#outlander crossover

There were the average injuries: the bullet wounds, the trench foot, the breaks, sprains and scrapes… She always had as many splints and bandages laid out as she could, and kept the amputation tools hidden near by.

When other missions brought back men they were quiet: small groups from tactical strikes trickling in a few at a time that she could triage and treat easily. When the 107th and the Howling Commandos, led by Captain America, rescued men, it was by the dozens or hundreds.

She heard he once rescued nearly 500 men in one day and she was damn glad she hadn’t been in that medical tent.

The first time they’d heard the 107th was coming to her base she’d laughed at everyone’s excitement. The men from the newsreels? A Joke. Real people did real work and a brightly colored shield wouldn’t protect anyone out here and she said as much to anyone who would listen.

Claire decided, very quickly upon their return with over 75 men from the bowels of an encampment, that she was very, very wrong. The 107th didn’t just drop the men at her feet and leave, patting themselves on the back and chatting about what a good job they had done while walking away. They stayed, talked to the men that were waiting for treatment and needed distraction. They fetched her and the other nurses water and towels. They helped the doctors hold down men that needed to lose limbs. They stood and said prayers over men that didn’t make it.

When the tent was finally quiet, she went up to each man and the one woman, and thanked them for their help and humanity.

That was how Claire Randall became the favorite nurse of the 107th Howling Commandos, and made a friend in Peggy Carter.

It was hard making friends during the war. People bonded, people held tight to those things around them as everything was crumbling, but true friends were in short supply. When the 107th was in town she and Peggy always managed to find some time to escape the base and bond over a drink, to talk about life, the men they loved, and what they’d do when the war was over and women weren’t as needed as they were now and they were both likely to be out of a job.

It was nice to talk to someone who understood and shared her ambition and drive.  

Claire loved to talk about Frank and Peggy eagerly listened, but rarely reciprocated. She never denied that she and Steve had feelings for one another and often quite easily shared small tidbits about walks they’d take together or a quiet moment they were able to share. When asked about the future, though, Peggy clammed up.

Claire thought, at first, that maybe they weren’t something that would last long term, but she knew she was wrong about that nearly every time she saw them together. Steve’s eyes lit up and Peggy’s shone with happiness. They would smile more. They were quite like teenagers in love: doing their best to play it off but unable to stay away from the addictive rush of the other.

When they were working together they flowed. She couldn’t help but notice their movements were like a dance. She’d anticipate his needs and be ready for whatever he thought the next step was, and he’d know just what she needed be right behind her when she reached her hand out for it. Claire had never caught them out of sync with one another.

Dugan laughed at her when she’d mentioned that to him one day while he sat across from her, in her tent for what appeared to be no more than a splinter.

“In sync?” He tried pulling his finger away from her probing needle, but she held him firm. “Next time he’s in, ask Howard Stark about the time she shot at Steve from three feet away. Ow!”

Claire grabbed his hand back from where he’d pulled it to his chest. “Baby,” she muttered, resuming her searching. “You know, you could have taken this out yourself.”

Dugan smiled brightly. “Then I wouldn’t see your shining face, or get your sparkling conversation!” He leaned forward, all mirth and no bite, “Tell that husband of yours to watch out.”

Claire smiled. “Frank can handle himself just fine. Now as you were... more chin wagging and less complaining!”

“Right, right,” he jumped again as she caught the edge of the wood with her needle. “Well, there was the time Peg took the Jeep and left him to walk back to camp five miles, in the snow, because he put his foot in his mouth.”

Claire looked up, eyes wide. “What did he say?”  She returned immediately to her project, holding his finger tight, “And stop squirming, I’ve almost got it.”

“I’m trying,” he muttered. “Neither of them would tell us. But Barnes and Morita caught ‘em making out behind the munitions tent later that night, so your guess is as good as mine.”

Dugan let out a high-pitched squeal as Claire dug the splinter out from his finger. She held it up and smiled with triumph, which was replaced immediately with a scowl when she saw Dugan’s hand in his mouth. “Out with it.”

