#killipan-jones

Give in

Have we talked about how I live in fort worth? I feel like we have.

“Trust me, Emma.”  They had been shouting for nearly five minutes now and she was growing more incensed with each one.  Her nostrils were flaring; her eyes were like daggers as this guy stood in front of her holding up some glowing liquid that he expected her to drink.  It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to her and while she knew that New York might be full of weirdos…this was something else.  What irked her most was that he didn’t seem to be lying.

She should have walked away right then.  That’s what logic called for.  They were standing on an open street, people walking by, she could try to lose him.  Again.  Or she could lead him right back to the police station and leave him there this time.  All those seemed like the reasonable choices.  However, she hesitated, staring at the glowing shot glass in his hand.

“Why?”  She let the words slip out on an exhale.  She locked eyes with him, intensity in her stance.  “Why should I trust you?”

The blue in his eyes was impossible.  She thought as much when he had first knocked on her door.  Now she was doing her utmost not to focus on how it seemed familiar to her.  How could any part of him seem familiar? 

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

  “You’ve done nothing but harass me.  You’ve followed me.  You somehow knew where I lived and instead of talking like a normal person you…” Anger at the memory made her words fumble.  She still felt a strange flutter in her chest when she thought about it, while the sudden kiss had been entirely inappropriate and unwelcome; it had been no less thrilling.  “You kiss me?  Who does that?  What kind of person does that to a total stranger?  And now you want me to trust you.  Or, you seem to think I should trust you, but I don’t get why.  Are you actually insane?  Should I be looking for the men in white jackets to come running around the corner at any second claiming you’ve escaped?”

  “You are right, love.”  He admitted, his posture slackening from when they had been shouting.  Now he seemed calmer.  “I have given you no reason to trust me.  Not in your memory.”

  “And the memory thing?  Really?”  She gave him a deadpan stare, finding this part of his story the hardest to believe.  “You think I just forgot what, eleven years?  Come on.”  Her memories were the only thing she had.  They were real, she was positive about that.  People don’t just get their thoughts rewritten.  This wasn’t a movie.  Though, he did look like he stepped off a Hollywood set.  Or a comic con.

  He smiled, shaking his head.  “Tough as ever, lass.”

  Emma snorted.  “Okay, the whole pirate thing, I’m not buying it.  No one talks like that.”

  If he was offended by that, it didn’t show.  Though she would freely admit he didn’t look like a simple cosplayer.  I mean, he even smelled the part.  Like…all sea water and leather.  She’d caught a whiff of it when he’d stolen that kiss from her, she didn’t smell him intentionally.  Even if she would have expected it to be a bad smell it wasn’t. 

  “Regardless, I am telling you the truth.”  He was earnest as ever.  There was no feeling in her gut telling her to run.  No warning bells sounding the alarm.  Which was probably the most unnerving thing about him.  It was like she already trusted him.  Which, obviously, was stupid. 

  When she rolled her eyes, not quite denying that she was sort of considering believing him, he stepped toward her.  Instantly she was on alert.  Her body moved to a defensive position instinctively, baring her strong side forward and her feet spaced even with her shoulders.  If he tried anything he’d get a punch in the face, let him try it.  He seemed to find her reaction humorous, mirth dancing in his eyes as he held up his hands in peace.  “I understand that you have no reason to trust me, but at least take this.”  He held out the bottle, the contents still triggering her defensives.  Strange guys offering you strange drinks?  Giant red flag.  “You may choose to drink it or you may choose to toss it aside.”  He added, still holding it out to her. 

  Emma studied his hand, not making a move.  “Oh, I am definitely tossing it.”

  He chewed his lip, trying to hide amusement and failing.  “If that is what you wish.”  Giving that to her, it wasn’t the right move.  Given the choice, hell yes she would toss it.  She’d drop it down the nearest gutter.  Yet…she still hesitated to take it.  His eyes lowering, his voice taking on a different tone that was not at all appropriate for the situation he added, “But then you might never be certain.”

