“Let me guess—you thought you were gonna take Emma, too? Some knight in shining armor deal?”

“Why would I want someone I was trying to arrest?” he said, feigning disinterest. 

“Same reason you took the wife of a man you’d later arrest,” Neal countered, putting more pressure on the blade; Killian tried to move his neck away, but only had so much room to move. “Do you get off on the power or something? And then just toss them aside when you’re done?”

“Is that what your father told you?”

“He said you charmed her away from us, and then let her die when you got bored with her.”

“He lied,” Killian insisted, hoping an emotional plea might get Neal to stand down. “We fell in love, and we ran off together. Your father was too much of a coward to tell you the truth. And she didn’t just die—he killed her. He tore out her heart and crushed it in front of me. I did vow revenge for that, and I achieved it when I arrested him. But believe me, I was just as heartbroken at losing her as you.”

An array of emotions played across Neal’s face at what was apparently a revelation. It was to be expected, really, and the look that finally settled in place was a familiar one—one he’d worn so often as a scared, lonely boy.

“She abandoned me?” he said in a small voice, and for a moment, the scared young boy that he must have been once showed through.

“Not a single day went past where your mother didn't regret leaving you. But you have to understand just how unhappy she was.”

“No!” Neal shouted back, looking away. “You’re still lying! None of this is true! She loved us and you took her!” To emphasize his denial, he pressed even harder with the knife, and Killian could feel the sharp edge start to cut into his skin.

“A person’s not an object, mate; and I’m a bounty hunter, not a kidnapper. Trust me, I have no need to engage in any such deception to get a woman in my bed. Perhaps your father should have taken better care of his partners; perhaps you should, too.”

“Or what—you’ll steal her away, too?” Neal scoffed. “Didn’t you hear, though? She still loves me.”

Killian didn’t have a retort for that. That was beside the point right now, though. He would get over Emma’s double crossing; it might take some time, but he would. But he couldn’t let whatever heartache he was feeling prevent him from fighting to get back to Alice. 

However—the blade was still cutting into his neck, blood likely staining his collar by now, and any move he could make to free him from his captors’ hold would only increase his chance at mortal injury. 

“Not anymore, asshole.” 

Emma’s voice drew the attention of both him and Neal, and before either could truly acknowledge her presence, she took the butt end of the pistol and, with the full force of both hands, smacked it down on Neal’s temple. 

He swayed for a moment, dropping his knife, and then collapsed on the ground, unconscious. 

Killian stared agape, too stunned to even appreciate the fact that Neal’s cronies had loosened their grip on him, likely equally surprised by the turn of events. 

“Sorry,” Emma said, staring right at him. “I just couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

Killian blinked a moment. “Sorry for what? I’m not the one who’ll be waking with a splitting headache,” he replied, nodding at Neal and trying (and failing) to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Oh, Killian—no,” she insisted—though what she meant, he wasn’t sure. She stepped over Neal’s comatose body and dropped to her knees in front of him. “I meant—all of it,” she explained. “I was just doing whatever I could to make sure he didn’t hurt you. Though I guess I didn’t do the best job,” she lamented, then grabbed her skirt and tried to dab the blood off his face. 

But that didn’t concern him at the moment, so he stilled her hands with his. “So—you were playing him? About all of that?”

She almost looked angry. “Of course I was! You really think I’d go running back to that dick? Especially after everything that’s happened between us—-after this morning?” she added quietly. 

“Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain?”

“No,” she conceded, and blotted up some of the blood on his neck. “Gods, these are gonna leave scars.”

“It’s alright, love,” he assured her. “I’m fine—and I’m so glad you were lying.”

She grinned at him, but it quickly switched to a look of alarm as another voice interrupted. “And I’m glad he was telling the truth—at least, I presume so.”

Killian’s midsection was still incredibly sore, particularly on one side near his ribs, but he managed to sit and turn around to face the newcomer—and smiled. “Nemo.”

The older man wore an equally warm expression as he approached, which was also when Killian realized no one else was with them—Neal’s goons had ran off, clearly showing the (lack of) loyalty their boss inspired. 

“Are you alright, my friend?” Nemo asked when he reached them, gingerly placing a hand of comfort on Killian’s shoulder. 

“I’ve had worse days,” he replied, attempting to keep things light, even if the ache was settling in more as adrenaline faded. 

Nemo patted his shoulder in a paternal move that seemed to say “we’ll talk later” before looking over at Emma. “And this must be the elusive Miss Swan?”

Emma looked somewhat panicked at being identified. “Aye, that she is,” Killian confirmed, reaching over to grab her hand and give a comforting squeeze. “Emma, this is Nemo, my boss.”

“I didn’t kill anyone, I swear,” she quickly blurted out, only to be met with a chuckle from Nemo. 

“So I heard,” he answered. “And you can pin this fellow on other crimes?”

“Oh yeah,” Emma confirmed. “If you’re still looking for whoever robbed the bank in Franklintown last year, that’s him right there. Well, and me,” she confessed, “but I don’t care; I’ll tell you everything, even if it’s self-incriminating. I just didn’t do that.”

“In that case, I just might know a sympathetic judge who’ll be receptive to your story,” Nemo replied with a wink. 

“You heard that, too?” Killian asked, impressed.

“Aye, almost all of it. I saw what happened outside the office, and followed as quickly as I could. This isn’t the most solid building; there were plenty of spots to spy from.”

“Yeah, Neal’s never been great at picking the best hideouts,” Emma added.

“Nor very original, I gather; we make at least one bust a month here. We knew where you were headed right away.”

Before either of them could ask who “we” was, an officer Killian had worked with on occasion—Billy, he thought was his name—popped his head in the open door. “We’ve got these guys, boss; want help with that one?” he asked, nodding at Neal.

“Yes, please,” Nemo replied, both polite and commanding in a way only he could manage. “I don’t think Jones here is going to be much help. We’d best get you to a surgeon,” he added in a quieter voice.

“Gods, I’m really so sorry, Killian,” Emma said again, trying in vain to staunch the sluggish flow of blood from the cut on his cheek.

“It’s done, love; we’ll both live to fight another day. But could you help me up?”

She nodded and smiled, though tears were brimming at her eyes. It was awkward, with the way her hands were still tied, but she managed to support his left arm enough that he could rise without jostling his painful right side too much. That also gave room for Billy and another officer (Jack, maybe?) to come in for Neal, who roused slightly, but only enough to get his feet under him.

Emma let him continue to lean on her and helped him shuffle outside, where the door was slamming on one prisoner wagon, but another waited, empty; Nemo stood beside the open back end. 

“I guess that’s my ride,” she tried to joke, but its presence was anything but a laughing matter. This was it. 

“Thank you for believing me,” she continued, turning to face him, “and for everything you’ve done. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to repay you—”

“You don’t have to, love,” he interjected, reaching up to wipe a tear that was starting to track down her cheek. “‘Twas my pleasure—all of it. And thank you for trusting me.”

Emma sniffed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, so—”

“You will.”

“I hope so,” she agreed, more optimistic than he’d yet heard from her. “Send my love to Alice and Belle.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And…gods,” she stammered. Her head fell, but then she stepped closer, closing what little space had remained between them and placing her hands on his chest before looking back up. “I'm not a tearful goodbye kiss person. But maybe just this once.”

Then she rose up on her toes and placed a deep kiss against his lips, one which he didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, despite his injuries. It was bittersweet—filled with the tenderness and sweetness of a new relationship but aching with an air of finality. 

He held her as tight against him as he dared, even when they eventually broke apart for air. If this was the last moment they’d have for an unknown amount of time, they were going to savor it. 

At least—until she shifted and hit his sore spot, making him suck in a breath in pain. 

“Dammit—sorry,” she cursed, and stepped back a bit. 

“With any luck, that will be all healed up next time you see me,” he promised her (through strained breaths). 

He could see a quip on the edge of her tongue, but she bit it back. “Will you write?” she settled on. 

“Absolutely.”

“Although—I don’t know where I’ll end up.”

“Nemo will.”

“Okay.” She glanced over her shoulder at the man in question. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting any more. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Emma. See you soon.”

She gave him another sad smile, a quick peck on the cheek, and then walked away from him, toward her fate.

Nemo, ever the gentleman, helped her get up into the back of the wagon, closed (and locked) the door, and hit the side of the wagon to let the officers know they were free to drive away. 

The wagons started slow, but then began their amble down the dusty alley to the jail a few blocks away. He watched as long as he could, until they turned the corner back to the high street. 

He still needed to wrap up his paperwork back at the office, get examined by the local surgeon (and likely get some stitches), and find out if his preferred inn had a bed available; he didn’t have the energy for half the things on that list, let alone the ride back to Meryton. 

He also needed to collect the bounty on Emma, which was going to feel like a hollow prize now, considering he’d much rather have her. 

But the biggest thing on his mind as he watched the wagon slip out of sight was wondering how much he would regret not telling her he loved her. 

Alas. It would have to wait. At least he was a patient man. 

He limped over to Roger and mounted him, then headed off to take care of business. And to distract himself from the growing heartache in his chest. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Eleven months later

Killian checked his pocketwatch for the umpteenth time and impatiently shifted his weight from side to side. He was on time—he always was—but would his mark be?

To say he’d thrown himself into work to fill the void Emma had left in his life wouldn’t exactly be accurate, but it wasn’t wholly untrue, either. Once he got home after the events in Longbourn, he spent a few months laying low and recuperating from what ended up being a couple cracked ribs, in addition to the lacerations. It was some much-needed down time with Alice that he hadn’t had in far too long, and they began to plot their big vacation.

They hadn’t gone just yet, though, as work had come calling again, not to mention his own restlessness. To be fair, he only took short assignments that never took him too far from home, but they were more frequent than they had been in the past, though generally simpler (and safer).

That was probably Nemo’s doing as much as anything; the man’s paternal instincts ran deep and he’d fretted about Killian nearly as much as Belle and Alice had, though obviously from afar. 

But this—this was his biggest task yet, and he didn’t dare mess it up. Not that he often did, of course, but he was extra careful about being taken by surprise nowadays.

The street was fairly empty, thankfully, so no one paid much notice to him and Roger, waiting by the hitching post and staring at the building across the street. It was one of the quieter corners of town, on the far edge of Longbourn, but he knew his intel was good. He just felt like he’d already been waiting enough, though yet another check of his watch told him that only another minute had passed. 

The door of the building he was watching swung open and he stood at attention—but the young man who walked out wasn’t who he was after; not even close. 

What was the holdup? He went digging in his bag for the telegram Nemo had sent with the details, wanting to check again that he had the correct hour—that he hadn’t misread—even though he probably had the note memorized by now. 

Of course, it said the present time, just like he knew it did. He sighed and shoved it back in the hidden pocket within the saddle bag, next to some other letters. 

He turned back towards the street, leaned against Roger, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He was being irrational. He was too mature to act like this; everything would happen when it was supposed to. 

Which was apparently now. 

“Killian?”

Slowly, he opened his eyes and tilted his head forward. In the back of his mind, he hoped it was a move that looked casual and confident, even though his heart rate suddenly ticked up. 

Because Emma stood just across the dirt lane from him, at the bottom of the steps coming from the kingdom’s womens’ prison. 

The first thing he noticed was her shocked expression—perhaps not the reaction he’d hoped for, but not entirely unexpected. Otherwise, she looked—well, a bit tired, a bit wan, and her cream dress hung a bit loose on her frame. She’d also cut her hair to about chin length, and it was back to its natural blonde. 

But she’d always look beautiful to him, and he couldn’t help but grin.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, taking a tentative step toward him. “Are…are you on a case?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied casually (though in tone only; he was actually restraining himself). “I thought you might prefer a ride, versus whatever other transportation plans you may have had upon release.”

She checked both ways before crossing the empty street, but still stopped several feet away from him. “How did you know I was getting out today? I didn’t even know until a few days ago; there’s no way you could have gotten my letter that fast.”

True to his word, he’d kept up communication with her as much as he was able; her replies were infrequent but cherished, and currently stashed in his saddle bag. “Nemo wired me,” he explained. 

“That was kind of him,” she replied politely, though she seemed unsure at what that meant. Hopefully she realized that Nemo was the one who kept Killian in the loop and even made it possible for him to contact her while locked up; prisoner locations weren’t generally public knowledge and she certainly didn’t have his home address. 

(Nemo had also gently teased Killian any time they met in person about his crush, which Killian took as a stamp of approval.)

“Well, you helped bring down a wanted killer. It was the least he could do.”

Emma blushed and looked down, but it was true: her testimony not only sent Neal away on the aforementioned murder charges, but also a string of other unsolved robberies that she was able to pin on him, and a few other accomplices. 

She began to wring her hand around her wrist, which was when he noticed: the magic-blocking cuff was still there. “Oh, love—let me get that,” he said, then held out his hand to her, hoping she’d take it. 

She did, albeit hesitantly, and he had to make a point to ignore the spark at contact. He gently guided her hand onto his hook and slipped the cuff off; the skin beneath was even paler than she was and slightly calloused, but she sighed in relief as soon as it was off. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry that it took so long to come off. It’s a clever, albeit cruel, trick of the thing that only the person who puts it on can remove it.”

“And they definitely wouldn’t have let you take it off before I was taken in.”

“Alas, no.”

A slightly awkward silence settled over them as she rolled her newly freed wrist; he tried not to wince at the audible pop it made.

“Oh, I have something that might make that feel better,” he said, and turned back to the saddle bag, digging through for a well-hidden bundle. “This is yours.” He presented the small, but important, package to her. 

She untied the string holding it together, and then her eyes went wide when the fabric fell open “What…hold on, is this…?” 

“Half of your bounty,” he confirmed. 

“No, Killian—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “Half is more than enough for me, but I can hardly leave you penniless and fresh out of jail.”

“I’d get by,” she said defiantly. 

“I know. I have no doubt you would thrive. But I wanted to help ensure it.”

She worried her bottom lip. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I like the hair,” he went on, hoping to somewhat change the subject from the past to at least the present. “It’s nice to see your natural coloring.”

“Thanks,” she replied, still shyly, and tucked a bit behind her ear. “The brown was looking weird as it grew out, so one of the girls in there just cut it off for me. I’m still getting used to it being so short, though.”

“It frames your face nicely,” he couldn’t help but add. 

She smiled up at him through her lashes, but her face suddenly fell and she practically jumped into his space.

“Oh gods—your cheek,” she lamented, reaching up to brush the new scar that crossed his face. “I didn’t realize that cut was so deep; I’m so—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he told her. “It wasn’t your fault. And it’s all healed now. Frankly, I think it makes me look rather dashing,” he only half joked, with a terrible wink. 

She giggled and rolled her eyes, but continued to cup his face. “I missed you,” she admitted. 

He knew she was taking a risk with that confession—showing her hand, baring part of her heart to him. And he appreciated it more than he knew how to express. 

He hoped the fact that he had made the effort to be here expressed how he felt, but in case she hadn’t picked up on that, “I missed you too, love. Quite a lot.”

They were very close—close enough that he could easily pull her into his embrace, find her lips with his, but he didn’t want to push her too far too fast. 

She seemed to be thinking about it too, though, if the way her eyes darted back up to his from the vicinity of his mouth was anything to go by. But then her stomach growled exceptionally loud, breaking the moment. 

“Come on,” he chuckled. “I’m sure you could use a real meal.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I know a good diner not far from here. It’s not Granny’s, but it’s better than average.”

“Sounds amazing. Do you have to head out after that?”

It was obvious what she was doing: testing the waters to see if he was really there for her or not.

“Depends. Where do you want to go?”

“Well, I was given the address to a halfway house in town, so I had planned on heading there,” she started, and he hoped his face didn’t fall as quickly as his heart descended into his stomach.

“I can take you there, if you wish,” he offered. 

“See…my plan, though, was to write and let you know where I was, then see what kind of response I got from you before making any other decisions. So you kind of made me skip that step,” she said with a teasing smirk. 

“Are you complaining?”

“No, of course not. You saved me the postage.” Her winks were a lot better than his—but more, it was fun to banter with her again. 

“And what kind of response were you hoping for?”

“Something like this,” she shrugged. “Westley coming for Buttercup and stealing her away. Unless…you didn’t…”

“I did,” he confirmed, then swallowed, suddenly nervous again. “It’s just…been a while,” he said, scratching behind his ear. “And I wanted to make sure that’s what you wanted, too. I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, then stepped closer to him again and put her hands on his shoulders. “And that’s what I love about you.”

Killian blinked for a moment; he hadn’t expected that. But then he realized she was watching his reaction, and a grin quickly and involuntarily spread across his face. “I love you, too, Emma. I’ve regretted not telling you since the day we parted.”

“Jail cannot stop true love; all it can do is delay it for a while,” she paraphrased. (He may have read their new favorite book with Alice several times over the past year.)

He could probably have come up with a responding quip, but there’d be time for that later; right now, he just really, desperately needed to kiss her—and did so, wrapping his arms around her tightly and pressing his lips against hers firmly. 

It somehow felt both new and familiar at the same time, which was probably appropriate—even if he knew Emma and his feelings for her, they actually had a chance now to give things a shot; to take a step forward together. 

Eventually, they broke apart to take a breath, but stayed close—as they walked to the diner, while they ate, and as they mounted Roger and headed out; he intentionally took a route out of town that avoided the warehouse where they’d last been together. 

“So where are we going?” she asked as they started to leave Longbourn.

He simply answered, “Home.”  

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

That night, they stopped in Meryton to rest. He made a point to find a nicer inn than the first time they had been there—but they did continue their train of thought from that night, so perhaps not a lot of rest was had. At least no one seemed to judge their late exit the following morning, or the shy, but knowing grins they continued to exchange through breakfast.

The day’s ride saw them enjoying the late summer sun as well as each other’s presence, Emma almost constantly leaning back against him with a relaxed smile on her face. 

At some point, though, she noticed the difference in the amount of time they’d spent on the road versus their last trip, and most likely the difference in surroundings. “Where are we really going?” she asked as they stopped for dinner by another of the many roadside firepits he was familiar with. 

“I told you—home.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, but any further concerns fell silent in lieu of kissing (among other things). (This particular fire pit was imbued with a cloaking spell that made it invisible if it was occupied; they definitely took advantage of that fact.)

And after another long day of riding, they approached some familiar surroundings late in the afternoon the following day. When Emma realized where they were, she turned around and grinned at him. 

Much like when they left last year, the residents of Storybrooke gaped at them as they rode into town. Killian could only imagine what tall tales the rumor mill had spun after their unceremonious departure—and wondered how much of it Granny and Ruby set to rights. 

And he was sure they’d find out shortly; they’d hardly even reached the hitching post outside the inn before Emma was halfway off the horse. It was midafternoon, so thankfully they’d arrived in between meal rushes and had a chance at a proper reunion.

She at least waited for him to tie up Roger before running through the saloon doors ahead of him, and sudden screams and squeals of laughter and joy greeted him once he followed her inside.

Emma and Ruby were wrapped in a tight embrace next to the bar, which looked just the same as it had the last time he was here, though maybe bearing a few more scuffs. And Granny was on her way out of the kitchen to join the group hug, so Killian continued to hang back, not wanting to intrude—and knowing full well that the both of them were likely to fawn and dote on him in a matter of minutes.

He also had a question for them: did—?

“Papa! You’re here!!”

The question couldn’t even finish in his mind before Alice was tackling him about the midsection. He huffed a bit—his ribs were fully healed but still had their tender spots—but didn’t hesitate to return the hug. 

“So are you, starfish; I was worried I may have beaten you here.” She’d been growing like a weed the last year and was nearly up to his shoulder now. 

“Never! I did all the navigation—all by myself!”

“Is that so?”

“Well…Aunt Belle helped a little.”

“I see.”

“Only a little though,” the woman in question added, coming from the direction of the stairs to the boarding rooms. 

“Alice? Belle?” Emma had stepped away from Ruby and was looking at the other reunion. “What are you…?”

“We’re here to see you!” Alice exclaimed, and promptly threw herself at Emma, then started to talk her ear off about…oh, everything. 

Granny quickly prepared a feast in a way only she could, and they all sat down to catch up with one another; it turned out Ruby was now engaged and she was quick to announce that Granny had taken a paramour as well—a fact which made the older woman scold her salacious granddaughter…while blushing. 

Alice was exceptionally taken with Emma’s natural hair color, especially because “It looks just like mine!” A fact she emphasized with a knowing look in Killian’s direction. Though she’d obviously never lacked for parental figures, the fact that her hair color was so dramatically different from his and Belle’s dark hues he knew occasionally bothered her. So he was pointedly ignoring her implication that she should have someone around she resembled in that department, even if it was far more likely to happen then she realized. 

And after several days spent in town, actually on vacation this time, they settled into something resembling a life. There was a cottage for sale just a short walk outside of Storybrooke—right on the water, like the one Alice grew up in—and Emma immediately purchased it with her share of the reward money and insisted they stay any time they wanted. Which ended up being all the time. 

Storybrooke wasn’t the most convenient town as far as staying connected with Killian’s office in Longbourn, but there was a village just to the south that was on the telegraph network, so it wasn’t uncommon for he and whichever lady in his life felt like it to take Roger for a bit of a ride to check messages. 

Killian also continued to take fewer jobs, so he could spend more time with Alice—who flourished in their new town, attending the local school and making friends. More even than adventure, that was all he wanted for her, so he ended up turning over much of his part of the reward to Belle so she could go on a solo trip. (She tried to refuse, but he wouldn’t hear it; and the postcards she sent back were incredibly gorgeous.)

Emma became Killian’s partner in crime, so to speak—or rather, the opposite of it. Her feline side proved invaluable at times in conducting reconnaissance, and she just had a knack for finding people, to the point that she received the occasional solo assignment; Killian had been correct in his assessment of Nemo’s positive view towards her. (And then he teased Killian for not proposing yet. He did get there, though—in the middlemist meadow, on a date that closely resembled their first.)

Roughly a year after they returned to Storybrooke, they were attending Ruby’s wedding to Dorothy—Emma was the maid of honor, and Alice was the flower girl. It was a raucous party like the town hadn’t seen in ages, but exhilarating, and the best part was the shared looks of pure joy on the newlyweds’ faces. 

“Guess that’ll be us next, huh?” Emma asked as they sat on a bench along the wall of Granny’s, catching their breaths after dancing. 

“I would assume so,” he replied, taking her left hand in his right and observing the way his mother’s ring sat perfectly upon her finger. “Unless you’re having second thoughts; then I might have to see what Granny’s up to.”

“Don’t even joke—you know she’d take you up on it.” (Doubtful, with the way the old wolf currently was resting her head on her beau’s shoulder.) “You’re stuck with me, Captain.”

“Damn,” he said dryly, clearly not complaining. 

