Jones was scruffing his hand through the pup’s fur in a way the small canine seemed to thoroughly approve, as his trembling eased, and he was clearly leaning his head into the assured touch of the vet. It wasn’t long before the little critter let out a sort of low huff of relief that caught them all by surprise, making both adults chuckle and releasing a tension between Emma’s shoulder blades that she had hardly noticed she’d been holding.

Eyes wide and a hopeful grin completely lighting his face, Henry pressed forward then, unable to keep from reaching out to touch their little stowaway as well. “You said he could be a lot worse. That means you can help him, right? And he’s going to be okay?”

The dark head nodded with firm certainty as Dr. Jones smiled once more, full of express reassurances for her son that couldn’t fail to melt Emma’s heart. “Aye, Lad, I should indeed be able to fix our furry friend right up, almost as good as new.”

Patient and kind as he had been throughout their encounter with him, Dr. Jones guided Henry’s hand along the small form, easing the youngster to be able to feel what his experienced senses had uncovered. “You see here?” he instructed Henry as he deftly eased the shorter fingers and uncertain smaller hand along with his own. “Feel where that uneven place is?” The dog gave a low whimper, but didn’t move or snap, proving the trust this man had already inspired in his charge.

Henry nodded, no sound escaping him, though his mouth had fallen open in awe.

“Something hit him there and broke that bone. Thankfully, it feels like a clean break rather than several scattered fragments. I should be able to reset it and hold it still with a cast while it is healing, much like we would do for a person’s broken arm or leg. With a little time and good care, he should mend with no lasting adverse effects.”

Once her son seemed satisfied, Dr. Killian Jones did not waste much more time, no doubt anxious to see that the small creature wasn’t hurting any longer than necessary. Easily giving the dog an anesthetic and stroking a hand almost tenderly over his back as they waited for it to take effect, he explained in brief and simple terms what he would do and assured them that it was a standard and common procedure.

When he confirmed minutes later that it was time, TL appeared at Emma’s elbow with a friendly smile to show them back to the waiting room before she returned to assist her boss. The other woman seemed to sense her ricocheting thoughts and patted her shoulder warmly. She gave Emma a kindly smile, ruffling Henry’s hair playfully as she offered, “Try not to worry. The doc’s really good at what he does, and he’ll get the little guy all fixed up as soon as possible.” The twinkling sweetness in her gaze was reassuring before she vanished into the surgery, and they were left to wait.

Emma knew she was placing a lot of faith in someone she’d perhaps only spoken to for a total of ten minutes. Yet, even in that scant amount of time, Dr. Killian Jones had engendered a level of confidence that she rarely gifted anyone. Not only did he seem competent and professional, but there was a warmth in his manner that felt more than the minimum needed for his job; the caring he had shown both the injured animal and her young son had been genuine, and it drew her in as little else would.

Still, she couldn’t help feeling almost jittery as she and Henry sat together in the waiting room. Unlike her son, who seemed oddly at ease now, despite his earlier nerves. It was as if Dr. Jones’ patient explanation and the time he had taken to show Henry what had happened to the pup and how it could be repaired had put most of her boy’s fears to rest. Instead, she was the one fidgeting in her seat, biting her lower lip, and twisting the ends of her hair anxiously. What if some unexpected complication arose in surgery? If whatever was broken inside the small canine body was worse than first projected? Pragmatist she might try to be, telling herself that plain realism protected her son along with herself, but the puppy had already scratched at least two paws into her heart as well. If the kindly veterinarian could not do what he had seemed imminently certain of accomplishing, she would be more crushed than she’d like to admit - little boy in tow or not.

Thankfully, they weren’t left waiting an inordinate length of time, and the waiting room remained empty and quiet. The patter of rain and swirl of wind outside sounded almost soothing overhead and all around them as they waited, Henry spread out and did the small amount of homework he had before his eyelids began to droop lower, then flicked back open again, his head nodding drowsily where he sat. Though Emma knew her son wanted to keep vigil for the small dog that had somehow already become “theirs”, she could also tell that sleep was pulling at him more and more insistently. 

After nearly three hours, the doors into the clinic’s operating bay opened, and Emma immediately shot to her feet without hesitation. Henry snapped upright as well, wide awake again. Dr. Jones strode toward them with a measured assurance that helped to soothe both mother and son’s clear anxiety even before he spoke.