  “Certain of what?”  She asked before she could stop herself.  Her hand stopped inches from the bottle.  She should take it and throw it as hard as she could.  But that bastard was playing some type of game here and now she had to hear the rest of it.

  The smirk he gave her was not fair.  Not fair at all.  Devilish and smug as shit.  “You might never know if I am telling the truth.”  Was he trying to make this enticing for her?  Um, no.  Not going to work.  “You can prove me wrong right now.  Just drink it.”  A challenge then.  Okay, that was working to tempt her.  “Of course, love, if can’t handle it…I understand.  It’s a hard truth to accept.  I don’t blame you in the slightest.” 

  His words were getting under her skin.  Of all the crap he’d said so far, this was the first time she was considering it.  She should drink it.  Just to wipe that smile off his face.  But that was stupid.  The dumbest thing she could do.  “How do I know it’s not poisoned?  This could be anything.  No one in their right mind would drink something handed to them by a stranger.” 

  “So I tracked you down so I could poison you in the middle of this crowded street when I might just as easily have killed you on your front door?”  He was stepping closer again, but she remained rooted.  He wasn’t going to break her stance, she could handle him.  She was sure of it.

  “Then you’re trying to drug me.”

  His words were low, his face much closer now than she liked.  “Right, and then I just throw you over my shoulder and cart you off?  I’m sure no one would question a pirate walking down the sidewalk with an unconscious woman on his back.  Your arguments are growing feeble, love.”  She couldn’t see their hands any more, he’d stepped too close to her, but she could feel him pressing the small bottle into her palm.  “It’s your choice, Emma.”

  “I’d be insane to drink this.”  She protested, more for herself than for him.

  “Or you’re starting to doubt yourself.”  He had stepped away, giving her much needed space after handing her the bottle, but he was still close.  He was staring down his nose at her, a look that made her shiver, though it should have made her uncomfortable.  “Your mind is telling you I’m a liar.  You don’t want to believe me.  But what is your gut telling you?  What do you really think?”

  “I…”  Emma’s eyes betrayed her doubt.  She wasn’t sure anymore.  There was no part of her that believed him and yet…everything he said sounded right.  “I don’t know.”  She spoke firmly, teeth clenching.  Why was she still holding that damn bottle?  She lifted her head and locked eyes with him again because he was definitely right about one thing.  Her gut told her to trust him.  “When I drink this…” she held up the bottle, “when I drink this and nothing happens, you’ll stop with all this?  You’ll leave me alone?  No more following me.  No more trying to kiss me.  No more showing up at my door?”

  “On my honor.”  He said with complete sincerity.

  Emma scoffed.  “Honor.  Okay.  Sure.”  Honor didn’t hold much in the twenty-first century.  But she was pulling the stopper out of the bottle anyway.  A puff of smoke burst from the top, falling in a thin cloud around her hand before dissipating in the crisp air.  “Okay, that’s not normal.”  She sniffed.  “What exactly is this?”

  “It’s a potion that will bring back your proper memories.”

  She eyed him, “Right.  My ‘proper’ memories.  The ones where, apparently, a pirate straight from a novel thinks it’s okay to kiss me.”

  “Well, you hadn’t complained the first time.”  Her eyes snapped toward him, not liking what his cocky grin suggested.

  Raising the bottle to her lips she hesitated.  “I guess I’m insane.”  Emma tipped her head back and threw down the potion like a shot.  “Son of a bitch.”  She was crying out before she even swallowed it all.  Whatever it was, burned and tickled all the way down.  Crashing down her throat and making her cough.  She bent forward, heat spreading through her limps, surging with her blood stream before rising straight to her head.  Her eyes were shut tight and she thought, for just a second, that she had been poisoned and was about to die.  For an instant, she was truly terrified.

  Then everything stopped.  The ground stopped tilting beneath her feet.  The heat in her blood cooled.  The throbbing pain in her head subsided and then a hand was helping her up.  She felt an arm under her elbow and she clung to it, thankful for the support.

