#csbb art

“You know I mean the whole wolf thing,” she says. “Don’t be a smartass about it.”

Shrugging, Killian lets his gaze go out of focus. “He knows enough,” he settles. “He saw me the first time I transformed, but he doesn’t know much else than it happens to me.”

The more he thinks about it, the more he knows that’s not necessarily true. He’s lived with his brother for a majority of his life, including the entirety of his time as a wolf. So he correct himself.

“Well, you know how men can tell their ladies are approaching their time of the month?” Killian glances up to see Emma nod. “Liam says I’ve got similar tells.”

That makes her scoff, which turns into laughter. “What, do you get bloated as well?” she asks in jest.

Now he rolls his eyes. “I only mean that I, for example, have a penchant for getting migraines. Things like that,” he explains.

“Ah,” Emma hums in understanding. “Well, at least you didn’t hit the jackpot.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

She smirks. “My period always seems to come just after the full moon, so I transform, change back, and immediately begin bleeding out of my vagina.” The manner in which she states is so matter of fact that it catches Killian off guard. He chokes on the drink of tea he’s just taken and nearly spits it out across the desk. Emma giggles around her sandwich. “Sorry, that’s a little too much information, isn't it?”

“No, no, not at all,” Killian says, trying to keep his lungs from revolting against him further. He takes a few deep breaths through his mouth. “It’s good information to have in the future.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” she asks.

Rolling his eyes again, Killian sighs. “I’m being practical, darling. We occasionally work together, we like to hang out in the woods together.” He gestures toward himself. “These are just the sort of things a man ought to know in lieu of an explanation every time.”

Emma moans and buries her face in her hands. Reaching across the desk to squeeze her arm, Killian offers, “I’m truly sorry you’ve gotten the short end of the stick.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” Peeking out from between her fingers, Emma opens her hands wide enough for her words to come out intelligible. “It’s really bad when all I want is chocolate, but it’s the full moon, so if I eat it, I’ll probably have an allergic reaction to it.”

“Really?”

She shrugs. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” she inquires. “Dogs can’t have chocolate because it’ll kill them. Wolves are just big dogs.” She groans, her head sinking into her palms once more. “I hate it so much.”

Standing up, Killian walks around her desk. He squats next to her seat and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “That’s something that no one should ever have to suffer through,” he commiserates.

“Well, too late,” Emma grumbles. “I do. On a monthly basis, no less.”

He’s not quite sure how to respond to that without being rude or without getting his head cut off. So he sits there next to her, rubbing her shoulder in his best attempt at comfort.

“Are you going to tell Liam?” She asks quietly, her eyes briefly peeking out from the cup of her palms. “About me?”

He pauses for a minute. Very few times in his life thus far has Killian actively kept a secret from his brother. News like this - that the new sheriff is a werewolf - asked to be shared. “Do you want me to tell him?” He asks back. It’s her life and her secret: she’s the only one who could really make that decision.

She shakes her head. “You can tell him later, but I just got here. Let me settle in.”

Killian can’t help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. “Swan, you’ve been here for a couple months now,” he reminds her. “At least two transformations, from what I can tell.”

“So?” She asks defensively. “It takes some people longer to acclimate to new situations.”

“And I’m not denying that,” he assures. “I’m just curious as to when you’ll consider yourself settled in.”

Groaning, Emma rolls her eyes. She pushes him off her, and he falls to the short distance to the ground gracelessly. “When I’m settled, you'll be the first to know,” she grumbles.

“Now leave. I’ve got to settle into more paperwork.”

“Aww, I’m honored.”

“Fine, fine, go be honored somewhere else.”

He follows her wishes, but not before loitering in the doorway. “What would make you feel better at that time of month that isn’t chocolate?” he asks.

Emma shrugs. “Hot tea, I suppose, with some cinnamon.”

Gesturing toward his head, Killian winks at her. “I’ll be sure to remember that next month.” Then he nods his farewell, her exasperated chuckle and poorly hidden smile a precious parting gift.

0000

“Liam, honey, have you gotten any calls about suspicious cars recently?” Elsa asks one evening as she helps put the dishes away. Confused, Killian catches his brother’s eye from across the room. He shrugs when Liam sends him an equally confounded look.

“No,” he answers slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve noticed this…” Being as quiet and unintrusive as she is, Elsa is the one person Killian knows who notices everything. “Unique car around town that I haven’t noticed before.”

Liam and Killian share a look. “Unique how?” Killian asks.

“Well, it’s an old VW Bug. Bright and tired yellow.”

There’s only one person in town who would have that car. He should know with the amount of times he’s seen it in front of the sheriff's station. “Oh that’s-”

“Isn’t that Swan’s car?” Liam finishes the thought for him. How his brother has gotten this far in life as unobservant as he is, Killian can’t even contemplate.

“Sheriff Swan?” Elsa asks in clarification. Both nod their heads. Elsa hums and goes back to her tasks. She washes another plate nad picks a cup from the suds in the sink before saying, “She’s been here in Storybrooke a couple months now, hasn’t she?”

“Yes, love,” Liam answers, taking the clean cup and drying it. “Why would you say it’s a suspicious vehicle, love?”

She shrugs. “It seems like there’s a lot of stuff in the windows,” she says. “I don’t know how she can reverse. There are things that look like they might pop the windows out of place.”

“That doesn’t seem safe,” Liam comments.

“Especially not for the sheriff.” Killian frowns. He feels like he should’ve been paying more attention. Swan shouldn’t be sleeping in her car. She could at least have asked Granny for a room at her inn. He shakes his head and looks at his brother's back, hoping his gaze burns enough of a hole to get his attention. “Liam.”

“No.”

Killian groans, hitting his head on the plate he’s putting away. “You haven’t a clue what I’m going to say,” he reasons.

“It has something to do with the sheriff, also known as my employer, and knowing you, it’s either you want to have a roll in the sheets with her or you want to marry her.” Liam stops drying the dishes long enough to stare at him. “Either way, I am not supporting it.”

Elsa places a hand on his arm. “Liam, babe, hear him out.”

Sending her a grateful glance, Killian takes Elsa’s advice. “It was neither of those things, brother.” He points upstairs with a glass. “We have a spare room.”

“You mean the gym?”

“You mean the room with a spare TV and some random weights thrown about?” Killian sassily retorts. And deciding that that’s not the proper way to deal with this matter, he changes tactics. “I understand your concerns, Liam, but she’s a woman in need.”

Liam sighs. Turning to Elsa, he asks, “What if she stays with you, honey?”

Elsa shakes her head. “Anna’s moving in at the end of the month, so I’ve got no room.” A grin grows on her face, showing that despite her conciliatory words, she’s not sorry at all with how this situation is turning out.

Liam groans. Killian pulls out his puppy dog eyes, knowing since childhood that most anyone is useless against them. “It’s good form,” he chides.

“Ugh.” Rubbing at his forehead, Liam shakes his head. “Not for the first time, I’m regretting raising you by that code,” he mumbles. After a moment, he grunts. “You may offer her the gym room. But she pays rent.”

Killian claps and takes a step back, his hands up in surrender. “Perfectly fair.” Liam grumbles under his breath, nothing coherent, but it makes Killian chuckle. “You’re doing the right thing, brother. She’s a lady in need.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Elsa giggles, placing the last of the silverware in their proper compartment. She steps up on her tiptoes and whispers something that makes Liam blush and smile himself.

“Whatever you said to him, can you say it on a more regular basis?” Killian asks.

“Especially when I want something and he’s being the logical bloke.”

For what it’s worth, Liam does manage to smack him quite forcefully on his way out of the kitchen, his arm wrapped around Elsa’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

0000

At first, Killian tries to ask Swan to move in over dinner one night. He makes the food, she cleans the dishes, then they’ll sit and watch a movie, perhaps. In theory, it’s simple and straightforward. nothing really to get nervous about, he assures himself. He’s being a gentleman, offering a pretty good solution to a woman in a sticky situation. Emma would put up a fight, insist that she was fine as she was, sleeping cramped in that death Bug of hers, but he would make her see reason. She wouldn’t be half asleep on the job, therefore making her less susceptible to injuries or mistakes of the law. Really, he’d argue, it’s the best situation for all of Storybrooke.

And she would concede, because, in the end, she was logical. And her back was probably aching from weeks cooped up and uncomfortable in the Bug.

But none of that happened.

Instead, another interesting development occurs.

They eat dinner, the two of them, on a rare night where Liam is on the evening duty and she’s not hovering over him or finishing up the never ending pile of paperwork that rests on her desk. Since she brought pizza, Killian’s relegated to dish duty, leaving Emma to collect her thoughts and relax.

"Why's he always got to be so chivalrous? It makes him so much more difficult to be around."

"What was that now?" Killian asks, rubbing at his nose to try and hide his chuckle. When Emma doesn't respond, he turns around to see her looking at him. He'll admit, he was a little distracted trying to clean the dishes, but that doesn't mean that he wasn't paying attention. The expression on her face, however, says otherwise. Her brows are furrowed in confusion.

"I didn't say anything," Emma says, leaning against the counter, the mugs in her hands set down on the granite with a clink. "You're beginning to hear things, old man."

Killian scoffs. "Darling, I'm only your elder by three years. If you're really looking for someone to chastise over age, Liam should be home soon enough."

Turning back to finish drying the plates in the sink, Killian merely shakes his head.

What an ass. But, I mean, what an ass. Bounce a penny off that thing.

"Now, don't tell me you didn't say anything now," he chides her, the smirk in full force now. "I heard what you said of my arse, and there's nothing to be ashamed off. You're surely not the first person to have the thought cross your mind."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Killian raises a brow in flirtatious question in her direction. Her cheeks are bright red, nearly the color of the tomatoes in the salad they just ate.

He nods toward her. "Come on, now, Swan. No need to be embarrassed."

"How did you know that?" she asks quietly, curiously taking a step away from him.

"Do what, dear?" Killian inquires back. "You said it clear as day. 'Bounce a penny off my ass,' I believe was the turn of phrase."

"I didn't say that," Emma insists, her eyes wide. "I didn't say that out loud, at least."

"But you thought it?"

She nods her head slowly. "Yeah. I mean," she inhales deeply through her nose, "like you said, I can't be the only one who ever thought about it. You do have a great-" Cutting herself off, Emma closes her eyes and holds up an open palm. "Whatever. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything crude. And I certainly didn't mean to say it out loud."

"No harm done, Swan."

"And, to be fair," Emma continues, "I think it's pretty tame compared to some of the things I've heard you say about me."

"Pardon?"

Scoffing, she finally takes a step in his direction. "Sure, go ahead and play stupid."

Emma points an accusing finger at him, unsure smile growing on her face. "Don't pretend that you didn't say anything about..." A blush stains her cheeks again, this one deeper and more intense by the looks of it. "You know what, it's not appropriate to be said in the world again, but they were definitely interesting images."

"What is it that you're under the impression of me saying?" Killian asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Emma chuckles. In a poor copy of his voice - badly accented and exaggeratingly low - she mimics him: "Under the impression of me saying." She laughs more heartily this time, approaching him. "Well, to start with the tame, there was the time you reveled in my scent. Springy, I think, was a word used."

He doesn't particularly remember saying that bit aloud, but Killian's thought it enough times that he can see himself being distracted by something else - Liam's imminent arrival, or a customer on the docks interrupting their conversation, perhaps - for it to have slipped from his lips.

Taking another step to him, Emma tilts her head, letting her hair fall in front of her shoulder, framing her smile perfectly. "Then there was the time that you said something about splaying me back on a bed," she says.

