#cs oneshot

Gradually, as the stacks around him regained their peaceful quiet, Killian’s mind drifted back to the concerns he had been mulling before meeting his friend at the library doors that morning. If he were honest, the lingering worries never retreated far, simply crouched in the back corners of his mind like some beast waiting to pounce in a vulnerable moment. Oh, he was happy - more so than he had ever dared to hope or even envision for himself - but for all his happiness and fulfillment these days, he was dogged by the fear that he wasn’t worthy of such joy. Instead, he found himself waiting for all his treasures to be snatched away; the haunting refrain that warned “Villains don’t get happy endings” was never far from repeating in his brain. The images that accompanied such fears sometimes drove sleep from him, even as he held a slumbering Emma close in his arms in the home they had made a safe haven together. One such nightmare flashed across his inner eye even as he stretched to place a weathered volume on the top shelf - the image of Henry, marked for the Underworld at his own bidding - causing him to flinch away and drop the leatherbound book on the floor at his feet.

Cursing to himself, Killian bent to retrieve the aged manual - on navigation of all things, his brow furrowing at the irony - and looking it over conscientiously. He and Belle may have long since put their troubled past behind them and become dear friends - almost kindred spirits, now that their opposing feelings about her estranged husband no longer stood between them - but she would still verbally flay him if he carelessly damaged a rare and irreplaceable book. 

Bowing his head for a moment, Killian sifted frustrated fingers through his hair with a quick, impatient gesture, before clutching the metal of the book cart tightly and holding on as he forced several deep, cleansing breaths before carrying on with his task. He even screwed his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to blank everything from his mind and start fresh. Of course, he had also assumed he was still alone in the few stolen vulnerable moments.

He found that was not the case as he raised his head to see Belle standing at the end of the row, her brow crinkled with concern and her eyes wide with sympathy. She didn’t speak, kindly holdng her tongue rather than immediately launching into saccharine comfort and the attempts at hopeful advice that he could almost hear his well-intentioned mother-in-law offering in Belle’s place. Sighing, Killian shook his head in disgust at his own display out in the open, that he couldn’t have just held it in a bit longer.

While Belle might not be one for idle chatter or offering empty platitudes, she was a kind (and stubborn) enough not to let what she had witnessed go undiscussed either. Her erstwhile friend was clearly struggling with something, and Killian knew she would hold on like a bulldog until he unburdened himself.

He stood straighter and scratched behind his ear with a bit of a sheepish grin. “Quiet civilian life must be getting to me, love,” he attempted to distract her jokingly. “I didn’t even hear you coming.”

Belle didn’t humor his attempt with a response. Instead she came forward wordlessly, until she stood right before him, despite still having to peer upwards to look him directly in the face, even with her high heels. She might be tiny, but she wasn’t going to give him an inch; he could see that already.

Killian hoped those patrons she had welcomed earlier had already found their books, been checked out, and were gone, because he honestly hoped they were alone if he were going to cave this easily. As well as searching his weary face, her small, delicate hand came to rest atop his, gently squeezing with friendly concern until he released the metal handle he had been gripping and returned the soft pressure.

Almost as though she could sense him trying to rebuild his defenses, Belle shook her head, angled a knowingly quirked brow at him and pushed forward. Not that it would take as much prodding as he would wish, Killian admitted to himself grudgingly; the weight on his mind was reaching a point that it had to go somewhere.

“Come now,” her accented tone poked at the cracking dam he was barely holding together, “we both know those Captain’s instincts are still intact. You have something else on your mind, Killian. That’s plain to see. Is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head in denial, but it wouldn’t have even convinced Mr. Smee, much less the brilliant and astute librarian before him. Killian dropped his gaze to the spines of the books again instead, avoiding her incisive stare.

“Come now,” Belle persisted, her voice taking on just a note of urgency as she shifted back into his line of sight, pulling the book cart away from him slightly and forcing him to look up once more. “Are we friends, or aren’t we? You gave me your ship as a place to stay when I left Rumple. You and Emma both have been lifesavers and so supportive as I’ve struck out on my own. We can talk about tea flavors, and the Dewey decimal system, how to work the computers, and the merits of Byron over Keats, but we can’t discuss what really matters?”

Killian blew out a harsh breath, his shoulders slumping as he slowly accepted that he was going to allow her to wheedle every one of his fears and concerns out of hiding. Part of him was almost relieved, even as the rest of him feared what Belle would think of his weakness, and what he would do once it had all been spoken aloud. Would putting words to the visions that dogged him bring them fully into reality?

“Killian,” Belle urged once more, her eyes so earnest and caring, “give me a chance to try to help you, to be there for you now, like you’ve done for me.”

And then Killian simply let the tension go in a rush. Looking into the concerned face of a friend who truly cared, and might even be able to shed some light on the situation, he finally conceded, with an almost whispered, “Aye, if you wish, lass.”

Nodding smartly, Belle turned, pulling him along back to the circulation desk and indicating he sit on one of the two tall stools behind it. Killian did so without argument, watching her cross the large room with heels click-clacking on the wood floor to close the library early for lunch. Once she returned, rounding the counter to join him, she gave him a sweet, reassuring pat on the shoulder and moved toward the Keurig she kept for brewing hot water. “I think this might call for some tea, don’t you?” she soothed.

Killian swallowed around the lump in his throat and simply nodded in agreement. Watching her, he marveled - not for the first time - how she moved so gracefully while balancing perched on such tall splindly heels, but she seemed to do so without thought, second nature.

Soon, Belle was bringing two steaming mugs over and perching like a delicate bird on the stool beside him. She looked to him as he wrapped a hand around the warmly comforting ceramic, but didn’t rush him, merely waited patiently. 

And whether it was the pure and simple need for release, or Belle’s inherent goodness inspiring trust, Killian finally began to speak. Letting out a long gust of air, his words flowed quickly after. “I don’t want to complain - I have nothing to complain about. In truth, my life is so much more than a former pirate - a villain - like me could ever hope to deserve.” He paused here, intense blue eyes beseeching her to understand that point before he went any further.

Belle nodded, taking a tiny sip from her mug and waiting for him to continue.

At least somewhat reassured, his words continued to pour from trembling lips, a torrent loosed at long last. “Knowing my unworthiness of a True Love and such wonderful family and friends - “ he saw Belle’s mouth open as if to argue in his defense, but hurried on, stopping her. “No, don’t deny it. I know that to be true. Regardless, it all seemed too good to last… as if it could vanish at any moment. And it would serve me right, I suppose, to lose it all, after some of the wicked things I’ve done. But I couldn’t bear to have something happen to them… those I love… Henry… Emma.”

The librarian’s eyes welled with unshed tears, hurting for this man who had once been a vengeful adversary but now counted as one of her dearest friends. She understood his concern immediately - though she hardly agreed with his self-assessment - and her tender heart ached for the torment he was putting himself through. 

A sad little quirk of her lips turned up the top corner of her mouth as she replied, “You’re so much worthier of happiness than you ever give yourself credit for, Killian. I can’t think of anyone who has done more to right the wrongs of their past.”

They sat together in silence for several lingering moments, sipping their tea and each perhaps thinking on previous mistakes. Belle wanted to think Killian’s lack of argument against her words might mean he was taking them to heart, but she also knew his self-recrimination and guilt ran deep. This wasn’t the first time she had tried to convince him that the changes he’d made - for Emma, but also for himself, to be the man he wanted to be at heart - mattered.

When it seemed as though Killian was not preparing to speak further, she couldn’t help adding, “I often felt Rumple feared the same things - that anything good would be snatched away from him.” She met Killian’s eye with a rueful expression, before her gaze fell once more to her hands wrapped around her drink. “Unfortunately, rather than showing his care and concern as you do, he held tighter to his power in hopes of keeping his treasures, and ended up losing them anyway.”

Killian gave her his own rather broken smile while reaching out to take one of her hands with the same friendly press of fingers she had offered him. He knew it was far from easy for Belle to speak of her own Love’s failings to place people above his quest for strength and control. She rarely brought up the man for whom she had sacrificed so much  - only to find her faith misplaced horribly in the end - and the fact that she would do so to show how much she did understand his fear spoke volumes in itself.

“You are indeed a rare treasure, lass,” Killian murmured, hoping that she would take him at his word. Belle deserved so much more than the heartache his old foe had given her time and again. “The Crocodile must surely be kicking himself now, having only that dagger to hold and having lost you.”

They settled into a more comfortable calm for a few moments, nursing their wounds and finishing their rapidly cooling tea. In some small way, just voicing some of his concerns had made Killian feel a bit better; perhaps he might do well to continue, now that he had started.

“Well, though I don’t claim to treasure anything more than Emma, that hardly means I can shield her from all ills or harm. Too much has happened for me to feel at all secure in her permanent safety. More to the point, she is nearly seven months along in her pregnancy. And while I realize that this modern world boasts much progress toward the health and comfort of expectant mothers, I cannot help but fear something might go wrong. I already love our little one beyond reason, even without yet meeting her, and I know there would be no surviving either her or Emma’s loss.”

Belle merely twined her fingers with his at that, holding tighter in solidarity. There weren’t any perfect words for that particular fear; only time would bear it out. Modern medicine was truly marvelous compared to what they had once known in the Enchanted Forest, but even so, there were no guarantees when it came to labor and delivery. It was a much safer bet, but still not without risk.

For his part, Killian no longer seemed to need further prompting. He had lanced the wound, so to speak, and seemed determined to have it all out.

His voice dropped even lower as he voiced one last concern, enough so that Belle had to lean in further to hear. “And even if all goes as planned, if our little lass is born hale and hearty, and Emma is perfectly well, how can I possibly be the father she will need? My own father was far from a good example. And though I love Henry dearly, and have done my best by him as he has allowed me to be a surrogate in Bae’s stead, he was already such a good lad that I doubt my dubious influence could have done him much harm. The gift of having a family, of a place to belong, is a precious one. One that can be all too fleeting. I wish to be a father that a true Prince or Princess deserve, and... I just do not know that I am…” The last part went almost unheard as it escaped on a breath of near-defeat.

But Belle was having none of that. Where she had been coaxing and gentle, needing to be certain she understood his crisis and wanting to help, she sat up straight abruptly, her manner suddenly morphing into something much more forceful. She could sympathize with his self-doubt, certainly, but he also had to be snapped from its grip. 

“Killian Jones! You listen to me!” she bristled, nearly scolding him with her intensity. “That is the furthest thing from the truth. In fact I’m quite certain you are the only person in this town - much less of those who know you well - who would speak of you so harshly. And if you think I’m only attempting to make you feel better or simply being nice,” she shook her head so rapidly that her brown locks swung out in all directions before her eyes narrowed to bore into him, “well, think again! You forget that I once knew just how cold and single-minded your revenge had made you. We’ve quite the speckled past you and I, Killian, so much so that I once accused your heart of being rotten and meant every word.”

Killian sighed and the memory, clear regret clouding the blue as he started, “Aye, and you were well within reason to do so, considering - “ before she interrupted again tartly. 

“I’m not finished, Captain! And I’ll thank you not to interrupt.” For just a second, a playful glow flickered in her deep, chocolate gaze, before her tone gentled slightly and her serious expression returned. “No, I wasn’t right to say that at all.” She spoke distinctly, her belief clear in every word. “I had not been told the truth, nor could I understand all that had happened to lead you down the path you took and set you on your course for revenge. Besides that, though you may not have been blameless, we all have done things we wish to take back, that in hindsight we would wish to erase if it were possible. We hardly saw eye-to-eye in our previous acquaintance, but I find now that there is hardly anyone I would trust more. Your heart was never truly Dark at its core, and I was wrong to think so. I would hate to see you deny yourself the same grace - particularly when everyone else has granted it long ago.”

For some time he struggled to respond to all that Belle had said. He could see that she meant every word, but it was harder to allow himself to believe it in turn. Too much loss, too many lifetimes of bitter loneliness made the light and love he enjoyed with each day in the present seem a dream from which he would yet have to wake. Struggling to force his voice through his throat tightening with emotion, he answered hoarsely. “You truly believe all that, lass? That others have forgiven me… and that I have gained a full measure of redemption?”

“Well,” Belle hedged, bright teasing in her eyes sparking and then flitting away, “probably not from Rumple,” she shrugged, “but he has issues of his own.”

A loud guffaw was startled from Killian’s chest at that, but when she continued, he could only blink away moisture in the corners of his eyes before it could fall and smile at her in gratitude.

Standing, Belle squeezed his shoulder with one small hand as she moved to round the counter and reopen the library doors. “But yes, Killian,” she whispered near his ear, “excepting that one dubious holdout, I really do.”

Warmth spread through him, all the way from his toes, and pleasantly expanded his chest. It was a feeling that actually succeeded in lightening the load he’d been carrying on his shoulders in a way little else he’d tried had been able to do. Perhaps he honestly did need to begin believing what his friend was saying. A lighterhearted grin than he had felt in some time crossed his face, leading into a laugh once more as Belle paused just short of unlocking the doors. “And Killian? Though I do want you to take my word on this, talk with Emma too. I know she wouldn’t want you carrying this alone. Let her be there for you - just like she’s always telling me you are for her.”

Killian nodded, promising he would do exactly that. Trust the brightest person he knew to have the simplest and most fitting advice.

** ~ ** ~ **

By the time he had finished his usual tasks at the library, been to the market, and ascertained that Henry was safely ensconced at the Charmings’ for the night, playing with his young uncle and seeking Mary Margaret’s advice on some school youth leadership project he hadn’t fully comprehended, Killian found it was nearing the time his lovely Swan would return home for dinner. Having done the shopping especially because he sought to have a homemade meal awaiting her, Killian hurried into the kitchen, intent on his task. Not only did he want to get her off her feet and treat her to a massage after a long day protecting and serving their crazy little town (neither he nor her father had been able to convince her to take her maternity leave a day before the two weeks to the due date recommended, despite the concerns he had voiced about a more mature pregnancy and their finances easily being able to allow for longer.) Killian hadn’t been about to call her an older expectant mother as Dave had done and wound up sporting blue hair for a night, nor did he even begin to think it wise to refer to it as a “geriatric pregnancy” as the OBGYN they’ve been seeing outside town had referred to it. He could feel Emma’s tension and the tighter squeeze of his hand every time the term was uttered, and he didn’t fancy a similar frustrated blast of magic from his wife. He would bet quite a few doubloons that their little one would be magic as well, merely by the fact that any spell Emma cast these days, accidentally or on purpose, seemed to pack double the punch. Regardless, even if he did wish his Swan would slow down a bit and take it easier on herself, he was wise enough to know he didn’t have much room to speak on that front. Like him, Emma seemed driven to work harder, to do all she could to somehow feel deserving of the happiness and belonging she now felt after hungering after it for so long. The least he could do was see her taken care of before he fully opened his heart and mind to share with her - as he should have done long ago.

Once Emma did arrive, Killian heard her call out a greeting even as the front door shut behind her, and he heard the two distinct thunks of her boots hitting the wall as she removed them and tossed them haphazardly toward the space where his own shoes were placed neatly.

After calling out that he was in the kitchen, he only had to wait a few more moments before Emma appeared in the arched doorway from the hall, a pleased smile stretching across her radiant face as she saw the salad and full bread basket already on the table, pasta sauce simmering merrily on the stove, and Killian just turned from draining pasta at the sink to greet her.

“Evening, Love,” he offered. “I hope you’re hungry, because everything’s ready for you.”

Emma’s brows arched at him, clearly wondering what had prompted such a feast, but she only moved toward her seat at the table, grateful affection on her face for him. “I can see that,” she teased gently. 

Killian brought the last two dishes over and sat down across from his wife, seemingly drinking her in avidly, though they had only been parted for the hours of her work day. “Well, it’s the least I could do,” he quipped back.

Soon they were eating, words unneeded as the meal began and they enjoyed each other’s presence. Killian couldn’t help his anxious energy, knowing the conversation he needed to have with her, but he also found himself charmed all over again by her enthusiasm for the simplest things, digging into the garlic bread with gusto and savoring the fragrant red sauce, making what he called adorable “yummy” noises even as she shoveled another forkful. When she finally paused to swallow, Swan exclaimed, “Killian, seriously?! How are you such a good cook, along with everything else you’re ridiculously wonderful at?  I would have ruined every bit of this - except maybe the salad - and it is all delicious. There’s nothing ‘the least’ about coming home to a spread like this after a long day.”

Reaching across the table to squeeze her hand, Killian attempted to hide the blush that rose on his cheeks at her compliments and gratitude. Saying only, “Let’s say then that it is nothing more than you deserve, Love. How’s that? And I am thrilled you are so enjoying the offering.” He couldn’t help marvelling that Belle’s reassurance of that morning had been echoed in Emma’s comments already, without her even knowing what was on his mind to share with her. It seemed unfathomable that his guiding light, his beautiful Swan, and his undisputed Savior could find him to be just the one she needed, could ever use the word wonderful to describe his skill or his person - and yet, she did. It was a healing, humbling gift, to say the least.

At length, they had finished eating and moved together to the cozy loveseat in their quiet living room once the table was cleared and the dishwasher loaded. They sat close together, but Emma did not immediately snuggle into his chest as she often did when they nestled there on evenings alone. It was probably just as well, Killian knew, as she could have easily distracted him with her mere proximity.

However, Emma seemed to read him just as well as he often did her, instead facing him and taking both his hand and hook in her own hands before whispering, “Now, Pirate, what’s on your mind? I can tell you have something you need to say, and I’m here. I’m listening. We understand each other, remember?”

Killian nodded and finally, slowly, but with a sense of true release, began to share what had been plaguing his thoughts: the sense of impending doom to counter his happiness, the dogged unworthiness he felt - of Henry, of her family, and especially her, the inadequacy he feared in being a good father, and more terrifying that any of the rest, the devastation her could not survive if anything were to happen to her or their unborn child. His hand, still joined with hers, came to rest easily on her rounded stomach with a protective, cradling touch, as his words haltingly came to an end.

They were both still, feeling for a movement beneath their fingers, and then meeting eyes in awe when the little one kicked in greeting. For one moment of time, despite all that had been troubling him, none of it could touch them and things were close to perfect.

Emma smiled at him, wide and beaming and like the sun breaking through clouds after a rain. Even the fact that she was also blinking back emotional tears couldn’t dim the look on her face. She raised the hand that held the shining curve of his hook, pressing the cool metal to her breast as she spoke emphatically, voice quavering but determined. Their joined hands over her stomach had not moved, and their little one responded with kicks and movement once more, as if to emphasize her mother’s words. “See how strong she is, Babe? Just feel her in there, excited to meet us! She is going to be fine.” Emma released her grip on his hook to cup his scruffy cheek in her palm and draw him closer, until their foreheads nearly touched. “I know that something could still go wrong; that certainly isn’t unheard of around here, and with all you and I have been through, I know it’s easy to start dreading when the good things will fall apart. All the same, I’m learning to have a little faith, to believe that some things are meant to be, and to have hope that miracles like our life together, and this little one, can happen. This place, my family, Henry… and you, Killian, have taught me that.”

“You’re right, of course, Love,” Killian managed to rasp after a few beats where he struggled to speak at all, completely overcome.

Emma leaned into his gentle ministrations for several moments as he pressed his lips to her forehead and used somewhat trembling fingers to brush tears from her cheeks. Both knew the tears were joyous ones, and neither of them were dry-eyed at this point, but he still couldn’t stop the gesture.

Looking back at him again, Emma finished her speech, knowing she had to get this last bit said as well. “You promised me once that you would always be by my side. And surely you know by now that I mean to do the same for you. Yes, there are some risks and uncertainties, but that’s life. You and I know that better than most. Still, I have no intention of going anywhere; I’m a survivor just as much as you are, Pirate.” She offered a crooked smile before pressing on. “Even if something were to go wrong, we can’t let it steal from the good moments we have now. If we aren’t enjoying these moments, then whatever future bad thing that might happen has already done its damage. Aye?”

This last pitiful attempt to mimic his accent made Killian release a chuckle and shake his head at her effort to soothe him, and to break the tension. She was right, naturally; he was tormenting himself over eventualities which might never come to pass.

“Aye, Love,” he murmured, “right you are.”

“And I know - I’ve seen proof of it, and I just know it in my heart - that you’re going to be a wonderful father to this baby. No matter what happens, you would never give up, because you would never leave her alone the way we both were. So let’s have no more talk of you not being able to survive… We both know better.”

Killian still couldn’t bear to imagine having to face life without her. He had been there, and he couldn’t stand to go back. Yet, he also felt and accepted the truth of her words deep in his soul. There was nothing else for it but to admit that Emma knew best.  She fully relaxed against him as he pulled her close, her head resting over his heart as she snuggled into his side. “As you wish,” Killian conceded softly, running his hands through her hair.

A muffled, rather wet-sounding laugh came from Emma after several minutes, tickling against the bare skin at his unbuttoned collar. “You do realize you’ve now got me calling the baby a ‘she’ too, even though we agreed not to find out the gender. You know that, right?”