  “Emma…?”  His voice…she knew that voice.

  Her shoulders were sagging, feeling heavy as she caught her balance and stood on her own. 

  “Emma?  Emma, what’s wrong, love?”  The worry in his voice made her smile.  Her eyes turned from the ground, following the lines of his coat—that damn coat, did he ever wash it?—and then she met his eyes.  “Hook.”

  She spoke with clarity and suddenly she was back on the edge of Storybrooke.  Saying her goodbyes.  Seeing the family she’d finally found for the last time.  And there had been Hook, the last one to say goodbye.  And she remembered. 

  They must have looked odd.  Two people, one dressed as a pirate, the other in modern clothes, standing on a sidewalk staring into each other’s eyes like the cover of a romance novel.  But for a few minutes they couldn’t be bothered to care.

  “You found me.”  She said, the words feeling familiar and yet…she’d never said them before.

  “Did you doubt I would?”

  Emma felt her eyes welling and she hid her tears by throwing her arms around his waist.  For a second, she was the only active participant, her chin resting on his shoulder as she just breathed.  Then his arms pulled her in, one arm over her shoulder and the other at her side.  She felt his hand in her hair and his cheek pushing against her ear.  Emma didn’t know why she was crying.  Or why she’d decided to hug him for it.  Her memories were still coming back, not all of it clear at first.  What she did remember was how he had always made her feel.  Maybe not specific moments, but flashes of emotions that she associated with him.  It felt right, regardless of why.

  Killian was the one to pull away first, though he didn’t seem happy about it.  He looked down into her eyes, clearing his throat.  “As much as I hate to spoil the mood, there isn’t much time.”

  “Right.”  Her face broke and her heart sank.  “Wait, the reason you’re here.  What happened?  Is everyone okay?”

  “No.”  He answered honestly.  She nodded, the truth, though still harsh to hear, was comforting.  She felt like she could rely on him like that.  To tell her what he needed to.  Emma pulled away fully.  Her body wanted to put motion to the thoughts racing through her head.  She’d always been a woman of action.  “When I left, things were grim but not without hope.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Regina’s made a few too many powerful enemies.  This one I had only known in name until now.  The Witch of the West.”

  “Like Dorothy and Oz, Wicked Witch of the West?”  It took her a second to realize that with her proper memories came the fairy tale name dropping.  Because Captain Hook was telling her that the Wicked Witch had done something to her parents, Snow White and Prince Charming, and even now it all sounded strange.  It would be a while before she got back into the flow of things.  Wicked Witch.  Regina is the Evil Queen.  Snow and Charming.  Got it.

“She hails from Oz, yes.”  He answered, though he didn’t seem to understand she was talking about the story and not the actual place. 

  “Okay.”  She put a hand to her head, remembering now that she was the savior.  She had to defeat evil witches, and Peter Pan, and even a dragon.  “Okay.  Still playing catch up here.  So where do we need to go?  Back to the Enchanted Forest?  Do you have a portal?”

  “No.  We’re driving.”  She had started walking back to her apartment without comment.  It was just where her feet carried her.  “They are in Storybrooke.”  Killian finished as he fell in step beside her.

  Emma stopped, grabbing his arm.  “I thought Storybrooke was gone?”

  “Well, now it’s back.”

  She shook her head.  “I’ve missed a lot.”  They reached her apartment building quickly and she was fast walking through the lobby and heading for the stairs.  “So we drive back to Storybrooke, then what?”

  “I’ll explain the plan on the way.  For now, we should focus on Henry.”