"Hold on now," Killian interrupts her, his own finger coming up to point at her. Stepping forward and coming toe to toe with Emma, he defends himself. "I know for a fact that I have never, nor would I ever, say such a thing about a woman such as yourself."

"Well, you certainly have."

Killian's scoff turns into a laugh. "Have not," he retorts. "I'm a gentleman, Swan. You of all people should be well aware of that matter."

Shaking her head emphatically, Emma counters, "No, I'm not saying you aren't a gentleman. I'm saying that all men have thoughts like that." She jabs him in the chest. "It was last month, before we transformed. You had brought the office lunch and you said something about the sunlight on my hair and how it would look even better on a Sunday morning, your bed covers beneath it."

Surprisingly, he knows precisely what she speaks of. He remembers the day quite well: it was rainy, effectively shutting down the harbor for a couple hours. Liam had complained the night before that the weather wasn't keeping the number of car accidents from occurring locally, so Killian thought he'd be a nice younger brother and friend and buy the sheriff's office something warm from Granny's. Emma had greeted him with a brilliant smile, one that grew wider once she learned he'd ordered her favorite onion rings. And, yes, the thought of sun, sex, and weekend breakfast had crossed quite close to the forefront of his mind.

"I never said that out loud."

"Yes, you did. I heard it."

Killian shakes his head. "No, I didn't say it out loud." His tongue runs from the corner of his lips to his front teeth. "But I did think it."

"Really?" she asks. "You actually thought that out before it came out of that mouth of yours and then decided it was a good idea anyway?"

"Swan, love, think about it," he reasons. "Do you really believe I would say something like that in a public place with a stash of firearms, my brother as a witness?"

That stops her train of thought. "Well," she hesitates, "I suppose you aren't that big of an idiot." She shakes her head, biting at her bottom lip. "But I heard you say it," she says, her voice strong and unwavering. "I remember hearing the way you said it. It was an unbelievably poetic way to say you've had sex dreams about me."

Glancing over the mention that, yes, Emma now has a better idea of how much of his brain space she takes, Killian wracks his mind for any sort of believable explanation.

"Maybe..." he says, the filler word doing its job. Killian searches the floor, as if it would give him the answer to this incredibly confounding problem. So he grasps at the closest straw, the one he uses to blame any sort of misfortune, not matter how small it might seem. "Maybe it has something to do with the werewolf thing."

Tilting her head the other way, Emma narrows her eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe..." In his mind's eye, Killian reaches out a little further, the straw just out of reach. "It has something to do with how much we sort of..."

"Depend on each other?" Emma finishes the thought for him hesitantly. "Especially during that time of the month?"

They stare at each other for long moments, quiet, each processing the idea in their own way. The more he thinks on it, the more Killian believes it to be true. He's researched the topic of lycanthropy extensively. He recalls reading stories of packs having a sort of telepathy, of being able to speak without words while in wolf form.

It seems Emma comes to the same conclusion, for she breaks their silence with, "Does this mean we're a pack?"

Killian shrugs. "Can't say I'm one hundred percent sure." He takes her hand in his, squeezing it comfortingly. "Is it considered a pack if there's only the pair of us?"

Emma shrugs back in response. "You've got the accent. I just assumed you'd know the definition to all the words I've never really questioned."

Chuckling at her slight jab, he shakes his head. A pack. The thought isn't unwelcome to him, but for someone who's been on her own for - well, her life, he wonders if the idea is as good for Emma as it might be for him. "If we were to call ourselves a pack," Killian wonders aloud, his voice slow and gentle so as not to frighten her, "would you be okay with that?"

Biting her lip again, Emma nods her head. "I think so," she finally answers, gripping his hand back. "I mean, it might take some time to get used to, but..." She trails off, her eyes going starry and out of focus. She's probably living a memory, Killian thinks, one not nearly as positive as this one could be, should she allow it. But soon enough, Emma shakes her head and comes back to him. "It'll be nice to annoy you without doing it to Liam as well."

Barking out a laugh, Killian pulls Emma into his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his cheek against her hair. He senses her muscles seize up and stiffen for a moment before she ultimately gives in, weakly returning the embrace.

He decides not to ask her tonight. She’s already raw as it is. Given this recent discovery, Killian thinks there’s been enough emotion and revelation today. As closed as she is on a normal day, this just might push her over the edge and completely turn her off from the idea of moving in with them at all. It might even force her over the town line all together, even if it seems she’s just come.

But now he knows that there is a connection between the two of them. Now, he doesn’t have to worry as much as he has been, because there is a previous sense of familiarity and comfort and pack. He’s more confident in his decision to ask her to move in with them, regardless of what Liam might say or believe.

Instead, Killian starts slowly introducing the idea. And she might not accept any of his invitations to their house, but her excuses become less and less outlandish. It gets to the point where he’ll ask her with a smirk and she’ll just roll her eyes, not even deigning him a verbal answer.

And then she accepts. On false pretenses, but she accepts it nonetheless.

He knows Emma is on patrol, because Liam’s spending the whole day catching up on his laundry and household chores like fixing all the doors that squeak, much to both of their annoyances. So maybe he abuses that knowledge and texts her to report a suspicious figure hanging around their house.

So maybe he made it up. She’ll forgive him for wasting her time.

(He doesn’t believe it to be a waste of time. The chances that Emma would actually run into serious criminal activity while on patrol in a sleepy, bucolic town like Storybrooke are slim to none. Mostly none.)

Killian’s putting the finishing touches on making his bed when a knock sounds on the door. He figures Liam’s gotten himself locked out - again - and the fool can make his way around back to the open door. He’s not saving his brother from his own stupidity for the fourth time today. Eventually he’ll learn to unlock the front door or prop it open.

Walking down the stairs to check on the laundry, Killian hears footfalls head toward the front door. Then he realizes that Liam is not locked out and also has no warning for the visitor Killian had invited.

"Oh," Liam starts, startled by the appearance of his boss at his front door. "Hello there, sheriff."

"Hi Deputy Jones," Killian hears from the hallway.

"Is there some sort of emergency you'd like my assistance with?"

"No, not today," Emma replies. "You can still enjoy your day off."

"Well then, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Liam asks.

"Well..."

"She's here to see me, brother," Killian interrupts her, grin wide across his face. Emma's still standing in the doorway, wringing her hands at stomach level. The look on Liam's face when he turns to Killian is priceless - his jaw hangs and his eyes are blown wide. "Well? Aren't you going to invite the lady in, Liam? Weren't you the one who taught me about good form?"

Shaking his head, Liam seems to come back to his body. He mumbles, "right, right," under his breath and steps aside. Swan carefully takes a single step forward. When she finds herself still in one piece, she continues toward Killian.

"Come in, Swan." He guides her into the living room, asks for her jacket and if she would like something to drink as she takes a seat on the couch. "Liam makes a fine batch of lemonade," he says, trying to entice her.

With a light chuckle, Emma nods. "Sure, lemonade sounds great."

Stepping to the kitchen, Liam grabs on to Killian's forearm.

"What is she doing here?" his brother hisses. "I can't be hanging around the house with naught but my boxers on drinking beer instead of eating with my superior around."

"I mean," Killian hesitates, opening the fridge and removing the pitcher of lemonade, "you could. I just believe it would be smart if you didn't want to be chastised come Monday morning."

Liam pulls a face of disgust and frustration before slamming the refrigerator shut. "What is she doing here, Killian?"

“I’m offering her our spare room.” It’s not a complete lie: he does plan on bringing that plan up, but Liam can see straight through hise ruse. A frustrated sigh escapes Killian’s lips. "I fear I can't tell you, brother," he says. "It's not my secret to tell."

Narrowing his eyes, Liam watches as he pours Emma a cup of lemonade and put the pitcher back. And then he groans. "Killian, tell me you didn't have sex with her."

Somehow, Killian manages to choke on his own saliva. "Pardon me?" he asks, whirling around to defend himself and Swan's honor.

"Come on, little brother," Liam scolds him. "Don't lie. You can't say that you're not interested in her in the slightest."

"I wouldn't dare." Weighing his options, Killian takes a note from Swan's book and rolls his eyes with a moan. "She's like me," he finally says.

"She likes to sleep around?"

"Liam!"

"He means I'm a wolf. Or whatever we are." Both men turn quickly to find Emma standing on the threshold, her cheeks red and her teeth cutting into her bottom lip. She gestures gently behind her. "Your voices really carry in this place."

"You should hear him when Elsa’s over." Killian slaps his hand over his mouth as Liam glares at him. Slowly, his hand drags down to reveal the apologetic smile. "Sorry, brother, but it's true."

All but growling, Liam points an angry finger at him. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that again, Killian,” he threatens.

Knowing he’s made a mistake, Killian holds up both his hands in supplication. “I promise,” he swears. “And, for what it’s worth, I do apologize. It really did just slip out.”

Liam grumbles to himself as he exits the kitchen. Killian glances over at Emma, who just shrugs. Upstairs, a door shuts forcefully, followed by the stomping of Liam back down the stairs.

“Now that I know what you truly think, I’m going to go visit Elsa and leave you two to do,” Killian can imagine his brother wrinkling his nose and tutting, “whatever.”

Killian yells, “Send Elsa my love.” He gets no response, save for the slam of the front door, causing him to chuckle.

“He’s got a good point.” Her voice breaks him from his reverie. Turning around, he finds Emma with her arms crossed over her chest, a hip jutting up against the counter. “What am I doing here, Jones?” she asks.

After a brief search of the room, Killian licks his bottom lip and says, “Thought you might want to hang out with someone who isn’t on your payroll.”

Squinting her eyes in consternation, Emma gives him a dry, “Ha.” At his smug grin, she adds, “Am I that sad looking?”

“Not really,” he assures her. He sidles up to her though, mirroring her position with a hip of his own against the counter. Crossing his own arms, Killian hazards to say, “A little bird did tell me that you seem to be living in your death trap of a vehicle, though.”

Swan tilts her head. “Did they?”

Nodding his head, Killian replies, “Indeed.” With a shrug and his eyes on the floor, he casually offers, “And I thought, being the gentleman that I am, that maybe you’d want to move your belongings into something a little more stable.” He looks up, meeting her green green eyes. “Like our spare room, perhaps?”

He spots a flicker in her gaze. “Are you asking me to move in with you two?” she clarifies, her voice wavered and uncertain.

Sighing, Killian grabs her forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Swan, you’re a public figure of authority in this town. You can’t be living out of your Bug,” he reasons.

“I have been so far.” She’s looking anywhere that isn’t him, and he can’t say that he blames her. From what he’s deduced, Emma Swan is a very strong, very independent person. To his knowledge, she’s never asked anyone for help, whether it’s directions to Granny’s or helping lift an entire couch from her office. She’ll figure out how to do it on her own, because that’s who she is. The only person who saves her is herself.

But sooner or later, she’ll have to let someone help her. So why not him?

“But how has transformation been?” he asks. Continuing to look at the floor, Killian she’s her nose scrunch in disgust, the corners of her mouth turn downward, and he makes a satisfied noise. “That’s what I thought.” When Emma still doesn’t look up, he sighs and lets go of her. “Look, Liam and I discussed this. You’d have to pay rent, but you’d have a roof over your head, a kitchen, a bathroom.” Her eyes move fractionally, catching his own in their peripherals. “Think on it, love.”

