#csfic

It felt as though an age had passed before his shadow returned, beckoning his master to follow. Hook grabbed a line and kicked the release, allowing the rope to carry him to the ground where he landed with a heavy yet agile thud. Racing after the outline of his own form, he attempted to map out their destination, yet with each landmark left in his wake, foreboding began to seep into his bones.

Hook’s dread fully materialized when his shadow stopped at the very last place he’d ever wish to find himself. Even after all the years he’d spent in Neverland, he’d managed to avoid it. Dark Hollow. The darkest spot on the entire island. A spot where any light that made its way in was inevitably snuffed out by the shadows that called it home. Shadows of Pan’s victims who were trapped and tormented by the entity Pan called his own. Though Hook knew that Shadow did not actually belong to the demon brat in the same way the dark spectre floating in front of him belonged to the pirate. It was a being unto itself. Yet, like all others under Pan’s rule, it served its master and did Pan’s bidding from miles, even whole realms, away.

Knowing it would be useless to him, Hook hung his lantern on a nearby branch then began rifling through the many pockets of his great coat. He pulled a glass vial from one of their depths and gave it a gentle shake. A soft, blue glow began to radiate from the crushed remnants within: shells from a variety of marine life species that lived within one of the grottos of Mermaid Lagoon. Their bioluminescence was revered by the merpeople, and Hook had paid a heavy price for the desecration he’d committed when collecting them. A price that would be worth the sacrifice if it meant reaching Emma before any harm could befall her.

With a command to his shadow to lead the way, Hook hurried through the underbrush as quickly as he could. The oppressive darkness squeezed at him from all sides, attempting to snuff out the shells’ luminescence and leaving him with only a glimmer of their aura to see by. After several minutes, he heard a succession of snapping tree branches, then a soft, whimpering curse of pain.

“Swan?” Hook called out, squinting into the haze of shadows. A relieved exhale whooshed from his lungs when he caught a glimpse of Emma’s hair.

“Killian!” she exclaimed, and another round of snaps, crunches, and curses filled the air.

“Stay where you are,” he commanded. “I’m coming to you.”

The woman would find herself in the most dense area of the hollow. Brambles and roots threatened to trip him at every turn. At one point he had to abandon his great coat which had become hopelessly snagged in a thicket of thorns. Fortunately, not the deadly kind that were rather prevalent in other parts of the island.

When he finally reached the woman, she flung herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance with the unexpected action.

“Easy, love,” he crooned against the crown of her hair while his arms circled and tightened around her. “I’ve got you.”

“I-I didn’t mean to end up here,” she muffled against his waistcoat. “I intended to transport myself to that tall peak I could see from your ship, but…”

“Magic works differently here,” he said, begrudgingly parroting Pan’s words.

Emma sniffled and pulled back. Reluctantly, Hook released her, allowing her to step away as she swiped an errant tear from her cheek. “Where are we? What is this place?”

“Dark Hollow,” he told her, relaying all he knew of the place while wishing she’d let him hold her again, and not simply because she had started to shiver from the cold that was seeping in.

Night must have fallen. Of course, it was always night in Neverland - or void of daylight anyway. However, small fluctuations could still be observed that spoke to the fact that it was not always thus. Another bit of information he shared as they made their way out of the patch of brambles and into more of a clearing within a grove of trees.

Blowing out a steady breath, Swan stared up at him when they halted their steps so he could ascertain in which direction they should proceed. Hook met her gaze, his head cocked to one side and his brows slightly raised in anticipation. It was clear there was something more on her mind.

“Killian, I…” Her words trailed off, her eyes flicking to a space over his shoulders where she obviously saw something. Something that, at first, made her brows scrunched together, then raised in alarm. “A shadow!” she cried, pointing in the direction of her focus.

“Relax, love,” he replied. “It’s mine.”

“No. Not that one,” she said, gesturing to where he now realized his shadow had been lurking, then back to the area of concern. “That one!”

Hook turned to look and was immediately met with a concussive force that took his feet out from under him. It wasn’t until his back hit a nearby tree that he realized the force had not knocked him down, but had literally swept him off his feet.

“Killian!”

Emma’s scream forced his eyes to open. In front of him was The Shadow, eyes glowing white and hollow. Glancing down, Hook saw Swan using the jar of shells he must have dropped to swat away another shadow. Behind her was his own shadow, being restrained by two others.

His eyes snapped back to the spectre holding him hostage, and with a low growl he commanded, “Let me go.”

The Shadow slowly shook his head.

“What do you want?” Hook demanded, then rephrased the question, knowing who was really behind this assault. “What does Pan want?”

Without easing up, The Shadow shifted its focus from the pirate to the floor of the hollow. There was no mistaking where its empty gaze was trained, and that knowledge sent a jolt of terror through the fearsome pirate.

“Emma!” Hook shouted. “Run! Just go! Get out of here!”

“Not without you!” she cried out, stubbornly.

The Shadow shifted its attention again and gave an unspoken signal to the shadows holding back his own. Each grabbed an arm of his silhouette and began to pull. Searing pain, as though he were being torn asunder, ripped through Hook and he could not hold back the screams of anguish.

“Killian!”

Emma’s voice made its way past the pain. Past the cries of torment. Past the fear that this might be the end of him.

Without warning, a wave of blinding light swept through the Hollow, and Hook found himself crashing back to the floor of the grove with no time to brace his fall. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back, aches and pains rising to the forefront of his consciousness; fortunately, none of them appeared to be serious.

A fresh grunt rumbled from his chest when a soft yet solid body landed on top of his. Swan’s hands ran over his chest, up his neck, then cradled the sides of his head, her thumbs brushing his cheeks as she implored him to open his eyes.

“Killian!” she said, frantically. “Killian! Please! Killian, come back to me.”

His bearings finally returning to him, Hook opened his eyes and a relieved expression washed over the woman crouched over him.

“What… What happened?” he croaked, allowing her to help him sit up.

“I, uh… I’m not sure,” she replied, sheepishly. “I think I may have--”

“Freed us.”

The declaration snapped their attention in the direction of the voice and both shot to their feet when its owner made its way into view.

“Please,” the spectre said, holding his hands up in supplication. “Please. I mean you no harm.”

“Recent events would suggest otherwise,” Hook grit out between his teeth while angling his body in a way that positioned himself between The Shadow and Swan.

“For which, I am most aggrieved," The Shadow replied. “Like you, I have been bound to do his bidding for longer than any other creature on this island. Pan took everything from me. My magic. My position. My freewill… Even my voice.”

Hook balked, realizing this was, indeed, the first time he’d ever heard the entity speak.

“But now,” The Shadow continued, his hollow eyes looking past the pirate and falling onto the woman beside him. “Thanks to you, I am free. We are free. Your magic removed our bindings. We are no longer enslaved.”

Movement caught Hook’s attention, and both he and Emma scanned their surroundings. Dozens, if not hundreds, of shadows hovered at the edge of the clearing, each no longer a threat. Each expressing their gratitude with silent gestures that spoke volumes.

“Including you, Captain,” the spectre stated, causing a gasp to fall from Emma’s lips.

Glancing over his shoulder, Hook met Emma’s wide-eyed stare with his own. “You removed my binding?”

He never doubted that she could, nor that she would. It was why he’d sought her out after all. It was the bargain they had made. The fact that she’d done it now, while he was being tortured and in danger of being killed was what confounded him.

“I-I,” she stammered. “I was determined to save you. I focused my magic with the intent of saving you.”

“And you did,” The Shadow confirmed. “You saved all of us.”

Hook smiled down at her, marveling at the woman. “Thank you, love,” he murmured. He took in a shaky breath, forcing back the emotions that were bubbling up from his chest. They still had work to do. She may have released him from his binding, but their bargain was far from met.

“We thank you as well,” The Shadow said, gesturing towards his brethren. “And to demonstrate our appreciation, we will aid you in rescuing your son from Pan.”

Emma stepped forward, closing the space between them and The Shadow. “You will?”

“Indeed,” he affirmed. “However…”

“However, what?” Hook inquired, wary of the spectre’s intentions. He may no longer be bound to do Pan’s bidding, but that did not mean he was a benevolent spirit in his own right.

The Shadow drifted closer to Emma. Perhaps sensing Hook’s unease, she held out a hand towards him, staying his approach and waited for the spectre to continue.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” The Shadow inquired, low and soft. “The wounds? The corruption? The abomination he’s created?”

“Yes,” she answered on a pained breath.

“Neverland was once a place where dreams were born. Where children visited. Played. Explored. Delayed the inevitable for one more night, embracing childhood and staving off the pressures of growing up.” Emma and The Shadow were now eye to eye as he imparted, “It could be that again, but not with Pan at the helm. He must be stopped. His plan cannot succeed or there will never be hope for the island.”

“What plan?” Hook asked, making his way forward to join them. “Does it have anything to do with Swan’s son?”

“I’m afraid so,” The Shadow replied. “Pan wishes for immortality. He thought he had achieved it once, when he traded his son for youth, but he burned his way through that magic over the centuries with his vile deeds, and he nearly stripped the island clean in an effort to maintain his youth.”

“What has that got to do with Henry?” Emma demanded. “My deal was never with him.”

“Not at first, perhaps,” The Shadow supplied in a forlorn tone.

“What does that mean?” Hook demanded, growing weary of The Shadow’s vague and cagey answers.

“Deals are currency to those like The Dark One and Pan. They are bartered and sold, exchanging hands in pursuit of greater power, greater riches, or even desires. The Dark One traded the deal he made with you to Pan in exchange for his son,” The Shadow informed them.

“Why?” Emma asked, her tone expressing her own agitation at the spectre’s inability to get to the point. “Wait. I thought Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin only enlisted Pan’s help after I had evaded them for so long. You’re saying, he was involved from the beginning?”

“Not the very beginning,” The Shadow replied, finally revealing truths Swan had not been privy to. “The Dark One often made deals such as yours in order to supply the Black Fairy with children whom she would raise to work her mines. However, knowing his desperation to be reunited with his son, Pan offered to release the boy from Neverland if Rumplstiltskin agreed to surrender your first born to him in exchange. What the Dark One did not know was that Pan promised to send the lad to a realm where his father would never find him, so long as he was the one who fathered the child.”

Again, both Hook and Emma opened their mouths to demand why, but The Shadow cut them off and continued on.

“Neverland was built upon three magical components: faith, trust, and pixie dust. Pan’s original pursuit of immortality required a sacrifice of trust. A son’s trust in a father to always protect him, to love him, to put that son’s happiness and well-being above his own. As mentioned, Pan gained his eternal youth through this sacrifice and has amassed power through the use and abuse of pixie dust. This leaves only faith, or belief, but his corruption of the island caused such belief to wither and die in the imaginations of children. For centuries, they have no longer come of their own free will, nor have they been allowed to leave at dawn because dawn no longer exists.”

The Shadow glanced up at the canopy, seemingly looking past the branches to the endless night sky above and heaved a heavy sigh.

“He needed a new source of belief and through his searching, discovered a prophecy. Two, actually.”

“What prophecies?” Hook demanded. “From whom did he hear them?”

“A young seer,” The Shadow replied. “I brought her here myself, many, many centuries ago. She told Pan that the belief he sought must come from within. At first, he thought that meant he could force immortality into existence by the might of his will, but later she revealed that the belief was in his blood, not his will. His bloodline, to be more specific. Childlife faith comes from children, and despite outward appearances, Pan is no child. Neither was his son. The boy he’d abandoned had long grown into a man. Which meant--”

“Pan needed a descendant.”

“I don’t understand why that means he needs Henry,” Emma stated. “Baelfire was here as a child for more years than he could remember.”

“The prophecy also came with a drawing,” The shadow informed her. “A likeness of the boy who would provide him with the necessary belief. It wasn’t until after Baelfire arrived here that Pan realized he was not the boy from the prophecy. I believe he kept him here as a punishment, to Rumplestiltskin, whom he always blamed for the loss of his wife, and to Baelfire for not being the boy he needed.”

“And you are sure that Henry is the boy he needs?” Emma inquired with a slight tremble in her voice.

“I am afraid so,” The Shadow responded with soft empathy.

“And what exactly does Pan need from the boy?” Hook asked. Although he was rather certain he did not wish to know.

And he was right.

“His heart,” The Shadow answered heavily.

“No!” Emma cried out, turning to Hook and grabbing onto his arms for support. “We have to stop him! We have to--”

“We will, love. I promise you we will,” Hook vowed, pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her.

His vehemence was echoed by the spectre. “We will not allow it to come to pass. The shadows and I will do whatever is necessary to save your son and see to it that Pan’s reign of tyranny comes to an end.”

“How?” Emma muffled against his waistcoat. “We don’t even know where Pan is keeping him.”

“True,” The Shadow affirmed. “But I know where he’ll be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was sent here to collect you,” The Shadow told Emma, then glanced at Hook as he added, “Both of you. Though Pan did command that you be weakened before delivery, Captain.”

“Delivery where?”

“Skull Rock.”

Hook should have known. “Of course. His own little throne room.”

“Once I have delivered you, he will send me to collect Henry. I’m afraid I do not have the knowledge of his whereabouts, and there are many places within the island that Pan’s Lost Boys could have hid him without my knowing.”

“So,” Emma sniffled, pulling back but not out of Hook’s arms. “We need to play along in order to give you an opportunity to free Henry.”

“Yes. But we must still contend with Pan and The Dark One. None of us will be truly free until Neverland is rid of them.”

“The Dark One?” Hook growled. “He’s here?”

“Indeed. Pan kept his end of the bargain with Baelfire and sent him to a far off land not long after Henry arrived. The Dark One refuses to leave until Pan tells him where his son has gone.”

“So we have to come up with a way to defeat both of them?”

Hook’s inner turmoil matched Swan’s incredulousness. He’d spent more than a century trying to best Pan so he could finally be free to exact his revenge on Rumplestiltskin. How would they achieve in the next hour that which he’d failed to do for decades?

The Shadow began to respond, but something he had said earlier sparked in Hook’s mind, prompting him to ask, “What was the other one?”

“The other what?”

“The other prophecy,” Hook clarified. “You said earlier that the young seer gave him two prophecies. You’ve only told us the one. What was the other?”

“It was about Rumplestiltskin,” The Shadow informed him, his cocked head suddenly straightening with realization. “About The Dark One’s demise! She said, a boy would lead him to his son. But that boy would be more than he appears. She said finding his son would come with a price and the boy would be his undoing.”

“Henry will be The Dark One’s undoing?” Emma peered up at Hook, concern and disbelief etching her features. It was clear that she did not think her son capable of such a thing, and though Hook had yet to meet the lad, neither did he.

However, another possibly began to form in his mind. A possibility and…

“I think I have a plan.”

“Good evening,” the man greeted, cordially. “May I help you?”

Both Robin and Killian took in the man’s appearance: unassumingly dressed in a casual pair of khakis, light gray t-shirt, and cozy looking cardigan. Glancing down, they noted it was not boots, but slippers on his feet, and Robin shot Killian a dubious look before addressing the man.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir. I'm Detective Locksley. This is Detective Jones. Do you have a few minutes?

“Of course,” the man said. Off in the distance, towards the back of the house, a timer went off. “Oh, pot pie's done. Just give me a moment to take it out of the oven, and then we can talk. Would you like to come in?”

“That would be great.”

Robin and Killian followed the man inside and were asked to wait in the living room while the man disappeared into the kitchen. They both took a moment to familiarize themselves with their surroundings, hoping to glean something about the man from his furnishings and decor.

“An unusual amount of clocks, creepy dolls, needlepoint pillows… are we sure this is the guy?”

“Are you telling me this place doesn’t scream serial killer?” Killian shot back in a low whisper as he continued to survey the room whilst listening for any hint of sound that might alert him to the little girl’s whereabouts.

“Fair point,” Robin conceded, and both men turned their attention to the hallway as the man returned from the kitchen.

“Sorry that took so long, but you know how delicate crusts are. Now… what can I do for you?”

“Where were you between the hours of 7:00 and 9:00 this morning?” Robin asked.

“On my route,” the man answered, an expression of curiosity taking hold of his features. “I’m a postman. What’s this all about?”

Killian took the photo of Grace Hatter out of his pocket and held it up to show the man. “This little girl went missing this morning along your route.”

“That's awful,” the man replied, barely looking at the photo. “You don't think I had anything to do with it, do you?”

“We’re just running down leads,” Robin said. “We thought you might have seen something out of the usual whilst on your route. Did you see the little girl?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t,” he answered, his gaze focused squarely on Robin and avoiding the photo altogether.

“Your mail truck was seen parked at the end of her street. You’re sure you didn’t see anything?” Killian pressed.

“I typically park my truck there and walk the route. It’s good exercise and the turn around at the end of that street can be tricky.”

“We found boot prints at the site where we believe the little girl was taken. Boot prints that match the ones postal workers are issued with their uniforms. Can we see yours?”

“Of course,” the man complied, waving them towards the back of the house. “I leave them by the back door.”

Killian let Robin take the lead so he could peer down the dark corridors of the cabin with his keen vision and continued listening for sounds of the girl. It was hard to distinguish anything from the ticking noises the myriad of clocks were making and most of the doors throughout the cabin were closed, making it impossible to see anything beyond the hallway walls.

“Here you are,” the man said, retrieving the boots and handing them off to Robin.

Killian could already tell they weren’t the boots that had left the prints. There was no wear pattern. These looked practically brand new.

“Is this your only pair?” he asked, a hint of accusation coloring his tone and causing Robin to give him the side eye.

“It is,” the man answered, seeming unperturbed by Killian’s tone. “You’re free to look around if you don’t believe me.”

That was all the permission Killian needed. He and Robin searched the home for nearly an hour, clearing closets, checking every nook and cranny, opening every cabinet, and even scouring the attic. All the while, the man sat at the kitchen table, enjoying his pot pie, doing his best to not look too smug.

“Look, I know she's in here somewhere,” Killian told Robin when his partner suggested it was time to cut their losses.

“You got another place to look, we'll look, but we've torn this place apart,” Robin replied. “We’ve got his boots. We should take them back and have them compared to the prints.”

“No,” Killian said, emphatically shaking his head. “If she's not here, he's got her someplace else.”

Robin peered around the corner into the kitchen where their suspect was washing dishes at the sink. “What do you see in this guy I don't? You saw the file Will sent on him. He's got no priors. He's clean.”