They took advantage of the quiet moment to share a cuddle of their own, and he took in his surroundings: Alice was playing with her friends, Belle was dancing with the fellow she’d been seeing, and the woman he loved—despite their strange and almost impossible start—was in his arms. 

Though it didn’t follow any path he’d ever expected, he seemed to be living out his own sort of fairy tale adventure, and even if it was unconventional, it was perfect in its own way. 

Emma let out a happy sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. “What?” he had to ask. 

“I'm just... happy,” she explained. “It still surprises me sometimes.” 

“Aye, love. Me, too.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “And that’ll be us soon enough,” he added, nodding at the newlyweds, “and we can spend all our days living out our happy ending.”

Emma hummed and smiled. “I can’t wait. But I’m not sure about that term—happy ending. It’s not really an ending, is it?”

“I suppose not,” he had to agree. “What should we call it then?”

“How about…a happy beginning?”

“As you wish.”

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

They didn’t have to walk far before they arrived at their next destination: an unassuming inn with an ordinary tavern on the ground floor. A sign hung above the entrance, but whatever it said had long worn off, other than the faint outline of a mug. “This is it?” Emma commented before he opened the weathered but sturdy door. 

“Aye; it’s not Granny’s, but it serves its purpose,” he answered. With any luck, the mattresses were fresh. 

“She does set the bar pretty high.”

“Incredibly.”

They managed to get the attention of the barkeep inside despite the fact the dining area was mostly full. And thankfully, there was still a room available to rent—although only one. He’d deal with that issue later, and went ahead and signed the guest book where indicated, then passed the pen to Emma. 

She quickly filled in the spot next to his (fake) name, with one of her own: Eva Plover. It seemed like whatever shock she had earlier had dissipated, and that she’d picked up on his cue—or, more likely, was going to use a false name anyways, as Emma Swan would certainly have drawn undue, unwanted attention. 

Actually, that was part of why he’d chosen this inn: despite its innocent appearance, it was one of the best spots in the kingdom to pick up on any gossip of the realm’s seedy underbelly. Which also meant that anyone hoping to keep a low profile needed to take extra precaution. As far as the world was concerned, Killian Jones had never set foot in the establishment, whereas Ian Rogers was a repeat customer. 

After they were checked in and he pocketed the key, they found a seat at an empty table to one side of the dining room, enough out of the way to avoid attention but where he’d still be able to hear anything interesting. 

A harried waitress came by shortly with mugs of ale, and dashed off just as quickly after taking their order, though he had little hope of it being soon fulfilled. 

At least they weren’t in any hurry. The hum of conversation surrounded them; it was just a matter of catching the name they needed to hear. 

“How did you even find this place?” Emma asked, then took a sip of her ale—and winced. “Does that even count as beer?”

He chuckled. “It’s heavily watered down; you’d need liquor if you wanted to get drunk. Which is how I discovered this establishment in the first place, back in my more, ah, wild days.”

“When you were on the other side of the law?”

“Indeed, which came in rather handy when I made the switch.” He took a sip from his own mug, which was truly awful, but thankfully not potent enough to tempt him to any excess. “Don’t tell me you’ve never passed time in a bar like this before.”

“A few times,” she conceded, “but I was usually the lookout, or on the prowl; Neal was the one actually taking care of any business.”

“Neal Cassidy?” another voice chimed in; a middle-aged man at the next table over was looking their way. “Not to eavesdrop, but is that who you’re talking about?”

“Aye; you know him?” Killian replied casually. He’d long since learned to answer questions—as well as to ask them—as simply as possible and let the other party do most of the sharing.

“Unfortunately,” he scoffed. “Bastard owes me money.”

“An old debt, I take it?”

“Naw, he bummed it off me just the other day. Overplayed his hand in a game of cards and I spotted him what he owed; said he’d get it back to me after he got back from Longbourn—that he’d have it then—but I ain’t holding my breath.”

“What’s in Longbourn?” Emma asked, though Killian didn’t miss a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Said he was gonna get his cat back. Surprised he even let it out of his sight; it was always crawling all over him. Think I like it better than him, so it wouldn’t surprise me if it ran off. Hell, I’d take it in if I found it; you ever seen it?”

“No,” Emma said quickly, in time with Killian’s “Afraid not.”

“You must not know him very well then; it’s like his furry little shadow.”

“We’re actually supposed to meet up with him in Longbourn,” Killian lied. “So perhaps we’ll yet get a chance.”

“Might want to hurry, then,” the man told them. “He was in a rush to get there, and you know he’s not patient. Think he got there yesterday.”

“Shit, he’s a day ahead of us,” Killian cursed, perhaps laying it on a bit thick. 

“There’s no way I’m getting back on that horse tonight, so don’t even think about it.” Emma’s tone was warning, but he could see the mischievous glint in her eyes as she played—whatever character she was playing; they hadn’t established that in their planning.

“I’d listen to the lady,” the man said, chuckling. “But good luck when you get there. Do me a favor and tell him August says hi. And don’t give him any cash.”

“Will do,” Killian said with a nod as the man stood from his seat and made for the bar, likely to pay his tab. Once he was out of earshot, he turned back to Emma. “Well that was easier than expected.”

“No kidding,” she sighed. “Although, it’s a little funny to me—Neal hates August.”

“You’ve obviously met him before.”

“Yeah, but only ever in cat form. Like I said, Neal was the main one working when we were in public, and he was worried about the optics of having an attractive partner, or some bullshit like that. He said it was to protect me, but looking back, it was probably just plain old misogyny.”

“He clearly has a reputation as a bastard.”

“A well-deserved one at that.” She offered a toast, which Killian took, tapping his mug against hers. She nearly gagged on her drink this time, though. “Gods, I hope the food is better than that.”

“It…will suffice,” Killian replied, scratching nervously behind his ear like he usually did while telling half-truths.

Emma just groaned in complaint, but when their bowls of stew arrived a minute later, they did prove to be on the better side of palatable. “Granny could teach all of these barkeeps a thing or two about food. And beer,” she griped when she was done.

“Granny actually cares about running an establishment with quality fare,” Killian countered. “The owner here only cares enough that people spend money and don’t burn the place down when they get too drunk.”

As if on cue, some of the more sloshed patrons on the far side of the room began to shout at each other, and fists began to fly. But before any furniture could be destroyed, the burly owner had taken them both by the ear and was dragging them to the door. The bar was quiet for a moment, but began buzzing again fairly quickly.

With that excitement done and their only other goal achieved, dinner began to sit heavy in his belly and the ale was only making him more drowsy. Emma let out a jaw-cracking yawn as well that clearly indicated their evening was over. “Come on; to bed with ye,” Killian told her gently, standing and offering his hand.

She took it—and kept hold, as he led them through the tavern to the dimly lit stairs leading to the rooms. 

He regretted having to let go of her hand to unlock the door of their assigned room, but she stayed close—likely as much for security as desire; he didn’t like the look of the man at the other end of the hall, and made sure to set the deadbolt as soon as they were in the room. 

However, that confirmed the issue he’d been delaying thinking about, especially once Emma lit the oil lamp on a small table: though the room was tidy, it was small…and there was only one bed. 

And while logically, he knew they’d shared closer quarters on his bedroll, there was something about the idea of that sole mattress that felt uncomfortably intimate. 

He glanced over at Emma, and she too was staring at the bed and chewing nervously on her lip. Well, he was nothing if not a gentleman. “You can take the bed, love; I’ll be fine on the floor.” It looked…mostly clean.

“No!” she quickly countered. “I can just transform and take a corner of the bed or something; gods only know the last time that floor was swept.”

“But how well will you sleep that way?”

She shrugged in response. “I’ll deal.”

“I won’t. I couldn’t sleep if you weren’t either. And I’ve slept in far worse places.”

“So have I, but come on—there are mouse droppings in the corner. The bed is big enough for both of us; there’s no sense in us not sharing it.”

He hoped his subsequent swallow was subtle, but that was the solution he’d been hoping to avoid the most. Not out of any chivalrous desire or some prudish theology, but more out of self-preservation; a man of honor he may be, but he was still a man, and he feared that what such proximity might do to him physically could put him in a rather embarrassing position. “Fine. But I’m sleeping atop the covers.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but stepped closer to the bed and ran a hand over the comforter. “Okay, but only because it’s clean. Or, at least, it’s not dirty.”

They both quickly washed up in the room’s chipped wash basin, but he waited for Emma to crawl under the covers before he turned down the lamp and settled down on the other side of the lumpy bed.

Though he was exhausted, sleep did not come as quickly as he wanted; he was too aware of Emma’s presence next to him. Even when he turned on his side, away from her, he felt her warmth at his back and heard her own steady breaths. 

At least hers eventually evened out as she drifted off. He cast a glance over his shoulder and could just make out the way she had the covers tucked under her chin in the light from the moon that seeped through the thin curtains. She looked younger in her sleep—free of the stresses and worries she’d carried for so long. And if this was to be her last night of peaceful sleep for a while, he’d not do anything to disturb it. 

He settled back down and let her gentle snores carry him off to slumber. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Sometime in the middle of the night, something jolted Killian awake—a sound he was all too familiar with: the sound of a nightmare. 

Without thinking, he was on his feet, ready to rush into Alice’s room and soothe her back to sleep. Until he remembered—he wasn’t at home, and Alice was miles away. 

He turned back to the bed, and Emma was curled in on herself tightly, whimpering in her sleep. It broke his heart, but he had to hold back his instinct to immediately jump in as he didn’t want to startle her. 

That said, he did hurry back to the bed, but was cautious as he knelt on the mattress. “Emma,” he whispered. “Swan, it’s alright—it’s just a dream.”

She didn’t hear him, though, and cried out and thrashed in her sleep. 

Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder and said her name just a bit louder. “Wake up, love,” he told her. “You’re not alone.”

She gasped and her eyes flew open, darting around the room until they landed on him, and she drew another sharp breath, but then sighed. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s been a while since I had one of those.”

“It’s fine; it happens,” he assured her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “Not sure I can; it’s already fading, but they’re never very clear—more just the feeling of being left behind again.”

Given what lay ahead, he wasn’t sure he had any words of comfort to offer in response to that. He could only keep her in the present. He took her hand, which had just been running through her hair. “I’m here now,” he assured her. 

She gave him a sad smile, likely as much as she could muster at the moment, and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

They stayed like that for a while as she came down from the adrenaline of the dream. He didn’t dare move, but when they both yawned at the same time, that was a hint that they needed to go back to sleep. 

However, when he tried to pull his hand away, she held on tighter. “Stay?”

He could have quipped about the fact that he’d be only inches away, but could tell that she needed more proximity than that. So he nodded, and did his best to slip under the covers while still holding her hand; the small hole his hook made in the blanket was hardly noticeable along the moth-eaten edge. 

“Sleep tight, Emma,” he whispered now that he was facing her.

“You too,” she murmured, already half asleep, and he quickly followed her. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

The sun on his face woke Killian the following morning. Despite the unevenness of the mattress, and the middle-of-the-night interruption, he was surprisingly well-rested and content.

He blinked his eyes open slowly and marveled at how cozy he felt, even though he could feel a draft blowing across his face. The blankets were evidently warmer than they appeared to be. 

Or so he thought—until he felt the sensation of warm breath across the skin above his sternum, where his undershirt was unbuttoned. And became suddenly aware of the warm body tucked into his side. 

As he became more alert, he became conscious of the weight resting on his chest, of the arm wrapped around his stomach, of the soft hair casually attempting to smother him. 

He didn’t need to look down to realize that he and Emma had found each other in their sleep—he too had his right arm wrapped around her—but he stole a glance anyway. That peaceful look she’d had the night before was back on her face, and she was nearly nestled in the crook of his neck. It was the most relaxed and comfortable he’d seen her yet, and he hated that it couldn’t last. 

He couldn’t help himself: he placed a small kiss at the peak of her brow, gentle enough that he hoped it wouldn’t wake her, but firm enough that she might still feel it in slumber. 

Alas, he wasn’t as subtle as he thought. As soon as he pulled away, Emma tightened her arms around him and made a sleepy noise of complaint, but then blinked her eyes and tilted her head to look up at him. She made no effort to move, though. 

“Mmmorning,” she slurred and gave him a drowsy smile. “Sorry if I drooled on you.”

“No worries, love,” he assured her (though he could tell there was a slightly damp spot on his shirt). “You needed the rest.”

“You make a pretty good pillow.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She laid her head back down, and continued in a small voice, “Thank you for staying.”

“I wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

“I know, but—people tend to leave me. Especially in moments like that. So…it means a lot.”

Carefully with his hook—which he’d apparently kept away from her subconsciously all night—he nudged her chin back up to look at him. “Emma, you know I’m familiar with that feeling, too. But as long as you want me around, I’ll be there.”

She scoffed and gave a sarcastic smile. “Of course, I find someone who says that and means it right before I have to leave you behind.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“It might be.” There was an edge of fear in her voice, and he couldn’t blame her for that—prisons weren’t the most civilized places, and it wasn’t uncommon to hear of fights breaking out among the convicts that ended poorly. But, if all went well, Emma wouldn’t find herself in the company of the more ruthless felons, and wouldn’t be there for long. 

“It won’t,” he insisted again. “And when all this is over, there’ll be a bed and a place waiting for you.”

“Why?”

He was taken aback at what seemed like a simple question, but in his mind was fairly obvious. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

“Seriously, Killian?” She shifted so she was propped up on an elbow, now looking down at him from above. “I don’t deserve that. I don’t honestly deserve any of the kindness you’ve shown me. I appreciate it—more than you’ll ever know—but I should have just been another job for you.”

He sighed, because she wasn’t wrong. But it was also too late to be questioning his motives. They’d come this far already. 

“Aye, you should have been. And you were, at first. Until you weren’t you and I wasn’t me, and I thought I didn’t have to worry about protecting my heart. And yet, here we are.”

“What, in a cheap rented room on a crummy mattress, about to turn me in?”

She was deflecting. It was painfully obvious, and he knew it was in self defense. 

“No, love,” he started, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, and leaving it there to cup her face. “Together.”

And he pressed up to find her lips with his, hoping his kiss might calm whatever worries she had, particularly where he was concerned. 

She stilled a moment when their lips first met, but not for long before she was pushing him back down into the mattress, deepening the kiss. 

It was certainly a bittersweet kiss, knowing it’d be an indeterminate amount of time before they had another, but he was tired of fighting his feelings, and it was apparent that Emma was, too. 

Though his body reacted instinctively to the sensation of a woman above him (a woman who was dangerously close to straddling him), they both knew it couldn’t go any farther. Still—they were going to enjoy this moment for what it was. 

(The awkward moment he feared from the night before did inevitably happen—he was sorely out of practice in that area—but Emma merely giggled at his physical reaction and continued on.)

They eventually (regrettably) needed air but stayed close, and he pulled her back into his side. 

“Thank you,” she told him. “For everything. In case I don’t get another chance to say it.”

“You will, love. But you’re welcome.”

“At least one of us has hope.”

“Hey,” he started, tone turning serious, and again nudged her chin to look at him. “I know you face an uncertain future, but there’s one thing I want you to be certain of: that you can always rely on me. No matter what lies ahead, I’m here for you.”

She gave a somewhat sad smile, placed another kiss on his lips, and said, “I’ll try to make it up to you someday.”

“Just don’t get in trouble with the law again and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal. But I’m guessing we need to get a move on turning me in for the trouble I’ve already caused.”

He grubmled. “Aye, we should.” The sooner they got to Longbourn, the sooner she’d be free—right? 

After another lazy kiss, they finally got up and gathered their things, few as they were—the lone perk to this short trip. The cost of the room included breakfast, which wasn’t anything special (and again, nothing compared to Granny’s meals), but at least had some flavor and didn’t sit uncomfortably in his stomach when he was done. 

He slipped his arm around her waist as they exited onto the dusty street. Even though it was late morning, the area was still fairly quiet—that particular neighborhood saw more action after dark. But that meant they were uninterrupted as they made the short journey back to the stable, and few eyes were there to judge how close they were standing or how slow they moved. 

He was equally meticulous in picking up Roger and making sure they were ready for the next several hours on the road. But there wasn’t much to do—they’d done all the packing they needed to at home and none of it had been disturbed overnight; he was doing more to put the saddle bags into disarray with his needless digging. 

His hook snagged on something, and when he pulled it out, the chain of his handcuffs was caught on the tip of it. He pulled them off, but held onto them and stared for a long moment—because, as much as he hated the idea now, he’d need to use them before they got to Longbourn. Though they were made of steel, they felt heavy as lead in his hand. 

“Go ahead.” Emma’s voice drew his attention; he looked up to find she was next to him with her arms extended, nodding toward her wrists. “May as well get it out of the way now. Should probably put the magic-blocking cuff on, too—whatever you need to do if it helps my case.”

He couldn’t argue with any of that, but he didn’t feel good about it. Still, he went ahead and latched the shackles to her wrists, then dug the cuff out of the bag and slipped it on, too. He’d intended to wait until they got closer, but if her wrists were free of cuff marks, it would seem suspicious. 

And without any further ado, they headed out on the last part of this adventure. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

The road between Meryton and Longbourn was relatively narrow and quiet at first, which afforded them a last opportunity to enjoy their proximity. They stopped for lunch just before the road met up with the main highway and exchanged a few last, hurried kisses in the shadow of the trees.

But then the road widened and the traffic picked up considerably, more than they’d yet seen. For appearance’s sake, they kept a bit more distance—a bit more propriety—between them, lest anyone question why an obvious prisoner was getting cozy with her captor (especially should they run into one of Killian’s colleagues).

The avenue continued to get larger and busier as they approached Longbourn, and they soon found themselves on the outskirts, with homes and shops popping up and getting closer together, as well as the general sounds of civilization continuing to pick up in volume.

Though he’d traversed this street many a time, something felt different today and it had him on edge. He was used to scanning ahead for any potential danger, but it felt like there was something keeping an equal eye on them this time, even though he couldn't pinpoint anything amiss. Still—he stayed alert as they made for the center of the city.

Nemo’s office was in the heart of downtown, adjacent to the headquarters of the kingdom’s law enforcement. They weren’t technically officers of the law—more like privateers, honestly—but considering the amount of back and forth they did with the actual lawmen, their proximity made sense. It also typically meant that the area typically saw little trouble itself. 

They rounded a corner and saw his office just ahead, so he began to relax a bit. But he didn’t fully let his guard down, and wouldn’t until they were safely inside. 

And it was a good thing he hadn’t, because he had hardly reached the hitching post when he felt something solid, cold, and cylindrical jab into his side, just below his ribs. He sat up straight in surprise, pulling Roger to a halt. 

“I’ve pulled this trigger many times, and I ain’t afraid to do it again,” the holder of the weapon sneered. “The fact that you’re a lawman won’t stop me either.”

“Neal, stop,” Emma said, though she kept her head down. Bloody hell. Killian turned his head to face the man, who was glaring at them from under the rim of a bowler hat. His vest and shirt were dusty, like he’d spent several days on the road, and the horse he sat atop was clearly rented, but visibly swift. And he was definitely Rumplestiltskin’s son; it was evident in his facial features.

“You really think you’d get away with it in front of a building filled with cops?” Killian warned him quietly, but nodded his head toward the many uniformed officers milling about nearby. “And I’m only the bounty hunter; no idea why you’d condemn yourself over someone you have no qualms with.” He hoped Emma didn’t think he was trying to redirect Neal’s attention—he was only trying to defuse the situation, and getting Neal to back down seemed like the best way. 

“Fine,” Neal countered, unconcerned. “I’ll shoot her, then.” And pressed the barrel of his pistol into Emma’s back. “Nice to see you, too, Ems. Love the hair.”

Killian swallowed. Now it got complicated. How did he protect Emma without playing his hand about his feelings towards her? He got the impression Neal wouldn’t hesitate to use that against them, but also feared he would if Killian went too far the other way.

It didn’t seem to matter, though, when another gun barrel found Killian’s opposite shoulder. He turned to look at this other assailant, and quickly realized they were surrounded by several of Neal’s cohorts, and all the men had their eyes—and weapons—on Emma. 

He could easily shout for help—draw attention—but he didn’t want to put Emma in the crosshairs of the (likely) ensuing shootout. And any weapon he owned was inaccessible.

They were stuck.

“Why don’t we go talk somewhere private?” Neal hissed; Killian could only nod.

But as the group led them away, he subtly wrapped the reins around his hook and wrapped his hand around Emma’s arm, giving it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

The throng of horses and people made their way a few blocks down the street, likely (hopefully) drawing some attention—it was odd to see more than a couple of people riding together like so in town—and turned down a dusty alley, then through the wide-open doors of what appeared to be an empty warehouse. The barn-like space had a hard-packed dirt floor and all the windows were up high, only accessible by a catwalk around the upper perimeter of the building. In other words, a perfect place for doing something illicit without getting caught.

Once they came to a stop, the crew circled around him and Emma, and one of Neal’s cohorts barked at them to get off the horse. Based on the number of guns aimed at them, they had no choice but to comply; thank the gods Roger was obedient enough to not run off (though all bets were off should a gun fire). Almost instinctively, both he and Emma lifted their arms to indicate they meant no harm—though only then did he remember the hook at the end of his left wrist might say otherwise.

But no one seemed too concerned with him, especially as Neal approached Emma, keeping his firearm aloft. “Now what’s this I hear about you trying to clear your name?” he accused.

“I’m not the one who murdered someone, Neal,” Emma argued. “I’m not taking the fall for things you’ve done. I shouldn’t have to.”

“See, I thought you knew what you were getting into with me. I never proclaimed to be good, and neither did you.” He leaned closer and smirked. “I thought that’s what you liked about me anyways.” 

Emma pointedly was not looking at him, her eyes cast down and her posture starting to curl in on herself with something resembling shame.

“Remember that night in Lambton?” Neal continued, stepping into Emma’s space. “That night we hid in the hayloft…the sounds you made, gods…”

Now Emma was squinting her eyes shut, clearly embarrassed. It was definitely time for Killian to interject.

“Bad form to kiss and tell, mate,” he scoffed at Neal. “On top of all your other crimes? Your mother would be so disappointed.”

As expected, that gripped Neal’s attention, who was now staring daggers into Killian (appropriate, given who his father was). “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

Neal quickly put himself in front of Killian. “The hell you know about my mother?”

“Plenty. I loved her.”

Neal’s eyes grew wide. “It was you?” he said under his breath, and Killian could see in his eyes as everything clicked—as he realized he’d killed the wrong man. 

He screamed in anger, and then his knee swiftly and firmly found Killian’s abdomen, right on the edge of his ribcage. 

The world blurred then and Killian doubled over on himself and collapsed, trying to reclaim the breath that had just been knocked out of him as stars swam in his vision. 