Killian laughed along with her, grateful to move into a happier moment, to imagine the joy when they met their new daughter  and saw her for themselves, and to finally let himself feel more of the thrill and anticipation instead of the crippling doubt that had taken him over. Holding her closer still, he thrilled at the shiver of pleasure that ran through his wife’s frame as his lips brushed along her jaw to rumble in her ear, “I do realize that. And what a strong, brave, brilliant lass she’ll be too.”

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“Oh, so she did come after all. Will wonders ever cease?”

“But look what she’s wearing. Red leather? What kind of message does that send?”

“And jeans no less. Non-designer.”

“The woman wouldn’t know designer if it slapped her senseless.”

“Wait, are those… converse?”

“What in the world is a converse?”

“A tennis shoe. No – worse – a sneaker.”

That last revelation caused a certified twittering among the judgmental Moms behind Emma. As if anyone in the world, with money or not, was unaware of what a Converse was. That was a universal name, and she was pretty sure even celebrities deigned to wear them now and again. But these mothers were completely over the top and almost laughable in their disdain, trying to climb higher in their little social strata by putting her down on all levels. The constant insults thrown her way stung, but Emma tried her best to ignore them, crossing into the threshold of Ms. Blanchard’s classroom after wandering through the maze that was Henry’s elementary school.

Scanning the classroom for some sort of haven, Emma noted that there were seats to the side and in the middle. Excellent. The best place to fade into the background was off to the side. Despite the beliefs of many, the back of a room wasn’t the place to get lost, and the first time she’d chosen the back at Henry’s 3rd grade open house, the whispers continued. When Emma overcorrected for the 4th grade showing and sat in the front, she was expected to participate and her answers sparked more comments than they merited. Now, with Henry in 5th grade, her only hope was to shrug off her jacket and pray for mercy while claiming a seat to the side and in the center row. Thankfully, mercy came in the form of a petite woman with a dark brown pixie cut.

“Good evening parents, guardians, and distinguished guests. Welcome to Misthaven’s parent/teacher conference. I’m Mary Margaret Blanchard as you all know, and it’s been my absolute pleasure to teach your children so far this year.”

“Of course it’s a pleasure!” A voice screeched out, like nails on a chalkboard, and terribly timed. Mary Margaret had only just begun her welcome, but it didn’t matter to this self-absorbed socialite. “My Bartholomew is a prodigy and a predetermined master of many things.”

Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing and fought valiantly to ward off an eye roll. The ‘prodigy’ in question, aside from having a laughable name in the modern era, was also the son of one of most annoying women alive. Zelena Gold thought the sun rose and set in deference to her and her wealthy family. Her own lineage was of questionable origins. She was ‘descended of some of the world’s most remarkable people.’ And that wasn’t paraphrasing, that was a direct quote Emma could recite from memory for how much she’d heard it. No telling if those people were royals or robber barons. Emma would guess they were run of the mill harpies, but she knew better than to say that.

Zelena’s husband, who notoriously went by only his last name, was seated beside her, glowering but dressed with precision and opulence in mind. Gold’s money came from nearly everything, and his reputation across the city stemmed from a reptilian coldness and calculated nature. It was clear he held no affection for his wife. Indeed, if he cared even remotely for his child it would be shocking. Like most of the men here, care for their sons was more about preparing an heir and securing a legacy than genuine love. It all gave Emma the creeps. How someone could have children and feel so little was beyond her, but she’d seen it over and over again. Hell, she’d been dropped off at a fire station without so much as a note as a baby. She was well versed in rejection and parental abandonment.  

“Our class is blessed with so many talented and intelligent students this year,” Ms. Blanchard replied with calm in the face of calamity. Henry always talked about how much he admired his teacher, but Emma could see why. She was handling the mess, but not debasing herself to do so. “And that actually brings us to some exciting news. The 5th grade learning modules are adding a new unit this year centered on being mindful citizens and caretakers. Research shows children who practice their empathy and giving to others when they are still young are much more likely to –,”

“More likely to waste their time working with no earnings of note or to form a tiresome save the world complex.”

Ah, Arthur King, new money millionaire, tech titan, and if Emma had to guess, B-list embezzler. She hadn’t done any actual research into that, but there were enough rumblings in her work and plenty of red flags just in King’s mannerisms for her to be on alert. She gave him five years, maybe ten, before the world came crashing in on him for some reason or other. Guys like him always had a monumental crash and burn moment.

“My son doesn’t need elementary empathy bootcamp, Ms. Blanchard. He needs order and routine. The only way he’ll take over King industries someday is if Malcolm learns a little discipline.”

“Misthaven blends the best of both, Mr. King, I assure you.”

Emma was impressed. Mary Margaret was firm but still polite enough to get away with it. Disagreeing, or even holding steady against people in this sphere was a dangerous game. Emma wondered if this world was familiar to Mary Margaret beyond teaching experience. It wasn’t easy managing people like this, and it seemed to take a lifetime of fancy lessons and feisty in-fighting to get a handle on the dos and donts of Manhattan’s elite.

“It better be the best for what we’re paying,” another woman said.

“Well, what some of us are paying.”

Emma didn’t look away from Mary Margaret, watching as Henry’s instructor let her mask slip, and a pronounced frown formed at her lips. Her eyes filled with concern and then a not so small amount of anger. The judgment in tone and the subtle way the snarky voice sounded towards her told Emma all she needed to know: this grouchy and gauche group was united in one thing, a deep disdain for students like her son.

Henry was actually a prodigy, testing at a remarkable percentile in math and reading while also taking to nearly everything else he tried with ease. He was the only 5th grader she knew with a command of piano, painting, and Plato. Seriously, her kid was reading Plato at 10, and Emma was just along for the ride. When the chance to come to Misthaven presented itself, she said yes, knowing Henry would be better served in a school with the most competitive academics. The downside was the closed-mindedness. So far it wasn’t an issue for Henry in the classroom. The kids were still kind at this age and he had a great teacher who had compassion and care. These parents though… they were ruthless and resentful.

Don’t let them see you sweat, Emma. They’re no better than you. You’re worth just as much as they are. You are enough. No one can take that from you.

It was painful that she’d had to resort to these affirmations, ones she learned at the instruction of the only caring case worker she’d ever had. They were the only words to get her through high school, and even they couldn’t keep her enrolled the whole time. She’d run away at 16, and only after having Henry did Emma finish her GED. She’d managed to earn her BA in forensic science last year as well, after working and trying to balance everything she could for Henry through the course of his young life. But these people didn’t care about how impossible that had seemed until it was done. If anything, majoring in a relevant discipline aimed at helping her ‘little detective business’ was something to be mocked and not encouraged.

While she silently counseled herself to stay strong, the door opened, completely rerouting the energy of the night. All eyes flew to whoever was brave enough to interrupt,  and Emma was caught immediately in the sight of the man before her. Wow, he was… well she didn’t really know how to phrase it. He was so…

“Sweet Lord in heaven, that man is the sweetest sight for the sorest eyes.”

The whispered words came from of the mothers behind her. It was completely out of the realm of speak for this group. This woman was southern, and her assessment didn’t blend so easily here, but Emma agreed with this southern transplant. She might not have said it quite like that, but to claim otherwise would be a lie. Handsome was putting it mildly. This man was gorgeous.

Dark features and deep blue eyes were the first things Emma noticed about him. The combo was known to be lethal, but this guy took it to a new level. It had been ages since a man made Emma feel anything more than mild interest, but this was instant and incandescent. Like lightning slicing through a first summer storm, crackling and tantalizing but dangerous too. The feeling was so sudden and compelling that it almost stole her breath. Her heart rate kicked up, her senses locked in, and though she never did this, she started to tune out her surroundings and focus solely on him. The rest of the world seemed of little importance in this moment. She was preoccupied with a man so hot it was sinful.

During her blatant perusal, Emma took in everything she could, and she was struck by his commanding presence without speaking a single word. Swagger was what people usually called it, but now she knew the word was overused. Emma was certain that a term like that was made for a man like this, who even in a moment of potential embarrassment was cool and collected. His body was fit, and his clothes made that as clear as possible. This was why people paid for custom suits. The classic charcoal gray garments were made for him, transforming that roughish and rough appeal that he’d no doubt always possess into something more presentable.

Emma pictured him at the end of a conference table, stories above the city, in one of the downtown skyscrapers. He’d fit there, exuding the command and power of a competent corporate captain, but then she had a flash of something else, an image of him in a more relaxed setting. Dark lighting but with a warm glow, hair mussed, eyes smiling. Casual and honest, transformed from who he was here to something even more tantalizing. She felt caught in the fantasy, wondering if there was more to this mysterious stranger. Then he spoke aloud, cutting through the tension.

“Apologies, lass. You must be Ms. Blanchard.”

Oh God that voice – that accent – this had to be a set-up of some kind, right? She almost searched around for hidden cameras, but that would have required looking away, and Emma wasn’t so sure that was possible. Like the rest of the room, she was caught up in the moment too tightly. She prided herself on calm and control. She could only hope the staring was coming across as mild interest and not something far more awkward.

“Oh, um, well, yes. I am… sorry, and you are?”

“Rather late, as it were. Continue, please.”

Dismissing the question about his identity, the man looked around the sea of chairs for an empty spot. Emma’s stomach flipped against her will. She knew the only remaining seat was the one beside her. His eyes scanned the crowd of self-absorbed parents until finding it. He made his way there. Emma watched as he took a seat, and she was stunned at his ability to look so good while perched in these silly school desks. She also noted his being here alone. Was he a single Dad? Or maybe part one of those families with multiple children across grades? Automatically she looked to his left hand. No ring. But that didn’t mean all that much in this city.

Focus, Emma. You’re not here to ogle. You’re here for Henry. Henry comes first. Always.

The thought pulled her back to attention. She looked to the front of the room and over to Mary Margaret. Most of the other parents had failed to do so yet, and Emma heard some whispers flitting through the room. Interesting. Whoever he was, it seemed his reputation preceded him. Unable to stop herself, she stole one more glance at the stranger, but this time he was looking at her, with that fire and emotion in his eyes she’d only just imagined. Emma was frozen, but not in fear, instead in fascination. For someone who she’d just clocked as in control and constantly cool, this man had changed direction. She could clearly see the effect she had on him. His expression spoke openly to his interest and attention. It was almost alarming how candid he was being, but all Emma felt was honesty. And heat. Definitely a scorching, raging inferno kind of heat.

“Have we met before, love?” he asked her, his voice a rumbled whisper meant only for her ears. She shivered, then prayed it wasn’t obvious.

“I don’t think so,” she replied, certain that there was no way she’d ever have forgotten a man like this. Still, Emma felt lucky to get anything coherent out at all when the general instinct she had around him was to be totally tongue-tied.

“It’s the strangest thing… I feel as if I know you, but you’re right. There’s no chance that I’d forget you,” he said, as if reading her mind. His eyes took in her features again, his gaze sparking new awareness and prompting swarms of long dormant butterflies to take flight through her chest. The blatant approval and consideration would usually be a turn off, but for the strangest reason, Emma was intrigued and desirous for more.

“Killian Jones,” he murmured before offering her his hand. She stared at him for a second, stunned at the formal greeting, but charmed all the same.

“Emma Swan.”

“Emma,” he murmured in reply, the rough tones of his voice washing over her as his thumb ran the softest trace against her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Is he seriously talking to that charity case?”

Zelena’s lack of manners could only be matched by the shrillness of her voice. It achieved it’s end goal, however, shattering the moment and causing Emma to retreat. She pulled her hand back from Killian, offering him an apologetic smile. His look was far darker, filled with anger on her behalf, and while Emma was touched, she shook her head slightly, trying to tell him it wasn’t worth it. Her gesture did the trick, and though he still seemed displeased, Killian sat back and offered only a cold look to Zelena and Gold. The latter actually had the sense to look shamed, and Emma was amazed to hear the man offer a mumbled request.

“Excuse my wife, Jones. She forgets herself.”

Stunned at her husband’s words, Zelena lost the ability to continue with her judgments aloud, and thankfully Mary Margaret took the opportunity to refocus. Emma shifted her attention to Henry’s teacher once more, grounding herself in the good of this situation. Despite hostility from other parents, her kid was going to get the best that any education system had to offer. She could only imagine how much he would learn, and she knew with his boundless curiosity there would always be more questions and queries.

Ms. Blanchard also clearly had the patience and temerity needed in a truly great teacher. When sharing the efforts of the students so far this term on a particular biology project, she gave great detail but also remained mindful of time. She then managed the question and answer portion of the night with an almost acrobatic skill, deflecting the ridiculous and circling back to the positives. Everything came back to the kids, and that told Emma that she’d made the right choice, no matter the hardships.

Soon enough the bell rang, signaling the end of the parent teacher session, and the start of the ‘tours and treats’ portion of the evening. The mothers who ran the school’s PTA treated this evening like a theme party, and Emma could only imagine what was in store. She stood, gathering her things but thought to herself about what to do next. 

Do I really need to go? I know I should, but…

“If it’s an out your seeking, Swan, I might have just the thing.”

Despite her pretense at being unaffected, Emma never lost track of Killian throughout the conference. Her constant awareness of him was undeniable, but so were the nerves that took hold with someone so attractive nearby. She’d been good at tamping down the need – yes, need – to look at him during the meeting, but now she was helpless to resist. She watched as the last few parents left the room, and then steeled herself for impact. Sure enough, when their eyes met, her heart skipped.

“Why am I not surprised you were the type to ditch class?” Emma asked, going on gut, since she still knew nothing about him. He laughed and she melted a little more, longing to linger in the delicious sound.

“Probably because you’re as bright as your boy. Henry, right?” Emma was shocked and then a bit on edge. How did he know her son? Sensing her discomfort, Killian answered freely. “My niece, Arabella, speaks of Henry often. Quite a pair they make. He appears to be the brains, and Bella the brawn.”

“I’m sorry?” Emma asked, confused on the teasing until she heard another laugh. They both looked to Mary Margaret who was still standing there.

“I hate to be that person eavesdropping. I know, seriously uncool, it’s just… well it’s very accurate. Henry’s the mastermind and Bella handles business.”

“Henry’s not in trouble, is he?” Emma asked, knowing deep down that her kid was better than that, but feeling the compulsion to check all the same.

“Oh no, quite the opposite,” Mary Margaret said, looking at the two of them before something sparked in her eyes and her smile grew wider. “I’m sure Mr. Jones is happy to elaborate. As for skipping out? Normally I advise against it. But in this case, it seems right to make an exception.”

Without another word, Mary Margaret left the room, headed to places unknown and Emma was stunned. Was Henry’s teacher trying to give them alone time? Like a set up? Oh Jesus. Could she handle that? The nerves came rushing back, but then Killian took her hand and all that energy flared to something new, something warm and brilliant and blissful. Just like before, her senses lit up, and her body filled with this aching sense of familiarity. Her heart pounded an unsteady rhythm, but her eyes glanced back at him, seeing the earnest desire shining in his bright blue eyes. Whatever was happening, he was with her in it, and clearly he was interested in seeing this through.

“What do you say, Swan? Do you trust me?”

……

“Do you trust me?”

The question may seem mild enough, but Killian knew, even from this most basic of introductions, that trust was a rare gift bestowed by Emma Swan. He couldn’t blame her, as he felt the same. The world was full of people who took advantage and played the game. They had motives centered in self-interest and many tried to hide that side of themselves until they’d taken you in and used you in ways you hadn’t expected. Knowing how many people had tried to take advantage of him over the years made belief in others often untenable. He had a handful of people he considered himself close with. His brother, Liam, his business partner, David, and his niece, Arabella rounded out the top of that list. That a girl of ten (even if she was going on thirty) was ranked so highly spoke loudly enough about his connectedness to others, but what could he say? He’d been burned before. Badly.

But Emma’s different. I know she is.

The thought flitted through his mind, mirroring the bevy of reflections he’d been processing since meeting her half an hour before. The last place he ever expected to be struck in love was a parent teacher conference, but Liam had begged him to attend in his stead, and Killian couldn’t refuse. Now he was more grateful than he could ever put into words. Never before had he been so glad to be driven to distraction.

Emma was a breath of fresh air and a vision amongst of sea of preening peacocks. With golden hair, jade-colored eyes, and a face and a figure that would haunt a man’s dreams, she was so far beyond stunning. But it was something far deeper than beauty that called to him tonight, something in her manner that couldn’t be denied. He prided himself on being a smart man. One didn’t achieve his kind of success without a brain to build an empire, and as he looked at Emma, he saw a warrior. Strong in the face of resistance, bright in the dark swirl of catty Manhattan moms. She was a marvel, and he was desperate for her reply.

“Yes.”

The answer seemed to surprise Emma almost as much as it encouraged him, but before she could regret it, he took her hand in his once more. He reveled in the sensation of rightness being close to her like this, and when instinct guided his way, he didn’t second guess. He kissed her hand in what some may call an overtly flirtatious move, but the magic of the moment called for something out of the ordinary. He clocked the flush of pink that stained her cheeks, the color that graced her features, and the change in her expression. She was flustered, but happy, and he was proud at sensing what she needed even if she didn’t know herself. Anyone who knew him would hardly recognize him right now, so enchanted by a woman he’d just met, and yet Killian had never felt more himself.

“Thank you. I swear, I won’t let you down.”

“Good.”

With their meaningful agreement, the two of them made an exit from the school, faster than expected, thanks to Emma’s helpful insights. She explained the tendency to check for escape routes as part of her work, and he was intrigued at a woman who chose private investigation for employment. He had no doubt she was brilliant at it, but there was little time to get to the particulars. Soon enough they were out in the New York nighttime, with the hustle and bustle and noise, and he had precious little time to lead them to their destination. Ah, and there was the rub. Because despite his show of confidence, he still wasn’t exactly sure where that destination would be.

“If we’re still in the ‘brainstorm’ phase of this little adventure, I should just say that my babysitter’s got class in the morning. I’ve only got about an hour before she’ll expect me back.”

“I’m in a similar predicament,” he admitted, thinking of his housekeeper, Mrs. Potts, and her duties at home. The older woman would never dream of faulting him for staying late tonight while she watched Arabella, and if she knew it was to pursue a woman like Emma, she’d volunteer for endless service, but he’d like to see Bella before bed. She may be growing up far faster than he wanted, but she still loved a goodnight story from her father or her uncle when the time came.

“What if we split the difference?” she asked him, humor in her eyes as she watched his surprise. “I’ll handle dinner, you handle the date.”

“Ah, so this is a date?” he quipped, his smile so big it nearly hurt. Emma blushed again. She hadn’t meant it that way, but no matter. He’d take what he was given and be glad for it. “Good to know. In that case. I’ve just the place.”

“So do I.” Pulling out her phone she opened an app and then smiled. “And she’s right on time.”

Emma’s confidence was beautiful, even if her words confounded him. He was so taken by her command of the situation that he followed her lead. Her destination was close, in fact, it was a food truck nestled among a crowd of others in a park only half a block away. The crowd was insane here, and on a Tuesday no less. This pop up dining experience had seemingly just begun. Some trucks were still arriving, and windows were all starting to ascend. Killian stayed close as Emma skipped the line at the most flamboyantly decorated caravan. He expected a fight, this was New York after all, but he watched in amazement as many others from the queue greeted Emma warmly. No one took any issue with her approaching the front. Interesting to say the least.

“Okay, I am definitely hallucinating,” a smiling woman with long brown hair jested from inside the truck. “There’s no way that Emma Swan is at my truck tonight. Not when she had a date with the most dreadful people in our fair city.”

“Change of plans,” Emma said with a smile before nodding back to him. The woman looked over and her eyes went big, and then she let loose a wolfish smile.

“And what a change it is. Frankly, he looks like a way better date.”

“I like to think so,” Killian offered in an attempt to pivot from being openly ogled by Emma’s flirtatious friend. “Killian Jones.”

“Ruby Lucas. So, tell me, Killian, what are your intentions with my girl, Emma?”

“Ruby.” Emma’s mortification touched him, and as much as he may like to laugh, he held back in the pursuit of easing her mind.

“They’re completely honorable, but tragically fleeting in the short term. Emma’s agreed to a date, as you’ve surmised, but we’ve only a bit of time before the clock strikes twelve.”

Ruby looked to Emma for clarity and Emma explained the need to get back to the kids. Ruby looked poised to continue her questioning, but she thought better of it, calling back into the truck to her coworker to grab two ‘Emma Specials.’ Before it should be possible, the food was ready, and Emma was bidding her friend goodbye. He took the bag from her grasp, searching for a place to sit, but there was none.

“Don’t worry, this is made for on the go consumption. It’s why she named it for me. Because I’m always on the run.”

Killian was delighted to find she was right, and the grilled, cheesy goodness was beyond anything he could imagine. The layers and flavors, bursting with creativity and unexpected combinations, were amazing. This was quite possibly the best meal he’d had in this city, and it had come from a truck of all places. Equally amazing was how much he enjoyed this on the go approach. He’d always believed a woman should be wined and dined in a more upscale setting, with space, and time and ambiance. But this felt more real, and the difference in the start of this story only confirmed to Killian that it was truly something special.