“He’s a…” Killian began, then metaphorically bit his tongue. He couldn’t tell Robin the truth. Couldn’t tell him he’d finally gotten a hit. A whiff of the blutbad who was behind the attacks and another faint scent he believed to be the girl. He just needed more time to figure out where he had Grace hidden, or worse… find evidence that he’d already disposed of her.

“He fits the profile,” Killian reminded him. “He's a loner, he's never been married, and his job gave him the means and opportunity to take Grace Hatter.”

Robin shook his head, dubious and unconvinced. “If this guy had something to hide, he would have kicked us out. I'm leaving. I want to keep my job.”

“Anything else?” their suspect asked, coming out from the kitchen with an all too pleasant expression on his face.

“No. Thanks for your time and cooperation. We'll see ourselves out.”

Robin turned towards the door, muttering “let’s go” under his breath, but Killian took a moment to fish a business card from his pocket.

“Here,” he said, handing it off to the perp and distracting him for a moment as he also pulled out his phone. “If you think of anything, please give us a call.”

“Of course, Detective,” the man replied with a somewhat wolfish smile. “Always happy to be of assistance.”

Killian turned as though to follow his partner, who had already exited and was halfway down the drive, a good distance from the cabin.

“Oh!” he said, facing the man once more. “One last thing.”

Bringing up his phone, he shoved the bright red screen into the blutbad’s face, and switched off the lights, bathing the room in a crimson glow. A growl reverberated off the walls and Killian watched in satisfaction as the wesen began to transform. If seeing his sire, the blutbad whose image had tormented him for more than two years, once more in full woge wasn’t enough to turn Killian’s blood cold, the words that exclaimed from the monster’s mouth were.

“You!” the beast exclaimed. “You’re a… A GRIMM!”

Killian blanched and stumbled back, tripping over the threshold and landing him hard against the floor of the porch. He heard Robin shouting his name and could hear rushed footfalls coming towards him. Although the moon had disappeared behind the clouds, there was still enough light coming from the cabin that would reveal the blutbad if one got close enough. He couldn’t let Robin see the beast, or let the beast have a chance of hurting his partner.

“Die, Grimm,” the wolfman snarled, emerging from the house with his massive paw raised and sharp claws at the ready.

Killian tried to pull his gun from its holster as Robin issued a warning. “Stop right there, or I’ll shoot!”

The monster advanced as Killian scurried back and shots rang out from behind him. A wounded howl echoed from the darkness as the blutbad stumbled backward into the house and a crash followed when he collapsed onto the coffee table, breaking it into pieces.

“Are you alright?” Robin shouted, his weapon still trained on the darkened doorway of the cabin as he crouched down to check on his partner.

“Aye,” Killian replied, accepting Robin’s help off the ground.

“Did I get him?” Robin asked, still peering into the doorway. “I could barely make him out, but could see he had some sort of weapon in his hand. What was it? A club?”

A relieved breath whooshed from Killian’s lungs. So, he hadn’t seen the perp for what he truly was. Had thought his paw was a weapon and not an extension of his monstrous body.

“You got him, all right,” Killian assured him. “Let’s make sure he’s down for good. Wait here and back me up?”

“Okay. But be careful.”

“Roger that.” Killian said over his shoulder as he crept towards the house. His vision allowed him to see that the blutbad, returned to its human form, was indeed dead, but he waited until flicking on the lights before confirming it to Robin.

“I’ll call it in and get CSU out here. He must be hiding the girl somewhere else like you said.”

Robin pulled out his phone and dialed, reporting the incident and requesting backup. Killian knew the little girl had to be there, though. They must have missed something.

Frantically, Killian stopped the clocks, silencing their ticking and homed in on any noise that remained. A trickling sound, like water dripping, made his ears perk and he looked about for its source. On the floor, next to the blutbad’s body, he could see water pooling from a knocked over vase. It appeared to disappear beneath the floorboards under the rug. Kicking back the corner of the rug revealed a trap door.

“Rob!” Killian shouted. “Come help me!”

Robin rushed inside and stared at Killian trying to move the dead man’s body.

“What are you doing, mate? You’re messing with the scene!”

“Look here,” he pointed out. “There’s a trap door hidden under the rug, help me move him so we can open it. Grace might be down there!”

That prompted Robin into action and together they rolled the man’s body so they could access the trap door. Killian wasted no time, raising the door and hurrying down the steps.

“Wait! Take this,” Robin said, handing Killian a flashlight. Not that he needed it. “I’ll be right behind you.”

At the bottom of the steps was a small room with concrete block walls. It wouldn’t have surprised Killian if the blutbad had dug it out himself. The only furnishings were a full size bed, decorated in pink linens with lace and tulle accents, and a large wardrobe. Killian gestured to Robin to check under the bed while he approached the bureau. Opening one side revealed a number of jackets, hoodies, and coats, all in shades of red, hanging from the clothes bar. Swinging open the other side revealed… Grace Hatter, bound, gagged, but very much alive!

“It’s okay, lass,” he told her softly when she shied back from him. “We’re the police. We’re gonna take you home.”

The little girl remained motionless as he removed her gag and bindings, then she threw herself into his arms, thanking him on choked sobs as she cried for her Papa.

~/~

Killian, Robin, and Will watched as Jefferson Hatter ran towards his daughter, who had finished being looked over by paramedics. Thankfully, they found her to be unharmed. The cabin was surrounded by cop cars, their red and blue strobes lighting up the forest around them as CSU processed the scene and many of the officers attempted to keep the press at bay.

“I don't know how you did it, but you did it,” Captain Gold said as he approached the trio. “Nice work.”

“Jones deserves all the credit,” Robin told their captain. “I still don’t understand how you put all the pieces together.”

“What’ve I told ya,” Will quipped. “The man has a bloody sixth sense.”

Killian scratched the back of his ear. “No. Just more perceptive than most, I guess.”

“Well, it paid off. Thanks to you a killer is off the streets and a little girl gets to go home.” Gold checked his watch and looked around at the organized chaos. “Given the day and evening you’ve both had, we can probably hold off until tomorrow to get your official statements. Officer Scarlett can escort you back to your vehicles, and I’ll attempt to keep the press from hounding you. Go home. Get some rest.”

With that, he smoothed out his suit coat and straightened his tie, then made a beeline for the gaggle of reporters, ready to give them statements and provide a distraction so his detectives could make their exit from the scene.

Killian said little as they made their way back to the respective vehicles, allowing Robin to give Will the play by play of events… again. It wasn’t until he was back in his vehicle, pulling away from the scene, that he allowed his thoughts full rein to run rampant in his head.

The blutbad had called him a Grimm. He’d seen Regina and another woman woge earlier that day. Neither of those things should have happened. The only way they could was if he were gaining Grimm powers. And the only way he could… the only reason he could gain Grimm powers was if…

“Call Liam.”

His phone lit up from the holder on the dash, dialing his brother. Killian held his breath with each ring, then cursed when it went to voicemail.

Ending the call, he tried Nemo. It had been months since he’d spoken to the man, but he knew Liam was in more frequent contact with their father figure and mentor than he was.

Again, the call went to voicemail.

“Nemo, it’s Killian,” he said, leaving a message. “Are you with Liam? Have you talked with him? I can’t reach him and I… I need one of you to call me back just as soon as you get this. Please.”

He tried his brother one more time as he sped towards the docks, fear causing his stomach to churn even as his heart beat a rhythm of denial.

Can’t be dead, can’t be dead, can’t be dead, can’t be--

Killian slammed on his brakes as he pulled into the underground garage of the warehouse. Off to one side was Liam’s truck with his trailer full of resources and supplies hitched to the back. He rushed to the driver's side and found his brother, badly beaten and passed out behind the wheel, barely clinging to life.

“Liam!” Killian shouted, trying to rouse his brother. “Liam, what happened!”

“Am…bush,” his brother groaned. “Manti…core.”

Killian’s stomach dropped.

A manticore? Manticore were vicious wesen. Half-lion, Half-scorpion. His brother would have to be a fool to face one alone, much less enough to constitute an ambush. Especially since they were…

When Killian opened the door to try and get Liam out of the truck and inside the loft, his heart nearly stopped. At the juncture between his chest and shoulder was a wound. A puncture. The kind of wound left by a manicure’s scorpion-like stinger tail. His brother had been stung by a manticore, and Killian knew if not treated immediately, the venom of a manticore would prove deadly.

Shoving Liam over to the other end of the bench seat, Killian disengaged the hitch so he could leave the trailer behind before climbing into the driver’s seat and speeding off. For the second time that day, he dialed the only person he knew he could count on.

He just hoped she’d agree to help him once she discovered the secret he’d been hiding.

~/~

“Did you say Manticore anti-venom?” Emma questioned into the phone, certain she had not heard him correctly.

“Yes!” Jones replied. “My brother’s been stung! I’m bringing him to you now! Please tell me you have something that can help him!”

“What the hell was your brother doing messing with a manticore? Did he know they were a manticore?”

“Why or how isn’t important! I’m pulling into the alley now. Can you help me or not?”

“Yes, I can help you. Do you need help getting him inside?”

“No, I can manage. Just get things ready for us!”

The line went dead and Emma sprinted to where she kept her anti-venoms.

“Put him on the divan,” she called out when she heard the back door open.

Vaguely aware of Jones carrying his brother through the back room, Emma found the vial she was looking for and began measuring out the proper dosage into a syringe. A gasp fell from her lips when she finally caught sight of the bruised and beaten man.

“Are you… are you sure he’s still alive?” She didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but found herself unable to contain the thought.

“Aye, he’s alive. But he needs that anti-venom.”

Emma flicked her gaze up to Jones and her heart ached at the scared, desperate look in his eyes.

“Killian,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “He’s going to need more than this anti-venom. He needs a hospital. It would take me more time than he has to treat these other injuries with magic. He’d succumb before I got the appropriate potions brewed.”

He looked down at his brother and his Adam’s apple jumped from the force of his swallow. “Just give him the anti-venom then I’ll get him to a hospital. We both know they’re not equipped to treat the poison.”

“Okay, but you should call for an ambulance. It’ll be faster.”

Killian shook his head. “An ambulance call means questions, and I’d rather keep you out of this if I can.”

“If you’re sure,” Emma said, turning back to her patient. “Hold his head steady. I have to inject this in his carotid.”

Killian did as he was told and Emma inserted the needle into his brother’s neck. She’d just managed to empty the entire contents of the syringe into his artery when the man’s eyes flew open and his hand wrapped around her neck.

“Liam!” Killian cried out, attempting to pry his brother’s fingers off her throat.

Panic flared through her and before she could stop herself, she woged. Bright, radiant light shimmered off her skin and her eyes flashed with a green glow.

Shocked, Liam released her and hissed, “Witch!”

His shock was nothing compared to hers, though.

Unconscious once more, Killian’s brother collapsed back onto the divan. Emma stared down at him, then stared up at the guilt-riddled man who now put himself between her and his brother.

His Grimm brother.

“I can explain,” Jones began, holding his hands out in front of him.

“Explain?” Emma replied in an incredulous tone. “Explain what? That you never saw fit to tell me your brother was a Grimm?”

“Swan, I--”

“I knew you had knowledge of wesen before becoming one yourself, but never would I have imagined it was because your brother was a… Does he know?!”

“Know what?”

“Does he know about you, Killian?” Emma demanded. “Does he know you're a lycanthrope?”

Jones’ jaw tightened and his gaze fell to the floor before he ashamedly admitted, “No. He doesn’t know.”

“Jesus, Jones!” Emma exclaimed. “Is there anyone at all in your life you’ve been honest with? Anyone you aren’t keeping secrets from?”

“You’re one to talk,” Killian shot back, startling Emma into stunned silence. “You think I never noticed how you change the subject anytime the topic of your family comes up? Your beginnings before Marco took you in? You’re an open book, Swan. I know you have secrets, too, but I’ve never pressed you about them. I’ve respected your privacy. Who are you to judge me about when and to whom I disclose my secrets, hmm?”

Stung by the truth of his words, Emma marched to the back door and swung it open. “Get out. Take you Grimm brother and get out of my shop.”

“Swan. Please, I didn’t mean for--”

“He needs a hospital,” she reminded him. “And I need time to… process.”

“As you wish,” he relented. Leaning over, he pulled his brother up and over his shoulder as though the larger man weighed nothing. “Thank you for your help, Swan. Truly. I appreciate it.”

He brushed past her and exited the way he’d come. After getting his brother secured in the passenger side of the truck, Killian made his way around to the driver’s side.

“Jones,” Emma called out before he could get behind the wheel. “I hope…” she paused, not certain she could really hope for the best for a Grimm. Instead, she managed to force out, “Good luck. Let me know how… how things go.”

“I will,” he said. Though his tone and expression told her there was more he wished to say, he left with a simple, “Thank you again.”

Emma watched until he’d completely backed out of the alley, torn with what to do with her newfound information. There were those who would pay handsomely to know the whereabouts of a Grimm, especially an injured one. There was also an unspoken code that demanded wesen keep other wesen informed of the presence of a Grimm so they could stay vigilant. Jones’ brother wasn’t a threat to any wesen at the moment though, and it didn’t sit right with her to out the man while he was vulnerable. Not to mention that outing him meant outing Killian, and even though she was pissed that he’d kept this from her… she couldn’t really blame him. Not really. Not when he was right about her.

She had her own family secrets, just as dangerous and damning. If not more so.

~/~

Killian paced the waiting room as the doctors worked to stabilize his brother. A number of times he heard the doctors and nurses mutter their astonishment that the patient was still alive before they’d finally made him leave the triage area and wait as they attended to his brother. Killian knew it was Liam’s Grimm powers that were sustaining him, and he prayed to a god he didn’t even believe in that those powers would hold true.

“Mr. Jones?”

Killian spun around to face the doctor who’d called his name. “Yes! I’m Mr. Jones. How’s Liam? How’s my brother?”

“Stable, but not out of the woods,” the doctor informed him. “He has a head injury we’ll need to closely monitor, but he’s conscious and asking for you.”

“I can… I can see him?”

“Only for a few minutes,” the doctor told him. “He needs his rest.”

Killian followed the doctor to the curtained off area where Liam was resting. Taking a seat in the chair next to his brother’s bed, Killian reached over and took Liam’s hand.

“Killian?” Liam choked out groggily.

“Aye, it’s me, brother. Try not to speak.”

Liam’s eyes fluttered open and he blinked several times before turning his gaze towards his brother. “Killian,” he choked out again. “What the devil were you doing with a… she is a witch, yes? My little brother associating with a damn witch?”

Killian scoffed and clicked his tongue. “That witch saved your life,” he told him.

“You trust her?”

“I do,” Killian affirmed emphatically. “I’ve known her a long time, Liam. She isn’t like other hexenbeists.”

“She certainly doesn’t woge like one.” Capturing his brother’s gaze he asked, “You saw it, didn’t you? Her woge?”

“Aye.”

“Damn strange.” He turned his gaze back towards the ceiling and released a heavy, pained sigh. “I haven’t the strength to argue with you about your association with a hexenbeist just now, so perhaps we can table that discussion for another time?”

“Or…” Killian proposed, “You can trust my judgment and we can drop the matter altogether, and you can tell me why I’ve been seeing wesen woge all day.”

Liam’s head snapped back towards Killian. “You… you’ve been seeing them woge?”

“Aye. Two other hexenbeists at lunch time, and…”

“And?”

“And a blutbad called me a Grimm earlier this evening.”

Ill-advisedly, Liam sat up, then immediately fell back against the pillows, groaning with regret.

“Damn it, brother!” Killian admonished. “You’ve been seriously injured. Stop being a fool and lie still!”

A grunt worked its way up Liam’s chest and slipped past his lips. “I am a fool,” he lamented, staring back up at the ceiling. “I was a bloody, damned fool today, brother.”

“What happened?” Killian inquired with a measure of ease as to not further censure his brother. “You said you were ambushed?”

“We were.” Liam wet his lips then clenched his jaw. His Adam’s apple bobbing heavily before he continued in a tone of mourning. “Graham is dead. Someone set a trap for us.”

Graham is dead?! The Huntsman? One of the most fearsome Grimms of their generation?

“How?” Killian asked in disbelief. “Who set you up?”

“No clue.” Clearly unwilling to relive the disastrous encounter, Liam changed the subject by nodding towards the bag that held his personal effects. “Pass me that.”

Killian did as his brother requested, then resumed his seat as Liam rummaged through the bag. He held his tongue and his questions. His brother had been through enough already. The least he could do was give him time to heal before pressing him for answers.

“Here,” Liam said, depositing something into Killian’s hand. “Never lose this. Guard it with your life. They'll be looking for it.”

Glancing down at his hand, Killian was struck by the object Liam had placed there. “Mother’s ring? Who? Who’s looking for it?”

“Whoever set us up,” Liam answered. “The manticores knew we were coming and were apparently instructed to get mother’s ring off my dead body. They took something from Graham, too. I couldn’t stop them.” Glancing back at the ring, Liam added, “Nemo once told me it was important, but he never said in what way. I need you to look after it and keep it safe whilst I’m stuck in here. Especially if I don’t--”

“No,” Killian admonished. “Don’t even go there. You’re going to be fine. You just need to rest. You hear me, Liam?”

A half smile formed on Liam’s lips. “Aye, little brother. I hear you.”

“Younger,” Killian groused, shoving the ring into his pocket and leaning back in the chair so he could keep vigil until the doctors kicked him out.

The sound of the curtain being pulled back roused him some time later. He must have dozed off. Checking the time on his phone, he found it strange that none of the doctors had come to tell him visiting hours were over until now. Glancing up, he had a half-formed apology on his lips, but it was forgotten when he caught sight of the ‘doctor’ that had approached his brother’s bedside.

Standing over Liam, with a syringe filled with a black substance, was none other than the red-headed hexenbeist from earlier.

“You!” Killian exclaimed, shooting up from the chair.

Startled, the woman lunged towards his brother with the syringe, but Killian managed to grab her wrist before she could inject him. They struggled for a moment before a sharp prick pierced his skin. He wrenched back, the syringe, halfway emptied into his system, still sticking out from his arm, and the room began to spin.

In an attempt to break his fall, he wrenched the curtain down over himself. Shouts and a stampede of footfalls raced towards him as he lost consciousness. Lying on the cold linoleum floor, with the fallen curtain partially covering his face, he saw the green stilettos of the hexenbeist hurrying away from the scene before darkness consumed him.