While he was on the ground, sputtering in the dirt, Neal returned his focus to Emma. Killian looked up in time to see him twirling his pistol before pointing it back at her. 

“You sure know how to find ‘em, Ems,” he chuckled. “I guess I should be thanking you for bringing him here. But what I haven’t decided yet is if you’ll be dying alongside this guy. Because I can’t think of any other way to make sure you stay quiet, and he’s definitely not making it out of here alive.”

Nerves started to creep up Killian’s spine, a prickle that had nothing to do with his physical discomfort and everything to do with his well-honed instincts at recognizing trouble, paired with more than enough self-preservation. But his mind wasn’t clear enough to find a way to interject without possibly making the situation worse for both of them. 

“You won’t have to do any of that,” Emma started to plead. “I won’t say a thing.”

“What?” Killian blurted out, looking up at her, but his voice was still raspy and neither of them noticed his exclamation. 

“You can turn me in and I’ll keep quiet,” she continued. “Take the bounty for yourself. All I ask is that you save half of it for me for when I get out.”

Bloody hell—what was she thinking? Why on earth would she condemn herself like this? 

Even Neal gave something of a confused look, though for very different reasons. “When you get out? In what, thirty years? You know how long a murder sentence is, right?”

“Not when it’s in self-defense,” she quickly replied. “The guy you shot? They were allies,” she explained, nodding towards Killian, “This one told me all about him, and they’re both scum,” she spat.

Killian was speechless. Just what was she doing?

“I mean, it says a lot when he was friends with the guy who killed your mom, right?” she went on. “I just gotta bat my lashes at a sympathetic judge and I’ll get a reduced sentence. And then I’m all yours,” she purred, putting her arms around Neal’s neck even though her wrists were still cuffed. “I love you, baby.” 

Sounds of the city were still audible through the open door, but all Killian could hear were those three words, ringing in his head—mocking him. Bloody hell, he’d done it again.

He could feel a fissure starting on his heart, but that was unimportant right now. Now, he had to hope he’d be able to escape with his life.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

“Oh—sorry,” Emma apologized, averting her eyes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nothing to interrupt,” Belle waved off and moved back toward the stove. “Coffee?”

“Please,” she practically moaned, drawing a chuckle from the others. Almost instinctively, Killian stood and pulled out a seat for her, which she accepted, albeit cautiously—as though she was afraid she might break something or commit a faux pas.

Until the mug was in front of her and she pounced on it, draining it in one gulp.

“Did you sleep alright, love?” he had to ask.

“Oh, best I’ve slept in a while,” she answered. “Almost too well. Is that mattress magic? Because I could very easily fall back into it right now.”

Belle laughed and refilled Emma’s mug. “No; it’s exceedingly normal. But probably better than sleeping in the woods.”

“By far.”

The three of them started in on breakfast—Alice wouldn’t be up for a bit—and made light conversation, but he could tell something was bothering Emma.

So could Belle. “It looks like a question is caught in your throat,” Belle said to her. “You can ask.”

(He wasn’t sure what it meant that, despite her reservations, Belle seemed just as comfortable around Emma as he was.)

Emma briefly worried her bottom lip while glancing between the two of them. “I didn’t mean to overhear, and if I’m prying, you don’t have to answer, but…what you were talking about when I came in. Where exactly is it you’ve been before?”

Killian looked over at Belle, who had also sought out his attention. Even though his own history had been nagging at him the past few days, he’d hesitated to share it with Emma, for what were hopefully obvious reasons. But Belle’s tale wasn’t his to share—even if, he now realized, they had discussed it in part. Still—it was a fairly loaded question and he’d need a boost of confidence from Belle to be willing to divulge it.

The far-too-casual shrug she gave was enough.

“I haven’t told you about Alice’s mother, have I?” he started, facing Emma again.

“No,” she confirmed. “But I got the impression she was out of the picture.”

“Aye, and with good reason.” Belle was already topping off his mug, knowing he’d need the extra fuel; he swallowed it down and began the story:

After Milah died, after he’d lost his hand, and early in his bounty hunting career, he was still an angry young man but no longer quite so rebellious. That said, he still enjoyed his fair share of vices—most notably, booze and women (and the combination thereof).

He was no stranger to dive bars as both a place for recreation and information, and found himself in one such locale on a quest for news of the Dark One—one of the most sadistic criminals the kingdom had yet known. He wasn’t just after riches; he was after power—of the magic variety. It wasn’t uncommon to find a wake of bodies with their hearts ripped from their chests in his trail as he sought the magical objects that would grant him what he sought. 

One of those bodies was Milah’s, though that one was obviously a bit more personal.

When Killian’s less-than-legal pursuits of the demon proved fruitless, Nemo had offered him the chance to do it the right way—and he’d jumped on it. Granted, there were some bits of procedure and bureaucracy back then that he found pointless (and, if he was being honest, still did), but he was certainly making more progress than his previous attempts.

That night in particular had ended up being a bust; whatever tip Graham had passed along to him was a dead end, so he decided it best to salvage the evening any way he could. He started by ordering a bottle of cheap rum from the bartender and quickly downing a few shots, which apparently drew the attention of another patron. 

Her name was Eloise, and though he couldn’t recall her opening line, he remembered being charmed by it—as well as her strawberry-blonde curls and the bit of wildness in her smile. They began to exchange words and shots, until they had a hearty buzz going on. He made up a story about still being a sailor; she told him she worked as a maid for a local aristocrat. In hindsight, he should have known she wasn’t being forthright when he wasn’t either, but he didn’t rightly care in the moment.

She invited him to her room above the bar. He accepted. And they spent one very pleasurable night together, before bidding an amicable adieu in the morning.

Though he wouldn’t have minded seeing her again, he wasn’t naive enough to expect he ever would—especially as the chase for the Dark One picked up. He’d honestly forgotten entirely about her as he worked towards, and eventually succeeded in, taking down the demon in the next few months.

It wasn’t until several months later, when he was tasked with bringing in a con artist named Eloise, that the memories of her and that night began to trickle in—but it was a fairly common name, and he had no reason to assume the two were the same. She hadn’t struck him as the type to prey on others under the guise of an expectant mother in need of help, only to rob them blind and disappear.

Not until he actually tracked down the mark to where she was operating, in a town not far from where they’d met, and the woman on the other side of the door at the address given to him by her latest victim proved to be none other than his past paramour.

They were both briefly stunned, but he recovered sooner than she did. “Well, hello again, love. Should I be flattered that you didn’t steal from me, too?” he asked as he quickly handcuffed her.

“It wasn’t me,” she protested, albeit weakly; even she knew the jig was up. “I’m just an innocent young mother—”

“Sure you are,” he sneered, glancing her up and down as he slipped the magic-blocking cuff on her wrist and took in the noticeable lack of belly; he had to assume it had been an illusion and he wasn’t about to let her use any power she might have to escape. “You’re not even actually pregnant.”

“Not anymore,” she scoffed.

“What?” That made him pause, but the subsequent wails of an infant from farther back in the room drew his attention.

“Yes, I really had a baby,” she continued, sounding more annoyed than happy over the event. “No thanks to you.”

“What?” he repeated, further in disbelief.

“She’s yours. Go on, look.”

A pit had formed in his stomach, and his instincts warned that she could be lying. Although—he thought back to the date of their tryst, and the math did add up.

Cautiously, he stepped toward the bassinet in the middle of the bare-bones room. The babe’s cries picked up in intensity, and he was overcome with the need to comfort her. But he remained wary.

However, he knew it was true the moment he stood over her. Her features were unmistakably similar to those of his mother, most notably the slightly pointed ears he had also inherited—a trademark passed down from their elfin ancestry several generations back.

“Can you take her?” Eloise asked. “Honestly, I was about ready to give her up.”

Fire quickly replaced shock. “And you weren’t going to tell me?” The idea of any child being abandoned like he was, let alone his own flesh and blood, was horrifying.

“How would I have?” she spat back.

She had a point; they’d only ever exchanged first names. But she couldn’t truly expect him to be thinking rationally at the moment, not with the weight of the information—and responsibility—she’d just dropped on him.

He swallowed, and then turned his attention back to the babe, and carefully picked her up, careful to keep the sharp end of his hook away from her. She quieted nearly as soon as he pulled her against his chest, and looked up at him with her big blue eyes—and that was that.

Thankfully, he’d been working the job with Graham, who soon arrived to see what was taking so long. Graham took over from there, after Eloise assured him that she wanted nothing to do with the child. “She’s all yours. Good luck—she’s a screamer.”

“And then I took her home, and, nine years later, here we are,” he concluded. “It’s not something I’m the most proud of, but I wouldn’t trade Alice for the world.”

“Wow,” Emma sighed, but the way she was staring at the table and seemed to be hunched in on herself told him she was feeling a bit of shame. He hadn’t told her the story to make her feel bad, though there were some obvious parallels in choice of careers. “What happened to Eloise?” she asked timidly.

“She went away for a while,” he answered simply. “Unfortunately, I heard that she passed a few years ago. Though, if I’m being honest, it was something of a relief—I didn’t have to worry about her changing her mind about Alice anymore.”

“It’s her loss,” Emma told him. “Alice is amazing, and you’ve done a wonderful job with her.”

“Thank you,” he replied, blushing per usual. “But Belle gets a lot of the credit, too. Although the look of shock on your face when I arrived home with her is still seared in my memory,” he chuckled, glancing over at Belle.

“How else was I supposed to react? You didn’t even send a letter to warn me!” she chided, but she was laughing, too. If they hadn't been able to find any humor in the things life had thrown at them, gods only knew how insane they’d be driven by now.

“I guess that partly answers how long you’ve been living together,” Emma continued. “You said you were siblings, or sort of?”

He and Belle exchanged another look that probably only served to confirm their type of relationship to Emma, even though it was a fair bit more complicated than that. “Well,” he started, but wasn’t sure how to continue without getting into Belle’s story, and he didn’t want to be the one to share it.

Thankfully, she took over. “Actually, that’s where my own tale comes in,” Belle started. “I’ve been with him since the take-down of the Dark One…because I was with the Dark One.”

“He had you captive?” Emma gasped.

“No, I was…I loved him.”

The fact that she used past tense didn’t escape Killian’s notice; it had taken Belle some time to come to terms with her feelings towards the man, even if she’d been glad their relationship was over and he’d been imprisoned. 

Emma’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re that Belle?”

Belle tilted her head in confusion. “Beg your pardon?”

Now Emma looked nervous—although Killian was quickly connecting the dots in his head. “I guess I forgot to mention last night that my ex was Neal—the Dark One’s son,” she explained.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Belle cursed. “So I was nearly your mother-in-law?”

“Apparently,” Emma replied, laughing slightly in disbelief. “It always bugged Neal that his dad was dating someone not a ton older than he was.”

“I can’t say I was unaware of the situation, but Neal came around so little, it wasn’t a significant concern on my end.” Belle sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry to hear his life went in that direction, though; I know he didn’t like the idea of following in his father’s footsteps, but it sounds like he didn’t stray as far from it as I might have thought.”

“He hates magic, but otherwise, he’s not afraid to go to any end to get what he wants.”

“That definitely sounds familiar,” Belle commiserated. “Well, I suppose that all was more of an answer than you expected to your initial question.”

“A bit,” she concurred, “but I guess I’m not all that shocked that the world is slightly smaller than I thought it was.” The warm look she gave Killian then suggested she didn't mind that fact.

It was strange for Killian to think that, in another life, they all might still have found their way to each other; it was an idea he was about to voice when Alice practically ran out of her room, shouting her good mornings to everyone.

As she usually did, Alice became the focus of everyone’s attention, and hers was unsurprisingly fixated on Emma, who thankfully had already had her meal or she wouldn’t have been able to eat between Alice’s endless questions.

But as the day wore on, his mind wandered back to his previous thought—had fate actually brought them all together? The overlaps in their lives were too numerous to be coincidental.

Or was he merely grasping at straws in an attempt to justify the feelings that wouldn’t budge? Because if there was one thing he realized while reflecting on his past liaisons—particularly with Eloise, and the memories of Milah that always came up when mentioning the Dark One—it was that, despite knowing he shouldn’t, he most certainly still had them for Emma as well, far deeper than he thought he did.

Belle had been correct in her warning; she usually was. But only he could mitigate the impending heartbreak.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Killian tried to keep his distance from Emma over the next couple of days, but the house was only so big, and there was still the matter of determining a plan before they headed for Longbourn that necessitated they spend time together.

To make matters worse—or better; he wasn’t sure—Emma seemed to fit into their little life all too well. She was patient with Alice; she got on well with Belle; and seemed comfortable exploring the woods nearby and lounging on the seashore the house overlooked. She insisted on helping with chores when Alice wasn’t dragging her away to show her something, even though he and Belle both assured her she was fine—but he knew it was old instincts (orphan instincts) trying to make sure she was useful so they’d keep her around, even if her stay had a definitive end date.

Those couple evenings were spent far too casually and comfortably in the great room, everyone chatting, reading, or just with Emma in her cat form curled up and purring in Alice’s lap. Ever inquisitive, that was one of the first questions Alice had begged of Emma after she interrupted their breakfast conversation. (Though they feigned disinterest, the other adults were curious about that, too.)

Emma had shown Alice her tattoo, explaining how it was imbued with transformation magic. “All I have to do is think about it, and then it just…happens.”

Alice traced it with her index finger. “Does it always hum like that?”

“Hum?” The question seemed to take Emma aback.

“Aye—you don’t feel it? It’s like—warm and vibrate-y.”

Emma looked over at Killian with a confused furrow in her brow, but Killian could only raise his and shrug in response. Considering he and Belle were only ever on the periphery of magic use, they had long since learned to roll with whatever Alice said about her own innate sense of it.

“Can you show me?” Alice continued, oblivious to the adults’ bewilderment.

“Of course,” Emma answered, sounding glad for the redirect. She shifted forms right on the chair, and then shifted back, all while Alice stared with stars in her eyes.

“Papa, can I get a tattoo like that?” she nearly begged.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, but had to tell her, “Maybe when you’re older.”

Alice briefly pouted, but then grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her away on a tour of the house and yard, and that had been roughly the situation for the duration of those couple days.

At night, after Alice was asleep, they discussed the best way to deal with Emma’s predicament and to hopefully deal with Neal at the same time. They’d come to something resembling a plan, and Killian had Belle send a letter to Nemo when she made a trip into the closest village the day before they set to depart—a moment he was both eager for and dreading.

Obviously, he hated to leave Alice again so soon, even if he’d only be gone a few days and not the almost interminable weeks he’d spent chasing Emma. But despite his best efforts, it was far too easy to fall into playing family with Emma there, and more than once, he had to catch himself—from admiring the way the sun hit her braided-back hair while she worked in the yard, hinting at its natural golden color; from grinning at the way she and Alice were giggling and holding hands upon returning from a hike; from realizing just how close their bodies—especially, her lips to his—were while hunched over a map of the kingdom. (She may also have jumped away upon noticing the last one, much to his simultaneous relief and dismay.)

(The number of times one of them caught the other’s eye while trying not to stare was countless.)

At least he had a bit of a respite during nightly story time with Alice, even if the book was intrinsically linked with Emma. Seeing it through Alice’s eyes gave it a different life, though, and he was enjoying picking up on details he had missed in his first furious read-through while also seeing Alice’s reactions. And gods, he prayed she never grew too big to share this tradition with him; even if she was well on her way to adolescence, having her tucked into his side as they read made it feel like she’d always be his little girl—and like he wasn’t missing out on watching her grow when his work took him away for far-too-long stretches of time.

(And he was actively avoiding thoughts of the bounty he’d likely collect when this adventure was all over, considering the cost it was going to come at.)

On that last night of their detour, he had kept reading until Alice was asleep—which didn’t take long, as she’d spent the better part of the afternoon running around in the ocean’s shallows with Emma. When he reached the end of that chapter, he made sure to put the bookmark at the end of the previous one so she wouldn’t miss anything when they picked it back up.

He set it on her bedside table and slowly stood from the mattress, being careful to not disturb Alice too much. She noticed, though, and was blearily blinking her eyes even before he’d pressed a kiss to her forehead and wished her a good sleep.

“Papa, I like Emma,” she muttered sleepily.

His heart skipped the same beat it’d been hopping over for the past few days. But he responded as casually as he could. “I’m glad to hear that, starfish.”

“Do you like her?” she asked innocently.

“Aye, I do. That’s why I’m helping her.”

“But do you like-like her? Like how Westley likes Buttercup?” 

He sighed. It was far too late into the evening to even try to give that a proper answer. “I…I don’t know, love,” would have to suffice for now.

“Well, you should,” she told him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He had to chuckle at her bluntness, even if the statement reminded him why he didn’t want Alice getting attached to Emma in the first place. Ah, well—he could deal with the fallout from that later, whatever it ended up being. “Good night, Alice,” he farewelled, tucked her in with a kiss, and turned down her lamp. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Papa,” she replied—at least, it sounded vaguely like that, as she was well on her way back to sleep.

Emma had already turned in when he went back out to the main room, and he probably should have, too, but Belle was staring into the fire with a pensive look on her face that usually meant she wanted to talk.

“Well,” he started as he eased down into his chair opposite her. “What lecture do you have for me now?”

She rolled her eyes at his bluntness, but then her expression turned soft. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he deflected, though it was more for his own benefit than to get her off his case.

“Killian David Jones,” she chided. “You know what I mean. You always do.”

“Isabelle Colette French,” he threw back, but didn’t have much more of a retort. “Aye, I’ll be fine…eventually,” he conceded. “I’ll have to be. Though I may brood for a bit.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” She stood and stretched, yawning audibly, then rested her hand on his shoulder. “And it’s a bloody shame; I really like her. You’d be so good together.”

His jaw dropped in shock; that was quite the opposite of her position just the other morning. He looked up at her to see whether or not she was being serious, but she was already walking away to her room. She wasn’t one to tease in matters of the heart, though (well, other than mocking over the occasional pass made at him by the Widow Feinberg in the village, but the older woman did that to any man under the age of 40).

As good as the validation of his feelings felt, there wasn’t much to be done about it. He still had to get Emma to Longbourn—she was still a wanted criminal. He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand down his face in something resembling exasperation, though more with the situation than anyone in particular.

He stared at the dying embers in the fire for another long moment, before deciding it best to head to bed himself; they were planning on setting off by midday, and there was still packing and other chores to be done before they could leave, so he’d need his rest tonight.

Of course, it wouldn’t come. Anxiety and anticipation for whatever was to come the next couple of days wouldn’t let him rest, along with the ongoing uncertainty towards how he should approach his feelings for Emma. 

Should he just give in, and enjoy whatever they might have for this brief time? Or start pulling back and brace for the inevitable withdrawal? (He’d experienced that a couple times in this life, purging alcohol from his system, and it hadn’t been pleasant; while this might hurt less physically, the emotional toll would probably come close.)

He tried all the tricks he normally used when sleep evaded him—listing off constellations, making lists of what needed to be done, even simply counting his breaths—but any time he managed to drift off, it wasn’t for long; he was far too consumed by nervous energy.

Finally, some time near sunrise, he gave up altogether and threw the covers off in a fit of exasperation. He got up and grabbed his dressing robe, stepped into his slippers, then tiptoed outside as quietly as he could manage, lest he disturb his sleeping housemates.

He wandered out to the beach, hoping the gentle waves and rising sun would give him a chance to calm his erratic nerves, only to find he wasn’t the only one with that idea. Emma stood near the edge of the shore, arms wrapped around her as she stared out at the horizon. A slight breeze blew her skirt around her legs and her hair into her face, and she shivered; apparently, he was the more prepared of the two of them.

“You should be asleep,” he said softly as he wrapped his robe around her. “Or at least dressed more warmly.”

She had jumped when he spoke, evidently not hearing his approach, but relaxed when she saw it was him and didn’t hesitate to pull the robe tighter around her. “So should you. And I guess I forgot how cold it can get by the ocean; I don’t remember it being this chilly in Storybrooke.”

“We’re a bit farther north, and Storybrooke has some natural insulation from the wind with the way its harbor is shaped. Your skirt certainly doesn’t help,” he added lightly.

She had borrowed a dress from Belle to wear while her cream gown was being washed; it fit, but she had a good few inches on Belle and it left her lower legs uncovered. There wasn’t much light but by the way she was standing, he had to assume her skin was covered in gooseflesh. (His certainly was, but he was also more accustomed to the temperature. Still—he was grabbing a sweater when they went back inside.) 

“I’ll survive,” she brushed off, but the way she seemed to nestle even further into the robe showed her appreciation. As did the genuine “thank you” that followed.

“I’d be a piss-poor host to drag you all this way and then let you die of a chill in what's supposed to be a haven. But you’re most welcome.”

They fell silent, watching the sky and sea as the waves lapping at the shore tried to drown out the unsaid words between them. The horizon was just beginning to lighten, slowly hiding the stars that hung low in the sky.

“So, why couldn’t you sleep?” Emma asked quietly, her eyes staying forward.

He hummed in thought—not because he didn’t know the reason, but because he wasn’t sure he wanted to confess how much of it was her. “Just…a little bit of everything,” he settled on, hoping that was equal parts vague and descriptive enough to define his mental state.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she replied, sighing a bit. At least he wasn’t alone in that. 

She seemed very intent on rolling a stone around under her boot, so he didn’t say anything to interrupt her, but he did notice that she seemed a bit restless. It wasn’t surprising, really, when he thought about it; not only was she on the cusp of going to prison, most likely, she also hadn’t taken a chance to really pause in the last couple months. He had chalked it up to life on the lam, but it was just as likely she enjoyed being constantly on the move. Before Alice, he’d much preferred constant motion, lest his ghosts catch up with him, and goodness knew Emma had a few of her own.

But…she was still here. So he had to ask, “Why haven’t you run away?”

She stiffened a bit at the question, but wasn’t outright offended—which told him he’d hit close to home. “I thought about it,” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “Even this morning, I debated just transforming and making a break for it. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” His voice was far more unsteady than he intended.

“It’s kind of like you said,” she shrugged, eyes still on the pebbled ground. “It’d be incredibly rude of me to take advantage of your kindness only to make my own escape, and probably end up getting you into trouble in the process. There’s been enough collateral damage around me lately; I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to you, too.”

The familiar stutter of his heart allowed the breath he was holding to escape. He hadn’t doubted that she cared for him, but hearing that was somewhat bittersweet: she cared enough about him to not hurt him, even though it was coming at the cost of her own freedom. And he didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I…I appreciate that, greatly,” he eventually told her. He also finally dared to look over at her, only to find her giving him a small, slightly sad smile that he both understood and returned.