On a sigh, Emma lets her arms fall to her sides. “Killian, it’s a wonderful offer-”

He holds a finger up to her lips, effectively quieting her. “Don’t answer now,” he murmurs. “I’m serious. Think on it for a while.” She nods her assent, and Killian brings his hand down. “But while you’re here, we can spend the day together.”

Her brow arches in a move he’s positive she picked up from him. “I thought that was just a ploy to get me over here,” she says, following him cautiously as he makes his way back to the living room.

Shrugging, Killian flops on the couch, remote in hand. “Doesn’t mean we can’t act on it.” He pulls up Netflix, and pats the cushion next to him at her dubious look. “Have any suggestions?”

She glares at him only for a moment before returning to the kitchen. Confused, Killian stares after her, craning his next on the couch back. She reappears a few moments later, two glasses of lemonade in her hold. Her smile is small, cautious, as she sets the glasses on the coffee table and takes a seat right next to him.

(He’ll take whatever victory he can get.)

They spend the afternoon bingeing Stranger Things, a show they’ve both heard a lot about, but neither have seen in entirety. A couple episodes in, Liam comes back from Elsa’s with the lady herself.

“And you must be Sheriff Swan,” Elsa says with a smile, taking the open seat next to Emma as Liam heads up to his room to change. “I’m Elsa.”

“Emma’s just fine.” The women shake hands and before Killian quite knows what’s happening, Stranger Things has been changed to Great British Bake Off and he’s been all but banished to the kitchen to help with dinner. They talk quietly to each other, eyes focused on the screen as the final minutes of a showstopper challenge dwindle.

“Not how you expected the evening to turn out, aye?” Liam asks, catching Killian watching the ladies from the kitchen.

“To be honest, I’m not sure what I was expecting this evening,” Killian admits.

The feeling, it seems, is mutual. When the hour is late, Elsa and Liam bid Emma goodnight and retire to his bedroom. As Killian ushers Emma to the door, well fed and tired, Emma turns to him. Her mouth opens and closes as though she’s at a loss for words.

(Yet another victory in his mind.)

When she finally settles on something to say, Emma asks, “Do you think we could do a little bit of a trial run?”

“What, as lovers?” Killian jokes. At her unimpressed expression, he shakes his head. “A trial run of what, love?”

“Living together?” It comes out as a question, as though she’s not sure she likes what she’s asking for. With a click of her tongue, Emma continues, “Today was great, but I’m…” she hesitates, but Killian knows what she’s going for.

“You’re afraid that something will go wrong and you don’t want to be cornered.” Weighing his options, he decides to reveal a little bit about his past. Hopefully, she’ll see it for what it is: a peace offering. “Aye, I’m familiar with the feeling. Like with foster parents that seemed to good to be true.” Her eyes widen and he winks at her, a special understanding shared between them. “We can do that. Whatever makes you comfortable, Swan. I just don’t want a lady such as yourself to be in such dire straits.”

With a lick of her lips, Emma smirks. “Careful, Jones,” her voice deep with flirtatious warning, “It’s almost like you worry about me.”

“Always, love.” He opens the front door for her, seeing her out to the front deck with a hand to her back. “So you’ll stay with us?” he asks, double checking that it’s what she wants.

She nods, then chuckles to herself. “I love my Bug, but my body can’t take sleeping in a car anymore,” Emma admits.

Killian laughs. “You’re not as flexible as you look?” he asks in jest. Shaking his head, he tsks. “What a shame, Swan. There go a slew of my fantasies.”

Rolling her eyes, Emma grumbles, “You’ll get over it.” She turns to head back to her car, but pauses on the first step. Facing away from him still, she says, “Um, and thanks” so quietly, Killian’s afraid he’s misheard her.

“For what?”

Spinning around, Emma shyly replies, “Today.” Her hands fidget at her waist. “It really was a nice day. Just hanging out with you and your brother and meeting Elsa.” Killian figured as much, given the numerous smiles and precious giggles he’d been privy to over the last couple of hours. “I’ve been here for a little while, but I haven’t really been able to just...”

“Be?” he offers softly.

Her cheeks redden and her shoulders deflate, and Killian recognizes it as a piece of her walls falling to the ground. It’s not outright, but it’s the closest she’s gotten to asking someone else for help in a very long time, he believes. “Yeah,” Swan mumbles, swaying from side to side. “So thank you.”

Killian inclines his head slightly. “As always, it is my pleasure, Swan.” She nods, her smile growing wider. “Call on me when you need some help moving your things. I’ll be there.” And then, deciding to indulge his more dramatic side because he can, Killian adds, “Until then, there’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.”

He laughed out right at that, tickling her belly and making her giggle. “Papa, stop,” she protested in between giggles. “I want story!”

“Alright, alright.” He was just about to start the tale, when he heard a scraping noise from outside, putting him on high alert. He strained his ears, hoping he had just imagined it, but when he heard it again, he sat up immediately. He lifted Alice off of him, despite her protests, and put her in bed. He reached for his cutlass from where he’d hid it, before turning to her. “Alice, I need you to listen carefully to Papa. Stay here and do not make a sound, alright?”

Alice stared at him wide-eyed before her eyes shifted to his cutlass. Killian turned her head gently with his hook so she was looking at him again. “Alice, love, listen to me. Do you want to have a real adventure?” he asked, forcing more than enough excitement in his tone.

“Yeah!” she exclaimed. “Let’s play pirates!”

“Aye, aye, my little fish. We are playing pirates, and now Papa’s gotta beat the bad guys. You need to stay here until it’s safe, alright?” he whispered, leaning closer to her and putting his finger to his lip.

“Alright, Papa,” she whispered back, mimicking his action. Killian smiled at her, before turning to face the only window in the tower, getting ready to battle whoever it was that came through.

He adjusted his grip on his blade, slipping into his old Captain Hook persona. While he was expecting all forms of danger and evil, including the woman who gave birth to his child, he was still surprised to see a blonde slip through the window, dressed in trousers and a shirt. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him, her eyes widening, in surprise or fear, he was not sure.

“Identify yourself, thief,” he demanded, moving towards her, keeping Alice hidden from her sight.

The blonde’s confusion turned into irritation. “I am no thief. I’m Princess Emma of Misthaven.”

Present : Land without Magic

It hadn’t been hard for Emma to follow Mr. Castle’s instructions. Take a flight - and public transit - to a sleepy town in Southeastern England, and she will find him. If she wasn’t so eager to be reunited with her love, she would have laughed at how simple it all seemed. She had been in this land for over a year, and she had quickly realised that money could buy her anything - even fake papers and identity. For all that she wanted for in life - being reunited with Killian and Alice, breaking the wretched curse that forced them apart, and getting her hands around Gothel’s neck - money was not one of them. Killian’s supply of gold had been seemingly endless, but just a pursefull has been more than enough for her to afford the luxury of a new identity and means of travel in this metal craft that flew.

To say she was wary of this mode of transportation would be a gross understatement. And as helpful as the wine the helpers on the craft had been pouring for her was, it was only enough to dull her anxiety, not quell it. When the plane seemed to get more turbulent than usual, she gripped the handrests tight, trying to think of anything but being stuck in something that seemed to fly without any magic.

21 years ago : The Enchanted Forest

Killian’s eyebrows raised incredulously. “You’re raving mad, lass. Princess Emma is but a child now. Who are you, really?” He stepped up to her now, pressing his blade against her throat before she could draw the sword at her hip.

Emma rolled her eyes, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m not from this reality,” she huffed. “I am a Princess. I am from Misthaven. I’m just not from the same reality as you.”

Killian’s brows furrowed, uncertain if he should trust this stranger. “If you really are who you say you are, why are you here?”

“Listen, friend. I have been on the run from the savages in the villages, and this was the first place I could find. I did not know it was occupied.”

Killian did not want to lower his weapon, especially when she claimed to be on the run. “Well, it is occupied. So you would do well to be on your way, lass. Unless you want to meet a worse fate.” But before Emma could retaliate, he heard Alice speak up, coming out from under the blankets.

“Papa, I don’t want to play pirates anymore.” Killian resisted the urge to groan out loud, ignoring the surprised look on Emma’s face as he turned to face his daughter.

“Darling, I told you to stay in bed, and stay quiet.” But Alice ignored him, her eyes wide as she noticed the presence of another person. Before he could grab a hold of her, Alice ran over to the newcomer, a big grin on her face.

“Are you a friend? I’m Alice,” she stated, with all the tact of a five-year-old, holding her hand out.

Emma gaped at Alice, trying and failing to come up with an appropriate response. Killian ran his hand through his hair, walking over to his daughter and pulling her to his side. “Like I said, lass, this tower is occupied. Whatever your grievances with the villagers, they are your own. I will not allow you to bring my daughter into any trouble.” His voice was low and soft, but the threat was clear.

Emma eyed his hook warily before she squared her shoulders. “They think me a witch. I’m not - I’m just -” Emma paused, composing herself. “I’m gifted with light magic. My parents were Snow White and Prince Charming, like in this reality - but they were defeated by The Evil Queen in mine. I had to escape.”

Killian’s expression softened, but as much as he empathised with this woman, he could not risk Alice’s safety. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents, lass. I really am. But I cannot let you stay here - I need to put my daughter first.” He felt Alice squirm in his hold, and he held her back.

Emma looked defeated, nodding in understanding. She backed away, getting ready to leave, when Alice’s voice stopped her.

“Can you really do magic?” the little girl asked, her curiosity and wonder blatant.

Emma smiled softly, looking to Killian questioningly. He reluctantly nodded, still keeping his grip on Alice. Emma crouched to Alice’s height, holding out her hand, drawing from the magic within her. Moments later, a daisy laden flower crown was dangling from her fingers.

Alice gasped, reaching out to it instinctively, but she quickly remembered her place and pulled her hand back. Emma couldn’t help but smile at her, holding the crown out to her. “May I?” Emma asked Alice, chuckling when the girl nodded eagerly.

Emma placed the crown delicately on Alice’s head, grinning at the bright smile that overtook Alice’s face. “There. Now you’re a princess, too,” Emma declared.

“I’m a pirate princess,” Alice corrected, prompting a chuckle from her father.

“That you are, Starfish. Now say goodbye to the kind lady, and get yourself in bed. It is well past your bedtime.”

Alice nodded; she reached for Emma’s hand, shaking it. “Thanks for my crown.” She paused, watching Emma contemplatively. “If you can do magic, can you get me out of this tower?” Alice wondered out loud, not realising her father’s sudden change in demeanor.

Emma’s brows furrowed at Alice’s question, before she turned to Killian. He sighed, perhaps for the hundredth time that night, kneeling beside Alice and turning her to face him. He smiled painfully at her, brushing wayward strands of hair from her eyes. “Alice, I’m not certain Emma here can do that, darling.”

“But she said she can do magic, Papa. You said magic was keeping me here,” Alice protested, scowling at him. He knew that look, that deep frown. She was trying to force her tears back, and she was getting ready to start a fight. It broke his heart to keep disappointing her, but he had no choice.

“What is she talking about?” Emma asked, drawing the attention of both father and daughter toward her again. “Is she being kept here against her will?” she demanded, raising to her full height, and her hand placed on the pommel of her sword threateningly.

Her response irked Killian, as irrational as it was. Emma had no inkling of his or Alice’s history, but she already seemed to have jumped to an unsavory conclusion. That just rubbed him wrong. He rose to his feet too, lifting Alice with him. “I’m not sure you have any right to imply whatever it is you are, lass,” he warned her. “My daughter was cursed to the confines of this wretched tower, but if you dare insinuate that I am holding her hostage, I-” Keeping in mind the presence of his child, he held back on his threats. “It would not end well for you, princess or not.”

