#temporarystatus

As much as she had written herself off, she was still under Lady Danbury’s protection. Personal declarations of not being on the marriage mart did not make her unsusceptible to being compromised or other scandal. A thought that she would have hoped Miss Sharma to consider before wandering off but as Lady Danbury learned earlier, there was still much for her to learn about the Ton.

The dowager parted ways from a nervous Lady Mary with nothing more than a quip about watching her thirst before she moved about the room. The music covered the sound of her cane clacking against the wood floor and gave Lady Danbury the ability to slink along the walls of the conservatory.

Her stop at the set of windows near the entrance door proved most fruitful. She heard the faint sounds of gentlemen departing for the smoking room and, just before she continued her search, she spied her own charge stepping into close proximity to the viscount.

In view of the ballroom and still a respectable distance to not cause scandal, Lady Danbury did not appreciate the familiar nature in which the two conversed, especially as they had not been introduced. Huffing, she made her way to the entry garden.

“…as deficient as your horsemanship. I shall bid you goodnight.”

Lady Danbury came around the hedge at the same moment as Miss Sharma, their bodies nearly colliding.

“Miss Sharma,” she drawled, resting both hands on the head of her cane. She scrutinized the young woman, her eyes traveling to the flustered man who gaped at them like a fish out of water. “Viscount Bridgerton. How curious to find you both out here. Together.”

“My apologies, Lady Danbury – ” Viscount Bridgerton attempted to speak before Miss Sharma cut in suddenly, louder.

“I simply needed air. I did not realize I had to alert you of my need for a break.” She smiled, thin-lipped and with a hint of frustration – at the viscount, at her, at the situation – before bowing her head to Lady Danbury.

“Yes, well, seeing as you are under my protection,” Lady Danbury said, a warning glance to Viscount Bridgerton as he looked equal parts fearful and thrilled at the information, “I fear I did not stress the seriousness of some of the Ton’s etiquette specificities. It is of the utmost importance that they are understood, to lessen any troubles of your sister making a good match. Understood?”

Miss Sharma bit her tongue, her eyes darting to the side to the silent viscount behind her. “Of course, Lady Danbury,” she forced out.

“Lady Danbury, if I may – ”

Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the boy she’d known since he was in leading strings. A boy no longer if the title of Rake he’d worn without care for years meant anything. She always had a soft spot for the Bridgerton family. Her own connection aside, to find a love match such as the one between Edmund and Violet, a love match that proved fruitful until the eighth viscount’s death, was a rarity in the Ton. The strength of the family bonded by that love match showed in the closeness of the children and the genuine love and affection they showered upon each other. Even when she’d watch the children squabble and fight, it was never with the nasty cold demeanor of the rest of the Ton.

Then to watch as Anthony took on the role of viscount, father, and provider before heading to university had softened her more. Lady Danbury admired the way he took care of his family and how he not only kept them afloat following his father’s death but ensured that they thrived. He was stubborn, frustrating, got in his own way more often than not, and there was a melancholy about his person most times when she saw him, but she gave him more leeway than she did nearly all of the rest of the Ton.

Except when conversing with her charge before an introduction, a conversation that is decidedly not their first. She did, after all, recall Miss Sharma’s slip of the tongue on the edge of the dance floor.

“You have done quite enough, Viscount Bridgerton.”

Her glare silenced the viscount as his mouth thinned and his brows furrowed in displeasure.

“Lady Danbury, I must go see to my sister – ”

“Your sister is being looked after by your mother, Miss Sharma. Perhaps you should let those of us seasoned within the Ton take over from here.”

Miss Sharma pressed her lips together for a moment before she responded. “With all due respect, as I mentioned earlier, I was the one to prepare my sister for her debut and I really should be helping to vet the quality of her dance partners…”

The young woman’s words never made it to Lady Danbury’s ears as her eyes were too busy taking in the scene before her. They flickered between Miss Sharma and Viscount Bridgerton with a quick and startling realization.

Cut from the same cloth, they stood before her as the eldest siblings of their families, the caretakers and providers, with strong shoulders upon which the heavy burdens of their families laid. The protectors who cannot see the wood for the trees in regards to the marriage mart.

Equals.

“Hm,” Lady Danbury cut Miss Sharma off. “A dance is a brilliant idea.”

“My lady?” Miss Sharma asked, blinking her eyes in confusion.

“Pardon me?” Viscount Bridgerton asked behind her.

Lady Danbury hit her cane against the ground. Even without the sound of its impact, the two before her stood just a hair taller. She raised her voice as the doors to the ballroom opened. “How wonderful of Viscount Bridgerton to ask for your next dance. Splendid indeed!”

Miss Sharma huffed. “He absolutely did nothing of the sort. He cannot even dance.”

Viscount Bridgerton rolled his eyes. “Now you object to my dancing abilities?”

“I saw how you nearly trampled the young miss on your last dance.”

A smug grin worked its way onto his face as he stepped closer. “So you admit to eavesdropping and watching me now?”

“As I said, it is not eavesdropping if you speak loud enough for the entire party to hear!”

Lady Danbury cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows expectantly at the two in front of her. She swung out her cane, hitting their shins and watching in satisfaction as the two stepped apart though neither were entirely pleased.

“Yes, a dance will be a nice way to tidy this situation up. Afterall,” she said, lowering her voice, “it would not do well for others to know of your conversations and familiarity prior to an introduction. And I will require to know just how familiar you are with each other.”

Miss Sharma laughed off the suggestion. “That will not be necessary, Lady Danbury. I do not host any of the, what was it,” she turned to the viscount for a moment with a saccharine smile before facing Lady Danbury once more. “Ah, yes, impeccable qualities that Viscount Bridgerton is in search of in a wife.”

This time, the huff came from the viscount’s mouth. “That is completely unfair and you know it, Miss Sharma,” he said, a teasing lilt endearing to his voice as he said her name, negating the frustration that colored it prior. He cleared his throat before she could respond and grinned at Lady Danbury much like the cat that ate the canary. “However, you are right, Lady Danbury. A dance is a wonderful idea to mitigate any chance of scandal.”

She watched in amusement as Viscount Bridgerton’s grin widened when he turned to Miss Sharma. He lifted his hand and held it out to her, waiting for a moment.

“Miss Sharma, may I have this dance?”

Despite his proud swagger, the viscount’s request came out soft and like a whisper. His eyes crinkled and his gaze warmed, melting the arrogance that so often moved him forward. For a moment, Lady Danbury felt as if she was witnessing Edmund charming Violet all over again.

Miss Sharma’s breath hitched in the back of her throat at the intimacy that laced his words and she swallowed before quietly answering her agreement. Her hand shook, though Lady Danbury assumed she was the only one to notice, as she lifted it to place in the viscount’s.

Lady Danbury hummed in satisfaction as she allowed the two to enter the ballroom before her, Viscount Bridgerton’s perfect posture only lending to the peacocking he did as he led Miss Sharma to the dance floor. If she knew the viscount as well as she believed to, his peacocking, was less of a matter of besting Miss Sharma at their undisclosed challenge and more at having her on his arm, contrary to what he was currently telling himself. The way their eyes never strayed from one another as they readied themselves only proved her point.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Violet’s jaw drop minutely before their eyes met.

Did he willingly ask…? Her oldest friend seemed to ask. Lady Danbury nodded with a smug smile. The viscount who saw finding a wife more of a duty and chore than a chance for happiness, bewitched by a so-called spinster.

The music started and the two moved in perfect harmony. Their connection was palpable and they enchanted the room as they seemed to float through each step. Only when they began to whisper amongst themselves, a mix of bickering and flirting, did Lady Danbury notice the queen’s arrival at her side.

“What an interesting season this will be,” Queen Charlotte murmured, her smile pleased and mischievous.

When she was young, less than half her age now, her parents and her would play a game. It was their way of tempering her restlessness and her thirst for adventure. The castle grounds by her wing of the castle quickly became her playground. They would take turns hiding while one of them sought the others. Her father would proudly proclaim their family motto whenever he finished counting.

I will always find you!

One such game led to Emma hiding amongst the buttercups she planted the spring before with Johanna. The flowers had started to climb up the stone walls enclosing the garden she played in and, as she ran her hand along the blocks, she noticed the area was rarely in sight of any of their guards or the towers. After the game, she’d searched out the area from her window and noticed a steep drop on the other side, a slope that ensured an inability to broach the castle walls.

But it didn’t stop anyone from leaving.

At first, she had a fear of the area. She questioned her parents about Regina being able to climb the wall and her parents had Blue cast protection charms over it to cease her nightmares.

But as she grew older and the restraint on her freedom grew tighter, Emma looked at the wall in a new light. Now, as she dashes across the castle gardens to where the buttercups grow wild and free, it is her salvation.

Emma’s eyes cast around for anything that could ruin her potential night of freedom but nothing seems amiss. The patrols have left the area and she has about four more minutes until they come back. Before she climbs the wall, she turns back towards her room and casts her hands out. Eyes squeezed shut, she whispers a spell to hide the evidence of her escape and glances up in time to see a glimmer across it. Releasing a deep sigh, she climbs the wall.

*

Her boots are muddy and Emma slides more than walks down the slope outside the wall. It’s steeper than she anticipated and the recent rain has left it hard to keep her balance. She’s not sure how she’ll go about getting back over the side but she supposes it’s an issue to figure out on her return.

Specks of mud have kicked up from her boots and onto her trousers and she winces at the sight. She knows she’ll have to hide them from the staff until her next riding lesson to ensure no one asks any questions. A lie will have to be prepared, ready to be said on the tip of her tongue, if anyone should ask about her whereabouts tonight. She knows she’ll have to practice it on the way back. But now she approaches the nearest village to the castle and lanterns are lit outside of the dwellings and there’s an orange glow cast around the streets like sunset had found a permanent home right there.

Boisterous laughter rings out of a nearby tavern’s open window and she hears the chittering of women in the building beside it. She can barely see it but further down the street, there’s a boy and a father at the docks putting on an act for bystanders and an upturned hat at their feet holding a few silver pieces.

There is so much life and joy in the village and Emma wants to explore every inch of it. She stays on the outskirts at first, observing with a thrill of excitement as she tries to decide where she will explore first. The scarf had slid down her face during her hike from the castle wall and she hasn’t bothered to fix it as the different aromas from the village assaulted her nose. She breathes it in and decides her first place will be the inn where a most delicious smell seems to come from its dining hall.

A destination in mind and determination settling in her shoulders, she barely lifts a foot to step forward when one arm wraps around her middle from behind and another comes up to her throat, the shine of silver glaring in her eyes for a moment before she feels the cool metal of a knife against her throat.

“Shhh, love. Don’t scream.”

The voice that speaks in her ear is accented from a place far from Misthaven. It’s the first thing she notices before her fight instincts kick in and she wiggles in her captor’s grip. Her efforts are futile as she can’t free her arms from where he’s trapped them at her sides and the knife follows her throat with each moment.

“Let go of me,” she demands through gritted teeth, her words coming out stronger than she feels. “Do you know who I am?!”

“Aye,” the voice continues and then he lets go only to grab one of her wrists and spin her to face him. “That’s why I’m disappointed it was so easy to grab you.”

Shock doesn’t begin to describe how she feels when she faces her assailant.

He’s young, probably her age if not a year or two older. His hair is dark and disheveled and his piercing blue eyes meet her gaze. He sheathes the knife he had pressed to her throat just moments ago and sighs. The urge to run away – back to the safety of the castle, away from the troubles her parents always feared for her – pulls at her muscles yet her feet remain rooted to the ground. She holds the boy’s stare, only a little comforted by the fact the knife now rests safely against his thigh.

He glances around quickly before he tugs on her arm and brings her to the side of the building, out of the lantern lights and under the alcove hanging from the local blacksmith shop.

“With the tools and talents at your disposal, Princess, I had hoped you’d be on your guard better. Especially considering you’re wandering around alone. Are you even aware there’s still people who sympathize with Regina that live in the kingdom?!”

The tone of his voice reminds her of a reprimand she’d get from her parents and her nose scrunches up in annoyance. Who is he to be lecturing her? He was the one who grabbed and threatened the Princess of Misthaven with a knife to her throat. She opens her mouth and says as much. Every bit of moodiness she feels as a trapped woman just sixteen years of age bleeds into each word she speaks to him. It builds stronger as he stands there looking bored.

His answer, though, comes through a heated whisper as he steps closer to her in the darkness. She notices the way his eyes scan their surroundings and realizes he’s been keeping watch even as he points out her glaring mistakes. “I’m the one who could have killed the Princess of Misthaven because she’s too bloody foolish to pay attention and be on guard when she sneaks out.”

“Perhaps you’re the foolish one for attempting such a thing when I could have your head on a stake by morning’s light.”

“If it means the Princess learns to take better care of herself on her future adventures then it will have been a thankless action well done.”

Emma glares even as she tugs her wrist free of his loose hold. “How do you know I snuck out anyway? I could have a number of guards waiting to grab you on my signal.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes and the action looks so good on him that it infuriates her. He is nothing but a young man who thought himself a know-it-all. What she’d do to wipe the smug expression off of his face.

“You’re not exactly hiding, Princess. You’re like a swan swimming amongst ducks. I spotted you the moment you entered the edge of the village and there’s not been a single movement in the trees behind you nor a rustle of chain link in the air.”

The you’re alone is unspoken yet it rings as loudly in her ears as if he’d yelled it. Despite his sheathing of the knife, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she checks her surroundings from the corner of her eye. She hates realizing she was unaware of the vulnerable position she’s placed herself in until he so unceremoniously pointed it out and the thought makes her nervous. Had she really let her guard down so much that a stranger could come up on her and do this?

Foolish, indeed.

Her eyes give him a once-over, taking in his ragged clothes and the dirt on his handsome face. His fingers are red and he stands tall with a straight set of his shoulders. The knife at his side is low enough that Emma guesses she could nick it off of him and have herself with a means of protection should his intentions differ from his words, but that only remains the issue of how to get closer to him.

She imagines the blood vessels in her father’s forehead straining at the thought of her within a foot of a male her age. Unsupervised at that. Her mother would find the situation hilarious and provide her tips for the future. Similar to how I met your father, she’d say in amusement. Nevertheless, it is all with a plan in mind.

Clearing her throat, she holds her head high like her mother taught her and meets his gaze.

“I thank you for your service to, and protection of, the Royal Family of Misthaven, no matter how unconventional your means are.” He cocks an eyebrow, amusement dancing along his features. She swallows hard as she steps closer and extends one hand to him. The smirk remains on his face as he takes her hand in his calloused one and bends to place a kiss upon her knuckles.

“If you think you can take my knife, Princess,” the mystery boy begins, his lips brushing her skin with every word. It takes her breath away and she forgets to inhale. Mirthful blue eyes meet hers from under the cover of his eyelashes and she’s mesmerized. Few in the realm hold magic. Most users, like Regina and her mother Cora, learn through difficult training that involves more blood and soul than most are willing to give up. Very rare others, like Emma, find their power from being the product of True Love. As far as she knows, she’s been the only one for the last two centuries.

But as this boy – no, young man – stares up at her from where he is bent at the waist, she swears he must have magic. For there is no other reason that she would be so entranced by his gaze and the sound of his voice. It takes her a moment to realize that he continued speaking.

“… then you will be sorely disappointed.”

Her eyebrows pinch together as she stares at him in confusion. It’s not until he presses a gentle kiss, finally, to her knuckles and then stands while holding his sheathed knife in his other hand that she understands he was onto her ruse. She rips her hand from him and steps back despite the way he doesn’t move to hurt her.

“You must think yourself so clever.”

“Well, I’d rather hope I am. Otherwise the rather great army that Misthaven boasts about over-promises and underdelivers. Especially in matters pertaining to the skillset of their princess.”

Emma huffs but says nothing as he’s clearly shown her up on more than one occasion in their brief meeting. Instead, she inquires about his identity. “May I at least know the name of the person who takes such glee in pointing out our weak spots?”

He steps closer, the sheath held tightly in his palm rather than the knife’s handle. Voice dropping to a whisper, he dips his head as he addresses her. Everything about his posture and his proximity goes against the expectations of the court but she finds a thrill in it. Nothing about her interaction with him has been anything like her usual meetings with advisors and other royals. Stiff greetings and full addresses are nowhere to be found. When he addresses her as Princess, his tongue forms the word as if it’s a nickname rather than her royal title and it sends a shock of excitement down her spine.

His informality is refreshing; like water in a desert, Emma is parched and desperate for more.

“Take note, Princess, that I take no pleasure in pointing out the susceptibilities of your security or skills. It is my loyalty to you that wants you to remain safe.” There’s an earnestness to his voice and Emma feels her cheeks heat. His breath fans against her face in soft puffs as he speaks and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile.

“What have I done to earn such loyalty other than wear a crown?” she asks in an equally quiet voice. She’s breathless as she speaks but she yearns for his unfiltered response.

“Your heart,” he says as he takes another step forward. His toes touch hers and she prays he can’t hear the way her heart beats against her chest like she can hear its echo in her eardrums. “It is pure and light and, like your parents, you chose to see the best in people. Even if they don’t have the best of intentions towards you.”

He licks his lips as he looks at her. Not as the princess, not as a trophy to be won. But as if she were just another girl at the market. No, not just another girl. Like a girl who stole his attention and he has no thought but for her. It leaves her gobsmacked and a part of her wishes he would kiss her, be her first. But she’s not sure how many more lines she can cross tonight.

“What is your name?” Her question breaks his gaze from her mouth and it quickly darts up to meet hers. He scratches at the back of his head, just behind his ear, and she finds the action endearing. For all his suave moves and confidence, he is an awkward adolescent just like her.

The answer that laid on the tip of his tongue is stopped by an approaching voice.

“Killian?” the voice calls out, a deeper, more mature male voice with a similar accent to the mystery man’s.

“Bloody hell,” the figure before her murmurs with his head turned towards the alleyway. She assumes it is safe to assign the name to her companion this evening. As the other voice calls his name again, Killian turns towards her and adjusts her scarf over her hair and face before she can even blink, successfully concealing her identity for the time being.

Right as his fingers curl the cloth around the shell of her ear, the other figure emerges from the darkness.

“Bloody hell, Killian. I’d been calling your name for…”

The voice trails off as the person takes in the fact Killian isn’t alone.

“My apologies, Miss…”

The first thing that comes to mind is Killian’s earlier statement, the odd comparison he’d made, and so she blurts out before he can, “Miss Swan.”

“Evening, Miss Swan,” the gentleman says as he steps closer to the sole lantern light on the side of the building. He has a sharp jawline reminiscent of Killian’s with matching blue eyes. His hair curls close to his head and Emma notices he wears the uniform of her family’s navy. “Lieutenant Liam Jones. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, despite the late hour,” he says. The end of Liam’s statement is directed towards Killian in a way that reminds her of the subtle way her parents reprimand her when in company.

He takes her hand in his and bows as he bestows a kiss on it. It’s routine and perfunctory and so different from the one Killian had placed in that very spot moments prior. She only hopes that the turn of her head is enough to keep him from recognizing the uncovered parts of her face.

“Aye, apologies, brother,” Killian starts. He steps in front of Emma just slightly and she feels tension in her shoulders she hadn’t realized were built begin to release at his actions. “She’s a new servant for the royal family. It’s her first night away from the castle and she seems to have gotten lost. I was just escorting her back to her quarters.” Emma peers just slightly over his shoulder to see his brother’s narrow-eyed gaze fixed on Killian in contemplation. She wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t believe him.

“Let’s be on our way then, little brother. It is late.”

Liam looks at them expectantly and Emma barely pays attention to the mutterings of Killian's 'younger brother’ as blood pounds in her ears. This spells disaster.

Killian, it seems at least, would go along with her charade, not turn her into her parents and let her be on her way. Perhaps he’d have escorted her back but standard practices don’t exactly seem his way of life. Liam, on the other hand, exudes the essence of the perfect soldier. Straight back, formal introductions, and following the expectations of the court to the line. If he finds out who she is, Emma will never be able to escape again. Her father will have her under lock and key and her mother…

She’s not sure what her mother would do.

Being at the center of Regina’s turn to evil never rested easily on her mother’s shoulders. The ten-year-old little girl inside of her carried the guilt of a kingdom despite never truly doing anything wrong. Regina’s misplaced anger resulted in the suffering and death of far too many. It wasn’t an experience her mother took lightly. Emma’s heart breaks at what would become of her mother finding out about her activity.

But she knows of her mother’s own thirst for adventure, of the trials and tribulations that she faced when forced to fend for herself during Regina’s reign. The same kind of living that led to her meeting her True Love.

Emma’s True Love isn’t Killian; she’s positive of that from the way he grates on her nerves and his infuriating confident swagger. Snow, though, doesn’t need to know that – especially if it permits her more time away from the castle.

She shares a glance with Killian and he reads the short expression on her face like he spent all day in the library pouring over his favorite book and he immediately steps in to intercept his brother.

“I hardly think that both of us going is necessary. It’s just a short walk up to the castle grounds.”

Disapproval radiates from Liam in waves as he glares down at his younger brother. The minute shift in Killian’s stance would have been unnoticeable if she weren’t nearly pressed against his back.

“It would be improper to allow you to escort Miss Swan back to her quarters unattended.” Liam’s reply is only thinly veiled in a polite tone.

The trio trek in silence, dew from the grass wetting her already muddy trousers. She sticks close to Killian’s side and keeps as far away from Liam’s gaze as possible. Whenever he turns back to check on them, she turns her head away, allowing the scarf to conceal her identity from the angle of her tilt.

“Will you find yourself in trouble when you return?” Emma whispers hastily to Killian, lifting the edges of her cloak as they come upon mud spots. Her trousers and boots are already going to be a pain to clean, the last thing she needs to do is add to her secret laundry list.

“As long as no one finds out about tonight, Miss Swan,” he says, emphasizing the fake name she gave his brother. She levels a glare at the amusement that seeps into his words before he grows more serious. “Then both of us will be free of trouble. Let’s keep it that way.”

She huffs, turning her gaze onto the pathway leading to the servants quarters. Rarely does she ever find herself in that portion of the castle, but she’s thankful that her lockdown for the last sixteen years meant she had the chance to explore it more than once. The only trouble she’ll face is bypassing any servants that may see her.

Liam coughs as they happen upon the entrance, turning to Killian and Emma expectantly. “Goodnight, Miss Swan.”

Emma panics for a moment, glancing at Killian before she curtsies to Liam. The action feels strange in front of a party other than her parents or fellow royals but she hopes he’ll blame any clumsiness on a supposed shy servant unused to such attention. “Thank you, Lieutenant Jones,” she begins, turning to Killian next and curtseying again, glaring as she comes to a stand when she spots the quirked corner of his mouth. “Mister Jones.”