Another shiver took over her then, so he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around her. Only then did he realize that he hadn’t put his brace on, but if she noticed his blunted left wrist resting on her shoulder, she didn’t acknowledge it; all she did was rest her head on his shoulder, bringing them ever closer.

They stayed like that until the sun fully rose, bathing everything in its orange light. It wasn’t hard to imagine starting the day like this more often than not, but such daydreams were moot at this point.

A shudder wracked his body; it was his turn to feel the effects of the cool temperatures, even if the sun was warm on his face. Emma only chuckled, though, and stepped back, but reached for his hand. “C’mon; let’s head back in. Do you have any cocoa?”

“Maybe?”

“I hope so. Let me make you some.”

Thankfully, they did, and she made it with care. He was mildly amused when she dug out some cinnamon from the pantry to put on hers, but when he tried it for himself, he immediately understood the appeal: sweet with just a hint of spice—much like the woman sitting across from him at the dining table. (Belle and Alice seemed to enjoy it, too, when they eventually rose.)

While he would have much preferred that morning be the first spent in a similar manner, if it had to be the last, he would take it.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

It was perhaps a cruel jab, but not entirely untrue; and he wasn’t about to divulge his entire life story without hearing any of hers.

Of course, that’s when they began to near another town and actually came across some morning traffic—as much as three horses and a couple carriages could be considered traffic—and they settled back into silence until potentially overhearing ears were gone.

“I only stayed in Storybrooke for a few years,” Emma started, “until I was 14 or 15. As much as Granny thought she was getting me on the straight and narrow, I was really just...perfecting my art,” she explained. 

“Getting better at pickpocketing?”

“Yeah, that. I always returned everything, though, at least until the last grab. That’s when I ran away again.”

“Why?”

She paused for a minute—long enough to make him wonder if he was the first to ask that. “Well, you’ve seen Storybrooke. Even if I wanted a home, a family, I didn’t want that. I saw girls not much older than me getting married and starting families and if that was all that lay ahead, it wasn’t for me. So I ran off before anyone could try to tie me down again.”

“Ruby’s not married yet,” he pointed out.

“Only because her first fiance died.” Ah; that was a good counterpoint. “But she and her girlfriend probably will soon.” Then she sighed. “And I’m probably going to miss it. Dammit.”

There wasn’t much he could say in response to that, but it didn’t matter anyway as they were entering the town. “Lean against me,” he murmured, against his better judgment. 

“What?” she hissed, stiffening contrarily. 

“If you lean against me, I can hide the shackles from view,” he explained. “Unless you’d like people staring at the prisoner.” Really, he just wanted to avoid drawing undue attention—a loving couple stood out far less than a criminal in custody and her captor. He’d have avoided the town altogether, but the only alternate route would have added a day’s travel. 

She didn’t comply right away, but quickly settled against him when she noticed someone working outside the first home on the edge of town. Killian didn’t hesitate to settle his arms over hers, covering her wrists from view. 

As expected, the homeowner hardly gave them a glance, nor did the rest of the town. They easily blended in with the thickening crowd as they approached the town center, and Killian had to admit that it was far too easy to play the doting lover; he had to restrain himself from pressing a kiss to her temple. 

Bloody hell, why had he even suggested this? It felt far too natural to hold her tight in his arms. It was hardly acting. Sure, he could play it off as a decoy to prevent any other bounty hunter from catching onto their trail and trying to claim the prize for their own (it did happen, though Killian had never done so, nor fallen victim to such a scheme), but that was a half truth at best. 

At least they weren’t stopping—but they were only halfway through town and he was already regretting his decision. 

It was impossible to tell from his position what Emma thought, but she also seemed to be playing her role with ease. 

He could only hope she didn’t feel the racing pace of his heart for the duration of their shared contact. 

(It was also at this point that he noticed the lighter-colored hair at the roots of her part; it was odd that he only noticed it then, but he supposed he was so desperate for a distraction that he was picking up on minutiae. At least this made it obvious she was concealing her natural hair color—which gave him a weird sense of relief that she had indeed been lying about one thing.)

After an agonizing amount of time, they finally found themselves on the other side of the town. Emma sat up straighter, putting space between them, nearly as soon as the road began to narrow, but Killian still waited for the village to be farther behind them before stopping.

Lunch was a quiet affair. He knew that he was wrestling with his conflicting thoughts towards Emma; it wasn’t as easy to see what kind of warring thoughts were going through her mind, but the furrow of her brow as she worked on her ham sandwich made it obvious she was at odds with herself over something.

Of course, the only reason he noticed was because he kept stealing glances at her like some lovelorn school boy—and the awkward moment when he looked over to find her staring back didn’t help matters at all. (Or the fact that they could only move a few feet apart, but he wasn’t ready to undo the longer shackle yet.)

He busied himself with organizing his saddlebag as she finished her meal—it was already pristine, but it was a distraction—so he didn’t think much of it when she wiped the crumbs off on her skirt and turned to face him.

“When is your birthday?” she asked.

He looked at her incredulously. “What?”

“I’m trying to break the ice, considering the last couple hours have been painfully awkward. Should I have gone with something harder, like your favorite color?”

Well, that had her desired effect; he chuckled, though he wasn’t sure if admitting he’d recently grown partial to a particular shade of green would help anything. “Actually, that one would be easier, since I’m not exactly sure of my birth date.”

“You’re not? How?”

He shrugged and closed the bag. “We never really celebrated when I was young, and any birth certificate I may have had is long gone. Liam remembered that it was shortly after Yuletime and there was snow on the ground, so as far as keeping track of my age, I just mark it as the first of the year.”

“That...was not something I expected us to have in common.”

“I thought you said you had your birth certificate?”

“I do, but the date is only an estimate. A close one, but I have no idea if it’s correct or not.”

“Well, what does it say, then?”

“October 23.” Still a couple months away, but one she’d likely spend incarcerated.

“Happy early birthday, then,” he said, since he probably wouldn’t get another chance. 

“Thanks,” she said simply, and then hopped back up on the saddle. He followed her and she continued, “So what is your favorite color?”

“Blue,” he not-quite-lied as he kicked Roger into motion. “Like the sea.”

She hummed in agreement. “Mine’s red, like the sunset, or the leaves in the autumn.”

“An excellent choice.”

They continued to make similar smalltalk for the duration of the afternoon. Nothing terribly personal, nor deep—other favorites, childhood memories—but were it not for the consistent press of cold steel against his wrist, it would have felt like two (somewhat more than) friends out for a ride. Though Killian knew better than to let down his guard like that, he also knew he had the upper hand, as it were. 

If anything, it made the time pass quicker. There were no other cities on their path until they reached Longbourn, nor anything more populated than the occasional homestead or caravan. In other words—a horrifically boring ride, save for the sounds of birdsong and whatever sea shanties he normally sang to himself. 

There wasn’t another enchanted campsite like they’d stayed at the night before, but he still knew of one well enough off the beaten path to avoid notice; he actually had to get down and guide Roger there on foot. They reached it just before sunset and went about getting settled for the night. Even though they were still awkwardly attached at the wrist, they seemed to be enough in sync now to work together through any awkwardness. (Emphasis on the latter when it came to relieving themselves.)

Though this spot didn’t have a protection charm, it was equipped with an enchanted ember that constantly burned, making it easy to build a fire. They warmed their sandwiches (noting that there were only enough left for breakfast) and settled casually on a fireside log to eat and continue chatting—and discerning truth from fiction in what they’d already discussed in the past. (Other than her name, just about everything had been accurate—but perhaps she was better about keeping things vague than he was.)

“I’m guessing a crocodile didn’t actually eat your hand, then,” she asked when she was done eating. “Although I suppose that’s not incredibly far outside the realm of possibility.”

He chuckled lightly. “No, it wasn’t; though the man did look an awful lot like one.”

“A man ate it?”

“No, no...actually, I don’t know what he did with it. But his sword was much sharper than his teeth.”

Emma winced. “Ouch.”

“Aye, it had quite the bite.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but laughed. “Yeah, you’re definitely a dad with jokes like that.”

He gave another terrible wink.

“Just what did you do to piss this guy off?” she continued casually.

“I took his wife,” he answered, just as nonchalantly.

She nearly choked on her last bite of sandwich. “You what?” she gasped.

“All the things you’ve stolen, yet you balk at that?” he teased.

He could see her start to protest, but rethink her argument before she spoke.

He forged on. “It wasn’t so much theft as...we simply fell in love. I was still reeling from the loss of my brother; she was stuck in a loveless marriage. We met in a pub and it blossomed from there.” He stared into the fire, remembering. “We found ourselves at our lowest points, and looking back, I don’t know that we entirely lifted each other up, but we definitely helped each other. Until her husband found out, of course.”

“He took your hand?” Emma was incredulous.

“And then some.” He swallowed. “He killed her.”

Emma’s breath hitched. “So she really did die,” she added quietly.

He couldn’t fault her for wondering—he had a handful of similar questions about their conversations from their time in Storybrooke. But that didn’t stop the stutter his heart gave at the memory. “Aye,” he eventually answered. “Slide my sleeve up,” he directed, offering his right wrist to indicate which one.

She did carefully, and he tried not to focus on the gentleness of her fingers as she revealed the tattoo on his forearm. A jagged-looking dagger struck through a heart, and ribbon over the top bore the name Milah.

He jumped when her finger began to trace it, but again, she was almost reverent in her caress and study of the image. Somehow for the first time, he noticed her own ink—a flower on the underside of her left wrist. He was about to ask about hers, but then she surprised him with her next question.

“Is that the Dark One’s dagger?”

“You know it?” Though the legend of the man who was once referred to as the Dark One was known around the realm, few knew many details about the infamous criminal—unless they had close calls with the demon and his weapon of choice, such as Killian had. (Several times.)

Emma nodded. “Neal...he’s his son.”

“Neal?” Oh no.

“My ex, I guess. The one who framed me.”

“Bloody hell.” Of all the similarities they’d thus discovered in their lives, this connection was not one he anticipated. “Milah was Neal’s mum.”

“Shit.”

A heavy silence descended on them for what felt like an interminable amount of time. If Killian’s emotions had been a tangle before then, they were truly a convoluted mess now. “What are the odds?” he finally commented, but his tone was humorless.

“Shit,” she cursed again, then stood and began to pace, unceremoniously taking his wrist with her. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” He jumped up to join her, but bit back the “love” that normally would have ended that sentence.

She turned to face him and looked up, horrorstruck. “He killed the wrong guy,” she whispered.

“Who...what?” he stammered.

“Neal. He thought he was going after the man who took his mom and ruined his family. But...it wasn’t him.” She buried her face in her hands and was visibly taking deep breaths.

This was too genuine a reaction for her to fake. He moved closer and began to rub a hand down her arm in what he hoped was a calming motion. But he was still slightly lost. “I need you to go back a bit; can you tell me what happened before that? Why were you with Neal and why did he go after Graham?”

She dropped her arms and huffed. “You want the long story or the short one?”

“I don’t have any other plans.”

“Okay, but you should probably sit back down; it might take a while.”

He obliged, and she returned to her seat next to him. And began her tale:

They’d met rather inauspiciously—she stole the wagon he was sleeping in…which he’d already stolen. But she fell hard and fast, and they began thieving and running across the kingdom, starting small but eventually getting more daring. They continued to gain notoriety and skill—“And, honestly, we kind of felt untouchable. No one could catch us.”

“Hard to catch them when you’re looking for a female instead of a feline.”

She laughed a bit and looked down at her shackled wrists, brushing her tattoo with her opposite thumb. “I actually had that skill before I met him. When Ruby first started her transformation, she got lonely; so we paid a visit to the witch in town and she did this,” she explained, nodding at the ink. “It’s what lets me transform.”

“That’s awfully clever,” he had to admit.

“Neal thought so, too. It definitely got us out of some close calls. And everything was going great, right up until the day he came home, shouting that he’d finally found him.”

Killian’s bounty hunter instincts wanted to ask just where “home” was, but he held them back. “Found who?”

“The pirate who stole his mother away,” she said wryly, glancing up through her lashes. Heat grew under Killian’s cheeks. “He’d rant about it occasionally—list all the things he’d do to the man who broke his family apart if he ever found him. I’d usually just nod and laugh until the day he claimed he’d found him. Then…gods, I was right to be scared.”

Killian had known Milah had a child when she ran away with him—the lad would have been in his early teens when she left, if that—and it pained her to leave him behind, but at the very least, she trusted her husband to raise him right. That was before the man had gotten involved in darker, less-savory pursuits; perhaps it was no surprise the boy had grown up on such a similarly less-than-ideal path, with half-truths told to him about his mother’s actual fate. Still—it was disheartening to learn his own actions had potentially put into play a subsequently damaging series of events that, in a way, led them here. 

He couldn’t dwell on that now, though; there would be time enough for brooding later. “What did he do?”

Her eyes were glued to the ground as she explained. “He planned a sting, more or less; we were genuinely after some stuff—some jewels belonging to one of the rich townsfolk—but Neal wanted to do it clumsily, so the sheriff—the man he thought it was—would show up.” 

Graham had been the sheriff in a village outside Longbourn for quite some time; he and Killian had worked together many a time, and he was in fact the one who connected him with Nemo (after yet another drunk and disorderly arrest), setting him on a path out of his own darkness. He was one of the best men Killian had known—dedicated to keeping his town safe and looking out for his loved ones. 

Suffice to say, he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of learning the details of his friend’s death. But he knew he needed to. 

“And it worked,” he added, knowingly.

“Yeah. Probably too well. Should have expected the sheriff wouldn’t take long to notice a break-in at the mayor’s house. And it’s not like we were subtle—we weren’t exactly quiet, and we lit just about every lantern we could find.” It was easy for Killian to see where this was going. “So he bursts in, sword aloft, and Neal didn’t waste any time leveling his pistol at him. I was too focused on clearing out the safe to really pay attention to what they were saying—until the gun went off.”

Killian’s breath hitched at that, making her look up at him and grab his hand.

“I swear, I didn’t know he was going to murder him,” she effused. “I knew Neal was angry; he blamed this guy for his mom leaving and his dad becoming…what he did; he was even upset that he arrested his dad. Gods—and he was so wrong,” she added, running a hand down her face in disbelief.

“Well—not entirely; Graham did help arrest the Dark One, too.” He chuckled sadly. “Probably why he got confused.”

“Oh, right,” she realized, glancing at his prosthesis; it was no secret that Captain Hook had led the charge in taking down the Dark One. “I know what we were doing wasn’t right, but what his dad did was worse—all those people he killed? He deserved to be captured. And that’s what gets me: we had promised we weren’t going to do anything that bad. Even if we were breaking the law, we weren’t really hurting anyone. And then Neal shot your friend—right in the chest. It wasn’t even in defense; the guy hadn’t moved. I stopped what I was doing and ran over to him, trying to staunch the bleeding, but there was nothing I could do.” 

Her voice caught at the end of her statement, and he could see tears—genuine ones—brimming at her eyes. He found himself having to look away—though whether it was to conceal his own reaction to Graham’s demise, or his response to hers, he wasn’t sure. “And then?” he asked, then winced; his voice betrayed any emotion he was trying to hide. 

She sighed. “Like I said, I couldn’t do anything to help. He went too fast. I yelled at Neal, asking why he did that—why he went that far. He tried to say I wouldn’t understand, since I never had parents; I told him that didn’t make it right and I wasn’t afraid to turn him in; there was no going back or escaping from that. Then he turned the gun on me, spewing all kinds of bile—how I was just a lost little orphan who’d never understand what family meant, how he knew he could take advantage of me because of it—how he never loved me.” She took a deep breath before finishing. “By then, the gun was practically in my face, so I transformed and made for the nearest window. He tried to shoot at me, but missed; it was enough to startle me, though, and I knocked an oil lamp into the window curtains. I got out quick and just ran, as fast and far as I could. And then I saw the wanted posters a few days later. I wasn’t all that shocked he tried to pin it on me, but you know what hurt worse?”

“What?”

“He couldn’t even get my eye color right,” she almost whispered. “At least it proved he hadn’t lied about never loving me; he hadn’t even taken the time to notice that. And it made it that much easier to just dye my hair and go on the lam. Which was going great, until you showed up.”

“My apologies,” he offered, only half meaning it.

“You’re just doing your job; I can’t fault you there,” she waved off. “And I certainly haven’t stayed on the right side of the law. I just didn’t do all of that.”

“No,” he replied. “I don’t think you did.”

“You believe me?” She seemed surprised. 

He didn’t blame her; he was slightly surprised himself. But he told her as he began to fish around in his pockets, “Aye; I do. I’ve heard many, many sob stories over the years and heard many tall tales.” He found what he was looking for and pulled it out. “Yours was one of the few that were genuine.” Then he reached for her wrist and unlocked both sets of shackles. 

Emma’s mouth hung open in shock, even as she flexed and rotated the likely stiffness from her wrists. “Really?”

“Yes; though I hope you don’t mind if I keep the other one there,” he confirmed, nodding at the magic-blocking cuff. “You are still technically in custody.”

“No, I get that,” she said, nodding. “I…wow. Thank you. Not many people believe me anymore.” He was about to comment on that fact when she went on. “I know, I know—hazard of my job. Both of ours, I guess. I just…I appreciate it.”

“Don’t make me regret this.” It was as much a warning as a confession. 

“I won’t,” she promised. And he believed her. 

Fatigue quickly got the best of them, so they turned in, calmly sharing the blanket this time though still back-to-back. 

As he drifted off, his thoughts lingered on their conversation. Fate sure had a sense of humor, he decided, to intertwine their lives so much. He wasn’t exactly complaining, though. 

But tonight’s revelations brought about another problem: if Emma was truly innocent of murder, how did they clear her name of that charge—and how long would it take him to track down the actual culprit? 

(He chose to ignore the hopeless romantic side of him that was far too hopeful for a renewed chance at a happy ending for them. 

He also consciously ignored the nagging voice in the back of his mind that still questioned her.)

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Her? And Mary Margaret? A task? No, something wasn’t right.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a shopping trip. Guns, ammo, food, you get the idea. We need to get ready and restock the warehouse,” Ruby nodded.

“Hmm.”

Emma still found it weird, but she didn’t want to start an argument, because somewhere deep down she was glad to finally be useful. In the meantime, she chose — for a change — a pair of black jeans and her favorite red leather jacket. She trudged into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, put on some light makeup and stepped back into her room exactly six minutes later, ready for the day.

“There’s one thing I don’t get. We aren’t going to fight in secret again in this war, just like we couldn’t suppress the uprisings without being noticed. We made the peace treaty with the humans and the Vampire Court back then. Humans now have a duty to help us. I’m not good at politics, but…”

“You really aren’t,” Ruby laughed bitterly, gesturing with her head towards the door. It was time to go.

The brunette closed the door behind them and hurried to the end of the hall with Emma behind her.

“An army of humans do what the government tells them to do, and the government is cowardly and an easy target for intimidation. I wouldn’t be surprised if they make the wrong decision when faced with a threat. For now, they’re neither with nor against us. If the Vampires decide they don’t need them, they could destroy the human race in a day or two. They’re helpless, still unprepared for us, and therefore they’re vulnerable. Personally, I’m much more worried about what the Forest Elves and Dwarves decide to do.”

At the end of the corridor, they turned right. “We’re going to eat something, then Mary Margaret and you get the truck, the papers with the addresses of the shops and the powers of attorney, contracts, and so on. Then you can go and get back before dark.”

“Sure…” Emma shrugged, and could only think of one good thing about all of this; she could finally spend a day with her best friend. David clung to her like a leech, and she hadn’t had a chance to talk to her face to face for days.

She couldn’t really find her way around in the Guild’s hideout yet, having only visited two of the eight levels. She only knew from eavesdropping on David and the others that the Council was on the lowest level, and its members almost never came upstairs. Or sometimes they visited the torture chamber, which was somewhere on the surface, but she had no idea where exactly. Honestly, she wasn’t really interested.

Her room was on the second level, and the stadium-sized dining hall was on the first. From the inside, the whole place gave the impression of an old tenant house. There was no unnecessary kitsch, just worn linoleum, bare light bulbs, and grayish walls. But the suites were tastefully furnished with expensive furniture.

The dining area was already full; there might have been as many as five hundred people in the room and at the breakfast buffet. The whole place looked like a tangled hive.

“Jesus. Is this place always this busy?” She leaned closer to Ruby’s ear so she could hear her in the cacophony of noise.

“Yeah, usually it is,” she nodded, glancing over at her fellow Hunters who were trying to finish eating as quickly as possible, digging intrusively through the food. Most of them carried pistols at their sides, some had rifles hanging on their backs, and they were all ready for “work”.

Emma fought her way through the crowd to one of the food carts in Ruby’s company. She got herself a tray and just tossed a few things she could get her hands on.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret stepped up beside her with a faint smile on her face.

She breathed in relief when she saw her. “Hey.”

“Have you heard what’s on the agenda for today?” Mary Margaret asked after saying goodbye to Ruby and the two of them went in search of a free table.

“Yeah.” Emma nodded cautiously. “Don’t you think it’s weird? I mean, that they entrusted us with this task.”

“No, I think it makes perfect sense. Now we need all the hunters on the streets and we have nothing else to do,” Mary Margaret replied, and Emma realized she was right.

“God! There’s not even a single seat, let alone a table!” her best friend growled, looking around the room impatiently again.

Emma, too, turned her head around to find a place to sit and eat, until finally her eyes landed on Killian. She immediately felt heat rise in her cheeks, as well as the long-forgotten flutter in her stomach. He hadn’t noticed them, sitting at a table of four all by himself. She was torn for a few seconds, but then made up her mind and drew Mary Margaret’s attention to him. “Look, there’s Killian. Should we join him?”

“Huh?” Mary Margaret brightened briefly until she registered Emma’s words fully in her mind and saw Killian herself. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice low.

“Yes, of course!” Emma quipped without hesitation.

Mary Margaret shrugged, and then the two of them walked towards Killian.

“Hey, can we sit down?”

Killian looked up in surprise. He looked first at Emma, then at Mary Margaret, and nodded slowly. Emma almost had to laugh at his astonished expression.

“Aye... Good morning, ladies,” he greeted hurriedly, pulling his Beretta to the side so Mary Margaret’s tray could find its place on the table.

Emma could see that her friend was avoiding Killian’s gaze, and Emma was sure that David and the others had poisoned her mind about him as well.

“What are you doing up so early?” Killian watched her curiously, and Emma glanced at him He highlighted his bright blue eyes with black eyeliner again today, and Emma still couldn’t decide if she preferred him with or without it. He looked great either way. But sometimes it was good to see his face without any “masks” on it.

“We have a little errand to run. Just a shopping trip, though,” Emma said with a shrug as she set about making a sandwich. She tried hard to act as if nothing had happened last night, but she could feel her hands shaking more and more, along with her racing heart.