He saw Emma’s stance relax, her guilt evident as she glanced away from his gaze. He was glad that no matter how long it had been since he had given up being a pirate, he was still able to exude an air of authority. “I-I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn,” Emma replied, sounding remorseful. She seemed to hesitate before adding. “I know you want me gone, but I am trained in magic and the mystical arts - I could see what I could do about the spell keeping your daughter in this tower.”

Alice’s face lit up at Emma’s offer, and she was nodding before Killian could even process what Emma had said. Emma looked to Killian then, sensing his reluctance. “My word may not mean much to you, but I swear, I will not do anything to harm you or your daughter.”

Killian swallowed thickly, knowing that he had no choice but to agree. There was no more harm this woman could do. Alice was already stuck in this tower. If there was even a small chance that Emma could free his child, he had to trust her. “Aye, you’re right. I will pay you handsomely for your work, lass - if there is any chance at all to free my girl of her imprisonment, I want to know.”

Alice leaned tiredly against his shoulder then, making him realise how late it was. “That can wait till morning. I should put this little lass to bed,” he said, adjusting his grip on Alice. “You can take the hammock, Emma. I can sleep on the bed here, with Alice.”

Emma nodded, smiling and waving goodnight to Alice. “Thank you…?”

“Killian Jones, milady. I’d bow, but I have precious cargo in my arms,” he joked. Emma waved him off, smiling at a now sleeping Alice.

“Thank you, Killian Jones . I appreciate you letting me stay the night.” Killian nodded, walking to the secluded corner that served as Alice’s room, drawing the heavy curtains to afford them some privacy.

He place Alice under her cover gently, trying not to jostle her awake. He knelt at her bedside, smiling at the peaceful look on his daughter’s face, knuckles tracing her cheek softly, before he brushed a kiss goodnight on her forehead. He then settled on the armchair next to her bed, keeping watch. As much as he would like to trust this woman, he knew better. No matter how noble she might portray her intentions as, magic always came with a price. He could not afford that price to be Alice.

-/-

Present : Land without Magic

It was quite late in the evening when Emma finally reached her destination, and she was weary from both the plane ride and her commute to this little town. She could not wait to see Killian; if she had a little less restraint, she would have gone knocking on his door, his lack of memories be damned. She was half-tempted to do that, but she couldn’t bring herself to disrupt his life so abruptly. She did need him to help her find Alice, yes, but selfishly, she wanted just a moment with him before he remembered.

She sat heavily on the bed at the inn where she was staying. Her hand once again reached for the ring around her neck, feeling the warmth of the magic residing in it. While she could not strictly use magic in this land, it did not mean she couldn’t channel magical objects. She wasn’t a fool, coming here with no way to defend herself against Gothel. She was certain that vile witch had own arsenal for her dark magic.

Emma brought her feet up, sitting more comfortably on the bed before she grabbed her journal. She made sure to record everything that had happened in the past twenty years, all of Alice’s milestones and about their adventures together. The first few weeks after Killian left them, when Alice was inconsolable, writing had been Emma’s solace, the only way she could talk about her own anger and frustration, her heartbreak and pain. A part of her was uncertain if she would ever show it to Killian, knowing how much it would hurt him. She would gladly tell him anything he wanted to know, but for now, this journal was for her eyes alone.

There had been days, in the beginning, when she had snuck back to the ruins of the tower sometimes, selfishly wishing for a moment that they had never tried to break the spell. The next, she would remember how miserable Alice had been, stuck within those walls, and hated herself for ever wanting to go back to such times. Days like that, her dark days, those were the hardest - when she was filled with nothing but anger and hate toward Killian, Gothel, the whole lot of them. But the person she hated the most was herself, for it was her idea that led to their downfall in the first place. Emma diligently penned her thoughts down, the self-loathing rising and cresting within her. She would take this moment now, to dwell and cry; tomorrow would be a new day. She had a pirate to find and a family to reunite, and hoped desperately that she was still welcome in that family.

-/-

21 years ago : The Enchanted Forest

Emma blinked against the too-bright light falling through the large window, stretching her arms above her head. She almost toppled over in her hammock, catching herself before she fell and managing to land on her feet with all the grace of a drunkard. She squinted at her surroundings, trying to catch her bearings; it took her a moment to remember where she was. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, looking around the room, searching for Killian Jones and his daughter. At that exact moment, the man himself walked from the alcove that served as Alice’s room, carrying the half-asleep child in his arms.

“Good morning, lass,” he greeted, his voice hoarse and quiet. “Alice is not a morning person,” he whispered in explanation as he headed to the small kitchen area, getting a fire going and setting water to boil, all one-handedly while holding his daughter, as if he had done it a thousand times before. He probably had.

“Good morning,” Emma murmured. “If you want, I could hold Alice for you,” she offered, feeling useless as he went about his morning routine.

“That’s quite alright,” he said, refusing her as politely as he could. And if she noticed Killian’s grip on Alice tightening, she chose to ignore it. “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Emma observed him quietly, a pang in her chest as she saw him interact with a sleepy Alice, whispering to his child with a soft cadence to this voice.

As if sensing her eyes on him and Alice, Killian looked up and their gazes met. She held it for a moment too long before she averted her eyes, embarrassed at being caught staring. Killian cleared his throat, adjusting his hold on Alice. “The spell, ahem, how long would that take you?”

“It should not take me long to assess how strong the barrier that is keeping your daughter in here is. But do you mind telling me a bit more about how it happened? It might help me understand the original spell better.”

Killian, who had been pouring their tea, almost dropped the kettle at her question. He froze for a moment, looking down at Alice with a pained expression. He did not want to rehash it if she was awake, but fortunately, Alice was still asleep. He brushed a hand down his daughter’s locks, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and finally turned to Emma again. “A witch used blood magic to keep her trapped in here. I can leave the tower and come back - anyone can, as you know - but Alice cannot. She has been trapped in here from the moment she was born.”

Emma exhaled sharply, her heart hurting for the little girl. She knew well enough how unfair having one’s freedom and choice taken away could feel. She could not imagine knowing nothing beyond these walls from the moment she was born. “I am so sorry to hear that, Killian.” She hesitated before asking, “What about Alice’s mother?”

“She is no longer in the picture,” Killian snapped, startling Emma. He took a deep breath, calming himself before he continued. “She is not here. Now, I would appreciate it if you could get on with the spell, aye?”

-/-

Present : Land without magic

Killian woke up feeling extremely restless that morning. He spent an hour in the home gym working up a sweat. He wished he could work on his new book, but he had promised Will not to keep messing with it, to leave it be. It’s perfect as is, Jones. At some point, you need to stop editing , he’d said when Killian had called him last night with a few changes. All he had left was the dedication. After all these years of the same single line, he felt it was time to change it. He’d always dedicated his books to the people who struggle the same way he had with his alcoholism, and while that would remain the same, it just did not seem like enough this time around. He hadn’t told Will this yet, but this would be the last book in his series - The Davy Jones Chronicles. It felt like a good place to end Captain Hook’s story, as elusive as it was.

Maybe that was why he felt so restless. Or maybe you are still thrown off by Eloise , a voice at the back of his head said. Which he dismissed quickly, of course. There was nothing wrong with the woman: she just came on a little too strong. Maybe a walk into town would help clear his head, and help expel his restless energy. With the decision made, Killian had a quick shower, got dressed, and headed into town for the day.

After a quick stop for breakfast at his favorite little cafe at the bottom of the hill his cottage was on, he found himself wandering Main Street aimlessly. While he had been in this quaint town for a little over a month, he hadn’t taken the time to fully explore it. A Wednesday seemed like the perfect day to do just that - most people would be at work, and he could take his own sweet time. He ducked into a small alley, not unlike the one Eloise’s shop was in, surprised by the number of vintage and antiquities shops housed in the narrow lane.

He took his time exploring each one, with no agenda in mind. One of the stores seemed to have a nautical theme going on, intriguing him. He stepped in, looking around with a childlike wonder; he was hit with an odd sense of nostalgia, a certain longing for the life of a pirate that he only had written about so far. He hadn’t been out on the ocean in a long while, not since his brother passed. It never felt right to go without Liam at his side. He turned his back on that life a long time ago; it was only Captain Hook who now had adventures on the water, not Killian Jones.

He stopped short when he spotted a compass on the display case. It was a fairly ordinary one, but it gave him a strange sense of deja vu. He stood there staring at it for so long that the salesperson approached him, asking if he was interested in taking a closer look. For a moment, he was tempted, even perhaps to purchase it; but the moment passed and he decided against it. What could he possibly need a compass for?

He wandered out of the store, meandering through the same alley. It was only when he was passing a secondhand bookstore that something caught his eye in his periphery, making him halt in his tracks. He turned, eyes wide in disbelief, staring through the glass display window of the store at the person inside. It was the blonde haired woman from his dreams, he knew it. He had never seen her face, but he’d seen her from behind and this woman, whoever she was, was her. She had her back to him, so he made a quick decision, pushing his way through the door, his eyes never leaving her. She turned away from the person she was conversing with when she heard the bell, her eyes falling on his.

The moment his eyes met her sharp green ones, Killian’s breath hitched, and he could have sworn his heart had skipped a beat. She stared at him with the same kind of surprise, lips parted slightly, and Killian wondered if she was having a similar visceral reaction as he did. Before he could stop himself, he drew closer to her. “You...I…” He struggled to speak, not knowing how he could explain himself.

After watching him struggle for a moment longer, the woman finally spoke, a barely discernible tremble in her voice. “Are you alright, sir?” she asked, politely. With no recognition in her eyes. She didn’t know him and for some reason he could feel the disappointment swell deep in his chest.

When he realised the woman was still waiting for his response, he drew back from his thoughts. “Yes, yes. I’m fine,” he assured her, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, you just look very familiar.” When he saw her shoulders tense, he felt the need to apologise. “I must be mistaken, forgive me. Killian Jones.” He held out his hand.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, her hand clutching the chain around her neck briefly before she took his hand and said, “Emma. Swan. I-I’m sorry I wasn’t who you were looking for.”

Killian was not certain, but Emma seemed oddly upset at that. He noticed the book she had been holding, making him grin involuntarily. “ The Davy Jones Chronicles? Excellent choice,” he commented gleefully.

Emma laughed softly, clutching the book tighter. “I read the first book in the series and got, shall I say, hooked .”

Now it was his turn to laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. Did she know ? he wondered. Did she know that I am the one who wrote it ?

It seemed to have dawned on Emma at the same time, as her eyes widened. “Wait, Killian Jones? As in the writer? This is your book?”

He chuckled in embarrassment, nodding at her. “Yeah, it is. I-I’m really glad you like it, Miss Swan.”

“Emma is fine,” she replied, waving at him dismissively.

“Right. Emma.” He felt a strange connection to this Emma Swan, but he did not want to come off too strong, again, and frighten her. He was so certain that she was the blonde haired woman from his dreams; as crazy as that sounded, he believed that with all his heart. “Perhaps, we could discuss books that aren’t mine over a cup of coffee?” he suggested, all while berating himself for being too forward.

Emma seemed like she wanted to decline, but she surprised him. “I’d like that, Killian.”

-/-

21 years ago : The Enchanted Forest

Killian returned from putting Alice back in bed, soothing her sleepy questions with assured murmurs. “I’ll be right back, love,” he whispered, extracting himself from her hold.