  “Henry…”  Emma hesitated again.  In all the thoughts crashing through her head, she hadn’t had a second to think.  “Damnit, Henry.  I drank that entire stupid potion.  How are we going to get him to remember?”  She took the stairs two at a time until they reached the third floor.  At least it was a Sunday which meant he would be home.  She got to her front door and fumbled with her keys, knocking at the same time.  “Henry?  Open up.  It’s me.”  Shit, the knock.  Emma stopped fighting her keys and knocked a familiar sequence on the door.  There was a responding knock from the other end and then locks were opening.  A trick she had taught him so they could always be sure it was safe.  In New York, you could never be too careful.

  “Hey, kid—” Emma had started to walk in, her focus everywhere at once, but then she saw Henry and it all stopped.

  “What’s up mom?  Who’s he?”

  Emma ignored the question.  Henry.  Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall.  Her lips were a tight line and her hands were trembling. 

  “Mom?”

  It wasn’t real.  None of it.  This life they had…all those memories of his childhood…those weren’t hers.  She hadn’t been there for any of it.  The reality was that she had given him up.  His first steps weren’t real.  His first words weren’t real.  None of it.

  “Mom.  What’s wrong?”

  “What?”  Her voice came out in a sob, but she sniffed and collected herself.  “Sorry.  I just…”  She bent to his height, running a shaky finger over his forehead, pushing aside his bangs.  “I’m sorry, Henry.”

  “Uh…”  Henry looked at her like her head was on fire.  “Sorry for what?  Mom, what’s going on?  You’re scaring me.”  Henry kept sending Killian curious glances over her shoulder, eyeing his clothes with a raised eyebrow.  The scene had to look strange to him.  He had no idea just how normal this all was compared to how his life usually went. 

  “It’s a long story Henry.  But…you have to go pack.”

  “Pack?”

  “Yeah.  We’re going on a trip.”  She wiped her eyes, standing.  She could put it off for now.  Telling him could wait.  She would figure something out.  “Go on, get your suitcase.  And pack warm clothes.  Extra pairs of everything.  And at least two jackets.” 

  She was pleased to see Henry roll his eyes at her.  At least the last year had been real.  All that time she’d been fussing over him…at least she retained that much.  “Yeah yeah.  Extra stuff.  Two jackets.  But where are we going?  And, more importantly, does this mean I don’t have to go to school tomorrow?”  His grin suggested that he was more excited about missing school than the trip.

  “Yeah, I think school will be on hold for a bit.  Just get your stuff, I’ll explain in the car.”

  Henry fist pumped the air, half running to get his things.  He stopped at the table, turning around and resting his elbow on a chair.  “Is the pirate coming with us?”

  “Yeah.  He’s coming.”

  “Cool.”  Henry’s grin was wide, always taking things with a smile.  He disappeared toward his room, hopefully listening to her and packing properly.  Though he was getting to the age where he didn’t want her hovering over him to double check. 

  Emma was about to go and grab her own bag when Killian stopped her.  “Are you alright, love?”

  “I will be.”  She felt her nerves settle.  Seeing Henry had rattled her, but she couldn’t afford to let it bother her.  She had things to do.  The savior didn’t get time off.  “This is better.  Regina’s memories weren’t real.  So.  I mean.  Nothing’s really been lost right?”  Even she didn’t believe that.  But she’d sort it out.  She’d manage.  Sighing Emma left to go get her own things together.  She had a lot more stuff now than she had when she first when to Storybrooke.  Having a kid had made her life more stable.  She grabbed a few things she needed, fresh clothes and the like, and then went back out to see Henry chatting with Killian.

  “Yeah, your costume’s impressive.  The leather’s all real?”  Henry finished a pass around Killian, his arms crossed as he nodded in approval.

  “Naturally.  I’m glad you approve.”

  “Totally.  I mean, I’ve seen people dress up, you know, around Halloween and all, but this beats anything I’ve seen before.”  Henry grinned.  “Do you have a sword?  Is it real?”

  “Oh, aye.  It’s real enough.  Sadly, your land has rather strict rules about weapons.  When we arrive at our destination, I can show you.”

  “Awesome.”  Henry turned, grinning at Emma.  “Mom, I don’t know where you picked this guy up, but I like him.”  Henry grabbed his suitcase. 