“Who will be your bodyguards?” His gaze wandered back and forth between her and Mary Margaret, completely forgetting his plate and its contents.

He looked quite anxious, and that surprised Emma — not that he was uneasy, but the fact that she could see it on his face.

“No one.” She shook her head. “Should we have someone?”

“Someone who?” Robin plopped down next to them without ceremony, his familiar confident smile on his face.

“Killian says we should have bodyguards for today’s trip. Come to think of it, it wouldn’t really hurt…”

“It will be fine,” Robin waved it off. “Nothing’s going to happen today. They’re busy now, I don’t think they’ll be chasing down a truck…”

Killian raised an eyebrow, his gaze almost glowing with distaste. “What I wouldn’t give for you to be right. Where do you need to go?” He turned to Emma, apparently the only one at the table willing to talk to him.

Mary Margaret poked nervously at her scrambled eggs.

“I don’t know yet, but we’ll get the addresses soon…”

“A lot of stores are near the old amusement park,” Mary Margaret interjected. “I got the papers from Mr. Gold half an hour ago, so we can pick up the goods.”

“Who’s Mr. Gold?”

“A member of the Council,” Robin replied with a shrug. He’s like a fossil. An eight-hundred-year-old pureblood Elf.”

Emma looked from Mary Margaret to Killian to gauge his reaction. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the answer, but he didn’t comment on it. A tense silence descended over the table.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Emma turned to Mary Margaret. “We should go back to my room when we’re done eating. I left my knife there.”

“Okay…”

“Take care of yourselves, ladies. I have to go now,” Killian informed them, standing.

He put the Beretta in a holster attached to his shoulder, then made his way to the exit.

“I’m sure August and David are right about him,” Robin slammed his palm on the table when he thought Killian was out of earshot.

But Emma could see Killian turn his head, eyes flashing at Robin for a moment.

“Robin, I don’t know…” Mary Margaret shook her head. “He’s a strange guy, but he still behaves completely normal. Something that cannot be said for you. Maybe we should just get to know him better.”

“What did August and David say?” Emma immediately jumped on the subject. If she found out they were turning the others against Killian, she’d tear them a new one. Maybe she’d even fire a few bullets in August’s ass, since he’d be fine half an hour later anyway.

“They think Killian’s a damn mole. And I agree with them,” Robin spat out, the intense hatred in his voice almost boiling over.

She tightened her jaw at the accusation. It was true that just a few days ago she had held a gun to his forehead with the exact same assumption, but a lot had cleared up since then.

“He’s a two-faced traitor! He knows a suspicious amount about the Vampire Court-”

“You don’t know shit about him!” Emma snarled, not caring about the dozens of heads that turned to their table.

Mary Margaret’s eyes shot back and forth between her friend and Robin, as if she were watching a tennis match.

“What, because you know him so well?” Robin laughed, his tone mocking.

“Yes! I have good reason to trust him,” Emma replied.

Robin only let out a chuckle.“Oh, I see. You two have been fucking, haven’t you? Emma could barely recognize Robin in front of her. He loved to taunt and tease others, it was probably his favorite pastime, but after the death of Leo he seemed to have done a complete 180 and Emma really didn’t like it. She understood that it was getting to him, but his bitterness had landed on her and Killian.

“You’re an asshole!”

She was unable to sit there and listen to any more of his bullshit. She grabbed her half-finished sandwich and simply stormed off.

Mary Margaret left him there, too, and when she caught up with Emma, she took her arm and turned her the other way.

“Your room is over there,” she informed her quietly.

Emma didn’t answer, just nodded and let herself be guided, still cursing herself. They left the uninhabited corridors behind them, but Mary Margaret didn’t let go of her arm until they were finally in her room.

“Emma, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” she asked back innocently as she threw everything she needed for the day into a bag.

“About Killian and this… thing!” Mary Margaret leaned against the door frame, watching her every move expectantly, but Emma’s focus was no longer set on her friend.

She stared dumbfounded at the gun lying on the floor of her closet. She had completely forgotten about her Glock, probably picked up by someone who had found it in the clearing. But now a Beretta lay next to her silver knife, accompanied by three magazines.

“What did you find?” Mary Margaret stepped up beside her curiously, her moss green eyes widening at the sight of the pistol.

“Isn’t that Killian’s? I could have sworn I saw it on him this morning.”

“Yeah, me too.” Emma bent down and picked up the gun. Judging by the weight, it had to be fully loaded.

“Where’s your old one?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I have no idea.” She shook her head. “But how did he know I’d find this?” She looked around the room in confusion, but everything seemed untouched. She shrugged and straightened up. “But he can’t lend me this, it’s…”

“Stupid expensive,” Mary Margaret nodded, finishing her sentence.

“Yeah…”

“I think you should just take it with you. We probably won’t need it today anyway, and then you can just give it back to him.”

Emma nodded and tucked the gun into the back of her jeans.

-/-

“Maybe they wrote down the license plate number somewhere…” Emma suggested hopefully, while Mary Margaret bemusedly observed the vehicles parked in the clearing.

“No. I’ve already looked over the papers, but nowhere does it say which one—”

“Dark blue truck over there.”

Killian, appearing out of nowhere, interrupted their pathetic search for their car.

“How do you know?” Mary Margaret looked at him suspiciously.

“I inquired about it when I saw you two were completely lost,” Killian replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Can I talk to you, love?” He turned to Emma as Mary Margaret walked tactfully towards the car.

“Killian, you can’t lend me this, it’s…” Emma stammered quickly before he could say a word, looking down toward the pistol in her hand.

“I didn’t lend it to you, Swan. It’s yours now.” He seemed deadly serious, and Emma was completely perplexed. Was he really giving this to her?

“Are you insane? That thing costs over seven hundred dollars!” She still hadn’t recovered from her shock.

“I don’t care about that. I want you to have a proper gun. I know you lost your Glock, and that was because of me. It’s the least I can do.”

“But…” she wanted to argue with him, she hated accepting gifts, especially when they were so valuable. “You need a weapon too!”

It was a pathetic attempt, but she couldn’t think of a better excuse.

“Swan, aside from this one, I have nineteen more guns.” Killian laughed and several people turned to them curiously. She thought it must be strange to see someone laughing now, what with the war and battles hovering over their heads, but weirdly, the sound swept through her body like a calming breeze.

“This one really won’t be missed from the arsenal.”

“Still. This…”

“Do you know how to use it?” He lowered his voice, but still smiling.

“Sure,” she nodded, then dropped her gaze. The grass was still a little frosty, and her breath blew white in front of her face. “Thank you, Killian,” she added as she finally picked herself up and looked up at him.

“Think nothing of it. Besides, I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he said, fixing his gaze on her. He hesitated for a second, but then seemed to make up his mind, leaning closer to her and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. She could only stand frozen, staring up at him. She hadn’t expected that, and as she watched him, she was convinced he didn’t either.

“Take good care of yourself. Come back safely.” He cleared his throat and raised his hand to scratch at a spot behind his ear.

A nervous tic, she gathered.

She still couldn’t get a word out, but suddenly she felt quite comfortable in the cold temperature.

“Go on, Swan. You have a lot of work to do.” There was no roughness in his voice, and his gaze was gentle.

“Take care of yourself, too,” she whispered in reply, then hugged the gun to her chest as if it were a teddy bear and made her way to the truck.

When she climbed in next to Mary Margaret, Killian was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t see the black Porsche either.

“I’m still waiting for an explanation. What was that?” Mary Margaret turned on the ignition and the engine roared loudly.

“I don’t really know, actually,” Emma smiled uncertainly, squeezing the Beretta. “But...I really like him. I don’t care what anyone says, he really is a good guy.”

“Emma, I know you don’t agree with me, but be careful with him. I have a feeling you’re not going to tell me what you have learned about his past…”

“MM, I’d tell you but I don’t want to go behind his back. He’s been through enough suffering in his life. I know you wouldn’t tell anyone about it, but…” she tried to come up with an excuse that didn’t flat out admit that her friend wasn’t really good at keeping secrets and that she would tell David about it once they were in close proximity again.

Mary Margaret just waved it off, not seeming offended at her unspoken reason. “I understand, you don’t have to explain. I’ll try to trust your judgment, which, let’s face it, doesn’t always work well. So I’m still suspicious, and I want to know what’s between you.”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Emma murmured, staring out the window. “I think something has begun, but… nothing serious. For now. But I’m really starting to…”

“Love him?” Her friend smiled.

“Maybe. Sort of,” she replied dejectedly.

She felt that stubborn, stupid guilt tugging at her insides again. Was this right? No, absolutely not. Especially since Neal’s ring was still adorning her finger. That was anything but right.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Mary Margaret hastily assured her, no doubt noticing her attention on the glittering jewelry. “I’m just not sure Killian is the right man for you.”

“I know. I mean, no! He is! I know he is.” Her words got all muddled and she felt it was time to change the subject. “Anyway, don’t you think Robin’s been acting different ever since Leo…”

“He’s getting quite annoying, yes. Honestly, he’s starting to drive me crazy, this change doesn’t suit him at all,” she agreed, a slight exasperation resonating in her voice.

“Yeah.” Emma leaned back comfortably in her seat. “By the way, when did you learn to drive?” She wanted to get Mary Margaret’s mind off from her cousin.

She knew it was worse than anything else. The best tactic was to let her talk about a neutral topic.

“When your brother taught me. He also mentioned that he tried to teach you as well, but you weren’t exactly an easy student,” Mary Margaret laughed out loud, and Emma grinned at the memories flooding her.

She was seventeen when David suggested she should learn to drive. The first time she tried, she almost totaled his car and they both needed some band-aids after the incident. It was easier the next time, but their constant bickering made the learning process even more difficult.

They drove on in silence to their destination, and Emma was pleased to note that her friend looked better every day since they heard about her cousin’s death. She wasn’t as closed off as Emma had predicted, and that was certainly a good sign.

-/-

“Tell me it was the last one. I’m starving and I could kill for a cup of coffee.” Emma stared somberly out the car window, watching the tiny raindrops race down the glass.

It had been pouring for two hours now, and it would be dark sooner than they expected. They needed to get back as soon as possible.

“Yeah, I think we’re done,” Mary Margaret replied, glancing at the workers loading the goods into the truck.

The sky was covered with dark gray clouds, and the storm seemed to have no intention of stopping. A series of thunder exploded, and a dozen bolts of lightning lit up the sky above them. Both Mary Margaret and Emma were soaked to the bone as the day wore on, and she was sure they would be hit with a nasty cold for the next few days. But all in all, she couldn’t complain, their day was really going without a hitch, just a lot longer than she initially thought.

“They’re finally done,” Mary Margaret sighed a few minutes later. “Here we go. Emma, get the map, I’m not familiar with this part of the town.”

-/-

“I’m sure of it! We have to go right. We’ve been here before, MM!” Emma persisted stubbornly, alternately staring out the windshield and at the map, though she couldn’t see much of the building as the storm grew more furious.

“No, we haven’t. We just—What the hell was that?” Mary Margaret glanced at the streets, frozen, but Emma heard nothing.

Mary Margaret slammed on the brakes.

“What’s wrong?” Emma watched as her friend’s face tensed.

“Something hit the back of the car. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”

“I’ll go check,” Emma sighed, grabbing Killian’s Beretta from the glove compartment and climbing out of the car onto the muddy road.

At first, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, so she walked toward the back of the truck with annoyed steps. She made sure the safety was off before holding the gun in front of her, ready to fire.

She hated to admit it, but Mary Margaret was right. An unfamiliar car was parked a few feet away, and two huge Werewolves were trying to carve up the back of their truck. Her breath caught in her throat and she ran back to the front as fast as her legs would carry her.

She climbed up into her seat and Mary Margaret’s puzzled gaze greeted her.

“Werewolves. Let’s get the hell out of here, now!” Emma reached to close the door, and it was lucky the damn werewolf hadn’t ripped her arm off along with the door. The creature flung it a good twenty feet away, then, opened his ugly muzzle, and let out an ear-splitting roar, saliva dripping from his mouth.

She aimed for its head, and soon all that was left was a bloody, unrecognizable piece of flesh, the lifeless body falling to the ground with a dull thud. The engine finally came to life and she leaned back in her seat, turning her back to Mary Margaret, and staring intensely out the window.

It was difficult to maneuver with the robust truck, and the loaded cargo slowed them down even more.

“Jesus Christ. Fuck,” the curses left her mouth like a mantra as she picked up the spare magazines with trembling hands.

In the rearview mirror, she saw the car following them, accompanied by more Werewolves.

“Oh, God,” Mary Margaret said, and the terror that was in her voice was certainly not caused by a couple of Werewolves.

“What happened?” Emma looked out the windshield in dread, and what she saw sucked the air from her lungs.

People were pouring out of the surrounding houses into the streets in groups, staring in bewilderment at the rest of the town, which was already on fire and suddenly a violent explosion shook the buildings nearby.

“Stop here, we can’t go any further!” Emma cried, shaking her head hopelessly.

She was right: a flood of people completely blocked the road. They were running up and down headlong, trampling on each other, and pushing the others aside. Emma turned away from the sight bitterly, and stuffed the magazines into her bag, slung it over her shoulders, and jumped to the ground. Mary Margaret turned off the engine, getting out as well.

They immediately rushed into the street, trying to reach the nearest corner. They tried to stay together, but it was no easy feat in the army of people. They had no idea where they were going; they just ran ahead of the swarm of people.

“I’m calling David!” Mary Margaret exclaimed as she stopped to dial her boyfriend.

Emma also came to a halt and blinked nervously around the corner. They were running from dozens of Elves, Lycanthropes, and Vampires, and this time there was little hope of getting away unscathed — if at all.

She watched as an Elf lifted their truck with a simple flick of his wrist and hurled it across the street, effortlessly knocking over a few hundred people and landing it in front of a bakery’s window. It exploded the moment it hit the ground. Even Emma could feel the rising heat and pressure of the explosion a few hundred feet away.

Jesus.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up!” Mary Margaret clutched the phone furiously as Emma pulled her into the shelter of one of the buildings.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t notice them, just like the people rushing past them didn’t make them out either. Her heart was pounding in her throat, and her blood pressure had probably skyrocketed.

Then David finally picked up.

“Mary Margaret, I really can’t talk right now…” David gasped on the other end of the line. An unmistakable mixture of screams, brawls, and explosions came from the phone. Obviously, all hell was breaking loose throughout the entire city.

“David, we can’t go back! The truck is gone and all we have is a gun!” Mary Margaret yelled.

“Damn it…” David hissed. It was good to know that at least someone sympathized with them. “Where are you now?”

“We don’t know, we’re lost,” Mary Margaret griped frantically. Feverishly, she scanned the houses to see if she could make out a street name somewhere. “Our last address was Rogers’ and we’re not far from it on the Avenue,” she said hopelessly.

“I’ll send someone there, August can narrow down your location. Arthur and Will are somewhere nearby, I’m sure they can—”

The line went dead and Mary Margaret nearly slammed the phone to the ground in anger. “I don’t think they’ll come here. Let’s try to get out of town,” Mary Margaret finally whispered, stowing her phone in her pocket.

Emma had to agree with her, but still, a small hope lingered inside her that someone would come to their rescue.

Mary Margaret stared out into the street but immediately backed away. She squinted her eyes and bit her lower lip. Emma didn’t even have to ask what was scaring her because in the next moment, it became quite obvious. Within seconds, the avenue was flooded with screaming civilians and a herd of beasts trotting in their wake. The air was full of magic and she was having a hard time getting oxygen into her lungs.

The humans were trapped further away, at the end of the road as the monsters continued to advance. A little boy cried bitterly in his mother’s frightened embrace and Emma’s stomach tightened. At that moment, hatred flared in her with renewed vigor, she despised them all with every fiber of her being. Her finger tightened on the trigger and her nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

They had to do something, they couldn’t just sit idly by. But it would be absolute suicide to put themselves in the line of fire.

Crackling fire. Screams. Feral growls. Mocking laughter. And crying.

The mother’s cry finally reinforced her decision, her limbs acting of their own accord as she pushed herself off the wall and stepped out of the shadows beside Mary Margaret. She raised the Beretta and took aim at the wolf as it pounced on its prey. Several people behind her gasped in shock, and a few wolves hesitated and stopped.

The beast bared its teeth as it lay on the ground, its entire body was tense and in its bloodshot eyes, Emma saw nothing but an unquenchable, eternal thirst for blood and ruthlessness. She wouldn’t miss again.

Most of them didn’t care about her, they continued their march. Mary Margaret led the group behind her to the end of the road and Emma opened fire, but that probably surprised her more than the wolves. The Beretta had a nasty recoil, much stronger than the Glock, but she could still hold it in her hand. Its effect was much more remarkable. The bullet punched a fist-sized hole in the wolf’s chest. At its pained groan, more wolves decided to stop, but even then, there were still too many heading their way. They gradually accelerated until they finally charged at them at full speed.

Quite a few fell from her shots, but most of them burned up from the energy shield Mary Margaret pulled up around them. Emma stumbled back from the sudden heat, holding her hand over her eyes to shield them somewhat from the deep blue light that filled the entire street. Several people applauded and cheered behind Mary Margaret. Of course, they had no idea how much energy it took to create and maintain such a force field.

Utilizing the protection of her friend’s shield, which was still withstanding the onslaught of increasingly angry wolves, Emma reloaded the Beretta and cast an uneasy glance to the right. In the one-way street that led into the Avenue, three more Werewolves roared toward them.

Then several things happened at once. Mary Margaret’s vibrating and trembling shield had suddenly dissipated and the remaining dozen wolves were charging at them again, and the ones coming from the right were getting closer.

Mary Margaret cried out sharply behind her, and Emma instinctively turned her head over her shoulder. A dark-haired Werewolf about six feet tall, huge, even among the others, charged at them at breakneck speed. She aimed the gun without thinking, but instead of attacking them, the wolf ran past her, bounced off the ground, and hit the pavement in front of her.

She staggered back and fell to the ground, but she didn’t take her eyes off the wolf in front of her for even a moment. The surrounding buildings trembled under his roar as well, and the other wolves almost froze into statues. They were startled and hesitated. The one in front of her howled again, but then the three to her right started running again, lashing out at the big wolf.

They charged at her protector. The first leapt straight for his throat, but the dark one sank its claws into the other’s side and hurled it into the others. The gray one groaned bitterly, having apparently suffered a severe wound. But the sandy-colored wolf tore deep into the dark one’s chest, and Emma couldn’t follow the rest, it was happening too fast for the human eye, she could only hear the gnashing of teeth and a bronchial roar.

Mary Margaret grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up off the ground. She felt her legs wobble a little, but they were still holding her up. She took her pistol and pointed it at the blond wolf and his companions, who had already drilled the brown wolf, who was barely moving, to the ground. Suspiciously dark blood flowed from its neck.

“Jesus,” Mary Margaret pressed her hand to her ear as Emma fired the entire magazine into the pile of wolves.

Her ears were already ringing like hell, she definitely wouldn’t be able to hear properly for quite a while. The sandy-colored wolf and his buddies fell to the ground, while the brown one also lay motionless. Emma could only hope she hadn’t hit him because after all, he had saved their lives. The why was another question.

Six wolves still remained ready to fight, they were probably very stupid, unlike their peers who decided to wave the proverbial white flag and fled. Mary Margaret gasped in exhaustion and Emma’s magazine was empty, the rest was in her bag. She wasn’t fast enough to fish it out and reload the gun with it.

Mary Margaret reached for her jacket but Emma had already heard and seen another looming threat, and before she could do anything, her friend yanked her back. For the second time that day, she slumped to the wet pavement. It took maybe two seconds and four inches for the midnight black Porsche Panamera, turning out of the one-way street at insane speed, not to run her over. The brakes squealed frantically, and the car spun across the wide avenue, dragging the four wolves running in front of it. With a tremendous crash, the vehicle slammed into the window of the furniture store across the street, burying all four beasts under the car.

Following the Porsche was a silver Audi A8. Behind its rolled-down window, four shots rang out. If Emma hadn’t suffered permanent hearing damage by now, it was a sure thing now. The last two wolves still on their feet were also incapacitated. An ominous silence descended over the street. She heard nothing but the crackle of the fire and the low hum of the Audi’s engine.

The driver’s door of the Audi slammed open and Will jumped out. A tall, tanned, short brown-haired and scruffy guy got out on the other side, a shotgun in his hand.

Emma felt like her limbs were turning to lead, fear almost paralyzing her, as if she carried a bag of stones from each of her cartilages.

Killian.

Stumbling, she walked toward the black sports car in the flames, which she could only vaguely make out through the curtain of rain.

She strode through the pile of debris in front of the store, trying not to think, just to do what her instincts told her. She kicked aside a broken lampshade from the Porsche’s dented door, but before she could rush to Killian’s aid, the door swung open of its own accord. An almost unearthly joy flared in her as she saw his miraculously unharmed hand as he searched for a hold on the edge of the seat.

“Killian…” she stumbled over to him, but by then he was out of the remains of the car.

His legs gave way, however, and with a dying groan, he fell to the ground, his gaze growing strangely misty.

“Will, hurry!” she cried frantically, kneeling beside Killian. His clothes were soaked through with blood, and a gash a good three inches long ran along his temple. “Killian, can you hear me?” She gently stroked his face where she saw no injuries.

Blood was also dripping from his ears in a thin stream, but he managed to give her an answer in the form of a tiny, slow nod. She could see that he wasn’t really aware of his surroundings.

Will and his companion violently grabbed Killian and rushed him to the Audi. Before she could give her opinion on their bedside manner, however, it struck her why they weren’t so considerate of Killian’s current condition. At the other end of the avenue, another team of creatures gathered. Vampires and Elves.

She knew they had to get the hell out of here. Quickly.

Mary Margaret opened the left back door for the boys and helped Killian sit in the seat. Will and the unknown Hunter sat in the front, and Emma slipped into the back seat next to Mary Margaret and Killian after a ten-second delay. She took one last look at where the brown wolf should have been lying, but it was no longer there. The pool of blood left behind, however, convinced her that she wasn’t imagining the somewhat suicidal wolf.

She slammed the door behind her and the car immediately began to move. Will backed into the one-way street as fast as he could.

Killian tilted his head back, and tried to stay conscious, or at least maintain the dazed state he had fallen into a few minutes ago. Mary Margaret was arguing with Will about something, but Emma wasn’t really interested in anything else right now, except getting Killian help as soon as possible.

“Where are we going?” she demanded of Will, out voicing him as he was still loudly explaining something to Mary Margaret.

He gave her an annoyed look but fell silent willingly, which Emma appreciated. “We can’t go to the Guild right now, but the area around your apartment should be clear. If you don’t mind staying there…”

“No, but hurry!” she growled, rolling her eyes, and turning back to Killian.