Emma’s incredible culinary insights also set the bar high for his portion of the night’s events, but he was assured of his choice. Just like with dinner, timing was everything and luck would hopefully be on his side. The place was nearby, and Killian was certain Emma would have never been there before, two obvious reasons for going. It was also a hidden gem of this city along the lines of Ruby’s truck, just in a different way. Ten minute’s walk brought them to the place in question, a stone building nestled among concrete and cement. From the outside, the location was nondescript and some may even say uninteresting, but there was something truly incredible waiting through the doors. The lights in the main room were still on, a good sign for his efforts. Killian clicked the buzzer on the intercom outside and heard the crackle of an old system. Silence. He clicked again. Same thing. One last time and he had the desired effect.

“We’re closed. Opening is tomorrow night.”

“Graham, it’s Killian.”

Immediately the buzzer connected, and Killian pulled open the bronzed grate that had been barred over the doorway. With a hand at the small of her back, Killian led Emma inside and they walked into the front room. It appeared, at this juncture, to be any other run of the mill gallery, but Killian knew better. He’d been here many times before and he’d never left without a substantial shift in mind and body.

“Didn’t take you for the gallery type.” Emma’s words pulled Killian’s attention, and her smirk prompted one of his own.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

Killian looked to the familiar voice and found Graham. His old friend from college had laughter in his eyes, and a knowing smile on his face. With a glance at Emma and then back at Killian, Graham raised a brow. Killian gave a subtle nod and with that the two of them acknowledged all that they needed to. Killian had never asked for a favor like this before. The woman beside him must truly be something, and Graham was happy not to pry.

“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” Emma said after she and Graham had been introduced. “You’re clearly closed, and an opening is a big deal.”

“We are, and it is, but Killian knows me well enough by now to realize that the show has been ready for days.”

“Weeks more likely,” Killian muttered. Graham grinned.

“No comment.

“So what happened? You just finished before the deadline?” Emma asked, curious at the exchange.

“Nope. I planned it this way. Few people realize that, except for Killian. My other patrons would never let me hear the end of it. They like a bit more theater and drama from their artists. But I like the calm before the storm. Debuts are the start of a marathon. It’ll be nonstop for weeks. Tonight is quiet. Peaceful. How my art was meant to be.”

“And you’re sure we’re not putting you out?” Killian’s heart clenched at Emma’s thoughtfulness. She didn’t know his friend at all, but she was conscious of his feelings, and empathetic to his needs in the situation.

“I’m sure. Besides, friends don’t put you out, and Killian is the best kind of friend. He won’t tell you this, but I only had the chance to create this place because of him. He believed in me long before I did. The least I can do is help him impress a beautiful woman.”

“Watch it, mate.” 

Graham laughed, shaking his head but giving them permission to look for as long as they wanted. “I’ll be here all night. It was a pleasure, Emma. Hope to see you again.”

She thanked him, but the idea of seeing Graham again was quickly replaced when they walked to the next room. Emma and Killian were both immersed in the most astonishing exhibit he’d seen in ages. Graham’s expression was based in multimedia, from sculpture to painting to light work, and he’d out done himself this time.

Entitled ‘Memories of Maine’ the show spanned three different rooms. These areas told the story of a place Killian had never been but that instantly felt sacred. It depicted the region with depth and detail and wonder. It was difficult to know where to begin, but slowly, and naturally, he and Emma walked together side by side. They were captivated by the same bursts of color and glass and light. One particularly beautiful wall bore a three-dimensional scene of waves along the shoreline. Shards of hand blown glass, shells, plastic and metal were woven together or jaggedly juxtaposed with meticulous attention to detail. Up close every component rebelled against its surroundings, but from afar, it looked like sea foam and soft laps of the sea on a sunny summer day.

Another sculpture of substantial height and size reflected pine tree canopies. The scent of it was heavy in the air, and not synthetically, but naturally. Killian knew there were hidden pine trees somewhere, lending their essence to the art. A cool breeze could be felt of indiscernible origins and it moved the eye to paintings on the wall of lifelike leaves. Foliage en masse, with the decay of summer looking more alive than ever before. Then the lighting changed, and an illusion of snow appeared. The paint changed too, with new swirls and texture.  All it once there was that familiar feeling that came when fall kissed the world goodbye and the first frozen flaked made contact. 

As stunning as these pieces were, they were two of more than a dozen central works. Killian never knew the how of Graham’s creations. There were too many amazing skills needed and countless hours of dreaming and crafting for Killian to make sense of it. But the end result was always something he admired. It said something then, that in the midst of such extraordinary talent, he was still ever fixated on Emma. Watching her experience this all for the first time was a revelation in itself. Her amazement was childlike, and the innocent expression of delight and surprise felt healing. He knew in his heart that she knew burdens. Whatever those burdens may be, and whatever scars remained because of them, the two of them shared that past of pain and trial. But this was a place outside of that. This was a place of hope and of beginnings.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Emma said finally, after close to thirty minutes of quiet and reflection. She looked to him, eyes lit up by the world around them, but focused just on him.

“Which part, love?”

“All of it. This place. Tonight. You. I keep thinking…”

She trailed off and he stepped closer, taking her into his arms as he’d wanted to from their first meeting. She didn’t resist, instead melting into him, like she found comfort in the embrace. The feeling of being home coursed through him, and as he gazed upon her, he knew. This was the face of his forever. It may take time to convince her, but he would be damned before he let Emma get away. Whatever it took, he silently vowed to be worthy of her and her love.

“You keep thinking that the other shoe will drop, or you’ll wake suddenly and realize this was mere imagination.” His articulation of her thoughts had her eyes misting slightly as she worried her lip. He moved his hand to cup her cheek, smoothing out that particularly tempting show of tension. “But it is real, Emma. I swear to you, it’s real.”

He couldn’t be sure which of them moved first, but he wanted to believe they chose together in that moment to seal this discovery with a kiss. It was everything he’d hoped and more, charged with a rush of warmth and need but a knowledge that it was simply the first of many. He was lost in her and found there too, already addicted to her nearness and her care. Her taste was pure intoxication, the subtle sounds of her satisfied sighs music to his ears. It was the makings of a memory he’d cherish always. When they finally broke apart sometime later, he was amused to find the ceiling above them was a swirling sea of stars. It was the perfect space for this stolen moment. A surreal start of something spectacular.

“I hate to say goodbye,” she murmured, a slight frown threatening to appear before he kissed her quickly again. When he pulled back she smiled, despite herself.

They both knew that the time had come to go back home. They both had responsibilities to attend to, namely two children who meant the world to them. For Emma, there could be nothing more important than her son and Killian understood that. He had learned just how fierce her love for Henry was tonight, and he was awed by that love. That she was a great mother he had no doubt. He only hoped that someday there’d be space for him too in the life she’d fought so valiantly to make.

“Then we won’t. I’ve never been a fan of farewells. Besides, this is hardly over.”

“You seem pretty sure of that,” she joked, her resistance feigned and not meant in earnest. Her hands ran over his chest lightly, a dizzying display of inclination. Their comfort with each other already had to be fated. Two parts of one whole, two souls finally finding their anchor.

“That’s because I am.”

“So what do we say then? If not goodbye?”

“We say…” He thought about it, and at first he thought no words would do this justice. But ultimately decided to go with what he truly felt and to express those feelings with conviction and honesty. “We say it was enchanting to meet you.” 

“It was,” she agreed, humming out a sound of affirmation.

“We say the best is yet to come.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“And then we say, until tomorrow, love.”

“Tomorrow.”

And with that promise, and a final kiss, the two of them departed from this sacred place together, knowing that the enchantment was destined to linger, and that the love that sparked this evening would fill a lifetime with happiness and joy. 

…………………..

There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?" 'Cross the room your silhouette Starts to make its way to me The playful conversation starts Counter all your quick remarks Like passing notes in secrecy And it was enchanting to meet you All I can say is, I was enchanted to meet you This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you The lingering question kept me up 2 AM, who do you love? I wonder 'til I'm wide awake And now I'm pacing back and forth Wishing you were at my door I'd open up and you would say, "Hey" It was enchanting to meet you All I know is, I was enchanted to meet you This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew That this night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the story line ends My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Post-Note: So there we have it! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope that you enjoyed the chapter. To the lovely reader who asked for this so long ago, I hope this story finds you and I am so grateful for your suggestion. With my muse as quiet as it has been, it’s been wonderful to find things that inspire me. I am not sure when I will have another chapter update, but in the meantime, I am wishing you all well and hope you have a great start to your summer!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193, Part 194, Part 195, Part 196, Part 197

All of this, however, was quite far from her mind that morning. For that morning one of her dearest childhood friends would marry her own prince charming. Miss Mary Blanchard had been quite besotted with Lord David Nolan from the moment they had met at one of the first large balls of the past season. The pair had spent the next month or so tiptoeing around each other, discretely trying to grasp a moment of each other’s time (much to the kind amusement of their friends), before they began to court each other more openly, finally culminating in a springtime proposal that left just enough time to plan a grand wedding to cap off the end of the season.

And Emma could not have been happier.

Having been appointed chief attendant, she had been tasked with finding the prettiest of wildflowers to form the bouquet for Mary to hold. It was a responsibility she took seriously, knowing how much Mary adored the countryside and all its wonders. Thus, she had risen with the sun that morning, pulled on her most functional walking dress and boots and set out to discover the most perfect blooms before the rest of the household rose and began preparations for the day.

A small patch of woodland edged the formal gardens of Brooke Park and abutted onto both the stables and a meadow that had been left to the mercy of the wild grasses and plants common to these parts and it was to there she had set her mind to selecting the bouquet. As she made her way, she was filled with happy thoughts as she darted between the trees, stepping over roots and jutting rocks, softly humming to herself- until the sound of voices made her pause mid step. Who else could be traipsing the woodlands this early? She made herself as still as possible and strained to listen.

“I cannot express how happy I am that you have made it.”

Oh, it was Mr Nolan. She relaxed a little. Mary’s betrothed and his family had been guests at the estate for the week prior to the wedding- it seeming more appropriate than sharing a roof with his wife to be, apparently. He had been quite taken by the grounds and was often to be found wandering through the many walks of Brooke Park, more often than not with his fiance by his side.

But it was highly unlikely that Mary was his companion. Who, she thought to herself, could it be?

The reply he was given was a little quieter than his own words; it was hard for Emma to make it out, so she leaned a little closer, pressing her hands against the wide trunk of one of the ancient oak trees that dotted the forest.

Now, of course, would have been the time to make her presence known. However Emma was not known for her adherence to every social more (especially in such instances as this where interpretation of said mores was a matter of personal judgement), so instead she tilted her head and leaned a little closer to the voices.

“I worried that the letter of invitation would not reach you in time.”

She heard a soft chuckle. “Spain is not so far away, and indeed it was fortuitously timed, as I had already settled to return before I received your news, you merely expedited my journey.”

Emma paused, cocking her head to one side as she listened more carefully with each word, her mouth drawing slightly more open as the man spoke further-

It was him. Lord Jones. Lord Killian Jones.

Her heart began a traitorous pitter patter rhythm, a sickening squeeze of her stomach accompanying it- an altogether achingly familiar sensation, albeit one she had not experienced in almost two years.

Lord Killian Jones, second son of Viscount Rogers, one of her oldest friends, was the last man she had ever expected to see at the wedding. It had been almost a year since he had, quite literally, vanished. Leaving without so much as a goodbye, or even a note to explain why he found it necessary to fly off to the continent at a moment’s notice. To leave her.

Her heart clenched again and she bit her lip, straining to hear their words...

/

Killian smiled at his friend. He had seen the happiness on David’s face from the moment he had greeted him that morning, the sun barely above the horizon. He had pulled him into a warm bear-hug and rapped his knuckles upon his head, much as he had done countless times in their youth. He had missed him. He was also so happy that he had found a woman to marry who deserved him.

“Well I am glad all the same. It has been too long and you have been missed. That you are here to share in my happiness brings me great joy.”

Killian nodded, “And I am eager to meet the woman who has brought one of Cambridge University’s biggest rakes to his knees.”

“I believe you are mistaking me for you, Killian.”  They both laughed and for a second it was like no time had passed. That they were still carousing around the halls of Oxford, sowing their wild oats as his father had described it. Just for a second, the thought caught in Killian’s throat, trapped in a peal of laughter, the understanding that things had changed. Life here had moved on, his friend was to marry and begin the next part of his journey. Whilst Killian had clung to a different existence, hoping that if he remained adrift from the ebb and flow of life in England, he could somehow erase that part of him that had been so crushed when he last stood upon these shores. That he could somehow forget.

David broke him from his reverie with a quick jab of his elbow to his ribs. “I presume the ladies of Europe will mourn your departure.”

Killian almost blushed. His wild youth was not something he was especially proud of. Some men courted the title of libertine yet it was never one he had desired; though he had realised at a young age that a handsome face and a smooth tongue could bring a smile and a blush to the most stubborn woman’s face.  He had also learned with age - and maturity - that relations with women were far more satisfying when one prioritised quality over quantity. He still pondered whether it was his reputation within the ton that had set him at odds with her. That maybe if he had been different, that things between them could have been too.

“Perhaps a lady here will catch your eye,” David continued, unaware of Killian’s distraction, “I know your mother dreams of having both sons married- your brother speaks of it quite often.”

Ah yes. Liam, dearest Liam, his father’s heir, the model son, with perfect manners and impeccable character. He had made his parents so happy when he had married and gotten to the business of creating the next generation of Jones’ well before he even touched his thirtieth year. A viscount could ask for nothing more.

He loved his brother. He had missed his brother. Though, there was something about his perfection that had made Killian’s own lack of direction somewhat acceptable. Killian was now third in line to the family title, usurped by a one year old boy named Samuel. The further he moved from the Viscountcy, the less what he did mattered. At times he thought that he himself mattered less.

“I’m sure he does. I’m also sure he and my mother will speak of little else once she is notified of my return.”

David folded his arms and gave his friend and assessing look. “So you are back for good then?”

“Perhaps,” Killian nodded. Which was the truth, in as much as it could be. He still had but a vague idea of what his future should be. That was a matter for discussion with his brother.

“That makes me happy, Jones.”

Nodding, Killian pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. He’d barely had time to freshen up at his parents country home, not two miles away, before he had made the early ride over.

“And I know that the Swans will be equally happy to renew their acquaintance.”

At that, his cravat suddenly seemed to tighten around his neck. The name Swan had been one he had tried to forget. A name and a connection that had been part of him since his earliest years, neighbours and friends... And then a something he had tried to bury beneath memories of hot suns, exotic vistas and beautiful women. Sadly, he had found that merely being with a close distance of the family home had rolled back the time to last summer. The summer he had realised that he was a coward.

He took a deep breath. “About the Swans-”

“Yes?” Killian shifted uncomfortably. There was no subtle way to ask the question and his mind would not possibly allow him to think of anything else until he did ask.

“Lady Emma- is she, I mean did she-” He glanced away from his friend. “Did she marry Baelton?”

At that, David let out a soft peal of deep laughter. “Baelton? Gold’s son? Why would you think that?”

A dozen conflicting emotions all seemed to hit Killian at once. Relief. Confusion. Regret. He quickly closed his eyes. “I thought-”

“Mary told me all about how Baelton made a show of courting Emma.”

Oh yes, he remembered that with crystal clarity. His smarmy smiles and hands that dipped almost too low for propriety when he danced with Emma. And the way Emma smiled at him. And the way it had made Killian’s hands clench-

“Yes…” Killian began, thinking how he could change the tack of this conversation.

But David kept talking. “Mary told me of your childhood friendship with Lady Emma, before her family took up residence in these parts… but,” his face settled into a frown, “And you thought that she and Baelton-” And then Killian saw the pieces fall into place in his friend’s mind. “You were enamoured with Lady Emma?” David’s words came out in a gush, a look of surprise upon his face.

Killian’s traitorous cheeks began to glow with heat. Surely, they were most shocking shade of red, even in the morning light. He tried to turn away from his friend. But then he felt a hand on his arm. He raised his brows and looked the other man in the eye. There was no use denying it. David had always been able to read Killian- a fact which had saved him from more than one difficult situation over the years.

His shoulders stiffened. “It was some time ago. It no longer signifies. I was merely curious.” Even as the lies left his lips, they burned.

A moment passed with only birdsong to fill the air.

“Emma is a beautiful lady,” David replied softly.

Aye- and intelligent, fierce, kind, lovely and a dozen other things he had only realized when it was too late.

“I’m sure she is, as she was then,” he answered diplomatically, avoiding the assessing gaze of his friend, concentrating instead on rolling a small log beneath his boot.

He could not help but think how he could have known this detail any number of times previously. And if he had known they were not betrothed, if he had been brave enough to reveal his feelings to her… In his letters home he had wanted to ask his brother, or his mother, or any number of other relations and friends who wrote to him. But he feared the knowledge more than the uncertainty. Much the way he had dashed away to Europe rather than face the rejection of the woman he had fallen deeply - and unexpectedly- in love with and whom was enamoured with another.

Though apparently he was wrong on that count. Fool he was.

“Jones, Emma is still unmarried. Mary tells me that she has turned down a number of serious proposals.”

And at that his heart raced once more; its beat enlivened by even the news that Emma Swan was unmarried and unattached. The churning, tightening feeling in his gut began again and he chastised himself - he was a mature man of four and twenty, not some green lad. It didn’t help. She had always had quite a different effect on him than any other lady and it seemed time had not eased his body’s reaction to the mere mention of her name, nor the chance he would see her again.

“David, I beg you to keep this conversation between us. I know your bride to be is close with Emma, but I do not wish old feelings to colour your wedding celebrations. I will admit to a prior affection for Ms Swan. That is all.”

For a moment, it looked like David was going to disagree before he thought better of it and instead placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You have my word.”

/

A few paces away, behind the wonderful, awful tree that had hidden her from their view, Emma barely let herself release a breath until the pair had began to move away, remaining frozen until their voices had faded into nothingness.

Finally, she sagged against the trunk, the last of the energy she had expelled in concealing herself- and her reactions- leaving her body in a gust of air as she sank to the ground.

Killian was back.

Killian cared for her.

Killian had cared for her….

Her body tingled, her stomach ached and she frankly had no idea what she was going to do.

/

Killian Jones had been her dearest friend. Ever since she was five and he was seven. Since the day when he had allowed her to tag along on a fishing expedition with him and his elder brother, even though his brother had whined that she was ‘just a baby’. He’d been kind a patient, letting her use his fishing rod and teaching her all manner of little things about plants and fish and suchlike around the lake between their family properties that she surely was half in love with him then. Well, love as a small child knows it.

They grew more together than apart as they aged. Friends through his time away at school, always keeping an easy teasing friendship, they were never happier than whiling away a summer’s afternoon together. Killian spending almost enough time at Brooke Park for tongues to wag- had the Swans not put paid to that.

Until it changed that past summer. She had not seen him so much during his time at university. He did write, promising to visit on his return home, quickly followed by regrets when he found himself visiting with whichever of his college chums had taken it upon himself to arrange some weeks or hunting or shooting or suchlike things that young men did.

Finally, he returned last summer, just in time for the summer festivities at Brooke Park. He was handsome as always, bright eyed, freshly graduated from Cambridge, all perfect manners and grace. He was the same, yet, she noticed, different. She tried so hard to put her finger on what had changed over those two weeks. Every time they spoke, dined, danced. She studied him. But resolution eluded her.

It was not, however, until the final ball of the gathering that the feeling began. He danced with her the second dance, giving her warm smiles and witty repartee. He was so warm and solid, as always, but something in their dance made her breathless. He gazed into her eyes as they moved around the dance floor and it was if she were seeing him anew. Killian was changed.

 That night, she lacked neither partners nor conversation, but still found her gaze lingering back to him as the night wore on. Was his hair different? Perhaps it was the cut of his coat? A different pair of dancing shoes? Something had kept her eyes on him, something made her gut twist a little every time another lady joined him on the ballroom floor. Something had made her realise that he was just about the most handsome man of her acquaintance. Which, in truth, she had always known yet still, the thought had shook her and confused her made her so confused that she had even deigned to dance with Lord Baelton- even though she knew he was a fortune hunter and that his father had had less than pleasant dealings with most of the other families in the neighbourhood.

As she danced with him, pasting on a glowing, vapid smile, the ache inside her grew and twisted and swelled until she was quite certain that she would never again return to her usual state of contentment. It was like itch that was impossible to scratch. She let Baelton bring her lemonade and stand with her a while, nodding at his empty conversation as she tried to put together the pieces of her confusion into some kind of coherent mosaic.

She lay awake that night, staring at her ceiling, resolving to address the issue with due haste the following day. She would ride over to his home, confront Killian (though what that would entail she was not exactly certain). She would test herself, see what these feelings meant. They had never been shy with one another. Now was not the time to start.

But of course, this never came to pass. He was gone that morning, leaving with the dawn. Leaving her with confusion and just a little bit feeling betrayed.

/

Ms Emma Swan was not a coward. Quite the opposite - her father had taught her to fence from a young age. Her mother had indulged her passion for powerful horses. She had always been the first to call out any boorish and bullying behaviour.