  “Get your shoes, we’ve got to go.”  Emma said, eyeing Killian before following Henry to the door.  She made him grab a scarf, gloves, and tried to get him to put on his hat, but like always, there was a debate.

  “Your ears will get cold.”  Emma stated, holding out the perfectly nice hat she’d bought for him last year.

  “Mom, I’m fine.  And the hat messes up my hair.”

  “I don’t care about your hair, I’d rather you still have ears.”

  Henry huffed. “Mom.  I’m fine.  I can take care of my own ears.  Please.  You’re embarrassing me.”  Henry glanced over at Killian, quickly before looking away.  His cheeks were starting to turn red and she realized, once again, that he was getting older.  “I’ll be in the car.”  He threw open the door and started lugging his suitcase into the hall.  Emma was smiling to herself as she left.

  Killian was about follow Henry out the door, but she pulled him back.  While packing, she had considered something that she wanted to address without Henry overhearing.  Emma checked that Henry was out of ear shot before turning back to Killian.  “I just want to ask…where we’re going…is Neal there?”

  Emma could see his heart sinking, all that light that had been there when he found her fading like it was on a switch.  “He’s there.”

  Emma’s glare was hard as she met his eyes.  “Okay.  And I was asking for Henry.  Not for me.”  She snapped.  If Henry was going to see Neal, and if they couldn’t get his memories back, it might pose a problem.  As for the obvious spark of jealousy, Emma was a bit offended.  She looked away before adding, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re here.  He’s not.”

  “If he could have come, Emma, he would—”

  “No.”  Emma stopped him cold, her voice unforgiving.  “No.  You’re here.  Neal isn’t.  I don’t give a damn why.  To me, that’s enough.  Because when you love—” She paused, not entirely sure what she was implying, but she continued anyway.  “When you care about someone, there’s never a reason to not be there.  So.  That’s it.”

  “Fair enough.”  His grin nearly had her smiling with him. 

  Emma rolled her eyes and was about to continue before stopping once more.  “When you first got here…was that…did you try True Love’s Kiss on me?”

  Killian scratched at his head, looking a bit sheepish.  “It was worth a try.”

  “Uh-huh.”  She nodded.  It wasn’t really the time to be thinking about it, but the fact that he had tried it…that he thought it might work.  That meant something.  That was…actually a pretty bold gesture.  Bolder than anything he’d ever tried.  The implications…she cleared her throat.  “Well.  Sorry for kneeing you in the…yeah.  Sorry.”

  “I might have deserved it.”  He commented, half in jest.  As he helped her with her small bag through the door way, passing by her shoulder to clear the frame, she pulled the door shut and locked it.

  “No.  You didn’t.”  She said it under her breath, walking quickly after Henry and cursing that he hadn’t waited upstairs for them.  Getting Henry packed into the car was a bit of an ordeal.  He needed his chargers, his power inverter, his iPod, headphones, his cell phone, his DS, and snacks.  Once Emma got him situated, when he was lost to the word wearing headphones and scrolling through his cell phone, Emma shut the door on him. 

  “Kids.”  She sighed, shaking her head.  “He’s killed my car battery three times with all that stuff.  I remember when he was happy with just a book.”  Emma frowned, crossing her arms.

  “Well, to be fair, he’s much older now.”

  “Yeah, and living with me meant he got all the modern twenty-first century amenities.  Kid’s glued to that portable…DS or whatever.”  For a second they stood, Emma leaning against Henry’s door.  They both seemed to want to say something, but were holding back.  When he made the decisive move toward the passenger side of the car, Emma caught his sleeve.

  “It means something to me.”  She started.  “That you came for me.  It means a lot.”

  He didn’t quite meet her eyes when he replied.  “Truthfully, love, it was mostly a selfish move.”

  “Oh yeah?”  She leaned in, grinning, almost flirty. 