Chapter Three - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@bluewildcatfanatic @scotchiegirl @jonesfandomfanatic @idristardis @lfh1226-linda

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@earanemith @captainodonoghue @jrob64 @djlbg @wyntereyez

~/~

Emma tried to give Belle her full attention as she showed Liam and her friends all the work she’d done, going through her methods and presenting her sources as though she were giving a dissertation. Unfortunately, her attention was currently elsewhere. Try as she might, she could not help but glance over her shoulder every few seconds, wondering - dreading - what Ruby had held Killian back for.

Not that it was too wild a guess.

When Ruby entered the conference room, followed quickly by a chagrined looking Killian Jones, Emma schooled her features in an attempt to make it appear she never even noticed their absence. Like she had so many times over the past many months (and countless amount of times since he’d climbed out of his Chevelle earlier that day) Emma buried all things Killian Jones beneath a wall of protection and tried to take back control of the parts of herself that were threatening to mutiny on her.

Like her heart, which had begun to race the moment she’d clapped eyes on him standing on her driveway looking all windswept and wonderful. Or her stomach and the way it had fluttered with each glance from his too blue eyes cast her way. The way her skin had reacted to his touch, pebbling and yearning for more with each hair standing at attention, which was probably the worst form of rebellion seeing it was the one he could detect.

Not that she hadn’t been able to detect his involuntary responses to her as well which had affected her all the more.

The bastard.

He had no right to look at her with those pining, forget-me-not depths. Or call her love. He’d forfeited the privilege to hold her in his arms, even if it was to save her from a falling statue. How dare he make her want to pull him in closer and pick up where they’d first begun. In the cemetery. On that blanket. Making out with a type of passion she had never experienced with anyone before or since.

Not Graham. Not Walsh. And certainly not-- “Where’s Neal,” Mary Margaret asked, pulling Emma from her thoughts.

  “Huh?” Emma replied, startled. “Oh, um… work. The store is expecting an afterhours delivery, so he had to go in for a late shift.”

Mary Margaret nodded then turned her attention back to Belle, who had begun to outline the history of the carriage house.

“It was, at one time, just one of many buildings that stood on the Spencer estate,” Belle informed them. “George Spencer built the mansion, the carriage house, the stables, and other out-buildings in the late 1800’s. Around the same time many of the other prominent families of Storybrooke built their estates.”

“Like the de Vil’s and the Midas’?” David asked, looking over a town map from the 1880’s that Belle had found in the archives.”

“That’s right,” she said before carrying on. “And like many families of that time, he went bust during the crash.” Pointing out one of the many photos, Belle continued. “George had no other option but to sell off the land. A religious order took over the house, converting it into an orphanage and home for wayward mothers. It operated under that mission until the late 1960’s.”

“What about the other structures?”

Emma couldn’t help but look Killian’s way as he posed the question. Casually leaning against one of the bookcases, his thumb was tucked into his belt, his sharp features somehow enhanced by the mix of light and shadow caressing his face. Emma’s breath caught in her chest and her heart skipped almost painfully in her chest. Damn, he was beautiful.

“The stables burned down in the 70’s. Most likely from vagrants or squatters who were occupying it at the time, trying to keep warm.”

“And the main house?” Liam inquired. “When was it demolished?”

“Around the same time the de Vil’s property was torn down and the land rezoned,” Belle told him. “In the 1980’s, the town was keen to embrace progress and remove anything considered antiquated or outdated. Many of the historical homes and buildings were leveled to make way for new, modern construction, however…” She paused and removed a photo from the nearby bulletin board, handing it to Liam before she continued. “There was a group of citizens who worked to save and conserve as many of the remaining buildings from the time of the town’s founding as they could.” Glancing towards Emma, she said, “Your carriage house is one of about a dozen they managed to protect.”

Liam handed off the photo to Killian, and Emma, too curious to force herself to remain at arm’s length, moved to his side and peered over his shoulder at the group shot.

“Do you recognize any of them, Swan?”

Emma flicked her eyes up to meet his and her breath hitched. He’d turned his head to glance at her and they were now practically nose to nose. Taking in a deep inhale to steady herself-Fuck! He smells good-she wet her lips, noting the way his gaze fell to follow the action and the tight bob of his Adam’s apple in response.

“I don’t think so,” she replied in little more than a whisper before taking a necessary step back. Clearing her throat she added, “It’s a pretty old photo though.”

“I doubt any of us would recognize the people in that photo,” Belle said to the group. “Most of them have left the area.”

“So you’ve identified them?” Liam inquired, and once more Emma had to force herself to focus on Belle and her research and not the man she could feel studying her with his hooded glances and piercing eyes.

The photo had been taken in the mid-80’s and featured the three families who had organized the historical preservation effort: the Tremaines, the Mills, and the Golds.

“I discovered that all three families jointly converted the carriage house into a working stable for their families’ horses,” Belle continued. “The area behind, which is now residential, used to have a large pasture area where the Tremaine and Mills daughters and Mrs. Gold used to ride and train for equestrian competitions. They also employed a number of stable hands and various workers to see to the building’s and horses’ upkeep and care.”

“Are there any records that might list the names of these hands and workers, by chance?” Killian asked, while attempting to sound nonchalant.

They had all agreed to keep the seance under wraps for now. If Daniel had indeed been murdered, then they did not wish to risk the story getting out more than it already had. There was no telling whether his killer was still in the area, but if they were, the Jones brothers knew they’d be on high alert and had advised both her and Neal to keep whatever details they uncovered to just the four of them.

“I’ve tried to compile a list of anyone who had anything to do with the carriage house since it was built,” Belle answered, motioning to the folder she’d given Liam. “Everything I’ve found is in there, but I’m afraid there are gaps and missing pieces of information.”

“You’ve done a remarkable job,” Liam gushed. The way his and Belle’s cheeks pinked in unison made Emma smile and without thought she shifted her gaze to Killian who was already staring at her with an amused, I know, smirk on his face.

The shared moment was interrupted by her brother’s impatient question.

“Where does any of this get us?” Arms crossed over his chest, his stance braced wide, David’s impatience with the entire topic was on full display.

Out of everyone she had told about both her prior supernatural encounter and the current haunting, David had been the most skeptical, the most unwilling to accept Emma’s experiences. Not because he didn’t believe her; Emma knew he did. She also knew his attitude was likely because he felt helpless to do anything about it. He’d always been protective of her, sometimes overly so, but he did not have the first clue of how to protect her from something not of this world. Or at least, not of the living. She also knew the powerlessness was the cause of his dismissive tone and demeanor directed at the Jones brothers. They were here to help in a way he could not. They were here to save her and David believed that was his job. Forgetting that she didn’t need anyone to save her.

At least, that’s what she’d kept telling herself, even after placing that call to the only person she knew, without a shadow of doubt, could help her. The person who was getting the brunt of her brother’s ire and agitation as he waited for a response.

Emma was really glad she’d never told her brother the full account of her relationship with that person.

“It gives us a starting point in identifying the poor soul Emma found bricked behind the wall,” Killian replied calmly, unfazed by David’s conduct. “As well as those who may have known and had animosity towards him.”

“The next logical step,” Belle said, cutting in, “would be to cross reference the list with missing persons reports. Unfortunately, I don’t have access to reports that go back that far.”

“I’ve already got that handled,” Ruby declared. “Graham said if we got him a list of names he would supply us with copies of any reports he found.”

“How did you get Sheriff Humbert to agree to that?” David inquired, clearly astounded that an officer of the law would allow civilians to assist in the investigation.

Tossing a section of her chestnut locks over her shoulder, she set her features into a sultry expression and purred, “You’d be surprised what the promise of some Red Riding Hood and Big Bad Wolf role play will get you.”

Emma rolled her eyes and Killian choked back a chuckle. Both Liam and David looked equally scandalized while Belle and Mary Margaret exhaled wearily, accustomed to Ruby’s irreverent behaviour.

“Well, then…” Liam began, still a bit tongue-tied from the turn of the conversation and Belle’s studious attention. “My brother and I will do our best to narrow down the list of candidates for your… sheriff.”

“Do you have to start on that right away,” asked Belle with an eagerness in her voice. “Only… I was hoping you might give me your opinion on some of the other local legends and ghost stories that circulate in the area. See if there might be any validity to them that would require your expertise.”

“I-I, uh…” Liam stammered, his momentary hesitance causing Belle’s face to fall.

“He would be happy to,” Killian stated, stepping in and saving his brother (though a sly and devious undertone was peeking out of the corner of his expression that told Emma he was gonna give his brother hell later). Taking the folder of research from Liam’s grasp, he added, “Wouldn’t you, brother?”

“Aye,” Liam agreed quickly. “It would be my pleasure to advise you on other cases, that is…” Liam’s attention shifted to Killian, a pleading intensity burning from his eyes. “If you’re sure you don’t mind getting a jump on things without me.”

“Of course not,” Killian assured him. “Swan and I can manage just fine going through the research while you assist Miss French. Can’t we, Swan?”

“Um… yeah,” Emma agreed, although she hadn’t anticipated working with Killian without either Neal or Liam present. Alone. Just the two of them.

“Wonderful!” Liam exclaimed, perhaps a bit too excitedly before he cleared his throat and managed to temper his obvious enthusiasm as he turned back to Belle. “Where shall we start?”

Belle directed Liam to the map of Storybrooke, and soon it became apparent that the rest of them had been forgotten. With a Cheshire-like grin still spread across his face, Killian directed his attention back to Emma.

“I suppose we should get back to the carriage house and begin weeding through names.” Offering his arm to her, he said, “Shall we, Swan?”

“Actually,” Emma hedged, her knee jerk reaction to avoid, elude, and evade any potential opportunity that might force her to confront that which she was trying desperately to ignore kicking into high gear. “I promised to help David and Mark Margaret with something this evening.” She took a step back and nervously wet her lips at the snap decision.

“You did?” David responded before a sharp elbow met the underside of his rib cage, wielded by his petite and seemingly innocent wife. “I mean… She did.”

“She thought you’d be busy working the case and wouldn’t need her,” Mark Margaret said, attempting to cover for her husband and throw support Emma’s way. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Obviously not buying any of it but too polite to call any of them out, Killian gave them a half-smile. “Of course not. I can manage on my own until Liam can join me. I’ll, uh…” He reached up and scratched the back of his ear, his face turned towards the floor as he reminded, “I’ll need a key to get back in the house, unless you think Neal is--”

“He won’t be home until around midnight,” Emma told him, fishing her key out of her pocket and slipping it off the ring. “Feel free to lock up after Liam gets back,” she said, handing him the key and pointedly ignoring the goosebumps rippling up her arm from the brief sensation of his touch. “There’s a spare at David’s. I’ll use it to let myself in so I won’t bother you.”

“You are no bother, Swan,” Killian declared, fixing his gaze to hers, the intensity of it rendering her speechless.

“Well,” Mark Margaret chirped, “Now that’s settled we really should be going. We don’t want to keep Emma out too late. It was lovely to meet you, Killian.”

Her sister-in-law threaded her arm with Emma’s and headed for the door, calling out a good-bye to Liam and Belle (who barely registered it with a response, still thoroughly wrapped up in the other), and muttering something about how Ruby must have slipped out without their notice. Typical.

Emma cast a look over her shoulder, noting the hard look David gave Killian as he passed him, and the solemn yet resolved response Killian was issuing to the three of them.

“Lovely to meet you as well. Be careful, Swan. I’ll see you at home.”

I’ll see you at home.

Why did the idea of Killian and home have to sound so good together?

~/~

The gentle tick of the desk clock and light rustle of papers, accompanied by the occasional scratch of a pen or squeak of a highlighter had been the only sounds to interrupt the quiet - too quiet - nature of the house. Without an overheard light, a feature Swan must have decided against when she had the carriage house rewired, Killian sat in the soft glow of the floor and desk lamps, as well as the warm flicker of candlelight burning from the tapers he’d found decorating the built-in bookcase that spanned the back wall. Though it had been an adequate enough amount of illumination while there had still been vestiges of daylight coming in from the window, now that the world outside was thoroughly pitched in darkness his eyes were beginning to feel the strain and he wondered how much longer he’d be able to go over Belle’s files.

Sitting back against the cushions that acted as a makeshift headboard to the pullout, Killian stretched then rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the impending headache. He supposed he could have worked in the dining room. Neither Swan nor her… Neal would likely object to his taking over the table as a workspace. However, given the lengths to which Emma had gone to avoid being alone with him that evening, he thought it best to set up somewhere out of the way - out of her way - in case she arrived back before Liam did.

Given the late hour, and the fact that neither of them were back yet, Killian considered packing up the notes for the night. Tomorrow, he could move them to the dining area. Tomorrow, it - he - might not feel so in the way with everyone else about. Tomorrow, Emma wouldn’t need an excuse to avoid being alone with him because both Liam and Neal (and who knew who else) would be around and they’d all have a fresh goal to set their minds to.

With a weary sigh, Killian began gathering the scattered documents. His intention was to neatly file them back into the folder; an intention that was completely thwarted when a voice startled the papers right out of his grasp.

“You’re still up?”

“Bloody hell!” Through the flutter of flying papers Killian saw Emma casually propped against the door jamb of the office. He hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Sorry,” she replied, looking not the least bit sorry and quite frankly rather amused by his reaction. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yes, well…” he began, clearing his throat and hoping the heated flush quickly sweeping across his cheeks and up his ears wasn’t too obvious. “I wasn’t aware you had returned, and--”

“I came in through the back. I thought you might be asleep and didn’t want to wake you,” she said, stepping into the room and collecting a couple of pages from the floor. “How, uh… how’s it going? With the research, I mean. Did you, um, did you find Daniel?”

Killian took the pages from her, noting the way she kept her eyes trained on anything and everything but him.

“Three, actually,” he said. “I believe I have found a couple of candidates that could be our R and C as well.”

That finally turned her full attention his way, her eyes wide and brows practically disappearing into her hairline. “You did?”

“Aye.” Handing her his page of notes he explained, “You remember how Belle told us of the three families who took on the restoration projects?”

“Yeah. The, um… Tremaines, Mills, and Golds?”

“Those are them,” he affirmed. “Turns out the Mills matriarch was named Cora and the Tremaine’s was Cassandra. Both had daughters whose names began with an R. Regina Mills and Rapunzel Tremaine. Both in their late-teens and early twenties when two of the Daniels worked here. One as a stable hand and one a groom.”

“That’s amazing!” Glancing up from the notes, her smile made Killian’s heart skip a beat and a swell of satisfaction rose within him at the knowledge his efforts had put it there. “How do we narrow it down further?” she asked. “What do you think our next move should be?”

“I’ve a few ideas I plan to talk over with Liam, but I think we should--”

Emma and Killian’s heads both snapped towards the desk where a loud thump had originated before snapping them back towards one another.

“Did you…”

“Aye…”

The thumping noise sounded again and this time it shook the entire desk.

The silence that followed was deafening until Killian called out into the dimly lit room. “Daniel? Is that you, mate?”

Three thumps that time, prompting Killian to move from the bed towards the desk with Emma creeping along behind him.

“What do you know about this desk, love?”

“It was here when I bought the place,” Emma told him, all but plastered against his back as they circled the piece of furniture in an attempt to locate where the thumping sound was coming from. “The Belfrey’s left it, along with a few other pieces.”

“Belfrey. Belfry,” Killian repeated, trying to place the name. “Right! The Tremaine girl married into the Belfrey’s, didn’t she?”

“If you say so.” thump, thump, thump “A woman named Victoria Belfrey was who I bought it from.”

Having finally narrowed in on the noise, Killian crouched down in front of the lower, lefthand drawer with Emma following suit. Glancing her way, he paused, hand hovering over the drawer pull.

“Any idea what we’re about to find?”

“As far as I know, there’s only appliance owner’s manuals and some old paperwork I probably should have thrown out a long time ago.”

Both he and Emma practically jumped out of their skin when the drawer rattled violently.

“Shit!”

“Bloody hell!”

Killian grasped the pull and the drawer went still. With one last bracing glance Emma’s way, he slowly opened the drawer. The two peered inside and found… appliance manuals and old bits of paperwork. Just as Swan had said.

“Maybe there’s something at the bottom I didn’t notice when I dumped all that stuff in there?”

Together, they worked to clean out the drawer until it was completely empty of the current owner’s contents. Immediately, Killian noticed something at the back.

“I think it has a false bottom.”

There was a small, half-moon opening in the drawer bottom. It took some doing to pry it open, but underneath were dozens of envelopes, all addressed to the same recipient.

Daniel.

“Should we…?”

“I do believe he’s given us permission,” Killian said, understanding her trepidations. These were clearly personal and had not been meant for anyone’s eyes but the intended receiver. “He did lead us to them, after all.”

“You’re right,” she said, gently gathering up the envelopes. “Let’s see what answers Daniel has led us to.”

Answers came with the very first letter.

Regina.

The R stood for Regina.

The daughter of Cora and Henry Mills, wealthy and affluent societal giants at the time, had fallen helplessly in love with Daniel Colter, a humble stablehand who had lived and worked at the refurbished carriage house. By all accounts, he had been head over heels for her as well.

They’d had to keep their relationship a secret, however. For one, her parents, especially her mother, would have never approved, and two, the carriage house staff - who were all men - were under strict orders to not fraternize with the lady clients. Although, it did seem, from certain passages within Regina’s letters, that there were a number of women, including Cassandra Tremaine and Mrs. Gold, who had gone so far as to proposition Daniel and the others for a bit of fraternization.

Regina’s final letters referenced a plan. A plan for the two of them to run off together. Somewhere far from her parent’s overbearing reach. Somewhere they could be happy, build a life, and decide their own future. A future that never came to be.

“I wonder what she thought when he disappeared,” Killian murmured, gently folding the letter he’d finished reading before slipping it back into its envelope.

“I don’t have to wonder,” Emma stated a little too matter-of-factly, her biting words and clipped tone slicing through Killian.

No. She did not have to wonder, he realized. Thanks to him, she knew all too well what Regina had gone through.

“Swan, I--”

“I bet that’s Daniel’s unfinished business,” she said, cutting him off. “He wants her to know that he didn’t abandon her by choice. I mean, based on what these letters tell us, he was a decent guy. Not the kind who would disappear without a word, leaving someone he claimed to care for heartbroken. Wondering what they’d done wrong or whether they had deluded themselves when they believed their feelings had been reciprocated.”