Indeed, she told herself, she was quite brave. Therefore the reason she was clinging to the edges of the ballroom was nothing to do with cowardice, instead it was all about reconnaissance.

Perhaps if she repeated those words in her mind enough times, they would become true.

The wedding ceremony itself was joyful and heartfelt- and her happiness for the couple had superseded her earlier panic about Killian’s return. This was also helped by his choosing a seat at the rear of the church, removing any chance that their eyes should meet across the room.

However the wedding breakfast was a different affair. He greeted her family warmly, took her hand and bowed before her, his eyes lingering on hers for a second longer than needed. Her heart skittered and thudded, a feeling that continued throughout the meal, she was barely able to consume more than a few mouthfuls of food. Even when she wasn’t looking at him, she knew he was there. His mere presence was like a warming sun. His gaze upon here, scorching. As the meal progressed heat crept up her neck and across her cheeks… she was never so thankful as when her mother declared it was time for the ladies to retire to rest for the evening.

And so now she found herself, in between dances, half hiding behind one of the sweeping, velvet curtains that lined one wall of the ballroom. She watched him dance. She watched him smile. She watched and she… wanted?

“You look miserable.”

Emma started at the sound of Mary’s voice.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Her friend chuckled as she linked their arms and drew her towards a small collection of chairs that had been set aside as a resting area. The pair sat, arranging their skirts, silent for a second as the orchestra began to pick up for a rousing country reel.

“Come now, this is my wedding day, I demand you enjoy yourself.”

Emma gave her a pointed look. “I am fine.” She paused a second before adding, “Merely a little malaised.”

She couldn’t help but look back towards the dancers. He was there again, partnered with a distant cousin, a pretty young girl with the most beautiful blue eyes.

Emma grimaced.

“My- has someone caught your eye?”

Emma felt the colour drain from her face. She licked her bottom lip, seeking the right reply that would dissuade Mary from this line of questioning-

(Which was silly, really. They never had secrets. They were the dearest of closest friends… but…)

The sickening ache that had plagued her since that morning in the woods returned with a vengeance.

Her friend took her hand, wrapping it in her own until Emma looked up. Mary’s face beamed with the joy of a newlywed. Hope and love radiated from her beautiful features.

“I will not press you on the subject. You are not one to keep a secret lightly.”

Emma gave Mary a shaky smile. In the five years they had known each other they had become as close as sisters and each other’s confidente. If she could not trust Mary with her feelings, how could she ever expect to solve their puzzle?

“Indeed,” her friend continued, “I like to think when Emma Swan is laid low by love, there will be little to disguise it.”

Surely the ache inside of her could not be that emotion. Emma needed to rule it out. Love could not hurt, could it? “What does love feel like?” she blurted out.

Her friend’s mouth fell open with a surprised look on her face. “Oh, my I…” she trailed off, clearly lost in thought, eyes shining and Emma knew she thought of her newly minted husband. “For me, it’s happiness. Inside me, around me… A lightness and contentment. But I cannot speak with authority, Emma. I am told the experience is different for everyone.

Emma twisted in her seat, letting out a deep sigh. That was not how she felt at all.

“My parents expect a love match,” she whispered, deciding that was a viable excuse for the question.

“And you shall have one. I am most confident. It will appear when you least expect it,” Mary squeezed her hand once more as she stood. “I must see to our guests, but I shall come find you, later?”

Emma smiled, knowing dissuading her friend would be impossible.

As the bride left, in a swish of pale gold skirts, she looked once more upon Killian Jones and his young partner and a new thought appeared.

I wish that were I.

/

It was the same ballroom - Brooke Park’s facilities being much larger than that of the Blanchard family.

The same place that he had last seen her, last watched her dance with Baelton, watched her eyes smile as they talked and laughed. It was where he had realised that his liking for Emma Swan was far more than that. That he cared for her. That he desired her. And that he could not have her.

Or so he had thought.

Tonight he was aware she was watching him. She hid it well, only glancing in his direction when she believed him occupied, but it was impossible for him to not know. Her gaze was a beacon against him, the awareness of her the best kind of distraction. As he danced with Miss Wolf, undertaking the usual pleasant conversation that took place during a country dance, his mind was half elsewhere. It was there, on the other side of the room, taking in its fill of her bright green eyes and creamy skin. She wore a silk gown in a pretty shade of blue. He knew without doubt that the colour would haunt him now. Whenever he saw that colour from that evening forth, he would think of her and how becoming she was that night, doused in candlelight, cheeks flushed from either the heat or the dancing-

Yes, he was a fool for her. Time and distance had in no way eased his feelings. They were instead more intensely acute for the lack of her these long, 12 months.

He bowed to his partner as the last chords of the dance faded away. After leading her back to the side of the dance floor, he quickly made his way to where Emma sat feigning indifference to her surroundings.

“Miss Swan,” he announced as he reached her, holding back a smile as she slowly raised her head and made a show of surprise.

“Killian,” she replied, her eyes widening.

“Emma,” he said softly, just loud enough for her to hear.

He took a seat beside her - far enough for propriety's sake, but close enough to sense the tension in the set of her shoulders and the way she held her chin. He allowed a moment to pass.

“The ball, it’s quite splendid,” she shrugged, softly nodding towards the orchestra.

He nodded, “Yes, indeed.”

Another moment of silence passed. Conversation had never been awkward between them. It struck him, thence, that he was quite unsure how to bring about a topic in this setting that would satisfy his need to understand Emma. And him. And what was or could or would be between them.

Quickly he stood, giving a brief bow, before holding out his hand. “May I beg your hand for this dance?”

She looked at him and blinked a few times. The first strains of the next set began. He worried that he needed to repeat himself, but she stopped him with a small frown.

“You waltz?” she asked.

Nodding, he replied, “I learned in Vienna, where they say it originates.”

She shrugged softly. “I assume the young ladies there dance with greater poise and elegance than we English could aspire to.”

He grinned. Emma had always had a tendency to veer towards self depreciation. It was one of the things he had always liked about her. “Impossible. You are lighter than air, my lady, when you grace the dance floor.”

He grinned at her- a boyish smile, one he’d replaced over the years with a more mature expression. But not for Emma, one of his oldest friends.

Her eyes lit up and his breath caught.

“Well, as it is more than a year since you last joined me in a dance I dare say your opinion is not one best followed.”

“Then let us rectify that. Waltz with me.” He spoke softly, words that were almost swallowed up by din of those around them and the orchestra as they tuned their instruments for the next dance. Words just for her.

Emma looked at his hand and swallowed. She had certainly not anticipated his asking her to dance. Women outnumbered men in the Swan family and there were dozens of young ladies clamouring for a partner. She had also told herself he had not noticed her there, clinging to the outside of the room.

But to refuse would have been bad manners and she was many things, but ill mannered was not one.

And oh my, she wanted to dance with him. She desperately held back her pleasure in accepting, instead standing slowly and giving a small nod, placing her hand in his. He paused a moment, met her eyes and laid a soft kiss upon the back of her hand. How she mourned the fact that evening gloves were de rigueur, even at a country ball. How the little ache in her gut lessened and fluttered. How envious was she of a scrap of satin!

Killian led her onto the floor in silence, other couples joining them, the chatter of voices about mingling with the first bars of the waltz. Her hand slipped into his, her other to his shoulder, his left at her waist. Oh lord, how aware she was of his hand there, settled in that little curve, upon the cornflower blue silk she had chosen especially for the wedding. The one now she realised matched the colour of his eyes, eyes that were bluer than ever in the candlelight of the room.

In unison, they began the dance. The gentle rhythm of each step feeling natural and carefree- as if they had waltzed together a dozen times. He was indeed a wonderful dancer. Light footed, he led with gentle strength, swirling her across the waxed wooden floor in time to the strains of the violin. It didn’t take long her her to be dizzy with sensation, a hazy smile on her lips as they moved easily together, as one. The room faded as her heart raced, his eyes fixed upon hers. He was studying her face: she watched his gaze track from one feature to the next. She felt breathless and exposed, but she didn’t look away, instead she matched him. Her eyes lingering on his full bottom lip, a sudden urge to taste it overwhelming her.

Far too soon the dance was complete, the partners separated and made their bows, Emma suddenly realising that not one word has passed between them, yet so much seemed to have passed between them without it. Still,oh how she wanted to talk, to claw back those absent months, to finally understand just what she felt and why she felt it. Killian escorted her back to her seat and was about to release her arm when she gently placed her hand on his.

“Do you care to take some air? It’s rather stifling, is it not?”

She looked up at him, more aware than ever of his slight advantage in height, enjoying the view of his hair as it curled over his brow and the way the angle made his lips look lush and full in the flickering light.

“Of course,” he smiled, guiding her through the guests towards one of the two balconies that adjoined the ballroom and looked out onto Brooke Park’s pretty lake.

Once outside, Emma moved quickly to the balustrade, anchoring herself against the cool stone, staring out into the moonlit darkness, desperately trying to think what to say. He thought quicker.

“Miss Mary is a kind soul. David is most fortunate.”

“She is the best of all women, the best of friends,” Emma agreed, “I selfishly mourn that as a married woman she will have less time for our acquaintance.”

“Understandable,” he murmured, making his way towards where Emma stood. “They seem very much in love.”

Emma nodded, still staring of into the distance, watching the reflection of the moon ripple across the blacked lake, concentrating on the shimmering shape as she sought to distract herself from how her heart was racing as he moved closer to her, here on the empty balcony where they seemed so very alone even with a ball mere yards behind them.

“I see it in his eyes, how he cares for her.” She tried to keep the envy from her voice. She had seen many times the way they looked at each other. Emma may not have understood what love felt like, but she could see it in another person. Her mother and father had been her example though her formative years. The way they loved each other with just a glance- she could see it so easily.

“You have not married,” he said, cutting through her thoughts, causing her to cast a glance in his direction whilst raising her brows.

“I have not,” she replied slowly.

“I am… surprised,” he responded, slowly pushing back from where he stood to turn more fully to her.

“Why?” she asked, a little breathlessly, quickly moistening her bottom lip as she spoke.

His expression blanked for a second, his brow furrowed, “Well you are… you and... I thought, I mean…”

His tone meandered as he stepped back a little.

“Yes…”

He opened his mouth but no more words came out. His unexpected muteness gave her pause, emboldened her. If he were so affected by the turn of conversation, then perhaps he did care. That he had not been honest that morning in the woods. That a past affection was still a current one.

“I suppose I have not found what I am looking for,” she added boldly, clasping her hands together in front of her. Patiently staring him down, willing him to understand where she was taking the conversation.

Finally, he replied, “And what is that?”

Their eyes met. Then she let eyes trace his features once more, skating down the slope of his nose, taking in the sharpness of his jaw, the way his slightly too long hair curled at his collar, the light pinkness at his cheeks that barely showed beneath his summer tan.

She’d missed his face. She’d missed him. With her eyes, she projected the want she felt- the tug towards him that still so confused her, yet seemed to make increasing sense the more she was near him. The more the knot in her gut loosened and warmed and became something altogether more pleasant, and addictive.

His eyes dropped first, a hand ran through his hair.

“I had just thought-” he cleared his throat, “Last summer, I had thought you and Lord Baelton would become- I mean it made sense to entwine your families-”

“Our families?” she cried, “My parents barely tolerate Lord Gold! How could you-” she trailed off taking a long step towards him, close enough to place her palm upon the broad expanse of his chest should she wish.

(And she wished…)

“You danced with him. More than once. Last summer.” His words were clipped, breathless.

And the way he was looking at her-

She placed her hand on his arm. “I danced with you. More than once. Last summer. But then you left. You left, before…”

She couldn’t finish her words. Instead, she willed him to understand. It was impossible to comprehend why talking with Killian, a man she had known almost as long as any other, was proving so difficult. The words were hard to leave her lips. The ache inside continued and grew and changed and she didn’t feel quite so brave any more.

“I thought I was acting honourably.” His breath was now haggard, each inhalation in time with her own. The world seemed to melt away a little at the edges.

“You really thought I cared for him?”

His silence was affirmation.

Gently, she slid her hand up his arm to the lapel of his jacket.

“Remember what you used to say when we were children, playing pirates?”

He nodded. “Aye. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

“I didn’t think you were a coward.”

Emma knew she was playing with fire, she knew that this could all end with embarrassment and blushes, but she also saw the way he was looking at her. She had heard what he had said to David that morning. And she knew, in her own heart, that she cared for him more than she had ever understood before. Somehow, months of distance has shown her that a childhood friendship could grow into something more. If one was willing to take it.

So she took it.

Her hand tightened in the lapel of his jacket, tugging him towards her, boldly dismissing the fear of being discovered by any of the guests and taking what she wanted. “Killian, it’s not just men who must fight,” she whispered, “A woman must too.”

And then she pressed her lips against his, and everything before was nothing.

The very opposite of an innocent, Killian had lost count of the kisses he had shared. Yet, in that moment, those past caresses faded away into nothing. Each one a mere shadow of the moment Emma Swan’s lips met his. Everything he thought he knew about kissing flew from his mind as she pulled him close and melted away any doubt about how she felt about him.

Her lips were soft yet firm, teasing his apart with gentle strokes, her tongue tracing the seam of his mouth, a soft groan escaping those lips as one hand threaded through his hair and brought him closer to her. He was wrapped in the warmth of her honeysuckle perfume- light and sunlight and happiness. In this kiss, he knew that resisting was futile. His hand traced the line of buttons on the back of her dress with gentle pressure until barely a hair’s-breadth stood between them, the other cupped her cheek, tilting her jaw to further deepened the embrace, pouring twelve months worth of regret and longing into that moment.

She pulled back, placing one palm on his chest. He could see it rise and fall with his rapid breathing. He wanted to resume the embrace, kiss her again. More than kiss her. Make up for all those wasted days and weeks and months- It was only their exposed location that gave him pause. As liberal as the Swans were, he would not lead their daughter into public ruination.

Slowly, he placed his hand over hers.

“That was…”

“Indeed,” she nodded, cheeks flushed and lips red from the kiss. And he knew in that moment that his life could be only complete if he were able to make her smile. And laugh. And kiss her…

“I want to kiss you again.”

She nodded, reaching up on her toes. He paused her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“No, you misunderstand. I want to kiss you every day. Whenever I like. I want to make you smile. I want you to tease me and make me laugh. I-”

Before he knew what he was doing, he sank onto one knee, reaching the ground as his purpose crystallised. He had tried to run from his feelings but it was not to be. He loved her.

Taking her hand from his chest, he held it in his, gazing up at her as he asked, “Emma Swan, I have travelled far and wide and yet I cannot escape you. You bewitch me. You have my heart. My soul. Have me. Will you marry me?”

With a gasp and a smile, she studied his expression. And she saw it, love, clear and true. The love of friendship transformed and grown into that of romantic love. And within herself she knew its partner, its equal resided. There was only one answer possible:

“Yes.”

Thank you for getting to the end of this! It's been so long since I posted or wrote anything, so many abandoned attempts and months of frustration. I hope you liked this version of Killian and Emma, I do adore the time period and writing them in it.

He didn't want to be at arm's length.

He wanted to be near her.

With her.

Hold her.

Kiss her.

God did he want to.

But well life never works the way you want

It was late and they were alone in the apartment because it was snowing outside and he very well couldn't let her go anywhere.

So he did what he would do in any other situation.

He asked her to stay.

She hesitated, but agreed anyway probably because she was tired, not because she actually wanted to be in the same vicinity as him. Or at least that's what he thinks.

They were joking around and they were sitting on the same couch almost too close for comfort.

But he didn't care.

And with the way she was leaning with her head on his shoulder made him believe she didn't either.

Until she did.

“What's with the necklace you wear, Swan?”

Her entire body froze and he could almost feel the discomfort radiating off of her and she didn't speak for a good whole-lot-of-seconds.

She looked at him and opened her mouth to say something and it was definitely not what he thought it would be, “uh, I...I think I'm gonna go sleep.”

She got up faster than light and his body ached after losing her warmth but he couldn’t just let her go.

He suddenly caught her wrist before she was going to bolt, “wait, Emma...you don't have to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Killian…please...just...I can’t do this.” And she turned around and left.

And that was that, the end of the only night he was ever left alone with Emma Swan. She left the next day without saying goodbye. I mean, did he honestly expect her to?

She behaved civil with him whenever they saw each other after that night. Probably for appearances sake he thought.

She didn't talk about that night.

Well she didn’t really talk to him in general.

He wanted to, oh did he want to.

He desperately wanted to ask what went terribly wrong that night?

All he did was ask a question?

Maybe he should've just kept his mouth shut and not asked anything at all.

However, in his defense, he lost all of his sense of rational thinking the moment she leaned on his shoulder.

She was miserable. She didn't want to be at this stupid party with the good looking stupid guy she wish she wasn't halfway in love with.

There were a lot of dumb decisions Emma made in her life. But walking away from Killian that night three months ago was probably the dumbest.

She wanted to tell him, god did she want to.

But she's a coward and it scared her to death that she wanted to tell him about what the necklace meant, even though she barely knows him that well.

But whenever she's with him it always feels like she's known him forever.

And well that scares her. Because she's Emma. And why shouldn't it? It's a scary thing to feel.

She's not even sure if she wants to feel it.

But well she does.

And it's getting out of hand because he's at this stupid party wearing his stupid vest looking stupidly gorgeous-beyond-possible with his brooding smolder and she's not sure that her words are making sense at this point.

It doesn't matter.

Because she wants to leave.

And more than three fourth of the people are gone but well this is Mary Margaret and her constant persistent to ask her to stay, to live her life, and maybe talk to certain someone about how she feels.

She almost gaped at Mary Margaret when she said that. And she winked.

How dare She?

Was she that obvious? God she hoped she wasn't.

Emma was pathetic

She should talk to Killian. She really should. But also what would she say?

“Oh hey yeah! I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the past three months and I'm halfway in love! Sorry for going to bed that night, can we make-out now?”

God even her made up scenarios were just as pathetic as she was.

She saw him from the corner of her eye talking to Maddy. Who looked too close to him than necessary. He laughed at something she said.

Her stomach flipped with jealousy.

How dare she get close to her Killian?

Wait, WHAT?

Her Killian?

She has no right over him, right? I mean, if she's too much of a coward to say anything, he's allowed to be whoever he wants to be with.

Is he not?

He looked at her and gave her his earnest smile, which she didn't quite return. Because she was a coward. He sighed and turned his attention back to Maddy. He barely looks interested.

Almost as if he wants to leave as well.

Maybe she should ask him to leave with her.

Where did that come from?

You know exactly where it came from Emma.

“Ugh….” She groaned with her head in her hands. Could this night be any worse?

So she did what she always does. She grabbed the nearest bottle of beer and left for the rooftop.

As far away from her problems.

Or one problem.

Single problem.

Killian.

He was her only problem.

He looked over at Mary Margaret who passed out on the couch with David beside her. He smiled, they were a very fairy-tale like couple. True love and all that.

He looked around and realized there was really no one except for his friends half passed out or rambling about some nonsense.

Had she left already? Without him noticing?

He sighed. Grabbed a bottle of beer and went up to the roof.

She was last person he expected to see standing at the edge of railing.

He walked towards her, “Swan?”

She jumped back, “what the fuck, Jones?? You scared the shit out of me.” She almost screamed the words at him.

He winced, “ah, sorry love, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“Well you're doing a great job so far.” She huffed.

“Are we alright Emma?”

“Are we alright Emma?”

Out of all thing she did not expect him to say that. .

“What? Yes of course, why would you say that?” She asked him cautiously. Even though deep down she knew why.

He sighed, “I don’t know...um ever since that night…” She could feel her insides turning upside down at the mention of that night, “I guess asking that question wasn't my business and I didn't mean to push you to stay,” he looked down and gave her half a smile, “I guess I was just desperate to be in your company for a little while longer.”

“We have been in each other’s company even after that night, Killian. It’s not that serious.” She deadpanned.

Honestly what bullshit was she spitting this time? She wasn’t even aware of what she was saying because she was so focused on the hurt she could see in his eyes, and this time he didn’t even try to mask it.

He looked down, “Yeah I know love, not that serious . But if something’s ever bothering you I’m still here you know,” he took her chin is hand and pulled her head to his gaze, “if you want me to be of course.” He said softly.

The sincerely in his eyes almost made her jump his bones or melt into a pool.

Either, or.

Her insides were screaming to tell him everything about how she felt.

She still couldn’t.

But did she want to.

“Well I’m good but I’ll keep that in mind Jones.”

He let out a disappointed sigh and let go off her chin, “Right, well,” did he have something else to say? Why was he staring into her soul?

And boy, she never thought he would do this.

He leaned in and kissed her cheek and let out a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Good night, Emma. Take care of yourself.”

She stood there frozen. Not being able to move or even reply back to him. Take care of yourself? What the fuck does that even mean? Was he ending this?

Wait, was there anything to even to end? She never really let it begin did she?

Maybe it was time she finally let it all out.

He walked downstairs to his car and leaned against it. He felt lost. Broken. And empty.