He gasped slightly, his spine arching, and he stared at his hand in alarm. His body tried to dislodge out the shards of glass that had drilled into his palm, but to no avail. He pressed his uninjured hand to his stomach, trying not to let out a scream. His icy magic kept flaring in the car. Slowly, he started to recover.

Emma bit her lip as anger surged through her veins. She looked out the window and saw nothing but the fading dark spots and drops of water dripping down the window.

How did he know they were in trouble? And where had he gotten the idea to do such a stupid thing?

He was clearly a lunatic.

"Hang in there, we're almost there," she whispered as she squeezed Killian's undamaged hand reassuringly.

All she got in response was an impatient grunt, but she couldn't blame him. If she were in his place, she would've already curled up and screamed in pain.

“Drop me off at the next corner. Ruby wants me to meet her,” the nameless guy turned to Will.

“Alright, but then come to David and Emma’s house later.” Will slowed to a deserted street and he jumped out of the vehicle.

“Okay,” he nodded, but before he could get out, Will called after him.

“Arthur!”

“Huh?” He snapped the rifle onto his shoulder and turned around.

Most of the buildings behind him were blackened with soot and most were still burning, windows broken and walls collapsing in some places. Most of the street was covered in rubble, along with various objects. There was dead silence in the neighborhood, not a soul to be seen.

“Watch out for your ass!” Will grinned, and Emma was envious of his cheerfulness.

Killian’s arm tightened around her, and with the other hand he flipped the sandwiches. Emma sighed as she rested her head against his chest.

“He needs time, Killian, he gets that we made the choices that were best for us, but… it’ll be okay,” she said quietly as the frying pan sizzled behind her. “We just need to… be respectful of his current sensitivity…?” She wasn’t quite sure those were the right words, but they were the best she had to explain it. “He just… feels short changed. They thought I was dead for seventeen years and they had me back for a matter of days before I left again and… he just feels like he’s lost me. And I know it’s different, and he knows that isn’t what we intended, but I can’t expect him to accept this so quickly when we had weeks to work through our emotions to get to this point.”

Killian would have growled in anger at the slight had things been different.

Emma was his mate, and he was damned if he was going to curb his affections because it made anyone else feel uncomfortable.

But making her father feel uncomfortable would make Emma feel awkward, and he couldn’t do that to her. He would not do that to her.

“Whatever it takes, my love,” he murmured into her hair.

“He wants to talk to you,” she said tentatively.

“Oh?”

“Apparently, even though we’re already mated, there are still things a father needs to say.”

“I would imagine so,” he said tentatively. His father hadn’t survived long enough to instil those kinds of lessons in him. Losing your parents young was something most of them had in common.

“I love you,” she said, pulling her head off his chest to look up at him. “Thank you for cooking me lunch,” she said with a smile.

“I wanted to say thank you, you…” he took a breath. “Last night you were… amazing I… I would not have gotten through being worried about Liam alive, let alone sane without you, Swan, and I…”

There was a beat where words seemed to fail him. When she looked into his eyes and saw everything she needed to know. It was a feeling that took her breath away, even as the corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile.

Before he realised what was happening, his hand was tangled in her hair and he was pulling her in for a kiss. His connection to her overwhelming him with need to feel her against him, to feel their connection as more than just a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t shake.

“Emma,” he growled into her mouth, and he felt her shiver against him.

After a long moment, she pulled back, breathless.

“You offered food as thank you, deliver on that and then you can thank me properly later,” she teased with a wink.

It was in that moment that they both realised how far she’d come from the girl Graham had begged him to save.

- - - - -

Killian’s hands were clenched tightly around his own interlocked fingers. He could feel his nails digging crescent shaped marks into his own skin as he waited for David. He’d promised to talk to him, and here he was.

He didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous in his life. Not when he’d been waiting to leave to go and get Emma, not when he’d been tearing his hair out trying to work out what to do to stop Emma pulling away from him. If this went badly, he didn’t want to think what that would mean for him and Emma. He wouldn’t give her up for the world but...

He heard David’s footsteps and stood up, the door opened and Killian could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Hey,” he said quietly. David’s jaw clenched and Killian felt the muscle in his own ticking.

“I’m not going to pretend that this makes me happy, not right now anyway. But… You make her happy, and I do see that. I do…” David paused and turned away, his hands settling on his hips. “I’ve always felt like I failed her, and then we find her alive and I…” he turned back to Killian. “I don’t expect you to understand for a while yet but… But in a way I guess you do,” he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “If you hurt her, Killian, there will not be a place on this earth in which you can hide from me.”

“If I hurt her, David, you won’t need to hunt me down,” he replied vehemently.

- - - - -

The packs had all walked out into the woods at various points over the last hour. Killian and Emma were one of the last to leave the building, Emma had been nervous about changing around so many wolves she didn’t know, and Killian had wanted to take the extra moments with just them to make sure she knew that at the end of the day she belonged wherever he was.

The air was cool on her exposed skin and for maybe the first time in her life, Emma found herself longing for the warm prickle of fur growing over her skin. Her senses were on overdrive and she could smell everyone.

Killian could feel her unease like it was his own. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He took a breath and looked around to make sure David wasn’t too close and pulled her closer.

“Hey, if you need me to say it again, I will…” he murmured into her hair as he threaded their fingers together.

Emma closed her eyes and sighed as their foreheads settled together.

“I don’t know, I…”

“It’s alright, love, just breathe…” he said, his hand moving to cup her cheek. “Relax, my love,” Emma shivered, and let her head drop back, exposing her neck. “I’m here for you, with you, you’re safe.”

Emma gripped the front of his shirt with her free hand as the moonlight broke through the clouds and she felt her spine tingle. A soft gasp broke from her lips as he threaded his hand into her hair and pulled her into his chest.

“I love you.”

Emma only managed to hum in response before she started to shift, her bones shifting into their new form. She was still panting when it was over, but whereas before his presence had been somewhat of a surprise, she could feel him now. She could feel him next to her before she even opened her eyes. She’d been aware of him all the way through her transformation, and she realised that although she’d been nervous about the new wolves she would be spending her night with… she’d never been scared.

When Killian lifted his head off the ground, she was already looking at him. Those beautiful green eyes he’d fallen so in love with over the last few weeks looking patiently back at him. He shifted and nuzzled against her muzzle with his own, relishing in the sensations, practically feeling her scent rolling over him and seeping into his fur. He wanted to bathe in it, she was intoxicating, she was everything.

I’m good it was a whisper, but the sensation of projecting to him like that was… Is this because we? It was clearer, stronger than it had been at the last full moon, and that was the only thing she could think of that had changed. Could the others hear them right now?

I’m as new to this bit as you are, love damn that was. Hearing her voice projected in his head during the last full moon had done nothing to prepare him for this.

Suddenly he felt a prickle across his back, and he leapt to his feet putting himself in between Emma and whatever he’d sensed approaching with a growl. Teeth bared and hackles up he found himself face to face with a pair of cowering wolves. One tan, the other dark brown. It took him a few deep breaths, and Emma shifting behind him and nuzzling into his side for him to calm down and realise that Lily and August weren’t a threat.

Sorry I…

Mom said this was going to take some getting used to, we get through the first half an hour and then we can go off on our own she said gently, reassuringly.

He looked back at Emma, who looked up at him, glanced at August and Lily and then back at him. She moved up to stand beside him and sighed contentedly as she leaned into him.

Sorry, we didn’t mean to startle you August said, and Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. She’d expected his voice to be muffled like it had been before, but it came through almost as clear as Killian’s had last month.

Lily cocked her head as she looked at Emma, obviously she’d sensed how shocked she was.

What is it? she asked.

Emma shifted awkwardly wondering if she could admit what was going on in a way Lily would understand without making her feel any more guilty than she already did.

I’ve never heard you this clearly before, it’s always been muffled I… she looked across at Killian and was fairly sure that if she’d had this realisation in human form she’d have been sobbing with happiness. I belong she said.

We never meant for you to feel like you didn’t, Emma August said carefully.

I know, you guys and Graham always came through clearest but… I guess I always knew my family was somewhere else

I’m sorry, Emma, for everything Lily said, dipping her head. Emma took a step forward, they touched noses and Emma could feel the tenuous connection between them. She wanted it to be stronger, and in that moment, she realised she’d already forgiven Lily. Her mother may have been part of that pack, but Lily had been as in danger of having been manipulated as Emma had been, and her own mother had shown disappointment that she’d only managed to produce a Beta.

We’re good she promised. Lily glanced up at her in surprise, but Emma shot her a wolfish smile. She was fairly certain Lily had never seen her so comfortable in any skin, let alone this one.

Emma let out a playful growl and pounced on her.

Lily yelped in surprise and behind the pair, the sound coming out of Killian’s mouth sounded very much like laughter. Emma and Lily were a blur of brown and almost white fur as they play fought, drawing the attention of more than a few wolves.

Killian looked over at David and Snow, both a dusky pale brown and David starting to show a little paler at the muzzle now. Leo, who’s first moon had been last month, was a distinctive charcoal grey with pale socks and chest, came bounding over yipping excitedly. David looked like he was about to head his son off, but Killian caught the low growl Snow let out to stop him.

EMMA! he shouted loudly into their heads as he leapt at the tangle of fur that was the two best friends.

Leo landed on Emma and she yelped in surprise, but she soon had her little brother pinned and was nipping playfully at his sides, making him squirm. She was pleased to discover that he was as ticklish in this form as he was in human form.

Stop, Emma that tickles!

That’s what you get for sneaking up on me, baby brother! she replied, the laughter and joy clear in the tone of her thoughts.

Killian’s heart ached. One of his greatest joys when he’d been a young wolf was the playing, the unbridled joy at the feeling of freedom. It was only just starting to dawn on him that Emma hadn’t ever had that. She’d never felt free in this form until last month, and she was only just starting to learn what feeling free around other wolves meant for her.

David and Snow approached slowly, and Killian hung back. August joined in the play with Leo, and a couple of the other younger wolves came over to join in too. Emma extricated herself and padded over to her parents.

Hey she said tentatively, with a cautious dip of her head, but when she looked up at her parents, she saw something he didn’t expect.

She could feel their awe, their pride and joy in seeing her like this. She swallowed, not really knowing what to do. She was their daughter, but she was another wolf’s mate and this was all so much to deal with. With a soft whimper, and ever aware of Killian somewhere behind her, she nuzzled into her mother’s neck.

I missed you, she admitted quietly. I didn’t know what I was missing but I missed it. she was struggling to breathe, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. Not really. Not in the way other things had felt, not in the way the absence of any kind of tangible connection with anyone around her had been.

David let out a low rumble in his throat, glancing back at Killian before joining his mate in the physical contact with their daughter.

How could Killian have denied him that? He could feel what Emma was going through, not as deeply as someone so used to this as David or Snow might, but he knew that over time this bond between them would grow almost to the point where they didn’t need to talk to understand each other in this form.

He could have listened in if he wanted to, unless Emma had worked out that she could communicate privately with members of her family the same way she could with him, or members of their section of the pack as it were when they eventually had them. He watched, ever mindful of everything going on around them, unable to let his guard down yet when a lot of this was so new to him. He’d experienced a full moon with most of these wolves before, of course, but never with Emma by his side.

We missed you too, sweetheart, I wish... David didn’t need to say it, she could feel it, that longing for their lost time. She could feel it from him and from where it had blossomed in her own chest as her own form of that feeling.

It’s alright, Dad, she assured him. And it was. There was nothing they could have done when they didn’t know. Nothing that could have stopped Gold doing what he had done. He needed to let go of the guilt he was carrying or he was never going to get used to seeing her with Killian, because that wasn't going to change and he was going to run out of patience with having to keep himself in check all the time. Forgive yourself, let it go, please.

David pulled back and looked down at her. He looked over at Killian, and then at Snow. Lifting his muzzle high into the air and tilting his head back, he howled.

The sound of it made Emma’s spine tingle.

It was full of grief, so overwhelmingly despairing that she almost cowered under the weight of it.

Emma looked over her shoulder at Killian.

He moved slowly over to join them, and Emma leaned into his side without hesitation.

Snow’s head tipped back as she joined in with her mate’s howl. Releasing their grief into the night. When it faded, David took a deep breath and howled again, this one was joyful and full of hope and promise. Gently Killian nudged her side and then pointed his nose at the sky. She understood his meaning without words.

She sucked in a breath and felt the power build in her chest, before pushing and letting the rush of air turn into the first real howl she’d ever made. The tension that had built in her muscles while she’d been talking to her parents melted into insignificance with the rush of air and emotion she sent up to the moon.

Other wolves joined in, Leo nuzzling his way into the group. But it was only as the music of their cries faded that she realised how only now, with Killian and Leo here too, did she feel complete. Yes, Emma was Killian’s mate, but she was always more than that. She was something to everyone here.

Wolves need more than just mates; they need a pack. She needed all of this, and to trust and believe in herself to feel this way. No one could do that for her.

He could feel eyes on him, especially when brown furred Liam and pale, silvery-grey Elsa came over to join them. There was something about the way Liam looked at him that was different to the last time they’d changed under the light of the moon together. Killian wasn’t sure what to think, but he decided that now really wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Liam it seemed, had a different view on the matter.

You’re an Alpha, brother, he said.

I think we established that a while ago, Liam,

No, I mean... You’ve actually embraced it, you’ve always been content to just be but now...

Killian looked from Liam to David, a little confused. The older wolf cocked his head at Killian, like he was really looking at him for the first time in a long time.

I don’t understand, Killian pressed, wanting answers and wishing his brother would stop being so cryptic and that David would stop looking at him like that.

You learned to lead, brother, Liam said as though that explained everything.

Killian wasn’t sure it did, but David turned away from the group then and with a quick lick to her daughter’s face, Snow followed.

Leo butted Emma in the shoulder with his head before joining them.

You two look good together, Elsa said kindly, looking across at Emma.

If Emma could have, she would have blushed, as it was she dropped her gaze to the floor and leaned into her mate a little.

Thanks, she murmured quietly, not really sure what to say. So, are you two…?

We’re seeing where things go. Elsa said, tilting her head coyly with a shy gleam in her eyes.

Not everyone works as quickly as you, Killian Liam said, clearly trying to make a joke, but it fell short, and Killian growled.

Liam! Elsa snapped, the same way Snow had snapped at Charming outside the medical suite.

I think you mean I worked quickly, I’ll have you know I proposed the idea Emma sassed with a tilt of her head and a defiant flick of her tail. Once again, her quick wit both diffused the situation and stunned Liam into silence. And I’ll thank you to stop trying to embarrass my mate on our first full moon with the rest of the pack.

It was phrased so carefully that Killian simply blinked down at her. Liam was being an ass because they were brothers, that was all, he was trying to make jokes and Killian didn’t like it. Emma, clearly wasn’t going to stand for it, even if it meant facing off against another alpha on a full moon.

I think I need to stop embarrassing myself, Liam replied, shifting awkwardly.

Emma decided she’d said enough that they should all let the matter drop.

Aye, brother, maybe you should, Killian finally managed to speak. Shall we? he asked Emma and she nodded.

Have a good night, Liam, Elsa, she said, resolving to make time to get to know the other woman better.

Have I told you how sexy it is when you stand up for me like that? Killian’s voice was low in her ear. He was the Alpha, it was true, but when an omega like Emma was allowed to be herself and grow as part of a partnership… If Killian didn’t already know he was lost he would now.

Emma looked back at him as she started to move away and swished her tail. Even if you had, I’d never object to you telling me again, she sassed with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Killian huffed, and it sounded like a chuckle. He trotted to catch up with her and nudged her flank with his nose. She darted to the side a little, and then with a playful look back at him she took off at a run.

Killian howled joyfully and chased after her, letting his claws dig into the dirt under his paws, relishing in the stretch as his muscles contracted to power him forward after Emma, after his mate. And damn did she look good running ahead of him. The way her fur shone under the silver light of the moon, the way her limbs powered across the uneven ground. It didn’t matter what teasing comments Liam threw at him really, it didn’t matter what David thought even though upsetting his friend was something he’d never wanted. He would follow her to the end of the world if he had to.

- - - - -

A few days later, Emma was standing at the stove wearing Killian’s bathrobe when he came out of the bedroom. He slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his nose into her hair for a moment, breathing her in before letting the tip of his nose run around the shell of her ear, letting his teeth graze the lobe. She squirmed a little in his arms and he felt the tremor of a shiver running down her spine.

“Something smells delicious,” he said with a smirk.

“It’s just from a box…” she protested, casting her gaze across at him.

“I wasn’t talking about the pancakes,” he murmured, and she bit her lip, turning her head a little so that his nose pressed into her cheek, but she didn’t stop there. She dropped the spatula she’d been holding and turned in his arms, bringing her lips to meet his as her fingers tangled in his hair.

He pressed her into the counter, their heads turning this way and that as their kiss grew into a passionate declaration of their affections.

Emma couldn’t imagine ever getting enough of Killian and, if the way he was already hardening at her thigh was any indication, it was likely he felt the same. She pulled back and looked up at him with quiet wonder in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, his forehead creasing slightly in concern.

“I’m happy,” she said with a soft smile. “I guess… it still surprises me sometimes.”

“Aye, my love, I’m happy too,” he agreed and leaned in for a gentler kiss this time.

But when Emma’s arms wound round his neck, gentle quickly turned passionate once more.

“To hell with the pancakes,” Emma moaned against his lips.

Killian grinned into the kiss and pulled her away from the stove, lifting her up onto the island. It didn’t take more than nudging her knee with his hips for her to spread her legs and let him step between them.

“My sentiments exactly,” he agreed before diving back into the kiss, tilting his head to bring their lips back together, his fingers tangling in her blonde curls, her scent strong in his nostrils and he could tell from the way she was squirming and pressing herself against him that she was more than ready for whatever he had in mind in lieu of breakfast.

His hand slipped inside the robe, and he was just about to pull down the front of her camisole top and let his mouth explore the treasures beneath when…

There was a knock on the door.

Killian’s head dropped to Emma's shoulder with a sigh. Part of him hoped that by not answering whoever was on the other side of the door would go away.

But that was not to be.

“Emma?” David said. “Killian?” he called a little louder.

“I’m going to need a minute,” Killian said tightly, barely even whispering so that only Emma would hear.

“Just a second!” she called, and pulled him up for just the briefest of kisses before she crawled over the island and hopped off the other side.

“Bloody vixen,” came the disgruntled grumble behind her. She heard Killian’s footsteps retreating and readjusted the robe before she finished crossing to the door.

“Hey Dad, what can I do for you?” she asked with a bright smile when she opened it. Snow had been here before, but David had been avoiding Killian’s apartment since they got back. He stepped in for a hug, and from what she could tell he seemed to be in a good mood.

“I uh… I wanted to talk to the pair of you,” he said carefully. “Is Killian around?”

“He’s just getting dressed I think, he’ll be out in a minute.”

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” David asked, looking her over.

“No, I was… just making pancakes…” Emma said, gesturing at the plateful by the stove.

“Oh, right, yes I see that now,” David agreed. Emma moved back to the stove to turn it off before anything caught fire.

“David, good morning,” Killian said as he walked out of the short corridor leading to the bedrooms. “Anything the matter?” he asked.

“No, I… could we sit?” he suggested, gesturing at the soft chairs in the living area.

“Sure,” Emma said and slipped her hand into Killian’s as they headed over, they sat down next to each other on the couch. Emma as close as she could get without being in his lap. They’d agreed to be respectful, but this was their home and her father had come here. She wasn’t going to change her behaviour in their space.

David took the armchair and placed a small box on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get used to this. I love both of you, and the fact that you make each other so happy brings me more joy than you can imagine. Though, actually I hope one day you know what that feels like.” David cleared his throat and reached for the box again. He opened it and smiled at the contents, not showing it to them yet.

“You know, my mother was an Alpha, and my father was her Omega. It’s an unusual dynamic but actually our pack was one of the longest running matriarchies in the world. A few hundred years ago, when it was significantly less common for women to be in charge and even less so for women to make the decision about who they married, one of our ancestors challenged her father and won the right to choose her own mate. She won and instead of marking the union with a ring she created a tradition of cresting.

Every child in our family has had one since, the idea being that when you choose your mate you give them this representation of you as an outward indicator of your bond. We had this made when you were born and I think…” he flushed a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know that giving this to your mate is your choice, Emma, not mine.”

He closed the box and handed it over.

Emma took it carefully and opened it up again.

Inside was a shield shaped pendant on a rope chain. Both silver in colour, though Emma could tell from the shine that they were something a little more hardwearing. The shield was quartered with a lion in the bottom right, and snowdrops bottom left. The top left quarter held a Swan, and the top right was empty. A single Fleur De Lis sat in the centre where all four quarters met.

“Dad…” Emma didn’t know what to say.

“So, there’s me and your mother on the bottom, you’re our first child so one Fleur De Lis, the empty quarter is for something that represents your mate, it’s supposed to symbolise your freedom to choose, and the other one is… you…”

“That’s a Swan…” Emma said, surprised at the contents of her quarter.

“I didn’t realise until I looked at it the other day, but yes,” David agreed.

Killian hadn’t said a word since they’d sat down. He was just staring at the crest where he had been staring at David until Emma opened the box.

“Looks like you’re going to have to decide what you want in this corner,” Emma said with a smile as she looked up at him.

Killian’s gaze snapped to her face and he looked at her in awe. He swallowed.

“That’s a big decision, Swan,” he said carefully, talking about both what he might consider putting in that corner to represent himself and the fact that she wanted to give it to him.

“I’ve made mine, time for you to make yours.”

Killian didn’t care that David was there, and that this new acceptance, while clearly decisive with this gesture being so big, had taken some time to achieve. All he cared about was that she was so certain of this, of them, that she was giving him this symbol that represented her, to wear as a physical symbol of their bond for him. This thing that she should have been wearing her entire life was going to grace his neck. A tangible reminder that she had chosen him. She would always choose him. She was going to amend her personal crest to include him.

She had the mark on her shoulder, and he would have this.

His hand moved to her shoulder and his fingers traced the bite marks on her skin.

“I already did, my love.”

Sensing what was about to happen, David excused himself, and exited the apartment quickly.

Emma beamed up at him, and Killian carefully took the box from her. She pulled the chain from the cushion and secured it around his neck with shaking fingers, letting them run round the chain and down onto his chest before looking up at him again.

“I love you, Killian,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to make a choice, but I choose you.”

Her eyes were glassy as she blinked back tears, her face bright with joy as she looked up at him.

“Thank you for choosing me, for letting me give you my heart,” he replied. “I love you, Emma.”

She tilted her head and pressed her lips to his, firm and deliberate as her hand slipped up to the back of his neck, her fingers twisting into the strands of his hair. His own gripped her waist, pulling her into his lap, needing her as close as he could get her.