Killian turns to his brother and raises his eyebrows expectantly only for Liam to shake his head. But Killian persists. Emma acts as a spectator to the silent conversation between the brothers, confusion clouding her thoughts until Liam sighs heavily and turns slightly to the side, gaze away from the two of them. Killian waits a moment, staring at his brother’s back, before he moves.

He steps closer to her until his toes touch hers. Bending slightly, his face is a breath away from hers and her eyes widen. Killian has been the only boy - no, man - brave enough to get so close to her and her breath catches for a moment until he stands straight again, the knife from his thigh in his hand. He uses his free hand to lift one of hers until it rests on the scabbard. He curls her fingers around the knife and pushes it towards her.

“Learn to use it. You better be the one to surprise me next time.” He smirks, dipping his head for a moment to press a searing kiss to her knuckles before he steps back and speaks at a volume that allows Liam to hear. “Have a good night, Miss Swan.”

Emma’s eyes bounce to Liam’s imposing figure briefly before she locks her gaze with Killian. Despite how infuriating their encounter has been, it’s one she’s grateful for. She thanks him, her words quiet but no less genuine, and hopes he understands how deep they ring before she hastily curtseys once more, hurrying into the servants door and counting her blessings that it is empty for the moment.

As silent as she keeps her footsteps, she’s sure anyone within a ten-foot radius would be able to hear her racing heart.

- - -

nine and ten. summer.

Sweat trickles down her back down a familiar path created over the last hour. Hair pulled back in a high bun, the bangs that usually frame her face are plastered to her forehead as perspiration drips from her hairline. It pours from her in areas she didn’t know it could come from. Her breathing is hard and she feels uncomfortably hot in her disguised clothing.

The heat, she figures, is a combination of the unbearable humid summer night that waits outside the walls of the blacksmith’s shop and the roaring fire in the back of the room.

“Again!” Killian yells out to her, bringing his body into a starting fighting stance. He’s moved aside the tables he works at during the day and created a small area in the middle of the blacksmith’s shop for them to spar.

After that fateful spring night, Emma hadn’t seen Killian for three years. Managing to get her father to agree on a joint royal visit to the village had taken weeks and, where her past self would have been overjoyed at the ability to go beyond the castle grounds, her mind only drifted to seeing Killian.

He, though, was not in the village that day, nor on the other nights she snuck from her tower room. Life picked up after that, royal engagements and duties begun to pile upon her shoulders with great weight and a part of her missed the solitude from Regina’s torment. Her ventures to the village that were numerous at the start trickled down to once every few months as Emma found herself sitting in appointments and teachings with her parents. It wasn’t until she let her guard down during another spring festival, watching from afar yet again, that he managed to sneak up behind her.

He’d been disappointed at the fact it was so easy to do once more, and merely rolled his eyes when she told him she’d been practicing.

Her tutors weren’t suitable for the kind of fighting and defense she needed, he preached. Her tutors were the best of the best, she cried back at him in exasperation, they were teaching her well. It was a stance she held until he asked her to spar and had her on her back in twenty seconds.

“Propriety of the fight has no place when someone wants to kill you,” Killian said at the time. “On the battlefield, soldiers are fighting soldiers. They will follow similar rules of war. But for you, Princess, they will fight to harm you, to murder you. There are no rules at that point.” She remembers how he swiftly danced out of her range, using the objects within the shop to his advantage until he fought her to the ground again. “Listening to your tutors will get you killed.”

“So teach me,” she challenged through gritted teeth from where she laid on her back. She still remembers the way he contemplated the idea before he accepted.

Three months later and she’s yet to win a fight against him.

Her feet turn her body in a smooth spin on the sand of the shop and their swords clang loudly in the otherwise silent night. The shutters are closed, for they both know they can’t risk someone peeking in and seeing the princess in a sword fight, so the fire provides their only light. It glows against his tan skin like a sunset and she blinks in rapid succession as she feels vibrations from her sword down to her elbow.

Boots shuffling on the floor, she desperately tries to overpower him or dislodge his weapon from her own, to no avail. It is only as she is managing to move his sword above her head that he pulls from her and she sighs, yelping just a moment later as he smacks the flat of the blade against her backside.

“Hey!” she calls out, hand instinctively reaching behind her to rub at the sting. “You truly are a pain in my ass, you understand that, right?”

He smirks. “It is my duty as your friend to keep you humble under the weight of that crown. We simply cannot have you getting too comfortable.”

Emma shakes her head to hide her grin at his words. Friend. She doesn’t think she’s had one of those before. Most of the people she associates with have a large age difference between them and what interests her doesn’t typically interest them. She’s interacted with other royals her age but most of the encounters were awkward and stifling.

With Killian, things are easy. Awkward moments are few and far between, and he doesn’t tiptoe around her feelings. He is honest, if a bit too blunt, and open about what he thinks. There is no stuffy protocol or ‘Yes, Princess,’ ‘Of course, Princess,’ with him. In fact, she swears that he gets more enjoyment out of denying her almost anything she requests. So confident in that idea, she’d bet her crown on it.

Her arms feel heavy as she lifts them to her starting stance once more, without Killian needing to ask. “I’m ready,” she says through her labored breathing.

“Think you can handle it, Princess?” he taunts, that infuriating smirk glowing on his face.

“Please,” she scoffs, “you’re the one who can’t handle it.” She adjusts her weight and nods to him. “Let’s go.”

Their swords clash again, the ringing of metal meeting metal echoing in the blacksmith’s shop. While Emma is soaked in her own perspiration, she can only spot a few lines of sweat trailing down the side of his neck and small beads along his hairline. There’s a sluggishness to his moves, an effect of the two hours of training they’ve exhausted themselves with tonight, but her moves are far worse. She feels the delay in her response and the way she doesn’t see his sword come towards her.

She belated raises her own to stop him and the rattling is enough to spring the sword from her grip. Killian attempts to stop the unexpected downswing of his sword from the loss of hers, but it isn’t enough. The tip of his blade swipes across her open palm and blood immediately comes to the surface.

“Fuck,” he mumbles.

Emma merely stares at her hand in shock, the stinging sensation faint noise in the back of her mind.

She doesn’t remember the last time she bled this much from an injury. Perhaps it was when she was six and she fell from the tree in the palace gardens, stockings stained red. Maybe it was when she was eight and poked herself with a quill. It could have been from the split lip she got when she was eleven while fighting a stable boy when he wouldn’t leave a maid alone. One thing she is certain of is that most cuts and bruises healed incredibly fast once her full powers came in at twelve.

Cuts barely bled and what should have been black and blue bruises remained a light pink.

In the time since Regina, she’s barely had any instances to result in such an injury. The sight is mesmerizing, even if its implications are terrifying, and she barely registers the way Killian stands in front of her, readying a bandage, until a harsh and sudden sting, not from the initial sword swipe, causes a hiss to snake through her clenched teeth.

"What the hell is that?!” she whispers hotly as the liquid from his flask runs over her cut. She tries to pull her hand away but he won’t let her. All she succeeds with is getting pulled closer to him.

“Rum,” he mutters, eyeing the cut. “A bloody waste of it, too.”

The response that sits on her tongue never makes it past her lips as she watches the way Killian wraps a cloth around the palm of her hand, concentration on her injury. When he finishes, he holds the cloth in place with one hand, grabs an end of the material with his other hand and grabs the other end of the cloth with his teeth. He pulls, gently but enough to tighten the makeshift bandage around her hand.

She’s positively captivated by the way he looks so tempting in the glow of the fireplace. Scruff is finally coming in thick sections across his jaw, teeth a perfectly white shine that could make the stars jealous. And his eyes… Perhaps it is the firelight that makes it so, or it is the way he looks up at her from beneath his eyelashes with the end of the cloth between his teeth, but Emma’s never seen a sight so alluring.

“Now,” he says, voice low. Her head tilts closer to his, afraid to lose his words to the deafening silence of the night. “Hopefully those damned tutors gave you some proper first-aid lessons. Nothing like the sad excuses for combat training they’ve given you.”

“My mom taught me first-aid,” she whispers back. She takes pleasure from the way he looks up at her in surprise and slight embarrassment.

“Then you were in good hands, indeed.”

“Not as good as these ones, though, I suppose.”

Her breath hitches in her throat as she registers what she’s said. Wide green eyes stare at his ocean blue ones, the flirty tone of her words sinking in for them both. She swallows hard at nearly the same time he does and her heartbeat quickens under his attention.

“Is that so, Swan?”

She licks her lips, suddenly dry in the heat of the night, and feels her body grow hot as his eyes follow the movement of her tongue. Panic rises within her as she becomes keenly aware of her inexperience.

It doesn’t come due to thinking he’d judge her for it. No, she worries she could do something wrong or embarrass herself further and she cannot have that. Her ego can only take so many hits in a single night, most of which already occurred in their impromptu sparring circle.

Words come from her throat in response though she barely thinks before she speaks.

“Are you ever going to tell me where you were for the last three years?” she asks in a hurry. “You were here and then you disappeared.”

He clears his throat at that, drops her hand, and steps back. She feels cold without him near but there’s a comfort in the fact that static still dances in the air between them. The heat has gone from searing to simmering though she knows that it can turn up again with a single look. It’s happened to them in the past when their sparring has gotten them particularly close or in damning positions.

The answer rests on the tip of his tongue yet he remains hesitant to say it. He struts to the fire on the far side of the room and rests one arm above it, leaning towards the heat. Only when she opens her mouth to prompt him again does he speak.

“I’ve been in training at the naval academy,” he says. She suddenly feels like she cannot breathe, for a different reason entirely. “I was promoted to Lieutenant and assigned to my brother’s ship eight months ago and we’ve been away on a mission until this spring.”

“W-Why?” she stutters.

“That’s need-to-know infor –”

“Cut the bullshit, Killian,” Emma says. She feels anger rising in her chest and stares at him from her spot in the shop, hands clenching and unclenching while her breath quickens. “Why’d you join?”

“Why shouldn’t I have?”

“You could get killed, for starters!”

How could he value his life so little that he’d thrown himself into danger? He made a name for himself, if the villagers were to be believed, as the blacksmith’s apprentice and could have easier taken over so the old man could take a step back. If he didn’t want to do that, Emma would’ve found a place to put his skills to use within the castle.

His eyes shoot up to meet hers in a quick fury, the flames dancing beside him in a matching rage. The clench of his jaw is the only other sign she gets that he’s trying to keep his temper in check. “There are still rebel groups scattered throughout the Enchanted Forest who are loyal to Regina and –”

She glares, face hardening. “And what? You’re going to eliminate the few scattered remnants singlehandedly with your superior swordsmanship?”

Killian takes a step closer, leaving a large gap between them still, and curls his fingers into a tight fist. “Few scattered remnants,” he mocks, voice pinching up as he does so. He shakes his head. “Regina reigned for over two decades, and she tried to kill you for nearly all your life! Nearly forty years of hatred doesn’t disappear in a few years, love. Don’t be naive.”

Tears burn at the back of her eyes but she refuses to let them gather and fall. “Don’t patronize me,” she grits out.

“You need to understand what’s really going on out there. This isn’t a game; it’s not sneaking out to play with swords. Real people are putting their lives on the line for you and your family.”

Indignation keeps her tears from falling. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then start acting like you do!” he cuts to her, temper rising and anger barely under control. “Regina may not be here but the threat is still real!”

“But why did you have to join when we have armies already doing this work!”

“Why is it such an issue for you now? You haven’t cared about it in the past. This is something that’s always been done for the crown.”

“Of course I’ve cared!”

“Not like this.”

“Because none of them were you!”

The dead silence of the night invades the shop. Blood pounds in her ears as they stare each other down and she can see the way his chest heaves the same way hers does from their heavy breaths. The string connecting them is pulled taunt until Emma feels a shock travels across it, the two of them immediately jumping into action and marching towards each other.

Their mouths meet in a messy kiss, all clanging teeth, bruised lips, and fighting tongues. Her sword clatters to the ground around the same time his fingers thread through her hair. She completely surrenders herself to him and feels her body melt in his hold, his arm around her waist being the only thing holding her up. Her skin tingles under his attentions, a full-body shiver shaking her spine when his mouth descends onto her neck.

It reminds her of when she had magic.

The humid night air outside is nothing compared to what is boiling within the blacksmith’s shop.

She swears that when their passion cools from its rush and they exchange a short, soft kiss, the softest of the night, a spark of magic emits from her fingertips. The tingling sensation beneath her skin paired with the overwhelming warmth is the exact feeling she’d get right before performing magic. But Killian doesn’t yelp or flinch or react at all to anything other than their kiss.

Must have been a trick of her imagination.

Later, as they almost finish readying to leave for Emma needs to return back to the castle before the quickly approaching daylight beats her to it, he says, hesitantly, “This cannot happen again, love.” Her head shoots up from tying her cloak around her neck and he quickly amends his wording. “I – I don’t regret a moment. Trust me,” he adds with a grin that has her blushing. “But… this is not feasible. We cannot, Princess.”

It's a proclamation and a resignation in one. A reminder, too, of what exactly their roles are in the social hierarchy.

“My father was a shepherd,” she points out.

“Who was able to masquerade as a king before marrying your mother.” He raises an eyebrow at her and she’s never hated it so much before. Despite their two years age difference, the way he looks at her now makes her feel like a child and he the responsible adult.

As much as it was brought up in their past meetings, especially their first, the realization of their different lives and expectations never sunk in until then. While not outright forbidden, their friendship is taboo. At least to the eyes of the kingdom.

He is right that her father took on the role of prince from his deceased twin brother and no one was the wiser. The truth trickled out from the very start and once her parents took the throne back from Regina, it became Misthaven’s worst kept secret. In truth, half of their people believe it to be just a story, a little detail added to romantic love story of Snow White and Prince Charming to make it grander, more epic, truer.

Funnily enough, the people also seem to forget that nearly all of the council are regular folks just like themselves, Blue being the exception. Red, the dwarves, Geppetto – they were all just regular people who helped her mother when she had no kingdom, no throne, no knights. They continued to help her parents when they needed it, no expectation of being rewarded.

But things were different now. The kingdom had lived in fear and uncertainty for Regina’s return for sixteen years and only now is gaining a sense of security again after all the turmoil.

She knows what her people expect of her – to marry a man of noble standing from a foreign kingdom to help strengthen Misthaven’s armies, grow relations with allies, expand borders, and produce an heir. It is an expectation of any heir in order to help their kingdom thrive. While Killian doesn’t look at her like that’s what he sees in her future, it’s clear he anticipates it as a way of life and refuses to get his own hopes up. He’s lived in other kingdoms before he and his brother settled in hers; he’s seen the expectations and routine of royalty elsewhere. All he has to go off of is his own knowledge.

Emma isn’t sure what makes her say it but she finishes knotting her cloak and lets her words land heavily in the silent room.

“My parents want me to marry for love, no matter who it is or what they can or cannot provide for the kingdom.” She chances a glance up at him. “They know the sacrifice that comes with the crown, the sacrifices they have made over and over again through the years, and this is one that they will not have me make.”

Killian gulps and stares at her.

Clearing her throat, Emma nods her head at him. “You going to escort me back to the castle or am I roughing it alone?”

He shakes his head and gives her a wry smile. “At your service, Princess.”

She catches what he doesn’t say, what he means both in front of and behind the veil of his words. She waits until his face is turned away from hers, focused on lacing his boots, and asks, “When do you ship out?”

His fingers still their movements before resuming the action like she never spoke. “One week’s time.”

“Oh.”

The last three years without him were fine. She stopped looking for his dark hair around every corner in the village after the first month and she didn’t dare ask any of the townspeople about him directly, lest word get around that the young princess had a crush on the blacksmith’s apprentice. She even stopped coming up with excuses to drop in on her father’s meetings with the blacksmith himself, Atticus Brown, when they discussed new armory for their soldiers. He quickly faded to a thought that crossed her mind only once in a blue moon.

Then she spotted him in the market three months ago and their eyes connected like they were drawn to each other. She snuck out that night in hopes that he would find her again and walk her back to the castle. His ability to come up on her without recognition or fast enough retaliation led to her baiting him into teaching her how to truly fight – how to fight for one’s life.

And now it is at its to end and she’s not sure how she’ll make it through this absence. They’ve become friends now, albeit friends that, as of minutes ago, do more than friends normally do, but friends nonetheless. His presence has become a constant in her life and she can already feel the aching void he will leave on shore.

She sucks in a breath, unsure if she wants to actually know the answer, and quietly asks, “What’s going on out there?”

Killian scratches behind his ear as he diverts his attention back to the fire momentarily. He doesn’t want to let her in on the dark dealings he has faced, that much is clear to her, but she cannot be left unaware any longer.

Her inexperience is no excuse. She’s going to be a queen one day – she needs to be in tune with her people, their wants and needs, their worries and fears. Counselors and her parents can only keep her in the dark for so long. To succeed when she takes the throne, she cannot be left floundering for information because they’d been too scared or nervous to give it to her.

“The dissenters are getting desperate but it also makes them crafty. They’re taking on guerilla war tactics and picking off troops slowly until they are all gone. Right now they’re focusing on military camps and ships.”

“But…” she starts, eyeing him considerably. “You’re worried they’re going to go after merchants and civilians next, aren’t you?”

He shrugs, waving one hand away before it rubs at his mouth, his other resting on his hip. “I… I think I am the only one worried of such a thing but I know these types of people and there is only so long they can be held at bay with just this. They’ll keep pushing until they succeed, no matter the cost.”

“Shit.”

Killian’s sudden, booming laugh startles them both and Emma can’t help but fall into a fit of giggles. She quickly slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound but the moment she thinks it’s passed, a suppressed giggle leaves her shoulders shaking. Killian laughs quietly with her but he holds a soft look in his eyes, one that she can’t decipher the meaning of but she knows is the same as the look she gives him.

When they’ve finally calmed down a few minutes later, they both confirm they have what they need and begin their departure. Or, so she thought they would.

“Wait,” Killian starts. She turns away from the door and to him, words teetering on the tip of his tongue. He settles on just two. “Take this.” He extends his arm and Emma gasps.

“You’re not serious,” she whispers as she admires the handle of the blade she’s been using for the last few months. It’s one she recognizes, one that he’d been working on for his personal collection for the first month after they reconnected as he waited for her to come for their training sessions. She’s watched him a few times when he asked for a few extra minutes before they began and the proud smile once it was finished, his insistence that she try it out. It quick became her favorite and she repeatedly selected it to use in training.

The way Killian works with the weapons and metals in the blacksmith’s shop is how she imagines some people might admire her magic, had she still had any ability to use it. He works with an ease that makes his efforts look simple and he manipulates the heated metals in a way that leaves her speechless. On more than one occasion, her mouth has gone dry as she witnessed his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and sweat glistening on his skin.

In a way, it’s a shame that Killian’s joined their navy. He is a fine blacksmith and would have been an incredible successor to Atticus when he retires soon. None of the apprentices that he’s taken on since Killian’s left have been inspiring. But she knows, from her gut, that he’s an asset they cannot afford to lose in the navy. He’s on the fast track to captain, she’s sure.

Killian gives her a scabbard with a leather belt to sit around her waist. She struggles to get the sword in it at first, the angle awkward and the action unfamiliar.

“Here,” Killian says as he comes up behind her. Emma sucks in a breath and delights in the shiver that crawls down her back as he presses against it and takes hold of the wrist clutching her new sword. “Focus, love,” he teases. His lips brush against her neck as he speaks, deliberately so, and Emma whines. All talk of the fact they cannot have a repeat of earlier tonight is out of her mind until Killian clears his throat.

Words fill the air but she hears none of it. Instead, she concentrates on the feel of his skin against hers, the way his chest vibrates against her back as he talks, the smell of ash, sea water, and wood wax. She collects what little tidbits she can, even as he helps her practice sheathing her sword. For all she knows, this may be the last she has of it. Of him.

The thought brings tears to her eyes and she blinks them away, glad they are gone by the time she turns around to face him. “Ready, sailor?”

He grins and her heart flutters and its then that she realizes she’s in deep shit. “Aye.”

The inevitable freakout that comes from her startling realization is shelved until she’s alone in her room, away in her solitude. For now, she enjoys their walk back to her secret exit. They’ve done the route enough that they could make the trip with their eyes closed while walking backwards, but Killian remains vigilant and continuously scans the area for anything out of the ordinary.

The dawn’s early light is breaking over the hill beside the castle and Emma knows they only have precious few moments left. With that in mind, she breaks their comfortable silence.

“How did you recognize me? That first time?”

“You’re hard to miss. Like I said,” he teases, a grin tempting the corners of his mouth. “A swan amongst ducks.”

She gives him a wry grin. “That’s not an answer. Only a handful of people knew what I looked like then.”

Killian swallows audibly at being caught, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. They’ve moved close enough that she can feel the tensing of his knuckles against her own and a part of her longs to reach out and tangle their fingers together again. A blush works its way up her neck, warmth making her feel hotter than the humid air already has, as she thinks back to the first and last time they held hands earlier that night.

In all honesty, she didn’t know what she was going to say when she opened her mouth. Their first meeting certainly hadn’t been on her mind. But now that the question hangs over their heads, she has to know.

“I was there,” he says. Taking a deep breath, he focuses on his rings, fingers fiddling with the metal he probably crafted in the very shop they left. “That day, when you killed Regina.”

Her heart races. Blood pounds in her ears. The adrenaline rush she gets now is different from what she’s experienced before in his presence.

No.

No, this is panic. Fear. Anxiety. No one is supposed to know it was her doing that killed Regina. She can count on her fingers how many people do know, simply because it was unavoidable. So she does what she does best and hides her heart in a concrete vault, walls scaling higher than the castle tower they’re approaching.

She remembers the way her mother flinched back when the magic burst from her palms. How her father got caught in the crossfire and nearly died when her magic shot him across the room. What happened to Regina wasn’t what she intended. All she wanted was to stop her, protect her family from being hurt by her again.

Despite years of teaching and training, Emma’s magic was more powerful than anyone had seen in the realms before. The only one who came close to what she was capable of was the Dark One and he’d gone into hiding nearly two decades ago. With her incredible power came an incredible lack of control, no matter what she did or what Blue tried to teach her.

Little things she could do. Small spells that magical beings learn when they’re young. It was the stronger spells, the ones that required her to tap into more of her power, that gave her issue. The more power she needed, the less control she had. Her mind couldn’t find a focus, a singular thought, a strong enough pull to keep her centered.

She doesn’t remember much of the night Regina broke the magical barriers to the castle and attempted to murder her and her father in front of her mother. Attempts to recall the way in which Regina stole her from her bed and brought her to the highest tower of the castle result in a blank. How her and her father broke free of Regina’s magical holds is an unknown to her, one that her parents refuse to tell her.

But Regina’s murder – the way her own magic made her a monster… that she cannot forget.