  “Had your parents not needed me to find you…I don’t think I could have stayed away.”  He confessed, not missing the subtle inflection in her voice.  “I kept my promise.  Every day.  There was not a second that passed where I didn’t—”

  Emma threw her hand behind his head and pulled him down, crashing her mouth over him.  She stood on her toes to reach, lips firm on his as a sigh worked up her throat.  Her back hit the car door as he drew her in, matching her and then surpassing her.  The way he was breathing her, drawing her in, it hit her that he had spent this entire last year looking for her.  Waiting.  She had been blissfully ignorant, but he had felt every second pass.  When he attempted True Love’s Kiss…he’d only do that if he believed it.  If he loved her.

  Emma was drowning, needing to pull away for air, though she was wonderfully content to keep kissing him if they had had the time.  His eyes were still closed as he pressed his forehead against her.  She was grinning, ear to ear, all the way to her eyes.  She’d wasted time before.  Time she would never get back.

  “Oh my gosh, mom.  Are you serious right now?”  Henry’s voice carried through the window.  Apparently, he’d noticed them making out against it.  “Gross.”  Emma laughed.  She wouldn’t be a mother if she didn’t embarrass her son every now and then.  She hugged Killian closer, not letting him pull away.

  “When this is over…” She was breathing heavy, her heart still racing.  “Ask me out to dinner.”

  Killian looked into her eyes, trying to find the joke.  “What are you—”

  “You heard me.” She said, pulling away.  They still had a lot to do before any of that could happen.  “When this is over.  When we’ve got everyone safe and together.  Ask me out.”

  “If the lady insists…”

  “I do.”  She said, opening her door as he crossed to the other side.  “So.  Is that a deal then?”

  “As you wish.”

  “Good.”  Emma got into the car, still grinning.  There might always be some new danger to face, that was just how life was going to be.  But losing an entire year, having her memories altered, the time she’d spent with Henry, it made her appreciate the time when things weren’t going to hell.  Her father had tried to tell her something like that after Neverland.  She hadn’t listened then, but she understood it now.  What was the point of surviving the bad times if you didn’t get to enjoy the good times?  Emma had her priorities, she knew what she had to do and she would do it without argument.  But in those rare moments of peace, she was not going to let good things slip away.  Not anymore. 

-0o0-

Snow gathered on the windowsill.  It was dark and the glass was clouded at the edges, fogging from the heat inside.  The apartment was warm, hot even.  All the cooking on the stove and use of the oven had brought the temperature up.  Emma pulled out the baking sheet, looking at the last batch of cookies that she and Henry had been attempting to make.

                               “Okay.  These ones don’t look too bad, huh?”  She set them in some open space on the stove and removed the oven mitt.

  “Better than the last ones, for sure.”  Henry pointed to the edges.  “See, they’re only just starting to brown.  That’s a good sign.”

  Emma bobbed her head, feeling confident.  “So, three out of five.  I’d say that’s not too bad.”

  Henry looked up at her, not wanting to break her heart.  “Sure, mom.  Three out of five is…pretty good.”

  Emma frowned.  “Okay, so I’m not Regina when it comes to cooking, but I never claimed to be.”

  “I know.”  Henry smiled and he used the spatula to lift up one of the cookies.  Emma scolded him.

  “Hey, they have to cool.”

  “Um, they’re better when they’re hot.  Trust me.”  He blew on it and took a bit, most of the cookie falling into his hand, melted chocolate smearing his lips.  “Mmm.  See.  They’re gooiest when they’re fresh from the oven.”

  Emma eyed him, but it did look good.  She pulled off the apron protecting her clothes and shook out her hair.  “Whew.  It’s hot in here.”  It seemed pointless to wear a sweater at the moment but the harsh winter would cool the place down soon enough.  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Checking on Morgan.”  Henry licked his fingers, his face a mess.