“No,” he mumbled around his finger.

She reached for the iodine and a bandage. “You know what comes next.”

Like a chided child, he held out his hand and flinched back. “Make it quick.”

She did, and in order to keep him from immediately pulling off the bandage, she made him tell her more stories of the heroics of the Howling Commandos.

It seemed every time the 107th was in her base they managed to pull of some great feat. And though they weren’t boastful, these boys did enjoy telling some of the more fantastical stories. It amazed her, how tirelessly they worked to save the men around them. Steve and Peggy? They worked the hardest.

Claire was amazed at how they could hide how they felt when they were working. She never got more than a glimpse of smiles or lit up eyes during the day. She never found them snogging or going for a leisurely walk together as the sun was setting. She only ever saw the passing of files, the rapid-fire exchange of information as they bounced from one tent to the other, and the way they cared for the injured men they brought in. If Peggy hadn’t told her about those walks or mentioned the stolen kisses, Claire would have been hard pressed to say she had evidence of anything much really going on.

Today, they’d rescued about three dozen men, most simply dehydrated. Without words, Steve and Peggy had been back to the infirmary in seconds with canteens full of potable water, handing them out and refilling them without having to be asked.

She watched as Steve stuck his hand out and without him even having to look for it, another canteen would be in his palm. Peggy somehow had her eyes on everyone at once and alerted a nurse about a bleeding man losing consciousness three beds over without ever missing a beat in handing Steve a fresh canteen from the dozen or so slung over her shoulders.

Claire was amazed, as she always was, at how well they worked together. She let her mind focus on her work, debriding a nasty gash on a thankfully unconscious man, and vowed to finally ask Peggy about how they managed it tonight.

She was on her way to shower off and get changed, taking the long way around to avoid stares at her bloodied clothing, when she stopped short around the side of the laundry tent, hearing people talking just beyond her and around the corner of the tent.

“You’re not listening to what I’m saying,” Steve sounded exasperated and tired.

Peggy didn’t miss a beat, her voice as irritated as Steve’s. “And you haven’t listened to me all day. If you’d have taken just two minutes, two, to cover me I would have had their next position and we wouldn’t be scrambling to find them now.”

Claire didn’t move, entranced as Steve huffed. “You don’t know that!”

Peggy’s voice rose just under a shout. “And you don’t know that I wouldn’t have!”

His voice dropped low, dangerous, and quick. “Ok, I don’t know that. But what I did know was that we had two five-man teams closing in on our position from opposite sides and we were going to lose our way out.”

“We’ve lost our way out before-“

He didn’t let her interruption stop him, “We were going to get cut off from-“

She stopped him with a yell. “You don’t know that!”

“But it wasn’t worth the risk!” He raised his voice right back at her.

Claire peeked around the corner, and Steve was pacing away from her rubbing his eyes. She was stoic, her lips pressed tight together and breathing heavy through her nose.

He took two quick strides back to her and bent to look her in the face, voice quiet and just a little of the former fight gone. “No, Peg, I don’t know that any of that would have happened. And you don’t know you would have gotten their position either. But you know what I did know?”

Her fight left just a bit, too, as she mirrored his emotions, “What?”

“That the choice was get the information, or put you in a dangerous position.”

Claire could have told Steve that would have been the wrong thing to say, and she watched unsurprised as Peggy’s hackles rose again. “You damn well know that I can handle anything-“

He interrupted her, loud enough that someone else must have heard them. “Fuck, Peg!” Steve paced away and to her three times, trying to burn off his energy before he spoke again, voice low and frustrated. “I know, ok? I know you can shoot better than I can and you can do more push ups than Dum Dum and that you can drink Dernier under the table. You got along just fine before me and you’ll do damn well without me. I know you can handle yourself.” She nodded, tight, slightly mollified at his admission. “But it doesn’t matter, because if it was you, or Murphy, or Collins, or any other damn SSR agent my orders are to bring you back alive. Don’t be mad at me that I didn’t give you special treatment this time. I would have made the same call if anyone else was there. Man, woman, whatever.” He walked away, shoulders sagging as he dropped his chin to his chest.