The smell is what always comes to mind first. Burning flesh holds a rancid smell unlike any she’s experienced and incites her gag reflex. The sound is next. Regina’s gurgles as her blood boiled beneath her skin and her organs melted within her body makes Emma want to sob until she is dried of all her tears. Last is the vision. The sight of Regina crumpling in pain as Emma’s magic destroyed her body from the inside out, of the once evil queen begging and pleading for mercy while Emma’s magic wouldn’t let up.

For decades, her parents showed Regina mercy. They gave her chance after chance to prove herself, never wanting to sink to her level. And Emma ruined that in a single night, providing one of the most gruesome deaths in Misthaven’s history.

Emma avoids his gaze, eyes fixed on that very tower before them as she feels her good mood dissipate.

“If what you’re saying is true, shouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

Her tone doesn’t reach the joking lilt she is aiming for so she nervously laughs to cover it. Killian’s small glare at the side of her head tells her she is doing a miserable job.

“What was it you said before, Swan? Bullshit?”

A warning tone takes hold of her voice as she says, “Killian…”

“No one else knows,” he prefaces. “I didn’t tell a soul, I promise.” She turns and holds his gaze for a few moments and he lets her, completely unguarded and honest like he always is. A few of her newly constructed bricks fall. He waits for her nod before he continues.

“I had just finished a meeting with your father, Graham, and Atticus regarding upgraded protections for the troops. Graham and Atticus left a few minutes prior and your father offered to help me gather the materials we brought. One moment he was handing me a chest plate and the next, he disappeared in a cloud of purple and gray smoke. I knew something had happened, something bad, so I went looking.”

“Why didn’t you tell any guards?”

“There were none.” Killian eyes her curiously. “How much do you remember from that night?”

“Only what I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

She remembers the aftermath even less. The incredible use of her magic left her asleep in bed for nearly three months as her body attempted to recover from the amount of power drawn that night. Physically, it helped her. Magically, however, is another story.

He stops her then, just outside of the wall on the hill that she uses for her escape. The jovial atmosphere that has come and gone throughout the night has completely disappeared. Killian’s hand gently gripping her elbow sears her skin, imprinting itself there forever, she hopes, and she is left stunned by the gravity of his gaze.

“Regina very nearly killed your entire family that night, love.”

The breath Emma sucks in is swift and sharp. A physical pain hits her chest at the thought.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever found out how she got through but when she did, she killed nearly the entire guard. The entire eastern side of the castle was decimated. By the time I made it to the tower where she took you and your family, she was holding your father’s heart in her hands and had a poisoned arrow held mid-flight, pointed straight for your heart.”

No matter how hard she tries, her mind cannot formulate the images he describes. It does bring to the forefront of her mind her mother’s screams as the events unfolded. She hears the echoes of her pleas for Regina to not do this. She feels the rattling in her chest from her mother’s earth-shaking sobs. The agony and helplessness that gripped her mother runs through her blood again and she feels the hot tingle of her magic beneath her skin despite nothing coming to the surface.

“So then you must have seen what I did to her,” Emma says. She meets his gaze head on, eyes welling with tears, and steadies her chin so it doesn’t tremble. “My magic made me a monster.”

“Your magic made you a hero.”

“I killed her. Slowly. Torturously. I listened to her beg for her life and I didn’t even feel sorry. That’s what a monster is.”

“I’m sorry, I must have missed the part where you did all of this as a grab for power or to quench your own bloodlust,” he shoot back at her, eyes narrow and frown etched upon his features.

“I went to her level, Killian.”

“Bollocks, Emma. Complete and utter bollocks.” Killian shakes his head as he begins a short pace back and forth, glancing at her every few steps. “I’ve heard a lot of asinine things in my life but never from you, until now.”

She takes a step back, hurt clear on her face. “What the hell!?”

“No,” Killian starts, shaking his head again before he approaches her, voice cut low so not even the early morning crickets can hear him over their musical sounds. “You are not a monster. Your magic does not make you a monster. It’s a part of you, Emma. A strong, beautiful part of you that comes from love.”

“But –”

“But nothing. Regina used magic through anger and bitterness to get revenge and hurt people. You used magic to protect the people you love. That makes all the difference. You are not the same as her. You never could be.” Any retort she has dies on her lips as his hands come up to cup her face. Their noses brush but their gazes remain locked. “I know the outcome of that night hurts you, but that’s because your heart is good. Your magic isn’t something to be ashamed of. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

She swallows hard. Her eyes flutter closed as she inhales shakily, her words a quieter whisper than even his. So quiet she’s surprised he hears her at all.

“My magic’s been waning since then,” she confesses. “I don’t know what’s happened, but I struggle to tap into it and whenever I do, it’s like there’s barely anything scraping the bottom of the well. I – I don’t think I have any left.”

“Emma…” Killian’s quiet, comforting voice is drowned out by the calling of her name from the tower beside them. The two of them break apart in a hurry, eyes darting up to see if they’ve been spotted but all that greets them is the billowing of her curtains.

“I need to go,” she says regretfully. She hoped they’d have more time for a proper goodbye. Her parents and her are travelling to the opposite coast to spend two weeks touring some of the villages and she won’t be able to see him off.

“Have your sword?” Killian asks. Emma pats her side where it sits in the scabbard. “Your dagger?”

“In my boot,” she answers, raising one heel to tap the side of her boot where the dagger he gave her years ago sits sheathed in its hiding place.

Killian surges forward, pulling her into a hug and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. “Be safe, Swan. Promise me.”

She clutches him as tight to her as possible, closing her eyes as she takes stock of him one last time. “Only if you do too.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, love. I’m a survivor.” She huffs out a laugh at that and shakes her head. A second call of her voice from the tower has her pulling away and whispering a final goodbye.

She feels his eyes on her back the entire time she climbs up the side and she bets he’d clamber over the side wall in an instant if she were to start falling. Not that she wants to test that theory. One of her legs swings over her windowsill and she takes the moment to look back at his waiting form at the tree line. She waves and her heart soars at his wave in return. Always watching, waiting, protecting.

Emma swings her other leg over the sill, coming to a stand in her room in a daze, soft smile on her face.

“You know,” her mother’s voice rings out from Emma’s bed. Snow smirks in delight and amusement as she watches Emma’s eyes widen and face pale. “Of all the times I snuck out of here growing up, I was never caught.”

---

three and twenty. fall.

Atticus Brown dies by the time Emma turns 22.

His blacksmith shop in town lays vacant for the first few months following his death until Emma starts holding workshops with potential apprentices from visiting blacksmiths of allied nations. It makes her feel closer to Killian in his absence while also serving the purpose of scouting a new royal blacksmith. They’re getting by, at the moment, but stores are waning and there’s only so much their allies can offer up without putting themselves at a disadvantage.

The answer comes in a blacksmith from a land Emma’s never heard of before.

A recommendation from Atticus in his dying breath of a man who responds to a letter with a royal seal in only three months’ time. Isaac Heller.

She heard the name in passing before. He’d been one of Atticus’ apprentices before moving away when he was her age. The man never kept up letter writing with Atticus despite the numerous ones he sent Isaac’s way, and that alone left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Then there is the slimy way that Isaac finagles his way into every conversation he hears. It’s like a habit of his, or even a curse. She can spot across a room the way his ears perk up, his back straightens, and his face instantly brightens in faux interest as he inserts his way in.

“I don’t like him,” Emma tells her parents one day once she’s positive Isaac has left castle grounds. “There’s something about him…”

“Is this because of your gut or because he’s not Killian?”

Emma’s cheeks burn at her mother’s mention of Killian while her father’s head shoots up in alarm.

“Killian? Killian Jones? Why would Emma be concerned Isaac’s not Killian?”

“Now is not the time, David.” Snow turns her attention to Emma as David glances between his wife and daughter in horror. “So, which is it?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “My gut says don’t trust him. He has a hidden agenda.”

Snow nods her head. “Your father and I agree. We’re not letting him in on any military plans, but unfortunately he’s all we have for the time being.”

“None of the apprentices from the workshops can do it?”

David rounds the table, coming to stand beside Snow. “They don’t have enough training and aren’t able to do what we need to. With anyone else, we’d have them continue a regular apprenticeship under our blacksmith.”

“But with Isaac being our only option right now, we want as little of his influence anywhere as possible,” Snow finishes.

She sighs, nodding her head in understanding. There had been a time, about a year or so ago, when one of their ships called Jewel of the Realm were making great headway on Regina’s loyal supporters. Apparently the captain and his lieutenant were battlefield masterminds on the water as well as the few times they took their crew to fight on land too.

Then a few months ago, deep in the Enchanted Forest away from any nearby villages, Snow’s birds started bringing her items to indicate a new, growing resistance in the name of Regina. They’ve all come to the conclusion that they found themselves a new leader to organize them into action, gaining numbers by the day.

“Can we get back to Killian and Emma?” David questions after a moment of silence.

“Nope,” Emma says, backing up with her hands in the air. “No way. I am out of here.”

*

The next time she sees Killian, she’s halfway through her third year in her twenties and it’s at a ball held in his honor. Sort of.

As a way to keep morale high amongst their troops as well as show their appreciation for all their sacrifices, her parents hold a ball to honor their servicemen who have been promoted. Liam attended a ball three years ago when he became captain and Emma faked sick, worried on the off-chance he’d remember her as the servant girl from that one night years ago. It was a risk she couldn’t take so she begged off and stayed in bed for the night. Sneaking out had been out of the question as the castle had been crawling with military officials. Now that she’s become more of a public figure, there were too many chances she could be noticed.

In all honesty, she considered contracting the same fake illness the night of this ball as well until her mother came into her room holding a beautiful red gown and a teasing smile on her face.

“I think Killian will be left speechless to see you in this.”

“That’d be a first,” Emma mutters to herself as fingers the silky material of the dress. It’s soft and smooth against her fingers, sliding off her skin like water. The red is a particularly eye-catching color, familiar too. Almost the same color as the vest Killian wore as an apprentice blacksmith.

Wait.

“What do you mean ‘Killian’?”

Snow grins, barely contained joy hidden beneath it. “Yes, I must have forgotten to mention it to you. Both Killian and Liam have been promoted for their efforts on the Jewel of the Realm and we’ll be honoring them tonight.”

The rush of blood through her system drowns out anything else her mother might have said and blocks her from noticing the servants who’ve come in to help her prepare. Emma moves with them out of habit rather than any real thought, her mind anywhere but in her room.

Killian and Liam were the ones on the Jewel, conquering both sea and land. Not that that should surprise Emma. Killian’s always been incredibly intelligent and strategic in the time she’s known him. He works hard to stay one step ahead of his enemy and it had clearly been paying off. Still, her heart lurches when she recalls how many close scrapes the Jewel has been through over the last few years.

Her mind races over the possible scenarios in which they see each other again for the first time in years. Would she trip? Would he still be excited to see her? Would this be another time that evil descends upon their castle and ruins everything?

Her palms are sweaty by the time she sits besides her parents on their thrones in the ballroom. She fiddles with her fingers constantly as allied dignitaries greet them and she half expects her mother to slap her hands away as if she were a child. Once the ball officially starts, Emma is immediately surrendered to the dance floor. She spends over two hours dancing with nearly every military officer there and considers her plan to contract a fake illness once again. Clearly Killian isn’t here tonight, nor is his brother. Her mother simply played a cruel joke to get her to join them at the ball.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Killian speaks from behind her, a gasp of surprise leaving her lips before she turns around. “You know,” he starts in a low voice. “You must have done something bad for your parents to torture you with these dances. I don’t think I’ve seen your toes stepped on so much.”

Emma huffs, barely able to keep the laughter out of her voice though she suspects her glee at his appearance is as obvious as his own. “Are you saying you won’t be one to step on my toes?”

“There’s only one rule, Swan,” he starts, coming closer and wrapping one arm around her waist as he grabs her hand with his free one. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Music starts and the rest of the ballroom fades away as they let the music move them. Their eyes immediately lock onto each other and Emma can’t help the upwards twitch of her lips. “Who taught you to dance?”

“Liam, believe it or not,” he confesses, his shoulders hunching up for a moment before he settles them down for the dance. “He said I’d need to know how to dance if I ever wanted to impress a princess.”

“Oh, just any old princess?”

“Aye. Your lot are a dime a dozen, love.” She only lets enough of a laugh escape for him to notice, their eyes twinkling as they bask in the moment alone together. “But are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Impressed?”

He passes his inquiry off as a joke but the earnest pinch of his eyebrows give him away. Anyone else could have looked at him and missed it but they know each other like their favorite books. So she smiles, the hand on his shoulder sliding over to the back of his neck and starting to play with the hair that rests at his collar.

“Eh,” she starts. He huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes until she whispers his name softly. “You’ve always impressed me.”

He swallows hard, the action audible to her in their close proximity. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

“I missed you too.” She blinks quickly and offers a reassuring smile at his concerned expression. His hand that had tightened against her back relaxes as they continue to move without thought. “Even if you are constantly putting yourselves in danger.”

“Anything to keep you safe,” he says even quieter than the last.

“When do you ship out again?”

“Not for a few weeks.” She tries her best to keep up her smile for him but it wobbles. It seems like she is only destined to get him for blips of time, never granted more than that. “But it seems that, as her new captain, the king and queen have requested that Misthaven’s capital be the Jewel’s homeport.”

Emma pulls back just enough to get a full look at his face, her eyes roaming over every inch to see if there’s any hint of a joke there. Not that he’d joke about that but she couldn’t let herself accept it until she knew it was completely true. The hopeful grin he gives her and the small nod he adds has a wide smile breaking onto her face.

“Really?” she asks in disbelief. His homeport is now the capital. She could keep an eye on the Jewel from her bedroom window.

“Aye.” His eyes finally broke free of hers as he glanced over her shoulder towards where the thrones sat on a dais. “Had a personal visit from Her Majesty to let me know the news.”

“Wait, seriously?” Killian nods again and Emma doesn’t hold back her laugh this time. There is no bigger meddler in the realm than her mother. Her father comes as a close second but her mother’s brilliant plans and determination keep her in the top spot.

It’ll be easier on her heart to have him so close, she decides in that moment. She knows Killian has no intention of courting her, regardless of what she thinks his feelings are. He’s grown up accustomed to the fact that princesses don’t marry commoners, even military officials. Nothing she says will convince him of it otherwise and part of her wants to hate him for denying them a happiness they most likely won’t find with anyone else. At least not in this way. But she understands too.

Her duties, her role as princess to her people, heir to the throne, must come first, same as his duties to the crown. Just like her, he acts in what he thinks is in the best interest of Misthaven. But her parents refuse to allow her to sacrifice love just to keep their kingdom. She knows that if she were to abdicate the throne for any reason, especially love, they’d understand and support her.

Killian would never forgive himself if she abdicated for him though, not that she ever thought of actually doing it. Since birth, Misthaven’s well-being has been her top priority. She loves her kingdom and her people and she wants them to thrive. She never thought she’d give it up for anything. But if it came to a choice, her kingdom or her… Killian, Misthaven stands no chance.

They may never be what she wants them to be, and she’s accepted that. At the very least, she will be able to keep him in her life, close to her heart even if he won’t accept her offering of it.

But their connection will not break. It’s too strong, taunt with tension that reinforces its binding, to ever break. She knows it will continue to tempt them and she knows they’ll fall for it every time. She’ll take what she can get, she decides. From the looks he gives her as they dance, she assumes the same to be true for him.

A respite among duties.

It’s not until they hear roaring applause that they stop dancing. The musicians who have been performing throughout the night are taking their bow and her parents are offering their thanks for their services. Heat seeps into her cheeks as she realizes she spent four songs dancing with Killian, none the wiser.

A flush dances on Killian’s neck beneath his collar as he clears his throat. “Liam will be disappointed.”

“Why?”

“He hoped to dance with you tonight,” Killian says, embarrassed. “He believes you were masquerading as a servant girl a few years ago and wanted confirmation on if he was right.”

Emma smirks. “Me? Pretending to be a servant girl? Why would I ever do that?”

He chuckles quietly, looking around the room as he licks his lips. Satisfied that the coast is clear, he leans down and whispers, “Meet me tonight?”

She nods before he can even pull away and they share a smile before Killian disappears into the night.

*

He wants measurements. At least, that’s how their visit starts. His hands trailed over her, his touch sending a burning sensation through the cloth of her riding blouse down to her skin.

“Bloody hell, love,” he grumbles. “Stay still.”

“I can’t,” she whines, hip lifting and her hand slapping his away. “I’m ticklish.”

“I’m never going to get this done if you don’t stop moving.”

“What is this even for?”

“Come on, Swan. It’s not a present if I tell you beforehand.”

“What? You gonna sew me a dress?”

“As much as I’d love to see you cut quite the figure in a few more dresses like earlier tonight,” he begins, a heated look making its way towards her before he attempts to get a measurement of her hips again. “I was a blacksmith’s apprentice, love, not a seamstress’.”

Her breath is lofty as she watches his deft fingers move across her then pencil notes on the parchment beside her body. “Is that what you prefer?”

“Hm?” he asks, distracted.

She licks her lips, watching as the fringe of his black hair falls into his eyes as he writes. She just barely keeps her hands gripping the table’s edge to not push it out of the way. No, she wanted his reaction to her next statement.

“Me in dresses and corsets. Is that what you prefer?” she asks and his head shoots up to her in an instant, writing paused. “Or is there another state of dress or… undress… you prefer?”

It takes him all of a moment – the parchment and pencil swiped to the side to clear the table – before he reacts, coming into her space, cradling her head, and crashing his lips onto hers.

The measures wait until another night.

---

five and twenty. early winter.

Isaac Heller could, well, go to hell, for lack of a better phrase.

Killian and Liam’s conditions are partially his fault, after all.

The first time she sees Killian after Neverland, he’s hiding away in the blacksmith’s shop with a bottle of rum that’s nearing empty, bloodied bandages wrapped around his empty wrist. Dark circles have found a home beneath his eyes and his face is gaunt.

“You sent them where?!” Emma roars, turning on her father in anger.

“They know the risks and they accepted them.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to send them!”

“They’re the best equipped, Emma. Liam and Killian are the only ones I trust with this.”

“It’s Neverland!” she shouts back. Frustrated tears well in her eyes and no matter how much she tries to blink them away, they simply multiple.

She knows that the trip is necessary. Regina loyalists have poisoned all their weapons with dreamshade and that, topped with the poor quality of armor and weapons that Isaac is overseeing, Misthaven’s armies are being wiped off the map. The advantages that they’ve worked hard to take back, all the effort Killian has put in as the Jewel’s captain the last two years, are gone.

“We need a cure. With it, we still stand a chance,” David says. He approaches Emma slowly, cautiously. “They know dreamshade is dangerous. They know Pan might still be around. But this is a risk we have to take. We have one chance at this.”

Emma sniffles. “They know you’re just trying to get the cure, right? That you’re not like King George or Regina’s loyalists and going to use it as a weapons?”

“Of course they do.”

“And – and they’re together, right? You sent them together.”

“I wouldn’t have done it any other way.”

Emma nods her head, trying to reassure herself the best way she can. David sighs sadly and pulls Emma into his arms, cradling her head to his chest as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Liam won’t let anything happen to Killian. And Killian’s a survivor.”

“He better be,” Emma mumbles. “Or I’ll kill him.”

According to the reports of Smee, Killian’s first mate, the Jewel of the Realm landed in Neverland’s waters without issue. Mermaid seas were quiet and the pixies left the crew alone. Pan led them right to the dreamshade with no issue, though not without attempts at manipulation. It wasn’t until Liam plucked enough of the plant to bring back and Killian raised a torch to light the rest on fire that Pan raised issue.

Sending the Lost Boys after the Jewel’s crew was a cruel decision. They were just kids, Your Majesty, Smee stuttered in his explanation as he cradled his red hat to his chest. We didn’t know what to do. But they were savages too.

She’s not sure how he did it but Killian led the crew through the ambush with no casualties on their side. Injuries, plenty, but miraculously no casualties. Most of the injuries came from fractured armor, simple strikes breaking the metal protection and leaving the men vulnerable. The worst of it happened to Killian and Liam.

With the rest of their crew being overwhelmed by injuries from the armor’s lack of protection, the two of them took on most of the battle themselves. It came to an when they fought Pan side by side, according to Smee, and the boy who never grew up didn’t want to give up. He used his magic to play dirty tricks and took delight in making the brothers suffer. He sliced Killian’s left hand off with his own sword, broke Liam’s back with a sliding boulder as he checked on his younger brother.

Pan was only stopped from finishing the job by the call of a strange bird none of them could see. Possibly the only thing that frightened him as he flew from the area in an instant. The crew rounded up the remaining Lost Boys to put in the ship’s cells and brought Killian and Liam straight to the healers once returning to Misthaven.

I’m a survivor.

He’s alive, yes, that much Emma can see from the entrance of the blacksmith’s shop, but did he survive?

“Killian?” she asks quietly into the still air of the shop. His head jerks up at the sound of her voice and he immediately hides his left arm behind him. “Oh, Killian,” she whimpers, striding up to his side and pulling him into a hug.

A sob cracks against her shoulder and Emma feels Killian drop his weight onto her, his tears wetting through the fabric of her cloak. They stay in their embrace for longer than she cares to count. Her focus remains solely on him and his hurt, her heart aching through his pain.

“I can’t go back,” he whispers as his tears dry.

“You will never have to go anywhere you don’t want to,” she reassures him.

“No,” he says with more strength. He pulls away from her, wipes his sleeve along his nose and cheeks. “I can’t go back into service.”

Her brows furrow in confusion. “You’re an asset to our navy. You’ll always be wanted. You’re brilliant and –”

“No,” he says more forcefully. “I won’t go back into service.” He glares at his left arm and she knows that’s not really the issue. Misthaven will take him in whatever shape he’s in, if he wants it. But there’s a darkness to his gaze now and a self-hatred that hadn’t been there before Neverland. Rage curls around her chest as she wonders what horrors Pan must have twisted and made Killian believe.

“Killian, you don’t have to go back into service if you don’t want to. That’s fine. We –”

“I have to take care of my brother. He’s spent his life taking care of me so I must attempt the same for him.”

“I can hel–”

“Leave, Princess.”

Emma stares, dumbfounded at his abrupt change of tone.

“Now.”

He doesn’t look at her as he speaks, anger and disgust in his voice as tells her to go. She doesn’t know if it’s directed at her or not but it hurts, nonetheless. She turns and walks to the door in a fog, stopping briefly before she goes.

She turns her head only slightly, just enough that she can’t see him but her words will still carry his way. “Thank you for making it back,” she says and it isn’t until she closes the door behind her that she hears his agonizing cries.

It takes all of her willpower to not march right back inside and wrap him in her arms for the rest of the night. But there are some things he doesn’t need or want her for.

Instead, she throws her focus into the young apprentices that had continued to study under the visiting blacksmiths. The next time she enters the shop, there’s no sign that Killian had been there aside from some scoffed hay. It pains her to see how easily he leaves no trace of himself.