A gentle smile tilted the corners of his mouth up as he focused first on the young man gazing up at him. “You’ve one tough little furball back there, Lad. He hung in just as we’d hoped, and he’s sleeping now. His body is on the mend as we speak. It won’t be immediate,” he ended with a serious note of caution, “but he will recover.”

Letting out a huge whoosh of air, Henry surged forward in a move that startled both adults momentarily, and wrapped his arms tightly around the vet’s torso, his face mostly hidden in the lab coat and his voice muffled as he offered his fervent thanks.

“That’s not necessary at all, Master Henry,” the doctor replied, looking up at Emma uncertainly for direction, even as his hand came up to pat the boy’s shoulder. “I would never leave an animal hurting if it was within my power to help. I’m merely grateful that compassionate people like yourself and your mother,” here his warm eyes reached across the few feet between them to caress Emma, “brought him to receive the help he needed.”

Emma sucked in a steadying breath, unable to fully ignore the heat that ran through her veins and spread in her stomach, rising to make her heart flutter erratically. She didn’t really feel she had done anything that exceptional, but it would take a stronger woman than she to turn from basking in his obvious favor. Knowing that she must be blushing furiously, she dropped his gaze and could barely meet Henry’s curious eyes either.

As if sensing that he’d embarrassed her slightly, Dr. Jones cleared his throat and pressed forward, changing their focus slightly. “I understand the little guy is not your dog,” he began carefully, “but when he wakes, do I need to call the local shelter? Or are you - “ his words trailed off awkwardly, needing to make arrangements for his small patient’s further recuperation, but clearly not wanting to exert pressure or guilt on them either.

He had read the situation correctly; Emma knew there was no withdrawing their investment in the pup’s life now. Henry’s head turned wildly toward her, his whole face lit with joy when he heard her response. “Oh, he’s coming home with us when he’s able,” she assured. “I think he’s ours now.”

She couldn’t even bring herself to mind the sort of rollercoaster her emotions had been on over the last few hours - not when Henry was bouncing with glee and practically dancing around her, nor at hearing the pleasant chuckle that rumbled through the veterinarian’s chest at her answer and the boy’s reaction.

Leaning in to speak lowly in her ear, Killian Jones murmured, “I did have a feeling that might be the case.”

She huffed playfully and attempted to give him serious side eye in response to the cheeky wink and crooked grin that had accompanied his words, but she wasn’t truly upset, and they both knew it.

By the time she and Henry made their way out the door some thirty minutes later, they had a list of preparations to make and supplies to purchase for the incoming member of their family, but somehow Emma’s heart still felt remarkably lighter.

~~ 🐾 ~~

The next day was Saturday, thankfully, because Henry was anxious to go and get their new pet from the very moment he woke. Emma had expected no less and wanted to see the furry little guy herself, especially now that he wouldn’t be soaking, scared, and in pain. She’d had breakfast ready and waiting and managed to get Henry to sit still long enough to eat it and then go to get dressed. They did still have to stop at the pet supply, as it had been late and still raining the night before, but she solemnly promised her son they would be at the animal hospital before noon.

When they walked through the clinic’s front entrance, they were once again greeted by Nurse TL behind the large reception desk. The tall, statuesque woman again gave lie to the sort of model serious beauty first impressions would suggest. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye and a knowing smile on her lips that immediately made Emma curious.

“Welcome back, Swans,” she chirped enthusiastically, before adding, “I’m not sure who’s more excited to see you, your new puppy or Dr. Jones.”

Henry looked baffled by her words; his brow crinkling as his head tilted to the side, studying the veterinary assistant as he tried to work out her meaning. “Why would Dr. Jones be excited?” he asked curiously.

Giving Emma another significant look that had a blush climbing her neck, the raven-haired young woman merely smiled at Emma’s son sweetly and answered with complete innocence. “Well, naturally, the Doc is excited to see a dog who had no home going to people who will love and take care of him the way he deserves. I’m excited too; that’s always a happy thing to see.”

Though Emma was more than a bit mortified to have apparently been so obvious in her reaction to whatever current had been running between herself and Killian Jones the day before, she was at least grateful the other woman had kept her teasing subtle enough not to make Henry aware.