When he returned to the front room, he found Emma pacing, holding a small, weathered notebook in her hands. “Are you ready, Emma?” he asked, startling her.

She looked up at him contemplatively, before she nodded. “Yes, I am. But I’m going to need a small drop of Alice’s blood.”

“Absolutely not!” Killian protested, his fierce protectiveness rising to the fore. “You will not harm her.”

“Killian, she is trapped by blood magic,” Emma tried to explain, but he cut her off.

“I don’t bloody well care,” he snarled. “Find another way.”

“It’s just a drop-”

“Another. Way,” he growled out. “I am not going to wake my sleeping child just so you can take her blood. I thought you were going to assess how strong the barrier was.”

“I was just trying to think ahead,” Emma snapped, losing her patience. “Isn’t that the logical next step, to break the barrier?”

“We will come to that when we do,” he argued. “First tell me if we can break it.”

Emma seemed ready to counter, but she held her tongue, scowling at him. “Fine.” She walked toward the window, holding her hand out as if to touch the barrier. Killian knew from experience that only Alice would be able to see and touch it. It was meant only for her, after all. Which is why, when he saw the slight shimmer of the barrier, he was taken aback.

“Was that you?” he asked, standing next to Emma.

“Yes, now keep quiet. I need to concentrate,” she hissed, her eyes closed.

He watched her while she worked, a small furrow between her eyebrows. Killian felt a swell of gratitude for Emma, knowing that she could have lied about her magic, or even refused to humour Alice and help them. But she went out her way to try and find a way to break the spell, even without him asking that of her. And he had been nothing but curt and cutting. Liam would disapprove greatly of his behaviour, tell him it was bad form.

He was brought back to the present when he heard Emma gasp. He saw her pull her hands back, cradling them against her chest. He went on alert, turning her by the shoulder to face him, not thinking about how forward he was being. “What is it? Are you alright?”

Emma nodded unconvincingly, biting into her lip quite hard. “It’s nothing. Whoever put up the spell is pretty fucking awful,” she swore, walking to the cask of water in the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and filling it with water.

“Emma, what happened?” Killian asked, following her. He stopped when he saw her hands, his breath catching in his throat. They were burned, badly. “Bloody hell, lass.”

Emma ignored him, pouring the cold water over her wounds, wincing in pain.

“Let me help you with that, darling,” he said, grabbing the bowl from her. If either of the them noticed the change in endearment, they did not comment on it. He washed her wound more thoroughly, holding her hand firmly with his hook.

“You don’t have to do this,” Emma murmured, trying not to hiss. Killian did not respond, instead grabbing a box off a nearby shelf, opening it and grabbing some fresh cloth and a salve.

“This will help with the burns,” he explained, indicating her to hold her hand out. “This will sting,” he warned, applying the clear substance on her hands, shushing her when she cried out. “My Alice gets into a lot of scrapes, the little monkey. I always have medicine at hand.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Emma asked, wincing when he pressed the cloth over her hand, wrapping it around her hand.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I try.” He shrugged. “Now hold still.” He finished wrapping the bandage, using his teeth to tie it, his eyes never leaving hers.

Emma swallowed thickly. She quickly looked away, letting him finish treating her other hand. When he did, she pulled her hands back, clearing her throat. “Thanks.”

“Emma, you just got burned doing magic for my daughter. Patching you up was the least I could do.” He pulled up a stool, making her sit, before he continued. “Now, what happened?”

“Well, the witch who put up the spell made sure it can’t be broken by another magic user. A great contingency plan, burn the magic right out of the other person,” she complained.

Killian sucked in a sharp breath. “Bloody hell, don’t tell me your magic-”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Light magic is not that easy to destroy. But that’s why I was burned. My magic is temporarily, let’s say, paralysed. I can’t use it for a while, but it’ll come back, don’t worry,” she said, much too flippantly for Killian’s taste.

“Of course I’ll worry, Emma. This- this happened because of me. I’m so sorry.”

She squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Hey, it’s alright. If I had to, I would do it again.”

“Why? Why help us? You don’t even know us.”

Emma breathed out deeply, looking down at her hands and avoiding his gaze. “I never got the chance to save my parents. I hated my magic for a long time...but I have a gift. I couldn’t waste it. Helping you and Alice is the right thing to do. It’s what they would have done. This is the only way I can honour them.”

-/-

Present: Land without Magic

“Since you know what I do for a living, I seem to be at a disadvantage here, lass. Care to share?” Killian asked, looking at her over his large cup of coffee.

Emma panicked, unsure what would pass for a proper job in this realm. “I- I’m in the business of helping people in need,” she said finally, hiding her own nerves by taking a large sip of her milkshake.

“A volunteer? That’s wonderful, Emma,” he praised, his eyes lighting up. Emma resisted the urge to lean over and kiss him. It was extremely hard, seeing the man she loved - who, in their world, in a world where he had his memories and no dark curse, loved her back - sitting across from her, right within arms reach, after twenty years of separation, and not be with him. Not be able to hold him, and kiss him. Not be able to share her troubles with him, and have him just be there for her. This was Killian Jones, the essence of him had not changed with the false memories and two decades, but it was not her Killian Jones - her pirate, her love, the father of her favorite child.

However, he was physically the same. Same handsome, soft features; same stormy eyes; same sharp jawline. If she hadn’t suffered through these years, she would not have believed that it’s been twenty years.

“Emma? Are you still with me?” Killian asked, waving a hand in front of her face, drawing her away from her reminiscing.

She shook her head, smiling at him. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Uh, what were you saying?”

“I was just asking what kind of volunteering do you do?”

And frankly, being put on the spot, the only thing Emma could think of was… “Hospital. I volunteer at the hospital.”

Killian looked impressed, and seemed like he was about to ask her more about her job. She had to divert him from that, lest she blurt something suspicious. So far she had been able to blend in well in this world, and not attract any attention to herself. The longer she stayed hidden, the less likely she would alert Gothel to her presence. She reached for his hand without further thought, drawing his attention away from whatever he was about to ask her.

“So, Killian Jones. What made you come up with the pirate story?” she asked, her smile coy.

He huffed out a chuckle, his hand scratching behind his ear. The move was something her Killian did, especially when he was embarrassed or shy. It made her heart constrict. No matter what, he was still in there. No curse or memory spell would take that away from him. She was so caught up in her own thoughts, again, she almost missed what he said. “-came to me in my dream. It felt so real, like they were my memories, from a past life or something.”

Emma looked up sharply, wondering if he actually remembered something. “Dreams? What kind of dreams?” she asked, hoping her tone conveyed mild curiosity and not the desperation that she felt.

He hesitated, and Emma hoped that he wasn’t regretting telling her. “Oh, just dreams, you know? That I was a pirate captain, Captain Hook,” he huffed, holding up his prosthetic. “Maybe my subconscious was trying to make me feel better about my lack of a hand,” he tried to joke, but Emma could sense the pain in his words. And so she did something she often used to do back home. She grabbed both his hand, real and prosthetic, in her hands, holding them with equal tenderness.

“You don’t need to play it off, Killian. It’s alright to mourn a loss,” she whispered, hoping that she was not overstepping. She was not used to stepping on eggshells around him, it was so odd for her to be careful of how familiar she was with him.

Thankfully, he did not seem to be offended by her forwardness, instead smiling at her gratefully. “Thank you, Emma. That was kind of you to say.”

She squeezed both his hands, her own heart swelling. It had been far too long since she could touch him, that something as simple as hand-holding made her want to never let go. A voice at the back of her head told her to get it over with, to give him his memories back. That he would want that, knowing Alice was in danger. Despite what Alice had told her, she really did want to, But he had been selfish once, forcing this on them. It was her turn to be selfish, to have this moment with him, just for a while, and not worry about Gothel or the curse or anything else. Just for a moment.

He would hate her for it later, she knew. But she had to do what was right, for her, just once.

-/-

Emma and Killian had spent the rest of the afternoon, and most of the evening, talking, sharing a couple of bottles of wine between the two of them. Emma listened, enraptured, as he told her about his travels. And Killian in turn asked her about her volunteer work, and she told him as much as she could without sounding crazy. They parted ways, albeit quite reluctantly, with each other’s numbers in their respective phones, with a promise of him calling her soon.

She walked back to where she was staying, a large smile on her face. She was practically skipping! But much like all good things, her happiness too was short lived. She rounded a corner, and ran into the last person she was expecting to see.

“Gothel,” she gasped, her hand flying to her ring, and drawing power from it. But before she could react, Gothel drove her hand through her chest.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Princess Emma,” she taunted, squeezing Emma’s heart and making her wheeze at the pressure, her hand clutching Gothel’s arm, trying to get her to budge.

“Let- let me go.”

“I might not be able to take your heart, Princess. But for what I have planned, I don’t need to remove your heart. I just need to poison it.”

Emma struggled in her hold, her eyes tearing up. “You can’t stop me,” Emma panted, shouting in pain when Gothel’s vile magic entered her heart.

“Oh, this is just to subdue you, dear. I’ll find Killian before you’ll get a chance to warn him.” And with that, she pulled her hand out of Emma’s chest, leaving her slumped against the wall, struggling to catch her breath. “You should have taken the chance when you had it, dear. Didn’t your mother teach you not to dawdle?”

Emma clutched at her chest, feeling the poison do its work. Despite the pain she was in, Emma couldn’t help the relief that spread through her. She might have waited to tell Killian the truth, but she was not a fool. He was protected by a very strong cloaking spell, and it would take Gothel a while to break it. Emma just hoped that she would recover before Gothel managed to find Killian.

That was her last thought before the world turned dark and Emma lay slumped against the alley wall, alone and powerless.

-/-

Later that night, Killian’s dreams were plagued by the same blonde woman. But this one was much different that the other dreams. The little girl, Alice, who called him Papa was not there. It was just the blonde, with her back turned to him, still. But before he could resign himself to the fact that he would yet again wake up before he could see who she was, she turned, making him gasp out loud when he saw her face.

“Emma,” he said, breathlessly. “I knew it.”

“Run,” she whispered back. “Run!”

Killian gasped awake, a sharp pain radiating through his chest. But despite the pain, and abruptly waking up, he remembered his dream very clearly. The blonde from his dreams was real, it was Emma.

Settling into the seat, Killian folds up the map as best he can and takes to staring out the window. He watches other cars, trees and guardrails, the occasional billboard pass by. His transformation is coming soon - he can feel an inkling of it in his bones - and they’ve got to find somewhere he can run free without hurting anyone, especially his brother.

He briefly falls asleep and wakes up as Liam pulls into a gas station. The sun is setting over the treetops. When he looks around, Killian notices there’s not much else around. A stoplight a little further down the road, some quaint little houses and shops.

“Where are we?” he asks, voice groggy.

“Storybrooke, Maine,” Liam answers. “Welcome to our new home.”

They’ve found something of a gem in Storybrooke. A small town, for sure, but large enough to spawn something of a suburb and boast two completely different grocery stores. But that’s not the charm that solidifies Storybrooke as their new homebase.

Since both of them have worked with, in, and around water and the sea, it’s a bit of an unspoken agreement between brothers that they have to move somewhere with a harbor. It’s a remnant of their childhoods, what’s left of the memory of their father that left them and their mother in the lurch. Every Sunday, their mother would take them down to the docks and walk along them along the water. Killian couldn’t be sure, but he liked to think that she found a connection with her former husband in the horizon on the other side of the water. It’s a feeling that runs stronger in Killian’s veins than Liam’s, probably due to the fact that Killian was younger and more naive, unknowing of the pain and uncomfortableness that their father left behind as Liam did. Still, there’s a certain solace the sea provides the brothers Jones, tainted memories included. How would one know what happiness is were it not for the sadness that came before it?