He kept his back to her, and Claire wondered just exactly what expression on his face he was trying to hide. She was flabbergasted. She couldn’t even imagine these two fighting before today, and yet she’d witnessed it with her own two eyes.

Peggy was the first to break, her voice soft and her eyes full of hurt. “I suppose I owe you an apology.”

“Don’t,” he murmured, not turning around.

She sniffed, cleared her throat, and walked until she could reach up and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

He still didn’t turn, but he looked up so she could hear him clearly. “One of these days, I’m going to have to make a call that’s gonna leave you in danger. It’s gonna get you hurt, or killed, and I’m going to have to live with that.” Peggy’s hand gripped his shoulder just a little tighter, but she didn’t say anything. “Please try to stop being mad at me for keeping you safe.”

As Peggy let her forehead fall between Steve’s shoulder blades and wrapped her arms around him from the back, Claire slipped back the way she came. Some things really were private, and better left that way.

Claire managed to walk through the camp without many stares, her mind on what she’d just seen. She understood Peggy. She understood that impetus to not be smothered, to not be babied. She understood the need to stand on your own and be seen for what she had and could accomplish, not just what those around her thought of her. Claire stripped and showered, her mind still on the two… Lovers? Paramours? What could she call them if they hadn’t even labeled it?

She couldn’t get out of her mind the way Peggy hadn’t even flinched when Steve got in her face, angry and upset. He was Captain America, one of the strongest men, if not the strongest man, in the world. And yet she’s stood her ground, knowing that even though he was angry he wasn’t going to hurt her. Claire tried to imagine how she’d deal with it if Frank ever tried that with her, if he ever got that close and was that angry, and she couldn’t fathom how Peggy hadn’t even flinched, never mind didn’t move back.

And yet, it fit. It fit with the way Peggy had curled around Steve at the end, her arms wrapped around him and head against his back. The way he turned his back on her and hadn’t even glanced behind to see that she was still there before talking.

Trust.

Under it all, they trusted one another.

Claire dried herself and put on a new uniform, still trying to figure out why that word just set right when thinking about them. She walked to the mess, repeating it in her mind.

They trusted one another. They trusted the other would be there with a file, or a canteen, or a smile. They trusted one another enough not to call them out in the field but to battle it out afterwards. They trusted the other to not hurt them, physically or emotionally, though it looked like that last one was inevitable.

When she got to the mess, it was mostly empty except for a table full of newly minted privates at the front and the Howling Commandos crowded together at the back. She was going to grab a plate and sit in the opposite corner, alone with her thoughts, when she found Barnes at her elbow, steering her to their table. “You’re sitting with us, Ma’am.”

“Randall!” Morita called out as Barnes brought her close. “You’re gonna be seeing Dugan later with all the bellyaching he’s doing now!”

“Ha ha,” Claire was less than amused, “You gentleman will stay out of my tent for one day in a row, please.” She took the offered chair from Pinky and slid into it as the rest of them scooted closer to give her some room.

“Won’t happen,” Peggy laughed, shifting along with the rest of them. Claire pretended not to notice that Peggy’s hand slipped up from under the table, in a position where it could only have been on Steve’s knee. No one else seemed to flinch, either. And while space was at a minimum, Peggy didn’t need to be sitting quite so close to Steve, and he definitely didn’t need to lift his arm over her shoulders so she could plaster herself against him. “Once they decide they like you, they never leave you alone.”

“Now that is true,” Dugan admitted.