Isaac only continues to oversee a dwindling quality of the armor every day, claiming the old materials they used to use are inaccessible due to the enemy’s bases. Sneaking into the bases and stealing anything is a no-go as someone in the loyalists’ camp is using magic to protect them. He says there’s no other areas they could mine for it but her gut tells her that’s a lie and she sets to work trying to find something.

In the meantime, she continues to encourage the workshops as a royal ambassador and hopes that one of the students will get skilled enough in time to save them from a suddenly losing war.

The second time she sees Killian post-Neverland is at one of the workshops. He comes into the blacksmith’s shop with an apron on and a hook where his left hand used to be. He seems startled to see other people in there and Emma takes pity on him, grabbing his elbow and bringing him aside. As much as their last moments together hurt her, she hates to make him feel anything other than wanted.

“It’s a workshop to train potential apprentices,” she offers.

“Oh.” Killian’s eyes studied the pack of students, only a small number of four. “Why?”

Emma sighs, crossing her arms with a roll of her eyes. “We need to get rid of Isaac and… this is all we have right now.”

“You have me.”

She turns sharply at his words, eyes narrow and her breath caught in her throat.

“I – I know I mucked things up when you saw me last,” he says, raising his hand to scratch at his ear. “And I’m sorry. I never should have taken my turmoil out on you. It had nothing to do with you. I promise.” He stares, waiting for an acknowledgement and only when she nods does he continue. “I’m not returning to the navy; I need to take care of Liam as he heals. But I can help with the workshops. Get these kids trained and ready.”

“You’d trade your free time to help with the workshops?”

“Aye.” A single simple nod to accompany his one-word affirmation. She reaches over and grabs his wrist, squeezing gently.

“Thank you.”

*

“There are a few places near Segovia that should still have available mines for the materials. Granted, it’s been a few centuries, according to the records, but hopefully that means that the stores have come back.”

Emma watches as Killian pours over the map on the council table, her parents on one side of him and Liam in a wheeled chair on the other, Graham, Red, and Blue behind them. He doles out strategies like he’s on his ship captaining her off to battle and the rest of the room listens like loyal crew. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and she’s fascinated by the way the leather brace for his hook contrasts with the color of is skin, and how the new addition to his body only accentuates the rest of him.

That’s not even to mention how attractive she finds him waving the hook around as he talks, like he’s already accustomed to having it instead of his hand.

She knows he still struggles. That he’ll still poke himself and accidentally bleed or create rips in his shirts and trousers. But he works hard to figure out ways to treat it like his left hand. It helps him in the blacksmith’s shop, he told her once. He’s able to change the way he handles his work and it actually works better for him than two hands ever did. It also helps him more on the few times he went sailing, borrowing a boat from the docks to get Liam back on the water for an afternoon of fishing.

His proud smile and the twinkle that’s starting to come back to life in his eyes only makes her grin.

God, she loves every part of him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, little brother,” Liam starts, sharing a teasing look with Emma as Killian mumbles a correction under his breath. “But this route skirts their main camp. It runs the highest risk of discovery.”

“Aye,” Killian heaves with a heavy sigh. “It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

“No.”

All eyes turn to Emma before she even registers that it was her who shot out a clear rejection of his plan.

“It’s a good plan, Emma,” Snow says gently. “It’s also the only hope we’ve got.”

“That’s why I’m going,” she replies. Her statement gets a round of denials and outrage from everyone but Killian, who stares her down. His hand and hook press hard into the table and she’s sure she’s the only one to notice the tear he put in the map.

“I’m going and you’re not, end of story,” Killian finally interjects.

“Absolutely not,” she fights back.

“Give me a good reason.”

“Oh, you just want one? Because I have several.”

“Go ahead, list them. I’m all ears, love.”

“Fine,” she scoffs. “My parents are out for the obvious reasons of not escalating the conflict further and not losing the rulers of the kingdom at the same time. Liam’s out because he’s still healing. Graham, Red, and Blue are our trackers and keeping eyes on the front line. And you’re out because we need you training the apprentices.”

“They can go a few weeks without me.”

“Well I won’t allow it.”

Killian shakes his head. “You can’t stop me.”

“I will have you arrested.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Do you like seeing me hurting?” she blurts out suddenly. The room falls silent and Killian stares at her with wide eyes. Varying degrees of shock play across the faces of the rest of the room’s occupants and Emma swallows hard. “Because I cannot go through again what happened with Neverland, and what happened with the battles before it, and the many, many close calls you’ve had. You might not give a shit but I do, okay?! And I’m not going to sit by and let you put yourself in a situation where you might die, especially when you clearly have no regard for your life, because I cannot go through it. I – I,” she stops herself, inhaling shakily before she regains her bearings and continues. “It’s out of the question. I’m not needed anywhere specific so I can be spared. It’s the most logical reason but it’s also the one I’m deciding on no matter what. I’m going. Ready a few horses and the best skilled knights we can afford to take from the castle. I leave in two hours.”

Emma doesn’t bother to give Killian another glance as she storms out of the room.

Her parents meet up with her quickly and try to talk her out of it to no avail. They see the determination in their daughter’s gaze and the straight set of her shoulders. Admitting defeat, they help her get ready.

Killian waits for her by the horses, pacing back and forth until he hears her footsteps coming closer.

“Good,” he breathes out in relief, immediately stepping into her space and adjusting the holdings on the armor he made for her a few years back as a gift. “You’ve kept it.”

“Of course,” she says softly. Her anger at his disregard for his own life melts away in an instant. “I keep all the handy gifts.”

Killian holds up his hook with a gaze playfully narrowed. “You trying to make a joke, Swan?”

She rolls her eyes but fails to keep the grin off of her face. “You’re going to be the worst, aren’t you?”

“Always.”

They grin at each other for another moment before the sound of the nearby knights startle them out of it. Killian’s grin falls as a grim expression overtakes his features, the gravity of the situation falling onto them with startling clarity and he’s unhappy at the turn of the events.

“Not so fun being on the other side, huh.”

“Most definitely not,” he agrees with a frown. “Are you –”

“Killian.”

“Aye, as you wish.” He sighs, his hand coming up to brush some hair behind her ear. “Please be safe, love.”

“I will be.”

“I want you to come home alive, Swan, got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Emma,” he says warningly. There’s a heat in his gaze that she files away for later. He closes his eyes briefly and when he reopens them, he focuses on readjusting the holdings again. “Got your sword?”

She taps the sword in the scabbard he gave her years ago. “Right here.”

“Dagger?”

She taps the heel of one boot to the side of the other. “In my boot.”

They look at each other, a longing pull tugging both of them closer. “Emma…”

“I’ll be fine, promise,” she says with a small smile and shrug.

“Not a moment will go by I won’t think of you.”

“Good.”

He walks her to the horse as if he’s walking her to her execution and her chest feels tight. Despite their friendship, or whatever you could call their friendship, they’ve never seen the other off. Their schedules wouldn’t allow them the opportunity. Now she can’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse, especially when every second she spends in his presence makes her want to go less and less.

As she turns to climb atop her horse, he stops her with his hook grabbing her elbow.

“Wait,” he pleads. She turns and gives him her full attention. “No matter what, please come home.” He pauses. “To me.” It’s as close to an admission as he’ll allow himself and her heart soars. Her fingers tingle and she swears that if she had any magic left, they’d be sparking.

Emma takes a page from her parents’ book and takes a step closer to Killian, gripping the lapels of his vest and pulling him down for kiss in front of the stables. She hears a clattering of chain-link and knows her knights are giving her what little privacy they can offer. It’s a short kiss, yet still full of passion and promise. “Have another gift ready for me and you’ve got yourself a promise.”

He laughs as she climbs her horse. “Any preferences, love?”

She smirks, pretending to think about it. “Something we can match.”

The knights follow her out of the stable compound a few minutes later, the hooves of the horses pounding a rhythmic beat against the forest floor. She feels euphoric.

His car, a sleek black sports convertible, is parked out front and it feels promising, even if she dreads the upcoming conversation. It takes a great effort to place one foot in front of the other as she approaches the entrance, her feet feeling as heavy as lead. The sickening weight in her heels is the only thing to prevent her from running back to her car after pressing the doorbell.

Uncle James looks surprised and disappointed to see her on his doorstep. His shoulders visibly drop and his mouth ticks down in a frown. “Emma?”

She flashes a quick smile at him.

“Uncle James, hi. How are you?”

He cuts straight to the point, narrowing the opening of the door so that only a sliver of his body is visible. “What are you doing here?”

The sigh that leaves her lips makes him close the door another inch. “Can we talk inside?”

“Actually Emma, I’m about to leave for – ”

He’s wearing pajamas. And a bathrobe. She swallows down the anger that’s brewing, the almost two decades of resentment towards his willful absence, and steels her shoulders. “I need to talk to you about my parents.” That catches his attention.

Paranoia, or maybe it’s PTSD, seems to take over her uncle as he pales and ushers her inside his townhome, head ducking out the door and swiveling around before he slams it shut and locks it. He brings her to the kitchen and offers her some alcohol as he makes his own drink. She remembers being thirteen and him offering her some of his rum and coke when he realized they had no orange juice in the fridge. The drink disgusted her and he got angry when she spit it in the sink. They never ran out of orange juice after that.

“So…” he begins. His hands are tense where they’re splayed on the kitchen island’s marble countertop. There’s a wild gleam in his eyes that unsettles Emma but she doesn’t know where to place it. She knows reporters, both professional and amateur, have hunted her down and pressured her for a statement, an interview, anything. Had they done the same to her uncle? “What were you saying about your parents?”

“Do you remember that night?” she asks. Uncle James sighs and drops his head.

“I could never forget it.” Defeat thickens his voice as his shoulders grow rigid. He shudders and takes a deep breath before looking up at her. “What about it?”

Emma shifts in her seat. “Can you tell me about it? From your perspective?” He looks ready to deny her so she pulls out the card up her sleeve. “It’s for Henry. He’s doing a project in school.”

“Ah,” he murmurs. A shadow crosses over his face as he collects his thoughts. “There’s not much to say from what I saw, really. I arrived early because my polo club cancelled our game. I saw Mayor Mills, exchanged a few words about the party at the Tip Top Club. I was on the stairs with some fancy drink from the patio bar when I saw your parents head into the elevator. David and I hadn’t talked in a few months but Mary Margaret invited me to the party.” Emma feels herself soften as her uncle smiles absently as he remembers her parents. “Obviously she didn’t tell him I was coming and he was glaring at me. He still hadn’t moved on from our fight. I raised my glass to them, a peace offering. Then the elevator doors closed and that was it… That was the last time I saw them.”

“Did you see anything else that night?” she asks, leaning her elbows atop the island. “Anything strange or… unusual?”

He shakes his head as he looks down at his drink. Silence follows for a beat and then another and Emma’s afraid she’s lost her uncle to his memories of the past. “The lights went out not long after I saw them get on the elevator.” She nods. “Honestly, I thought people were crazy when they said all of them were cursed. I mean, magic?!” He huffs out a laugh of disbelief. A pause and then his face darkens. “If there’s any inkling to that notion, I’d wager on Regina.”

Huh. Emma’s brows pinch together as she mulls that sentence over in her head. The sudden drop of formality with the former mayor was odd. For all the time she lived with Uncle James, he never mentioned Regina before today, much less by name. He never mentioned any of the others either but the way he spoke now hinted at a history. A nasty one at that.

Her mouth opens to ask another question but Uncle James shakes his head and downs the remainder of his drink in one go. “I think it’s time you left, Emma. It was nice seeing you.”

He disappears around the corner to his bedroom at the back of the townhouse before Emma has a chance to say any departing words. Resigned, she gently places her cup in the dishwasher and sees herself out.

***

The late morning air hangs heavy around the hotel. Emma stands outside on the sidewalk, head tilted back as she takes in the massive structure. In reality, she never thought she’d come here, let alone twice in as many days. She checks her watch to confirm she has a few hours before Henry gets out of school. The last thing she wants is for him to be back here.

“Uh…” a voice sounds to her left and Emma turns just in time to see her son stop short, eyes widen, and his body swivel back the way he came.

“Henry!” she calls out in frustration. She watches his small body freeze and tense up as she comes upon him.

He grins small but innocently up at her. “Ha ha… Hi, Mom.”

“What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be in school today!”

“Well about that…” he laughs nervously. She says his name in warning and he winces, opening his mouth ready to spew an inventive explanation when they hear a creaking behind them.

The metal gate to the hotel opens slowly and the chain-link keeping it closed snakes down to the ground in an exhausted heap. She blinks rapidly at the scene before her, her mouth dropping open in shock. That… shouldn’t happen.

Maybe the chains were just rusted and finally gave way, she tried to reason with herself. Maybe LJ forgot to lock back up after everything yesterday.

So lost in her thoughts, Emma didn’t realize Henry had moved away until she saw his small figure squeezing through the open fence and running up the hill to the hotel. “Henry!” she yells out. Running is her thing – running away from emotions, commitment, the whole shebang. Apparently, her son inherited that from her, just literally.

The bottles of holy water in the pocket of her leather jacket are justled by her running up the driveway. Sage in her bag bumps against her hip. Her gun rests heavily in her holster.

Emma’s eyes scan the landscape furiously.

“Henry!” she calls out. She evens her breathing and rests one hand on her hip where her firearm rests in case some crazy person is behind all this and has Henry.

“Hurry up, Mom!”

Emma turns the last bend of the driveway and lets out a deep sigh. Henry stands in front of the entrance to the hotel bouncing on the balls of his feet. He impatiently waves her over, eyeing the locked front doors.

“You know,” she starts, “I think I should bring you to Granny’s right now. Let her watch over you and see if you try to skip school again.”

Henry whines, head thrown back in exasperation. “But Moooooom! These are your parents!”

“Henry, come on. You can’t really believe that.” Emma bends down in front of him and takes hold of his arms, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles even as her heart bleeds. “My parents disappeared so long ago… This can’t be them.”

“But it is!”

“Henry…”

“What about yesterday?! You believed it was their ghosts when they scared us out of here!”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Henry. How do you explain that, huh? Magic?” She deflates as her son mumbles to himself and looks to the ground. Softening her tone, she continues, “It would be really cool if magic was real but it’s not. Those are probably just projections some twisted loser made to scare people. Okay?”

“Are you calling us Jem and the Holograms?”

They jump at the sudden appearance of a third voice, their heads turning to see Killian Jones leaning halfway through the closed front door.

Emma’s breath stutters while Henry starts, “What the –”

“Tsk, tsk,” Killian taunts. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

She panics. Her hand flies to her bag and she pulls out the holy water, uncapping the bottle and surging the water towards the door.

It seemingly goes through his body, the blessed water streaming down the front door, but he jerks at the sensation.

Then Killian starts to groan, writhing in pain. The half of his body positioned through the door begins to curl in on itself as gurgling from his throat becomes audible. Emma stares – watching and waiting for smoke to sizzle from his frame or for him to disappear but nothing happens.

Until the gurgling changes sound and it becomes clear it’s transitioned into laughter.

Killian raises his head, smirking in glee. “Holy water? Really? I know I’m devilishly handsome but you didn’t really think that’d work.”

The photos never did his smirk justice, she realizes. And all she wants to do is smack it right off his face. With a growl, she stands up straight and marches right through Killian to the front door, pulling the spare key LJ gave her from her pocket.

“Chills, darling,” Killian whispers in her ear. The air shifts around her. Despite the absence of any breath ghosting over her skin, she can feel the way a smirk dances across his lips and the whole thing makes her angrier.

Click. The key sits just perfectly in the lock and the door swings open. She strides inside, Henry following excitedly behind her.

Her back straight as a rod, she places her hands on her hips and stares down the… beings in the hotel lobby.

“Not the friendliest lady, huh?” Killian drawls from behind her.

Henry takes immediate offense. “Hey, that’s my mom!”

“Apologies, lad,” Killian tosses carelessly over his shoulder as he heads towards the bar.

“Enough!” Emma calls out roughly. She narrows her gaze, her voice dropping an octave. “Who the hell is behind this?”

Regina sighs, sitting regally on a cobweb infested armchair in the center of the lobby. She examines her nails with more interest than her voice provides in an answer. “If she weren’t dead, I’d say my sister.”

“Regina!” Mary Margaret quietly admonishes from David’s side near the luggage cart.

“What?” Regina asks, her eyes thinning to slits and lips turning downward. “You’ve met the witch. A house should’ve fell on her sooner.”

“She was really a witch?!” Henry asks, practically bouncing in place from excitement.

Regina scoffs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually was.”

“Magic isn’t real,” Emma grits out. She moves just slightly in front of Henry, eyes flicking between the Jones brothers and Regina. “Now explain who is putting on this sick joke because they’ve got a nice harassment charge waiting for when I bring them down to the sheriff’s office. It’d be a pity to add evading arrest to that as well.”

“Well,” states Liam from where he’s reviewing a check-in book. “Once you find out, let us know. I’d like to have a chat with the lad as well.”

“Seriously,” she continues. She puts her hands on her hips to further assert her authority and presses hard enough that she’s sure the skin under her jeans is colorless. “This isn’t funny. Tell me.”

Killian tsks. The sound is quickly growing to be her most hated. “As pretty as you are to look at, lass, I think the peace and quiet was better. I’d have told you if I knew.”

David scoffs, crossing his arms. “Leave the girl alone, Jones. You’re nothing but a drunk – she wouldn’t waste the time with you anyway.”

There’s a shout of indignation from the other side of the room and then the entire lobby erupts into chaos. The Jones brothers jump to the other’s defense as David tosses insults back and forth. Regina adds her own one-liners to the disappointment of Mary Margaret. Their own disagreement drags David into it as well, and he manages to fight off both Regina and the Jones brothers as if a skilled swordsman against multiple enemies.

Words no longer decipherable, Emma subtly steps to the side, one eye on the group and the other searching, investigating. Caution rolls deep within her and she keeps one hand resting on her holstered firearm. Ghosts aren’t real. There’s no such thing. Holy water didn’t do a damn thing.

Sophisticated projector is what she’s looking for, then. They have to be holograms or AI or something that digitally recreated five tragically unsolved missing people, for the pure enjoyment of scaring others. She bets that there’s some YouTube channel that showcases Hollywood Tower Hotel scares, run by whoever is doing this.

Emma’s gaze scans the walls of the outdated hotel.

It didn’t hit her last time, too busy scared for their lives to really pay attention, but the floral wallpaper pulls from the moldings. The green background has faded and the white flowers accenting it yellowed. Burnt out lamps with golden shades sit atop wooden tables covered in layers of dust.

The sound of something rustling wafts through the air but the group of beings either don’t hear it or don’t care. If she follows the sound, though, she might find the ‘genius’ behind it all. Her eyes narrow on a closed oak door near the hallway to the main floor ballroom.

A once golden sign looks like a beat-up bronze, the fake bright finishing having flaked off over the years. Coat Closet. Likely place for someone to setup their gadgets.

The vinyl flooring crackles under her feet as she moves towards the it.

Her head turns at an echoing pair of footsteps and a quick glance back confirms Henry treads closely behind.

The wooden door swings open with a creak. Emma splays her hand against the rough wallpaper and feels around until she hits the light switch. Flickering yellow light fills the cramped space. Pink wool carpet stained from age and buckling wood paneling buried behind huge swaths of clothing greet them first before the smell of must hits their noses.

Henry shrieks and jumps back at the sight of a large rat scurrying over fraying paper and escaping through the lobby.

Great. Nothing in the closet except a rat and leftover coats from that night…

Emma was only a baby when her parents disappeared on Halloween night at the Hollywood Tower Hotel. Grandma Ruth, overwhelmed in her grief, packed up all of their things and tucked them away in a storage unit out of town. Out of sight didn’t mean out of mind, though, and Emma served as a reminder of her broken heart every day, until she couldn’t handle it anymore and went into an eternal sleep.

By the time Emma was old enough to know and inquire about her parents’ things, Grandma Ruth’s storage unit had been auctioned off due to lack of payments.

Aside from a small box of things brought to her Uncle James’ place alongside her diaper bag, everything her parents owned was gone.

Being at the hotel, at the place where she lost them before she could even know them, Emma wants something to hold of theirs. The only thing she has of her mother’s is a pink cardigan, left at Granny’s apartment during a dinner once. Soft, powdery fragrance once enveloped the fabric but has long since faded. Now the small cardigan hangs on her coat rack as a reminder of what is so far from her grasp.

But maybe… maybe in this place seemingly suspended in time… she could have something.

Her eyes have studied the photographs of the night well enough that, once she looks towards the coats, she immediately recognizes the red scarf.

Tucked around the neck of a shimmering floor-length dark coat, the red scarf sticks out in a sea of navy and black. It calls to her and Emma’s fingers slowly reach out. The coat ticket says 191, the black jacket kept close stating 192 most likely belonging to her father.

The fabric is cool to the touch and though spiders and moths have left their mark elsewhere in the hotel, the state of the coat closet is pristine. Could it hold the smell? The perfume Emma has spent half her life looking for? The only thing that reminds her of her mother’s embrace. Of comfort and security and love.

She pulls both coats off the hanger and holds her mother’s up, her nose nearly to the scarf –

“Hey!” Henry calls from behind her.

Emma turns swiftly, her eyes locking in on the beings crowding their way towards them. Her hand shoots out and grabs Henry’s arm, pulling him swiftly behind her.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret echoes quietly. Her brows furrow together as she takes in the sight before her. “That’s my coat.”

Mary Margaret’s hand reaches towards the coat but Emma jerks it back towards her, feeling oddly protective of the thing. The smell of the scarf hits her nose and she rustles the coats in her arms for a better grip, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Hey,” her watery voice sounding loud in the tight closet as the others look at her in wide-eyed shock. “Don’t crowd us in here. I’m – ”

“Emma,” David breaths out, her entire body deflating.

Emma blinks, hesitating for a moment. “David?” she asks. “You… remember?”

Tears flood his eyes as he gives her a soft smile. “Of course.”

A fluttering lightness fills Emma’s chest as he steps forward, smile still on his face.

It’s incredible, she thinks to herself. How her father could just know it was her despite all the time that had passed. Maybe this is his ghost and this is her closure.

Emma nearly drops the coats as her father takes another step…

Until he bends down onto one knee and picks something up from the floor. A polaroid.

“We’ve never been able to get in here,” David whispers, more to himself than to her and Henry. He stares at the polaroid as tears roll down his cheeks and a shaky hand comes up to cover his mouth. Mary Margaret leans in close, her own eyes filling, and she rests her head on his arm.

Acting every part the proud father, David shows the others what the polaroid is. “This is our daughter,” he begins, looking up with a wide, watery grin and turning the polaroid towards her and Henry.