Thankfully, Emma’s embarrassment was interrupted by the door from the surgery in the back opening, and their new pup entering, followed by Dr. Jones holding a lead for him. “Look who couldn’t wait to see you this morning!” the vet greeted cheerfully, beaming at mother and son both before unclipping the lead and allowing the small dog to trot disjointedly right for Henry, who dropped to his knees with open arms to meet him.

Granted, the dog was not untouched by the ordeal he had weathered the day before. The fur on one rear flank was shaved where Dr. Jones had made the incision for surgery, and his back leg was completely encased in a cast. His gait as he moved across the room was limping and uneven, but not truly slowing him down. Emma couldn’t help the smile that broke across her face at the sight of the little guy’s tongue lolling and his tail wagging as he nuzzled into Henry’s affectionate touch. Clearly, he was glad to see them, not trembling, snarling, or pulling away, nor giving any indication that he associated them at all with his recent trauma.

Moving toward the doctor, who had followed his four-legged patient to stand before them and was beaming down at the heartwarming scene the boy and dog made together, Emma looked up into Killian Jones’ eyes intently. Once they were face-to-face, she hoped that her sincerity would be made manifest. “Wow, he looks like he’s doing great. I don’t even know how to thank you properly. Henry - and I - are just relieved to see he’s okay.”

Dr. Jones dipped his head in a quick nod of acknowledgement and returned her gaze with a fervent intensity that was hard to ignore. “Aye, it’s amazing how resilient animals are when given a fair chance, and I believe this guy to be quite young as well - in all probability less than a year - which will aid him in mending as well. With proper feeding, care, and a safe place to live, he’ll be better off than he was before this happened to him, all told. There are some care instructions we should go over, of course, and I’ll want to check on him at intervals until he is fully healed, but I don’t anticipate any lasting issues.”

Emma thanked him again, knowing that a huge grin was splitting her face, even as her cheeks warmed at the absurdity of the whole encounter. The last 24 hours had tossed everything up in the air, and she felt unsettled but also strangely giddy at the same time. When Henry’s enthusiastic thanks were added to her own, and even a couple of yips from their new pet, she was soon laughing, and joined easily by TL and Killian.

Henry’s brow scrunched curiously once more at their humor, asking, “What’s so funny?”

But Emma could only shake her head slightly at him before shrugging her shoulders and finally admitting, “I don’t really know, Kid.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders before shooting a half smile back at the nurse and doctor, before beaming down at her son. “I guess I’m just relieved… and happy. This has been a surprise, but a good one, right?”

“Right!” he echoed enthusiastically.

Everyone chuckled again, and the boy returned his attention to his dog as Killian went over care instructions with her, TL scheduled a follow-up appointment, and Emma settled the bill. Before she knew it, they were ready to leave and take their third family member to his new home. At the door, Killian opened it gallantly for them, bowing playfully to Henry and wishing his furry patient well, then leaning in as Emma passed by, making her pause in the doorway, drawn to his warmth and causing the breath to jam up in her lungs. The air he exhaled with quietly murmured words at her ear ruffled the fine hairs that framed her face, tickling pleasantly. “If the little guy - or you yourself, Lass - need anything before his scheduled visit, please  don’t hesitate to call.”

Emma nodded jerkily, a breathy exhale of her own barely escaping her throat.

“I am at your service, night or day,” he added, the timbre of his voice with that assurance sent shivers down her arms and legs even as he straightened back up quickly and gave her room to exit.

Blinking as she followed Henry and their dog across the parking lot to their car, Emma reflected that it might be a challenge not to call him before she had even left the premises.

~~ 🐾 ~~

In the wee hours of the morning, three a.m. to be exact, a mere two days later, was not when Emma had intended to use the number Dr. Jones had slipped her with such promising intent. But Henry’s worried eyes as he’d woken her, and the way her hands shook as she tried to get their pup - now christened ‘Cocoa’ - to drink and felt how hot and dry his normally cold, wet nose was, had her dialing in sheer desperation. It had seemed their pet was healing just fine, but now she feared this fever or infection that had woken them all, and she wasn’t sure how to bring it down and help him.