As she ate her dinner, enjoying the banter and general joviality of the small group, she noticed that they were tucked at the back of the mess in a particular way she’d seen them squished back here before. Dugan, Barnes, Falsworth, and Jones made an impressive wall of men with their backs towards the rest of the mess. The rest of the men pulled a tight curve, and Steve and Peggy were at the back. Thinking back on it, she’d never noticed Peggy eating with them before, and it seemed that was quite by design. She’d always wondered why they’d squished such big men at such a small table. Steve and Peggy were snuggled close, his left arm looped around her hip so she could eat easily with her right hand. They shared soft glances, and no one flinched when Peggy offered Steve the last piece of what was supposed to be Salisbury steak from her own fork.

Peggy and Steve didn’t just trust each other; they trusted this whole group. It was quite like a little family.

When the Howling Commandos need some to add some new blood and added support to the team, Agent Peggy Carter knows just the right people for the job. First, she enlists Combat Nurse Claire Beauchamp, who she befriended during her early espionage days with the SOE. The Howlies are not the only ones who’ve had narrow escapes at the hand of Hydra. Besides they could use another warrior-type with a brilliant mind, in the likeness of Scottish Fighter Pilot Jamie Fraser, who had ties to her brother Michael before he was killed in action. (Also Murtagh and Hugh Munro join the Commandos at some point just because I like them both).

Both Claire and Peggy, both narrowly escaping their societal expected convenient but entirely loveless marriages, both women find themselves finding purpose, a chance to prove themselves and most unexpectedly of all in the middle of an endless war, romance. They kind commonality and camaraderie in both being women in male dominated areas. 

Steve and Jamie find themselves two birds of a feather, both boys of Celtic roots with the heavy weight of the world put on their shoulders. But more than anything, they both agree they are in awe of the strong women in their lives. But Jamie finds himself taking Steve under his wing, particularly when it comes to sensitive subjects like women. And so he continues needling Steve to take action on his blatant crush on Peggy. He figures he owes her anyway, since it’s partly because of Peggy that he ever stood a chance with Claire.

 “You know you have a rare woman,” Jamie tells him one night under the light of the campfire, both on watch duty. It’s so plainly obvious how much Steve is pining. And it’s plainly obvious that Peggy returns the sentiment. If only the fool would take the hint.

When Steve says nothing, Jamie lifts his flask of whiskey to his mouth once more and nods to himself. Then after a long silence, he continues his needling.

“Are you a virgin? Is that your concern?” asks Jamie. “Because that’s nothing to be ashamed about. I was one too before Claire made a man out of me.”

Steve turns bright red.

My dreams had been vivid and confusing, full of wish-fulfilment and the cold contrast of reality: scenes of my real childhood interposed with scenes of what my life could have been like with a loving family.  A loving royal family at that.

Could they really be my parents?  And if they were, did it mean anything?  They’d abandoned me.  But as much as I tried to be cold and objective about the situation, I couldn’t seem to squash the tiny, childlike glimmer of hope deep in my heart that maybe I’d finally, finally found my family.  After so long among the other lost children, in orphanages, group homes, and the odd horrible foster situation, I’d thought I’d given up on that dream I’d had as a little girl.  Apparently some spark of it had survived my attempts at stamping out the flame.  I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

With another sigh, I reluctantly opened my eyes.  I found Killian looking down at me, propped up on one elbow beside me, his expression open save the slight tightness around his eyes.  He was worried about me, I knew, which made me feel even worse.

“You hungry?” I asked him, desperate for some mundane something to break the spell of unease and doubt that had settled over us.

“Famished,” he said with a little upward quirk of his mouth.

The reminder of our wedding night—that simultaneously seemed such a short and long time ago—brought up more mixed feelings.  I let out a little huff of something close to a laugh.  Or I hoped it sounded more like a laugh than a choked sob.  Everything was too raw.  Levity would be better than falling apart.

Killian shifted and threaded his fingers through mine.  The feel of his hand reassured me more than I would have expected.  I had no right for it to be that way, but there was something about Killian.  In another life, maybe we could have been happy.  But my life was eight shades of complicated.  Still, that simple act of holding my hand was welcome.

“Then let’s go get breakfast,” I said with more than a little resignation.