“Emma.” Reaching across the letters that were strewn over the pullout, Killian gripped her hand. The action, as well as his use of her given name, caused her head to snap up, her eyes locking with his. The depth of her hurt glistened in her eyes as she valiantly fought to keep it from spilling over her lashes. Her hardened expression began to yield at the feel of his thumb softly skimming along the back of her hand, her lips parting to allow a ragged exhale to pass over them.

Squeezing her hand a bit tighter, Killian whispered in a desperate tone of longing, “Swan, love. I never meant to--”

“What’s all this?”

They both jumped at the unexpected voice and Killian snatched his hand away at the sight of Neal hovering in the doorway.

“Hey, babe!” Emma greeted enthusiastically as she got up from the pullout. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” Placing a swift yet purposeful kiss to his lips, her hand lingered against Neal’s cheek as she asked, “How was your shift?”

“It was fine,” he answered, still eyeing the pullout. Killian couldn’t help the smirk lifting at the corner of his mouth knowing how it must have galled the man to find his girlfriend comfortably reclined on another man’s bed. With said other man occupying it as well.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something.” Neal did not sound at all sorry, shooting Killian an incensed look before focusing his attention back on Emma. “Want to fill me in?”

“Sure,” Emma replied. “I’ll catch you up as we get ready for bed.” Addressing Killian over her shoulder, she added, “We can pick this up tomorrow, can’t we?”

“Of course,” he agreed, though he was loath to see her retreat, especially since it meant she would make her way to another bed. With another man. One who had a right to share it with her. “Goodnight to you both.”

Emma followed Neal out into the hall, making her way towards the stairs. Glancing back over her shoulder she offered a soft, “Goodnight, Killian,” then disappeared into the dark quiet of the carriage house.

“Goodnight, love,” he murmured into the silence, his chest tightening as he gathered up the love letters still scattered across his bed.

Once settled beneath the blanket, his mind drifting towards sleep, he would swear he heard a hushed, insistent plea urge from the opposite corner of the room, Tell her!

“It all began with my own folly,” she told him, gesturing towards what she assumed was his cabin and following after him, only continuing after she’d crossed the threshold into his quarters.

“I was young and foolish. Only thirteen and new to my powers with no one to train me.”

Killian poured them both a portion of spirits then invited her to take a seat at the stateroom table. Sinking down into his own seat beside her, he turned his body into hers, and encouraged her to continue.

“Worried what I might do if I did not get my powers under control, I sought help from the one person I knew I should not.”

“Who was that, love?” he asked.

His gaze was tender, his posture open and relaxed. He must have sensed reliving this tale would take its toll on her and was, therefore, doing all he could to make her feel supported and secure. She appreciated it more than she could say, which was why it pained her to see the change in him when she answered.

“The Dark One,” she stated, hollowly. “I made a deal with the Dark One.”

~/~

Fifteen years ago…

The frigid, winter wind sliced through Emma, chilling her to the bone and making her teeth chatter. She tightened the thread-bare shawl around her small frame and mustered the courage that had waxed and waned many times over on her way to the clearing.

She knew it was mad, but what other choice did she have?

Drawing in a deep breath, one that set fire to her lungs and nearly froze her vocal chords, she closed her eyes and cast all caution to the biting winds.

“Dark One, I summon thee!”

The ground beneath her began to shake. Birds that had been roosting in nearby trees squawked and screeched as they took flight, fleeing the area on quick wings as scampering sounds of creatures rustled through the brush made their own escape. From the dais, a black, viscous mire began to seep up from the grates and form into something the approximate size and shape of a man. When the dark ooze receded, a cloaked figure remained.

The figure of the Dark One.

Pulling back the hood of his cloak, the vessel of the Darkness appraised her for a moment before snapping in a sharp, irritated tone, “I haven’t got all day, dearie.”

Repulsed by the unnatural shimmer of his skin and the way his eyes seemed to pierce into her very soul, it took Emma a moment to find her voice.

“I… I’ve come to seek your help. I’ve come to make a deal.”

“Believe it or not,” he quipped with a disparaging and scornful expression, “I had worked that out for myself.” Stepping off the dais, he began to circle her as he questioned, “What makes you think I would be interested in making a deal with the likes of you?” When he stopped in front of her, his serpent-esque eyes searching the fearful jade of her own, something in his demeanor shifted. “Oooooohhhhhh,” he drawled, his interest sharpening in an unsettling way. “I see. Finding it difficult to wield all that new found power, aren’t you, dearie?”

“Y-Yes,” Emma stammered, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact and dropping her gaze to her feet.

“And you have no one to train you? No one to take you under their wing and care for a whittle cygnet such as yourself?”

The beast’s taunting tone ignited a spark of anger within her and before she could do anything to try and stop it - not that it would have mattered, seeing as her lack of control was why she was there in the first place - her magic pulsed and caught one of the trees on the edge of the clearing on fire.

“Oh, ho!” the Dark One cheered, clapping his hands together in a maniacal fashion. “You are a wonder!”

“No!” Emma shouted in parts fear and frustration. “No, I’m not! I’m a danger! I don’t know what I’m doing! I didn’t even know I had magic until--”

“Until you came of age at your last birthday?”

“Yes,” Emma replied, chewing on her lip briefly, before sharing, “I turned thirteen this past fall, and suddenly…” She held up her hands, the glow of her magic always present within her palms, like a powder keg ready to explode at even the slightest spark. “I was turned out of the place I’ve been raised since I was an infant and have nowhere to go. No way to make a way for myself, unless…”

“Unless?” the Dark One prodded, his countenance coiling like a snake ready to strike, his nose twitching as though he could smell the desperation coming off of her.

“Unless I can find a way of harnessing my magic so I can use it to make a living. Please,” she begged. “I’ll give you a portion of my earnings for however long you wish if you’ll help me master my power.”

The Dark One brought his hand up and placed it thoughtfully against his face, giving off the appearance that he was considering her proposal.

“As much as I would love to take on another apprentice,” he began in an insincere tone. “I’m afraid my dance card is full.”

“Wait!” Emma cried when he lifted his hand in preparation of whisking himself away. “Please! There must be something you can do. Some magic you can provide that will help me. Name your price. If it is within my ability to give, then it is yours!”

“Anything?”

“Yes!” Emma agreed. “Anything.”

“Well,” the Dark One dramatized. “There is something I could give you to help bring your magic to heel.” A swirl of dark smoke with shades of deep purple and maroon manifested in the Dark One’s palm. When it dissipated, a small scroll, tied with a black ribbon, was left in its wake. “This,” he said, holding up the scroll and shuffling it through his fingers, “contains an incantation that will immediately calm your powers and give you mastery over them as though you’d spent decades in training, but,” he clipped, tossing the scroll into the air and catching it tightly in his fist. “I warn you. It comes with a steep price.”

Wetting her lips, Emma eyed the end of the ribbon peeking out from the Dark One’s clenched fist and asked, “Whatever it costs, I’ll find a way to pay it.”

The Dark One’s face contorted as a wild, sinister grin spread across his face. “I do love a desperate soul,” he sneered, holding out the scroll for her to take.

“What about the price?” she asked, taking the scroll and holding it tightly within her grip.

“When the time comes,” he said, a disturbing gleam shimmering from his reptilian gaze. “I will come to collect.”

“Why can’t you collect it now?” she asked, wishing to be done with the entire affair and not relishing the idea of ever having to see him again.

“You’re not yet ready to provide me my price,” he told her, his eyes flicking downward then hurriedly back up again. “I dare say it’ll be a few years, but fear not…” He backed away, slithering towards the dais as he gave her one last promise, “I always keep my bargains.”

Smoke engulfed the Dark One, leaving behind only the echo of his impish giggle and the sinking feeling with Emma that she may have just made a terrible mistake.

~/~

“What was the price,” Hook inquired, knowing it had to have been something horrible, something reprehensible if the crocodile had refused to disclose it at the crafting of their deal.

Throwing back the reminder of the drink he’d poured for her, the witch sucked in against the burn it likely left in her throat and replied, “My first born child.”

“What?” Hook exclaimed, shooting up from his seat so he could pace the length of his cabin. He never considered that her son was a mere infant, nor that the Dark One would have enlisted Pan to--

“He’s not a baby anymore,” Emma told him. “He turned ten this past summer.”

Unaware that he had said those things aloud, Hook scratched at the back of his ear and sheepishly apologized.

“I am sorry for my outburst.” Resuming his seat he asked, “If the Dark One did not come for the boy when he was born then--”

“I learned of his scheme and managed to hide myself away before he was born,” she said. “Despite his attempt to manipulate and entrap me into paying the price.”

“I do not understand,” Hook responded, his confusion pinching his brows and underpinning his words. “How did the Dark One manipulate and entrap you?”

Emma reached over and picked up the decanter he had placed upon the table and refilled her glass. After setting it back down, she stared at the way the amber liquid swirled in its container before imparting, “I suspect he kept tabs on me somehow,” she said in a faraway voice. “It’s the only way he could have known of all the proposals and propositions I’d received and rejected. The only way he could have discovered that I had no intentions of ever marrying or having a child, thereby making it necessary to send someone with the intentions of wooing me, bedding me, and impregnating me so he could claim his precious price.”

Seething, Hook inquired between clenched teeth, “Who? Who did he send? Who did that to you, love?”

“His son,” she supplied, her eyes still lingering on the swirling amber.

“Baelfire?” he blurted out, absolutely stunned.

A sentiment she also shared, evident from the way she blanched and flicked her gaze up to his.

“Y-You know him?”

“Aye,” he told her. “That is… I knew him. Once. When he was a boy not much older than yours.” Shaking his head, he poured himself another drink and mused, “I often wondered what had become of him after Pan let him go, but never would I have imagined--”

“Let him go?” Emma interjected. “What do you mean, let him go?”

“From Neverland,” he answered. “Bae landed there some time after his father had abandoned him in a portal. He remained for many years until, one day, Pan instructed me to return him to the Enchanted Forest.”

“When was that?”

Hook shrugged and tried to calculate the time. It was difficult to keep track of such things when time stood still in one realm and moved differently between others.

“Nevermind,” she said, waving off her question. “It does not matter now, I suppose.”

“Aye,” Hook agreed. “Although, given what I knew of what Baelfire thought of his father, I find it difficult to believe he would work with him to betray you in such a way.”

“I know little of their relationship,” she told him, hollowly. The wall he’d seen her erect several times within their brief acquaintance was once more established upon its foundation in an attempt to separate herself from the emotional turmoil threatening its ramparts.

“All I know is…” She swallowed heavily then took a fortifying breath so she could continue on with an unaffected tone and composed countenance. “He took me for a fool. Made me believe his declarations of love were sincere and his desire to spend our lives together was real.”

In spite of her efforts, he could see her struggling, her eyes glistening with angry tears she refused to let fall, her last few words choked off by the tight ball of emotion forming in her throat.

“When did you learn the truth?” he asked, keeping his tone as gentle as he could despite his own feelings of outrage.

Clearing her throat, she turned her face upward and blinked back the treachery blurring her vision before bringing her gaze back to his. “I overheard him one night,” she began in a clipped tone of rancor. “He was talking with someone in the other room, but when I peered around the corner, I did not see anyone. It took me a moment to realize he was communicating through mirror magic.”

“Mirror magic?” Hook replied in surprise. “The Bae I knew abhorred magic.”

It struck Hook that this fact should have been the tip off that there was something fishy about their relationship. The lengths to which the lad had gone to flee his father and avoid Pan, both powerful purveyors of magic, not to mention his wariness of Tink, a former fairy, had made the boy’s feelings on the subject quite clear.

“Yeah, I, uh… learned that later,” she told him with a slight shake to her head as she mused, “I still don’t understand how he was able to deceive me for so long.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, love,” Hook replied, a pang of guilt stabbing him in the gut. “He was an excellent pupil whilst in my charge and I can only imagine the lessons Pan and his father taught him after he left my tutelage.” Running his tongue over his teeth, he shifted in his seat and confessed, “I taught him all I knew of piracy and… duplicity and skulduggery are part and parcel of a pirate’s life.”

The feel of her hand over his snapped his gaze from the floor to their hands to her eyes, bright green and swirling with understanding, forgiveness, and a measure of amusement.

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Captain,” she parroted back to him. “I’m normally very good at knowing when someone is lying to me… even pirates.” With her other hand, she reached into the front of her bodice and produced a pendant etched with a swan motif. “And after Baelfire’s betrayal, I made sure to never fall victim to whatever tactics he used to skirt that skill.” Holding out the pendant between them, she said, “So, I enchanted this charm to alert me of when people aren’t being honest. To remind myself never to trust blindly again.”

Hook watched the pendant swing from her grip with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t be,” she responded, tucking the pendant back into her bodice and pulling her other hand from his. “It’s kept me and my son safe… or rather, it did for a time.”

“Aye,” Hook sighed, grieved at the loss of her touch. “Tell me more about that. You said you overheard Bae communicating with someone over mirror magic. Who was it?”

“His father,” she told him with a heavy dose of disgust on her tongue. “Although, I did not know the Dark One was his father at the time. I simply heard him telling Rumplestiltskin that the deed was done, and in a few more months, my debt would be paid.”

“Tell me you turned the traitorous bastard into a toad,” Hook sneered, taking Baelfire’s treachery personally for a number of reasons.

Emma snorted and scoffed, rolling her eyes before admitting, “I was tempted, believe me, but… I knew I needed him to think he’d won. I needed time to plan my next move.”

She went on to tell him how she had played dumb and waited for the right moment to make her escape. During that time, she’d discovered the lengths he’d gone to, the depth of his depravity and deceit. He’d slipped her a tonic that had rendered her efforts to avoid pregnancy useless; he then used a rudimentary spell - created by his father, no doubt - on her to hide the truth of her condition from her until it was too late.

“By the time I ran, I was nearly seven months gone. It was quite a shock when I finally removed the glamour and could see things for how they truly were.”

“I cannot even begin to imagine,” Hook attempted to empathize. “How did you manage to stay hidden from them? The Dark One’s power is--”

“Blinded by its own hubris,” she told him. “I simply defied his expectations and relied on the common distrust and scorn of the people to assist me.”

“I’m not sure I follow what you mean, love.”

Reaching into the pocket of her cloak, she pulled out a leather cuff and placed it on the table. “The Dark One expected me to use magic in order to conceal myself. Wards, glamours, maybe some blood magic, so… I chose to do none of those. Instead, I used the scroll the Dark One had given me long ago to fashion this-” she tapped the cuff with her finger “-then slipped it on.”

Picking up the molded leather piece, Hook inspected it closely as he inquired, “What does it do?”

“It makes the wearer incapable of using magic by absorbing the power into itself.”

Astonished, Hook’s eyes snapped to hers. “What? You… You…”

“Gave up my magic?” she replied. “Yes. I did.” Taking the cuff from his hand, she put it back in her pocket and added, “I changed my appearance and hid us in plain sight, without my magic giving me away.”

“What of your boy? Surely the Dark One would have means to suss out his own blood.”

The witch gave him a cunning smile before sharing, “I fashioned a similar cuff for him as well. One that concealed his identity from dark magic and grew with him.”

“Did the cuffs not exude a power of their own that may have alerted the Dark One to--”

“Many people own enchanted objects,” she reminded him. “You, yourself, own an enchanted pirate ship and…” raising her hand, palm outward, she focused on his person, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk as she said, “a flask that never empties?”

Hook reached up and scratched behind his ear. “Well, one never knows how long between errands one might be. Would be a shame for the rum to run out.”

“Indeed,” she chortled. The two of them shared a moment of myrth before sobering once more.

There was still more of the tale to be told.

“For nearly a decade we evaded detection, but just before my son, Henry, turned ten years old we were warned that the Dark One and his son had enlisted the help of one more formidable.”

“Pan,” Hook spat out in disgust. Schooling his features, he asked, “Who gave you this information?”

“The Blue Fairy,” Emma answered. “She was the first I called upon for help after I left Baelfire. It was she who instructed me on how to fashion the cuffs.” Taking in a deep breath, she exhaled on a heavy breath, “And it was she who told me the history and connection of the members of the perfidious family I had entangled myself with. The one my son descends from and will forever have to contend with… assuming we are successful in retrieving him.”

“We will be,” Hook vowed emphatically, earning him a sad smile that mirrored the melancholy in her eyes.

Eyes that quickly became piercing as they swirled with a desperate sort of pleading. “Tell me you have a plan.”

“I’m working on it, love,” he promised her. A promise he knew would likely give her little comfort. “I need to know more, though,” he prompted. “How and when was your boy taken? Have you had any contact with him or Pan or Bae or the Dark One?”

“Henry was…” she began, her words strained and choked. “He was taken the eve of his birthday. His entire life, I remained vigilant. On the lookout for any hint of Baelfire or the Dark One. Any spy. Any scout. Any sign that they may have found us or had succeeded in turning one of our neighbors against us. I was focused on people. I never even considered the threat a shadow might pose.”

Hook shuddered at her words. Pan’s shadow. His spectre of an errand boy, an umbra assassin, and silhouette spy. He’d had his own run-ins with the being; ones he would rather not dwell upon. No boy should ever have to face the manifestation of something so unnatural.

“When I went in to check on Henry before turning in that night, all I found was an open window, his leather cuff, and a note.”

“What did it say?”

“The Dark One lies, the Dark One tricks, but Pan always wins.”

An errant tear managed to slip past her lashes and slowly began to trail down her cheek. Catching it with the pad of his thumb, Hook took her face in his hands and vowed, “Not this time, love. I can promise you that. Not this time.”

“I’d noticed earlier this month when we all got together for that holiday festival that you needed a new beanie,” he said as she slipped the hunter green beanie onto her head and then pulled out a pair of soft gloves. “Now, I know you don’t tend to wear gloves on a stake-out because they get in the way of you taking photos or making notes on your phone, but with these you can slip the individual fingertips off so your hands can stay warm while you still have use of your finger pads.”

Emma tested them out whilst he explained their function, loving the ease with which she could quickly bare her thumbs and fingertips. They would certainly come in handy, as would the next item.

“A portable electric kettle,” Killian informed the group when more than one of them had murmured an inquiry about the item in question. “You just add water and plug it into the cigarette lighter in your vehicle and it’ll boil in less than 90 seconds. It also serves as a thermos once you’ve heated the water.” Killian lifted his chin in a pointed gesture and added, “There’s some hot cocoa packets and instant coffee in there as well.”

“This is…” Emma began, somewhat at a loss of what to say.

“Do you like it?”