Killian finds a new job as the harbormaster, in charge of all the comings and goings of ships and boats. It brings him a certain sense of peace, something he could never really find even when he sailed the ferry across the Hudson River.

Much to Killian’s pleasure, Liam seems to settle in better than he does, if possible. Of all the odd jobs he’s worked in his life, the ad in the newspaper for a sheriff’s deputy - no experience required, training paid for - is the perfect fit. He’s already bossy, a leader, and a natural rule upholder.

“Finally,” Killian exhales, his forehead all but slamming on the kitchen table in front of him. “Now others will see the tribulations of living under your dictatorship.”

Rolling his head from side to side, the closest movement to shaking his head in this position, a thought crosses his mind and causes him to groan. He sits up. “You’re going to be an even more pompous arse with that blasted uniform on, aren’t you?”

They live in what either of them can only describe as a hovel, but it’s a hovel of their own, in their names alone. There’s enough grass around them that they could consider it a yard, especially the first spring they live there, when a surprise crop of buttercups pop up from the earth. Out toward the outskirts of town, it’s got enough rooms to be considered spacious and for each of them to have their own personal space.

Privacy is a very important quality to have when two brothers live together, especially as Liam settles further into his place in town. The inclusion of Elsa in their lives is messy at first. She’s a lovely lass - a bit on the quiet side, but Liam looks at her like she hangs the sun, moon, and stars all at once. And she, in turn, provides his brother a confidante other than Killian himself. Elsa brings out a softer side of Liam, one that Killian hasn’t seen since they were children. Probably not since their mother died and his brother added “guardian” to his resume.

They meet after a rather unfortunate incident: Liam’s covering the night shift while Killian, still a little unsettled from his last transformation, pays a visit to the local bar. He takes notices of the gaggle of ladies in the corner of the bar, sitting around the table and gabbing. As the night rolls on, they get a little too rowdy. When one of them ends up dancing on the table, Killian sees the bartender shake his head and reach for the phone.

A few minutes later, Liam struts in. He nods at Killian when their eyes meet and Killian can’t help but chuckle at the slight relief he spots in his brother’s expression when he realizes his younger brother isn’t the reason he’s been called. Still, he goes up to the man behind the bar and, after a brief discussion, Liam heads over to the table of women. The woman who stands up to deal with his sheriff brother has platinum hair, plaited down over her shoulder. Her hands come up, her motions soft and calming as she separates her friends from Liam.

He can’t hear what the conversation is, but the women settle down and Liam can’t seem to stop smiling. The woman says something to her friends before walking to the bar with his brother. Liam calls over the bartender and a moment later, his brother and Elsa are indulging in their first drink.

The rest, they say, is history.

Killian’s never really a desire for another older sibling, let alone a sister, but Elsa makes him rethink the idea. She adds a domesticity there’s never really been in the Jones residence, but she’s got a quick tongue that surprises everyone, including her adversaries in the courtroom.

Elsa introduces both of them to Storybrooke society, mostly by introducing them to her social butterfly of a sister, Anna. She somehow calms them both down in heated situations, especially between each other, and she does it all without ever raising her voice.

She’s the best thing to happen in their lives - or at least the best for them since Killian aged out of the system.

Unfortunately, they still have to keep Killian’s secret from her. For own safety, Liam insists.

“Liam, she’s practically family now,” Killian argues in whispers. It’s a Thursday evening and Elsa’s come over for dinner. She’s in the bathroom at the moment and Killian’s worried. “She has the right to know, especially when the new moon strikes within a week.”

“She doesn’t need to know, little brother,” Liam fights vehemently. “I’ll stay over at her place, that way we’ll both be out of your way.”

The conversation is cut short due to Elsa’s return, but Killian can’t help rolling his eyes.

“Oh no,” she says quietly, placing her napkin in her lap. “What did I interrupt? I can go in the kitchen and find look at your alcohol collection until you guys sort this out.”

Taking her hand, Liam shushes her with a smile. “No, honey, that’s alright. My little brother just doesn’t understand why I want to spend some time at your place.”

Killian, really having no other choice, plays along. “I don’t understand why because you always come back complaining that Anna wakes you up at ungodly hours.” Looking down at his mostly empty plate, Killian grumbles, “Trust me, I enjoy the reprieve from nightly activity noises.”

Liam scolds him for his inappropriate comment while Elsa hides her giggles behind her napkin.

(She’s truly the best thing to happen to them in a long while.)

0000

With each passing lunar cycle, the pain lessens. It still burns as it takes over his body, but just as with any sort of exercise, the body grows more tolerant. Liam remains the only person to know of his affliction, a fact that Killian fights the closer Liam and Elsa get. His brother finds more and more unusual ways to keep his lady love and himself away from the Jones house during full moons.

When the weather is nice enough, Killian often excuses himself by saying he’s going camping. Elsa doesn’t blink an eye, and if anyone finds him in the woods in any state of dress, he can say he just had a hard night in the forest.

(The ripping of clothes is still a problem when he transforms. A couple months into this experience, one would believe he’d be better at it.)

Killian’s wolf self loves those weekends. No one has run into him in any form, and the variety of creatures running about in the woods pleases him to no end. While he loved every day of living in New York with his brother, Storybrooke has a magical quality about it. Perhaps it’s the forests or the appearance of Elsa in their lives. It could be the accomplishment of adulthood or the freedom this little town gives them. Any number of things might be the reason. Killian fears that pinpointing the exact reason would ruin the magic.

It’s funny how just one small moment can change one’s perception of magical places. Wolf or not, it hits Killian right between the eyes one day.

“Liam!” Killian shouts, the front door to the station slamming shut behind him. Things are quiet down at the docks, fog failing to dissipate as morning turned to afternoon and making sailing conditions too undesirable. He’s got his pile of paperwork down to a manageable level and with the weather as poor as it is, Killian figures that most people are too fatigued by the grey day to commit any sort of crime. So, as he’s prone to do on occasion, he comes to offer Liam an outing for lunch.

When no one responds immediately, Killian walks further into the precinct. He expects to see Ruby or Leroy, the receptionist and other deputy respectively, but both their desks are alarmingly empty. Walking past them, he heads to Liam’s desk, and once he finds it unattended as well, Killian makes his way to the head sheriff’s office. It’s boxed off with half glass walls from the rest of the station, giving the semblance of privacy where there is usually none. Graham, however, installed blinds shortly after his appointment many years ago, and pulls them when he convenes a department meeting, as they are now.

Since his brother’s appointment to deputy, Killian’s skillfully infiltrated Storybrooke’s sheriff department, befriending Graham over a pint and Ruby with a drunk karaoke night or four. He’s walked in on many a department meeting and sat in the back, offering witticisms and snarky remarks when called for. Or even when they’re not.

(Leroy, as loud as he is, has still managed to vex him. The man is always grumpy.)

So he knocks on the glass door of the small room, giving them warning of his entrance, and waltzes in.

“Good morning, esteemed law enforcement of Storybrooke.” His greeting is too loud in the room, a boom of thunder during an otherwise silent night. Observing his surroundings, Killian becomes confused. Liam’s not standing beside the door. Leroy’s not sitting in the trouble seat with Ruby perched on the arm, checking out her nails. And, the most surprising thing he notices, is that Graham isn’t standing behind his desk, hands resting on the top of the wood and shoulders hunched over the week’s docket.

Instead, all four of them are sitting in front of the desk, chairs dragged in from other places in the building. The looks on their faces express concern and something like guilt, though Killian can’t explain why.

And then he looks to where Graham should be standing to discover his place is taken by a blonde woman, with leather-clad arms crossed over her chest.

She’s a marvel: that’s the first real thought that crosses his mind about her. Her stance radiates power, demands respect, and serves as one of the most powerful turn-ons Killian’s ever had the pleasure of being exposed to.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice gruff and unimpressed.

At the sound, his eyes shoot up, catching a flick of green as her eyes roll back in her head. Thrown for a moment, Killian shakes his head.

He soon recovers and turns on his swaggery pirate persona, “Well, that depends,” he replies. He gestures to Graham, and then back to her. “How come you’re in Graham’s place?”

There’s a moan from beside him, one Killian recognises as his brother’s. He turns briefly to catch Liam rest his forehead on his hand in disgrace. Killian shrugs. “What? I believe it to be a fair question.”

The blonde shakes her head. “This is a private meeting of sheriff department personnel,” she says. The satisfying clunk of her boots are slow and measured as she comes around the desk, stopping right in front of him. “If you’d please wait outside, someone will be out to help you in a moment.”

She grimaces at him, her poor attempt at a polite smile, then she takes the door frame from his lacking hold. “Thank you.”

Dumbstruck by the turn of events, Killian has no choice but to glance at his brother as he slowly backs out into the bullpen. Liam raises an eyebrow, nonverbally asking him to follow orders, just this once, and they’ll discuss the rest of the matters later.

Conceding defeated, Killian nods his head. "My mistake," he says, much more humbled.

"I apologize for interrupting."

The woman nods as if to say, "Yeah, sure, fine" before shutting the door behind him. Still a little gobsmacked by the unusual turn of events, Killian makes his way back to Liam's desk and takes a seat. He stares aimlessly at the framed photograph on his brother's desk, an identical match to the one that sits on his own desk down in the harbor. It's from when they were younger, one of the first weekends after Liam officially became his guardian. For some reason, he had saved up a ton of money - picking up extra shifts when he could, sleeping minimally for days at a time, and living off of Ramen and boxed macaroni - all so they could go out on a cheap little rented sailboat on a nice Saturday.

The man who owned the boat offered to take a picture of the two of them once they returned from the water. Sunburnt, a bit dehydrated, and smiling wider than either of them could contemplate possible, that was one of the happiest days of Killian's life. Everything finally seemed to be turning up in their favor.

While life or fate had sent he and his brother through the wringer, this turn of events was certainly not one he had seen coming. A new sheriff? It's not as though Graham has done poorly in his position, nor had he suddenly fallen in the line of duty.

But this new arrival is certainly an interesting development.

Staff meetings, or at least the ones he used to be privy to, lasted anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes. A brief greeting, perhaps a jab at Grumpy's expense, then a run down of the assignments for the day, followed by questions, comments, concerns. In and out before your coffee got cold. And while Killian figured, with the change in command and explanation of local quirks, it would go half an hour, maximum. This sheriff seemed to get straight to business, as if she was more excited about filing paperwork than about tackling the town's problems. Killian could sit and play around for a half an hour, no problem. Maybe he'd even take a nap.

But when a half hour passed, and then an hour, and then an hour and a half, Killian finally had enough. There were only so many times he could Facebook stalk his brother's account, or send himself emails from Liam's work account. Only so many Vine compilations and cat videos to be watched. His stomach growling was the last straw. He stood up, completely intending to march right back into Graham's office and call this meeting cruel and unusual punishment when the door he'd been coerced from earlier opened up.

Grumpy appears first, his facial expression much more sour than usual, followed by Graham, who looks like he needed a nap himself. Ruby comes after, her fingers already quickly flickering across her phone in response to texts or tweets or whatever the meeting had caused her to miss. Liam brings up the rear, slogging out with an apologetic look behind him. He’s barely out of the doorway before the glass door slams shut behind him and the shade shimmies down over the window.

"What's got her so uptight?" Killian asks, spinning around in his brother's chair and watching Liam settle in to work.