The phone rang twice, then three times, as Emma bit her lip and shuffled her feet anxiously, embarrassed to be bothering Dr. Jones in the middle of the night - or early morning, however one chose to look at it. On the fourth ring, there was finally the sound of a fumbling pick up on the other end of the line, and a low, groggy voice hoarse with sleep asking, “Hello?”

The unguarded intimacy of the simple response, hearing his voice before Jones was fully alert and aware, made Emma’s insides flip, unable to stop herself from imagining how it would sound whispering at her side as they curled together under covers. Her cheeks flushed unseen, and she pressed her hands to the heat, even as she stood alone at her kitchen counter.

Swallowing hard, Emma forced herself to blink away the shadowy vision, pleasant as it was, and refocus on why she had called him. “Dr. Jones? I’m so sorry to call you in the middle of the night…” she started hesitantly, “but this is Emma Swan… who brought in the stray dog a few days ago? …I know we must be waking you, and you’re well within your right to tell me to call back at a decent hour, but… Henry just woke me, and we’re worried about Cocoa, the pup. He seems like he has an awful fever…”

She paused, uncertain what else to say, and wondering if it had been silly to call the vet, now that she heard how simple the concern sounded out loud. Mercifully, Killian Jones took over then, wakefulness entering his voice, even over the telephone wire.

“No, no, please don’t worry over the time, Swan.” Her heart fluttered at his use of her surname, both familiar and comfortingly natural in a way she didn’t fully understand. “I told you that I would be available day or night, did I not? And I meant it. We wouldn’t want poor Cocoa suffering longer than he has to.”

Emma released the anxious breath she had been holding tight while awaiting his response. “Thank you so much,” she breathed. Seeing that Henry had padded out from his room, cradling Cocoa and placing him on the couch where he sat stroking the dog’s silky head, she shot her son a reassuring smile and nod of encouragement as well. Quickly, she gave Killian their address, and he promised to be there as soon as possible.

While they waited, Emma crossed over to Henry and Cocoa on the couch and knelt beside them. “How’s he doing, Kid?” she asked Henry with a gentle press of his hand.

“I still don’t think he feels well,” Henry mumbled with a sniffle, unable to help the way his lower lip trembled as he gladly squeezed his mom’s hand right back.

Emma didn’t know much about caring for sick animals, but she did reach out to scritch lightly behind the puppy’s ears the way he usually liked, then pressed her lips into a thin line with a concerned intake of breath at the warm, dry sensation she once again noticed when his nose pressed into her palm. It was usually a cool, wet nuzzle that made her squirm away in giggles. “Dr. Jones said he was glad we called and that he was on his way,” Emma told Henry needlessly, simply for lack of any better words to offer. 

Henry nodded dutifully and leaned over to rest against her shoulder, as they waited in silence.

Dr. Jones was as good as his word, though, and it wasn’t much more than twenty minutes before they heard a knocking on the front door, followed by the sound of him calling out to announce himself.

Emma stood from where she had crouched on the floor by her boys and hurried toward the door to let him in. The man had been good enough to hurry to their aid in the wee hours of the morning; the last thing she intended to do was leave him standing on the porch, open to the avid curiosity of any nosey neighbors who might be awake. She quickly swung the door open and motioned Killian Jones into their home with a grateful smile.

Killian smiled back, his breath escaping in a puff of chill morning air as he greeted her. They didn’t linger to let the cool breeze slip through; Emma instead closed the door behind him and gestured for Killian to follow her through the small but cozy entryway, kitchen, and into the living room, where Henry and Cocoa were waiting. She thanked him again for coming out - late hour and all - as they walked, but he kindly deflected her praise, humbly asserting it was only as he ought to do for his patient.

As she had found herself often since meeting him, Emma was taken aback, struck nearly speechless by his charming manner, his kindness, and his unassuming, but nonetheless heroic, care for those he came in contact with - whether human or defenseless animal with no other voice to speak up for itself. He was more than too-good-to-be-true, and since she didn’t know what to do with that, or how to express the muddle he made of her, she merely announced his present to Henry, who looked up in greeting with relief evident on his young face.

Killian crouched beside them, much as she had done not long before, talking calmly to Henry, and also murmuring soothingly to Cocoa as he began to check the dog over. Emma stood to the side, merely watching with equal parts awe and admiration as he put both boy and dog at ease.