Emma’s eyes jumped to Killian’s which were filled with a hesitant anticipation; his brows furrowed as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I do,” she answered, smiling softly at him. “This was all so thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Swan,” he replied, a bright smile adorning his lips as he let out a heavy breath of relief.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mary Margaret elbow David in the ribs. No doubt it was an attempt to keep whatever snide comment he had at the ready about her occupation from falling out of his mouth. Emma knew her brother did not approve of her line of work. In truth, most of them didn’t. The only one who never gave her a hard time about it, who never questioned her abilities or capability, who only ever asked about it out of genuine curiosity and interest, and without an ulterior motive to somehow diminish her success or exaggerate the dangers, was Killian.

Emma tried to focus on the remaining gifts being opened by the rest of their group, but her mind kept circling back to her own. The way Killian had noticed the state of her beanie and how he inherently knew and understood the reason why she tended to not wear gloves, despite her having the opposite reaction to the cold from her cousin.

The cold did bother her. It always had.

The contrast of her and Elsa’s response to it had always been a source of amusement within their circle. As evidenced by David’s gift to Elsa and past comments made regarding the issue. It struck Emma, in that moment, that Killian had never taken her objection to the cold lightly. From the beginning, he had always made sure she was comfortable. Warm. Content.

Like last night. Like many times before. Like with his gift. Making sure she’d be warm and comfortable during the long, wintery nights whilst on a stake-out. The way he’d made sure she was warm that night. The night in the Caribbean when a cool ocean breeze had met her damp skin - sweat soaked from dancing in a crush of people - and she’d shivered, her slip of a dress, which left little to the imagination, unable to combat the chill as goosebumps erupted over her entire body.

She could still feel the soft fabric of Killian’s jacket around her shoulders, the warmth it transferred from his body to hers, his scent lingering on the collar and intoxicating her sinuses in the same way the rum had infused their blood. The memory of the heat of his hand, pressing against the small of her back as he walked her to her cabin made Emma shift in her seat, as did the whisper of his hot breath against her neck when she recalled the words he’d murmured into her ear.

“I’ll keep you warm, love. Just say the word and I’ll make you burn until morning. It would be both our pleasure, I swear it.”

He had been good to his word.

So, so good.

“Who's ready for breakfast?”

Mary Margaret’s inquiry, which signaled the end of the gift giving portion of the day, shook Emma from her thoughts. Her highly inappropriate thoughts. Thoughts that had caused her cheeks to grow hot and blush pink; a fact she hoped no one had noticed.

“You look a bit flushed, Swan,” Killian commented on their way to the dining room - much to Emma’s mortification. “I guess my gifts are doing their job.”

Unable to meet his eye, Emma swiped the new beanie off her head and peeled the gloves off her hands. “Yep. I’m nice and toasty now. Thanks.”

“Anytime, love,” he replied in a deep, quiet timbre. Was she imagining the mixture of promise and longing in his words? Was he merely being his usual cheeky self, or was he reminding her of all the ways they could produce heat together… and his willingness to explore them with her?

“Who needs a refill?” Elsa offered, holding up the bottle of champagne and the pitcher of orange juice.

“Me!” Emma responded, hurrying towards the island with her champagne flute and receiving the first of many, many refills she’d imbibe that day.

~/~

This was a bad idea. No, it was a great idea, but it was also, potentially, a very, very bad idea.

It had been Anna’s idea. Which wasn’t the reason it was a bad one. It was actually a really good one. After a long day of cooking and drinking and eating and games and drinking and cleaning and drinking, her cousin had suggested they end the evening with a soak in the hot tub.

Which was a terrific idea, except… wearing nothing but her bikini, in a hot tub, with Killian Jones, also in his swimsuit, with his hair curling from the steam and water droplets clinging to his chest hair and pooling in the hollow of his throat while she - and the rest of them - continued to polish off the bottles of champagne that never seemed to end was a very, very bad idea.

But when had a bad idea ever stopped her before?

Especially when said bad idea had actually crossed her mind days before when she’d packed her bag. More specifically, the tiny, red, string bikini she’d worn during their cruise vacation. But no, she absolutely did not choose to pack this particular bikini because she remembered the look on Killian’s face and the hunger in his eyes when he saw her in it the first time on the pool deck. The same hunger that was threatening to devour her from a darkened, forget-me-not gaze across the hot tub.

Okay, maybe she did pack this particular bikini on purpose with this particular scenario in mind.

The idea wasn’t the only thing that was bad. Emma was also being bad. Very, very bad. And she wanted to do bad things. Very, very bad things with the man she found herself alone in the hot tub with after all their family and friends had decided to turn in about an hour after they’d first all got in.

“D’you wanna stay inna bit longer or turn in,” Killian asked with a heavy tongue from all the alcohol he’d consumed over the course of the day.

The same amount that was currently coursing through her veins and causing her to want to act on her very, very bad ideas.

“Prolly should turn in,” she replied in an equally tipsy tone. “M’ry Marget wants to head out early for after Kissmas shopping.”

Another loathsome tradition, but one Emma complied with for her sister-in-law’s sake. She wasn’t much for bargain hunting, but she knew what the bonding time together meant to the woman who had married into a sisterhood (despite Elsa and Anna actually being Emma’s cousins) after being an only child all her life and an orphan for the greater part of it.

“Right then,” Killian said, standing from where he’d been lounging in the corner and offering her a hand up. “We should get you to bed, love.”

Taking his hand, Emma stood, then immediately lost her footing and fell into his wet, firm chest. His arms circled her waist, his inebriation making him a bit clumsy and the slickness of their skin causing one of his hands to inadvertently land a bit too low. Palming her ass cheek may have been an accident, but the way his grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he prompted her hips forward was not.

Nor was the way she responded, bringing herself flush against him as their lips, teeth and tongues met with fervor. He groaned into her mouth when she raked her nails down his back, then reached up and wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck.

“I want you,” he breathed, the much needed air secondary to the words he seemed desperate to convey.

“I want you, too,” she told him before suddenly finding herself in his arms, being carried out of the hot tub and into the cabin. After setting her down by the dying embers of the fire, he grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped it around her.

“I’m gonna shut off the hot tub and close things up,” he informed her. “Wait for me in our room?”

Emma nodded, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she headed for the stairs. Glancing back over her shoulder, she giggled at the way he hurriedly - and drunkenly - took care of the tasks so he could follow after her. He didn’t keep her waiting long. No sooner had she finished drying off - still clad in her bikini, so not completely dry - and taking her hair down from the high bun she’d pulled it into so it would stay out of the water, than he came through the door like a man on a mission.

His mission, it seemed, was to pick up where they’d left off. In less than a second she was back in his arms, their hands indulging in the vast expanse of exposed skin while their mouths fought to devour the other.

“You’ve no idea what seeing you in this bikini does to me,” he growled against her lips, his fingers toying with the knotted strings tied at her back.

Reaching between them, Emma cupped his hardness through the thin, damp fabric of his trunks and hummed into his mouth before murmuring, “Actually, I think I do.”

“We’re drunk,” he stated, pulling back slightly while his hands gripped her hip and grazed her back.

“W’are,” she slurred, flicking her gaze up to his. “Your point?”

“We were drunk last time, too,” he reminded her, sloppily. “I’ve always regretted that.”

“Regretted it?”

“Not what we did,” he clarified, his fingers brushing up her side, over the back of her shoulder, then back down her arm. “I regret I wasn’t in complete control of my faculties when I took you. That the details of you, naked and quivering beneath me, are hazy in my memory because of the alcohol clouding them.”

Emma cupped his length harder, pulling a grunt from the depths of his chest and causing his eyes to slip shut as his lips parted in pleasure. “Will that regret keep you from taking me again?” she asked, kneading the underside of his balls with her fingertips. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she gripped his earlobe between her teeth, eliciting a sharp intake of breath that interrupted the moans vibrating up his throat. “Will that regret keep you from allowing me the pleasure of being taken?”

Killian jerked his head away, her teeth scraping against the lobe of his ear. A growl rumbled in his chest as he pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes dark and piercing despite the alcohol hooding his gaze.

“Absolutey the fuck not,” he declared in a tone that curled her toes and nearly made her knees give out.

With a series of sharp tugs, he undid the knots that had kept her bikini top secured, then tore the flimsy piece of fabric from her breasts so his mouth and hands could replace it. Clutching his head to her chest, Emma gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist when he managed to lift her, one handed, so he could carry her to the bed. He probably would have deposited her on the mattress with more finesse had he been sober, but Emma wasn’t complaining, not when he sank to his knees at the end of it and began divesting her of her bikini bottoms with his teeth.

She wasn’t sure whether she said them out loud, but the last coherent words to flow through her consciousness before his tongue began its assault on her sex were, we really ought to do this sober at some point.

~/~

“Got our to-go coffees!”

Emma groaned, her head resting against her arms which were crossed on top of the table they’d just finished having breakfast on. If you could call a slice of dry toast breakfast, that is.

She really shouldn’t have drank so much the day before.

She hated to think how much worse her hangover would be if, after their… relations, Killian hadn’t insisted they both take an aspirin and chase it with a large glass of water before crashing.

Yet another thing to be grateful to Killian Jones for.

And he had given her many, many things to be grateful for last night.

Of course, she’d given him her fair share as well.

Not that she should be thinking about any of that now, especially when thinking in general was causing her head to pound.

“Here,” Elsa said, prompting Emma to sit up and take the to-go cup being offered to her. “I slipped a little hair of the dog in it for you.”

Emma glanced down to where Elsa was brandishing the flask she had tucked away in her purse, a very Jones-esque smirk pulling at her lips.

“Your brother-in-law is a bad influence,” Emma chortled, then winced at the way the action made her stomach gurgle.

Elsa laughed and stood, prompting the rest of the table to follow. The four women made their way out of the diner and towards the shops that were just beginning to open for the after Christmas sales. Emma took a large gulp of her doctored coffee, willing it to sustain her these next few hours. She was gonna need all the help she could get.

“Emma,” Elsa said quietly, as they milled around the third - or was it the fourth - shop of the day.

When Emma glanced over at her, Elsa tilted her head towards the corner, indicating a more private place to chat, and Emma, curious, followed her cousin.

“What’s up?” Emma asked, noting the discomfort and hesitation Elsa was struggling with.

“It’s just…” Elsa began, tentatively. “I know you were joking before, when you said Killian was a bad influence, but…”

“But?”

Elsa’s cool blue eyes locked onto Emma’s. She knew that look. It was the same look David would give her when he was about to go all I’m-telling-you-this-for-your-own-good, trust-me-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about, slightly insufferable, older brother on her.

“He isn’t a bad guy.”

Stunned, Emma blanched and assured, “I know that.”

“I mean,” Elsa continued. “I know David thinks he has a reputation of being a ladies’ man, and has written him off as a ‘bad boy’, but Killian isn’t actually like that.”

“Okay,” Emma drawled, suddenly very uncomfortable with where this conversation might be going. “Why are you tell--”

“Because… He talks about you all the time,” Elsa told her. There was something in her tone that alerted Emma to the fact that her words might be considered a betrayal, but she’d decided to place her loyalties with her cousin rather than her brother-in-law. “He asks about you when it’s been awhile since we’ve all gotten together. I really… I really think he has a thing for you, and I wouldn’t want any misconceptions to get in the way of you possibly--”

“Elsa, stop.”

Emma couldn’t listen to anything more her cousin had to say. It was too much. Too much to hope that this… whatever it was between her and Killian, was more than some ‘dalliance’. More than an itch he felt the need to scratch or some challenge he wanted to conquer.

More than just another notch on his bedpost.

“Look,” she said, her tone not quite as snappy as it had been. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t have to defend Killian to me. I know he’s a decent guy, and I…” Emma wasn’t sure what else to say without giving away her feelings, something she was barely ready to do with herself, and nowhere near ready to admit to anyone else.

“Right,” Elsa said, letting Emma off the hook. “Well, I’m glad we got that sorted. I just… Now that Liam and I are married, the Jones brothers are a permanent fixture in our lives and I--”

“I know,” Emma interjected, wishing to end the awkward conversation. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Elsa asked, stepping a bit closer. “Emma, Killian isn’t going anywhere. I know you keep your guard up because you’re afraid of being wrong about him, but… give him a chance? I really think he just might surprise you. In the best way.”

Elsa’s words lingered in Emma’s mind for the rest of the day, as did nearly every interaction she’d ever had with Killian over the past several years. If what Elsa had said was true, that Killian had genuine feelings for her, then why hadn’t he ever made a move?

Granted, in the early years of Elsa and Liam’s relationship, he only came around a couple of times, but he had been a solid member of their group for at least the past two. Yet, he’d never given her any indication of being serious about her. Sure, he flirted and made suggestive comments and did outrageous things with his eyebrows and tongue, but he did that with everyone, right? Even David and Kristoff.

He didn’t have their preferred drink at the ready when they inevitably showed up late, though. Nor did he buy them thoughtful gifts that affirmed and supported their chosen profession. He also did not gravitate towards the rest of them like he did her. And she to him.

He didn’t look at any of them the way he looked at her. In fact… She could not recall a single time they’d been together when she’d seen him look at another woman that way. Not even on the cruise when there had been no shortage of beautiful women in revealing, eye-catching outfits. Not even when those women had come onto him, slipping their room numbers, phone numbers, and who knows what else into his pocket.

Surely, given the fact that he was gorgeous and charming and sexy as hell - don’t get her started on the accent - and had women throwing themselves at him, he had no trouble keeping his date book full and his bed warm. It’s not like he’d been pining after her all this time.

Right?

~/~

The ladies got back to the cabin later than they’d planned. Initially, the group was going to make do with the leftovers for dinner, cleaning out the fridge and making sure nothing went to waste before checking out the next day. However, the shopping and bonding and girl-time had led to them informing the guys that they’d be dining out instead and to not wait up.

Emma - despite the internal turmoil and lingering questions her conversation with Elsa had left her with - had actually enjoyed the day with her cousins and sister-in-law. So much so that it might have been her idea to ditch leftovers with the gents and treat themselves to a lovely meal at the bistro they’d walked by several times during their shopping ventures through the town.

Was a small part of that suggestion due to the fact she wasn’t ready to face Killian?

Yup. Absolutely. 100%

There was no putting it off any longer, though. Despite their insistence that the men should not wait up for them, they had. Because, of course they had.

After a brief recap of the day and a run down of what would need to be done in the morning before they checked out of the cabin, the group dispersed, heading to their respective rooms and turning in for the night. Emma glanced at Killian, whom she’d been avoiding making eye contact with, and could see the same uncertain, hesitant, bracing-for-what-may-come-next demeanor she knew she’d walked into the cabin with.

Making her way into their room, she noted how he’d made the bed and picked up their discarded suits that had still littered the floor when she’d left early that morning. She swallowed heavily at the memory of her quickly quieting her alarm and getting ready - queasy and heavy-headed - as silently and stealthily as possible as not to wake him and force an interaction. What had it been like for him to wake up alone? Had he been plagued by thoughts and memories and questions all day like she had? Eager to see her and discover what it all meant whilst also willing to allow the hours to drag on and avoid having to face a reality that may not meet hopeful expectations?

The door softly snicked closed, the air growing heavy and charged as tense anticipation palpated throughout the room.

“Swan,” Killian began, his voice gentle but resolved as he hovered by the door, giving her as much space as he could within the privacy of their room. “I know talking about last night is probably the last thing you wish to do, but I really think, given that it’s happened twice now, that we really ought to dis--”

“You’re right,” she agreed, cutting him off. “I think we need to talk about it.”

Killian balked. That was clearly not the response he’d been prepared to receive from her. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said, wetting her lips and shuffling her feet against the carpet, her gaze turned downward as she slipped her hands into her back pockets. “I’ve, uh… I've been thinking about it all day. I mean…” she paused, her eyes closing briefly at how that statement could be misconstrued, even if the presumption wouldn’t be completely off base. “I’ve been thinking about us all day.”

“Me, too,” he replied with understanding, no hint of teasing or suggestive provocation in his tone.

Emma lifted her gaze and met his eyes. He was looking at her as one would a cornered animal, cautious and careful of making any sudden movement that might frighten the creature away.

“Actually,” she continued, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she gathered the courage to make her next confession. “I’ve been thinking about us since that night on the ship.”

“Aye,” he breathed out on little more than a whisper. “Me, too.”

With her hands still tucked away in her pockets, she dipped her gaze down to her feet once more and said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation.

It took her a moment to get over her own.

“The other night,” she began, haltingly. “When you implied that you didn’t share your bed often enough to develop a preference on which side of the… I know it’s none of my business, but…”

“But?”

Flicking her gaze to his once more, she took a breath and asked, “How often is not often enough?”

Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear; a usually endearing tell of his, but one that had her stomach churning at that moment.

“I, uh… actually…” He cleared his throat and cast his gaze aside, though he did throw a furtive glance her way as he answered, “This past year I’ve only shared my bed with one person.”

“Oh,” Emma replied, her heart sinking a bit. “Can I ask who?”

Killian’s head snapped back towards her, a look of amused confusion on his face. His expression softened and he closed the space between them, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he said, “Don’t you know, Emma… It’s you.”

“What?” she exhaled, stupidly. “What do you mean… me?”

“I haven’t been with another woman since last Christmas when you kissed me beneath the mistletoe.”

Emma knew her mouth was hanging open. She knew she must have looked - in his words - absolutely gobsmacked. “B-But that was…” she stuttered, recalling the moment he was referring to. “That was just a silly, little peck on the lips because Elsa had hung it over the bar station and caught us standing there. It was hardly even a kiss.”

“Perhaps not to you,” he said with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “But it was to me.”

Dropping his hand he took a small step back and Emma instantly regretted making it seem as though the kiss hadn’t been a big deal. In truth, she’d had to convince herself for months afterward that it wasn’t.

“But it wasn’t just the kiss,” he continued. “It’s what the kiss exposed.”

Emma felt her breath hitch at the way he was looking at her now: vulnerable, unguarded, and - to use the word he’d just uttered - thoroughly exposed.

“Which was?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a longing took over in his forget-me-not depths. “That you’re it for me, Swan. I…” Boldly, he approached her again, his words and expression leaving no room for doubt as to his sincerity. “There’s no one else. I don’t want anyone else. You’re the one I want.”

“Why… Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, the sound of her heart thundering in her ears, her chest rising and falling a bit too rapidly.