Killian wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything that was terrifying in quite this way before. Even Eric hadn’t needed this many beeping machines and tubes attached to him after they’d rescued Emma. Liam looked so… fragile and small. Killian had never seen him like this before. Liam had been his rock for most of his life, he’d always been the strong one, the careful one, the one who held everything together. Even if David was the oldest of the three, Liam had always been the figurehead.

He didn’t realise how long he’d been standing there, frozen on the spot until Emma came in behind him and slipped her hand into his, gripped his upper arm and guided him to a chair. He heard a voice explaining, but didn’t really take it in.

He was just staring at Liam. Somehow, even with all the other losses in his life, losing his brother was the one thing he’d never considered being a possibility. Things were happening around him that he simply could not comprehend, voices and movement all passed him by in a blur. The only constants were the beeping, and Emma’s scent, sometimes close by, sometimes further away.

Emma was worried about him, he’d barely moved in over an hour, just sitting there, staring at Liam. He was trying to process it all, take in what was going on, and she needed to give him the time to do that. But, after their long drive and the fact that he hadn’t eaten, she knew she needed to say something. She’d not left the medical suite, either in the room with him or just outside talking to Victor, their doctor, or Elsa, the nurse. She’d sat next to him, and held his hand, run her fingers through his hair, and she could tell he knew she was there in the way he shifted towards her, and curled his fingers around hers or leaned into her hand. But it was instinctual, like he wasn’t really there.

“Killian?” she said finally, her hand on his cheek and turning his head to look at her. “Killian, listen to me.”

He blinked and finally his eyes managed to focus on something other than his brother. Her voice cutting through the haze of despair and fear he was feeling.

“He’s stable, Killian, he’s going to be okay,” she said gently. He could see the hesitation as she spoke, the worry and the fear. But she was worried for him, not for Liam.

Liam was going to be fine. He was already improving. He’d improved since Snow had left with Robin and Mulan to come and find them, he’d improved since Emma had guided him to this chair.

He swallowed, nodded and let his head drop onto her shoulder, finally letting out some of the emotion that had been simmering away for the last hour or so, letting it boil over and soak into the thin material covering her shoulder. He felt her fingers carding through his hair, the way her body shifted closer to him, her lips peppering his shoulder and neck as she nuzzled comfortingly into the side of his head. Murmuring softly in his ear, letting him be vulnerable and making him feel safe enough to be able to be so.

Finally, he pulled back with a sniff, and she looked up at him inquisitively.

“Thank you, Swan,” he muttered, and she smiled. It was blinding in its genuine sincerity.

“You needed me,” she said simply, shrugging a little. “It was my turn,” she added as she carefully wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“Where is everyone?”

“Elsa and Whale said they’d come back when you’d had a chance to… process. My Mom is holding my Dad and Brother at bay. They know I’m safe, and you needed me… I… didn’t think my Dad would deal very well with… us… considering how he was before we left. You’ve got enough to deal with for now; we both have. We’ll see him tomorrow. Robin and Mulan will be back by then.”

Killian could only nod.

“Come on, you need rest… and… I bet your mattress is more comfortable than the one in the cabin…” she said with a hint of coyness in her smile. She was only hinting because he might want a distraction from this, not because she expected it or thought he would. She wanted, but only if he wanted too. He pressed a kiss to her uninjured cheek, even if the other was almost healed already.

He took her hand and let her lead him through the building to his apartment and into his bedroom, where they curled up in his bed with their bodies as close as it was possible to get. It took them a long time to fall asleep, but it would have taken them longer if they were apart rather than taking comfort in the feeling of the other’s heartbeat, so close, so steady and strong.

For once, Killian fell asleep first, the exhaustion of his worry thoroughly claiming him long before the itching of Emma’s healing cheek let up enough to let her sleep.

- - - - -

Emma was roused in the middle of the night by a whimper from behind her and Killian’s arms tightening around her middle. It took her a moment to realise he was trembling, and to feel the tears dripping off his nose and onto her neck.

“Killian?” she could smell his fear.

“Liam…” he mumbled, “No, don’t… wait for me… Liam… I can’t keep up…”

Emma managed to wriggle herself over to face him, fighting the tight grip of his arms in his sleep. She laid her hand on his cheek, wiping away the tears.

“I can’t… Liam!”

“Killian, you’re having a nightmare, I need you to wake up, please,” she said, her hands moving over his skin, trying to rouse him.

“Emma?” she froze, he still wasn’t awake, and she could tell this change in his dream was not a good one. “No, Run! Emma!”

“I’m right here, Killian I’m fine!” she told him, her voice pleading, needing him to wake up. “Killian!”

His eyes snapped open, and he struggled to focus on her in the darkness.

“Emma?”

“I’m here, I’m fine, we’re all fine…”

“But Liam…”

“Is with Whale and Elsa, and we’re waiting for him to wake up, he’s going to be fine too,” she reassured him.

She’d never seen him so scared. Throughout everything they’d been through in the last month and a half, he’d been the one who was strong and sure and confident about what needed to be done. Now though, he looked lost, and Emma could feel it like an ache in her own chest. But he’d been there for her when she’d been in a similar place and he needed her to step up and help him now, because being his mate meant being his partner, and sharing his burdens and his worries. It meant watching his back as he watched hers; protecting him as much as he protected her.

“I’ll call in the morning, and see how he’s doing…” Killian nodded, his heart still hammering in his chest, breathing still shallow, and he was looking at her like he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. “Killian…?”

He moved quickly, catching her off guard as he pressed her back onto the bed, his lips locking onto her with a groan. His lips were hard and demanding as she let out a squeak of surprise. It only took her a moment to respond though, her fingers tangling in his hair and heat pooling in her gut.

“Emma, I…” he moaned, pulling back to look down at her in the dark. He could see the desperation in his eyes, and knew he needed her to take him away from his fears for a while, needed the comfort he could only find in her body, by letting their connection overwhelm anything else.

“It’s okay, take what you need,” she whispered, smiling up at him before bringing her lips up to meet his.

It wasn’t careful or refined, or hard and driven by overwhelming hormones. It was needy and frantic in a different way, fumbling and messy with their frayed nerves and their worries about each other and their families. But it was quiet and contained in a way they hadn’t been before, until Killian spilled himself inside her with a grunt and Emma’s fingers brought her to completion with a whimper as he sagged over her, trying not to crush her.

She held him there, kissing his brow and stroking his hair back from his forehead. She smiled at him, eyes tired but sated.

Killian leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before resting his forehead against hers.

“He’s going to be okay, Killian, it’s over.”

“Aye, I know, but…”

“It’s okay to let yourself work through it, you know, I’m not going to think any less of you for it.”

He pulled back and looked down at her, a little surprised.

“How did you..?”

“You’re my mate, Killian, I can… read you better now I guess,” she reasoned. “Alpha, mate, my love, none of those things stop you being just as human as you were before,” she said gently, her fingers still gently caressing his face. “It’s okay to be scared for him, don’t try to suppress it, you’ll just make yourself feel worse. Trust me, I should know,” she added sadly.

Understanding flitted across his features and he nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too, now let me go clean up and get back to sleep?” she asked amused.

“Aye, love, hang on,” he said, slipping out of her and out from under the covers and walking over to the bathroom, coming back with a damp cloth and cleaning them both up before dropping the flannel on the floor next to the bed and climbing back under the covers.

“Such a gentleman,” Emma hummed, turning over and snuggling back into his arms again.

“You love it,” he murmured sleepily.

“Yes, I do,” she agreed with a sigh as she closed her eyes.

- - - - -

Emma woke up first and slipped out of bed, taking care of business in the bathroom before heading for the kitchen. She set the coffee machine going and started rifling in the fridge for the things she needed to make breakfast. She paused by the phone, checking the time and deciding that it was late enough to call Victor and get an update. It was a short conversation, but she was assured that Killian didn’t need to rush to get up there, so she went back to cooking him breakfast. It seemed that once Snow had left to go and get them someone had restocked Killian’s fridge. She kept things warm until she heard him starting to wake up, his confused “Swan?” as clear as day despite the distance and the walls as she headed back towards the bedroom.

She sat down on the mattress with a tray, plate stacked high with food and both coffee and orange juice.

“Hey,” she said gently, and got a groan in response. She smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “I made you breakfast, and I think it’s going to taste questionable now but it’ll be even worse if you let it go cold…” she teased and he looked up at her from where he’d buried his head in her pillow.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he said, shifting to sit up.

“Then I suggest you try it and find out,” she said, settling with the tray in her lap and picking up one of the forks, slicing off some bacon and pancake and dipping it in the syrup.

“No grilled cheese?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and a teasing sparkle in his eyes.

“This is for your benefit, so no… you get pancakes,” she said, with a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

Killian leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“Thanks, love, I should call Victor,” he said with a sigh, moving to get out of bed.

“I already called…” she said quietly, reaching out to stop him. “You need to eat, and then I will tell you.” She said, deliberately calm, and trying not to show any tension at making that kind of call for him.

“Emma…”

“If it was bad news, I’d have already woken you up. You need to eat, you’re no good to Liam exhausted, hungry, and irrational, so you’re going to sit there and eat the breakfast I made you… please…” she held his gaze for a moment before dropping her gaze. She wasn’t trying to start a fight but with her problems somewhat over she needed to be the one to look out for him and he had to let her do it.

Killian sighed and settled back on the bed, his hand curling around the back of her head and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you,” he murmured and held her like that for a moment before his hand dropped to pick up his own fork. It took a long moment before he swallowed and then reached for his coffee. “You’re getting better at cooking every single day, love, stop selling yourself short.”

Emma blushed.

“Thanks.”

Breakfast and shower complete, Emma was dressing when Killian sat on the end of the bed and looked up at her, his shoulders set and looking expectant.

“He’s awake and the first thing he did was ask for you. Do you want to go alone?” she asked, buttoning up her jeans. Robin and Mulan had dropped their stuff in while Killian was still in the shower. She could at least dress in clothes that were hers now. She really needed to go shopping.

“Will you come up with me?”

“And if you need me to go, then I’m sure my Dad would be very happy to see me,” Emma agreed with a smile.

Killian smiled. He couldn’t believe this woman standing in front of him right now was the same one who’d been so closed off and terrified of the world around her only a few weeks ago. In that moment he was so incredibly proud of her he couldn’t put it into words.

“What?” Emma asked, looking down at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he replied, trying to find a way to describe it now that she’d noticed there were wheels turning in his head. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you here, Swan, you’ve been so… thank you.”

Emma smiled, blushing but clearly pleased.

“I didn’t do a lot,” she said, looking down at his chest. “I wanted to help,” she said with a shrug.

“You are,” he said, hooking a finger under her chin and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You are.”

“Come on, your brother is probably going stir crazy and could do with knowing you’re okay,” she said, stepping out of his arms and taking his hand.

It was a short walk down to the medical centre, but that didn’t mean they didn’t meet other people on the way there, namely David and Snow coming out of it. They paused, and though Killian tried to drop her hand Emma didn’t let him. She wasn’t ashamed of what they’d done and while she’d hoped to ease her father into the news a little bit there was no time like the present.

“Dad!” she said, giving Killian’s hand a squeeze before dropping it and moving to give her father a hug. “I missed you,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I missed you too, princess,” he said, his easy smile and bright eyes showing just how much he meant it. But then he tensed, and Emma knew instinctively what had happened.

“Daddy?” she said tentatively, pulling back to look at him. But he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking over her head at Killian.

“Charming,” Snow said carefully, placing a hand on her mate’s arm. He shook it off and pushed Emma aside. She stumbled a little and Killian had to suppress a growl.

“That’s my daughter, you bastard!”

“Aye, she’s your daughter, but she’s my mate, and you may not like it right now, but it’s what she wanted as much as it’s what I wanted,” Killian said firmly.

Emma was already moving back round David to re-join Killian, slipping her hand into his as her father growled.

“I get that you want to protect me, I do, but this was my choice and right now, Killian has more important things to worry about than how you feel about us,” she said, stepping between them and holding her father’s gaze when it finally dropped down from Killian to her. “We are here to see Liam, and I will come and have a rational conversation with you later, if you decide you are capable of that.”

Snow smiled at her and nodded. Emma smiled back and looked up at Killian.

“Shall we?” he nodded and let her lead him past her parents.

“Emma…” David called after them, and they heard Snow chastising him and saying now was not the time as the door swung shut behind them, followed quickly by David’s unhappy rumble.

“It’s okay, Killian, just breathe,” she said quietly. He was tense now, and she could hear his heart beating loud and hard in his chest. “He’ll come around, he's just surprised. I’ll handle it, when he can act like an adult.”

“He’s not wrong though… you’re his daughter and I…”

“I made a choice, and I chose you. Don’t you dare second guess this.” There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at him, and he could see a ghost of the broken girl sat in the bathtub in her eyes.

“That’s not what I…” he sighed. “I just mean that I have completely disregarded all the etiquette I was raised on and I… I regret that I have disrespected him in that fashion.”

“Okay, and that’s why I will handle this, because you two are just going to end up fighting. So, we’re going to see your Brother, and worry about my Dad later,” she said firmly.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he asked, bending his head to brush his lips over hers.

“I can hear you two, you know!” called Liam from inside his room. Emma pulled back with a giggle, biting her lip and blushing. “Just get in here…”

Killian grinned and led her into the room, refusing to let go of her hand as they sat in a couple of chairs at Liam’s bedside. Liam was pleased for them, but Emma could tell there was more he wanted to say to Killian without her hearing what was said. After half an hour, in which they regaled the basics of what had happened before Liam did the same.

Thomas and the bitch trio were apparently the only survivors. Liam had killed Cora and Regina’s injuries had been too severe for her to survive them, Thomas and Neal had left pretty quickly when they’d seen that the tide was turning and that Emma was not here. The bitch trio had rushed Liam after he’d killed Philip, because Philip was dumb enough to think that someone with the experience to take out Cora would go down easy.

They told Liam that they’d gotten to know each other, and they’d fallen in love, and hadn’t seen any point in waiting when it would only help them if Neal came looking for her. How Neal had arrived while they were at the lake and they’d knocked him out, but how Emma had killed him when he attacked Killian while his back was turned.

Liam took her hand then.

“I’m sorry you were pushed to that, lass, especially when you’d made a point not to let Killian do it. But I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry that he can’t hurt any of us anymore. Thank you for protecting my little brother when I couldn’t,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Younger,” Killian had growled softly, and Emma laughed, she’d heard all about this particular brotherly gripe and how much it irked Killian.

“Sorry Liam, but I can assure you that there is nothing little about your brother,” she snarked.

Liam groaned, “I am never going to be able to say that again, lass!”

“I think that was the idea, brother…” Killian said with a lewd grin, leaning over to press his lips to Emma’s cheek.

“I take it back, I’m not happy for you,” Liam grumbled.

A little while later, Emma excused herself to go and find her mother, leaving Killian alone with Liam.

“Are you alright, Killian? I know what David said couldn’t have been easy to hear.”

“Emma says she’ll handle her father, I…” he sighed. “David is like a brother to me, and I feel like a right tool for going behind his back, but the thought that he might think of me in the same kind of vein as that despicable bastard son of Gold’s…” he pushed himself out of his seat and started pacing.

“What I wouldn’t give to pace, brother,” Liam bemoaned with amusement. “You know David, he doesn’t do well with change, he never has. Of course he’s going to react badly at first. The first week you two were gone he was doing my head in, and we’re lucky he and Merida didn’t have a bust up. They don’t always get along at the best of times, and with him being scared for his daughter’s life?”

“I know, Liam,” Killian sighed. “But he has to realise that I would do anything to protect her, that I wouldn’t have mated with her if I wasn’t sure. But… she was in Heat, and it’s not like that was the first time we did anything because I wasn’t going to be that arsehole. But then she triggered my rut and… I could have not done it, but we’d talked about it beforehand and we both wanted it and I… I love her, Liam.”

Liam smiled and nodded.

“Please tell me you told her that before you told me?”

Killian rolled his eyes at Liam and turned to glare at his brother.

“Of course, I did, I’m not an idiot!”

“Debatable, brother,” Liam said with a smirk.

There was a knock at the door, and Killian looked over his shoulder to see Elsa stood in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked, looking between the brothers with a nervous smile.

“Not at all, love,” Killian assured her.

“How are you feeling, Liam, do you need any more painkillers?” she asked, heading over to the bed. She checked the machines and then started checking Liam over.

“No, I’d rather feel it a little, don’t want to knock anything out of line,” Liam said with a smile.

“I swear you Alpha’s are all secretly masochists,” Elsa said with a sigh.

“Don’t look at me, love, I’ll leave you to your… ministrations…” he said, winking at Liam.

“Oh, you are so lucky I’m stuck in this bed, little brother!” Liam growled, half amused, half indignant.

Killian took in Elsa’s furious blush and the way his brother’s heart rate had picked up since she’d walked in.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Killian called as he hopped to his feet and sauntered out the room, feeling much better about his brother’s condition than he had before he went to bed last night.

- - - - -

“Emma!” a young voice shouted across the garden. “Emma, over here!” She turned to look and smiled as Leo waved to her from the top of the castle themed jungle gym he was playing on with his friends.

She walked over and looked up at the three faces grinning down at her.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” she asked with a smile.

The boy with dark curly hair looked up and then back down at her.

“Clouds,” he said with a cheeky grin, and Emma laughed.

“Good to know, thanks.”

“That’s Roland, and this is Grace,” Leo supplied when she looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Nice to meet you both,” she said with a smile.

“You’re Leo’s sister, right? The one they thought died?” Grace asked, looking at Emma curiously.

“Uh, yeah,” Emma replied, feeling a little awkward but not necessarily surprised by the blunt question.

“I like your hair; can I braid it sometime?” she asked.

“Uh, sure?” Emma wasn’t really sure what to say, this was way more awkward than being with just Leo had been, but she didn’t want to be rude to the kids. She just didn’t really know how to talk to groups of kids like this.

“Do you want to play with us?” Roland asked, still looking at her curiously. “My Dad said you and Killian were all on your own at the cabin, you must have been lonely, and bored…”

“We did alright,” Emma chuckled. “I was actually looking for Mom, do you know where she is, Leo?” she asked, figuring her ten-year-old brother stood more chance of knowing than anyone else at this point.

“They went down to the summer house, Dad looked pretty upset, is everything okay?” Leo asked, frowning a little.

“Yeah, uh, at least they will be,” Emma said, not sounding at all convinced. “He’s upset that I made a decision without telling him about it… or something… I think.”

Grace’s eyes lit up.

“Are you and Killian…?”

Emma’s eyes widened as she took in the three kids all staring down at her. Leo and Roland looked a little grossed out and made noises to that effect, but Grace looked positively giddy.

“I mean, Killian is so dreamy…”

“Are you supposed to be talking like that about someone who’s what… twenty years older than you?” Emma asked, more than a little shocked.

Grace shrugged and giggled.

“I’m going to go and find Mom and Dad… maybe play later?” she said tentatively.

“Seeya Emma,” Leo said with a wave, leading the other two back to whatever game they’d been playing before he’d seen her.

She’d have said something in reply, but their attentions were already diverted, and she was left to find her way to the summer house. She’d have tracked them but there were so many scents around and she didn’t want to give herself a headache trying.

After a few minutes of wandering, she stumbled across a likely outbuilding and approached with a loud clearing of her throat, because she really didn’t want to stumble in on anything… untoward.

“Mom?” she called.

“Emma? In here sweetie!” Snow replied, sticking her head out of the door.

“Is this a bad time?” she asked, trying to hint that if David wasn’t ready to be rational, she could come back later.

“No, no, please I want this smoothed out sooner rather than later,” she insisted, holding out her hand to Emma. When Emma reached her, she leaned in and whispered. “Stand your ground, but don’t rise if he gets angry, he loves you, he’s just… surprised and not always great at expressing himself.”

Emma nodded and shot her mother a smile. When she walked in, David was sitting on a cushioned chair looking distressed and upset and more than a little grumpy.

“Hi Dad,” she said carefully.

“Emma, I… I’m sorry I…” he sighed and dropped the football he’d been turning over in his hands back into the bin full of random balls on his right. “I just can’t believe he’d go behind my back like that I… After everything you’ve been through!”

“David!” Snow admonished, but Emma laid her hand on her mother’s arm.

“Killian would never do anything to hurt me,” Emma said firmly. “All he has ever done is try to protect me, he once promised that he would come back for me, and yes it might have taken him seventeen years, but he did it.” Emma swallowed, and blinked rapidly. “I’m not saying that we don’t wish we could have done this the right way but… Dad… you had to know that this would have happened eventually anyway.”

“But to do it behind my back!” David was clearly riled by that notion, and this was clearly about the etiquette Killian had mentioned.

“I went into heat, Dad. We knew it was going to happen, that’s why there was a deadline to get me away from Neal. Because Neal would have taken what I didn’t want to give him. What I have never wanted to give him, but he felt he had a right to, because Gold told him he did.” Emma had to stop then and take a breath. To centre herself. “Killian told me he felt bad because he thinks he’s broken some kind of Werewolf Etiquette I’m not aware of, but I was so unprepared for any of this because that’s how they wanted me, confused and isolated and easily manipulated.”

Snow’s hand found hers, and Emma could smell the salt of her tears.

“Killian has been nothing but honest with me from day one, and… I know I don’t remember it, but I know I used to trust him more than anyone and I could feel that every time I looked at him. When I’m with him… I feel like I belong, I’ve never had a full moon that wasn’t somewhat painful before this one, and… he wouldn’t have done anything I didn’t want. If I had wanted to wait, we would have. Yes, knowing Neal was after me made me consider it more seriously but I…” Her voice faded and she cleared her throat, looking away suddenly embarrassed.

“Emma…?” David prompted, and when she looked at him his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white.

“Did Killian tell you what Neal was about to do when he got to my room that night?” She paused to let that point sink in. “Killian would never do that to me, I have never felt this sure about anything in my entire life. He believes in me, he taught me how to cook,” she said laughing tearfully, her throat tight and her chest hurting with the volume of emotion and the struggle to keep breathing and talking. “I believe in him, I believe in us, I… I love him, and nothing you say is going to change that. I killed Neal because Mom had just told Killian about Liam and he was distracted, and Neal had been pretending to still be unconscious and he was going to kill him and I… I will not lose him.

“He loves you like a brother and hurting you is killing him, and if you can’t accept this…”

David moved then, standing and wrapping his arms around her.

“I’m sorry, I thought the worst I…” his hand cradled the back of her head, as his other arm wrapped around her shoulders and held her against his chest. “I just want you to be happy, sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair.