He was thorough and attentive, but it still didn’t take long before he moved from his crouch on the floor to the chair nearby, positioning himself so he could look between Emma and Henry more easily and explain his findings to them both. “You were right to call and have our little guy checked out,” he began. “It always pays to be safe and make certain if something doesn’t seem normal with your pet. The good news is, I think this is just a slight fever from some post-op inflammation. It isn’t uncommon after surgery, and it usually clears up within a day or so. We’ll keep an eye on him to be certain, and I’ll give Cocoa a shot of some antibiotics for good measure. He should be back to his usual self before we know it, just make sure he gets plenty of fresh, cool water and that you let him rest as much as he needs until he can fight it off.”

“That’s all it is?” Henry queried, looking as if he needed to make completely sure with one more guarantee. “And then he’ll be fine?”

“Yes, he will,” Killian reiterated, not at all put off by Henry’s questioning or need for reassurance. “Cocoa should be up and running circles about the place again in no time.”

Internally, Emma forced herself to relax for once, simply trust a man at his word, and not to worry over his giving her son the certainty of a promise. By now, Killian had more than shown he knew what he was talking about as a veterinarian. Once Henry had offered his beaming and enthusiastic thanks, he turned his attention back to his pet, stroking Cocoa’s curly, soft ears quietly and speaking the same assurances he had just been given to his four-legged best friend. 

Emma turned to Killian with warmly relieved gratitude of her own. “Thank you,” she stated simply, but with a wealth of feeling behind the words. “He would have been crushed if it were something worse, or if you hadn’t been able to help.”

Killian’s response came out in a lower register and more gravelly timbre than Emma had heard before, making her tremble somehow at his, “It was my pleasure, Swan. I’m only glad it was something I could deal with simply.”

She nodded her understanding wordlessly, hardly trusting her voice not to quiver, and they sat in comfortable silence for several moments, just smiling at one another. Somewhere in the midst of Killian’s explanation and Henry’s thanks and turning back to his pup, Emma had dropped onto the couch nearer to Killian from where she had been hovering nearby. Now, she startled to look down and realize just how close their hands were. She licked her lips in nervous anticipation, a delicious warmth radiating from him and magnifying her awareness - despite their not having made physical contact. Finally, she gathered her courage and inched her hand over just enough for her fingers to brush against his.

To his credit, Killian Jones didn’t hesitate once she breached the divide. He gathered her tentative fingers in his own and squeezed fervently, twining them hand-in-hand and making Emma’s stomach swoop and her heart pound wildly against the cage of her chest. They were merely holding hands, and yet the pleasing sensation was more than enough for her in that moment. Warmth flushed her body, and she scooted just that little bit closer, returning the pressure of his fingers with her own grip.

Perfectly content, they settled in, making themselves cozy while they watched over Henry and Cocoa snuggled in together, once more fast asleep. Emma could only think how very right it felt as Killian tucked her into his side, his chin resting against the crown of her head as he pulled her close. She may not have known this man long, but her home already felt more complete and whole with the addition of his presence… as if he had always belonged with them.

And when he woke the next morning, still curled next to her on the couch, sunlight streaming through the living room windows and lighting up Emma’s halo of blond hair as she slept on, Killian knew he might well be another stray who had at long last found a home.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @xarandomdreamx @jonesfandomfanatic

@bluewildcatfanatic @laschatzi @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @xsajx

@searchingwardrobes @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @everything-person @4getfulimaginator

@myfearless-love @teamhook @scientificapricot @ohmakemeahercules @grimmswan

@stahlop @kday426 @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @revanmeetra87

She sat bolt upright at the voice—faster than humanly possible—and zeroed in on the source immediately.

Killian stood in the far corner of the room, opposite the window—hiding in the shadows. She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the dim light or a flex of his own magic, but his eyes seemed to shine bright blue even in the dark.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice scratchy with disuse—though that was also kind of just how she sounded now, as if the Darkness had roughened her vocal cords, too. “I thought you were busy opening the portal to hell.”

“Oh, that’s still on my to-do list,” he quipped back, then pushed away from the wall, hips first. “But I might be able to squeeze in something—or someone—else.”