He cocked his head to one side, an uncomfortable expression taking hold of his features as he reminded her, “At the time, you were with that Walsh bloke, and despite my dislike of the fellow, it seemed bad form to make heartfelt declarations whilst you were in a relationship.” Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled heavily and added, “When it did, thankfully, end, although his timing was rubbish, leaving you high and dry on Valentine’s Day, you seemed a bit… put off by the idea of, well, all men.”

“Right,” she said, her cheeks flushing hot at the reminder. “My rant at the pub about how all men are bastards and how I was vowing to live a celibate life from then on.”

“Aye,” he chuckled. “Didn’t seem like the right time to suggest we start… anything.”

“So,” she said, understanding why he’d taken a step back. “You gave me some space.”

“I thought it best to give it time. Let you heal. Remind yourself that, though the wanker had broken your heart, at least that meant it still worked.”

“And then,” she said, prompting him to continue. “The cruise.”

“Aye, the cruise,” he parroted, swallowing hard. “Liam and Elsa’s wedding, both of us in the wedding party, spending all that time together, flirting, connecting. I thought… I thought, perhaps, it was finally my chance. Our chance. We had that amazing night together. Not just the sex, but everything else that had led up to it. And then…”

“And then, I metaphorically ran for the hills the next morning.”

Killian dropped his head, his shoulders tense as he drew in a deep breath. “I was afraid that I may have taken advantage of--”

“No, Killian,” she said, cupping his cheek and urging him to look at her. “We went over that the next day. You didn’t take advantage of me. At least, not anymore than I took of you. That wasn’t why I--”

“I know, love,” he murmured. “I know you weren’t ready. You were still getting over--”

“No, I wasn’t,” she told him. “I got over Walsh a long time ago, I just…”

“What?” he asked, his eyes flicking between hers. “You just what, Swan?”

A contrite expression pulled at her brows and she dropped her hand to his chest as she confessed, “I didn’t want to be just another notch on your bedpost. I didn’t want to be some conquest.”

“Oh, Emma,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms. “You are not some conquest. Not to me.”

He held her for several beats of their hearts, his face nuzzling the top of her head. “Ever since that night, I have waffled between the desire to respect your wishes, and the urge to fight for what I want.” Pulling back, he gazed down at her and professed, “I’m done waffling. I want you, Emma. I want to be with you. I want to pursue you, and woo you, and court you in all the ways you ought to be.” Bringing his hand up, he caressed the side of her face with the backs of his fingers and murmured, “But only if you want that as well. Whatever we become is as much up to you as it is to me.”

“That all sounds good to me,” she said, pulling a deep chuckle from his chest, and they both smiled at one another, basking in the joy of the moment.

A joy that transitioned as they stood there, lightly caressing the other, breathing the other in, and gazing into each other’s eyes. Eyes that were darkening and becoming more hooded and intense as the atmosphere began to electrify around them.

When their lips met, it wasn’t in the chaotic and frenzied way they had in the instances before. There was no less passion, no less heat, but the desperation in this kiss was for closeness, intimacy, and not because either of them thought this might be the only time they’d ever get a chance to experience the other in this way.

After a long, thorough, languid exploration of her mouth, Killian’s moved to her jaw, the space below her ear, then down her neck. Emma’s fingers carded through his hair as his tongue mapped the slope of her shoulder, his hand gently pulling at the collar of her shirt to expose a greater path.

“I agree,” he murmured into her skin, his lips applying soft kisses and gentle, sucking pressure to her pulse points as they traveled back up her neck.

“With what?” Emma panted, torn between wanting to bask in this unhurried moment of enjoyment and her eagerness to move things along so they could get to the really good stuff.

“With what you said last night,” he reminded her, pulling his face away from her neck so he could stare down at her with a smoldering gaze of desire. “We really ought to do it sober sometime, and I see no better time than now. Do you?”

“Uh, yeah. No. I mean…” Emma silently cursed herself for sounding like an idiot. Taking a deep breath, she reached down and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, then began lifting it as she replied, “I think so, too.”

Killian raised his arms, allowing her to peel the shirt from his body. His breath visibly hitched beneath her touch as she ran her fingers down the front of his chest; the muscles in his lower abdomen jumping when they reached the top of his jeans where his body hair began to taper into a happy trail. She could feel the heat of his gaze as she loosened his belt, heard the soft gasp that fell from his lips when she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and the groan he let out when she slipped her hand past his boxer briefs to wrap around his hardening, hot, velvety length sent a shiver of wonder down her spine.

“I think,” she whispered in a sultry tone, flicking up her gaze up from beneath her lashes to meet his; her words causing them to open after her actions had clearly made them fall shut in pleasure. “I’ll be the one doing the taking this time.”

A shudder ran through him and his gaze darkened. “As you wish,” he murmured, his timbre low and gravelly and making her want to do all sorts of naughty things to him.

Her hand still wrapped around his cock, she guided him to the edge of the bed and prompted him to sit on the edge as she sank down onto her knees.

“Lie back,” she instructed while working to free him from his jeans and underwear.

“As my lady commands,” he replied, collapsing back onto the mattress, though his head remained lifted so he could watch.

After divesting him of his remaining garments, Emma pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She delighted in the way his body jumped and quivered beneath her touch; her teasing caresses and taunting kisses applied to all the areas except where he’d want them most. Pained pants puffed from his chest and soft whimpers collected in the back of his throat. The cords of his neck strained whenever his head fell back, his eyes following the motion, his lips parted and sticking at the corners whenever his teeth weren’t burying themselves into their soft flesh. When she finally turned her attention to his neglected manhood, his hips jerked off the bed from the feel of her tongue running the length of his cock.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, his hands balling up the comforter in a white-knuckeled grip.

“Shhhh,” she admonished. “Don’t make me gag you like you had to with me last night.”

The reminder forced a half-growl, half-groan from his chest, but it fully transformed into a moan of pleasurable relief when she took him fully into her mouth.

“Gods above, Swan,” he croaked after several minutes of her working him over, trying to keep his voice down. Trying… and failing. “Fuck!”

With a soft pop, Emma released him and stood.

“Apologies, love,” he whispered in a desperate tone. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“I have no intentions of stopping,” she assured him. “But you clearly need help staying quiet.”

If he had a retort to her statement, it must have been forgotten when she lifted her shirt over her head and then removed her bra. Killian’s tongue slowly dragged across his lips, his eyes intently focused on her as she shimmied out of her own jeans and panties. Her black lace panties that matched her bra; a set, like her swimsuit, she had intentionally packed with him in mind.

Black lace panties that she picked up off the floor and let hang off her index finger as she made her way up onto the bed, mounting him dramatically and straddling his hips.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and keep quiet, or…”

She swung her panties once around her finger. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes trained on the black fabric until it came to a rest, crooked on her finger once more, before they met hers. Emma could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to decide which he’d prefer.

After a deliciously taut moment, he said, “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, leaning down so her lips could hover over his. “Good choice.”

She laid her panties on the pillow next to his head as they kissed - just in case. Killian groaned when his tongue ran alongside hers and Emma knew it was because he could taste the brine of his precum still lingering there. When she finally broke off the kiss so she could sit back and position herself over his length, he followed. They both broke the promise of being quiet when he slipped inside her, filling her, stretching her, molding her to him as though they were only ever meant to fit one another.

Rolling her hips, Emma began to move as Killian held her. Murmurs, grunts, staccatoed breaths, sweet nothings, curses, praises, all filled the space between them as their bodies rolled, their hips swiveled, their lips collided, their eyes connected, and their pleasure mounted.

Whenever Emma would arch her back, Killian latched onto her breasts, lavishing them with his tongue and applying sweet torture with his teeth. Torture that reverberated down to her clit, causing it to throb and ache until she couldn’t take it any longer. Pushing Killian back down onto the mattress, she ground down hard against him in an attempt to alleviate the torment. When she felt the damp press of his thumb against her she nearly cried out before remembering herself.

“That’s it, love,” he encouraged, vigorously applying just the right amount of pressure and rhythm to her clit as he shifted beneath her so he could continue to thrust up into her warm, slick center. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight. So soft. So wet.” His words became breathier and more strained, his exertions unrelenting as his thumb and cock competed to bring her to completion. “Come for me,” he pleaded, though there was a tone of command that grew more prominent as he repeated them.

“Come for me, love. I want you to come. Need you to come. Come for me, Emma. Oh, Emma. Emma, Emma, My Emma. Come!”

And come, she did.

Hard.

Showing her no mercy, Killian kept pounding into her, his ministrations at her clit sending wave after wave of ecstasy and bone-numbing pleasure through her, making it impossible for her to stay upright. Collapsing against him, she felt his rhythm falter for a few brief seconds when he brought up his knees, giving him the necessary leverage to chase after her into the euphoric abyss she was still tumbling down. The sounds of his desperation panted and grunted and moaned in her ear, until his breath hitched and guttural groanings, deeper than words, reverberated through his chest and stuttered over his lips like his hips did against hers.

Emma wasn’t sure how long they laid there, sated and spent and unbearably content as their bodies cooled and their breaths evened out.

“Do you need to move?” Killian asked, his legs stretching back out as his arms kept her held firmly against him.

“I don’t want to,” she mumbled into the side of his neck. “But I probably ought to.”

During their post-coital cuddling, he’d already begun to soften and slip from her, but the emptiness she felt when he fully left her had them both quickly moving through their aftercare routines so they could be back in the other’s arms, nestled beneath the covers, as quickly as possible.

“Does it all still sound good to you, love?” Killian questioned between the soft kisses he was applying to the back of her shoulder.

“The wooing and pursuing and courting, you mean?” she clarified, sleepily.

“Aye.”

“Mmmm, you bet.”

~/~

“Well, I think that’s everything,” Liam said, tying a knot on the last of the trash bags that needed to be taken out. “Elsa is going over the check-out list one last time, but I think we’ve taken care of everything.”

“I don’t see why we even bothered,” David groused. “It’s not like the owner kept up his end of things.”

“And Elsa will make sure her review reflects that,” Liam assured him.

Emma and Killian exchanged amused glances with one another. Other than the heat going out that one night - which Kristoff had managed to fix the next day - she and Killian had been the only ones truly ‘inconvenienced’ by the misleading information in the cabin’s listing.

An inconvenience she was tempted to leave a five star review for.

Sleeps ten, her ass… and her eternal gratitude.

The End

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

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Seven heads collectively snapped in her direction, a mixture of shock and surprise being directed her way as her family, for the first time, realized she was there and then computed her words.

Words she would later blame on the fact that although no one seemed bothered by the fact she was late, she still felt the need to make up for it and therefore was compelled to offer a solution to the problem, even if said solution meant sharing a bed with a man she absolutely did not have feelings for and no one would convince her otherwise, not even her own treacherous heart, and thereby torturing herself for the next several days.

“Are you sure, love?” Killian asked, his eyes scrutinizing her, looking for any hint that she might be regretting the offer and wished to back out. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you weren’t completely comfortable with.”

“Are you planning to make it uncomfortable for her?” David asked in his overly protective, brotherly tone. “Because I’m warning you--”

“Warning him?” Liam braced his hands against the top of the island and leaned over it, staring David down as he asked, “Are you insinuating my brother is some sort of cad who would take advantage of--”

“We all know Killian’s reputation.”

“Okay,” Emma interjected before things could escalate further. “I think you’re all forgetting that I have a reputation, too. Of being able to take care of myself. Besides, I trust Killian. We’re both adults. There’s no reason for either of us to sleep on a couch or the floor when there is a perfectly good bed, big enough for us to share. So…” She marched back over to where she’d dropped her bag and collected it as she continued on, “If you don’t mind. I’ve had a long day and all I want right now is a shower and some sleep.” Directing her gaze to Killian she asked, “Where’s your stuff?”

“It’s uh…” he began, scratching behind his ear as he furtively cast a glance towards David. “It’s on the landing.”

“Great,” she said, turning towards the stairs. “Grab it on your way up so you can settle in while I shower.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret called out. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat or--”

“I’m fine,” Emma answered back halfway up the stairs. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” Looking over her shoulder, she saw Killian hesitate at the bottom step. “Are you coming?”

“Aye,” he answered, following after her two steps at a time and grabbing his duffle before slipping into the room behind her.

Tossing his bag onto the bed, he glanced around the room and inquired one last time, “You’re certain you’re okay with this, Swan?”

“Yes, Jones,” Emma replied in an exasperated tone she hoped masked the nerves currently coursing through her. After gathering up her toiletry items, she straightened and faced him, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Unless… You are uncomfortable with it and would rather--”

“No, no,” he insisted, his shoulders relaxing and his usual cocky demeanor coming forward. “It’s not that,” he said in a cheeky and slightly taunting tone.

“What is it then?” Emma asked, trying hard to not be taken in by his charm as he swaggered towards her.

“Well, I seem to remember you saying something about it being a one time thing the last time we shared a bed,” he crooned, twisting a section of her hair around his finger. “Seems you’ll have to eat those words now.”

Emma wet her lips and tried to squash the delighted feeling surging through her at the way his eyes dropped to follow the motion. “Bad form bringing up our… what did you call it?” she asked in a mocking tone as she cocked her head to one side. “Our dalliance?” He winced at her terrible attempt to mimic his accent and they both chortled as she reminded him, “I thought we agreed to never speak of that night again.”

“You’re right, Swan. Bad form indeed,” he conceded in a soft timbre. “My apologies, love.”

He backed away and retreated to the other side of the room where he made himself busy unpacking his duffle. “Go ahead and shower, Swan,” he said. “I’ll hop in after you.”

“Thanks,” she threw out over her shoulder as she shut herself in the bathroom, suddenly very eager to have a bit of separation from him. From him and the memory of that night. The night they had shared a bed - and a whole lot more - with one another after copious amounts of alcohol and hours on a dance floor somewhere in the Caribbean during the cruise they’d all taken together earlier that year to celebrate Liam and Elsa’s wedding.

A memory that stubbornly refused to be cast aside, making for a very long shower - a fitful, highly inappropriate shower - especially considering the man she’d been fixated on was in the next room, waiting on her to finish so he could get naked and wet and…

Dear God, Emma. Get a grip!

Emerging from the bathroom, adorned in her pajamas with her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Emma hoped the red in her cheeks would be chalked up to the heat of the shower and not because her fantasies had gotten away from her.

“All yours,” she said, pulling her hair dryer out of her bag and plugging it into the wall at the makeshift vanity.

She combed through the wet strands as Killian hovered at the doorway to the bathroom. Pausing her actions, she stared up at him expectantly, trying not to remember what he looked like shirtless.

“About before,” he said, his voice deep with an edge of concern. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by bringing up that night, I just…” He left out a heavy breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I was just trying to bring a bit of levity to an otherwise tense situa--”

“Killian,” she said, waving him off. “It’s fine. Really. You didn’t upset me by bringing it up.” Shrugging, she tried to give off a sense of nonchalance about the whole thing. “It happened. We’ve both moved on from it. No big deal.”

“Right,” he said with a bit of a drawl. “Well… I’ll try not to take too long, so as to not keep you up.” Glancing towards the bed, he said, “I hope it’s okay that I took that side. I didn’t know if you had one you preferred.”

Emma turned to see which side he’d taken. Not that it mattered.

“Honestly,” she answered, “I don’t really have one. It’s not like I share my bed often enough with anyone to develop a preference.”

“Aye. Same,” he replied with that adorable lopsided smile of his.

Emma’s heart fluttered for several seconds after he disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t often share his bed? Really? Like David had said earlier, Killian had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man. It was one of the reasons she’d pulled back after their night together; she’d hated being just another notch on his bedpost.

How many notches had he added since her, she wondered.

She had plenty of time to contemplate that question. It wasn’t until well after she’d dried her hair, set her alarm, and settled under the covers that Killian emerged from the bathroom. The last drowsy thought Emma had was whether he’d taken advantage of the memory of them together to help let off some steam whilst he was in the shower like she had. She didn’t get a chance to dwell on the thought, though. The tiring day had caught up to her and sleep took over the moment she felt the bed dip beside her.

~/~

“Morning, Emma! Sleep well?”

Anna’s voice was far too perky for the current early morning hour, causing Emma to grimace as she shuffled past the red headed woman on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry,” Anna whispered, tiptoeing behind her. “Coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

“Please,” Emma grumbled, slumping down onto one of the barstools at the island. “A fresh pot? How early did you get up?”

“Mary Margaret and I got up with the guys,” she said, pouring Emma a cup, then placing it and a tray of fixings on the counter top in front of her. “We wanted to make sure they got a good meal and some coffee before they headed out.”

Emma nodded her understanding, adding enough sugar to her cup that it would have earned her a disgusted look from Killian had he been there and not out traipsing through the woods with an axe. It was an annual tradition at this point. For the past five years - ever since the Jones brothers had entered their lives through Liam and Elsa’s courtship - the guys went out on Christmas Eve morning and cut down a tree for them to decorate. While they were out finding the perfect specimen, Mary Margaret would lead - or in Emma’s case, berate - the girls in making the decorations. The guys would join in once they got back and set up the tree, and the day would be spent stringing popcorn or dried oranges or cranberries for garland as well as attempting to avoid tiny cuts from the origami-esque construction of paper or cardboard ornaments.

There were also snacks and cocktails, the occasional break from crafting to watch a Christmas movie or play a game. Of course, every year, Emma and Killian would insist they watch Die Hard, which Mary Margaret would dismiss as not being a Christmas movie and an argument would ensue - mostly because it gave both Emma and Killian a perverse sense of pleasure to rile up Mary Margaret. Not that they didn’t love the movie or wholeheartedly believe that it was, in fact, a Christmas movie.

“Oh, Emma! You’re up!” Mary Margaret set down a stack of boxes on the island, the contents of which held various crafting supplies no doubt. “Did you get some breakfast?”

Emma shook her head and waved off the woman’s attempt to feed her. “Not yet,” she said. “I’ll get something after I’m sufficiently caffeinated.”

“Well drink up,” Mary Margaret ordered as she began to retreat back into the room she and David were using. “We need to get going on these decorations.”

A moment later she returned with several sacks and with Anna’s help, began organizing the supplies. Emma took that as her cue to find another place to enjoy her coffee.

Glancing out the French doors that led to the back deck she caught sight of a platinum blonde braid. Emma grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders before joining Elsa in the peace and quiet of the mountain morning.

“Hey,” she said, pulling Elsa’s attention away from the view. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please do,” Elsa replied, making room on the bench. “Do you want me to turn on the heater?”