He hummed in enthusiastic agreement and continued to hold my hand as we got out of bed.  He only reluctantly released me so we could get dressed.  He pulled me close first, and kissed me thoroughly.  I strongly considered just taking him back to bed and forgetting everything else.  It was tempting.  Very tempting.  But I needed to get answers.  Even if they were ridiculous fairy tale answers, I needed something, and that meant leaving the room and talking to the people claiming to be my parents.

Once we were clothed, Killian took my arm and escorted me to the door with a soft, warm smile.  The expression drew a little of the tension from my shoulders, and I considered once more yanking him back to bed and wiping the expression off his face, replacing it with—

I cleared my throat as we stepped out into the hall.  It wasn’t like me to avoid problems like that.  Well, it hadn’t been like me in a long time.  I’d grown up.  I’d gotten married… Twice…  I could handle it.  Whatever it was.

The butler in the hallway startled me, and I cursed at him, which drew a short chuckle from Killian.  I shot him a murderous, betrayed look and then lifted my chin as the servant got all servant-y and asked what he could do for us.

“Food,” I said in a gruff voice.

“Please,” Killian added for me, flashing the man a grin.

The butler inclined his head and gestured with one arm.  Then he made a neat turn, literally clicking his heels, and began leading us down the long hallway.

In the light of day, I could see the castle much better than I’d been able to the night before.  My curiosity overrode my desire to turn my nose up at everything, and I found myself examining my surroundings with interest.

The castle was beautiful.

Late morning sunlight filtered in through the windows to illuminate polished marble and shining hardwood.  Tapestries and paintings hung on the walls, interspaced by sculptures and vases and other art objects.  Each piece was gorgeous in its own way, and I found myself wanting to slow down and examine them individually.  I tried to tell myself it was just because they were pretty and not because I wanted to know the occupants of the palace better.

My parents.

No.

Silly dreams aside, there was nothing about the man and woman that convinced me of their claim.  The fact that they believed it just meant they were crazy.  The fact that I could see the curve of my chin on the queen’s face meant nothing.  Coincidence.  Or faulty memory.  When I saw the woman again in better light, she might not look like me at all.  Probably.  Maybe.

I sighed, and Killian squeezed my hand.  He was running the pad of his thumb over my knuckles.  It was nice.  I forced a brief smile in his direction and he responded with a completely genuine smile of his own.

The butler turned a corner into another well-appointed hall, and then he led us down a flight of stairs and through a library.  Another hallway, and then we came to a dining room that felt large to me but seemed less grand than the other rooms I’d seen.

A table set for twelve filled the middle of the room, and silver trays with lids stood on a buffet at the far wall, guarded by a pair of footmen.  Another footman stood off in the corner with a selection of beverages.

The king and queen sat together at the far end of the table, dressed finely but without crowns or scepters or any such signs of station.  Liam sat to the king’s left at the first place setting along the edge of the table.  As the butler escorted Killian and me in, a footman scurried to pull back the chair opposite Liam, first on the queen’s side of the table.  The dark-haired monarch beamed at me and rose from her seat, gesturing for me to join her.  I whined under my breath, earning another finger-squeeze from Killian, and then I crossed the room to take the offered chair.

“Emma,” the queen said in the exact same tone she’d used the night before.  She sounded awed and delighted and sad and wistful all at once.  I had no idea how she fit so much emotion into two syllables.

“Your majesty,” Killian said, bowing crisply before he took the seat to my right.

“Killian,” the queen said, focusing her attention on the man for a moment.  The king looked up, too, and Liam frowned around a silver spoon of some kind of porridge.  “May I call you Killian?”

“Of course, ma’am,” Killian said without a second’s hesitation.  He smiled politely at the queen.

“May I fill your glass?” the footman who’d been guarding the drinks table asked as he stepped forward.

I looked up at him and frowned for a moment.  I wanted something comforting.  And I thought I could smell the thing I wanted.