“I’d think I was the last person you’d want to see.”

“Aye,” he said plainly. “And yet—here I am.”

“Why?” If he was just here to taunt her, she wished he’d leave, regardless of the fact she was still happy to see him.

“How lucky for you that you’ve existed thus far as a Dark One and not felt the tug of a summons.”

Shit. She hadn’t intended that. “I wanted any one but you,” she blurted.

He scoffed. “No you didn’t.”

She didn’t have a response for that—not a truthful one, at least, and she’d been withholding that enough. 

“Cozy room you have here,” he went on, eyes scanning around the space as he sauntered closer, his fingers casually dancing over the hilt of Excalibur. “When I saw the real estate listing, this is more how I pictured the interior; must have missed the part about a cave dungeon in the basement.”

“I told you—”

“Nothing,” he finished, angrily, now standing in front of her. It was definitely magic illuminating his irises, because they still beamed an angry blue even though he was backlit by the window. “You’ve said nothing that can explain yourself, love, so don’t try now.”

“Then why did you even bother coming here? You could have left.”

“And miss a prime opportunity to gloat?” He arched an eyebrow and gave a sideways smirk, the one that made his dimple cut through his scruff, but there was nothing playful about it like there usually was. “You know, I spent so many restless nights since we returned to Storybrooke—tossing and turning and wondering why I couldn’t just fall asleep. I chalked it up to you: the fact I didn’t know how to free you—if you even wanted to be freed; missing the feel of you in my arms. Longing to be with you…in other ways.” His gaze drifted down her body to the way her thighs were squeezed together. “Seems you at least know that feeling.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, sounding much more vulnerable than intended—but there was no hiding her desire; not from him—not ever. 

“And why should I do anything to help you with that?” he asked, almost angrily. 

“You don’t have to,” she answered quietly, looking away; the intensity of his gaze was finally too much to bear. “I can handle it myself.”

“I know you can.” She felt something like voyeuristic pleasure coming off of him; was that how he knew to come in the first place? Was there more to their connection than she realized? “I would take much joy in watching your attempts to satisfy yourself, knowing full well you’d never get there—not really.”

“And let me guess—you’d beat one off while I edged myself for ages?” she snapped back, looking back up at him. 

He leaned closer, invading her space until all she could see was his eyes. “I would. But what fun would that be?”

Not a moment later, his lips were pressing against hers—almost tentatively, as if asking permission, but she wasted no time in kissing him back. Instinctively, her hands found his waist and she pulled him closer; she squeezed, unafraid of hurting him for a change, because she wasn’t used to feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was kind of odd that his clothing choices finally swayed towards soft now that he was invulnerable, but maybe that was the point—he didn’t need his armor anymore. 

Meanwhile, her armor was on even thicker; his hand also settled at her side, but tensed against the stiff crocodilian leather of her jacket. “Off,” he whispered—a command she was all too eager to follow. 

She didn’t bother breaking the kiss; she just flicked her hand and stripped herself almost bare, down to the black lacy lingerie she’d taken to wearing lately. Wearing it had always made her feel confident—it was her go-to for a honeytrap—but she’d been waiting for an encounter like this in which to show it off (though she’d hoped it would have been before his memories of Camelot were returned).

She stood and pressed herself against him, quickly becoming aware of the fact that he too was aroused. He groaned mid-kiss as she arched her pelvis against the bulge in his jeans, and she smiled against his lips. 

He might hate her, but apparently, he still wanted her. 

“Almost,” he murmured, breaking the kiss but barely moving away. He reached up to her temple, and then she felt his magic wash over her, somehow both cool and warm—like a sea breeze in the summer sun. His long fingers followed the wave of enchantment, freeing her hair from its severe confines. 

Her locks had been bleached white since that day in the meadow, but now her curls hung as they always had around her face, settling on her bare shoulders. Other than that day on the Jolly Roger, she’d used her pulled-back hair as armor as much as her clothes; this made her feel even more vulnerable than being only in her undergarments did. 

“Much better,” he hummed in appreciation, and then began to trail kisses down her jaw to her neck; she had to bite back a giggle (seriously, a giggle? It really was a good thing no other Dark One had shown up) at the tickle of his thicker beard against her sensitive skin. Meanwhile, her hands drifted to his chest, like they usually did in these moments. 