It shouldn’t have surprised Emma that her cousin hadn’t already started the propane heater. The cold had never seemed to bother her like it did Emma.

“No, I’ve got it.” Emma cranked up the heat then sat down, snuggling into the blanket she’d brought out with her.

“Sleep okay?” Elsa asked. “Any problems with the room?”

“No,” Emma answered, taking a sip of her coffee before adding, “The room’s great. Very comfortable.”

“Good,” Elsa said, turning her attention back towards the snowy mountain view. “And sharing with Killian? That, uh… Did that go okay?”

Emma rolled her eyes and hid her knowing smirk behind her mug. “It was fine,” she replied.

“I mean, I’m sure Killian was a gentleman, I just hate that the two of you have to endure this awkwardness when I did my best to--”

“Elsa,” Emma interrupted. “It isn’t your fault, and we will make do. It’s fine. Really.”

The icy blonde’s shoulders relaxed and a puff of exhaled air lingered at her lips for a moment before she said, “Good. I’m glad.” With a furtive glance in Emma’s direction she muttered, “Let’s just hope David thinks it's all fine.”

“I’m a big girl,” Emma reminded her cousin. “David will get over it.”

“I don’t know,” Elsa replied in a sing-song tone. “He was looking pretty hostile this morning when Killian sauntered down the stairs with a whistle on his lips. I’m pretty sure Liam made sure to be the one who took the axe when they left.”

The two women shared a chuckle, both of them knowing full well there was no danger of the men resorting to violence, even if they did bluster a bit.

“I’m sure Killian is reveling in the opportunity to needle David, but I trust Liam to make sure cooler heads prevail.”

“And his needling wouldn’t have any elements of truth in it, right?” Elsa inquired, not so subtly.

Emma sighed exasperatedly. “No,” she stated adamantly. “Nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen.”

She shifted uncomfortably under Elsa’s scrutiny, her piercing blue eyes cutting through her assertions as she hummed a dubious sound.

“If you say so.”

Emma was about to double down on her words, but was cut off by Anna’s sudden appearance.

“Everything is ready! Come make decorations with us!”

Emma and Elsa shared a resigned look then followed Anna back into the cabin, after shutting off the heater, of course. The ladies then spent the next hour or so making handmade decorations whilst also prepping food items for the upcoming meals.

When the guys returned, Emma stayed out of the way. She’d learned from years past to just let David, Liam, Mary Margaret, and Elsa duke it out on the best way to set up the tree. While the four of them conferenced in the living room, she joined Anna in the kitchen, who was busy making everyone a hot cocoa.

“Need a hand?”

“Yes, please!”

The two women filled and garnished mugs of hot cocoa while every so often peeking outside to watch Kristoff and Killian clean up the tree. Once it was suitable for indoors - and they’d gotten the final word of where to set it up - the men brought it inside and secured it in the stand. Everyone stood back to admire the magnificent find as Emma and Anna handed out the beverages.

“Jones,” Emma said, offering him a hot cup as she came to stand beside him.

“Thank you, love,” he replied, slightly out of breath. A half-smile pulled at his lips and crinkled at the corner of his eyes when he noticed she’d adorned his in the same manner as hers - with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. It was how she’d always taken her cocoa and slowly but surely she was converting the rest of their group to do the same.

“It’s a great looking tree,” she commented, sipping her hot chocolate nonchalantly so he wouldn’t read too much into her compliment.

“Aye,” he said, taking another long look at the fruit of his and the other men’s labor. A fruit that was quickly filling the living room with a pungent pine scent that tickled Emma’s sinuses. “And what of your efforts?” he asked, turning his attention onto her. “Care to show me what you lasses have been working on and how I might assist?”

Emma rolled her eyes and led him to the dining table where he prompted her to give him a demonstration of the crafting. Soon, the others joined them and the day went on just as Emma knew it would: completing the decorations, stringing lights and garlands, decorating the tree, gorging themselves on a big meal, partaking in snacks, then some drinks, then some more drinks, and arguing over then watching several Christmas themed movies and shows. Unfortunately, no Die Hard.

“You know, Swan,” Killian whispered in her ear as everyone began to disperse from the living room to turn in for the night. “We have a TV with streaming services in our room…”

The feel of his breath against the shell of her ear, as well as the way he said ‘our room’ sent a thrill up her spine.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice.

Was it fortunate?

“Your point?” she said, her voice a little too breathy, but maybe he’d think it was because they’d just climbed the steep steps to the second floor.

“My point,” he continued, following her into their - THE - room, “is once we’ve showered and readied ourselves, we can watch Die Hard in bed and celebrate the season properly.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jones,” she replied, even as her heart skipped a few beats at the reminder they’d both be taking turns getting naked and wet with only a flimsy door that did not lock between them.

Ever the gentleman, Killian let her go first. While he took his turn, she busied herself with getting ready for bed, queuing up the movie, and adding an extra blanket to the stack of covers. In no time, they were settled on their respective sides of the bed, enjoying watching John McClane run around Nakatomi Plaza barefoot whilst being a ‘fly in the ointment’ to Hans Gruber.

They both barely remained conscious, but somehow got to the credits before crashing. The constant recitation of dialogue probably helped.

At some point in the night, a rustling sound in the corner of the room stirred Emma. Instinctively, she reached over to feel for Killian, only to find his side of the bed empty.

“Killian?” she croaked out, his name heavy on her tongue from sleep. “What are you--”

“The heat went out,” he told her, making her aware of her own shivering and the frigid air of the room. “Elsa is having kittens over it,” he went on to explain. “Giving the owner a right earful as we speak.”

A low hum and soft glow began to fill the room. Killian stood and visibly shook himself before heading back to bed.

“What’s that?” Emma asked, shifting in bed and moving closer to the middle.

“Space heater,” Killian answered, still shivering from the cold. “The owner relented and gave us the code to the storage closet. There were a few of these in there.”

Emma hummed in response, her mind weighing whether to bring up the idea of--

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if we… that is,” he hedged, clearing his throat. “Until the heater manages to raise the temperature, would you be okay if we…”

“Sure,” she said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically as she scooted closer to him.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his chest already plastered against her back and his face buried in the crook of her neck.

Emma moaned in relief, the heat of his body already warming her and staying the chills that had made her tense. In an effort to find a comfortable position for her legs - without entangling them with his - she rocked her hips back into his and felt…

“Bloody hell,” Killian grumbled in an embarrassed tone as he pulled away. “Apologies, Swan. I didn’t intend--”

“Killian,” she laughed, rolling over to face him. “It’s fine. It happens. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I just don’t want you to think I have ulterior motives for suggesting--”

“I don’t,” she assured him. “I know guys can’t always control… that.”

“Well, I am usually much more in control of such things, I assure you.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said in an appeasing tone, earning her a side-eyed glare. “Seriously, though,” she continued, trying to coax him back to her. “Your morning wood doesn’t offend me, so will you please come back here.”

He relented after some not so gentle tugging, and a moment later they were once again entwined in the other’s arms.

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, nestling a bit further into his chest. “How are you always so warm? I feel like I’m always cold.”

As Emma drifted off to sleep she was certain she heard him say, “I know, love. But I’ll always be here for you when you need to keep warm.”

“So,” Cassidy began, showing Killian into the office where the pull out couch had already been made up for him. “How do you know Emma? She wasn’t really clear on the details.”

Dropping his duffle on the bed, Killian busied himself with rifling through his supplies, attempting to keep a neutral tone. “What details did she share?”

“Something about a dare and the cemetery and not wanting to talk about the experience because it had been too intense.”

Killian let out a commiserating hum. “Intense is certainly one word for it,” he murmured, the memory of Emma laid out beneath him, kissing the holy hell out him while making sounds that haunted him to this day flashed through his mind and tightened the fit of his jeans.

Unwilling to betray Emma’s confidence, and not exactly eager to share the details of their acquaintance with her current paramour either, Killian shifted the conversation to the matter at hand. “As I understand it, the paranormal activity began after the two of you uncovered skeletal remains in the cellar. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Cassidy replied, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought Emma was crazy at first when she insisted we had a ghost. I mean… you know how irrational women can be.”

Killian chafed at the man’s derisive tone. “If there’s one thing I know about Emma, mate,” Killian informed him with a slight edge to his words, “it’s that her instincts should never be dismissed.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Cassidy back pedaled. “I believe her now. Kind of hard not to when a ghost appears over your bed while you’re trying to convince your girl she’s not too tired to fulfill her duties. You know what I mean?”

Fists balled, Killian took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger. He was saved from doing anything rash by the sounds of his brother’s voice.

“Ready to check out the cellar?”

“Aye,” Killian clipped out, following after Liam and resisting the urge to shoulder check the repulsive man who had somehow fallen into Swan’s good graces - and her bed (not that he wished to dwell on that fact) - as he passed.

Emma led them down a steep flight of steps into the cold, dark, and dank space below. The atmosphere had an immediate effect on Killian, raising the hair along the back of his neck and giving him the eerie feeling of being watched.

“This was part of the original structure, yes?” Liam asked, shining his flashlight into the inky black corners the dim bulb at the bottom of the stairs couldn’t quite reach.

“Yeah,” Emma answered, lingering by the stairs with Cassidy as the Jones men looked around. “From what I understand, it was cold storage for oats and hay and other food stuffs for the horses lodged here when it was a carriage house.” Gesturing towards an opening, she continued, “I noticed that space had been bricked up and I wanted to open it back up. That’s when I found…”

“The body,” Killian supplied, casting a glance towards her and meeting her eye for the first time since he’d arrived. His heart clenched, the look on her face making him wish he could have spared her such a discovery. Perhaps if it had been he who had been there… No. There was nothing to be gained in thinking that way now. The past was the past and there was no changing it.

“And you called the police?” Liam confirmed, searching the area where the skeleton had been found.

“Of course we did,” Cassidy scoffed. “What else were we supposed to do?”

Killian and Liam exchanged a look. Neither of them could fault their decision, but they both knew, had it been them, they would have handled it much differently.

“And how soon after the body was removed did the occurrences begin?”

“Almost immediately,” Emma answered. “It started with noises on these steps.” She gestured at the stairs they’d used to access the cellar, the tension in her demeanor evident in the stiff, closed-off way she stood in the unsettling space.

“Noises?” Liam questioned. “Like footsteps?”

“No,” she replied. “More like… something falling down them. Then things actually started crashing down them.”

“What do you mean?” Killian pressed, his concern heightening as she continued.

“If we leave anything sitting in the hallway outside the cellar door, it will eventually make its way down here. Clearly having taken a tumble down the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy said, backing her up. “I thought it was the authorities being careless, because we had a parade of crime scene personnel traipsing through here for weeks after we reported the body.”

“But you knew it was more than that, didn’t you, Swan?”

Emma locked eyes with Killian. He could tell his question had brought back the memory of her first ghostly encounter. She swallowed hard and for a moment it was as though they were the only two people there.

“Rooms would get cold,” she told him in a quiet voice; her words conveying all the nuance and unspoken truths she knew he would understand in a way her boyfriend had not. “I would hear things. Smell things. Things I hadn’t experienced in all the months I spent renovating the upper levels.”

“What sort of smells?”

His brother broke the reverie that had momentarily linked them, snapping the connection that reminded Killian of what they had once shared.

“Um,” Emma began, shaking herself and focusing on the question. “Leather? Hay? Like a barn, but without the pungent animal smells. More how I’d imagine this place was when it was an active carriage house, I guess.”

“So, he could have been killed here during that time,” Killian said to his brother

“Agreed. We’ll need to learn more about the building’s history.” Addressing Emma once more, Liam inquired, “You told Killian the authorities had yet to identify the remains, is that correct?”

“Yeah. But they did issue a cause of death. Blunt force trauma and a broken neck.”

“Injuries one might sustain from falling or being pushed down a flight of stairs,” Killian remarked. “It would certainly explain the occurrences surrounding the cellar steps.”

“My friend Belle is the town librarian and she has access to city records,” Emma informed them. “When you agreed to come, I asked her to pull anything that might tell us the history of the carriage house. Who owned it. Who may have worked here. Things like that. She said she’d try and have a file ready for when you got here.”

“Good thinking, love,” Killian praised, unaware of the endearment he’d let slip until Cassidy shot him an affronted glare then suspiciously flicked his gaze to Emma’s pinked cheeks before sending another hard look Killian’s way.

Clearing his throat, Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear, turning his attention towards Liam and suggesting, “Before we go any further, we should ascertain what sort of spirit we’re dealing with.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

Killian couldn’t help the smug feeling that went through him at the sight of her pulling away from Cassidy’s attempt to wrap a possessive arm around her waist. She took a step towards the center of the room where Liam was already pulling supplies out of the bag he’d brought with him.

“There are generally two kinds of spirits who refuse to move on,” Liam told her. “Malevolent ones who were equally nasty while alive, and those who simply have unfinished business they feel compelled to resolve before they can find peace.”

“Malevolent spirits refuse to leave,” Killian added. “Hell bent on punishing or exacting revenge against the living. The only way to be rid of them is to--”

“Salt and burn their bones,” Emma said, causing Cassidy to balk behind her.

“How did you know--”

“Aye,” Killian said, cutting Cassidy off. “Which will be somewhat difficult to accomplish, seeing as they are still in the medical examiner’s possession.”

“So…” Emma drawled, joining he and Liam as they continued to set up the space for the task they would need to perform. “Best case scenario would be this spirit just having unfinished business?”

“That won’t necessarily make matters any easier,” Liam informed her. “Figuring out a spirit’s unfinished business isn’t usually as straightforward as salting and burning bones.”

“So, how do we determine which kind of spirit it is?”

“Ems, the thing attacked us while we were making love,” Cassidy said, being sure to emphasize the making love part as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The thing is obviously bad news.”

“We weren’t--” Emma began, mortification giving way to irritation as she looked back at him then shook her head and said, “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” Looking down at the two brothers as they finished lighting the circle of candles they’d set out, she said, “As I told Liam upstairs, when he manifested he didn’t look threatening. He had his hands over his mouth--” she raised hers to mimic what the spectre had looked like, “--but was clearly trying to tell us something when he vanished almost as quickly as he appeared.”

“Well,” Liam said, pulling the last piece of the equipment from his bag, “This will hopefully allow him to tell us what he tried to communicate with you.”

A belittling snort escaped Cassidy. “A ouija board? Be serious.”

“I assure you, mate. We are quite serious,” Killian informed him as he took a seat upon the cold, cellar floor alongside his brother. “But if the idea of communing with the dead is too much for you, then feel free to sit outside while we conduct our investigation.”

Clearly catching the challenge to his courage, Cassidy grit his teeth and grumbled in Emma’s ear. “Can you believe this guy?”

“Neal,” Emma sighed with a tone of censure. “Shut up and sit down.”

Entering into the circle, Emma lowered herself onto the stone floor and crossed her legs beneath her. Reluctantly, Cassidy followed, a disgruntled look passing over his features in response to the sitting arrangement that had placed him between Emma and Liam instead of separating her from Killian.

“A few ground rules before we get started,” Liam began, holding the planchette in his hands.

“I think we’ve all played with ouija boards before,” Cassidy interrupted rudely, earning him a stern stare from the elder Jones.

“Aye,” Liam responded with a cutting edge to his words. “You may well have, but what we are preparing to do is not child’s play. We are opening a portal to the spirit realm, and for all our safety, precautions must be taken and adhered to.”

Cassidy shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing more.

“Go on,” Emma urged. “We’ll do whatever you tell us to.”

“Right,” Liam began again. “Once we’ve placed our hands on the planchette, they must remain there until the session is concluded. I shall be the only one addressing the spirits, so you must refrain from talking or reacting. And when it becomes clear that the spirits are finished communicating, we must all close the session together by moving the planchette to goodbye. This is the only time we intentionally guide it. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. The seriousness of their endeavor hung heavily around them as Liam continued.

“I’m going to set the planchette on the board, but before anyone touches it, we need to attune the space.” Setting the planchette down, Liam extended his hands to Killian and Cassidy, saying, “Everyone needs to join hands and focus on the spirit we wish to call forth.”

Killian took his brother’s hand then opened the other to receive Emma’s. When she tentatively placed her hand in his, Killian glanced up at her face. They locked eyes for a brief moment before she flicked hers away, but Killian knew his touch was having the same effect on her that her touch was having on him. There was no mistaking the familiar physical tension they’d once shared under similar circumstances.

“Focus on the person we seek,” Liam instructed. “We know him to be a man. We know there is something he wishes to communicate. We know this space was his final resting place until a few weeks ago. However you choose to manifest him within your mind, hold that image there and focus on him.”

Difficult as it was, Killian tried to push aside thoughts of Swan and the feel of her hand in his. Even still, she remained a fixture in his attempt to concentrate. She was there when he thought of the man’s body being discovered. She was there when he imagined how he may have looked when he’d manifested himself to her. She was there with every noise, every scent, every strange occurrence that had led her to reaching out to the one person she knew could help her. Despite the tragic circumstances that led the man to being walled up within the cellar, Killian could not help but feel gratitude to the spirit who had brought Emma Swan back into his life.

“Right,” Liam said a moment later. “With the man still centered in everyone’s mind, place your hands on the planchette.”

Killian sucked in a breath at the loss of her hand, but quickly schooled his emotions and joined the others, placing his hands upon the planchette and readying himself for what was to come.

“We call forth the spirit of the man found concealed behind the wall in this cellar,” Liam called out. “We ask that he come forth and tell us his name. What is your name, spirit?”

The temperature dropped and several of the candle’s flames flickered. Killian could hear Emma’s rapid breaths over the pounding of his own heart.

“Spirit!” Liam called out again. “We invite you to tell us your name!”

A gasp fell from Emma’s lips when the planchette jerked beneath their fingers. With wide, green eyes, she cast her gaze towards Killian as the planchette slid across the board. He gave her a look of encouragement, hoping his own gaze conveyed that there was nothing to fear - that he would not let any harm come to her - before her eyes fell back to the board and the word being spelled out beneath their fingers.

“D-A-N-I-E-L,” Liam read out as the planchette roamed across the board. “Daniel? Your name is Daniel?”

Yes

“What is it you want, Daniel?”

H-E-L-P

“You need help? That’s why we’re here. How can we help you to move on?”

H-E-L-P

“We understand. How can we help? What do you need us to do?”

T-E-L-L-H-E-R

“Tell her? Her who? You want us to deliver a message to someone?