“Do you have hot chocolate?” I asked hesitantly, feeling the features of my face contort.

“Indeed,” the young man said, inclining his head.  He started to turn away, no doubt to fetch the drink, but I spoke again.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could you add some cinn—” I started to say.

“Cinnamon,” the queen said before I could finish the word.  She was looking at me with that disturbingly hopeful expression again.

“Of course, ma’am,” the servant said, bowing and finishing his turn so he could go about his task.

“How did…?” I started to ask, trying not to sound to desperate for the answer.  I frowned at the queen and looked down at my plate instead.

“That’s how I always drink it,” she said, still sounding like she was overflowing with emotion.  “With cinnamon.”

“It’s a coincidence,” I said immediately, though she hadn’t made any claim for me to refute.

“Emma, will you tell us about the world you grew up in?” the king asked politely, far more reserved than his wife, though his expression was also fond and familiar.

Why couldn’t they act like strangers?

“I’d really rather not,” I said, my voice a little shakier than I liked.  “I’d rather hear more about why the hell you think I’m your daughter.”

Liam shot me a scandalized, disapproving look, and a maid I’d overlooked in the corner actually gasped.  But the king and queen didn’t seem bothered by my tone or my stated preference.  He just nodded while she mooned at me, her eyes wide and sad.

“Of course,” the king said with a little nod.  He kept his eyes on me, but his right hand moved to find his wife’s fingers and he gave them a little squeeze.  “Captain Jones was just filling me in on your observations about the curse.”

I pursed my lips and looked at Killian.  I hadn’t known he’d filled his brother in on all the details of the conversation we’d had.  I knew I probably shouldn’t be surprised, but I felt a little stab of betrayal all the same.  He gave me an apologetic look.

“Very few people know that time is frozen,” the queen said gently.  “That’s not something we’ve made public.”

“Why?” I asked immediately.

“We knew nothing would change until the Harbinger arrived,” the king said.  “We decided it would be more upsetting than helpful.”

I frowned at that.  I didn’t like the idea of the monarchs deciding what the people were allowed to know, but I could imagine how upsetting it might be to find out your life was on hold until some mythical savior showed up to change things.

Wait.  Why could I imagine that?  It was ridiculous.

“How did you get to our world?” the queen asked, looking at me intently.  “I thought we’d sent you to a place without magic.”

I thought about how I’d fallen through the screaming stones.  I thought about Neal.

“You’re changing the subject again,” I said in annoyance.  “Why do you think I’m your daughter?”

The monarchs exchanged a look, and the footman returned, granting them a moment’s reprieve from my inquisition.  The servant set a steaming mug in front of me.  I managed to murmur my thanks, remembering my manners.  Another footman came forward with a tray of food.  I shoved a few things onto my plate, eager to get back to the conversation.

The king and queen waited until Killian and I both had food and drink before they spoke again.

“My step-mother, Regina, could never forgive me—” the queen started.

“For being the fairest of them all, yeah, I’ve seen the movie,” I said, rolling my eyes.  “I don’t need that part recapped.  Jump to the curse-thingy.”

Everyone at the table looked at me in confusion.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” I said in a huff.  “Please continue.”

The queen took a deep breath.

“On our wedding day,” she said, glancing at the king, “Regina arrived uninvited and threatened us.  We consulted with the fairies and everyone else else we could find to see what we could do.  We discovered there was no way to stop Regina from casting her curse, but every curse can be lifted.  We discovered that our child would be able to break the curse.”

“But if the curse kept us ever frozen, the child would never grow up,” Killian said slowly, his brow furrowed.

The queen nodded sadly.

“Yes,” the king said.  “So we had to make sure our child would not be affected by the curse.  We found a woodcarver to make a magic cabinet to send Snow and our unborn child to a land without magic—”

“A magic cabinet?” I repeated skeptically, pinching the bridge of my nose again.

“Yes,” the queen said.  “We were devastated to learn it could only send one person through, but we knew that it was our best chance.”