The film is slightly overexposed and a person stands in the background more a blur than a defining figure. In the center stands, with help of the mystery figure, a small Emma barely a year old with a spattering of light hair atop her head and a gummy grin directed right at the camera.

“Her name is – ”

“Emma,” she finishes in a rushed, exhausted breath. Looked over by her own baby photo. Damn.

She clutches the coats tighter to her center and Henry looks up at her, confused. “But – ”

Henry is taking everything in stride, happier than he’s ever been in all the time she’s known him. Not only does he have both moms in the same palace but he also has his dad, a whole stable of horses to choose from, and archery and sword fighting lessons are part of his curriculum now. All in all, it’s every kid’s fantasy come to life and he hasn’t thought once about Storybrooke.

Emma wishes she could say the same but she didn’t grow up here. This isn’t who she is and finding a happy medium to settle at gets more and more exhausting by the day.

She spent her first week in the castle putting her feelers out and trying to gauge the reaction to the town’s sudden relocation. While some townspeople missed the conveniences of Storybrooke, many of them were happy to be home.

Hook kept himself sparce during that first week. Not only did he want to give Emma time with her family and to begin to acclimate but he also needed to find his ship. She wasn’t sure if he’d come back once he got it. His confession in the Echo Caves and their exchange at the town line laid heavy on her mind and played in circles when she tried to sleep the first few nights. He had been honest from the start and never pushed her to reciprocate his feelings. Feelings which, though he might not believe it, are there.

But the pirate spent centuries on the sea and she doesn’t know, when it comes down to the sea or her, who the more satisfying temptress is.

It was during Hook’s absence that stretched from one week to three that Emma accepted her feelings for him ran deeper than pure attraction. She’d find herself in meetings with the council, looking around for his face only to not find it. A comment would slip just under her breath and his resulting chuckle was nowhere to be found. Loneliness crept over her shoulders like a rolling fog.

Everyone else here had… someone. And once again, Emma did not. Henry bounced around between all his parents and was doted on endlessly by everyone, and her parents divided their time with her and their many duties. Even the friends she made in Storybrooke didn’t feel like they were still hers as they fell back into the roles of councilors and advisors for the crown.

Then Hook came back after three weeks with his ship in the harbor and a bottle of spiced rum from a far-off land for them to share in secret and she felt the loneliness ebb away bit by bit. Rum wasn’t the only thing he returned with. No, he had bundles of fabrics and clothes from the far reaches of the realm and trinkets like seashells for her and Henry to use to replace their cell phones.

He promised her at the town line with a curse coming for them that a day wouldn’t go by that he didn’t think of her. The curse never came but the promise stayed true, his acquisitions showed.

Even now, as they lounge in her bed chambers in the high tower of the castle, his attention remains solely on her. The thought makes her cheeks warm and his gaze, when she meets it, churns a longing low in her stomach.

“Derek is from a television show called Grey’s Anatomy and it’s been rumored he might die this season but I’ve been so far behind that I don’t even know if he did and now I never will!” she groans. The lid has been lifted and now she can’t stop even as she watches Killian’s eyebrows rise higher and higher. “The new Star Wars movie coming out this year was supposed to be a special thing for me and Henry to do together and now we can’t even do that! We used to watch Brooklyn 99 and Law & Order: SVU and reruns of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air together because those were our things but now we don’t have a thing! How do I compete with sword fighting and horses and freaking Robin Hood?!”

“You can always bring the lad to the beanstalk.”

She bites back the urge to say the beanstalk is theirs and instead shakes her head. “I want something we can do where one of the potential risks isn’t plummeting to our deaths.”

Killian smirks and stabs another grape. “I did prevent your fall, love.”

Not quite, she thinks to herself before the thought immediately overwhelms her and she feels her walls reinforcing themselves. She likes Killian, like-likes him and all that grade school crush stuff. But she doesn’t love the guy. Their friendship is still on new ground having only become allies in Neverland. And that kiss…

That kiss is as indescribable now as it was then and her hand twitches in an ache to touch her lips at the memory.

Attraction and chemistry burning red hot is what exists between them. But love? No way.

Emma sits up as straight as the walls she’s reassembled around her heart. “You also hit me in the head with your hook.”

“You survived, didn’t you?”

I might not.

“The point is, while this move to the Enchanted Forest is great and all, we all get to be a…” she struggles to find the right word. Family should be easy to say but she’s still struggling on that front. Mary Margaret and David still don’t quite understand but they’re trying. She’s just not there yet. Emma swallows. “A unit. But this wasn’t my life and I just miss some of that stuff from the real world.”

Killian pauses in his grape escapade and eyes her carefully. “The world is just as real here as it was in your realm.”

Emma sighs and rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Would you have stayed?” he asks after a moment of silence. “If you had the choice between Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest – would you have stayed in Storybrooke?”

“What does it matter?” she says. “I didn’t have a choice.”

His tone edges on sad but he tries to keep it neutral, interested. “Humor an old pirate.”

“I don’t know, okay? There’s a lot that answer depends on.”

Hook eyes her. “What does it depend on?”

“A lot of things!” she fights back. He presses the question again and Emma erupts from her spot on the bed, angry that he won’t let this go, and starts to pace. “Things like where Henry would be, where my parents would be, where you –”

She cuts herself off fast, eyes wide and heart pounding through her chest. Hook stands slowly from his spot on the chaise and licks his lips in anticipation.

“Emma –”

“Mom!”

Henry comes barreling in the open door of her bedroom like a force of nature. Hair windswept and toothy grin on his face, Emma’s always glad to see her son so joyful but especially now when his appearance offers her an escape. “Hey, kid. What’s got you so happy?” She smiles softly at him while ignoring the holes Hook burns into the side of her head.

“I want to show you what Grandma taught me during archery today. It’s so cool, you have no idea.” It’s easy to agree to her son’s request and she moves to follow him out the door when he stops and turns to her companion. “Hook, do you want to check it out too? I bet you probably haven’t seen this in the last 300 years.”

The pirate in question must read the panic on Emma’s face and smiles sadly at Henry, coming close enough to drop his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Unfortunately I have some business to attend to but if you don’t mind, I’d like to watch another day.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n!” Henry grins, salute and all, before he tugs Emma’s hand out the door. “Come on, we’re losing daylight and you won’t be able to see it in the dark!”

She feels the ghost of Hook’s fingers brushing her arm but she doesn’t look back.

*

Emma skillfully avoids Hook for just over two weeks. In all honesty, he might even be avoiding her with how little she’s seen him around the palace. Then again, she’s thrown herself wholeheartedly into learning her parents’ duties for the kingdom.

But then his ship is gone from the harbor and David has suddenly taken up Mary Margaret’s pastime of sending birds with notes so all evidence points to him leaving. Not that she blames him, no, after all, everyone leaves her eventually. Their relationship is confusing enough for her, she can only imagine he’s gotten fed up with her walls stacking themselves higher with every step forward.

Still, she thought his words before the curse would’ve lasted a little longer than this.

Loneliness sneaks up on her quick but this time she welcomes it with open arms. She has no right to Hook’s heart, not when she keeps pushing him away and hurting him. No sane man would stick around for more of that torture. No sane man has that kind of patience.

Then again, he did stay alive for over 300 years to exact vengeance on his enemy.

Nevertheless, the chaise in her bedchambers stays empty and all she has to rely on is the memories of his mouth fitting perfectly against hers in Neverland and how his breath puffed against her cheek and the absolute fuckstruck expression on his face as he was ready to dive in for more before she put a stop to it. His innuendos and never-ending confidence in her abilities echo inside her mind in the silence of her room and his presence haunts the halls as she leaves enough space to her left for where he would’ve walked.

The first time she lays eyes on him after she ran out of her room is nearly four weeks later and she only catches a glimpse of him from afar.

His ship isn’t in the harbor, that much she knows. Her bedchambers have the perfect set of windows to overlook the water and she’d lie if anyone asked but her morning routine has consisted of checking each ship docked below.

That doesn’t have to mean much, she rationalizes. His ship could be out in the water and he took a dingy to shore so he could make an easy getaway. Afterall, he did leave on the Jolly Roger four weeks ago without a single farewell to her.

Whatever the reason for his probable short stint back in Misthaven, David greets him far from spying eyes and listening ears. Even the roll of her wrist and warmth of magic bubbling in her palm does nothing to reveal the secret conversation between the two men as they travel far from the castle.

They don’t return for hours, which piques her interest. One thing she’s learnt about David, especially since coming to the Enchanted Forest, is that dinner is a requirement for all. To miss dinner means you better be sick or dying. So for the man of the hour to miss the meal completely and for Mary Margaret to not raise a single eyebrow at his absence has her mind whirling.

Emma corners David later that night when he sneaks to the kitchens for a midnight snack. Her nerves have been unsettled all evening and she falls back into her typical stakeout habits which includes eating terrible food while lying in wait for her prey. Of course it’s the Enchanted Forest though and junk food consists of a few sweets and maybe bread.

God, she misses McDonalds.

David jumps in fright when he spots her at the prep island in the main kitchen. He smiles tiredly a few moments later, steals some bread, swipes her butter knife, and closes his eyes contently as he eats.

“Are the ogres angry? Are they going to start another war?” she finally blurts out when the wait gets too long and the silence eats at her center. “Did you send Hook to prepare the troops?”

Silence answers her at first. David looks at her in confusion before a deep understanding settles so serenely on his face that Emma’s instinct is to run. Instead, she swallows it down and focuses on the part of her being nagged by Hook’s abrupt absence and silent return recently.

Shaking his head in amusement, David says, “Everything is peaceful here. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“So where did you send Killian?”

“Killian?” David replies, eyebrows raised but his amusement not flagging in the slightest. He looks like he wants to talk, or maybe just tease her about her slip-up, but Emma rolls her eyes in return and speaks before he gets a chance.

“So where did you send Hook?”

“I didn’t send him anywhere.”

She presses, barely able to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Then where did he go?”

The air in the kitchen shifts. There’s a prickling starting on the back of Emma’s neck and her senses go on alert as David gives her his full and undivided attention.

“Since when have you started caring where Killian goes in his free time?”

She fumbles. Her mouth refuses to function and her brain can barely think of a coherent response. “I – I don’t.”

“Mhmm…”

David’s stare bores holes into the side of her head as she darts her gaze elsewhere. She feels like she just got caught lying by her father which… she guesses is accurate on all accounts. Even if the admission is only to herself, her stomach clenches uncomfortably and her throat dries.

When did she start to see Killian – Hook – as someone to care about? Was it when he turned his ship around and brought them to the one place he swore he’d never return to just to help her save her kid? Was it their kiss, hot and heavy under the humid jungle leaves, a magnetic connection that called to each other so strongly it took a herculean effort for her to walk away?

Or maybe it was when they were at the town line and he told her he’d think of her every day and, when her magic decided to do its own thing, he stuck by her side. He never asked for more than what she was willing to give, every day learning more and more about her limits, her likes and dislikes. Instead, they found refuge in one another. For as much time as he spent around royals, first under their command then stealing from their stores, he felt as uncomfortable as she did within the palace walls and the pomp and circumstance surrounding it all.

He suddenly became one of the most important people in her life without her even realizing it and the thought takes her breath away.

David gives her a soft smile before stepping up to her frozen frame, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and pulling her close to press a firm kiss to the top of her head. She allows him without a fight, subconsciously leaning into his warmth and fatherly comfort, closing her eyes briefly. His whispers act as a soothing balm to her broken soul. So many breaks, so much pain. Yet his presence begins to fill the cracks.

“It’ll be fine, Emma. Just talk to him.”

She listens to his words, soaking in her father at her side. For once, it’s not overwhelming or uncomfortable. It almost starts to feel like coming home.

*

Of course, because she’s Emma, she doesn’t actually make an effort to talk to Killian the next day. Or the day after that. The conversation that’ll ensue requires courage she’s struggling to find.

Instead, she watches from windows and around corners as he is friendly with Henry and Neal, strikes up long conversations with Granny and Ruby, and even shares in a secret joke with Leroy, clapping the dwarf on his back as they chuckle and grin at each other.

Everyone but her.

He doesn’t even attempt to look for her, doesn’t make an effort to come by her side even after their eyes connect across the courtyard. He merely turns back to his conversation with Marco while Emma pulls Henry closer to her side and continues their walk along the palace grounds.

She refuses to say that jealousy kicks her in the ass to actually do something but when she sees him four days later with that stupidly attractive smirk on his face being directed at Tinkerbelle before Regina joins their secret meeting, she’s had enough. Since he’s clearly too cowardly to approach her, she’ll pull up her big girl panties and do it herself.

It’s not as if she didn’t already know that she’s been running from her own feelings the entire time. Reality only sets in, however, that she’s just as cowardly when she’s strolling down one of the palace hallways and stops short at the sight of him at the other end.

He looks good.

The black leather duster shines from the sunlight streaming through the palace’s stained-glass windows. His dark hair gleams and looks softer than it felt between her fingers in Neverland. Glowing skin, straight back, confident set of his shoulders. The pirate looks like a model at ease in the middle of a clothing commercial, all carefree and beautiful. She bets that if he grins, big and wide and all his pearly whites showing, a fucking sparkle will appear with a quiet DING! to accompany it like a fucking toothpaste ad.

Un-fucking-fair.

Air leaves her lungs at the sight of him and that causes her a delay in retreating. Too substantial a delay, it seems, as Hook chooses that moment to turn on his Emma Radar and look straight at her. His face lights up and he calls out her last name, looking as if the heavens are personally highlighting him with a pitch perfect song.

Seriously?!

She turns on her heel and makes a hasty retreat. She is so not ready for this conversation. If she can even keep it together enough to not pull on that stupid vest – a deep red color that looks to be made of velvet and probably soft to the touch – to drag the pirate into a nearby closet to kiss or kill him. The jury is still out on that decision.

“Swan!” he calls again, rushing to reach her. The cool metal of his hook encircles her elbow and turns her his way. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” he exclaims, relief in his voice and clear in the way his forehead relaxes.

“Really?” She snorts so unladylike she’s sure both Mary Margaret and Regina would be annoyed if they heard. “Because it seems like you’ve been avoiding me since you came back from who knows where.”

“I –” he starts before sighing. “Not exactly.”

Hmph. So he was avoiding her. The truth tugs at her chest in such a painful way that Emma only barely resists the urge to rub at the area over her silk shirt.

“Whatever, Hook.” Anger wraps around his moniker like a hot iron. He can hear it, the slight drop of his head and the glow fading from his features when it’s said, but he doesn’t allow her to run like she so desperately tries. “What?!” she hisses.

“Just come with me, love. I promise, you can be angry and hate me again after but… just let me show you something.”

Hook has only ever looked so earnest once before and her mouth drops open at seeing the sight again. Blue eyes plead with her as his eyebrows raise in encouragement. Emma feels herself nodding before she realizes what she’s doing and suddenly he’s ushering her down the hallway and towards the wide garden space behind the castle.

“I – I don’t hate you,” she says when the silence gets too much for her. Even when they fought on opposite sides and he annoyed her to hell, she never hated him. The thought he could believe such a thing unsettles her to the core. “Just because I’m upset with you doesn’t mean I hate you.”

“Your anger is well deserved. My apologies, love.” He shakes his head, pulling them to a stop before they enter the gardens. Ocean blue eyes stare into her meadow green and her breath hitches as he comes closer. The torches that line the hallway dim as her focus zeroes in on Hook. It’s been a struggle in the past keeping her eyes off of his mouth whenever he deemed personal space to be a nonentity. But this time his gaze keeps her locked in and she doesn’t even dare to blink. “Consider this part of my apology,” he whispers. “Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want.”

He steps away before she even comprehends the enormity of his statement and pulls her into the gardens.

The wide expanse of grass is freshly trimmed, the smell filling her nostrils and reminding her of summers at foster homes wishing for a family to laze around a backyard with. The flowers and plants that border the gardens are in full bloom offering an array of colors. Red roses, yellow shrubbery, pink Middlemist flowers. She’s been in the gardens a number of times since their latest return to the Enchanted Forest but now the colors seem brighter and more vibrant.

Hook gently presses his namesake to the middle of her back. Emma’s gaze shifts forward at the touch and she chokes out a gasp.

Down the center of the gardens sits a newly built wooden stage. Wide and made of a dark mahogany that sheens under the sunlight, it takes up nearly the entire width of the flat grassy area. Deep red curtains are pulled across the front of it, hiding whatever stands on the stage. They rustle slightly from movement behind it and Emma lets out a soft giggle at the sound of Hook cursing under his breath beside her.

Six rows of chairs divided down the middle face the stage and she recognizes many of the occupants to be folks working within the castle, or the Misthaven townspeople she used to see in passing around Storybrooke. They all greet her with a smile and nod as Emma is guided to a chair in the first row with a nearly center view of the stage.

“What is going on?” she asks Hook as he stands beside her seat. Her head turns on a swivel looking for a hint of what kind of performance they’re about to see.

“Patience is a virtue, love.”

“Seriously?!” she nearly whines, earning a chuckle in response. She huffs, eyeing him with a small upward tilt of her lips before she looks away.

Chatter is quiet behind her but there’s an excitement thrumming in the air. Voices whisper from the stage but they’re too soft for her to listen for any familiar inflections. Instead, she examines the corners of the stage and the gaps in the curtain that appear every few moments.

Her eyes are still soaking in everything around her when Hook drops his duster on the chair beside hers and grins mischievously at her. “Back in a moment.” He winks at her, slow and smooth and so unlike his terrible attempt when they climbed the beanstalk. She bites her lip to keep the grin from exploding on her face.

Hook stands on the wings of the stage with her father as they whisper in a tight huddle. The two of them duck behind the curtain for a moment before Hook exits and strolls back to her side, taking the seat he reserved for himself. Before Emma can fire off her questions, David emerges from between the curtains.

She watches in awe at how her father captures the attention of the crowd, how he spreads his thanks to Marco and Pinocchio for the stage and scenery, to Jaq, Gus, and Blue for the costuming. He leads into enthusiastic applause with each announcement and she finds herself just as enthralled as the rest of the crowd.

“Finally,” David says and Hook tenses beside her. “You all may know him as Captain Hook but I know him as a friend. None of this would be possible without him.” Her father looks at Emma for a long moment before he looks to Hook and she looks on in confusion as tears build in his gaze. “Killian Jones,” he says through heavy emotion and her companion shifts uncomfortably beside her. “I thank you.”

David steps aside and the curtains pull away to show the stage. It looks like a replica of Storybrooke General Hospital but a large banner hung centerstage says Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. The entire set reminds her of Grey’s Anatomy.

And that’s when it hits her. David’s words finally sink in and Emma turns to Hook – Killian – in shock. He avoids her eyes, raising his hook to gently scratch behind his ear as he looks up at the stage from a lowered gaze.

Leroy stomps on stage talking about an urgent medical case and Granny joins him a few moments later. The two of them bicker back and forth in a way that borders on flirty, their voices sounding far away and drifting into her ear, leaving Emma confused for all of a few moments before it’s revealed that they play Derek and Meredith respectively. She probably would’ve laughed at the casting – she never would’ve pegged Leroy for McDreamy but he’s honestly incredible on stage – but her focus is set on the man beside her who organized a fucking theatre troupe so she wouldn’t be left wondering about one of her favorite shows.

“Don’t make all my hard work go to waste, love,” he mumbles, cheeks red as he glances at her before quickly averting his gaze again. He nudges at her thigh with his hook and nods towards the stage. Emma doesn’t even realize her mouth is still hanging open until she tries to swallow and finds her throat dry.

With little else to do, she turns her attention to the stage and is immediately wrapped up in the story they’re telling. It’s clear that someone within the troupe is a hardcore Grey’s Anatomy fan and was clearly all caught up on the show while she fell behind due to Neverland. The mannerisms, the dramatics, the dialogue – all of it makes her feel like she’s actually watching it.

The forty-five-minute performance goes by in a flash and she’s amongst the loudest cheers when the troupe takes their bows. Her grin is wide and it’s nearly impossible to take her attention away from the stage.

Until Killian sticks his fingers in his mouth to give a loud whistle and Emma can look at nothing but him.

The ruthless pirate who has continually proved her wrong. The scoundrel who came back to help her get Henry even if it meant returning to Neverland. The lost soul who promised to think of her every day they were apart, even if that meant forever. The man who listened to her frivolous whining and delivered her all she had wanted for and more.

Killian tries to stay behind to speak with the troupe about some matter or another but Emma grabs him by the hook and pulls him to an alcove in the garden hidden by prying eyes.

“Swan, what’s – ”

She backs herself into the alcove, pulls on his vest, and crashes her lips against his, effectively stopping his sentence. Emma feels his sharp intake of breath before he sighs into the kiss, hand coming up to cradle her head against the stone of the palace. Their mouths move over each other slowly, stroking the heat in their stomachs to a blazing inferno.

When Emma pulls away, they breathe heavily in each other’s space, swaying closer together as their eyes remain shut.

“Thank you,” she whispers, biting on her swollen lip when she finally opens her eyes. His are still shut, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I quite like the way we show gratitude.” He cracks an eye open and grins, her own smile widening to match his.

*

Suddenly they’re courting.

Instead of Netflix & Chill, they have Storybrooke Storytellers & Garden Make-outs. A date night at the movies is equivalent to sitting in the garden as her family reenacts the original Star Wars trilogy, her parents as Han and Leia, Henry proudly swinging a lightsaber as Luke, and Neal fittingly as Darth Vader.

Killian whispers tidbits in her ear during each performance, like how Leroy and Granny fought over who was correct regarding one of their Grey’s Anatomy performances, Leroy winning at the end. “He’s got the bloody show memorized, love. Knows the whole thing front and back. Absolutely obsessed.”

Or how Henry assigned everyone’s roles for Star Wars and how it was unanimously decided that Whale would be the dead victim for their recent rendition of Law & Order: SVU, or even how Killian’s curious about the romantic comedies that Belle has brought to his attention. “The lad wants to do everyone’s fairytales as well,” he says, grin pressed against the back of her neck one afternoon. She laughs at the ridiculous image her son’s aspirations create for her, her soul feeling lighter with every moment.

It’s a little bit of the home she created in Storybrooke, right here in the Enchanted Forest. For a girl who’s searched for that all her life, it makes Emma’s heart race ahead of every performance they watch. No one has ever done something like that for her before and she tells him as much through tears one evening as they look at the stars from her balcony. He holds her close, murmuring sweet nothings into her hair and Emma realizes she wants to give him everything.

“Let’s go to the Jolly,” she says. Her head rests on his chest from their stargazing and she feels him tense under her. Eyebrows pinched together in uncertainty, she tilts her head up to look at him. “If that’s okay with you?”

He shifts uncomfortably, not at all in the way she wants him to be, and her confusion mounts. “There’s no need to go to the Jolly,” he answers with a tight grin.