He shucked off his coat while sucking at her pulse point, making her spine arch with pleasure. Her hands trailed after the shed garment, relishing the feel of his muscles under his shirt, tracing the dips of his collarbones; she couldn’t normally do that with his waistcoats. 

His hand was still tangled in her hair as she reached back up and began to unbutton his top. She barely even thought about it—it had just become part of their evening routine whenever they stayed together, whether they were being intimate or not. He stilled briefly when she undid the first one; she paused, much like he had earlier, asking permission. But he simply began kissing her shoulder again so she plowed on. 

He was fully capable of undressing himself, but god, did she love to do it. She’d be damned (probably literally) if this was the last time she ever did it, but she was still going to savor this moment of almost domestic bliss in the middle of…everything. 

The way his chest hair, his pecs, and then his abs gradually revealed themselves as her fingers slow-danced down his torso always felt like unwrapping a delicious treat—especially once she got to his belt and the waistband of his pants, and had to undo those, too, to untuck his shirt. 

She also took advantage of the opportunity to trace the curve of his ass as her hands slipped under his jeans to remove the tail of his shirt. And smirked when she realized he had nothing on underneath. She (gently) dug her nails into his cheeks to bring him close again; his subsequent gasp made her belly flip—in a good way. 

It had been a while since she had any positive, normal—human—reaction like that; she welcomed it for that reason, too. 

It felt like old times as she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, sliding it down his biceps and over his brace while he guided the straps of her bra off, then deftly unhooked the back clasp and tossed the garment aside. She relished the opportunity to press close to him again, swallowing at the brush of his chest hair against her nipples, as she tugged his jeans down over his narrow hips. They fell to the floor quickly, pulled down by the weight of Excalibur, which hit the carpet with a heavy thud.

His suddenly free erection pressed against her core, but only for a moment before he gently pushed her back against the bed, forcing her to sit as he stepped out of his shoes and wiggled off his pants. (She’d never known there could be something adorable about a waiting cock wiggling—and she didn’t dare voice it now—but…well, it was.)

Then he was on top of her, pressing her back onto the mattress and kissing her within an inch of her life. It was probably a good thing they were immortal at the moment, because they weren’t stopping to take a breath. 

He gripped her waist and she buried her fingers in his shaggy locks—something she’d been longing to do ever since he stopped cutting it in Camelot. It was silky soft and gave her more to hold on to than she normally had, letting her angle him just where she wanted him. Everywhere they touched felt like sparks against her skin, stoking the fire growing in her center.

She was starting to get desperate for some friction. Actually, it seemed like they both were; there was a sense of urgency to this whole encounter that wasn’t their usual style. But given the way things were, she didn’t really care—she just wanted him. And so she arched her pelvis against his, feeling the brush of his cock against the lace of her panties; it almost touched where she wanted but—not quite.

“Eager, are we?” he purred, and then she felt his fingers flex against her side—but also felt that warm-cool sensation as a result of his magic, and realized the lace was now gone. She then shivered—it felt like his thumb was pressing on her clit, but his hand was still on her waist.

“That’s a n-nice t-trick,” she stammered, as the pressure changed. 

“I’ve been hoping to try this,” he replied, then returned his attentions to her mouth, his hand wandering up to her breast—but still there was the sensation of his fingers dancing outside her entrance.

She gave in to sensations—not that there was much else she could do. Her hands gripped the quilt just to give her an anchor in the wave of bliss that was about to wash over her. Oh god, she was so close; she could feel her walls beginning to tighten, that spool of pleasure fully wound inside her—just a few more (invisible) strokes—

And then it slowly dissipated. She blinked—she hadn’t even realized she was squinting her eyes shut—and saw him hovering over her smugly. “I couldn’t let you come that easily, could I?” he teased. There was a familiar amount of humor in his tone, but edged with the malice that had colored it since he remembered their shared curse.

Well, two could play this game. She drew the fingers of her right hand into a circle and squeezed the air; his ensuing hiss told her that he felt the mimicked sensation on his cock. So she did it again—a few times, actually—until he too was on the brink of release, head thrown back, the cords of his neck on display as he panted, and then let go.