He realized it was finally time to accept that Emma Swan never wanted anything more than a friendship from him. Or even a friendship.

He felt totally lost. Did he mention broken?

He dug his nails in his palm; strong enough to make them bleed.

He never smokes. But well this calls for an occasion and Will left his pack in the drawer thing of his car. What is that thing called anyway? He's pretty sure it's not a fucking drawer. Honestly who even cares at this point.

He glanced around the parking lot and saw her walking towards him.

Did she have a few more things to say to break him more or something?

“You know those things will kill you."

He didn't say anything. She sighed and leaned beside him on the car, “did Will leave them around in your glove compartment?”

He stared at her speculatively, “glove compartment.”

He could look at the confusion that took over half of her face, “it's called a glove compartment.” He continued.

“Okay…… are you drunk?”

He snorted, “no, but I wish I was.”

She looks at him, “okay that literally makes no sense..”

“Did you need something, Emma?” He cuts her off  and could see the incredulous look on her face over his sudden change in demeanor.

“What?” she asked, softly.

He even somehow felt more angrier at her simple ‘what’ as if she didn’t know what was really going on.

He ran his hand through his hair to the back of his neck and exhaled, “I mean, if you don’t need anything I think there’s really not much for us to do here.”

Why the hell was he suddenly acting like this? Had she done something? Okay well, that’s a stupid question.

But still.

He never talked to her like this.

She sighed softly, closing her eyes. Not letting her emotions get the best of her and asked, “What's wrong?”

He scoffed, “are you kidding me, darling?”

She snapped her head at him, “don’t calling me that.”

He rolled his eyes, ignoring her.

Emma pulled herself away from beside him--wrapped her hands around herself and stood in front of him and demanded. “Well, are you going to answer me?”

His shoulders sagged a bit, like he was tired and...broken. “What do you want me to say Emma? That didn’t hurt? When you walked away that night and completely ghosted me like I never meant anything to you? And don’t even try to deny there was nothing between us Emma, because I’m sure you felt it too.” His voice cracked a bit at the end and she didn’t know what to say. But he continued before she even had a chance, “I realize I overstepped, and honestly for that, I truly am sorry.”

She stared at him blank and empty, the apology that he deserved back and the truth at the tip of her tongue.

But nothing came out.

He sighed, “Well, don’t worry about it Swan, I’m just gonna take my leave.”

“Killian wait,” she reached out for his hand, “please.”

Well, she didn’t think two seconds ahead. What would happen after he stopped? Was she even expecting him to stop?

“I...uh…” she fidgeted with her hands. God she was so nervous. She couldn’t even hear her next words over her heartbeat. “I dated a guy a while ago. A long while ago, and well to put it short he wasn’t who he said he was,” she looked at his hands, thumb pressing into the palm of his left hand, and finally forced herself to look at him; a mix of confusion and hope on face. He nodded, urging her to continue.

“The reason I wear that necklace is because that was from him. I didn’t keep it as a sentiment to my first love, but as a reminder. That i should never trust anyone ever again. That going through pain for love…just isn't worth it.”

At this point her heart wasn’t beating any slower, or it did not make her breathing easier. Particularly when Killian took a step towards her, hand landing on her shoulder, “I’m sorry, love,

I didn’t know that.”

She laughed a bit, “yeah well a lot of people don’t.”

“I, uh, walked away that night…”

He cut her off, “You don’t have to explain yourself, Swan.”

“Yes I do, you deserve that.”

She continued, “I walked away not because I was scared of telling you about what it meant, but because I wasn’t scared at all. I wanted to tell you...and well that scared me about what it meant.” He was either about to open his mouth to say something, or almost reach for her? She's quite oblivious to what's going on around her at this point, “no, please don’t, let me finish.” He nodded. “Then you went ahead and asked me not to say anything that night because you knew I couldn't say anything and no ones one's ever been able to read me like that before, and well again, that scared me too.” She sighed, “being with you, I’ve never felt so much at ease before. You make me feel alive and safe, and I haven’t felt this way in a very long time.”

She looked at him and saw his eyes move all over her face, as if he couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. “This past three months, I don’t think I have felt more miserable. And Yes I know it’s all my fault. But I...I was just so scared about letting my walls down, and letting you in. I just did what I always do,” she left out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. There are so many emotions bottled inside her right now that she feels like she's going to burst. It physically kills her to admit all of this to him, but there's no backing out now. “I ran. Without giving you any explanation. I put all my walls back up just thinking about how much this could hurt both of us ..I just...I’m really sorry Killian. Please know that I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry that everything turned out this way...I didn’t mean to fall for you.” Emma didn’t feel the tears until she felt his hand brush them away from the apple of her cheek.

He couldn’t quite believe his own ears. Was Emma Swan just laying all her feeling about him out in the open? He didn’t say anything, because at this point there wasn’t much he wanted to say except just do one thing. He took a step forward, hand tugging her hair behind her ear, and the other landing beneath her chin, “Emma,” he could feel her squirming under his scrutiny. “Come on love, look at me.” She sighed and finally looked at him and he can see the courage it took her to do that after laying all her feeling out in the open. Then he all but pulled her into him and crashed his lips onto hers. And boy, did he feel alive in that moment.

She let out a soft oomph of surprise, but it took her not more than a second to reciprocate. Both hands curling around his neck, into his hair. Her lips feeling as soft as they look. This shouldn’t have felt as romantic as it did. Him kissing her in the middle of David and Mary Margaret’s apartment parking lot. Not much finesse in their kiss. But it felt just as it was supposed to. She moved forward, trying to back him into his car. Pressing herself into him and he groans, a desperate noise. But the car was a little further away than she anticipated and she suddenly lost control of her weight and fell forward, backing him into his car with a thud that was quite forceful. She laughs against his lips, sending a bit of wave into him that settled at the pit of his stomach.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The prospect of dangers she may very well encounter, especially from her step-grandmother, had been something she had considered, but she wouldn’t let fear rule her. Bravery wasn’t the problem. Despite not permitting her outside of their kingdom, there wasn’t much King David and Queen Snow forbade her as she had grown. She mastered the art of war with Sir Lancelot, learned from her Aunt Ruby how to track with all of her senses, and her parents’ Master of the Hunt, Sir Graham, taught her there was more to hunting than taking the life of her prey. Her curiosity was just too much to contain, but the day that her magic bloomed, she ran to her mother in alarm.

“Mother! Mother!” Emma shouted as she ran through the halls of the palace, ignoring the stares of the staff as she ran with unladylike haste.

“Slow down, Princess Emma! You don’t wish to fall and miss your birthday ball.” her tutor urged as she approached the library annex her teacher inhabited.

Emma slowed down and watched her teacher as he leaned against the door, pulling his long white beard between his thumb and forefinger as he so often did when Emma’s behavior was less regal than it ought to have been. Though the man’s wrinkled, time wizened faced held a degree of mirth and conspiracy as he observed her disheveled state, Emma smoothed her skirts back down and stood tall facing her elder.

“What has you in such a rush, my dear girl?” Magnus asked, ushering his pupil to his study.

“Master Magnus, I have discovered something puzzling” Emma answered. Her teacher stared at her, waiting for her to reveal the discovery that had sent her running through the castle.

Rather than explaining with words, Emma grabbed a candle holder from the long wooden table in the center of the workroom. She used her left hand to steady it on her right palm. Then her left hand fell away, leaving the candle holder perfectly centered. She studied the wick, focused on the task she wished to accomplish. She imagined a bright orange flame at the end of the candle. She closed her eyes and breathed out.

The gasp of her teacher informed her she must have met her goal. She opened her eyes to find that every candle in the workroom was alight. Emma smiled with pure glee and the candle holder in her palm began to float inches above it. Emma expected to see a similar reaction from her teacher, but rather than joy or even pride, Emma saw concern etched in every pore on his face.

His hand came up he waved gently, extinguishing the excess flames not lit prior to her entry into the room. Emma sighed, unsure of her tutor’s change in demeanor.

“You must be careful, my dear princess. Magic can be dangerous. It is said by some that all magic comes at a price but your magic is a gift of light, of love. However, you must learn control, because to lose control could be dangerous,” Magnus warned, eyes softening as Emma’s filled with tears.

“Why do I have such magic? I don’t want to be different, I didn’t ask for this,” Emma wailed, hugging around the old man’s waist. Her teacher was one of the kindest people she knew and Emma liked to think that he cared for her, not just as a master may for a pupil, but as a grandfather loved his grandchild.

Magnus knelt down in front of her, titling her chin up to meet his blue-grey eyes. “Do not fear. Mastery of magic is a skill that one can learn, just as you’ve learned to hunt, ride or shoot a bow. I can teach you, but the answers you seek should come from your lady mother. Dry your eyes, my child,” Magnus advised, conjuring a handkerchief, handing it to the young princess. “Now, let me take you to the Queen and see if she can provide the answers you seek.”

Emma smiled at the memory, wondering how her dear teacher would judge her current journey. After Emma had shared her discovery with her tutor all those years ago, he had led her to her mother’s study and her mother revealed that Emma was half-Fae, as Snow herself had been born in the land of the Fae and had been banished from that land by her horrid stepmother long ago. Snow herself rarely used her magic anymore, explaining to her daughter that the last notable time was the day she took David, then Prince of the Realm and heir of King George, as her husband. As they sealed the bonds of matrimony, Snow shared half of her heart with David, granting him her immortality. Snow explained that along with her magic, the moment Emma reached the age of twenty-five, she would cease to age, as Snow had once done.

At thirteen, the idea didn’t make much of an impact on how she lived her daily life or imagined her future, other than beginning a new course of instruction with Master Magnus. At eight days passed twenty-five, part of Emma was horrified at the thought that she would outlive most of the people she loved whom were not of her blood. It wasn’t even a choice she had. She would live forever and while she loved her parents and her younger brother Leo, it felt as though she had been robbed of something.

It was her intention to journey to her mother’s homeland and find answers about her immortality, perhaps even a way to end it if she so chose.  It wasn’t that she wished to, but Emma had come to feel over the last few years that perhaps the purpose of living was knowing someday it would end. Her mother had shared her immortality with her husband and Emma knew that it was perhaps possible for her to do the same if she fell in love with a mortal. Though given she was merely half-Fae, her mother had no definitive answer as to how the ritual bond might work with her.

Guilt plagued her for deceiving her parents, her brother, for not disclosing her plans to a single soul, but her mother couldn’t help her and Misthaven had no records of Fae. Master Magnus once jokingly whispered this was likely because the Fae guarded information, real information about themselves and would often cull the libraries of men to keep those secrets as such. As much as Master Magnus had been a wealth of knowledge about magic, he also couldn’t give her the answers she sought.

As Emma urged her black horse through the dark woods, she was afraid. Not of the forest. She knew every inch of this forest like she did the back of her own hand. No, Emma feared what she would find or worse, that her journey would all be for naught. The trees overhead were thickly bound together, almost curled in an arch over the Kingsroad so that the moonlight barely illuminated the part of the path she traveled.

The howling of wolves distracted her as she rode, likely her Aunt Ruby’s pack out for their monthly hunt, drawing her focus away from her path before she gave the animal its head. Ruby was born of a long line of werewolves but she was Snow’s closest and oldest friend, which was saying something when one considered that Snow herself was at least two hundred years old. The magic of Ruby’s gift, or curse as many others would call it, gave a similar extended life to werewolves, given they continued to embrace their inner wolves and shifted regularly. Emma could feel the magic in the air tighten around her as the wolves ran close to her position.

Emma used a mild spell to hide her scent from the pack so that the harsh wind whooshing eerily through the trees, and any creatures of the wood observing her racing her steed through the night could not carry trace of her back to any who may seek to find her. Her senses tingled once again as she drew her horse off a new and unfamiliar path, the magic growing stronger the closer she got to her destination. Emma reigned in her horse and dismounted with a grace that only years on the back of the majestic animal could teach.

Emma led the horse on foot towards the source of the magic, her body tensing as she heard voices near her.

“Down, Arion,” Emma whispered to her horse, watching as he knelt down on the ground and laid lower than the hedgerow in front of them.

Emma saw an ancient and gnarled tree in an opening of the forest, just beyond where she hid. There appeared to be a locked gate just to the left of the deformed tree. To most it would appear the gate led to nowhere in particular, just an overgrown garden of someone’s long abandoned home. Emma knew better than that. She trusted the gut instinct that led her here. The rusted metal gate was her passageway into the Fae realm.

The voices she heard minutes before suddenly had forms to go with them. A man in a long, black leather duster entered the clearing. Emma could not make out his face. His hair was short and blacker than the leather he wore. She could make out little else about him.

“Smee, where in the seven hells is that powder?” a smooth, lilting voice called out.

Emma observed as a short, fat man rushed from the other side of the clearing. He was red-faced and huffing as he stopped before the other man.

“Here, Captain, here it is,” the man, Smee, bowed, offering a small blue pouch to the Captain. He backed away, pulling a red cap from his head. Smee clutched the cap desperately, his hands wringing it nervously as he backed away from the Captain just a little further.

The Captain marched up to the rusted metal gate, purpose in each stride. Reaching the gate, he sprinkled the contents of the blue pouch onto the ground. He held up his hand towards the gate and began muttering something in a vaguely familiar language. It was Dark Elvish! It was a spell she had not heard before but she could hazard a guess as to its purpose, tonight of all nights. The Captain clearly had the same idea as she. After several minutes, he was no longer speaking, but Emma still felt the presence of magic. Only nothing happened and Emma wondered why. The spell should have worked, if the caster had a proper grasp on the magic being used.

Curses emanated from the man, some in languages Emma understood and others that were foreign to her ears.

“Gods damn that woman!” the Captain cursed, whipping around to face the hedgerow where Emma was concealed. At first Emma feared that the man meant her but she was confident she had not been discovered yet.

Emma took the opportunity with the man facing towards her to study his face. The Captain, as the other had called him, was one of the most handsome men Emma had ever laid eyes upon. The dark locks covering his head were barely swept back off his brow. Raven hair peppered with auburn made up the beard and mustache that covered the lower half of his face. He wore a blood red doublet, that showed off more of the sinful hair that covered the rest of him. Emma shook her head and looked back up towards his face. His hand came up to tuck some wayward hair behind his left ear.

Emma gasped as she saw what she had missed in her perusal. Her right hand flew to cover her mouth and her left ran gently over her own slightly pointed ears. This man was half-Fae. Of course he was! It explained why he was in the middle of nowhere trying to open a gate that only those of Fae or magical descent could open. Lost in thought, she failed to take note of four men behind her, two whom had already secured Arion. The other two grabbed her, hauling her up, unfazed by her kicking and screaming in effort to escape. Emma forced her panic away as her hands were bound and her magic wouldn’t respond to her call. The men dragged her into the clearing to face their Captain.

Emma swallowed hard, channelling every bit of royal training into this moment. She might be captive but she wouldn’t be for long and she needed to be prepared for that opportunity.

“Well, what do we have here?” the Captain grinned, closing the distance between them in two quick steps. Emma didn’t answer, merely watching as the man looked her over. She was wearing a sapphire blue tunic vest, soft cotton blouse, (one that showed more cleavage than her mother would approve of) dark blue breeches and knee high riding boots. Her black cape skimmed the ground and the hood no longer hid her blonde tresses from view.

“Where are my manners,” he smiled, executing a courtly bow. “Captain Killian Jones, at your service,” Captain Jones provided as he resumed his former position. “What is your name, love?”

Emma thought about lying but something in her told her this man would know a lie from the truth. “Emma,” she said simply, not lying but refusing to expound upon her answer.

“What are you doing in the middle of the woods on such a night, Emma?” Captain Jones demanded.

Emma didn’t know how to answer without lying because telling the truth would give this man a reason to hold her prisoner, perhaps even longer than he intended. One of the two men flanking her, shook her violently when she failed to reply. Her hair, which had been braided loosely with several strands carefully arranged over her ears to prevent anyone from noticing the slight difference between hers and a human’s, fell free of its bonds when the Captain’s minion shook her. Hair tumbled down, obscuring her field of vision and tickling her nose while she tried to shake her head so that her hair was no longer in her face.

A pair of rough hands parted her hair in front of her nose, fingertips skimming gently over her forehead and carefully tucked her hair behind her ears as he had done with his own not so long before. His right hand stopped as it passed over her left ear. His eyes found hers. Emma tried to suppress the shiver that tore through her, failing miserably as his hand caressed her left ear, his left hand repeating the process on her other ear, thumbs lingering on her earlobe. The gesture was a deeply intimate one, creating a feeling Emma had never experienced before. Her eyes locked on his cerulean blue ones, she could see a million thoughts flash through them before he settled on one. Triumph.

“Well, Emma, I think there is a lot more to your story than meets the eye,” Captain Jones purred, his face mere inches in front of her own. Emma still hadn’t broken eye contact.

Just then Arion neighed loudly and reared back from those that tried to hold him against his will and the Captain turned to see what was going on.

The men holding her hesitated and she felt whatever was blocking her magic fade. She pulled free and spun around, waving her hand at the minions holding her, sending them catapulting through the air. She didn’t watch to see where they fell.

“Arion!” she shouted, calling her horse to her. Arion was almost to her when Captain shouted several Elven words that brought the animal to a halt next to the vile man. Emma’s sword was still in its scabbard, tied to Arion’s saddle and she had been relieved of her dagger when captured.

“Fuck,” Emma cursed. She had no weapon to defend herself; if she aimed a magical attack at the Captain, she had no doubt he could easily counter it. Or worse, she or he could accidentally hurt her beloved Arion in their struggle. She was plotting various outcomes as his voice broke through her inner thoughts.

“Princess Emma, you want the answers you came for? I have a proposition for you,” Captain Jones offered, walking Arion towards her.

“How did you know that I was the princess?” Emma deflected.

“A number of small details that, when added up, gave a pretty clear picture of who you were.”

Emma glared at him and he seemed to understand what the look said. “Firstly, your name is Emma.” Emma scoffed at him but he continued. “Secondly, your ears are those of the half-Fae, courtesy of your mother,” he explained. “Thirdly, your horse, Arion? There are many tales of the beautiful Princess and her faithful steed Arion who are frequently seen together riding the length and breadth of these woods.”

Emma wanted to knock the smug, self-satisfied smirk off his handsome face. “What is it you are proposing?” Emma grimaced at the choice of word.

“Regina, the Queen who rules over much of the Realm of the Fae, has barred me passage back, spiteful bitch that she is. I believe she did the same to your mother, Snow White,” Captain Jones spat. “Anyway, to get in, I need someone who is not barred from opening the portal and accompanying me through. Once you’re done, on my honor as a gentleman, I vow to set you free to find whatever you came here to find.”

“Your word as a gentleman?” Emma huffed angrily. “I’m supposed to believe the man who held me against my will and somehow bound my magic? You must be insane!”

“I am always a gentleman, love. I apologize that my men were rough with you, that was not my intention when I advised them to capture you. And I resent being called insane!”

“What else should I call a man such as you?” Emma growled as he invaded her personal space once more.

He stuck his tongue out and ran it lavisciously over lips, a frustratingly arrogant and obscene gesture in Emma’s mind. “Oh, love, I can think of many things you can call me,” he drawled. “But perhaps not in the middle of an open field littered with so many of my unconscious crewmen.”

Emma gasped at the outright nerve of the man. Suggesting she let him take her to bed. Emma had never done such a thing. “If I should take a lover, it’d never be you,” Emma vowed.

“Never is an awfully long time, darling. So what do you say? Open this portal and we can be on our way. The sooner we leave, the sooner you’ll be rid of me,” he said before looking up. “This full moon won’t last forever and I would prefer not to have to do this all again in a month. I have revenge I’d like to seek.”

“You want me to let you through this portal to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world? What kind of woman do you take me for?” Emma asked.

“There is a warlock by the name of Rumpelstiltskin who sought sanctuary there and I intend to kill him for once and for all. Nothing and no one will stop me,” the man clarified, glaring at her harshly.

“Why do you hunt this man?” Emma asked, frustration seeping into her bones that she even had to ask the question.

“He is more monster than man. He took someone from me, someone I loved very much and I have hunted him for centuries. Now that I know how to kill an immortal creature, I will finally put an end to the Dark One!” Captain Jones vowed, looking her in the eyes. The determination Emma found in his blue eyes frightened her.

“As long as you promise not to harm anyone but the man you seek, I will aid you,” Emma promised, extending her hand to the man in front of her.

“Unless I am attacked first, I promise not to harm any innocent souls on our quest,” Captain Jones said, grasping her hand and shaking it once. Emma felt a warmth spreading through her gloved hand and traveling through her. A glance toward the Captain revealed him appraising her with curiosity in his own gaze.

“Enough of that, Captain Jones. Let’s open this portal and be on our way,” Emma grumbled, withdrawing her hand from his for fear it might burn if she didn’t retract it.

“Enough of ‘Captain Jones’. My name is Killian. If we’re going to be companions, you might as well use my name,” he smirked, eyebrow arching in challenge.