She rolls her eyes, sitting up from her spot and steadies her focus on him. She says point blank, “I am not having sex with you under the same roof as my parents.” Killian sputters and Emma enjoys rendering him speechless for all of two seconds before doubt creeps in. “Do you not want to?”

At her hesitancy, he surges up to capture her mouth in a kiss that takes her breath away and leaves her dizzy. “There’s nothing more I would like to do right now than take you as you are, wherever you desire.” A growl comes from low in her throat as she threads her fingers in his hair and nips at his bottom lip. She whispers again for him to take her to the Jolly Roger only for Killian to halt everything and pull away with a grimace.

“Killian, what’s going on with you?”

Her pirate ducks his head low to his chest before he gathers the courage to meet her gaze.

“The Jolly Roger is no longer in my possession,” he confesses. A low swoop in her stomach causes her to fumble forward in her haste to press against his side. There’s pain in his eyes, the telltale sign of loss and grief that she knows so well. But it’s small and non-consuming, like a detail of life he just lives with now.

“Did someone destroy her?” she asks after a moment, her touch cautious and her gaze searching. Killian shakes his head.

“No, I – I traded her away.”

Her body is suddenly made of concrete, refusing to move despite her mind screaming at her legs to stop Killian’s restless motions. “Wh-what? Why would you do that?!”

Killian smiles softly then. The pain is miniscule but present even as his gaze softens and he reaches his hand out to cup her cheek. “Your heart’s desire, love. That’s all I want.”

*

Despite the late hour, the moon shines high in the sky and lights their way. Her fingers clutch tightly to his metal appendage, the weight of his admission weighing heavily on her, and she stumbles after him as he leads her to the old farm fields.

The area was abandoned before the Dark Curse, her father told her one time. It suffered from barren soil after years of overuse and needed time to recover. More time than thirty years’ worth offered and yet, as Killian leads them through a gate, the fields are sprawling with greenery. Vines trail along the ground and large leaves the size of their heads sprout so intensely that it’s difficult to see the soil beneath.

“What is all this?” she asks in wonder.

Killian grins and reaches down to pull up the end of one vine, a sparkling, translucent item hanging from it. “Look familiar, love?”

A magic bean glimmers under the moonlight, ripe for the taking. It is just one of what could probably be hundreds if not thousands of beans growing on the vast vines before them.

Amazed, she asks, “How is this even possible?”

She loves this man. Before he even starts to explain everything that’s been happening – taking his ship after their conversation in her bedchambers to trade it with Blackbeard for a magic bean, organizing the troupe to give her what she was missing while they waited for the beans to grow and mature, crafting a way to make the near impossible travel between realms into something as easy as tossing a coin into a fountain – she knows deep in her soul that she loves him.

All consuming, heart racing, fingers thrumming, glowing kind of love.

“Perhaps you can finally show me that Red Lobster you rave about?” he offers cheekily.

Emma huffs out a watery laugh, words abandoning her as she looks around. When her eyes lock on his, she swears he outshines the stars.

“You gave up your ship for me?” she asks quietly, hoping to convey everything she can’t verbalize in the way her hand reaches for his and grips it tight.

You gave up your home for me?

“Aye,” he says, just as simple but just as deeply meaningful, squeezing her hand in return.

You are my home now, Swan.

They come together slowly but the passion igniting between them is stronger than it’s ever been before. Her heart is bursting with so much joy that she could cry and it takes her all to keep the tears at bay, wishing to sink into the kiss forever. Her smile, however, is another story and so is his, as they grin against each other’s mouths more than they kiss.

She loves him and he loves her.

Theirs is the kind of love they write movies and shows about.

Magic had been thought to be extinct for years in Misthaven, the inhabitants losing it centuries back. The fairies retained their magic but even with their resources, could find no reasoning behind the loss for Misthaven’s people. Some of those in Misthaven believed that the Dark One was draining the land and its people of their magic for a dark curse but none had been cast. Others felt the magic was limited and once it was gone, there was no replenishing it.

And then Ella had been born as a product of True Love, and the first glance at pure magic in nearly three centuries. Her magic was respected by most and feared by others. When the Second Ogre War started a year ago, it became an expectation that she’d use her magic to help Misthaven succeed.

So she did. Her mother always told her to have courage and be kind, and what better way to live that to the fullest than doing all she could to protect the other citizens of Misthaven from a hostile takeover by the ogres?

Except… her magic is waning.

Like a wet cloth being hung to dry, she feels herself slowly losing her magic until there is close to none left. It is proving to be a problem on the battlefield as she doesn’t have the energy or the magic anymore to keep Misthaven from sending in soldiers.

Without her magic, she has no way to protect Kit.

She feels a momentary surge of energy flow through her body as her magic weaves through the dirt and pebbles on the cliffside, feels it singing as it circles a collection of ferrum.

There’s not much left, she thinks to herself of both the rocks and her magic.

Her work is hasty and not as clean as she wishes it could be but she knows that time is against her now.

Ella pulls the ferrum rocks from their place in an alcove on the cliff and piles them on a flat area. The sea water is getting rougher and wets her hair, her dress beyond repair from how the elements have thrashed it about. She quiets her mind and focuses on her Kit, letting her magic flow through her for one of the last times.

Black hair with a curl to it she loved to run her fingers through. A big heart guarded behind a charming smile. Those piercing blue eyes that could keep her rooted to the spot. He had her heart from the moment they met on horseback and she never looked back.

Her hands are burning as she opens her eyes. The rocks have transformed from separate entities into pieces of armor. Lining the edges of each piece is a design born from their love.

Stags to symbolize their first meeting. Shoes to symbolize how they found one another. A vine to connect to the three symbols together, representing their partnership and bond.

The last of her magic flares under her fingertips and Ella picks up the chest plate, lifting it to her face.

“Please take care of my love,” she whispers, sealing her plea with a soft kiss and a spark.

A feeling of emptiness envelops her in an embrace and she fights to wrap her arms around herself to keep out the cold it brings. She doesn’t have time to wallow in the loss of something so intricate to who she is. To stand there and focus on the ache in her heart or the hollow feeling in her chest is precious time wasted when she could be helping.

Ella takes a deep breath and marches past the longing in her fingertips for something just out of reach and instead gathers the armor she’s crafted. She cannot afford to let her emotions take control at this moment. That can wait for her lonely bedchambers late in the night when no one can hear her cry. For now, she needs to see her Kit off.

*

five and twenty.

early winter.

somewhere in the enchanted forest.

emma.

The flying simians attack on their fifth day.

*

Leaving Misthaven comes with an ease that unsettles Emma. The tension coiling around her shoulders refuses to alleviate as the castle walls become mere specks when she looks behind herself. Her posture remains rigid, her fitted armor, a gift from Killian, digs into her forearms from how restricted she keeps her movements.

Horse riding has never been a favorite activity of Emma’s. Being taught to sit astride a giant beast in the few moments of freedom she had growing up always felt more uncomfortable than liberating. Forever the black sheep of her family, her parents and their friends would guide their horses with ease while her confidence remained shaky.

Years have passed since her first riding lessons and yet unease still sits in the pit of her stomach. However, this time she can’t tell if it’s from the animal being squeezed between her boney knees or the mission she’s assigned herself.

She knows Killian believes her actions to be dumb, reckless, and completely unnecessary, but this is for her people. She has to protect them.

Besides, she will not let him throw himself on a sword just to spare her the slight inconvenience and possible danger. He’s much too important to her for her to let him volunteer himself like he tried. And he should give her more credit – he did teach her how to defend herself after all.

Emma ducks her head when a branch gets in her path and nearly falls off of her horse when she tries to sit up again.

A roaring laugh escapes a knight from behind her and she knows immediately that it belongs to Will Scarlet.

The knights that are with her trot through the forest without a worry as they move through Misthaven’s trees. This is just another day for them, another assignment, another potential battle. They have seen the worst of the worst and it has not scared them away yet.

Her bravado has been a front and she’s sure at least some of the most experienced of the group could read through it. But her people need her and if she must fake the confidence of a seasoned general, then she will do so, no matter how inadequate she feels.

The last and only time she’d gone to battle had been against Regina. The Evil Queen had caught them all off-guard, able to sneak into Misthaven by piggybacking on the magic of a fairy, they learned months after the fact, and Emma was unprepared, her magic unruly and uncontrollable.

“She must have been weak,” Emma tried to reason as Blue stood by her bed, her parents sitting at the foot.

“You have powerful magic, Princess,” Blue explained. “Magic belonging to True Love. Most magic users access their power through intellect. For them, it is a learned skill. You are rare, Princess Emma. You were born with it and you access your magic through your emotions. Emotions have the ability to create incredible magic, especially light magic, the likes of which the realm has never seen before.” She watched the fairy’s eyes slide over to her parents. Never before had she felt like such a fraud.

“The magic I used wasn’t light. I was angry. I wanted her gone,” Emma choked out.

Blue shook her head. “Anger is easy. It is the most natural emotion there is. The magic you used was made from love, Princess Emma. Love is the most powerful magic of all.”

She pulled her blankets tighter around her body, dragged her knees to her chest.

It certainly didn’t feel like love. How can ending someone’s life come from love? How can allowing them to suffer and not feeling remorse for it come from love?

Emma felt empty. She mentally reached towards her magic to feel it straining to return her call. What had always been an overabundance in her life – a threat to herself and those she loved – was barely there.

“What happened to it?” she asked, eyes full of tears and her hand shaking as she held it out of the blanket. “My magic,” she continued, voice cracking. “It – it isn’t all there. What happened to it?”

She missed the looks of sympathies shared between the three adults in the room before they broke the news to her.

Too much magic. Exhausted it. Body needed to recover. Might not come back.

She wept.

At least now, as she rides towards an unknown foe, she finds comfort in the fact that she’s not unprepared.

The sword Killian made for her bounces against her upper thigh as the horse below her trots down the dirt pathways. Its’ comforting weight at her side keeps the lessons he taught her in her mind. Their sparing sessions have made her almost as good of a swordsman as he is and holding a sword no longer feels awkward. His work has made her feel like the sword is an extension of her hand.

It also, unsurprisingly, feels like home.

Because with every remembrance of their sparing sessions, she recalls the feel of his lips against her mouth and his skin on hers. The way his raised eyebrow and smirk could make her heart race and how his presence made her feel like her magic was sparking back to life.

Her fingertips tingle and Emma glances down and imagines a faint glow surrounding them before the neigh of a horse breaks her reprieve.

Robin rides to her left while Will rides to her right, Lancelot and Little John scouting ahead with Dorothy following up behind. It is an odd group of knights that gathered at the barn to follow her along enemy lines but she trusts their abilities.

Robin, Lancelot, and Dorothy are the veterans of the group. The years of their training together totaling just shy of twice Emma’s age. Little John prefers to stay back, his tall stature a hindrance more often than not, but his abilities with a bow and arrow are lethal. Will is the youngest of the group, energetic like some of the pups on nearby farmlands and eager to prove himself worthy, though there’s an edge to his attitude that gives way to the wisdom learned on the streets he dragged himself from.

His sometimes-skittish behavior reminds her of what Killian must have been like as a boy before he and his brother happened upon Misthaven’s shores.

The trees are quiet for most of their ride. Branches and leaves sway in the wind, a soft rustling filling the silent air. Robin quickly established a system amongst the group – silence in the forest, ears searching for any sign of the enemy, and chatter allowed in the villages they pass. As they continue their journey, the villages become farther and farther between, silence becoming their most often companion.

The green of the forest brings a sense of comfort to Emma. They remind her of the color of her mother’s eyes and if she closes her own hard enough, she can imagine herself back at the castle, debating in the war room about next steps once Emma has news for her.

Her mother sends birds often. She realizes quickly that she must have her own system for ensuring one reaches her every few hours during the first two days. As much as this is her first big journey away from the castle, one her parents tried to talk her out of, this is also their first time being away from her. So she welcomes the birds and sends her own short messages back, confirming her safety and decreeing no news.

Longing burrows in her chest as by the third day, the birds only come twice. When the sun rises on the fourth, her mother’s accompanying note breaks the news she would only be able to send one bird a day.

Loneliness fights to take hold.

“There was once a family in Arendelle who had a tutor staying in their home,” Will starts as they near the outskirts of a village. Their travel companions groan and Emma bites back a smile. Propriety is hard to drop, even for this ragtag group, but Will sheds it fastest and most often. The earlier chastising from Robin fell on deaf ears as, to all of their mortification, Will told the dirtiest joke to ever grace Emma’s ears.

The snorting laugh he earned from his princess seemed to only spur the knight on further, as every village they arrived at brought forth another joke.

It eases her burdens, lessens the stress on her shoulders, and lets her forget the danger ahead, even if just for a moment.

“The tutor came so often that he felt himself at home and even had a turn with the housemaid, the nurse, and the mistress herself.” Emma’s gasp only brings a wolfish grin to Will’s face and she spots from the corner of her eye the death glare that Robin is sending his way. “When the master of the house discovered this, he summoned the young man to his private chamber and said, ‘I find it unmannerly of you, sir, that in taking your please of my entire household, you have made an exception of me.’”

Her roaring laugh echoes in the quiet village and she notices that even Lancelot, propriety in the flesh, cracks a grin.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” she wonders.

“The gutter, undoubtedly,” Dorothy pipes up.

“I don’t visit you that often,” Will shoots back, his grin widening at the hard stare and white-knuckled grip of his comrade. “I learned meself such a grand knowledge like any growing lad did – eavesdropping at the tavern.”

Robin’s horse trots forward just slightly as the man leans over to catch a proper look at Will. “All of that eavesdropping and not a single manner picked up?”

“You give him too much credit!” Little John calls from the front.

“Oi! Just because I’m ordered not to kill you doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“Get a new line already, Scarlett!”

“Settle down, boys,” Dorothy says. “We’re getting close to the village center.”

Lancelot immediately adds, “Eyes out. Something’s not right.”

She registers the smell a few moments later and recoils in disgust.

Smoke. Wood. Flesh.

The distinct smell of burning flesh haunts her nightmares, lingers in the back of her throat as an aftertaste when her thoughts go astray. A quick succession of deep breaths keeps the urge to retch at bay. Still, she cannot will her horse to move.

“Princess Emma,” Robin calls softly, spotting and turning back to her. He lets the others go before them and she watches as they cover their noses and mouths with a cloth. It would be wise to do the same but her muscles won’t move. “Princess Emma,” Robin tries again. “Are you alright?”

“I – I’m fine,” she insists. He only nods and eyes her for a moment.

“Best cover up. You don’t want to be breathing in things like this.” He hands her a spare cloth and she ties it behind her head, mimicking Robin’s own movements. When she completes it, he gives her a nod and a smile, from what she can tell by his crinkling eyes. He gestures her forward but it takes a minute for her body to listen to her commands.

Their ride towards the nearby village settles a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Images of Regina flash in her head no matter how hard she tries.

She spends the walk reliving Regina’s death. The way her skin melted under her gaze. The lack of guilt for what she’d done.

It terrifies her how clear everything still is for her.

Keeping her mind in the present is the hardest part so Emma tries to listen for any noises from around them.

The village is still a half hour away yet the entire forest is as if all signs of life have disappeared. No birds chirping – not even the ones that her mother has been sending after her to keep in touch. No crickets making music, no bees buzzing, not even the rustling of the tree branches.

Silence has never terrified her as much as this.

Ten minutes from the center of the village and they see another person for the first time. They struggle to walk and burns cover most of their body. Like in a trance, they ignore every offer of help coming from Emma and her companions. She moves to get off her horse when the person throws up, blood decorating the forest floor, before collapsing into the pool of their own fluids. The sight takes her breath away and she has to blink away the tears.

“Stay close,” Lancelot warns as they reach the settlement.

Stragglers stumble their way down the streets of the village. Their clothing disheveled and singed in spots, thatched roofs gone from most of the buildings and some still burn as they enter. It looks as if a storm of wind and fire rolled through and the village has yet to recover.

Something large sails overhead, a bird looking much different than she’d ever seen before. Its cawing sounds are unlike anything she’s heard before and it sends a chill down her spine. Four days on the road and an unsettling feeling returns to the center of her chest. She works hard to calm her panicking heart and instead places her trust in the guards around her.

“Let’s find a place to settle for the night,” Robin says, eyes darting to the sky.

They discuss quickly and quietly where the best place would be and settle on an abandoned stable nearby. A river runs behind it and even that doesn’t make a sound.

The stable doesn’t seem to have been damaged by storms like so many homes have been in the village, meaning something else drove the family away. Her only guess is the nearby enemy encampments, but this feels like something more.

Almost like there’s magic waiting for her across the river but what little there is in her can’t reach far enough to grab it and understand what is happening.

Instead, they pair up and ensure that everyone has someone looking out for them. Emma’s never felt so vulnerable until she had to empty her bladder as Dorothy remained vigilant on all that surrounds them. Someone could come up behind them at any moment and her sword was lying on the ground at her feet, swallowed by her riding trousers.

She quickly finds comfort in pulling her dagger from her boot and holding it in her hand as she goes.

Most of the villagers don’t even spare them a second glance as they move about. There’s a haunted look in their eyes that makes Emma roll her shoulders in an attempt to ease the brewing tension. Odd shapes keep flying between the treetops casting unfamiliar shadows on the ground. The animals never come close enough to identify but Emma still feels their eyes glaring into the back of her head.

The group finishes the necessary tasks quickly before retreating back to the stables come nightfall.

The horses stomp restlessly as they settle in during the late evening. The hair on the back of her neck stands up at their unease and the feeling spreads throughout their group. Wailing – the heart-wrenching, sore throat, dry heaving kind – echoes from different corners of the village and grief hangs heavy in the air.

“We won’t stay for more than a night,” Lancelot says. “One guard at all times. No one leaves this stable tonight. Is that understood?” A round of nods comes from the group and the knight assigns shifts.

“What about me?” Emma asks.

“With all due respect, Princess, I cannot afford to have you on guard. Rest. Your work is tomorrow.”

His decision is hard to swallow but Emma nods anyway. It wouldn’t do good to throw a tantrum among the people whose job is to protect her. She will let it slide for tonight, her stomach twisting in uncomfortably fast motions. But tomorrow she will take part.

It takes a great effort to not stomp and grumble on her way to her sleeping spot but apparently it still isn’t good enough as it gets a laugh from Robin. He lounges against one of the closed stable doors, a picture of ease with his legs stretched in front of him and his ankles crossed.

She halfheartedly glares at the man before she attempts to fluff the hay. It’s certainly a far cry from a palace pillow but it’ll have to do.

“Is everything alright, Princess Emma?” he asks. They are the only two at their end of the stables, the others working over a strategy near the entrance.

“I had hoped for better accommodations,” she answers after a moment, teasing smile on her lips. He grins quick even as her attention drifts to the huddle once again.

“Apologies, Your Highness. Next time we will find the stable with silk sheets and a feathered bed.”

Instead of continuing in a light banter, she keeps her focus on Lancelot. “You know I am capable with a sword,” she says, her tone questioning.

“Of course, Princess,” Robin answers. His lips quirk up as if entertained.

“Then I should be on watch as well. You all need as much rest as possible for us to continue our journey tomorrow.”

“While I have no doubts in your abilities, it is best for you to rest tonight.”

“I am not that tired.”

Almost immediately after the words leave her mouth, she fights back a yawn and fails. Robin grins at the attempt. He watches her for a moment before a somber expression graces his features. “You are not underestimated, please know that,” he starts. “But we have no clue what attacked the village. Your safety is our top priority and it will make all of our lives easier if you accept that as well.”

His words serve as a necessary reminder that everyone with her is risking their own lives for her mission. They are trailing the edges of enemy territory, an enemy that gets more terrifying the more they discover, and are hoping to sneak to the site for materials unnoticed. It’s a monumental task, one with no guarantee of return, and she bites hard on her tongue to repress the urge wanting to say she can do it on her own.

She’s felt like she’s been on her own for so long, trapped in her golden cage dressed as a palace. Forced to be her own friend and entertain herself, teach herself things her parents were too scared of, coping with her situation all alone.

She was on her own against Regina, her parents powerless to stop her. She was alone when she woke up in the infirmary months later and without an idea of what happened.

Always so alone, always so lonely.

Then Killian inserted himself into her life for one night and flipped everything on its head. Immediately they fell into the role of partners with a common task, working together silently, clicking right away. For the first time in her life, loneliness was not her only companion.

The time after he disappeared allowed that numbing loneliness to creep its way back into her life only to be banished once again at his return.

She loves her people and would do anything for them but in truth… He is who she is doing all of this for. He is who she will return home to.

Robin’s face holds a far-off look and Emma’s heart clenches at the familiarity of it.

“Do you have anyone you’d like to write a message to? I can have one of my mother’s birds deliver it…” she offers, hesitant and uncomfortable. As much as they have found a banter within the group over their days of travel, Emma still doesn’t know the knights guarding her on her mission. They are familiar faces, ones she’s seen throughout the palace over the years, but Killian is the natural extrovert, learning about everyone he meets. She barely remembers any of their last names but she’s sure he could recall every story they’ve ever told him.

He'd make a wonderful leader. His courage, strength, bravery, sense of justice… Killian is everything a people should hope their leader to be and yet he still deems himself unworthy for some reason. Despite that, they cannot deny themselves the connection that stretches between them. She closes her eyes and hears his voice in her ear about how they make quite the team. It becomes all she can focus on and she feels a warmth fill her body, the outside world sounding softer, more far away. The sensations stay with her when she opens her eyes again and even when she manages to let a yawn slip.

Robin has a soft look on his face as their eyes meet. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll scribe something in the morning so you’ll have it ready.”

She nods her head and settles in, back against the bale of hay. The armor, a gift from Killian a few years ago, digs into her arms and waist. She shifts unable to find a comfortable lounging position and stifles another yawn to Robin’s amusement.

“What?” she huffs.

“Nothing, nothing…” he trails off with an amused smile. “You just remind me of my son. Roland.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, he’s also quite stubborn to sleep.” He pauses. “He’s five.”

A roll of her eyes earns another chuckle from his direction but Emma concedes and lays her head down.

Sleep finds her in a light sort of way, dangling on the edge of consciousness and never letting her slip deep enough to dream. It is the sleep of someone on alert.

The creaking of the stable door is quiet for the most part but the sound still dances in Emma’s ears. She awakens, eyes blinking slowly as she tries to adjust to the darkness of the stable. Little John’s tall figure fills the only light coming into the stables from the gap in the door and Emma barely realizes, based on the shift rotation, that it’s the middle of the night.

“Whatsthematter?” Her words slur together as sleep circles the borders of her consciousness. A soft rain patters against the wood roof and she can hear the soft stomps of footsteps in mud.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Little John says in a quiet urgence. He keeps turning his head to look out the door and Emma struggles to sit up with her armor on.