Yes

“You need to tell us who. Who is her?”

L-O-V-E

“Someone you loved?”

Yes

“What’s her name?”

R-R-R-R-R-R-R … No

“No? No, what?”

No

“We don’t understand. No, you don’t want to tell us her name?”

C-A-N-T

“You can’t?”

C-A-N-T

“Why can’t you?”

C-C-C-C-C-C

Killian leaned over and whispered into his brother’s ear. “Another spirit maybe? Interference from another entity?”

“Is there another spirit with us? Someone who does not want you to communicate with us?”

Yes

Killian removed his hands from the planchette, earning him a startled gasp from Swan and a scathing reprimand from his brother.

“Killian!” Liam hissed. “What the devil are you--”

“Use my energy, Daniel,” Killian offered, opening his arms, and himself, up in surrender. “Take my energy and manifest yourself. Tell us who’s trying to silence you.”

“Brother, have you lost all sense?”

“It’s alright, Daniel,” Killian encouraged, ignoring his brother. “You can take my energy and--”

Killian’s words fell away when the fine hairs began to lift over his entire body. His arms began to feel heavy and it was a struggle to keep them lifted, especially when his breathing also became laboured.

“Killian, put your damn hands back on the--”

Liam’s admonishment was cut short by a startled, expletive falling from Emma’s lips. Manifesting above the board, in the center of their circle, was the ghostly image of a young man.

“Is that… Daniel?”

“That’s the man we saw!” Emma confirmed, her eyes wide as saucers and brimming with equal amounts of fear and awe. Forgetting herself, and the rules, she tentatively asked, “Are you…? Are you Daniel?”

The spectre nodded. He couldn’t have been more than early to mid twenties when he died, and though it was difficult to ascertain certain physical identifiers like height or hair or eye color, given his current metaphysical state, his clothing could serve as a clue that would narrow down the timeframe of his passing.

“Tell us how we can help you?” Liam said.

Killian, relieved that his brother was willing to capitalize on the moment, knew that he’d get an earful later, especially if Daniel managed to draw energy off him to the point of him passing out. Though woozy, Killian focused his efforts on the questions his brother continued to repeat and the spirit’s attempted replies.

“Who is the woman you want us to contact? Who else is here with us?”

Daniel tried again and again to speak, but the sound of his voice could not pass from his plane to theirs. Reaching down with ghostly hands, Daniel nudged the planchette and guided it once more to the R. Before he could maneuver it to the next letter, a second pair of hands appeared from behind Daniel’s head and wrapped around his lower face, obscuring his mouth.

Emma screamed and Neal jolted back, nearly knocking over the candles behind him.

“Nope!” Cassidy exclaimed, scrambling off the floor and sprinting towards the stairs.

“Neal!” Swan called after him, though she remained rooted where she was with her hands still affixed to the planchette.

Daniel struggled against the phantom hands, clawing at them with his own while Liam tried to wrestle back control of the seance.

“Reveal yourself, spirit! Tell us who you are and why you wish to silence Daniel! What unfinished business does Daniel--”

The planchette began to spin, making it impossible for Liam and Emma’s hands to remain there. An impossible gust of cold wind swept through the cellar, extinguishing the candles and ruffling both Killian’s and Emma’s hair. The light bulb at the bottom of the stairs shattered, sending down a shower of sparks. The only illumination remaining was Daniel’s ghostly form, but it too was quickly snuffed out, leaving the three of them in darkness.

“Bloody hell,” Liam cursed, the sound of him rummaging through his duffle preceding the beam of his flashlight. Reaching over, he grasped Killian’s shoulder and questioned, “Are you alright, little brother?”

“Younger,” Killian muttered, earning him a relieved clap on the back from his brother; his petulant response the only proof Liam needed as to his brother’s condition.

“You two stay still,” Liam instructed. “I’ll relight the candles and clean up the glass. Is there a broom down here?”

“Y-Yeah,” Emma responded, shakily. “In that cabinet.” She gestured towards the corner, then offered, “But I can do that.”

“No,” Liam said, waving her off as he finished lighting the candles. “You stay with Killian. He’s going to need a minute to recover from his tomfoolery.”

“It got us answers, didn’t it?” Killian shot back, heavily. Drained of energy, it was all he could do to remain sitting upright, but he’d be damned if he let Liam know just how much the encounter had affected him.

“Aye. I suppose it did,” Liam conceded, procuring the broom and dustpan so he could begin sweeping up the broken bulb.

“What answers?” Emma asked. “All I have is more questions.”

“We know there’s indeed another spirit here,” Killian told her. “A woman, if the ringed fingers and manicured nails give any indication. We also have a name to work with - Daniel. Based on his manifestation, I’d wager he was in his mid 20s when he died and by the looks of his clothing, I would guess he worked as a stablehand at some point. That gives us a frame of reference to work with as we investigate his identity further.”

“Speaking of which,” Liam said, disposing of the broken glass and tucking the broom back into the cabinet. “You said you had a friend assisting with research?”

“Yes!” Emma replied, plucking her phone from her back pocket. “Belle. I’ll text her now and see if she’s ready to share her findings with us.”

“Perhaps you would like to check on Mr. Cassidy as well?” Liam suggested, reminding them both of the forgotten man.

“Um, right. Yeah.” Swan stood and brushed the dust off the back of her jeans. Her phone vibrated in her hand, capturing her attention. “Belle says she has everything ready and we can come by the library any time.”

“Terrific,” Killian responded, attempting to pick himself up off the floor… and flailing. “Um, Swan? Would you mind, uh…”

Emma glanced down at him and must have perceived his predicament. Her eyes widened, a startled expression crossing her features, as she reached down and helped him up.

With a steadying hand pressed against his chest, she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just a bit… unsteady.”

“Here,” she said, leading him towards the stairs where he could rest against the banister. “Better?”

“Aye. Thank you, love.”

Her posture stiffened in response to the endearment and she turned away, intent on climbing the steps out of the cellar. Killian reached out and lightly grasped her elbow, stalling her steps.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… are you alright? I should have asked how you’re handling the ordeal.”

“I’m fine,” she told him. Her position on the steps had brought her to eye level and though there was still only candlelight illuminating their surroundings, Killian could see the truth of her words in her eyes. “This isn’t my first haunted rodeo. Remember?”

Killian let out an amused huff. “Aye. How could I forget.”

They stood there a moment longer, Killian’s hand still resting against the crook of her elbow. He could feel the raised flesh of her arm through the thin fabric of her sleeve and wondered if it was a remnant of the ghostly encounter or perhaps an involuntary response to his touch.

Was he wrong to hope for the latter?

“I, uh… I should go check on Neal,” she said, dragging her tongue across her lip before her teeth scraped over the tender flesh in its wake.

The sound of something heavy scraping the floor above them pulled Killian from thoughts of capturing her mouth with his own, and almost too late he noticed an object about to hurl itself down the cellar steps.

“Swan! Look out!”

With all the strength he could muster, he managed to force her against the wall, shielding her as something crashed down the stairs. Their bodies pressed together, chests heaving against the other’s, it took them both several moments to process what had just happened.

“Emma!” Neal cried out, sprinting through the floors above and coming to a stop at the top of the cellar stairs. Staring down at his girlfriend who was currently being blanketed by another man, Neal’s face grew thunderous as he exclaimed, “What the hell is going on here?!”

“It appears to be some sort of statue,” Liam commented. Killian wasn’t sure if it was genuine ignorance as to the man’s meaning or if his brother simply wished to avoid a scene. Crouched down, Liam inspected the object and added, “Lucky the two of you managed to get out of the way. This could have done serious harm.”

Swan pushed against Killian’s chest, forcing him to step back from her so she could turn and take the man still fuming at the top of the stairs to task.

“It was that stupid garden statue of Pan you insisted on bringing inside!” she shouted. “I told you not to leave it in the hall!”

“How was I supposed to know a ghost could move it?” Neal shot back. “The thing weighs like fifty pounds!”

Stomping up the stairs, Swan grabbed Neal by the arm and hauled him away from the cellar entrance. Although Killian could not discern what was being said between them, there was no mistaking the tone of argument in their voices. He probably ought to feel guilty for having a hand in their current discord, but all he could focus on at the moment was the way his body was still reacting to having been pressed against Emma’s. The way she’d felt beneath his weight, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the feel of her hands clutching the back of his shirt, the way their eyes had connected after the danger had passed, the moment their gazes flicked down in unison to the other’s lips, the impulse he’d nearly given in to kiss her, the certainty he felt that the same desire had run through her mind as well.

“Brother,” Liam said, his tone making Killian groan internally.

He knew what was coming.

“Don’t,” he replied. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh?”

“Aye,” Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was rash and foolish in the way I invited the spirit to use my energy, and I need to get my head on straight. No more distractions.”

“Actually,” Liam said, hoisting his duffle, which he’d repacked, up onto his shoulder before crossing the cellar and joining Killian on the stairs. “I was going to say… A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

Slapping his brother on the shoulder he continued up the steps, leaving Killian utterly gobsmacked.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she answered, kicking off her boots, shucking her coat, and tossing her keys onto the entrance table.

“Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

Emma checked the time on her phone and let out an amused huff. Her husband may be a pirate, but his years with the royal navy was still evident in the way he viewed time.

If one wasn’t fifteen minutes early, then they may as well be late.

“I still have five minutes,” she sassed coyly, setting a coquettish expression upon her features as Killian descended the stairs with a disapprovingly raised brow.

“Which leaves me very little time to give my wife a proper greeting,” he crooned in that deep timbre that still managed to make her toes curl after all this time.

Wrapping his arms around her, Killian planted a kiss on her lips. A toe-curling, world-falling away, promise-filled kiss that left them oblivious to the sounds of another skipping their way down the stairs.

“Gross,” Henry groaned, side-stepping the amorous pair so he could collect his peacoat from the closet. “Get a room.”

Emma sank her teeth into her bottom lip, attempting to stifle her giggle, before sheepishly glancing over at her son and offering, “Sorry, kid.”

“Apologies, lad,” Killian echoed, although there was nothing apologetic in his tone or his expression.

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry grumbled as he pulled on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

“Heading to Regina’s?” Emma asked, her arms still wrapped around her pirate.

“Yeah,” he answered, curtly. “I’ll be back after dinner.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“Nah,” he said, opening the door and bracing himself against the biting chill of the December air. “I’m good. Besides, you don’t want you to miss your mirror date.” Stepping across the threshold, he called out before closing the door behind him. “Don’t wait up!”

“Henry!” Emma shouted, a reminder about his curfew dying on her tongue when it was clear he wasn’t coming back in.

Letting out a heavy exhale, she dropped her head against Killian’s chest which shook with an understanding chuckle.

“Don’t let the lad get to you, love. He’s simply doing what all adolescent males do.”

“Reminding their mothers why some species eat their young?” Emma quipped, earning her another chuckle.

“Aye,” he commiserated. “Fortunately, you have me to help turn you away from any murderous temptations.”

Emma smiled into his shirt; the ridiculous irony of the once vengeful and villainous Captain Hook being the one to navigate her through the perilous waters of parenting a teenage boy prompted her to gaze up lovingly at the man in her arms.

The man who was quick to capture her lips once more.

Emma indulged herself in her husband for a few moments more before humming and pulling back. “Okay. Enough distractions.”

Killian pouted playfully then let her go. “Very well. I suppose I’ll let you get to your… What did Henry call it? Your mirror date?”

Emma chortled and headed towards the stairs. “That’s as good of a term as any, I guess.”

“Aye,” he replied, smiling up at her as she ascended the stairs. “I’ll have dinner ready for when you’re finished. Tell the Arendellians hello for me.”

“I will.”

Settling into the cozy wingback chair that faced the floor length mirror in the corner of her and Hook’s bedroom, Emma tucked her legs beneath her and cast the spell that would open a communication portal between her and Elsa’s worlds.

“Emma?” a familiar voice called out from the mirror as Elsa’s frosty visage came into view. “Emma! How are you?”

“I’m good,” she said, unable to keep the wide grin from taking over her face. “It’s so good to see you!”

“You, too! How have things been there?”

The two friends spent an hour or more catching up, excitedly sharing news and commiserating with each other's struggles. Elsa unburdened herself about all the things she found stressful and frustrating as Queen, finding refuge in being able to speak freely with someone who was not her subject. In turn, Emma imparted the challenges of raising a teenager - recounting Henry’s recent rebellious behaviours while expressing her awareness that while, at times, infuriating, she knew her son was a good kid and was simply adjusting to all the changes he was facing. Not just those brought on by adolescence, but the added pressures of a blended family, a new step-father, and the town’s expectations of him as the Author, the son of the Saviour, and the numerous, prestigious familial connections he had to those in positions of power.

“Sounds like you have your hands full,” Elsa replied compassionately.

“Yeah,” Emma replied. “But if curt responses, frequent eyerolls, and the occasional disregard for the rules is the worst I have to endure, then I’ll consider myself fortunate.”

“Agreed.” Elsa said in an amused tone. “It could be a lot worse.”

“Like freezing an entire kingdom?” Emma joked.

“Mhmm,” Elsa replied, before shooting back, “Or blowing a hole into the side of buildings.”

The two shared a laugh of solidarity, but it was cut short by a contrite knock on the bedroom door.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, love,” Killian said as he poked his head in. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

“Hello, Hook.” Elsa waved at him through the mirror, then assured him, “No need to apologize.”

“Yeah, you’re fine,” Emma said, gesturing for him to enter. “What’s up?”

“David called,” he said, stepping into the room and sitting on the edge of their bed. “He wanted me to tell you, not only has he not located the Tillman twins, but he’s received word that some of the lost boys did not arrive back at the group home after school.”

“Well, that’s concerning,” Emma replied. “Did he say anything else?”

“Aye,” Killian continued, his eyes flicking to the mirror and connecting with Elsa’s as he said, “Blue and the other fairies found lumps of coal along the route the boys usually take to and from school.”

“Coal?” Emma’s expression displayed her perplexity while Elsa’s grew somber and fearful.

“O-Oh, dear,” the icy woman said shakily, causing Emma’s head to snap back towards the mirror.

“What?” she asked. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Um. It might?” Elsa hedged, flicking her gaze to Hook then back to Emma. “Would you say the children who are missing are… naughty?”

“Naughty?” Emma parroted.

“Aye,” Killian answered. “They’ve been known to cause their share of mischief.”

“And you know the significance of the coal?” Elsa asked, her question directed at Hook.

“Aye,” he answered gravely, sharing a solemn look with Elsa through the mirror.

“Then you know what you might be dealing with.”

“Um… I don’t,” Emma reminded them. “What do you think we’re dealing with?”

Elsa and Hook both took a deep breath before answering in unison.

“Krampus.”

“Kramp… what?”

“Krampus,” Elsa repeated. “He’s the antithesis of Father Christmas.”

“A horned, half-goat, half-demon creature that punishes naughty children around Yuletide,” Killian added.

“Punishes, how?”

“Depends on how naughty the child is,” Elsa answered. “Sometimes he simply gives them a good scare or he may whip them with branches of a birch tree or…”

“Or?” Emma prompted. The way Elsa paused, her expression growing more distressed as her eyes once again flicked to Hook’s, caused Emma’s heart to hammer wildly in her chest.

Turning her concerned gaze onto her husband, she watched his Adam’s apple bob heavily before he added, “Or… he kidnaps them, stuffing them into a bag or a basket and leaving behind a lump of coal.”

“Why?” Emma asked. “What does he do with them?”

“He, uh…” Killian hesitated, running his tongue over his teeth and fortifying himself with the answer. “He eats them.”

“What?!”

Emma jumped up off her chair and rushed to the nightstand where her phone was charging. “I’ve got to call David! We need to find those kids before--”

“Swan, love.” Killian grabbed her hand and stalled her actions. “He’s already on his way here. I told him my suspicions, and the three of us will come up with a plan when he gets here.”

“You’ve faced Krampus before?” Elsa asked Hook through the mirror, beating Emma to the question.

Scratching at the patch of skin behind his ear, Killian confessed, “Not exactly. The beast typically went after boys Pan also selected for me to… acquire,” he explained. “Sometimes I managed to tempt the boys away to Neverland before Krampus got to them, and other times…” his words fell away for a moment, his gaze pained and far away. “Other times, if it was clear the creature would get to the lads first, I would let him take them.” Guilt and contrition swept across his face as he quietly added, “I did not believe they were worth risking myself or my crew for, so I chose not to engage with the beast. Facing Pan’s wrath seemed preferable.”

“Hey,” Emma said softly, taking Killian’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re not the same man you were back then.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone betraying the certainty of his words. “Which is why I intend to help you rescue those children… before it’s too late.”

“Well, you have a little bit of time on your side,” Elsa told them. “Krampus will continue to take naughty children until midnight. He won’t do anything other than keep them imprisoned until then.”

Emma glanced at her phone. 6:08pm. They had a little less than six hours to find the missing kids, free them, and stop Krampus. Which begged the question…

“How do we stop him? What weaknesses does he have?”

“Love, joy, kindness, giving… all the things Father Christmas promotes,” Elsa advised.

“There was also a legend that told of a child offering the beast a piece of fruit. An orange, I believe,” Killian recounted. “Touched, the creature accepted the gift and invited the child to share it with him. Afterward, he simply departed, leaving the child unharmed.”

Worrying her lip, Emma weighed the idea the story gave her, unsure if she wanted to drag her son into danger. The jolt of her phone ringing and vibrating in her hand purged the thought from her mind.

“It’s Regina,” she said aloud before answering. “Regina? I was just about to call you--”

“Is Henry with you?”

“Uh… no?” Emma replied, her heart dropping into her stomach. “He left here over an hour ago. He should have been at your place by now.”

“Well, he never made it,” Regina stated, concern mixed with tamped down hysteria coloring her words. “Did he say anything about stopping somewhere along the way?”

In the background, Emma could hear Regina opening her front door, most likely on the lookout for their son. Before she could suggest the awful explanation as to why Henry had not arrived - not quite having come to terms with it herself - Emma heard Regina stumble and curse.

“What is it?” Emma asked. “What happened?”

“I tripped over something on the walkway,” Regina told her irritatedly through the phone, which Emma now had on speaker. “That’s odd.”

“What?” Emma pressed urgently. “What’s odd?”

“The thing I tripped over,” Regina replied, exasperatedly. “It looks like Henry’s scarf wrapped around a… lump of coal?”

The End

(muahahaha)

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

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