  Emma listened, her ears trained to the sounds of cries, fussing, and discontent.  She traveled up the stairs, fingers tracing over the lights and wreath twined around the railing.  She could hear no sound from upstairs as she traveled.  Her nerves shot up, racing with all the negatives that silence could mean.  Only a few of the positives were registering as she gently opened the door to Morgan’s nursery.

  “Shh.”  Killian’s eyes went wide, his free hand reaching out.  He held his breath.  They both did.  But when no sound came from the sleeping baby, they released it.  His arms were full and he was pacing around the room.  Lowering his voice to the dullest whisper, he said, “pacing put her to sleep, but I’m afraid to put her down.”

  “If you get her used to sleeping like that, she’ll never learn on her own.”  Emma commented.  Morgan was a fussy sleeper.  It was usually hours before they could get her to bed.  Walking her might work for now, but even a five month old could seem heavy if you were carrying them for hours.

  “I’ve lost all feeling in my left arm.”  He said, confirming what Emma already knew. 

  “You can’t hold her all night.”  Emma said, offering to take her from him.  Killian hesitated, his eyes drawn to the tightly closed eyes and squished face the only visible parts of the baby in his arms.  The rest of her was wrapped tight in a pink and white blanket.  After a second, he relented.  But as careful as they were, switching hands had proved too much a disturbance and Morgan’s shrieks reached full volume in minutes.

  “Okay.”  Emma soothed, swinging her arms side to side, hoping to calm Morgan down.  “That’s enough crying.  You need to sleep.”  Emma rocked her as she prepared a spot in the crib.  She plucked out all the extra blankets, not wanting Morgan to pull them and smother herself, and lifted out the toys from earlier.  Once it was clear she gently laid her down.  Morgan was furious.  Screaming even louder and choking every few wails.  Emma leaned on the crib railing, her hand still resting on Morgan’s stomach.  “Shh.  It’s okay, sweet girl.  We’re here.  We won’t leave.”

  “She’s as stubborn as her mother.”  Killian commented from Emma’s side.  He was flexing the muscles in his arm where they had cramped from holding the baby.

  “And as noisy as her father.”  Emma retorted.  They stood with Morgan, together, waiting for her to calm herself.  It was torture, allowing her to cry and not interfere.  Twice Killian had broke and tried to pick her up again, but Emma had been firm.  If they gave in now, they would regret it later.  Emma found some comfort in the incredible pout he exhibited over being overruled.  Killian was often quick to spoil Morgan, and Henry, though Henry was much older and less influential.  The night was wearing on, minutes felt like hours as they waited for the cries to settle.  Slumped together on the floor under her crib, they were beginning to drift as the cries turned to sniffles and then there was silence.

  They exchanged a look, peering behind them to check and confirm that she was sleeping.  Morgan was breathing evenly, eyes closed and face red, but asleep.  They crawled, rather than walk, from the room and Emma eased the door shut.  Once it clicked in place they both took a grateful gulp of air, not worrying about the volume and let their back fall against the walls.  She could sleep right there and be content all night.

  “She asleep yet?”  Henry asked, having watched them crawl from the room and fall over without noticing him.  He was wearing a smirk, but the tired parents didn’t care.  He’d learn one day.  Some day he’d have one of his own and he’d have to crawl out of a room on all fours.  Just, hopefully not for a long time.

  “Yeah.”  Emma and Killian stood up, exhausted.

  “Good.  That means you both can help me.”  He grinned, turning and marching back down the stairs.

  Emma laughed, but it was forced and drained.  “One down.”

  “One to go.”  Killian’s hand was on her shoulder as they followed Henry downstairs.  The main lights had been turned off, now just the soft glow of Christmas lights from the tree and the windows and decorations to see by.  It was soothing, calming.  Henry had the TV on and a movie paused on the title screen.  He set up a tray of the cookies that survived, a plate for each of them, and three glasses of milk. 

  In that year of living in New York, Emma and Henry had assumed a Christmas tradition of staying up late Christmas Eve to watch old movies.  In reality, they had only done it one year since their memories had been fake, but Henry wanted to keep the tradition alive. 