“I think not, Captain Jones. Now, let’s get to work. Send your men back to where they came from.” He waved his hand, unconscious men disappearing in a puff of red smoke, and then turned to her once more.

Emma retrieved the scroll she had packed into the saddle bag before she had left and removed her gloves, tucking them into the saddle bag. She had to feel in order to properly perform the spell to remove the enchantment long enough for them to pass through.

As she approached the gate, her right hand reached out to feel the barrier the portal had protecting it. Emma pushed back against the cold she found on the edge of the gate’s barrier, her steps bringing her closer to the gate. Emma rested her hand on it, ignoring the feeling that she should turn around and walk away, expecting there may be some sort of spell here designed to keep humans away. Emma eyes fell closed as she focused. She had spent twelve years honing her magic and she was more in touch with her Fae half at the moment. A rich, post-rain earthy smell with a faint hint of cinnamon reached her nostrils as her left hand rested on the rusted metal. It encouraged her as she dug into the power of the barrier.

Emma’s mouth opened, speaking the carefully constructed spell to open the gate.

“Stop!” she heard from somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t stop now. Her power was so alive, she could feel the magic of the barrier loosen. The power started to wrap itself around her. Emma encouraged it until she was struggling to take in a single breath of air. She tried to fight the feeling, tried to disentangle herself but it was too late.

Warm fingers trailed against her right hand and threaded themselves into hers. The smell of salt, sea and seaweed melded with the earthy smell from before, completely enveloping her as the constriction on her chest lessened and air flowed easily into her body. A thought reached her mind, Repeat after me. Emma focused on the words the voice fed to her, not saying them outloud but focusing her feelings on the meaning of the words, willing them to be reality.

A burst of wind washed over her as she felt the barrier break. The hand grasping hers didn’t let go when the way before them was free to be travelled. Emma turned to face the owner of the hand, Killian Jones. Logically, she knew it was him, but she was surprised he had saved her and was still in a state of shock from the way the portal had defended itself - nay, brutally attacked her for seeking entry.

“I am sor-,” Emma started before he cut her off. “No, don’t say it. It is I who should be sorry. I fear that my attempt to probe the gate previously, must have  triggered a curse built in for encountering my magic. It retaliated on the next attempt to open it.”

“I realized what was happening as you cast your attempt. I felt Rumplestiltskin’s magic all over it. He must have placed this here in case I sought entry. It must be why Regina, your grandmother, accepted him. We don’t have a pleasant history and she probably wanted me dead too,” Killian explained, a bit sheepishly, looking remorseful he was the reason she had almost died.

Emma almost missed that she began referring to the Captain by his first name in her head. After what she felt, his mind against hers during the spell, she simply didn’t want to bother with such formalities any further. It didn’t feel right.

Arion felt uneasy next to her, she turned, muttered softly to him. “It’s alright boy. There is nothing to fear. The danger is gone. You should be able to pass through the portal with me.”

Arion neighed nervously and shook his head, gaze turning towards the scoundrel with whom she had made a compact. Emma shook her head at Arion’s description of the man.

“I promise not to hurt your mistress, Arion. On my life, I promise to keep her safe.”

Emma had hoped he wouldn’t know the ancient Gaelic tongue that she had used with Arion since he was a colt. Given the brief mention of centuries chasing the same foe, Emma guessed he might even have been alive when the language was more commonly spoken. Emma tried to shake the unsettling feeling that arose at his promise. He was a stranger who’d held her briefly against her will and manipulated her into helping him. Why would he make such a promise?

“Shall we go?” Killian asked, having retrieved his own horse. Emma shook herself and swung into the saddle on Arion’s back.

The gate now opened with a gentle wave of her hand and they passed through into a forest that appeared the same as they had left behind except that magic pulsed through every tree, branch, leaf and root. The rusted gate slammed shut with a loud bang. An ominous feeling lingered in the back of her mind. Did she really have any idea what she was getting into? It was too late to turn back.

Killian watched the princess carefully as they trotted at a slow pace down the trail. Her power was unlike anything he had encountered in his nearly six hundred years. Guilt nagged at him that his reckless attempt to open the barrier had unleashed a counterspell meant to kill him. He had no idea what possessed him to grab her hand other than pure instinct. The instant he touched her hand, he felt her power, willfully ignoring the part of his mind that coveted that power for himself. He pushed away those thoughts, knowing if he was going to get into Danann he needed to focus towards helping the young princess break the counterspell since she had successfully broken the initial barrier.

It had been more than seventy years since he had been back to Danann. This was not the world he remembered. It was dark, no creatures or people visible as the road from the gate merged with the main road. Even at night, this place used to be more alive. A once busy thoroughfare was reduced to an overgrown dirt path. This had Rumplestiltskin’s dirty fingerprints all over it.

Anger flared deep within his soul, bound with satisfaction that the damnable warlock would soon meet his end. Killian didn’t even care that the cost may very well be his own life. Half life that it was since Milah had died. The day echoed in his mind as clear now as the day itself.

“Okay, lads. One night here in this port and we’ll be on our way with the morning high tide. Any man who misses the departure will no longer have pleasure of serving on this crew,” Killian sneered, looking around at the men on deck. “See the purser for your share of the haul.”

With that Killian departed and made his way down to his cabin. Milah was sitting at his desk, dark hair a mess around her face as she stared at the drawing in front of her, completely lost in her regret. Her face was covered in tears and she was only half dressed, wearing her leather pants, heeled boots and a white blouse. Her favorite corseted-vest lay discarded on the floor despite her knowing how much he valued clean and tidy living quarters.

Killian knelt on the floorboards next to his lover. He could see the gray which now peppered her raven locks as he pushed her hair out her face.

“I know he wouldn’t look this way, but it’s the only comfort I have. He’d be twenty now,” Milah sobbed, turning to Killian. He gathered her into his arms and coaxed her to let go of her pain.

About eight years after he and Milah had run away from the little port town at which they were now docked, they’d received word that Milah’s son, Baelfire had died.The circumstances were still a mystery even years later. The one detail they had discovered was that her husband, Rumpelstiltskin, had acquired some kind of magic and had been terrorizing the local villagers in sadistic revenge on them for having always called him a coward. Baelfire got caught in the crossfire of the conflict and had been found dead. Townsfolk whispered that it had been Rumplestiltskin himself that had accidentally dealt the death blow to his own son.

Milah’s grief had been untamed, much like the woman herself, and in the early days after he used magic to help heal her which led him to finally tell her of his own heritage. The lasting gift that his mother had given him. His mother, after giving birth to Killian, decided that she want to bind herself to his father, Brennan Jones. For a Fae, it was an enormous commitment to bind their heart to a mortal, to share eternity with them. Ailsa had been certain Brennan was worthy of this honor but to her horror, during the binding ceremony, Ailsa split her heart and Brennan proved untrue. Ailsa died before completing the ceremony.

Milah had wanted it of him then, wanted him to bind himself to her, and Killian had felt guilty that he could not do it. Milah, though she was his in his heart, had bound herself in marriage to Rumpelstiltskin and nothing but death could break that bond. Over time, Milah had accepted what they were able to share, his wife in all but name, and she eventually began to heal from the pain the death of her son had reaped from her heart.

It took years, but Killian had convinced her that since her husband had moved on from their former home, she could finally pay her respects to her son’s final resting place. When the day was upon them, Killian felt regret surge up, his magic screaming at him to weigh anchor and leave. Killian ignored the instinct.

“Milah, we have made port. Just get dressed and we will go seek what we came here for and then we can go to the tavern and get as drunk as you’d like. Can you do that, my love?” Killian asked, tender care for her emotional state at the forefront of his mind.

She compiled without the utterance of a single word. Killian hated seeing his fiery sea goddess so diminished and defeated by ghosts of the past. When they reached the quarterdeck, most of the men had received their pay and departed for the local taverns, brothels and gaming houses. Only the second mate, Smee (a half-Fae as well), their gunner Kincaid, and ship’s doctor, Whale, still sat on the deck and as consequence, no one was guarding the gangplank to the dock. A man, extravagantly dressed in a fine blue silk doublet and brown suede breeches, knee high stockings, paired with jewel-bedecked heeled shoes, now stood on the deck of his ship without invitation. Kincaid made a move to draw his sword and the stranger waved his hand and the blade flew to his outstretched fingers.

The gasp Milah let out and the shaking fear he felt radiating off of her told him immediately who this man was. This was her husband, Rumplestiltskin. The man whose abuse pushed her into Killian’s arms. He was older than Killian had imagined, with long gray hair that hung just above his shoulders and a bit of a bulging belly that showed he was well beyond his prime. Killian surged with anger at this man who had tormented Milah for many years. A woman who had the misfortune to have been sold by her noble father to a man who made his fortune selling weapons to people on both sides of a conflict. The man who had taken advantage of a young girl’s misplaced affection and asserted his martial rights even when she would have preferred anything other than her husband rutting harshly into her, without thought for her pleasure, until he was spent and she was pregnant.

Killian could feel the sparks of his anger translate into the sparking of his magic.

The other man looked directly at him in that moment. “Tsk, tsk, wouldn’t want to start something you can’t win, now would we, Captain?” Rumpelstiltskin cautioned, wagging his pointer finger reproachingly.

“Rumple, why are you here? I simply came to pay my respects to our son. Please just let me visit his grave and we’ll be on our way,” Milah begged, eyes red again from unshed tears.

“You were no mother to our boy when he lived, I’ll be damned if you get to pretend that you were mother to him after he is gone,” Rumple raged, face turning a pale, shimmering blue.

“I knew if I left, you’d wish good riddance upon me but if I dared to steal your heir, then you’d follow me to the ends of the Earth to get him back. No matter how awful you were to me, I knew you loved Bae,” Milah sobbed.

“YOU DO NOT GET TO SAY HIS NAME, YOU FILTHY WHORE!” Rumplestiltskin roared, appearing in front of her with inhuman speed. His hand was on her chest - nay! - within her chest and with a sharp tug, the monster pulled her heart, enchanted by the magic he had used to remove it from its home. Killian had only ever heard of this magic. He had never, despite the evils he had done in his lifetime, used magic against another in such a purely despicable way.

Killian’s hand flinched as he watched the other man squeeze Milah’s heart ever so slightly. Milah fell to her knees on the hard wooden deck, howling in pain.

“If you move, pirate, I’ll crush her heart,” the warlock threatened, squeezing again until Milah screamed louder and several tiny cracks appeared on the surface of her heart.

Killian paused, uncertain what to do. The man before him seemed to sense when he was using magic and there was no way in such close quarters that the man wouldn’t notice Killian unsheathing his sword. Killian reached out to his ship, his beloved Jewel of the Realm, once Liam’s ship and then Killian’s after his half-brother’s tragic death. The Jewel had always had a magical quality to her and had often responded to his magic calling for help. He cloaked his effort and slowly, one of the rigging lines crept towards Rumplestiltskin. Just as the line was about to ensnare him, the warlock turned and directed the rope around Killian so tightly he could barely breathe. Rumple ordered Milah to her feet and with no choice but to comply, she rose. The man dragged Killian through the air until he was just inches from Milah’s face.

“Now, pirate, I want you to look into the eyes of the person you love most in this world. Tell her how much she means to you,” his tormentor ordered. “Now!” he screeched when Killian didn’t comply immediately.

Milah spoke first. “Killian, I love you. Thank you for the adventure of my life. I will always be with you. Never forget me. I don’t regret loving you,” she lamented, pressing her lips to his for what she knew was their final kiss.

“I love you, Milah. I promise that no matter how long I live, I could never forget you,” he pledged, wishing he could run his hand along her cheek.

“Ah, how sweet. True love,” Rumple crooned. “But love never lasts,” he cackled, crushing her heart. Milah crumpled to the deck, light gone from her eyes.

In his glee, the monster let his spell slip and Killian broke free of his binds. Killian drew his sword and ran the monster through. Instead of dying, the monster laughed as Killian stumbled back. Rumpelstiltskin drew the sword from his torso and swung it around to chop off Killian’s hand. The sword sliced clean through but Killian picked up the severed hand, held it up to the bleeding stump at the end of his arm and reattached it with his magic. It still pulsed from the repair but his magic was working on the inside to knit sinew and bone back together.

“Not easy to kill, are you pirate? Well, neither am I,” Rumpelstiltskin laughed, dropping the bloodied sword to the deck.

“I will find a way to kill you, know matter how long it takes,” Killian swore, venom surfacing in his magic in ways he had never experienced.

“Good luck living long enough to try,” the monster hissed, disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

“Captain Jones?” a sweet voice jostled him out of the memories.

“Aye, lass?” he replied, uncertain how long he had been unfocused. Taking stock of their position on road, he had zoned out for a very long time - if the setting sun was any indication, he’d lost more than sixteen hours. He was grateful that even with his mind unfocused, he managed to keep them on the right path toward civilization. Killian turned to his companion to see she was slumped over slightly and looked like it was taking every ounce of her strength to keep her seat.

He really should have accounted for how much strength - magic - she had exhausted.

“There’s a tavern a short distance up the road,” Killian supplied. He grabbed her reins and drew her steed to his. Tying them around his wrist he turned to her. “Get some rest. Between, Arion and I, you shall arrive safely.”

She blinked at him suspiciously, clearing not trusting him as she adjusted herself so she sat ramrod straight in her saddle. She turned and nodded for him to lead the way. She was headstrong, this princess. She reminded him of Milah in many ways. But just like the differences of their hair color, he suspected the two women were as diverse as night and day.

Night was fully upon them before they reached the inn. He guided them to the stable and hopped to the ground. He gathered his things from his horse and turned to find the princess still sitting perfectly straight in her seat. He walked around to the side of her horse that wasn’t tied to his.

“Princess, you need to come down now. We’ve reached our destination,” he implored gently. She seemed to rouse herself from whatever trance she was in and tried to dismount. Unlike the grace she had shown earlier, she couldn’t seem to summon the will to come down.

Killian placed his hands on her waist and lifted her down. He suppressed a groan as she slid down along his body. The second he had her on the ground, he realized she had cast a spell to keep herself upright but now she was dead asleep. He was going to have to wake her because, unless the inn before them had changed hands, Tiana would not appreciate him hauling an unconscious woman inside and demanding a room. Killian deposited the sleeping princess on a bale of hay outside the stall, waiting for a moment as she slumped over against the wall. Certain that she wouldn’t fall and injure herself, Killian removed her saddle bag and placed it near her feet and brushed down both of the horses. He started with Emma’s Arion and then his own gray, Kelan.

“Where are we?” the princess asked groggily, scrubbing her hands over her face in an effort to wake herself.

“At an inn,” Killian replied, turning back to his task. He could feel her surprise.

“I’m surprised a man such as you would take the time do such a simple task,” Emma scoffed, rubbing Arion’s ears, conjuring an apple to her palm for her valiant steed. The horse snapped up the treat with enthusiasm.

“Don’t judge a man by appearances. You don’t know me, love,” Killian chided, turning to look her in the eyes.

“I’m not,” she said defensively. “I’m judging a man who had me held against my will, manipulated me and almost got me killed. But you did also make sure that I didn’t die back there, so for that, at least, I thank you,” Emma conceded.

“Well, perhaps there is more to me than meets the eyes,” Killian smirked, arching his eyebrows in challenge. The princess blushed and looked away and he had to wonder what exactly prompted that reaction. “Now let’s go see about a room for the night. I know the innkeeper,” Killian remarked, picking up their bags and letting her walk before him.

Just as before she reached to open the door, Killian rushed in front of her and halted her progress. “Before we enter, I just wanted to ask that you let me do the talking. And whatever you do, don’t stare,” he cautioned.

“At what?” she asked indignantly, as though a he should expect a princess would have better manners than to stare.

“Any of it,” Killian grimaced, just wondering what kind of creatures they were about to encounter, grabbing the latch and pulling it open.

The music inside the tavern was loudy and heady, there was a siren on stage. The taproom was dirty and dark, half dressed faires bustling from table to table keeping the alcohol flowing. This certainly wasn’t the place he remembered.

At the table closest the door sat two disgustingly ugly goblins, their greenish-black skin glimmering in the low candle light. Their companions were three bridge trolls, dressed in heavy firs with small bugs running across their coats every now and again. Killian took note of several dwarves, gremlins, a singular warlock and two male fairies with black-tipped ears, a sign they were dark magic practitioners.

The energy in the room was murky and ominous. A damp, dank, black magic signature pressed against Killian’s until he felt like gagging. Killian froze as he recognized whose magic this was.

“Killian Jones?” a tall, slender dark-skinned man inquired, slithering from the back room of the tavern to the bar. “As I live and breathe, I thought Regina banished you.”

“Ah, Shadowman, I thought you knew better than to underestimate me. Regina did exactly that. She failed miserably,” Killian laughed confidently.

“And who is this lovely young woman?” Shadowman cooed, dropping his elbow to the bartop and resting his chin on his palm. Killian watched the wizard assess the young princess with a disturbingly lustful glint in his yellow eyes.

“My wife, Emma,” Killian said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it hard. He could feel her anger radiating through her at his statement and his touch. He gave her a sharp look and she nodded. “We need a room for the night,” Killian said, extracting his hand from Emma’s to summon the needed coin to pay Shadowman. Killian had truly missed how much easier it was to call on his magic here in Danann.

“Just your luck, Jones. I have one left for the evening,” Shadowman said as a key appeared in a puff of green smoke and dropped into Killian’s palm. “Mrs. Jones,” Shadowman said, tipping his hat at her as they left the taproom.

They traipsed up the stairs and found the corresponding room for the key number. Killian let her enter ahead of him again and then followed. He dropped his bags and drew out his dagger, slicing a small cut on his wrist. He pressed his bloodied wrist to the door and sealed the room from any of the shady patrons occupying the taproom. Emma was leaning against the wall, whispering something he couldn’t hear. He felt her seal off the sounds of their room with a silencing spell. No sounds in or out. He was certain the only reason she was able to bind the room was because of the well of magic that this world held.

“Your wife? What in the hell were you thinking?” Emma demanded, shaking angrily.

“I was thinking that Shadowman would have harmed you if I hadn’t claimed you as mine. I was trying to protect you. If you think I’m the villain in this situation, just know that all the horrors I’ve visited on others are NOTHING compared to that man. That collector of souls! Even if I hated you, I would not let you fall into the hands of that man,” Killian huffed, ripping off his duster and throwing it in the opposite direction from her. Something to release the tension he felt.

“I am no man’s, least of all yours!”

“I’m well aware of that, Princess,” Killian sighed, watching the exhausted princess rail against him, despite knowing she just wanted to sleep. She faltered and he stepped to her side and helped her lay down on the bed.

“Just try to get some sleep,” Killian begged, removing her boots with a flick of his wrist. She was staring at him and he wondered how much longer before she reached for the dagger she had tucked into her bosom on the trek.

He chuckled, “I’m not sleeping here, the bed is yours. See,” Killian gestured to the pallet he conjured for himself. “No need to fear for your innocence.”

He laid down and let sleep claim him, thankful he could almost always count on his slumber to arrive on swift wings.

Emma awoke with a scream. She looked around the room for the cause of her fear but found nothing but a scantily clad pirate with towel wrapped low on his hips, apparently having just emerged from the bathtub behind a three-paneled screen with elaborate paintings on each pane. The dark chest hair she had seen before trialed down below the line of the towel. The sound of him clearing his throat caused her to abruptly turn away, she could feel the redness of embarrassment from her chest to cheeks.

“Like what you saw, Princess?” Killian chuckled.

Thoughts pooled in her mind and lower but she voiced none of them. “You shouldn’t call me that,” Emma settled on.

“Princess? I suppose not since I told a whole room full of people that you are my wife,” Killian reminded her.

“I am not,” she huffed again.

“Perhaps, I’ll call you Swan. Given how you kept your seat on your horse with your neck as elongated as possible and with more grace than most could in such a state of exhaustion. What do you think of that, wife?” he said, empathizing the last word just to heckle her.

“I like it I suppose, but I’m not your wife,” Emma chided.

“Very few people will believe that, given you’ve been holed up with me in this room for a week,” Killian said calmly, disappearing behind a screen once more to dress.

“A WEEK?!” her shrill cry surprising even her. How on Earth could a week have gone by?

As if understanding her confusion, he just laughed and she was not pleased. He appeared from the other side of the screen dressed in a white shirt that was open to the middle of his chest and his leather pants, boots still near his pallet on the floor.

“Time passes differently here. A week here is usually close to a day in the realm of your birth,” Killian explained, sitting down in a chair by the table in opposite corner from the bath. He pulled his boots on, watching her closely.

“What have you been doing for all this time? Why didn’t you leave?” Emma asked, unsure why this man did anything, let alone protect her.

“You should bathe and change. I’ve left fresh, hot bathwater and clean towels for you,” he nodded towards the screen, avoiding answering her questions.

Emma had no desire to be naked in a room with a man, let alone one she didn’t exactly trust but her muscles were sore and stiff from disuse. The toll the counterspell had taken on her body was greater than she had anticipated. She slipped behind the screen and disrobed, setting her dagger on the small table by the tub just in case. Instinctively, she knew if he had meant her harm, he could have done it whilst she slept. Instead, she had awoken still fully clothed, save her boots and wholy unmolested. Still, the dagger remained accessible as she prepared to cleanse herself.