Liam merely shakes his head. "Get up," he grumbles, "I've got to get to work."

"I thought today was your day to patrol," Killian counters, rising anyways. "I was going to hop in the back and ask for a ride down to my office because I am not walking through that weather again today. Once was more than enough."

Sighing, Liam takes his seat and scoots in, simultaneously logging out of his Facebook and opening up a case file. "I'm not," he replies curtly.

Leaning in, Killian asks, "It's because of her, isn't it?"

"Sheriff Swan's in charge now, so I'm just following her orders."

"So that's the she-devil's name?" Killian ponders aloud, looking at the closed door behind which he knows she's probably so diligently working. Probably cackling over the change in order, cackling over huge piles of paperwork she either can’t wait to do or assign to one of the others. "Swan." To his knowledge, she fits the name: beautiful, mysterious, more than willing to bite at you should you get too close. He sits back against the edge of Liam's desk. "Huh."

"Don't be rude, little brother," Liam chastises. "She's new to town and the only thing she really knows is what she's meant to do as an occupation." He halts his typing long enough to glare at Killian and say, "Exhibit good form, brother. Don't be an arse."

"Don't be an arse," Killian parrots back with a scoff. "Did you tell her that? She scared the shit out of all of you. I've never seen Ruby turn her phone on vibrate and she did for this woman."

"Killian." He turns around to see Ruby, phone in hand, staring at him. "Liam's right. She's just trying to get a feel for what we're all like. You remember how it was when you guys first moved here."

Conceding to that matter, Killian nods slowly. "But neither of us were that rude, were we now, love?"

Ruby sighs. "No," she admits, and in the same breath goes to defend the woman. "But consider it from her shoes: she's replacing the male sheriff in a town in the middle of nowhere. She needs to exert her authority much more than if it were Graham's first day."

"That doesn't give her the right to..." Killian trails off. She is the sheriff, so technically, it does give her the right to kick him out of what should have always been private, sheriff department only conversations. And yet, Killian's riled up now, and he isn't quite ready to admit to being wrong. "What if there was a real emergency?" he asks instead, changing tactics. "She should have at least asked why I was there."

Just as he finishes his question, the woman herself, Swan, pokes her head out from between the door and its jamb. "What’s with the yapping? Is there a problem out here?" she asks before her eyes catch on Killian's. She puts on the same painful fake polite smile on, for his sake he can only assume, and ventures out of her office toward him. "Ah, yes sir, sorry to keep you waiting. How can the sheriff's department help you today?"

“Well, love, I had the hopes of saying hello to my brother and friends here at the station, but I can see that that way of life is no longer approved.” He sticks his hand out for a shake. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

“Jones?”

“Yes ma’am.” He nods toward Liam’s desk. “Younger brother to Deputy Liam Jones and occasional department volunteer.”

“Ah,” she hums, and Killian has to hide the slight smile of satisfaction he gets from seeing her face fall. Carefully, she places her hand in his. “Well, I’m sorry for being curt.”

Hoping to rock her world even further, Killian pulls her hand to his lips and press them against her knuckles. He catches a hint of red on her cheeks and hears her small, sharp intake of breath.

Mission accomplished. Even if it earns him a groan from Graham, a cackle from Ruby, and a scolding from his brother.

Swan pulls her hand away from him, brushing it against her thigh. “Mr. Jones, as the sheriff here in Storybrooke now, I’ll have to insist you act professional when you visit the department,” she orders. “Now, I’ve got a lot to catch up on, as do the rest of my coworkers, so I’m asking you politely to leave before things get ugly.”

“That, love, sounds like a promise.” This time, everyone groans at his gall, including Leroy. Holding up his hands, Killian slowly backs away. “I know when I’ve been bested. I’ll see myself out.”

With a solemn nod, Swan heads back into her office. Killian salutes Liam, waves at Graham and Leroy, and winks at Ruby on his way. It’s still soaking with no signs of letting up. He sighs.

“I don’t like her attitude,” Killian mumbles before heading out into the rain. “I don’t like it one bit.”

It turns out to be an absolute lie.

Killian has already prided himself on finding the toughest woman in the bar or the pub, at the party or the event, and wooing her into his bed. Or hers, he really isn't picky. A challenge, he used to say to his friends in New York. He liked a woman who proved to be a challenge.

(It was a rare find. One look and listen to him and almost any woman who had a slight inclination toward him was putty in his hands.)

This time, however, the toughest woman has managed to find him.

Swan proves to be the most difficult nut to crack yet. And, somehow, they fall in to an unlikely friendship nearly immediately. There's something in her that Killian responds to on a subconscious level himself. She snaps at the slightest insult, almost as though she's been fighting for her own way in life as long as he has. The first occasion Granny sends lunch for the whole department via the K. Jones Express, he spots the wild look in her eyes as she nearly pounces on the brown bags. They're all labeled with names, made special for each member of the sheriff's office, but Emma quickly opens and searches each one with the ferocity of a hungry teenager.

When she finally finds hers, she grabs it and takes it back into her office, the door all but slamming shut behind her. Curious, Killian brushes off the thanks Ruby and Graham give him in order to follow Swan cautiously to her home turf.

Gently pushing the door open, Killian peeks in. Swan's sitting at her desk inhaling her food, barely taking enough of a break to swallow and sip at her drink.

"So," he casually says, stepping into the room. She looks like a deer in the headlights, sandwich half-eaten, her mouth stuck open for another bite. "What did our dear Granny send for you today?"

Slowly, Emma places her sandwich back on the foil it was wrapped in and brushes her hands of crumbs. "Grilled cheese and onion rings," she answers.

"What a peculiar combination," Killian muses. He takes a seat in the trouble seat, right across from her. He notices her eyes narrow fractionally as he settles comfortably into the chair.

"Onion rings are better than fries." She says it as though it's a fact.

Killian shrugs. "I wasn't saying anything otherwise, love," he says. "It's just not a combination one sees very often."

Picking up her sandwich and taking another healthy bite, Emma chews in order to stall their conversation. Killian just waits, stares at her. He's never been one to find himself uncomfortable with silence, but this is certainly one of the least uncomfortable situations he's found himself in in recent memory. As he sits there, he notices the way Swan's hair curls slightly and falls from behind her ear, or the freckles that sprinkle her nose and cheeks. They haven't known each other for too long, but Killian finds it a little bit funny that he just now notices them.

Swallowing, Swan sends him a grimace, one he takes willingly. It's not as pained as it was when they first made acquaintance and with each passing meeting, it seems to get a little more genuine. Or at least it's heading in that direction.

"Not that I have to explain anything to you," she says, an attempt at being menacing, "but it's my favorite. It's comforting."

Killian nods in understanding. He claps his hands together, making her jump and causing a small grin to cross his lips. "Well, I'm glad the cold, hard sheriff does have a warm spot in her heart," he teases.

Emma sneers at him and rolls her eyes. "Har har," she says. Shooing him away, she adds, "Get out. I have work to do."

"I'm sure you do. That must be the reason you are swallowing Granny's delicious food whole and not because you're used to fighting for food." Killian winks at her. "You're obviously very devoted to your position and want to get back to your responsibilities as swiftly as possible, aye?"

He watches as she gulps a little bit harder at his words, and he knows with satisfaction that he's hit the nail on the head. Her head slowly nods up and down. Killian sends her a wink.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs. With a tilt of his head, he bows out of the room.

As such an integral part of both Jones men’s lives, it’s not unusual for Elsa to stop by for some reason or another. It happens one night shortly after Emma moves in: Elsa comes over for dinner and, at the end of dinner, Elsa asks Emma if she’s like to attend their next girls’ night. Emma excuses herself to go upstairs to her room, a slight blush in her cheeks grabbing his attention before she goes.

(Wonder what that’s about, he thinks idly.)

“You like her.”

Those words out of Elsa’s mouth don’t really make sense. Individually, they all make sense, but Killian cannot figure what his brother’s girlfriend means.

“Excuse me?” he clarifies, but she only smiles before walking into the kitchen and leaving him to flounder.

He, naturally, follows her. “Hold on, you can’t say something like that and then leave the room,” he complains.

She remains silent as she joins Liam at the sink. Bumping her hip against his gets his attention: Liam startles, glances at her, and grins softly. Feeling like he’s interrupting a moment when he desperately needs an response from Elsa, Killian clears his throat.

“Brother, I can take your shift of dishes tonight,” Liam says.

“No, not yet,” Killian shushes him. Elsa’s still smiling, and continues to do so as he points a finger at her. “What do you mean?”

Shrugging, Elsa dunks a dirty plate into the soapy water. Liam looks at her. “What is he on about?”

“I told him he likes her,” she replies.

“Her who?”

“Emma,” Elsa tsks, the plate coming down in the water with a splash. “Don’t you see it?”

“Emma Swan?” Liam asks. “The sheriff of Storybrooke? Our new roommate, Emma?”

Elsa pouts, crossing her arms. “How many Emmas do you know?”

Liam turns on Killian. There’s fire in his eyes and Killian isn’t quite sure why. His brother stares at him, hard and judgmental, while Elsa hums behind him nonchalantly. When his gaze eases up, a small grin grows on Liam’s lips.

And goes back to doing the dishes,

“What was that?” Killian asks incredulously. “What the bloody fuck was that, Liam?”

His brother shrugs, and bumps Elsa’s hip back.

(It must be some secret signal. It has to be.)

“Nothing important, little brother,” he responds. “Just judging the credibility of Elsa’s accusations.”

“And?” Killian’s never liked it when Liam eggs him on like this.It’s goading and rude, in his opinion, the exact opposite of good form.

But two can play at that game. “Has she finally lied to you to protect your ego?”

Liam glares at him, and Killian knows the scores have evened out. “She never would,” he says with conviction and another stupid smile. “and she hasn’t.” Placing the dish he’s currently cleaning in the sink, Liam takes the time to turn and face Killian. “Don’t do anything stupid, Killian. Remember, she’s paying rent.”

Killian shakes his head in denial. It’s his mind they’re trying to analyze: he should know best what goes on inside it. “It’s not true.”

“What’s not true?” Emma asks, bounding back into the kitchen. Her blush has calmed down, but there’s still an air of happiness and amazement around her. “What’d I miss?”

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Killian begins to gently guide her away from his troublesome brother and his girlfriend. “Don’t worry about it, Swan,” he says. “Can I interest you in some strip poker instead?”

“Only if the stripping is me taking all of your money.”

From the kitchen, Killian can hear Elsa and Liam laugh, but they let him be.

And maybe, just maybe, Liam and Elsa might be a little right in their assessment of affection.

So he decides to test their deductions and see how he feels about it. He’ll ask her out, on a date-esque outing. They’ve spent a lot of time together at home, at her place of work, and out of the woods as wolves. None of those situations are especially conducive to romance. Or potential romance.

(The more he thinks on it, the more he hates how right his brother and his girlfriend are.)

(He dares someone, anyone in the world, to tell him they find Emma Swan anything less than beguiling.)

“Would you like to do something this weekend?” he asks casually while cleaning the dishes one evening. “I can ask one of the lads down at the docks if I can borrow their vessel and we can sail out.”

Emma hesitates, her circles on the plate she’s drying slowing. “That sounds great, Killian, but...”

In his mind, her voice goes wobbly as he zones out. He’s reeling, because there are only a few things she could be doing. She’s only been living with them for about a month, but every weekend, she’s either stayed to herself or tagged along with whatever they were doing. Sometimes it was running errands, other times doing sorely needed housework, but Emma’s yet to really venture outside of her comfort zone.