  “I picked ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’”  Henry said.  He was nearly fifteen now, but still excited for Christmas.

  Emma was exhausted.  Killian was trying to soothe a kink in his neck.  Both of them only wanted to fall into a mattress and not have to wake up for at least five hours.  Just five hours of straight sleep.  Emma put her head on his shoulder, watching Henry race around the living room to get the blankets and pillows together.

  “When Morgan’s old enough, she can watch too.  I’ve got the movie all picked out for when she’s about three or four.  Then she can start appreciating them.”  Henry bounced in his seat, waiting for them to hurry up.

Emma sighed.  “I’ll get us some coffee.” Killian sat next to Henry, taking the DVD case and looking it over.  “This any good?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Killian eyed him.  “That’s what you said last year.  During ‘A Christmas Story.’”

  “To be fair, not liking ‘A Christmas Story’ is like treason.  I’m pretty sure there’s a law.”  Emma sat next to Killian, holding two warm cups of coffee as she tucked her legs under her.

  “He’s right.”  She said, as Killian frowned.  “It’s a classic.  You can’t hate it.”

  Movies had been something of an adjustment for him.  He enjoyed them well enough, but occasionally he missed the point entirely.  “Agree to disagree.  I did not care for it.”

Yess thank you! But before I start, I feel like I should clarify: I saw the first movie before I read any of the books, so the majority of my first impressions and stuff comes from there… I don’t know how different it would be if I read the book first but I feel like this is important.

1. The first character I first fell in love with

Haymitch I think.

2. The character I never expected to love as much as I do now

Umm… the guy who was Coin’s right hand man in Mockingjay, I forgot his name… he turned out to be one of my favourites of the entire series.

3. The character everyone else loves that I don’t

Peeta and Finnick. Argh this is horrible and I feel like I need to explain: I disliked Peeta in the first movie because he did some questionable stuff that were never properly explained, and I just didn’t get how he is supposed to be a hero, and why does everyone ship him with Katniss. Then I read the books and of course I get it now, but still, first impressions are a strong thing and whenever I think of Peeta, I get a little uneasy.

And Finnick, well, you can “blame” Tumblr for that… after more than a year of reading about how Finnick is amazing and the best character ever and how people can’t wait for Catching Fire solely because Finnick will be in it, well, my expectations were just a little bit too high… and when I finished reading Catching Fire, I was like, wait, that was it? I mean I liked him overall and he had some great lines/moments but far from the awesomeness I expected. I’m very sad about this because I want to love him like everyone else does, and hopefully Sam Claflin’s performance will help me with that, because from what I’ve seen of him on Tumblr, he’s brilliant.

4. The character I love that everyone else hates

I don’t know… I’m not THAT into the fandom to know what everyone else loves but I have a sort of connection to Katniss’ prep team… I feel for them and I hate how they were always written off as shallow and stupid.

5. The character I used to love but don’t any longer

I can’t think of anyone.

6. The character I would totally smooch

Haymitch. Whaat? Yeah. And the Sam Claflin version of Finnick.

7. The character I’d want to be like

Katniss in some things, like her strength and courage and resourcefulness. And then in other things I’d hate to be like her. See below.

8. The character I’d slap

Coin. I’d slap her so hard. And Katniss, but only when she’s being dumb. “Omg I can’t believe Peeta is really in love with me and not just for the show, this is unreal! And WHY does Plutarch keep showing me his Mockingjay stuff, I so don’t care about Capitol fashion.”… yeah.

9. A pairing that I love

Not exactly love it but some time ago I came up with Gale x Johanna, I think they would be a good fit.

10. A pairing that I despise

dark sad shit that makes me want to stab things and cry over their dead bodies

I know, it must be terrible to have scans that often. But at least the cancer is going away, that's all we can ask for! Best wishes for your sister as well. :-)

harmoniousescapades said: I pray that her cancer goes away. stupid mutated cells…