“I’m working on it, but he makes it easier to see how I could be,” she admitted. Her life wasn’t perfect and there were some things she still needed to work through. She needed some serious conversations with her mother about how to be the mate of an Alpha, how to deal with there being so many Alphas in one room. How to deal with the fact that she couldn’t be with Killian all the time but even being apart this long she was aching to see him again and was that because of the highly emotional conversation they were having?

“Just give me some time to get used to the idea. Dial down the PDA for me, please?” he said, pulling back to look down at her. “And I do need to talk to him, I know he’s already your mate but… there are still some things a father needs to say.”

“Just, be nice, please?” she said, looking up at him, pleadingly.

David grinned and chuckled.

“I promise I will try,” he assured her. Beside them, Snow let out a relieved sigh and nudged her way into the hug.

“That’s all I ask,” she said, letting herself settle back into the hug.

She could feel the difference now, now that she wasn’t so stressed, in this hug to the last one she had shared with her parents. There was something else that called to her more than this did, that was what this bond she had with Killian meant, that there was nothing in this world more important than him. But that didn’t scare her as it might have a couple of months ago, when her only option for this had been Neal. Graham hadn’t been able to give her a choice, but Killian had, he’d even given her the option to remain unattached.

She’d been able to feel where he was before, but it was more intense now, more accurate. Her senses were more attuned to him in a way she hadn’t been able to imagine. She’d always been able to smell the basics on anyone, but it had been body language and tells she’d always relied on over her nose.

Now though, with him…

It was like someone had dialled everything up to full volume and then some.

And it was intoxicating; for them both. There were moments when he seemed unable to keep his hands off her. Even now with her heat and his rut well and truly fucked out of them, she wanted to be close, needed to be close to him. She wondered if they’d had more time, if her mother had been able to prepare her for this…

If anyone had prepared her for how this would feel.

She felt a familiar pang at the unfairness of her life before her family had come for her. This should have been something she’d been told about; she shouldn’t have been this clueless.

“Emma?” Killian said carefully.

“I’m fine… It’s just… a little overwhelming,” she admitted.

“Aye, but…”

“Good,” she said quickly, taking the hand he’d placed on the table between them and smiling. God that felt good, his hand wrapped around hers. So simple, but it said so much.

“It’s surprised me a little too, I mean… it’s one thing to be told what to expect and another to experience it?” he suggested gently.

Emma hummed, without any conviction behind it.

“Emma, did they not…?” she shook her head, blinking rapidly and fighting the feeling of inadequacy that was threatening to overwhelm her. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise.” He moved quickly, pulling her into his arms and smoothing her hair with one hand as he nuzzled into her neck. “Never be scared of asking me anything,” he murmured against her skin. “Anything, Swan,” he insisted.

“I’m not, I’m just… trying to work things out, or at least explain what’s going on in my head right now,” she soothed, her nose grazing against his skin. That had changed too, he smelled different. Not obviously different, she didn’t think, just… better.

“I can help.”

“You already are,” Emma told him, smiling as she turned her head to press her lips to his jaw.

“I think it’s time we got out of this cabin and got some fresh air, don’t you?”

“How about a swim?” Emma suggested with a soft smile as she pulled back to look up at him.

Killian grinned and kissed her on the forehead.

- - - - -

Needless to say, their two weeks as an actual couple had been intense. Both of them were glad for the few days of peace and quiet after things had calmed down to just… get to know each other. And yes, the threat of Neal finding her, and still not having heard word from their families loomed like a shadow over their heads, but they’d managed to find their own little bubble of happiness within that.

But they were both tense, and Emma could feel it, even as they basked on the warmth of the rock ledge at the edge of the lake, she could feel it in his fingers lazily tracing patterns on the inside of her arm.

“Should… should we just… go back?” she suggested carefully.

“We don’t know what they have planned in our absence, I don’t want to risk ruining that. I don’t want to risk you… please don’t ask that of me, Emma.” His fingers had slipped down to entwine with hers and she rolled into him. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer and turning his head to press a kiss into her hair.

“Don’t get me wrong… being out here with you it’s… wonderful. But it is a bit…”

“Boring?” he asked with an easy smile down at her, letting her know he wasn’t upset by the comment. “Aye, there is only so much of one person’s conversation you can take before you need some kind of other input.”

“We are almost out of food… And I have run out of stories of my childhood, and stories of Graham to regale you with…” she pressed gently.

“We’ll be alright until the full moon, and I have a few stories of Graham you’re too young to remember, and I’ve been saving a couple of my favourites that involve you too…” he said with a smile as he pulled her up so that she was lying on top of him.

“Doesn’t that make this feel weird? I don’t remember… well anything other than that night so… I know you, and I know I’ve always known you, but it’s a feeling more than it is a memory.”

Killian shrugged, considering for a moment.

“I think it just makes it feel… more right? Like you said I have known you, I grieved for you and all the moments we could have had most of my life. I think, if we had actually grown up together, I might find this more weird, I guess. You’d always have been more like a kid sister to me until I realised you weren’t. I think your Dad would struggle with it more that way too… Don’t get me wrong, losing you and Graham was pretty up there on the list of worst things that have ever happened to us… But…”

“I love you,” she said suddenly, with such fierce conviction in her voice it felt almost like a punch to the chest.

He blinked, and she blushed suddenly, and only then did he realise the immediate reaction her words had stirred in his body. It was true that he’d spent most of the last two weeks at some degree of horny, and therefore he wasn’t sure his cock had been completely soft in that time.

There was something to be said for the quickened healing and stamina of Werewolves.

But hearing those words from her lips, declared with no rooms for doubt, his reaction was immediate.

“I love you too,” he replied, grinning up at her and pulling her in for a long, hard, kiss that left both of them gasping. There was a moment of complete bliss as they looked into each other’s eyes but then…

They both stilled as one, as a cool breeze wafted in from the direction of the cabin. Killian couldn’t be sure if she was reacting to him, or if she’d smelled what he had. They’d both grown so used to the smells and sounds of the surrounding area, the animals and the trees and Killian could tell by the one waft of air that something wasn’t right.

Emma was frowning down at him, confused at his sudden stillness and tension.

“Get dressed.”

“Killian…?!

“Emma,” he didn’t snap, outside of the tonal shift his voice was carefully controlled to convey urgency, not anger. But that one word was enough to snap her out of the lingering haze of lust with which they’d both been overcome and alert her to the danger he had smelled. Was still smelling, stronger now as the light breeze continued to blow in.

She was up and crouching next to him before he could say another word, her body alert and her mind racing, he could practically hear it.

“Get dressed,” he said again, hand cupping her cheek and taking her hand as he levered himself up to kneel in front of her.

She could definitely smell Neal, and his scent brought back the memories she’d been fighting to move past for weeks now in full force. Her hand tightened around Killian’s, and she had to fight the urge to turn tail and just run.

She looked up at him, the strange duality of her emotions clear as day in her eyes. The fear of what was about to happen battling with her complete trust in him. She took a deep breath in, both smelling and tasting the breeze for clues.

“It’s him, I think he’s got someone else with him,” she said quickly, knowing that she would recognise the scents better than he would.

“Get dressed, quick, I don’t know how much time we’ve got,” He couldn’t be sure, Neal could have deliberately strayed upwind for some reason, or he could have been approaching the cabin from downwind only to find that they weren’t there.

They moved quickly to their clothes, pulling them on over the damp material they were already wearing. It was uncomfortable but being clothed was more important right now. Emma could feel her heart pounding in her ears, and she was struggling to stop her hands from shaking as she buttoned her jean shorts.

“Hey, we’ll get through this, together,” Killian said, taking her hand and holding it firmly in his own.

He was obviously sensing her fear or smelling the sweat sheening on her forehead at the churning in her stomach and the acrid tasting spit building in her mouth as whatever was left in her stomach from their lunch threatened to expel itself all over the grass in front of her. Emma wasn’t sure which was worse. Killian rubbed his thumb up and down hers, ready to hold her close or hold her hair out of the way depending on which way this moment went. Emma managed a steadying breath and pulled her hand from Killian’s to finish buttoning her shorts.

“Oh, don’t get dressed on my account.”

Emma’s blood ran cold, and she felt Killian tense beside her. The urge to vomit became more pronounced, but Killian needed her to keep her head. She needed to turn around and face this. They’d bested Neal before, and they hadn’t been mates then, they hadn’t forged this bond between them then.

They were stronger now.

She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. He was alone for now, but she could have sworn there had been someone else with him. She wished she’d been able to spend more time working on things like that, honing her senses. But she supposed Gold had always wanted to keep her under heel in a way he hadn’t with everyone else. How had she gotten this far so wholly unprepared for the world? She finished buttoning her shorts and shifted closer to Killian, reaching for his hand.

His fingers twined with hers without hesitation, her next breath came a little easier.

“Happy to see me, sweetheart? I know you must have missed me, we have so much to do when we get home,” Neal drawled, making his way around to stand in front of Emma.

“If my locking myself away for heats hadn’t been a hint, I thought stabbing you in the leg might have been, or even the fact that I left,” Emma growled her anger taking over for a moment before she could reign it in. “Besides, I’m back where I belong, and there’s nothing you can do to convince me otherwise now,” she smiled a little then, squeezing Killian’s hand.

Behind her, Killian could feel the growl already rumbling low in his chest, barely concealed as his fury at the leech stood in front of them rolled off him in waves he knew Emma was picking up on. Probably half the reason for her squeezing his hand.

He watched as Neal sniffed the air between them, saw his expression change.

“You mated with that runt?” he snarled.

“You’re calling him a runt when you’ve barely mastered your Alpha tone? Don’t make me laugh Neal, you’ll never be half the Alpha Killian is,” she declared.

“Control your bitch, Jones, she’s speaking out of turn,” Neal spat, obviously furious.

Killian let the growl in his chest roll up his throat and spill out of his lips as he took a step forward, placing himself between Emma and Neal. His knees were slightly bent, his shoulders rolled forwards and he could feel his nails sharpening into the humanoid claws werewolves could grow under extreme circumstances.

“Watch your tongue, whelp,” Killian spat.

Neal sank into a defensive stance and returned Killian’s growl.

“Luckily all I have to do to make sure she doesn’t speak out of turn again is kill you, and then claim and tame her…” He said with a dark laugh.

“Not going to happen!”

Emma shouted it defiantly at the exact same moment he growled it with the fiercest conviction he had ever said anything in his life. He smirked, and Emma let out a breath of nervous laughter at his shoulder.

“You see Neal, that’s something you and your father never understood. You don’t tame or break an Omega like Emma, because that only makes you weaker. An Omega like Emma needs to be set free, to be allowed to grow and learn who they really are both with and without you by their side. That will make you stronger. Together.”

Emma couldn’t place his tone, there was a hint of pride, maybe a little smugness at having won Emma’s trust and claimed her when Neal had failed to do so. But there was an overriding sense of certainty about him, and she didn’t have to look at him to know that he believed every word he’d said. She felt an overwhelming rush of affection and gratitude towards him. The man that she loved, her Alpha. She let her thumb drag over his skin for a moment, not wanting to distract him but wanting him to know she’d appreciated what he’d said.

Neal laughed incredulously.

“What is this stupid pacifist bullshit?”

“I’m hardly a pacifist,” Killian replied with a dark laugh of his own which honestly sounded more like a growl.

Having fought him before, Killian knew a little bit about Neal’s style, and he was fairly certain a month of trying to consolidate his place in his father’s shoes would have left him little time to improve. He shifted his weight down into his knees and pressed forwards, his hand slipping out of Emma’s as he rushed at Neal. He went low, knowing that Neal’s balance was far from his best attribute. But at the last moment he rolled to the side and slashed at the back of Neal’s legs.

But he sidestepped, and wasn’t hobbled in the manner Killian had hoped, but he was on his feet again and Neal had stepped to Emma’s advantage.

Emma had never really been much of a fighter, but as she’d stood behind Killian, her mate, listening as he defended her, stood up for her in a way no one had ever done for her before - at least, not since she’d been taken – she felt something building inside her. It was a fury, and a desire to fight and defend unlike anything she’d ever felt.

She leapt at Neal, claws extended, and tearing into his shoulder as she pulled him round, throwing him off balance. Neal cried out in pain as Emma’s claws ripped into his skin, and he snarled at her, his eyes blazing with fury. She snarled back as his clawed hands swiped at her face. She ducked, and he swiped again with his now injured arm. This one she parried easily and was stunned by how instinctually she was acting and how well it seemed to be serving her. She swung at him in return and slashed deep marks across his chest.

She wasn’t so lucky on his third quick swing, misjudging his reach and allowing the blow to land on the side of her face, claws tearing into her skin and drawing a scream from her mouth. Neal was wrenched back from her by Killian, who had let out a roar of fury as he punched him in the side of the head. He kicked Neal in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards, off balance but not down.

Killian was on the offensive again, his and Neal’s claws tearing at each other’s clothes, the cuts and lacerations across their bodies increasing. Emma darted round to the side, landing a blow on Neal’s ribs despite the distracting throbbing as blood leaked down her cheek. Distracting him saw Killian’s next couple of blows landing as he tried to kick out at her instead.

Killian kicked him hard in the chest, and Emma was sure she heard a rib crack. He was gasping for breath, but Killian didn’t stop. He punched him in the face and Neal hit the ground. Killian stamped on his thigh, hard, snapping the bone.

Neal howled in pain; the way Emma had when Neal had broken hers.

Served him right.

Before she could register what was happening, Killian was on top of Neal, punching him in the face repeatedly. She could hear Neal’s heartbeat faltering.

Suddenly, with him so pathetically whimpering on the floor the bloodlust faded.

“Killian,” she said, her voice cautious but firm. “Killian, stop, he’s not worth it,” She pressed, and his head snapped round to look at her. He was panting hard, his eyes wild with fury, but he turned slower to look back down at Neal, cowering on the rocky ground beneath him. Nobody moved for a long moment until the tension faded from Killian’s shoulders.

“Aye,” he said, breathing heavily. “You’re lucky she’s a better person than either of us,” he told him as he pushed himself up, pausing to slap him hard enough round the face to render him unconscious.

“Are you alright, Love?” he asked, his fingers gentle on her sliced cheek. They were both breathing heavily, and Emma could not deny the current running in her blood about how his quite literally leaping to her defence was such a turn on. If they didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to, Emma would have jumped his bones right then.

“I’ll be fine.” He hadn’t sliced through her cheek at least, so there was a chance it would be healed without the hint of a scar within a few hours.

“Come here,” Killian said gently, pulling his shirt off as he headed over to the water, dipping the edge of the shirt in, bringing it up to her cheek to wash off the blood so he could see it better. “It’s shallow, should heal fine,” he muttered. His hands caressing over her skin, ghosting over her hair, her shoulders, her back. She realised he was checking her over for other injuries.

“Killian, I’m fine,” she said gently, her own hand moving to his cheek and pulling him down for a kiss.

He groaned against her lips, kissing her hard fingers tangled in her hair, one arm looped around her waist, pulling her in tight. It was one of those life affirming, toe curling, never want it to stop kisses. But changing the angle of their heads had his nose nudging her cut cheek and she hissed.

He pulled back immediately.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” she soothed, feeling the guilt and worry in his gaze.

“We should get back, use the radio, and hope he didn’t bring anyone else with him,” Killian said with a sigh. Emma slipped out of his arms and pulled her shoes on, grabbing the bag they’d brought and leaving Killian to grab Neal’s unconscious form and heft it over his shoulder.

They took the most direct route back, and as they got closer, they noticed other scents on the breeze. There were more wolves at the cabin, and Killian recognised all the scents but one.

“Looks like we won’t need to use the radio after all,” he said with a smile as they entered the clearing, hand in hand. Mulan and Robin were securing the unfamiliar figure in the bed of Robin’s truck as they approached, and just walking out of the cabin was…

“Mom?” Emma breathed, and she crossed to the cabin door quickly, wrapping her arms around her mother and finding her cheek stinging with relieved tears at seeing her again.

“Emma, sweetheart, are you alright?” she asked, holding her daughter tight.

Killian dropped Neal’s unconscious form on the dusty ground behind them and Snow pulled back with a sudden gasp. She looked between Emma and Killian with wide eyes for a moment before her expression broke into a smile.

Emma’s gaze dropped to the floor and Killian’s ears turned pink.

“We’re fine, Mom,” she mumbled, and Killian moved closer.

“Yes, yes you are,” she said with a grin.

“Snow, I…” Killian started, sounding like he wanted to explain, but the Brunette shook her head.

“We don’t have time, Killian, we came as soon as we realised Neal and whoever that is…” she gestured at the unconscious and bound body already lying in the bed of the second truck.

“Thomas,” Emma supplied, with the merest glance, but there was something else on Snow’s mind, she could tell.

“Killian, you have to get back, it’s over but Liam is hurt. When we left, we didn’t know if he would pull through or not.”

The blood had drained from Killian’s face before she’d finished speaking. He was reaching for the wall of the hut to hold himself up. Emma was already turning towards him, but she was the only one who could see it. Mulan and Robin were still on the other side of the truck and Snow was already looking at Killian, who was looking at Snow…

Without warning, Neal’s supposedly unconscious form surged up out of nowhere and lunged at Killian’s back.

“No!” Emma screamed, moving without thinking, barrelling into Neal and shoving him into the cabin wall. His breath left his body in a winded rush of air, and she hadn’t even let go of him before she was pulling him back off the wall and throwing him into the ground, leaping on top of him. There was a sickening crunch as Neal’s head hit a stone, but Emma didn’t hear it. All she knew was that Neal had been going for Killian, had been trying to take something else from her and she wanted to hurt him as much as he and his father had hurt her over the years.

She grabbed hold of his hair and started slamming his head into the ground, the crunching grind of his skull against the rock he’d fallen onto spurring on the sudden bloodlust and it wasn’t until her hands were covered in blood, until the repeated crunching of his skull on the rock had turned into a squelch, that she registered the large pool of it across the ground. Emma’s body stilled as she realised what she’d done.

For a long moment everybody was still and silent and all Emma could do was stare down at Neal’s body as blood seeped into the dirt underneath his head.

She hadn’t meant to kill him, but he’d clearly intended to hurt or even kill Killian while he was down, distracted and she couldn’t let Neal hurt him. She’d reacted and now…

Neal’s heart had beat it’s last, gravity doing all the work as blood ran out of his mangled head.

“Emma,” Killian’s voice broke through her stunned focus on Neal. He didn’t come closer, but he was reaching out for her, and she reached back. “It’s alright love, it was an accident.”

She didn’t know how he was doing it, how he was pushing aside his fears for his brother for her, but he was. She pushed herself off the ground, stumbling backwards into Killian and turned, burying her face in his chest and started to sob.

It was overwhelming. The guilt at having taken another life. The relief that no matter what happened now, he was not going to be able to come between them. The knowledge that she was free of Gold and Neal and that no one who was left was ever going to be so concerned with her alone that they’d try to do what Neal had done.

“We need to go, Liam, you need to be there,” she said, pulling her forehead off his chest and looking up at him.

Killian swallowed.

“Aye, I’ll get my keys.”

“You’re not driving like this, Killian, please don’t be reckless,” Emma said gently, her fingers longing to trace through the hair at the nape of his neck, but they were covered in blood.

“Okay,” he murmured, his eyes closing, taking a deep and calming breath, resting his forehead against hers.

“Mom, can you find him a clean shirt, top right-hand drawer of the dresser,” she said, without looking away from her mate. He needed her here with him, not running around and fussing, just like she needed him here, keeping her from looking back at Neal’s lifeless body.

“I’ll be right back, Mulan, Robin can you… find his keys and get the truck ready?” Snow said, as she walked away.

There was movement around them as Mulan and Robin followed Snow’s directions. But Emma focused on Killian, on what he needed from her as he faced the possibility of losing the only family member he had left.

Needing to look after her so that he didn’t go crazy worrying about Liam and also to try and lessen the smell of blood in the air that was driving him a little crazy, Killian carefully guided her over to the outside tap, turning it on and helping her wash the blood from her hands. When they were done, he gathered her close again, still keeping her looking at him and not at the body.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, resting his forehead against hers as he looked down at her.

“Me? What about you? Killian…” she said, her arms slipping up to his shoulders and her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyelids fluttered closed for just a moment. She knew he loved it when she did that, but right now she was taking just as much comfort from the tender caress as he was.

“I can’t do anything for Liam, even if we get there before it swings either way. Emma, you stopped me when I… I know you didn’t want that,” he said gently.

“He was going to kill you, no one else was close enough to… I don’t even know if they saw but I…” she swallowed, looking up at him in earnest. “I couldn’t let him hurt you,” she whispered, her fingers still carding through his hair, taking as much comfort from the action as he did.

“I know, love, it’s alright. You were protecting your pack, your Alpha, killing him was an accident, and more than justifiable.”

“But I didn’t stop…” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling.

“You lost it, but he was part of the reason you’ve been so suppressed that sometimes you don’t stand a chance at holding back. And that’s okay, you will learn, and I will help you,” he promised, his voice low but clear as the sounds of the others moving around drifted over to them. His tone was firm and the look in his eyes was certain and steady when he spoke again. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Then why do I feel so guilty I could barf?” she asked, her gaze dropping and tears pooling in her eyes.

“Because, my love,” Killian said, hooking his finger under her chin and forcing her to look up at him, and Emma felt something stir at the addition of ‘my’ to the usual endearment he used. For the first time, there was no doubt or question for either of them. “You are a good person, far too good for a reckless idiot like me, or a manipulative lowlife like him.”

“But I love my reckless idiot. My Alpha. My Mate,” she told him, using his addition for her own end. He smiled, but she could still feel the tension in his shoulders, his other worries unable to be completely pushed aside. “I’m here for you.”

“I know.” His voice was sure, and certain, and Emma let herself bask in those two words that meant so much. They knew nothing could come between them, that no matter what they faced as an aftermath of the events of this day they would face it together.

They belonged together, and they both knew it.

“Killian, I have a shirt for you, and I’ll be driving you home, Mulan and Robin will sort out everything here, bring back any clothes and stuff, but we should go,” Snow said gently from a few feet away, not wanting to intrude, but wanting to convey the urgency of the situation.

“Right, let’s go,” he pulled away to take the shirt, but didn’t bother putting it on yet. “There’s a first aid kit in the truck, we can clean up a little on the way,” he said, tilting his head to look at the cuts on Emma’s cheek again.

“Yes, we will,” Emma agreed, her fingers tracing a long deep cut along his ribs. He sucked in a breath, and she could tell that the reaction hadn’t been all pain. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and glanced up at his face.

“Killian, I get it, but that is still my daughter,” Snow called back breezily over her shoulder as she rounded his truck and opened the door.

“My apologies, Milady,” Killian replied with a bow and a cheeky wink.