“I’ll help,” she manages to say but before she can get up, Little John is outside, the stable door slamming shut behind him. The sound reverberates around the enclosed structure, immediately waking the other knights. They rush to a standing position and bombard her with questions that she doesn’t have answers to. Her mind runs blank and she only relays the short sentences they exchanged.

Robin picks up his crossbow from beside his sleeping area and slings it over his shoulder.

“You are not going after him,” Lancelot says, stepping into Robin’s path.

“Little John is like a brother to me! I’m not leaving him alone out there!”

“And going out after him, in this weather and in a town as dangerous as this, will weaken all of us.” Lancelot breathes out heavily, glancing at the stoic expression on Dorothy’s face and the crestfallen look on Will’s. “We will search at dawn. We will be able to track his footprints in the mud then. For now, rest.”

Robin stands still in a stare-off with Lancelot. Though neither one moves, their eyes dart around, a silent conversation amongst comrades, until Robin steps back in defeat and practically throws his crossbow to the ground. Will moves forward in a quick motion and brings Robin to a far corner of the stables, whispering quiet reassurances to the older gentleman.

“We’re going to find him, alright?” Will says in a whisper that just barely makes Emma’s ear.

“Come on,” Dorothy says from her other side and Emma jumps. “Get back to sleep.”

“But –”

“No buts. Sleep is the best thing you can do right now. Got it?”

Emma nods, sighing heavily. Her eyes watch the different knights amongst her. The ability to read lips is not one that she possesses but she still tries, to no avail. Her questions go unanswered as they talk to each other and not her, and exhaustion tugs at the back of her mind again.

So she lays her head on a bale of hay and clutches her dagger under the folds of her riding outfit with one ear out for the slightest noise.

The next morning, the group sets out to look for Little John. A search that very quickly becomes useless. Little John’s tracks stop five feet from the stable with no indication of where else he could have gone.

Dorothy growls in frustration. “It doesn’t make any sense. There’s nowhere he could’ve gone. His tracks stop right here. Nothing more.”

Robin mumbles to himself while he alternates his glare between Lancelot and the ground. Emma’s heart feels for the Black knight. Leadership means making the tough decisions and she knows from the look of apprehension on his face that his next plan will not be a popular one.

Expectedly, there is a fight about pausing their search to continue forward with the mission. Lancelot stands his ground though and within a few hours, they’re back on their trek, horses trotting through the forest grounds. Everyone does double duty with their eyes scanning the ground for any clues of Little John’s whereabouts with no success.

Will slows his horse to come beside Emma by the late afternoon. “How are you holding up?” he asks.

Her mind has been elsewhere the entire ride. Killian occupies most of her thoughts, a centering focus that keeps her from losing herself in despair. The way he raises a single eyebrow at her to tease, taunt, and flirt. The feeling of his arms around her waist. How he loves to use the rough skin of his stump to tickle her side. His eyes, bluer than any ocean she’d seen with depths of untold stories he’s yet to share with her.

She focuses on what will happen when she gets home. He’ll no doubt want to reprimand her for kissing a commoner in front of the guards, regardless of the fact the commoner was him, and she’ll try to ignore his pushes to talk.

But then Emma remembers how one of those guards is now missing and her “when she gets home” turns into an “if she gets home”.

If she still had her magic, she could’ve found Little John by now. She could have magicked herself to the cliffs of Segovia and home within a day. No one would have disappeared. Her kingdom wouldn’t be closing in on a nearly six-decade war with more losses than stars in the sky and already stretched incredibly thin. Killian wouldn’t have been inspired to sign up and he’d still have his hand.

Anger races through her blood and she feels her body grow warm, cheeks get hot under her fury. It all leads back to Regina. Living off of revenge against a child who was manipulated when she thought she was helping… the pain of her refusal to see the truth – see that Regina’s mother was to blame and not young Snow – led to more death and destruction than any of them thought possible. The Ogre Wars hadn’t harmed them this deeply. It’s all Regina’s fault.

Her thoughts stop in a sudden beat as Emma gasps, dropping the reins of her horse. Her hands feel hot to the touch, almost like they’re burned. Flexing her fingers does little to ease the pain and she ignores the way her hands start to shake.

She must have been subconsciously wringing the reins too hard to cause such a sensation.

Will rushes to grab the fallen reins. “Princess?” he pushes. “Are you okay?”

She clears her throat and clenches one hand in a fist while the other takes back the leather straps.

Is she okay? Absolutely not. The weight of her mission is starting to bear down on her shoulders. Little John’s disappearance has thrown her off and she already feels herself slipping away from reality. But she won’t tell Will that. Instead, she pivots the conversation and meets his eyes in a firm stare.

“I promise that I will get you all home safe. Got it?”

He hisses in disappointment. “That’s not an answer to my question.”

Emma huffs. “How are you doing?”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re not serious…”

“Deadly,” he deadpans only to wince and Emma’s sure his mind has gone to the same place as hers – Little John.

So she whispers, fiercely and filled with determination, “I promise.”

*

They stop in the middle of the forest in the late afternoon. Tension fills the air with every moment of silence until it becomes suffocating but no one does anything to break it for a long time. Little John’s disappearance weighs heavily on them all but their mission is, as much as Emma hates to say it, more important. If Killian is right and the minerals have been replenished since its last harvest a few hundred years ago, it could save hundreds if not thousands of their people. It could put this senseless war to an end once and for all.

They just needed to survive until then.

Lancelot sets his orders that this will be their camp for the night with two guards on the lookout at all times. The risk of riding in the dark after what happened to Little John has them on edge. They wanted to look their enemy in the eyes as they extinguished the life behind it.

Everyone in their group has killed before. It was a cruel casualty of war. But Emma could never relish in the suffering to come from such a death. Regina’s last minutes play on a constant repeat behind her eyelids and she cannot imagine adding anyone else to that scene.

Hunting occupies half of the group’s late afternoon hours while the other half sets up their tents. It is a tricky endeavor, as Lancelot’s orders are to establish one large makeshift tent for everyone. Safety, he had reassured her earlier.

By the time Will and Dorothy return with a number of small game hanging between each of them, a fire is being stoked in the middle of the tent and sleep schedules have been arranged. Dinner is a quiet affair with a heavy tension hanging over their heads like a storm cloud. An empty space sits between Robin and Will where Little John would have sat.

Their silent meal is broken when Robin clears his throat.

“I would like to still scribe that letter, if it’s alright,” he directs to Emma, his gaze leaving the burning fire only after he has finished speaking.

“Of course,” she answers softly. Swallowing, she looks around the group. “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to write home?” For a moment, she feels as if she’s requesting their departing words to be left for family. For what other reason would they need to write home only days after leaving?

“I reckon I have a few things I need to receive an update on,” Will says. He leans forward on the log beside her and spreads his legs apart so his knee can nudge hers in a gentle show of support. “I have a few bets I need to collect on.”

Dorothy rises to the bait even if her words sound the slightest forced. “I think you mean debts to pay.”

“I beg your pardon,” he huffs. “I am an excellent gambler.”

“Is that why your bets have paid for Ruby’s new wardrobe?” Dorothy smirks and continues, raising her sword in front of her as she examines it in the firelight. “I believe this came from a wager settled last month.”

“Oi! Ruby is a cheat and you know it!”

“I’ll be sure to mention that in my letter to her.”

The group gains volume as their teasing returns slowly. Emma’s eyes dart across the bonfire to Robin and she sends a nod of thanks. Little John’s fate still hangs heavy in the air but for a moment, they have a reprieve.

Before the fire dies down, the group settles near to write their letters.

“Who will you be writing to?” Dorothy asks Emma as she grabs her own parchment.

Lancelot grins and looks up for a moment. “Killian, of course.” Her mouth drops open in surprise at the normally quiet leader speaking up with such a taunting line. Mind focused on her own words, she half listens as Dorothy details what she plans to say to Ruby and how Lancelot is best dictating his letter to Guinevere.

Will smirks as he looks to Emma from the corner of his eye. “I’m writing to my Anastasia,” he says proudly, though his voice is low. Dorothy and Lancelot handed her their letters before taking the first watch and Will doesn’t want to disturb Robin’s heavy concentration. “I’m going to marry her when I get back.”

“You’re engaged?!”

“Oi! Don’t sound so surprised! I’m quite the catch, ya know.” Will’s grin only widens.

“Not surprised, just offended I was not invited to the wedding.”

“Well,” her companion drags out. He scratches behind his ear in a nervous tick, a movement that has her heart yearning for Killian. “We’re not engaged yet. I still have to ask her.” He clears his throat and straightens his back. “But I will, the moment we return. Well, after I ask her father.”

Emma smiles softly as she watches Will’s lovesick expression. “You truly love her,” she says, more to herself than to him. Still, Will gives her a small smile and a nod.

She feels a rush of warmth in her stomach as she listens to Will’s words of love for Anastasia, her mind wandering to Killian once again. She misses him terribly and wishes he could be beside her but she knows the best place for him is back home, preparing for their return.

Well, some of their returns.

When the scratch of Will’s quill comes to an end, Emma chances a glance at Robin before asking quietly. “Little John… did he have anyone back home?”

A sharp inhale. “Little John kept personal things to himself, mostly,” Will says regretfully. His gaze casts a burden across the fire. “I’m not the best person to ask.”

Robin keeps to himself as he starts, scratches out, and then restarts his letter to Roland. Emma wonders how close they were to the missing knight. Did they grow up together? Are their families close? Emma bids goodnight to Will before she stands from her log and walks around the fire to Robin.

“Are you telling him to be asleep by sunset?” she asks with a small lift of her lips.

Robin huffs, glancing up briefly. “If only that were enough to get him to bed on time.”

“You should tell him it is by orders of the princess.” The grin their share is fleeting but it offers a momentary reprieve from the day’s events.

“You may sit if you’d like, Princess Emma.”

Sitting presents a challenge each time she attempts it due to the soreness of her muscles. Horse riding and trekking like they have been is far from her usual activities. She leans awkwardly to the side before nearly tipping over completely as her bottom situates itself on the log. Her eyes gaze into the dwindling flames before her while Robin scrawls his name and folds the letter.

He holds the parchment out to her with a sad smile. “Little John was married once,” he says. Her fingers gingerly take the letter from his and she feels the weight of his words, her shoulders dropping beneath it. “She was a beautiful woman. Long dark hair and a smile that spelled trouble. She bewitched him from the first moment.” Robin laughs. “They had a son as well.”

Her companion’s smile drops and at that, so does Emma’s stomach. For she sees the turn of events before her eyes in the pause Robin takes. She sees the grief coloring his face and the regret that fills his eyes.

“Little John was helping me save my wife Marian when his village was attacked. He returned to an empty home.” Robin turns his gaze towards the fire and she witnesses the way his frame shrinks in on itself. “He lost his family while helping me save mine. Never once did he blame me. By all accounts, he should have. Instead, he stayed at my side and helped me raise Roland after I lost Marian.”

His breath shudders as he shakes his shoulders, a quiet sniffle as tears become harder to keep at bay. “We are the only family he has left, Princess Emma. And I will find him.”

His eyes meet hers in steely determination and Emma nearly promises him the same as she did Will. But the darkness of the night is creeping in on her fear and she worries this will be a promise she cannot keep. So she nods and sits and thinks. For the first time in a long time, she prays to any gods that are listening, to the same gods that saved Killian and brought him to her life.

*

“Three and twenty and not a suitor to show for it,” Emma mimics in a low-pitched voice. She crawls across the bed wearing only Killian’s discarded shirt and plops to a sit beside him.

Killian barely looks up from where he scribbles in his notebook, his back against the headboard and his head tilted low. “Who had said this again?”

“Grumpy.”

She crosses her arms in a huff as Killian doesn’t even attempt to hide his amusement. “Perhaps you do not have any suitors because they do not wish to sit through your terrible impersonations.”

Her next attempt at his own accent makes her tongue feel too big for her mouth and her words to be more garbled than coherent. His laughter has her fighting a smile and she only contains so much self-restraint so instead she leans over and hides her smile with his mouth.

Their lips barely separate when she whispers conspiratorially, “Or perhaps they found out the princess has been kidnapped by a pirate captain who spends his free time ravishing her in his cabin.”

“Arggg,” Killian attempts with a curled lip and narrowed eyes. He lifts his left hand and crooks his finger to look like a hook and Emma giggles wildly.

Being with him makes her feel lighter. He makes her happy.

Emma watches the port every day now that the Jewel and her captain have found a home at these docks. She attends the meetings he has with her parents to give updates on the sea front and they exchange nods as their departing promises. A sturdy rope ladder, a commission by Killian from another port, is frequently pulled from beneath her bed and draped outside her window. Apparently her string of sheets caused him too much worry. She merely rolled her eyes at the admission.

His cabin is warm and welcoming. Blankets litter not only his bed but also the window seat on the back wall facing the ocean. Pillows from their land and far away shores pile on every surface. Some map or another is typically spread across his table while the books on any available flat surface change every few weeks.

The sun streams in as a comforting orange glow each evening and wakes her with the palest yellow light in the early morns. The weight of his arm over her stomach acts as a comforting shield from her fears, both past and present.

White wooden walls of cabin feel more like home than the gray stone of the castle.

Or perhaps it is just simply him.

The reminders of his presence are spread throughout his cabin where they are absent in her lonely bed in the tower. His smell lingers on his pillows and clothes while her room suffocates her in gifted perfumes. The small, lumpy captain’s bed adheres to the curves of her body when she drowns in her large, feathered mattress.

Stresses of their ongoing war melt away when she hides under his bedcovers and has his grin to marvel at. There’s warmth in her chest and a spark at her fingertips when they’re together and she swears sometimes that being with him, loving him, is magic.

They share another kiss, brief but soft and all-consuming, before Killian sighs.

“You’re set to meet with your father at half past,” he says regretfully.

She rolls her eyes with a groan and slides off the bed. “Perhaps I do not actually have to go.”

“Perhaps you should like my head on a stake then?”

The urge to roll her eyes again at his dramatics is strong but she refrains. “My father has no interest in executing his right-hand man.”

“That’s simply because he does not know,” Killian starts. He rises to his knees and inches closer to the side of the bed where she stands. Her shirt half unbuttoned, his fingers finish the job as he presses light kisses trailing from her chest to her stomach. “That my meetings with the princess are of a more personal matter.”

The scruff of his facial hair slides against a particularly ticklish spot on her ribs and she squirms away with a giggle, nearly tripping over her sword and dagger as they clang together in a soft sound.

“I do enjoy these meetings,” she grins wickedly. “I learn so much.”

A shriek leaves her throat as Killian clambers out of bed to grab her but Emma evades his pursuit. She quickly gathers her pile of clothes and weaponry. Another soft ding fills the room.

Laughing, she says, “I really must go.” Sorting her clothes is easy enough, even with the soft dings coming from the pile. She quickly dresses. Hands cover her own as she attaches her sword to her belt, her brow furrowing as sounds continue to emanate from where it’s sheathed.

That’s never happened before.

Lips press against her neck and Emma leans back against Killian, closing her eyes briefly before another sound of metal on metal disrupts the peace of the cabin. Her eyes fly open.

*

Emma awakes with a gasp in the middle of the night as a swordfight takes place around her.

Fire long gone, the moon serves as the only lighting in the clearing. The metal of her knights’ swords glitter dangerously under the stars and Emma only barely catches glimpses of what they are fighting.

Simians, it seems. Simians that can jump and… hover overhead and away from swipes of a sword.

Flying simians.

She scrambles from her place of rest against a log and reaches for the sword at her side. At full height, she holds her weapon in front of her and examines the scene.

The simians are large beasts. Ugly and with teeth sharp enough to kill, their wings flap overhead, dragging dirt and ash from their resting site into their faces. Their claws swish through the air in severe strikes, attempting to harm or disarm, she cannot tell. She assumes both. For the moment, their group seems to be holding their own.

A screech comes from behind her and Emma ducks just in time for a simian to fly towards her head. She pops up in a flash and her sword strikes true at her attacker, a wing sliced clean off. The simian cries in anger as it tries to control its flight before falling to the ground. From there, it makes its way towards her on its paws and bares its teeth threateningly. Her sword arches through the air only for another simian to come from above and reach for her sword with its claws.

“Get out of the way!” Dorothy yells and blocks the flying simian from Emma’s side. The grounded simian sees the moment of opportunity, hunches back on its legs, and pounces right at Emma.

Instinct takes over and before Emma even realizes it, her sword is in front of her and the simian impales itself.

Her eyes widen in horror. Regina’s skin melting off her face haunted Emma’s dream. The way her dark eyes turned completely black as life left them. The gurgling as blood overflowed her insides and leaked from the corners of her lips.

Emma feels like she is back in the tower as the simian garbles over blood, its wailing fading moment by moment. Red stains its teeth and its wing flaps haphazardly behind it before it stills. She stares for a moment at unseeing eyes before the simian’s head drops forward and its wing slackens.

Nausea threatens to take over her senses and guilt churns low in her gut but a humanly grunt from behind her snaps her back into action. She quickly but gently lowers her sword and shakes the simian off of the blade. She doesn’t even wait for the thump of its body hitting the ground before Emma turns to help.

The world stops momentarily as she realizes she may be too late.

The simian Dorothy directed away from her now easily evades the knight’s strong sword strokes, flying above her before making quick strikes at her head and back. Dorothy yells, one hand reaching for her head as a simian darts back with a wad of her hair in its mouth, skin from her scalp hanging from one end. She isn’t fast enough to defend herself as the simian barely takes a moment before darting back down again, claws poised and sinking quickly into her back, knocking her forward in the same breath its mouth comes down on her neck.

Lancelot struggles against two simians, his armor dented and breaking off of his body with each attack. His sword makes a wide arch in the air, too wide to correct before the simians come down on him, biting each of his arms as their claws dig into his thighs. He throws his head back as he yells, knees buckling under the pain.

Robin clutches his side, blood seeping into his shirt as he swings his sword with his non-dominant hand. It’s awkward and lacking strength and the simian he’s been fighting takes the chance to strike again.

She sees it the moment before she can move and her stomach turns when she realizes she’s not fast enough. Her throat catches in her throat as the simian’s jaw bears down on his shoulder and Robin cries out in agony.

“Get her out of here!” Lancelot manages through gritted teeth.

The world moves in slow motion as her head turns towards him before she feels her arm jerked in a different direction. A loud rush pulses through her ears and black dots her vision. She immediately resists the force on her body and pulls her arm back towards her.

“Move, damn it!” It takes a moment but the pained voice yelling at her voice belongs to Will. She stares at the blood dripping down his temple as he pulls her shocked body away from the scene as quickly and discretely as possible.

A single simian attempts to follow but is thwarted by Will’s swordsmanship. He moves like around the woods like he walks on air, the ease in which he maneuvers reminds of her Killian’s lithe form. The simian dodges strikes and Emma watches helplessly, her sword barely held by her fingertips as she presses her back against a nearby tree. She wishes the simian would be like the one she defeated at camp. She wishes that it would become too confident and turn into a target easy to disarm. If Killian were here, he wouldn’t need her wishing.

Will’s feet dance across the leaves of the forest floor as he eyes the simian. One moment, two moments, then he makes a decisive slice. Will makes quick work of one of its wings before impaling it, exactly as she’d done at camp.

He stares at the simian for a brief moment, eyebrows furrowed in thought, before he turns towards Emma and grabs her bicep to pull her along. “Let’s go.”

“But,” she starts, head turning back towards camp where more simians fly under the moonlight. It’s hard to see anything else in the darkness. “But what about them? We can’t just leave them.”

“You are the priority, Princess,” Will says, high on alert. “You were their priority. Getting you away, safely, will mean they’ve done their job well.”

“I won’t let them die for me,” she protests even as her feet follow his.

Will jerks them to a stop, his eyes red and narrowed in anger. “And what good would their death do if you get yourself killed as well?”

“They might not be dead.”

“We all will be if you return.” Grief blankets her body in a cold embrace and her mouth drops open though no words come out. Will sighs, eyes looking around for danger, before stepping closer. “Don’t let them die in vain. Let’s go.”

Anger fuels her as she moves, her arm sweeping this direction and that. The movements are practiced and learned though she’s used different tools in the past. For the first time, he lets her take the lead and she cannot disappoint him. Especially after all the work he went through to procure such a magnificent canvas. A gift for her.

Weak protests fight to reach her ears but her focus drowns them out, thriving on each new mark she adds, each swipe and each gut-wrenching twist expressing the hurt and the anger she’s held onto for so many years.

When she steps back, it is with a grin.

Neal’s body rests sprawled across a stone table in the center of the room. His lays bare but it goes unnoticed as he shows more blood than skin. His labored breathing is replaced by silence, brown eyes turning an empty black.

Blood drips down to the small puddle at her feet. It grows larger with each tick of the hall clock and she frowns as it pools around her new heeled boot.

Of fucking course. Neal can never let her have anything.

The room smells rancid, blood and sweat permeating the air. Darkness blankets the room like it does her soul, only scarcely lit by a few candles hanging on the walls. Moonlight struggles to shine through the cracks in the concrete to no avail. Emma prefers the darkness now. She thrives in it.

Wailing echoes fill the quiet.

The metal of her dagger is warm in her grip and she shakes her head at the blood that covers the blade. At least that’ll be easier to clean than her leather boot.

She sets to work washing her tools, leaving the rest of the room as it is. She wants him to see how long she kept Neal alive to suffer. How he was aware of every single way she tarnished his body until the very end. The way his nails scratched at the stone so hard until they fell off revealing bloody nailbeds. That even in death, his eyes remained open from his terror.

He still got off easy, in her opinion.

There’s a noise, the muffled sound of a door closing and Emma’s head pops up in delight.

Killian grins wide when he sees her emerge from the basement, sleeves rolled to her elbows and hair pulled back in tight bun. They come together in a messy kiss that’s more tongues and teeth than lips.

She loves the way he loves her with abandon. Every time their mouths meet, he practically devours her and she gives as good as she gets. Fingers wrap around the hair at the base of his neck and she pulls while his hook traces lightly on her skin enough to draw blood but not do any serious harm. It sends chills down her spine every time.

His hands are greedy and he makes an attempt to lift her shirt but she steps out of his arms instead.

“Swan?” he asks, voice gruff and hair mused. He glares at her even if there’s no heat to it and Emma smiles back, nearly giggles.

“I want you to show you something.”

Her hand reaches towards him and he leaves her hanging for a moment. They both love the push and pull of their relationship. To tetter on the edge of a decision builds anticipation. Rejection is just a split-second away but so is acceptance. Not knowing which one will be chosen sends their hearts racing. It’s an effect of their upbringing, she knows. She did take a psychology class in community college after all.

It only makes sense, really. His abusive childhood with a drunk father and a brother dead too young and her untethered young life moving from foster home to foster home without any roots or support. Pain has been something out of their control for so long. Something always inflicted onto them unwillingly. But meeting each other in the back of their Psych 101 class all those years ago gave them a mutual understanding.