A moan escaped her as she sank into the steaming water of the tub. She heard the Captain falter in his steps and the unmistakable sound of his groan just before she submerged her head under the water. Emma relaxed and tried to let her mind go blank. She had dreamt even though she couldn’t remember any of it. Strange thing for her because she always remembered her dreams. Sometimes her dreams were prophetic, though not in large, world changing ways. Her dreams often revealed fragments or details about a future event, most just a small but concrete sense of déjà vu.

Emma sat back up out of the water, frustrated she couldn’t let her mind clear. She tried again, letting go of everything until the only sound she could hear was her own rhythmic breathing. She let her mind drift back into the dream state.

Emma opened her eyes to find she was in the middle of a burned and desolate ruin, that of an unfamiliar castle. She turned to see if anyone was around but found no other souls. She walked through the rubble until she came to a wall that was still standing. In the center of that wall was a heavy oak door with no burn marks like the rest of the structure. Everything in her was telling her not to open the door, but she couldn’t listen to that voice just now.

The door handle jostled as she attempted to open the door and upon her second attempt, it gave way. The room she entered was undamaged like the door had been. There were walls lined with ancient looking tomes, a table of to her right stacked with potions and potion making supplies and in the very center of the room was a giant spinning wheel.

Emma stepped closer to it, curiosity unabated. On the floor below her feet she heard crunching sounds so she knelt down to inspect the source of the noise. ‘It looked like straw’ was the first thought that flashed through her mind. Her finger grasped the thin object and brought it in front of her eyes for closer inspection. It was gold. What a strange thing to find in the midst of her dream. Emma stood, thin gold piece still in hand and found herself face to face with a scaly monster with bright yellow eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for you a long time, Dearie,” the creature hissed, hand reaching out towards her throat.

Emma awoke in the tub, screaming once more. Shuffling on the other side of the screen and the clatter of something being dropped.

“Swan, are you ok?” Killian’s voice croaked from the edge of the screen. She could tell he was trying to be gentlemanly but his concern was unnerving. She wished he would leave.

She exited the tub and cloaked herself in the oversized towel, using another to dry her hair. “I am unharmed, stand down.”

He did as she asked and when she sensed he was away from the screen, she quickly dressed in a clean blouse she had packed, along with a dark blue vest that laced up the front for ease of wear. She donned a pair of soft, brown leather riding pants and pulled on her knee high boots. Clothing secure, she stepped out to face the Captain.

“What did you see?” he demanded, every inch the commanding man she had first seen.

“Nothing,” Emma lied.

“What did you see?” he repeated, blue eyes glaring at her, anger brimming at her dissemblance. “The spell I cast on this room when we entered should have blocked you from harm, but it didn’t,” Killian said, handing her the mirror from the table next to him.

Emma accepted the mirror and held it up. On either side of her neck were purple fingerprint bruises. She set the mirror on the table and slumped into the chair. That had never happened before. Her dreams had never left a physical mark before and it terrified her.

Killian sat across from her and was silent, awaiting her response. Emma sighed and relayed the dream to him. When she was finished, she looked over at him to find he looked pale and uncomfortable.

“You know the man with yellow eyes, don’t you?” Emma asked cautiously. “Yellow eyes are a mark of a warlock of non-magical heritage.”

“Yes, he’s the warlock - demon - I am hunting,” Killian said after several long moments. “Why he’d be after you, I have no idea.”

“Because of what you said in the taproom. When you claimed me as your wife, you marked me. Someone down there told him we were here. So now if he comes, he’ll come for both of us,” Emma predicted, confident in her statement because, strategically at least, it made sense. If she was really his wife, then she would be a weakness to be exploited. A means to get to the man who sat before her.

Emma wanted to be angry, part of her was irate, but she also recalled what Killian said about losing the one he loved to this monster. She couldn’t imagine how she could have recovered from such a thing had she been in his place. She might have even considered a path of revenge herself if this Rumpelstiltskin had done to her as he had done to Killian Jones. She pushed away the thought, cursing her sympathetic heart and her stupidity for getting mixed up with this man.

“All I wanted when I journeyed here was to find answers about my heritage. To learn where I came from and why my magic is different. My mother told me that when I was younger that upon my twenty-fifth birthday that I’d stop aging and I’d never grow older. Never die. I wanted to know, even if I never use it, how an immortal, such as I am, may seek to have finality,” Emma raged, not talking to him in particular but rather at the ether.

“If you help me rid the world of Rumpelstiltskin, I’ll accompany you to the library in your mother’s former home,” Killian promised.

“My mother’s former home is the current home of Regina, my step-grandmother who drove my mother out and banished her from this realm. I doubt she’ll just let us waltz in and use her library,” Emma scoffed.

“She’s in league with Rumpelstiltskin so I imagine we will have to face her as well,” Killian pointed out.

“So we’d be taking on the evil warlock who killed your love and the evil queen who tormented my mother and murdered my grandfather?” Emma asked, feeling the need to make sure they were on the same page as far as the level of insanity for this venture.

“That’s the sum of it, yeah,” Killian agreed, having the decency to look her in the eye as he confirmed her assessment.

“I suppose given that if I say no, I’d still be walking into a quarrel I never asked for, I don’t have much of a choice,” Emma conceded, ceasing her pacing and siting once more on the soft mattress of the bed.

“You’ll find, the older you get, that there is always a choice. Whether or not you like the choices, but there is always a choice involved,” he advised, tone sounding wistful and mournful at the same time.

Emma had to wonder how many lifetimes this man had lived. It was plain to see he had lost a lot in his life. Suffered immense pain but also experienced immense joy. Was that what awaited her? Eons of emotional ups and downs with no true destination. Fear crept into her skull and rooted itself firmly. Emma knew at some point she’d have to look the fear in the eye and give name to it, but today wouldn’t be that day.

“Do you have some kind of plan?” Emma asked after a lengthy pause, decision made.

Killian smirked, but then schooled his features. “I do have a plan and as much as I am confident in the spells we have placed upon these walls, I would prefer we depart from this place and gain some distance.”

“I understand. A strategy is worthless if your enemy knows what you intend,” Emma agreed.

They finished dressing and gathered their things in silence. Emma and Killian approached the door in unison. Emma lifted the silence spell from the room and Killian broke the blood magic seal on the room. Emma walked behind Killian as he seemed very familiar with the inn. As they entered the tap room, a brief silence descended upon the patrons before the chatter resumed. Emma could feel eyes lingering on her as weaved through the tables towards the door. Killian grabbed her hand and hurried her along.

“People are leering at me,” Emma whispered in his ear, her body pressed closer to his back than was appropriate.

“They are probably wondering how you are able to walk if I have spent the last week fucking you on every surface in our chamber,” was his gruff reply.

Emma made a noise of indignance at his coarse words, which he seemed to ignore. Emma coldly ignored the traitorous voice in her own head that was intrigued by the idea.

Once outside to the stables, they each quickly attended to their horse, preparing to ride away as quickly as possible. The sound of straw breaking behind them caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. Emma quietly drew her sword from its sheath, turning to bring her blade against her assailant. Steel clashed against steel as the goblin she had spied in the dark corner of the taproom days ago slashed at her without pause. Emma turned her head slightly to see Killian was occupied fighting two other goblins, their green skin cut in several places and a reddish-black substance - their blood she realized - oozing from their wounds.

Emma turned to her own opponent, testing his defences for a weakness. The goblin’s long, bony fingers of the hand not gripping his sword made an attempt to grab her hair and Emma dodged him. After a few moments, Emma realized the goblin was leaving his right side open every time he attacked. Emma fented and dodged his blade while driving hers into his side. The goblin’s eyes snapped to hers in surprise. Emma withdrew her sword and stared at his failing body, shaking.

Killian appeared in a rush behind her, hand on her back. “Time to go, Swan. Get on your horse,” he commanded. Emma stood there, hands still shaking, watching the goblin bleed out in front of her.

“EMMA!” he shouted, dismounting and at her side in seconds. He took notice of the corpse in front of them, understanding dawning on his features. “Emma, you had to. It was you or him and I’m rather glad it wasn’t you. We must go,” he urged, panic in his voice at the sounds of others preparing to arrive.

When she didn’t move, he physically grabbed her waist and flung her over his shoulder. He threw her into her saddle and vaulted into his own. Killian took off at a gallop and Emma was grateful Arion followed without her commanding him too. She had taken a life. The goblin had been an assassin or maybe just a thief but Emma grappled with her actions. Arion galloped at full speed just behind Killian’s gray, putting as much distance between them and the danger of the inn.

After nearly three hours of hard riding, Killian pulled up and guided them off the road to a stream, letting the horses drink freely and relax after the hard ride. He turned to Emma and without words, gathered her into his arms, as she crumpled against him. Emma sobbed and he simply held her as one would a crying child. Eventually Emma dried her eyes and reluctantly withdrew from his embrace.

“I feel a guilt I can’t shake. I know if I hadn’t chosen as I did that I’d be the dead body in that stable, but that doesn’t make it easier. Will it ever be easier?”

Emma could sense the empathy he felt for her situation. “I wish I could lie to you, but you’ll never forget your first,” he sighed, hand swiping his wind-blown hair out of his face. “For me, all my years as a pirate, I was a ruthless man at times. I’ve killed more than I can remember. Sometimes it haunts me, all this blood on my hands,” he held out his hands towards her. “I feel the shame of it at the worst times. I shove it away and move on. If I look back, I’m lost,” he confessed, sitting down on the sandy bank of the river.

Emma studied him for several minutes. This enigma in front of her, this man who had dealt more death in his life than Emma could even fathom, and yet he seemed to be weighed down and felt some measure of regret. If I look back, I’m lost, he said it like one might a prayer or mantra, something oft repeated to help him bury the regrets of the past.

Emma sat on the sand next to him. “So now what do we do?” she whispered, pulling her knees to her chest, resting her head on top of her arms, looking out at the horses they wandered up the grassy embankment.

Killian removed a dagger from his boot and held it out to her. It was an ordinary dagger, she looked at him puzzled. His hand passed over it as she held in both hands. It transformed in her hands to kris dagger made of the finest steel, inlaid with a black obsidian, a name inscribed along the length of the blade. She open her mouth to speak and Killian’s finger pressed to her lips, silencing her.

“Don’t say the name,” he warned, taking his finger from her lips. She nodded.

“This controls him. I’ve hunted it for a very long time,” Killian said.

“If it does as you say, why wouldn’t he carry it with him?” Emma wondered aloud. Emma had always been warned by her various teachers that if an enemy knew her weakness, she would be extremely vulnerable.

“He buried it at the foot of the monument he erected for his son,” he said calmly. Emma listened intently as he wove a story of love, tragedy and vengeance. Emma’s heart constricted watching Killian relive the worst of his memories.

“I’m sorry,” Emma apologized. She almost wished she hadn’t asked but to make sound choices going forward, she needed to be able to see the whole board.

“Thank you, but you have nothing to apologize for. Anyway, this blade was once part of a mystical blade, Excalibur, forged here in Danann by the great wizard Merlin. For the research I’ve done here in Danann and in the realm of men, the sword is rumored to be hidden in the town of Camelot.”

“Camelot doesn’t exist,” Emma insisted.

“It does. And it’s here in Danann. The birthplace of the first Dark One. We must retrieve the other half and use this,” he pulled a small box from his coat pocket, “to reforge the sword. Once the broken blade is renewed, one nick from it will cut all immortal ties.”

Emma absorbed the new part of the plan. “But you don’t just mean to nick this warlock with the renewed blade, do you?”

When he turned, Emma could see bloodlust and anger in his blue eyes, making him look a madman. “No. No, I do not. I intend to stab him through the heart. Or in the chest as it is unlikely the monster even has a heart.”

Emma said nothing about his plan. She hauled herself from the ground, brushing the sand and dirt from her breeches and mounted Arion. Killian shook off the demons on his mind and mounted up as well. “Lead the way,” she nodded.

Emma had a lot of time to think as they rode. After their short respite, they rode hard again, stopping only for the bare necessities of water, sustenance and to relieve themselves. Two days passed this way. In silence. Killian seemed determined to make sure the distance between the two of them was as great as the distance between their current location and Shadowman’s inn.

She simply had to take cues from his behavior to know what might be expected of her. Not that reading his body language was a problem for someone who had lived in a royal court her whole life, Emma wondered at the change. He had shown her glimpse that he wasn’t just a bloodthirsty pirate. Emma knew he wasn’t whenever he used his magic. If he had been the evil man he seemed to want her to believe, she would’ve sensed it in his magic.

He always seemed of two natures and Emma knew what it was like to feel like two parts of herself were at war with the other. Emma was human and Fae, but she didn’t exactly fit in either world. She knew very little about the realm of her mother’s origin and there was much Emma still had to learn about her own power she wouldn’t learn at home. And at home, she couldn’t truly fit in because she was different, not entirely human and it bred a distrust among some people. There was one person who could give her answers but he wasn’t taking.

After the third day of silence, Emma had had enough. In the middle of the path she pulled Arion to a stop and jumped down. Arion followed her after a brief flicker of his head towards Killian.

“I’ve had enough of the silence. It’s maddening,” Emma bellowed, crossing her arms over her chest. Killian looked taken aback, red creeping alone his neck to the tip of his ears. Whether in anger or desire, Emma had no clue.

“Swan, I-,” Emma cut him off with a harsh glance. “Don’t make excuses. We agreed to be allies in this assine quest. I even got answers that I’ve searched for for months all within days of meeting you, but I almost regret this trip now. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish, but walling yourself off isn’t going to make it easier for me to trust you when this plan inevitably goes to hell. So cease acting like a child!”

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I will do better.”

“Thank you. I have never in my life met another half-Fae. I was curious about your life, what you know about our kind. Maybe you can tell me as we journey towards Camelot?” Emma prompted.

“Seeing as it will take three weeks to reach Camelot and another three to reach your grandmother’s stronghold where the monster resides, I suppose that it not an unreasonable request,” Killian confirmed.

“You were going to be silent for six whole weeks?” Emma shrieked.

“It’s not the longest I’ve gone without talking to another soul. That number would be more like three and a half years,” Killian laughed at the horrified look Emma knew must be plastered on her face.

Killian seemed to be lighter once Emma snapped him out of his stupidity. During the day they would ride and share stories of their lives. At night they made camp, and he would tell her tales of the peoples of Danann, its history and its magic. Emma’s short years meant she listened to Killian’s life story more often than not. She had been right that he had lived many lifetimes. He was nearly three times her mother’s age. He didn’t hide any of the unpleasant parts of his past, often looking away when he told a tale that involved him as the villain. He would always follow such stories with self-deprecating humor and tales that had Emma roaring with laughter.

Emma had never laughed so much in her life as she did when they shared bits of their embarrassing moments. Sometimes she felt a wistful longing when they laughed together.

“I was so drunk, I stumbled on to my ship to the wheel where I lashed myself to it to keep me upright. Once I was finished I promptly passed out. When I awoke my helmsman, Anderson, was standing so close to me that I could feel his co- his um, presence against my arse. His hands spread on either side of my head to grasp the wheel. He made a suggestion in my ear and I was still too drunk not to take him up on it. He was very good with his hands,” Killian smirked, lost in the memory.

Emma looked away, half disgusted by the implication, yet still half aroused at thoughts of her own hands exploring the Captain’s body. Emma shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, sighing a little at the friction her movement brought. Killian’s head whipped around to look at her. He heard her. Emma burned crimson, a color she felt all the way to the tips of her own half pointed ears. He continued on with a different story, but Emma could feel his steely blue gaze fixed on her the rest of the day’s ride.

In the nearly four weeks she had known him, she knew her attraction to him was undeniable. His dark hair that he ran his fingers through so often it seemed like a tic. His blue eyes that seemed as changeable as the sapphire seas he loved and thick eyebrows that could convey an entire conversation separate from his words. He was a very well educated man who told her of his collection of books back on his ship. Killian was so smart and witty (and damn if he didn’t know it, the bastard), they could spar verbally for hours on end. He also challenged her to spar with him and more often than not ended up correcting her form or critiquing her technique. Emma tried not to let her irritation cloud her learning, Sir Lancelot’s and her Father’s lessons of ‘don’t lose focus’ and ‘remember not to let your emotions cloud your actions in warfare’ always in her mind. After their sparring, blood running high, Emma thought about grabbing him by his lapel and dragging his face to her lips. Which she didn’t do - wouldn’t do, but very much wanted to.

As the sun was getting low, he suggested they stop to camp for the night. They had been following the river for weeks and not once had Emma taken advantage of its cool waters.

“We should reach our destination tomorrow,” Killian said as he lit the fire and stored his flint. Emma was glad to find as much as he was versed in magic, he preferred to do simple tasks without it as often as possible.

“I’m going to go down to the river. I haven’t had a bath in weeks and there is only so much my magic can do for me before I need the actual thing,” she grimaced, referring to her magical hygiene routine. She turned her head over her shoulder and winked at him before she beat a hasty retreat.

Why had she done that? Emma focused on her destination and task at hand. Simply magicking the dirt away was effective but Emma loved the feel of the water and she just needed to do one thing she truly wanted to. It had nothing to do with the idea of a certain pirate gentleman who would be nearby with knowledge that she was naked in the river. Emma smirked as she shed her clothes and dove into the water.

Killian nodded soundlessly and stared at the hedgerow she had walked through long after she had disappeared. The bloody siren winked at him. For the love of the gods, she was trying to kill him. After he had seen her shifting and moaning in her saddle earlier in the day, he had been hard. He wanted to chase after her and run his fingers along her lithe form, to cup her cheek as he brushed his lips against her, to fuck her under the stars.

Killina groaned, his thoughts not helping his situation. Emma was a bright light in the darkness of his endless years. For the first time since Milah was alive, Killian felt some measure of happiness. He felt guilty at his feelings. He was never one to slowly slip into love. No, Killian Jones fell head first into it without thinking. Without realizing how lost he was until he was drowning.

Killian peeled off his duster and left it on the log beside the fire. He resolved himself and made his way to the shore. The moon was full again and he could see Emma was farther out in deeper waters. His clothes hit the sand in record time before he could think too much or talk himself out of it. When he reached the water’s edge, Emma turned to face the shore. Her eyes were wide as she took in his nakedness. She swam closer until he could see her emerald eyes, blown wide with shock and desire. He hadn’t been wrong then. She had meant for him to follow her. So he did.

When he reached her she was smiling as she tread water. He kept his distance still, wanting her to be sure. She closed the distance and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her pert breasts, floated buoyantly, her dusty pink areola brushing against his chest. She shivered at the contact. He ghosted his fingers along her jaw towards her forehead before tucking her wild, wet locks behind her ear.

“May I kiss you, Swan?” he asked, reverently pressing his thumb along the seam of her lips. Her mouth opened slightly and his thumb brushed against her tongue. He rubbed his thumb down her chin, tilting her open mouth to his.

His tongue tangled with hers as she pulled herself closer. He groaned into the kiss. Killian had never tasted anything sweeter, though the thought brought to mind something that might be just as sweet. Emma legs kept grazing over his cock and he could tell from the mischief twinkling in her look that it was not an accident.

“Let’s get out of this water,” Emma suggested, her voice hoarse. They swam the short distance quickly, he made it first so he could see her when she emerged. His eyes roamed over her, head to toe, pausing briefly at the thatch of darker curls covering her womanhood. Killian growled at the sight and picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her back to their fire.

Killian laid her down on his duster, relishing her naked form against the aged-leather. He kissed a trail from her lips to her breast, spending an age lavishing each nipple with attention before kissing the underside of each breast and continuing down in his exploration. Emma gasped when his hand pushed her thighs apart so he looked to her for her approval. A nod. Killian ran a finger though the slick residue and brought his finger to his lips. She was sweeter there. He lowered his tongue to her core, ignoring her yelp of surprise as it faded to soft mewls of pleasure.

He lapped at her teasingly, enjoying how her hips chased his mouth when the pressure lessened. He pressed a finger into her slowly opening her, waiting until she was relaxed and squirming before adding another and then another. Killian watched her chest heave as she struggled to breathe, fighting her body’s reaction.

“Let go, Emma,” Killian commanded as he fucked her harder on his fingers. Emma’s scream rang out through the deserted wood.

“Please, Killian, I want you,” Emma begged as he tried to disentangle himself.

“Are you sure?” He could walk away if she commanded him to, but he had never wanted anyone more in his life.

Emma guided him to lay down. She straddled him and positioned herself over his cock. She sank onto him in one swift motion and Killian couldn’t help the curses that left his lips. She stilled when they were fully joined.

“Are you alright?” He knew there was discomfort for a woman’s first time, which was hardly fair.

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Just feels strange,” Emma muttered, clearly overwhelmed by the sensations.

“You should move, love,” his hands settled on her hips and helped her move up and down on his length.