Killian rules out working, because he knows Leroy’s been grumping about it the whole week. The unwelcome thought of her going out with someone else is...well, she’s living her own life and Killian just has to live with whatever happens. Even if he doesn’t like the idea of Swan schmoozing and hanging out with another man.

“Elsa.”

Shaking his head, Killian realizes she’s expecting a response to a comment only heard the last word of. “Pardon?”

Rolling her eyes, Emma puts the dried plate back in the cupboard and repeats herself. “I’d love to, but I’m actually going to have a girls’ day with Elsa and some of her friends.”

“Really?” he asks with a raise of his brow.

She squints at him, reaching for another drying dish. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“Not surprised, per se.” The last time he’d seen his brother’s girlfriend, she hadn’t mentioned a budding friendship with Swan. “Impressed,” he clarifies. “You’re off making your own friends.”

“Well, I have an actual house with an actual bed and Elsa made a very compelling offer,” she says. Tsking, she continues, “Besides, I can’t hang out with you two for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, looking down into the sudsy water. “I’ve been in that head of yours and I think Liam and I can satisfy all of your needs.” His tongue comes out from the corner of his mouth as he looks over to see her less-than-impressed expression. “Socially, of course.”

“Right,” She drawls. “I’m still going to Elsa’s. For some girl time.”

“All right.”

“But can we go sailing next weekend? Or Sunday?” Emma asks, turning pleading eyes on him and catching him completely off guard.

(In the little time they’ve been a pack and the even shorter time they’ve been living together, Killian has learned he cannot, under any circumstances, say no to Swan.)

“Of course, Swan,” he murmurs, still a bit disappointed at his lack of plans. “So kind of you to fit me into your busy schedule.”

She hums, a satisfied little grin crossing her lips. “I think jealousy suits you well.”

Killian’s jaw nearly drops into the dirty sink water. He whirls to her, flabbergasted. “I am not jealous,” he protests.

“I think you are,” Emma says, her voice melodic and smug. “With that pout of yours and grumpy set of your brow.” She sets down the towel in her hand and leans into him. In his ear, she whispers, “Just remember, you’re the one I always come home to.” Then she presses her lips to his cheek and exits the kitchen, leaving Killian to finish the rest of the dishes by his stunned self.

0000

Swan’s girls’ day Saturday ends up being a washout, making Killian feel a little better. He wouldn’t have gone out in this weather regardless, and with Liam on duty this weekend, it’s nice that one of the three of them is having a nice weekend.

With the house to himself, Killian is taking full advantage. No shirt, boxers, a cold beer in hand, and mindless television on the screen in front of him. It’s relaxing, a sort of peace he doesn’t often have a chance to experience. And in the nick of time, too: lately, his head’s been hurting him. Migraines and weird allergic-type itching have plagued him for the better part of the week. Usually, he’d attribute it to something about the transformation, but they couldn’t be any further away from the full moon if they tried. Emma’s even on one of her two weeks of freedom, something she’s relishing in.

Scratching behind his ear as it pains him again, Killian shuts his eyes at a commercial, hoping darkness could calm his senses down.

Instead, it strengthens a particular sensation: his communications with Emma. It starts off as a humming in the back of his brain. He attributes it to the TV at first, but then he hears her familiar voice, which he knows wouldn’t be on the television. Opening his eyes slightly, he checks over his shoulders just to make sure he’s not missing something, but it keeps going with no one behind him.

He knows that Emma isn’t in the house. He watched her walk out the front door an hour, hour and a half ago, smile wide beneath the hood of her jacket as she headed to Ruby’s. The rational part of his brain tells him she’s off with Ruby, Elsa, and a few of their friends. But that doesn’t explain why he can hear Ruby say, “So tell us about you and Killian” clear as day.

Emma scoffs, choking on whatever beverage she’s chosen today. “Excuse me?” she asks, a shot of panic dosing their bond.

There are giggles and another woman’s voice, one he isn’t too familiar with, says, “You can tell us. We won’t judge you or anything.”

“Speak for yourself.” That’s Ruby, he would know that instigator’s voice in his sleep.

Killian can feel Emma take a huge swig of her drink, making him swallow himself.

“Nope,” she says, taking a deep breath. “No, you’re either going to have to waterboard me or pump me full of the good stuff.”

There’s some sort of scuffle that interrupts Killian’s little broadcast, but he can hear Ruby agree in typical salacious Ruby fashion: “That can be arranged.”

Killian opens his eyes, knowing that the conversation can only get more private and intrusive from here. Swan left for her girl time, to be away from him and his brother because she’s right, she needs more than the two of them as her friends. He shouldn’t be listening in on this. He knows that.

His brain, however, seems to think otherwise. His migraine, though not completely gone, has waned, and though it’s not the worst he’s ever experienced, Killian would really like to not have a migraine right now.

It’s very weird, because he’s seeing a commercial for Hot Pockets, can hear the light strains of the music and lines associated with it, but he overwhelmingly hears Emma, almost like she’s talking directly to him at a loud and crowded party or something. Except it’s a party where their emotions and thoughts are already a connected, even if neither of them were invited, but they still showed up anyways.

(He was never very good at metaphors.)

The apprehension that Emma feels, though, he’s good at identifying that, at knowing that there isn’t really anything to spill about other than they’re roommates.

Not that he wants that to be the case.

He understands her mush of feelings quite well because he’s feeling the same way, regardless of her emotions influencing him at the moment.

“Come on,” Ruby scoffs. “He hangs on your every word.”

“He does not,” Emma insists, pushing everything deeper into a corner of her mind.

“How do you say no to those puppy dog eyes of his?” the other woman asks. Emma’s laughter reverberates through their bond and manifests physical in him, chuckling away at a soap opera at how accurate the choice of words is. It warms him up in a pleasant manner for such a dreary day.

Before Emma can respond, Killian barely hears Elsa say, “It’s difficult.” They must share a look, a sense of intrigue bubbling up. Killian can imagine Elsa ever so casually shrugging. “What, Liam’s got them too. You figure Killian had to learn it from somewhere.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about that more,” Emma says, swallowing a healthy gulp of whatever her drink may be. There’s the clink of glass, something like setting a glass on the table, that makes Killian think it’s probably of the vino variety. The conversation around her - them - fades out of focus, relief flooding the bond as Swan relaxes physically. She sighs at the distraction, no matter how weak it might be. “Elsa and Liam. Yeah, focus on them.”

Chuckling to himself, Killian has to admit Emma’s got denial down to a tee. Getting her to admit that she’s wrong in any argument is a huge victory. Whether it’s who left the dishes in the sink overnight to what the correct ending line of Clueless is, Emma Swan has to be the winner. Or she has to believe she is.

Emma starts at Ruby’s voice, loud even to Killian. He assumes she must be closer now, perhaps talking straight into Swan’s ear so as not to be pushed away like last time. She wants an answer, and if she needs to invade Emma’s thoughts - and thus, unknowingly, Killian’s - then she will.

“Just tell me one thing and I’ll leave you alone,” Ruby says, though there’s something in her voice that makes Killian think her words are for Emma alone. “I’ll pretend that your distraction was sufficient enough for me and you can continue swimming the length of De-Nile.”

“Ha,” Swan grants her drolly. “It fooled them.”

“I know deflection when I see it,” Ruby scoffs. “The younger Jones puts out a lot of sexual swagger. I want to makes sure he lives up to the image.”

Emma doesn’t say anything for a minute, confusing Killian even further. He knows that he oftens puts on that pirate swagger act, but the more he thinks about it, the tougher he finds it to remember the last time he consciously did it, or even wanted to do it. Ever since Swan moved in, he hasn’t really gone out to the bars or even out of his way to woo a woman in that manner.

Huh.

“What?” Emma finally asks.

Ruby laughs. “Are you kidding? Broody, works basically alone at the harbor, eyebrows with a mind of their own, a body built for sin?” She clicks her tongue. “I haven’t seen much of that Killian, and I can only assume it’s because of you. I want to make sure he’s putting it to good use.”

Embarrassment bleeds through their bond now, leading Killian to imagine that blush Emma’s got to color her cheeks. She’s got to be shaking her head, just like the character on the television is doing right now in front of his eyes, as if movement will remove the conversation from her brain. “No,” she says. “Nuh uh, nope, we’re not having this conversation.” There’s a pause where Ruby cackles before he feels the need to escape and hears Emma do so by asking, “Where’s the bottle? I need more.”

The surrounding noise and voices disappear in time, leaving Emma alone with her feelings and thoughts.

And him.

He can hear the thunk and thump of cabinet doors opening and the telltale stick of the refrigerator opening. When he hears the whump of it closing, Killian deduces that his Swan’s run away to the kitchen, on the prowl for more alcohol to wash away Ruby’s invasive question. There’s a discomfort, an agitation, that consumes her thoughts. Something about high school or her youth, the awkwardness associated with it and how it hardened her into the woman she is today.

“What’s this now, Swan? Are you embarrassed by how easily you fall for my charms?” he says aloud.

It must echo, though, into her mind, because Killian hears her spit out her drink, the liquid pinging off the sink, followed by a “Jesus, fuck.” Her sense of humiliation skyrockets, so forceful that his own cheeks start to redden with warmth. “Dear God, if you’re there, please tell me he didn’t hear any of that,” she prays.

“I don’t know about any almighty being that might have listened in on such a raunchy conversation, but I was certainly privy to it.” Emma groans. Killian tsks. “Don’t be ashamed. You’re hardly the first one to succumb to my better nature.”

Emma growls, “Stop talking or else your better nature isn’t getting any better any time soon.”

Staring at the TV, Killian tilts his head. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand that retort, love.”

“Shut up.” She sighs, then taking another drink of her wine. “It’s not the full moon, why are you in my head?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” he replies. Killian reaches up to scratch at the spot behind his ear. “There wasn’t much on the television and I had a bit of a headache, so I closed my eyes and then I heard you.” He shrugs to himself. “I guess I tuned in to you.”

When Emma awws, it confounds Killian. Something along the lines of curiosity must come through on her end of the bond, because she answers his unasked question. “You were thinking of me because you miss me even if I’m a five minute drive away.”

“I’m always missing you,” he responds with a chuckle, hoping she doesn’t perceive the strength in which he means it.

“How’s the headache now?” she asks.

“Gone.” He smiles. “You’re the only medicine I’ll ever need.”

She scoffs, “Gross.” A faint voice comes from her side of the bond, getting minutely louder. Urgency accompanies it. “Okay, you’ve got to tune out now. For the rest of the time I’m here,” Emma says.

“Wait: who’s there with you?” he asks quickly.

“Ruby, Elsa, and Ruby’s friend Mary Margaret.”

Killian breathes deeply in understanding. Now that he’s been told, he can totally recognize one of the local school teacher as the mystery voice. “Thank you, love. That would have bothered me all night.”

“Right, you’ve got to go away now.”

“Spoilsport.”

Moaning in frustration, Emma says, “Look, I don’t want to talk about the size of your brother’s dick as much as you don’t want to hear about it, but it’s going to happen whether we like it or not and I’d really like to keep one of us innocent.”

“My savior.”

“You’re welcome.”

The voices of her friends getting louder, Killian knows his time is short, if not already used up. Swiftly, he relaxes his body, hoping that it will calm her down. “Be safe, Swan. I’ll be here if you need me,” he says. All the talk of his missing swagger makes him add,  “And be sure to hint at how gifted I am proportionately in comparison to Liam.”