Pain can be something they command.

Killian had fallen first. They both tried, for the first year or two, to be better than what they came from. They wanted to have the picturesque life so many promised was to come but they struggled. Depression and temptation waited around every corner and they felt themselves falling into a pit they couldn’t climb out of.

And then Graham kissed her.

Killian and she had been on a break at the time. He was spiraling and Emma was trying to stay on track. Their tempers rose and, for the first time in her life, she walked out on someone else. Graham had been kind, sweet, and unassuming. He worked as a campus security guard and was helping her find her shitty car when he kissed her. Killian had been leaving his class and had a full view of the moment it happened. Emma pushing Graham away only did so much to soothe the anger in his soul.

Then Graham showed up dead a week later in the woods by campus, bruises on his head, marks around his throat, and his chest clawed open with no heart taking up its specified space.

She’d been mad when she realized what Killian did. She threatened to go to the police, even. And then she saw the crazed look in Killian’s eyes, the way he pleaded for her to understand.

“Emma,” he begged. “He crossed a line. You don’t understand. You’re mine. He thought he could have what’s mine.”

Through his tears, she saw the love, the possession. It warmed her to her toes. The unwanted foster kid – wanted by him. She swore she fell in love even more that day.

Emma would lay in bed with him at night and asked how he did it. She requested details, wanted to know every step he took. He would hold her close, his fingers leaving permanent marks on her hips, and she floated as he shared exactly what he did to ensure she stayed his.

It was another two years before he struck again, her by his side this time. Arthur was full of himself, an asshole to anyone who didn’t make more money than him, and dead set on evicting the entirety of their apartment building so he could sell the property to a developer. No one shed any tears at the announcement of his death.

Nearly ten years had gone by and yet this is the most exciting one for Emma. Neal was her white whale, so they say. He’d taken advantage of her sixteen years of life when he’d been nearing thirty and split the moment she found out she was pregnant. Took all her cash and the food she bought the day beforehand for their motel stay. She was left alone as she let go of the child she so desperately wanted to have. Even after he left her, she was still cleaning up his messes.

But now she stands in the kitchen she shares with Killian and raises her eyebrows as she bites her lip in wait. Will he take it or ignore it? Her heart races. Her breath hitches just a moment before he takes her offered hand and she contemplates bypassing her art project to ride him in the kitchen instead.

Bringing him to the basement, she waits in the doorway as Killian steps over the threshold. His eyes scan the room in a slow, calculating fashion. Leaning over Neal’s body, he hums as he takes in her work. Fingers trace her cuts, one dipping into the gaping hole in his side. There’s little left of his genitalia, the ferocious way it was obliterated earning a cocked eyebrow from Killian before he looks over to her with a grin. She blushes at the pride in his eyes.

The squelch from stepping in blood draws his attention to the floor. He dips his hand in the liquid and lifts his fingers to his face. The puddle grew from when she was in there a few minutes ago and Killian takes a good moment to examine it.

“Did I do good?” she asks, hands in her back pockets. Eagerness is undeniable in her voice.

Killian stands suddenly and marches towards her. He grips her hips – the cold metal of his hook sending a chill down her spine as Neal’s blood from his fingers smear across her skin – and pulls her in for a filthy kiss. Their bodies are flush but it’s not enough and the way his tongue strokes against her own has her frantically clawing at his pants.

Wailing echoes in the silence again and they pull apart only slightly dismayed.

The crying brings a spark to Killian’s eyes and Emma is torn between where each of their thoughts are going, both outcomes bound to bring her pleasure.

Killian presses another firm kiss to her lips before he tilts his head towards the other end of the basement where their special project waits for their return. His own white whale he somehow conquered and takes pride in making submit to him.

She knows the question before he asks so she merely grins wide at him as he speaks.

“No, you need to start decorating those gingerbread cookies instead of the table.” She thinks she succeeds in keeping the amusement out of her voice but Killian’s quiet snickering tells her otherwise. “And you,” she continues, aiming her glare at the husband in question, “have to clean up. I’m not letting you two leave without cleaning up first.”

“Are you positive you can’t to come with us, love?”

There’s nothing more that Emma would love to do than pick out a tree with Henry and Killian for their first Christmas in their house when there’s nothing going on. No foes, evils witches, or snow monsters appearing out of nowhere to ruin any holiday plans. Storybrooke has been blissfully peaceful for the most part for the last two years following the Final Battle.

Emma still knocks on wood when those thoughts cross her mind. Best not to jinx it.

Still, as much as she wishes she could join the boys on their tree hunt, she can’t as she has far more pressing matters to attend to. Those being trying to wrap Killian’s Christmas gifts without him finding out what they are first. She thought the hardest part would be hiding the gifts from the (mostly) reformed pirate. In actuality, the hardest part has been wrapping them. For some reason, every chance she’s gotten has been foiled by one thing or another.

Her first attempt was when Killian was going out for a day excursion on the Jolly Roger with Smee. She waited until she was absolutely sure the ship left the docks to pull out her gifts only for her sheriff’s beeper to go off. By the time she handled the situation and returned home, the Jolly had returned to shore and it was only a matter of time before Killian came back.

There were a few more close calls at home after that – enough to make her consider wrapping his gifts at the station. By the time she actually attempted it, David had barged through the front doors at such a speed that Emma’s surprised she managed to hide the gifts in time. Despite what most of the town believes about her mother, there’s no worse gossiper or meddler in town than her father. The only thing possibly worse than Killian discovering his gifts early is finding out about them from someone else.

After that, she assumed her luck had almost completely abandoned her. Christmas is coming up quickly and she can’t bear to give him his gifts without wrapping them. Last year he took so much pleasure in showing Henry how easily he could rip through the wrapping with his hook. She can’t take the idea of preventing the look of glee on both of their faces appearing again.

Plus, she wants to be able to watch Killian unwrap one of the most life-changing gifts ever, see the different emotions play on his face as the realization sinks in.

“I’d love to but I really can’t,” she answers honestly. “I have to handle security at the school’s Christmas fair today and we can’t keep putting off the tree. At this rate, we’d be getting it in January.”

“We’ll pick out a good one, Mom, don’t worry,” Henry consoles. He winks at her once Killian isn’t looking and his comforting smile only grows bigger.

It’s her own fault, really. One of her earlier attempts to wrap Killian’s gifts only resulted in Henry coming home from school to see them laid out on her bedroom floor when he went looking for her. The surprise that crossed his face quickly turned into pure joy and Emma unsuccessfully willed herself not to cry.

No bribing was needed to make Henry keep the gifts a secret. He knows how special this is for her.

For the second time in her life, Emma’s pregnant. For the first time, it’s with someone she loves – her True Love at that – and she has no fear of what the future might hold for her and their baby. She’s excited.

All she needs now is just ten minutes of peace with a guarantee of No Killian so she can actually keep it a secret until Christmas.

Killian and Henry are able to appropriately decorate the gingerbread and sugar cookies after a few elbow nudges are exchanged while she puts the last batch of cookies in the oven, though there are some close calls that Emma has to shut down the moment her eyes catch what one of them is trying to do. She does not want to deal with her father’s sputtering and mother’s giggles at the sight of any cookie decorated in any way less than a G rating.

By the time they’re leaving and Killian is warming up the bug, Henry pulls Emma aside under the guise of finding his missing shoe.

“You’re not really missing your shoe, are you? Because otherwise you’re going barefoot, kid.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Chill, it’s in my backpack.” He hooks a thumb to gesture at the bag on his shoulders and Emma nods. “Grandpa’s already at the school and says he hopes you ‘feel better’. I’m planning to take my sweet time inspecting every tree with Killian. I’m gonna feed him a bunch of fake facts so that he gets really invested too. Should buy you like two hours.”

Emma worries her lip, shoving her hands in her back pockets so she doesn’t play with her ring, a sure sign that she’s hiding something if Killian sees her. “What if Killian’s researched about Christmas trees though? He may be a pirate but he’s also a nerd.”

Henry exudes a confidence that she doesn’t have, given her track record this season. “Trust me, I know how to rile him up.” She rolls her eyes goodheartedly at that. As much as Killian loved to tease and rile Henry up, her kid loved to do the same just as much. She worried at first that it meant the two didn’t like each other and couldn’t get along, but her worries were quickly tossed away when she saw the two sitting at her kitchen table as Killian spoke to Henry in low whispers, helping him with an issue in his friend group.

He treated Henry like an equal, let him know that everything he said, saw, and felt held value. A trust existed between them that Emma didn’t breach – not that she wanted to. She respected that as much as she wants to be able to do everything for her kid, sometimes he needs to seek out someone else and she’s thrilled that most times he chooses Killian. Ribbing on each other is just another way to show that affection.

Emma bids her goodbyes to the two. Henry’s hug leaves her feeling the warmth one only gets from being a parent, and Killian’s goodbye kiss sends tingles down to her toes. That tingling is the exact feeling that got her into this situation and if she hadn’t been already, the look he gives her as he shuts the door behind him would’ve done it.

She waits for them to make it to the tree farm, according to Henry’s location and update texts, checking in with David who’s covering her shift at the school’s Christmas fair. It is then and only then that she feels comfortable enough to wrap the gifts.

Hauling them out of the closet in no time at all, she makes quick work of wrapping them. Despite the assurances that no one would be bothering her, especially her husband, she still chances a glance over her shoulder every few moments, just to be sure. She’s come this far and she’ll be damned if letting her guard down ruins the surprise.

Wrapping goes seamlessly and Emma triple checks that she has gathered and wrapped all the gifts before she places them in the closet under the stairs with the others. One more thing she can cross off her list.

*

When Emma wakes up the morning of Christmas, it’s to soft humming against her neck, a Christmas song that’s been on the radio more often than not this last week. She’s just thankful it’s one of Kelly Clarkson’s songs and not Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Merry Christmas, love,” Killian whispers to her neck before placing a light kiss there. He wraps his arm tighter around her middle, pulling her back flush against his front, and she feels her stomach erupt in butterflies. He doesn’t know it yet but his hand rests right where their kid is growing and she works hard to refrain her glee for the time being.

Instead, she focuses on the trail of kisses he places down her jaw until he leans over her side to plant one on her mouth. She hums contently into the kiss, turning onto her back so she can wrap her arms around his neck. “Merry Christmas indeed.”

They share a smile before he leans back in for a short kiss.

“How long do you suppose we have before the lad comes stomping down the stairs for his gifts?”

Emma considers his question, furrowing her eyebrows when she realizes she forgot to charge her phone overnight and it’s dead. “What time is it?”

“Nearly eight.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s a matter of seconds then, not minutes.”

“Think we can distract him with his PlayStation?”

“Wait – PlayStation? Not ‘Playing box’? Not ‘Stationary play’?” He crinkles his nose at her poor imitation of his accent and shakes his head.

“Of course I’ve learned the names by now, Swan.” He ignores her interjection of ‘Jones’ though it does earn her a smile. “I’ve known them for quite some time. But Henry doesn’t know that and I quite enjoy annoying him with that bit.”

She laughs and runs her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly on the silky soft strands as her reprimand. However, his reaction shows it is anything but. “I don’t know which of you is worse. Honestly.”

The two of them lean in with the full intent to enjoy as much of a lazy morning in bed as possible on the holiday but their lips don’t even meet before it’s interrupted.

“Merry Christmas!” Henry yells as he comes down the stairs. His feet stomp on each step and Emma grins at the way Killian cringes. He pauses on the landing outside their door and shouts before hurrying down the steps with stomping feet again. “You’ve got five minutes before I force you out so get dressed!”

“Like a bloody ogre,” Killian mutters as he rolls off of her. Despite his grumbling, the smile he gives her as he helps her out of bed and pulls her close is soft. The walls between them disappeared long ago and neither of them are afraid of the openness that exists in their relationship. It’s another first for Emma, being able to be so unapologetically herself and so vulnerable with her emotions when before Killian, she’d always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Never before him did she allow such a complete offering of herself to another person. With him, it doesn’t feel so scary.

It's also why she’s so excited to have this baby. Being with Killian makes anything they face not seem so bad.

The thought of what lies beneath their tree brings a giddiness to her movements that even her husband notices.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” he asks as he puts on his brace. He sends her a wicked grin that has her toes curling as he attaches the hook – the same one he shined the night before so he could show it off to Henry in all its unwrapping glory.

“I’m just… really happy.”

“Aye,” he says once he comes close to her again, one hand on her waist and his lips descending upon hers. “So am I.”

Their moment is broken by Henry banging on their door, warning that they better come down that instant or he’s opening everyone’s presents. The notion gets a laugh out of her, knowing that despite his threats, her kid wouldn’t follow through with this one. Maybe.

Nervousness doesn’t come to her until it’s time to hand her gifts over to Killian. He sits in a pile of wrapping paper on the couch, the ‘Best Dad in the Universe’ mug Henry got for him sitting on the coffee table. Henry had been sheepish as he handed over the gift, calling Killian ‘Dad’ on occasion now and then, nowhere near a regular occurrence. Still, the sentiment behind the gift, and the true feelings it relayed, left both her son and husband emotional. They exchanged quiet words that left them both teary-eyed and Killian had wrapped it up by showing Emma the mug as if she hadn’t helped Henry design it online. He then sat it on the coffee table so gently like a prized trophy and couldn’t stop looking at it.

If he reacted this way to Henry’s gifts, she can’t imagine the emotion that’ll come with hers.

The two of them have led hard lives, obstacles in their paths trying to prevent them from wanting to push for the light at the end of the tunnel. But they both did, whether out of sheer stubbornness or resilience, she’s not sure, and it held it them together until they found each other. Then suddenly they weren’t navigating the ups and downs of life alone and everything became a bit more bearable day by day.

Fatherhood is something that always came natural to Killian, she could see, and something that he wanted. His pirating ways took him to many lands and realms but he’d gotten to the point where he wanted to settle down and have a family. To live a life of peace he was never granted beforehand. Villains didn’t get happy endings though so he assumed it was out of the cards for him.

Henry accepted him, made him part of their family, and looked to him as a father. The remaining Lost Boys sought out his comforting presence, a familiar figure, despite their tangled pasts or because of it, when they were feeling particularly lonely or destructive, and he provided a guiding hand back. Hell, even baby Neal latched onto him almost as quickly as he did her parents.

There was a contentedness to Killian when he stepped into the role of father-figure that she never saw before. It shined brightest with Henry but she always saw the longing look in his eyes when Henry left for a weekend at Regina’s or when they saw Sean and Ashley with their baby at Granny’s.

Her mother once said, “Happy endings always start with hope.” Their life together was the start. This is the continuation of it.

“Ready for my gifts?” Emma asks. She discretely wipes her sweaty palms on her thighs and takes the gifts from Henry’s outstretched hands. He gives her a reassuring smile and she can only manage a quick, tight but grateful grin in return.

“Thanks, love.”

Killian lifts his hook to open the smallest of the boxes when Emma shoots her hand out to grab his wrist, a loud ‘No’ leaving her lips before she even realizes what she’s done.

Concern fills Killian’s gaze as he leans closer. His eyes rove over her person, searching, cataloging, trying to get any hint of what’s happening. “Emma, what’s gotten into you?”

“Actually…” she starts with a sardonic laugh, tilting her head.

“Ew, gross, Mom,” Henry crimes in, face wrinkled in disgust.

She clears her throat while rolling her eyes and instead taps the biggest of the three boxes. “Open this first.”

“O-kay…” Killian eyes her as he gently, slowly, unwraps the biggest box. Instead it lies a photo album titled Daddy & Me. “It’s blank?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s for you to fill it with photos.”

“Ah.” Killian turns to Henry. “I suppose we should start filling this up, aye?”

A quick moment of panic flashes across Henry’s face as he looks to Emma for guidance, both of them floundering. “Uh, yeah!” he says in a hurry. “I can help you fill it up.” He then gives Emma a pointed look, Killian none the wiser.

“Open your second one,” Emma encourages. Killian takes another hard look at the album, the content in his gaze soothing any nerves that remained from Emma’s anticipation.

Earlier, Henry laughed smugly as Killian ripped through about thirty layers of wrapping paper to finally uncover the mug. Henry encouraged him to really dig into it, something that flashes Emma’s mind back to the beanstalk and made her laugh. Killian had taken the message to heart.

Now, he uses the hook to lift the edges of the wrapping paper and gently unravels it. Beneath the paper is a box and Killian gives her a watery grin once he sees what’s inside.

His very first Christmas ornament – or at least the first that’s meant specifically for him – lays inside. It features a large brown bear holding a baby bear wearing a diaper. Beneath the figures is a banner that reads, ‘Papa Bear, Est. 2022”.

Emma expects the questioning glance he sends her way and the subtle, confused one he gives to Henry. However, he receives no answers and Emma finally taps the small box. “Now you can open it.”

She bites her lip and her and Henry share a reassuring nod as Killian opens the last gift. Sitting inside the small box, cleaned off and surrounded in tissue paper is a positive pregnancy test.

Killian picks it up with a cautionary gentleness that she hasn’t seen before. His mouth drops open as he stares it down and he mouths the word ‘Pregnant’ over and over again as his eyes get misty. “Is – is this real?” he asks, voice full of emotion. Emma nods, blinking back her own tears.

“Yeah, Killian, it’s real.”

“Gods, love.” Suddenly, Emma is pulled out of her chair and swept off her feet as Killian tugs her into a tight embrace. He kisses every inch of skin he can find, pulling back every few kisses to catch her lips before he embraces her again. His arms are bound around her tightly, the squeeze between them only getting tighter as Killian urges Henry to join their hug. “You’re going to be a big brother, lad. The best there is,” he whispers and Emma nearly lets out the croaking sob stuck in her throat.

As much as it is a monumental moment for Killian, he still includes Henry and still makes sure that he’s wanted around. The notion makes her heart burst. Once again, she’s aware that she never needed any official True Love test to give her confirmation that Killian is it for her. The way he acts proves it more than enough. It doesn’t make her any less emotional, especially as Killian whispers, as giddy as she’d been that morning, “We’re having a baby!”

“Yes, we are!” she whispers back excitedly.

The trio embrace for a few more moments before Henry’s phone rings and lets him know that it’s Regina reaching out. He congrats the two of them, tells them what wonderful parents they already are, and then bounds out of the room.

“Wow,” Killian says with the long release of a deep breath. “You’re pregnant.”

“I am,” she teases.

Killian’s wide grin matches her own and even though he leans in to kiss her, they aren’t able to do much as their smiles keep breaking through.

It’s not until Killian places a hand on her stomach that her breath catches and realization sinks in. They’re really doing this. They’re having a baby. She can’t explain it but she thinks she’s having a girl. Even Killian’s seemingly decided so as well, babbling on about their daughter despite the fact that they won’t officially find out until Emma’s next appointment in two weeks.

They will have a baby. Together.

They’re going to bring someone into this world that’s half him and half her and it’ll be their responsibility to not screw them up.

With Henry it was easier. He was already ten by the time he connected with both of them, respect and manners already instilled in him. All they had to do was encourage them to flourish. But with a baby, they’ll be starting from scratch. In all honesty, neither of them know much of what to do aside from the basics to keep a baby alive, but she figures they’ll approach it like they do everything else: together.

“You know, little one,” Killian starts as he leans down towards her stomach. “Your grandma is a very wise woman and she once told me that happy endings always start with hope.” He swallows, glancing up at Emma for a moment as his voice gets even quieter. “I’m excited to meet you, Hope.”

*

4 years later…

*

“No, no, no, love, not like that.”

Emma looks up from drying dishes and fixes her gaze on the other end of the table. Killian and Henry are bent over it, heads close together. Between them, Hope kneels on a chair and squeezes an icing bag with so much force that fat glops of red icing plop onto the cookies, nearly covering an entire group of gingerbread men. She watches the way Killian keeps the rounded curve of his hook, sharp tip pointed away, pressed against the center of Hope’s back to keep her steady, attempting to guide her in how to decorate the cookie while she just wants to mix colors together.

One of Henry’s hands holds a gingerbread man in place for her, fingers turning red from the icing that’s slipped over the side, and he’s quick to grab the green icing bag before Hope’s grubby little fingers can grab it. “Oh no you don’t, munchkin.”

“I’m not a munchkin!” Hope pouts. Her glare is fierce as she turns her attention to Henry, cookies completely forgotten as she stands from her kneeling position.

“Oh really?” he eggs her on, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “How come you’re on a chair and I’m still taller than you then? Munchkin.”

“Stinky nose!”

“Short stack.”

“Hairy back!”

A whistle breaks through their teasing before Emma can step in and all eyes go to Killian. He leaves his hook pressed against Hope’s back even as he straightens and stands tall. “Enough of this nonsense from me crew!” Hope stares at him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, joy filtering its way into her features.

An aspiring pirate captain herself, the three-year-old takes great glee in seeing her father step into his, admittedly watered down, pirate persona. She turns towards Killian, bouncing where she stands in the chair. Her hands attempt to come together in claps but only succeed in dropping more icing all over her hands and Henry’s.

Killian plucks the icing bag from Hope and places it aside. “Now,” he starts, voice an octave lower. “This mess needs to be cleaned otherwise I’ll let Santa know to toss yer presents overboard! Aye?”

“Noooo!” Hope shouts. “He can’t do that!”

“He knows Santa,” Henry says. He nods to Killian as he catches the wet washcloth Emma tosses to him and begins to wipe his icing covered fingers. “He can totally make it happen.”

“Aye,” Emma adds, grinning wide at the way Killian’s nose crinkles. She holds a second wet washcloth in her hands and comes over to Hope, gently wiping her hands clean. “But perhaps me and Papa can clean up the kitchen while you help Henry put some tinsel on the tree instead. It’d be a big help.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Hope tugs at her hands, pouting when Emma won’t let them free yet. However, once she’s able to, she turns and jumps on Henry’s back, already urging him towards the living room.

“You know,” Killian says, “you’ve just granted her permission to make a mess even worse than this one.”

Emma grins, “Are you saying you weren’t also desperate for five minutes to ourselves?”

Killian hums, giving her a grin that she knows so well. His arms come around her waist while hers wrap around his neck and their lips meet in a soft kiss. When he tries to pull away, Emma keeps him locked with her and the heat between them rises. So lost in the progressing passion of their kisses, she doesn’t even realize Killian’s lifted her onto the table until Henry voices his disgust.

“Gross, guys,” he says. “We eat there.” He shakes his head, shuddering at catching them mid-make out, and reaches for the extra bag of tinsel on the counter. He holds it up and points at it before he leaves. “For scarring me, I am not cleaning this up.”

A snort comes out of Emma before she can stop it and she closes her eyes, content as Killian presses a soft kiss to her cheek. His hand drifts down to rest against her stomach and she feels the butterflies of excitement start up again. Only two more weeks before they can share their big secret.