“The cabinet was finished, and then Snow went into labor,” the king said.  “The castle was under attack.  You were born as the curse was washing over the land.  We didn’t have any choice.  I placed you in the cabinet, wrapped in the blanket your mother had made for you—”

“Blanket?” I asked, feeling a finger of ice trail run down my spine.

“With purple bows,” the queen said in her shaky, emotional voice.  “And your name embroidered in one corner.”

I felt my mouth fall open as I pictured the blanket.  It was folded in a box in my closet.

“That’s what I was found in,” I said, though I didn’t want to tell them.  “I was lying in the grass on the side of a road, wrapped in a blanket.”

“Oh, Emma,” the queen said.  “I’m so sorry.”

“You sent an infant through a freaking magic cabinet and you’re sorry?” I said incredulously.  I slammed my hand down on the table, making the nearby dishes jump and rattle.  “Do you have any idea what I went through?”

Tears appeared in the queen’s eyes.  Killian tried to take my hand, but I shrugged him off.

“I was supposed to be there with you,” the queen said.  “We were supposed to go together.”

“Yeah, well that didn’t happen,” I snapped in irritation.  “I was alone for twenty-eight years.”

I felt guilty as soon as I said the words.  They weren’t entirely true.  I’d had friends and the occasional good foster family.  And Neal.  Ten years with Neal.  More or less.  But I’d been an orphan.

“I’m so sorry,” the queen repeated.  Her cheeks were wet.

“We wanted to keep you,” the king said, “but you would have been frozen as an infant.  The curse could never be broken like that.”

I shook my head.  I didn’t want to hear it.  What the hell was I supposed to do to break the curse anyway?

“Well, I’m here,” I said crossing my arms over my chest.  “Why isn’t it broken yet?  Or is it?”

The queen inhaled a deep breath.  She looked at her husband.

And then I realized I’d accepted their story.

My shoulders tightened as I thought about it.  I tried to curse myself for being an idiot.  I’d told them the night before, I wasn’t some lost princess.  I wasn’t from a story world.

But the blanket.

Coincidence.

Add up enough coincidences and it starts to look like evidence.

“I don’t think it is yet,” the queen said.

“The Blue Fairy should be here today, and then we’ll know more,” the king said.

I exhaled, feeling overwhelmed, and the room was quiet for a moment.

“I assume you’ll want the marriage annulled,” Liam said in a conversational tone.  He set his spoon down next to his bowl.  “The princess can hardly be married to a common sailor.”

I saw Killian’s mouth open in my peripheral vision, but he didn’t say anything as I glared at his brother.

“Too late for annulment,” I spat at Liam.  “You made sure of that.  Remember?”

The captain flinched, and I saw the king frown.

“Emma, were you coerced into marriage?” the king asked in a gentle, concerned tone of voice.

I let out a huff of breath.

“She was,” Killian said from his place beside me.

I looked at him in shock.

“Killian—” I started to say, but he merely pursed his lips for a half second and then continued speaking to the monarchs.

“She was given a choice, I suppose, but it wasn’t much of one,” he said evenly.  “She was offered a marriage to me or she would be turned over to the Dark One.”

The queen gasped.

“I was offered a choice,” I said firmly to Killian, reiterating what I saw as the important part of the situation.  “I made my choice.”

He pressed his lips together and studied me.

“You no longer require my protection,” he said softly.

“Are you rejecting me?” I asked him, lifting my chin.  I could feel a familiar dull ache settling in my chest.  I’d been rejected so many times.  After my time in prison, I’d thought I was strong enough for it not to bother me anymore, but after Neal came back, I’d let some of my walls down.  And now I could feel all my old insecurities stirring in anticipation of yet another rejection.

“No!  Gods, no, lass.  I never wish to be parted from you.  But I know you have—” Killian said emphatically.  He cut himself off.  “I know you have reason enough to call our union off.  And I’ll not fight it, if it’s what you want.”

Neal.