Soon his hands wandered her body, no longer needed to help her find her pace. She looked like a goddess above him, riding him under the moonlight. Her long blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, covering her breasts until she pulled it behind her head. Emma’s movements were becoming more erratic so Killian leveraged his strength and flipped their positions. He slipped out of her before lining up and pushing in with a hard thrust. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Her hands were wrapped around her breasts as he bucked against her. His thumb trailed down her body and pressed on her clit as he increased his pace. Green eyes met blue and in that moment, he was certain they were a perfect reflection of the other. Her core tightened around him and she hollered his name. He pumped his hips twice more and followed her into blissful aftermath.

Killian woke a few hours later, Emma curled to his side, blankets covering their naked forms from the chill in the night air. He drifted back to sleep, mission forgotten in the arms of the woman he loved.

The next morning they roused themselves and broke camp as usual, but with a lot of pausing to kiss,  touch or hold each other. Arion and Kelan neighed loudly at them several times to hurry them on their way. It took only four hours to reach their destination, a large moss-covered boulder that sat before an ancient ruin, the castle of Arthurian legend. In the center of the stone, the hilt of a sword was visible. He and Emma shared a look of triumph as they trotted to a stop in the clearing. Once they were free of their mounts, they approached the stone.

There was a barely discernible inscription carved on the bottom of the stone: Whosoever wields this sword, be he worthy, shall possess power over life and death.

“Go ahead, love,” Killian encouraged, “Take the sword and we shall bind it together with the promethean flame.”

Wide-eyed, she shook her head. “Love, as much as I wish I could do this, I’m not worthy. But you, you are pure and wonderful. Do it,” Killian ordered.

Emma had to climb onto the stone until she stood next to the blade. Both hands grasped it and tugged  and it let loose without resistance, shocking Emma but apparently not Killian.

She clambered down and passed over the broken blade. Killian retrieved the little box from his pocket and set it on the ground. It was a white mass but there was no fire to it. Killian knew he would have to give something up for it to work. All magic had a price.

“For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of the future,” Killian breathed to Emma, resting his forehead against hers.

He turned to find the flame was lit. He held the pieces over the flame and within seconds, they were joined. He stood and handed her Excalibur. “For you, my darling Princess.”

Emma accepted the blade in awe, promptly leaning it against the rock so she could embrace Killian. “I was worried when I found I would live forever, that time spanned empty before me. Eternity with you might not be so bad.” Killian laughed and kissed her. “Or growing old with you if we chose.”

“To die would be an awfully big adventure,” Killian laughed, stepping away from her.

“I couldn’t agree more,” the voice of his nemesis cried gleefully. Killian grunted as he felt something hit him in the stomach. He looked down to see Excalibur sticking out of his chest before he collapsed to his knees.

Emma watched in horror as the unattended sword flew through the air and impaled Killian. The monster with the yellow eyes stood before her along with a woman clothed in a black leather riding outfit. Emma realized the dark haired woman accompanying the monster was Regina.

“See Rumple, I told you they would do all the work if you let them live,” Regina cackled.

“Indeed, dearie. Per our deal the girl is yours to do with as you please and Excalibur is mine, once I pry it from the pirate’s corpse.” Rumple clapped his hands together and hopped jubilantly.

“I won’t let you have that sword without a fight!” Emma vowed, kneeling next to Killian.

“You have to take the sword, love,” Killian encouraged.

“If I do, then you’ll bleed out!”

“I’m going to die anyway, remember? The sword reforged cuts immortal ties.” His eyes pleaded her to take the sword and defend herself.

She stood back and as she pulled the blade from his gut, he let out a terrible scream. Regina came for her first, her own sword in hand.

“Magic is too good for you, half breed!” Regina charged her.

Emma found that the Queen’s skills with a blade left something to be desired, perhaps from an overreliance on magic. When Emma saw her opening, she struck hard and true, slashing across the Queen’s chest. The other woman fell to the ground, a look of complete shock on her face as she fell forward into a pool of her own blood.

Rumpelstiltskin looked a little impressed Emma had taken out his pawn. Emma stalked towards him sword in hand. He looked like he wanted to fight, changing in an instant to looking as though he wished to flee but he was immovable as the mountain. Emma glanced at the blade, the man’s name still emblazoned on the portion that made up the kris dagger. Emma realized she still had command of him as his name was bound to the sword she wielded.

“Whosoever wields this sword, be he worthy, shall possess power over life and death,” Emma muttered, scrutinizing the blade.

“Come here!” she ordered. The demon walked towards her grudgingly. When the scaly man was close enough, “Hold out your hand and do not move a muscle,” Emma ordered. A palm outstretched in front of her as the monster stood rigid per her order.

Emma drew the blade across the monster’s palm, ignoring his screams. Emma waved her hand and he was silenced by a gag, hands and feet bound. Emma felt relief for a brief moment until the triumph died with the realization Killian was dying. She turned on her heel and sprinted to Killian’s side, placing her hands over his wounds. She willed her magic to heal him to no avail.

“That will not work, child,” a familiar voice called out. Magnus, her once-teacher, knelt at her side. Emma thought he knew nothing of her mother’s people, of the Fae.

“There will be time for questions later,” he chided, sensing her train of thought as he had always done. “To save him, you must bind your heart to his.”

“No,” Killian begged weakly. “I won’t let you do that. If you’re wrong, old man, she’ll die and I’d rather die a thousands deaths than see her die before my eyes.”

“And I cannot imagine a thousand lifetimes without you. I promise, you will be alright,” Emma said, pressing a kiss to his pale lips. Turning to Magnus, “What must I do?”

“You must remove your heart which I will split. One half for you, the other for him. This is considered a sacred bond of marriage that nothing but death can break. Do you understand and choose to proceed?”

Emma bowed her head in agreement. Killian mumbled his assent quietly. Per Magnus’ instruction, Emma plunged her hand into her chest and with a sharp tug, pulled out a glowing red heart. She placed it in Magnus’ hand and when he rent it two, Emma let out a yelp but brushed aside Killian’s concerns. She knew that if she survived her heart being cleaved in two, there was nothing left to fear. Emma felt the moment Killian’s heart stopped beating as though she too had stopped breathing. She never dreamed he would die, succumbing to wounds Rumpelstiltskin inflicted. Sobbing, Emma healed the open wound on his abdomen, praying the ceremony would bring him back to her. She was confident today was not the end as Magnus had already begun the ceremonial blessings. If wrong, Emma knew with certainty she would find him in the life beyond.

“Two souls, one life. Two halves, one heart. From this day until your last day,” Magnus intoned, quickly shoving one half of the heart into each of their chests. After a tense, unending moment, Killian gasped for breath. He shot up, confused. touching his chest, then Emma’s face.

“Swan? How?” he asked, kissing her her fiercely before she could respond.

“I bound my heart to you, my beating heart has enough love, enough life, for both of us,” Emma cried, throwing her arms around him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, the passing of time unnoticed.

The sound of throat clearing had Emma whipping around to address her teacher. “Master Magnus, how did you know?”

“This was my home once, when Camelot was more than a ruin. Guarding the Grail was my duty, until duty led me to become the teacher to a wonderful young princess,” he smiled at fond memories.

“Isn’t the Grail a chalice?” Emma asked, confused.

“It was once, before my master forged it to a weapon to break immortal ties. Now it can be a chalice once again,” Magnus said, conjuring the promethean flame from the ground to his palm. He held the sword over the flame and it morphed into a chalice of silver, inlaid with the obsidian design like the blade.

Magnus offered her the chalice. “Killian was right when he told you there is always a choice.”

“If I- if we drink from this chalice then we’ll grow old and die?” Emma asked in awe.

Magnus nodded. “You’ve bound your hearts in love and in life. With this,” offering the chalice a second time, “in death and what lies beyond. For a mortal, it would grant life eternal if one was worthy.”

Magnus paused for a long moment before adding, “Though I think you may want to wait at least nine months before you decide.”

Killian looked back and forth from Magnus to Emma in shock and disbelief until understanding dawned and his hand rested gently on her stomach.

Emma looked at Killian, tears in her eyes as she smiled. She wasn’t afraid any longer. She knew what she wanted. Emma wasn’t certain about what tomorrow might hold. Rumplestiltskin once told Killian that love didn’t last, that true love wasn’t real, but she and Killian were living proof of how wrong he had been. She had shared her immortality with him and couldn’t regret that.

Perhaps at some point, maybe in fifty years, a hundred, or a thousand years, they may decide to drink from the chalice, breaking their immortal bonds to live a single mortal life and journey to whatever life awaited beyond this one. Perhaps not. Even in the end, it was all a matter of choice.  

Killian’s grin matched hers as he realized her choice.

“To die would be an awfully big adventure,” Killian said, echoing his earlier sentiment.

“No,” Emma protested, “To live will be an awfully big adventure.“

Fin

“Bloody hell!” He said a little louder, triggering the woman in front of him to turn. She was magnetic. A true lady of darkness, walking in this tight black dress and enchanting the whole poor humankind.

“You’re kidding!” She replied kindly and quite girly compared to her appearance. “How is this possible?”

“You mean meeting you in the morning and seeing you again here at the very same night?”

“Uhhmm.. Yeah. Something like that?”

Her tone was doubtful and it made them both laugh as the barman came to take their orders.

This was strange indeed. He had spent all of his “break time” hours with this woman the same day, just chatting and laughing. He didn’t plan on going serious or on having any relationship right now, no. He had lots of other things to keep him occupied and suppress any feeling of loneliness he might have had. But some flirting from time to time could do no harm.

“Maybe it’s fate.” He said mockingly, continuing their conversation and making her laugh again.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not serious ‘cause I don’t really believe in this kind of things. Fate and soulmates and true love. Just fairytale bullshit to make children unhappy as they’re growing up.”

He thought about it for a while, not sure about his answer. “Aye. Lies, aren’t they?” He agreed nervously and took a sip of rum.

“Anyway, officer. Bad day closes with a bad drink?”

Her casual tone made him relax and forget the stress of their previous conversation. “Rum’s not bad.” He complained like a child about his toy and smiled right after. “And it certainly doesn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, I’m sure every doctor would agree to that.” She derided him and took a sip of her own drink.

“What makes Gin a good drink?” He asked ironically and watched her approach him. Her dark skin brightening under the light.

“It always keeps my memories of the previous night.” She whispered in his ear and took a step behind. He waited, interested by the unexpected movement until she spoke again. “That’s a huge privilege for me. What’s the point in spending a great night with the devilishly handsome officer you met and can remember nothing? It’s a shame.” She concluded and smiled proudly of the sexy grin she got.

***

It wasn’t long before they were in her flat, kissing the hell out of one another. The route of this meeting was not what he had imagined but it was a long day, with lots of things in his mind that some relief could take away for a while.

He kissed her passionately as they walked together towards the bedroom. When he grabbed he hair to unzip her dress, she stopped him playfully. “Uh uh! I’m already more undressed than you, officer. That’s not legal!” She whispered and licked her lips.

He didn’t spend the time to reply but just kissed her instead and started taking off his jacket. She rushed to help him and threw it away once it was off his back, causing the things of his pocket to fall to the floor with a loud noise that startled them both.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” She said and bent to gather his phone.

“It’s fine, you couldn’t have known how messy an innocent pocket could be.” He reassured her with a laugh and helped her with the papers that had fallen out of a white folder.

“What’s this?”

His look when he saw what she was holding was a mix of surprise and realization. With all this fuss and problems of this town, he had completely forgotten that he was carrying the ring with him.

“Are you married?” She asked with unbelief and he could see that she was instantly mad.

“No! I mean. I don’t remember being married.” She looked at him like he was crazy and he knew, he wouldn’t get out of it without further explanations. “Look, this ring… I don’t know what this is. I just.. have it. I’ve always been having it and I have no idea where it came from or when it came to my position. Does that make any sense?” His look was hesitant.

“No?” She replied thoughtfully but she was calmer. “Why would you have a wedding ring if it’s not yours? And how could you forget you’re married?”

“I honestly don’t know. But I’m working on it. Maybe it’s from a case that I don’t remember but again… why would I keep it? The thing is… I didn’t say any lie or tried to sleep with you while I have a wife waiting for me back home. Do you believe me?”

“Oddly, I do.” She said thoughtfully and gave him the ring.

Before he could react, she kissed him again and started unbuttoning his shirt but this time he didn’t kiss her back. He felt the ring cold in his palm and his fingers touched the inside of it softly. “Wait.” He pulled back but didn’t look at her. “I.. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“What changed? Is it about the ring?”

“I feel like it’s more than the bloody ring.” He admitted before he took his jacket and left.

***

The door made a loud sound behind him as he walked into his apartment and switched on some soft lights of his living room. As if the madness of this town wasn’t enough, now he had a whole new mystery to solve.

He took off his shoes and his jacket and grabbed the ring from inside the pocket before lying on the sofa.

He tried to remember the whole “ring story” again but he knew it wouldn’t help. There were missing parts and if he didn’t fill them, he could never know the truth. He decided to try once more, though. He made an effort to remember the first day he noticed the ring on his finger. It seemed like it was there his whole life until he decided to take it off until he would find out what it meant. There was no point wearing it if he didn’t know what it was and at the same time, it was too important to risk losing it. So he took it off and kept it safe among his things. He would hold it from time to time, still trying to figure out its origins or just look at it. He quickly got used to playing with it when he wanted to think about a problem or a case. It provided him with a comfort no person had ever managed to provide. It made him feel safe, somehow and wanted. It made him relax and truly believe that everything would be alright at the end.

That’s how he forgot it in his pocket. After a long and tough day at work and lots of problems need solving he had spent hours just playing with the silver in his fingers and trying to figure everything out. He decided to wear it again that night and sleep with it. The next morning everything seemed so normal that he only noticed that he was still wearing it while he was at his office. So he took it off and placed it in his pocket.

He wore the ring now and it’s warmth embraced him. It was nothing compared to the coldness he had felt some minutes before when he was about to lay with a woman months after the last time. Or years? Again, he couldn’t remember. It wasn’t the fact that he had a stupid wedding ring and couldn’t remember where he took it from that concerned him. It was the feeling the ring was bringing out every time he thought he was doing something right or wrong. Somehow, it had the capacity to clear his thoughts and make him follow the right path like a compass. At least, that's what it was proven in the end of every worry or dilemma.

He slowly slipped it off his finger again, feeling the soft texture of it on his skin. He took a moment to admire the way the silver was glowing under the light and then turned it so he could see the inside of it. The calligraphic letters had a different kind of glowing. They were a delicate and beautiful detail and of course, the most important part of this mystery. Officer Rogers was not a man of marriage but if this ring was indeed his, it would mean only one thing. He wasn’t missing his memories of how he got this item. He was missing a person that was probably so important to him that he had pledged to keep it in his life with this ring.

His thump travelled upwards and caressed the name tentatively.

She knew, without a doubt, that he had at least a vague idea of who she was. This ball, after all, had been thrown in her honor. In fact, its sole intent was for her to find a rich husband. Not that she was particularly interested in such a thing. Hence her escape to the outdoors the very moment her dance card had cleared. She shifted her weight slightly, her ivory gown catching the moonlight. “Tell me, Mr. Jones,” she asked after a moment, standing to her full height and taking in a deep breath, “why is it that you took the opportunity to approach me from down there, instead of in the ballroom? Are not ballrooms meant for such introductions?”

“They are, Miss Swan,” he replied, confirming her suspicions, “however I am quite perceptive, and I felt I would leave a much more lasting impression upon you if I took a chance out of doors.”

“My uncle would consider this quite improper, you know,” she raised an eyebrow down at him. He lifted his own to match and chuckled softly.

“Shall I apply to him inside, then? Or would I merely be wasting my time?” he placed his hand upon his chest and cocked his head to the side, “Please tell me I would not be.”

Handsome, charming, and well-spoken. Emma was more intrigued than she had been all night. Letting her tongue slip out to wet her lips, she gave a shrug. “We shall see,” she teased and turned, walking calmly back into the stiflingly hot ballroom.

“Miss Swan,” the inquiries began again the very moment she entered the room, and Emma held back a sigh. With a polite smile, she took the offer for a dance. The young man was tall and wiry, with curly ginger hair and spectacles. He stepped upon her toes nearly four times throughout what seemed to be a never-ending symphony. As the dance ended, Emma dipped politely and turned, her gaze betraying her as she glanced around the still-full ballroom. She saw many a head of dark hair, but none of them seemed to be Mr. Jones, her curious suitor. Perhaps her coyness had scared him away?

A gentle touch at her elbow made her turn. Emma found herself looking up at her uncle Leopold. Her heart jumped within her chest as he spoke, “Emma, it’s good to see you enjoying yourself! May I present,” he gestured to the side and turned. The moment seemed an eternity as she waited for Mr. Jones to step into view, but found only an over-stuffed middle-aged widower with a very bad wig. Despite her better decorum, Emma’s smile must have faltered. The older man’s expression faded slightly and he bowed, as was polite, but made only small talk before excusing himself.

Emma slowly closed her eyes and knit her fingers together in front of her, bowing her head just slightly with utter embarrassment.

The ball seemed to continue for hours, dragging on without end. She considered a few glasses of wine to help her blur the clumsy dances, but refrained on fear of making even more of a spectacle of herself.

“Well, Emma,” Leopold smirked as he approached her once more, the room having begun to clear, “have you had a nice evening then?”

Knowing her uncle had put a great deal of money and effort into her ball, she smiled and gave a polite nod. “Yes, Uncle, thank you,” she took his hands into hers and squeezed them softly.

“I believe I have one final request,” he patted her gloved hands and cleared his throat loudly. “That is, if you can handle another dance.”

“I believe so,” Emma gave an exaggerated sigh and smiled, “but tomorrow I think I shall not be able to move at all.”

“A shame,” a familiar voice spoke. Mr. Jones approached, his arms folded politely behind his back.

“Emma, this is Mr. Killian Jones,” Leopold gestured to the man. Emma’s neck and cheeks felt hot as she realized it was finally him. He had waited hours for his introduction to her. “Mr. Jones, this is my niece, Miss Emma Swan.”

“Miss Swan,” Mr. Jones bent at the waist, bowing low before her. She curtseyed in response, as was appropriate. “If your feet can bear it, would you honor me with a dance?”

His hand held in mid-air, gloved in black, Emma fought against the butterflies in her stomach and slowly slid her own hand into his grasp. She was beyond the capacity for verbal response. He led her to the floor just before a slow, tender violin melody began.

Emma’s eyes were upon his as they took their first steps, one of her palms pressed ever-so-slightly to his. Emma turned, her gown held cautiously in her other hand.

“You thought I had gone,” he said in the softest of tones. They reversed directions and turned counter-clockwise, stepping in time with the music.

“That I did,” Emma confessed. She had never been one to lie about her feelings, and now was not the time to start doing so. There were only four couples upon the dance floor, a majority of attendees now having called it an evening. Dropping her dress, she slid her other hand up against his and turned once more in a circle.

“Your eyes are green,” he whispered this time, his gaze searching hers.

Emma smiled slightly at his clumsy observation and turned to face the South wall, rising onto her tip toes. Killian’s left hand pressed a bit more firmly against her right, his fingers curling around hers. “That they are,” she replied to him, her tone also as soft as could be heard over the music. She turned to the North wall, switching hands once more.

“How many dances have you had tonight, do you believe?” He muttered, raising and lowering his posture along with the dance. Her hand slipped from his grip as she crossed before him and turned again. She thought she felt his touch against the trailing ribbons of her gown as she moved. He mirrored her steps, only to face her as more of the quartet joined the violinist.

Emma watched his expression as she answered, searching his eyes for some kind of reaction. “I lost count two hours ago, but it was nearing twenty,” she gave a slight smirk, “hence my poor, sore feet.”

Although she expected him to smile back at her, he did not. She breathed slowly, attempting to reserve further commentary. He took both of her hands and moved close to her. So close that she could almost feel the heat from his body against her own. They stepped back again and turned in an uncomfortable silence.

Once they faced each other again, Emma slid her hands into his. This time, his voice was very different. It seemed emotional. “And how many proposals of marriage do you expect, come tomorrow?”

Emma stopped. The other couples continued the dance around them as she gazed into his eyes. Swallowing hard, she squeezed at his hands, which still cradled hers so gently.

“I expect nothing,” she said quietly. His head dipped slightly in a gesture of understanding. “However, what I expect and what I would desire, Mr. Jones...are two vastly different things.”

He was quiet as he stepped back into the dance once more, finishing the last few steps. Emma stopped and applauded the quartet, watching the remaining couples file from the room to say their goodbyes to her uncle.

Suddenly, Killian again stepped closer to her. The world seemed to disappear around them. He swallowed hard and reached up, daring to brush the back of his index finger against her cheek. As his hand dropped, he licked his lips and bent his head slightly toward her. “Would you tell me, Miss Swan, what it is that you desire?” The closeness of their bodies was nearing impropriety.

She folded her hands together, before her, heart pounding in her chest as his darkening eyes gazed down at her lips. Her eyelashes fluttered with excitement and a need for more of his touch.

“Use your perception, Mr. Jones,” she whispered softly, “and perhaps have a discussion with my uncle.”