“Oh, you saucy little—” His words were cut off by her grabbing his shoulders and pulling his mouth to hers once more; it was nice to know she was always capable of kissing away his sassy one-liners.

It didn’t take long for them both to get keyed up again—not that they’d really come down at all—and as good as the brush of his length against her folds felt, she wanted more. Given the increasingly erratic pace of his kisses and breaths, he did, too. 

Before she could say anything, though, he spoke up. 

“Emma, I need—”

She stilled, gripping his shoulders. He hadn’t called her Emma since his memories returned. It was always ‘Swan’ or ‘love’, the haze of the Darkness coloring even his pet names.

But when she cupped his face and looked in his eyes this time, there was nothing blocking her view—just the pure blue she’d come to love. This was him, entirely.

“Killian, yes—I need you, too,” she answered, near tears. 

Without further pause, he moved back and slid in perfectly. They stopped for a moment there, feeling the initial relief of being together. 

She looked up and he was squinting his eyes and shaking his head a bit—as if trying to stay in the moment but something wanted to pull him away. She had a good feeling she knew what. So she reached up to brush away the hair that had fallen over his face, then placed her free hand on his other cheek. “Hey,” she murmured. “Stay with me.”

He relaxed at her touch and opened his eyes. “Always,” he said softly, voice rough with emotion. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said urgently, and found his lips once more. 

They began to move simultaneously, not wasting any further moments as they chased a shared release. She pressed her heels into his backside, urging him on, but it didn’t take long until she was there, cresting over the edge of bliss and free falling down the other side. The only thing holding her to reality was Killian’s warm skin under her hands; she could tell by the way he stilled shortly after that he’d found his own release, too. 

She held on to him tight. He pulled out, but stayed close, too, as if she was his anchor in the storm—and wasn’t that kind of what they were to each other, especially in this moment?

What lay ahead—for them, for everyone—she didn’t know. But right now, she had this, and she wasn’t letting it go. 

For a while there—she was decidedly not looking at the alarm clock, so she didn’t know (or care) how long exactly—they lay entwined, breathing in sync. She honestly hadn’t paid attention to her own heart beat in weeks, but when she placed her ear against his chest, she heard the reassuring thump-thump of his that gave her hope they’d both get out of this relatively unscathed.

If their hearts still beat for each other, then what on earth could separate them?

Eventually, though, he shifted away from her and rose from the bed. A flick of his wrist cleaned the residue of their encounter from both of them and, facing away from her, he grabbed his jeans from where they’d been left and pulled them back on.

“You don’t have to go,” she told him, bringing her knees to her chest as she perched on the edge of the mattress. (If she was sad to see his ass get covered up in denim, well, that was her business.)

No sooner had he redone the clasp of his sword belt when his shirt and jacket also reappeared on his form. He turned around, and she stilled a bit, almost sadly—the warmth that had been in eyes just before they came was gone; the Darkness was back in its place.

“I don’t have to, no—but I want to,” he said, unfeelingly. “Things to do, people to see—you know how it is. But thank you for the distraction, love. See you ‘round.”

The dark red smoke she’d come to recognize as his color of magic surrounded him, and then he was gone.

Well. Fuck.

Really, she should have expected it to end this way. There was still so much crap for them to get through. But…couldn’t they have had just this one night?

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, an echo of where she was earlier. Her body was cool to the touch, but she didn’t shiver; still, she got under the covers, if only because it was what she was used to.

Out of habit, she stuck to one side of the bed. She looked over at the empty half. She’d fix this soon enough, and he’d be back at her side.

A glance at the clock told her she had plenty of time left tonight to mull it over. At least she was able to think it over a bit more clearly, without her libido getting in the way. (That’s what she was telling herself, at least.)

And that’s how she spent the rest of the night: watching the moonlight continue to make its way across the wall—trying to make sure she didn’t spend another night restless and alone.

—————————————-

thanks for reading! Tagging some friends (including the fabulous and supportive Word Forge): @ohmightydevviepuu @shireness-says @iverna @thejollyroger-writer @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @initiala @idoltina

@xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @colinoeyebrows @pirateherokillian @annytecture @stubblesandwich @wingedlioness @scientificapricot @snowbellewells @searchingwardrobes @jrob64