I inhaled a shaky breath.

“What reason?” Liam asked.

“I’m sure it’s none of our business,” the queen said in reprimand.

I appreciated her defense, but I thought my secret might be pertinent to the conversation, despite how painful it was to admit.

“I’m already married,” I whispered.

Silence fell again.  There was a clock somewhere in the room.  I could hear it ticking.

“You said you were a widow,” Liam said in mild confusion.

“You said I was a widow,” I corrected him.  “I just didn’t refute the claim.”

Liam shook his head for a moment.

“Then the marriage is void,” he finally said said, though he looked displeased.  He glanced at Killian.  “Did you know this, little brother?”

“Aye,” Killian said in a raw tone.  “I knew.”

“But if she’s already married,” Liam said, his brow furrowing.  He shook his head again and looked at me.  “Why would you consent to marry Killian?  Why not return to your husband?”

I frowned at the man.  I didn’t want to explain.  I didn’t want to talk about Neal.

“He’s in the land without magic,” the queen said quietly, her tone more sure than speculative.

I watched Liam turn to look at the queen in surprise.  I reluctantly turned and looked at her, too.  She was looking at me.  It looked like she wanted confirmation.  I nodded.

“Married,” the king said in a wistful tone.  He was also looking at me with something close to heartbreak in his eyes.  “Are we—Do you have children…?”

I shook my head.  I didn’t want to talk about that, either.

“No,” I said, my voice rough.  I cleared my throat.  “Neal and I don’t have kids.”

“Neal,” the queen repeated.  She sounded like the name was a revelation.  I guess it was.  “Emma…”

“Can we just move on?” I asked in a strained tone of voice.  “Get to the whole ‘Harbinger of Resolution’ thing so I can figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do?  Isn’t there a war or something?”

The king nodded, but the queen continued to stare at me with those sad, moony eyes.

“We’re still waiting for the Blue Fairy,” the king said.

I inhaled and let the breath out as a frustrated huff.  How had this become my life?  I picked up my mug of cocoa, mildly (but pleasantly) surprised to find it still hot.  I took a sip.  It was good, but it reminded me of home.  I set the mug down, the cinnamon going bitter in my mouth.

“Then I think I’m just going back to the room until the fairy gets here,” I said, looking down at my uneaten breakfast as I stood up.

Killian and the king rose a half-second after I stood, being chivalrous or something.

“Shall I come with you, love?” Killian asked in a hesitant, hopeful tone.

“Finish your breakfast,” I said, trying to not sound as frustrated and angry as I felt.  “Just give me a few minutes.”

Killian nodded, his expression concerned but supportive.

“Whatever you need, Emma,” he murmured with sincerity.

I nodded and exhaled a loud breath.  I could feel the tightness in my shoulders.  I needed to hit something.

As I headed toward the exit, I thought once more about dragging Killian back to bed.  I almost turned around, but the butler stepped next to me as I was going to.

“Jeez!” I exclaimed.  “I don’t need an escort.  I can find my own way back.  I’ve lived in New York, for crying out loud!”

The butler looked startled at my outburst, but he stepped back in deference.  I shot him a look of warning anyway and stormed past him.

Once I was in the hall, I forced myself to take a few centering breaths.  Then I walked slowly back to the ‘blue room,’ taking the time to examine a few of the art objects along the way.  It was a nice distraction, though as my irritation started to dissipate, my hunger returned.  I should have eaten something or drank more than a sip of cocoa.

I paced the room for a while.  Being alone wasn’t the balm I’d hoped it would be.  Without a distraction, I was just working myself up again.  I threw one of my shoes across the room in irritation.

When the door opened, I was ready to jump down the throat of whoever had decided to interrupt me.

When I saw Killian’s wide blue eyes and the tray he was balancing on one hand, my chest felt tight.  He looked at me with obvious concern and quickly set aside the tray and closed the door behind him.

“Emma, are you al—” he started to say, but I crossed the room and cut him off with a kiss.