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Sheriff Emma Swan sank gratefully into the booth at Granny’s with a sigh. Now that the Wicked Witch had been defeated, a long-overdue calm had settled over Storybrooke. So much so that Leroy decided that Emma and Killian needed more to do. So he had decided to get drunk and then proceed to pass out right in front of the library. Killian offered to get him home while Emma got breakfast. She just hoped he didn’t throw up in the bug.
Ruby stopped at her table, notepad poised. “Where’s Killian?”
“Oh, he had to cart a drunk Leroy home.”
Ruby’s eyes lit up, and Emma raised her eyebrows as the brunette pocketed her order pad and slipped into the booth across from her. “Okay, you’re alone for once, so I can finally ask you. What’s a pirate like in bed?”
Emma’s jaw almost hit the table in front of her. She glanced around as if this must be some elaborate prank. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, “Come again?”
“Oh,” Ruby winked, “I get it. People might overhear.” She leaned across the table. “So how many times can he make you come?”
Emma reared back in her seat, waving both hands in front of her. “Okaaay, whoa, whoa, whoa. Killian and I are not together. How many times do I have to say that?”
Ruby cocked her head, her brow furrowed in confusion. Emma couldn’t help the mental comparison to a curious puppy. “I know you’ve said that, but I’m not talking about dating. I mean, surely sometime in the past – what’s it been? Two and a half years – the two of you have . . .”
Ruby made an obscene gesture with her hands, and Emma quickly grabbed them with her own. “Um no, Ruby, we haven’t.”
There went the curious puppy again. “No? Seriously?” “Seriously.”
“Wow,” Ruby said with a shrug, “that’s a shame. Especially since the whole town assumes you have.”
Emma groaned and dropped her head to the table. She was used to the gossip surrounding her and Killian, but she didn’t think people were speculating on the nitty gritty of their sex lives. Sure, they did crash at each other’s places occasionally, but they lived in the same apartment complex. And falling asleep on Killian’s couch on an occasional movie night (or he on hers), and then thinking it was just too much trouble to go all the way to the next floor, well, that wasn’t really sleeping together. It wasn’t even romantic. It was just hanging out. Because he was her best friend; that she would readily admit to.
She and Killian had hit it off immediately when she arrived in Storybrooke, something that was incredibly rare for Emma. When Graham had hired her to join the force, they had grown even closer, but not romantically. Killian and Graham were practically brothers, and he knew Graham had a thing for Emma (bros before hos and all that nonsense). After Graham’s death, they had admittedly grown closer, but it still had been strictly platonic. Okay, mostly. There had been that one kiss when she thought she was leaving Storybrooke, but it had been nothing. Really.
Once the curse broke, things had gotten complicated between them. Killian was reeling from the truth that he had been a villain. He had quit the force and distanced himself from Emma, and she couldn’t lie, it had hurt. Deeply. But all it took was Cora sailing into town on Killian’s ship for him to embrace the hero she always knew he was. And from then on, they had – as Killian put it – been quite the team.
Why all of Storybrooke found them such fascinating gossip, she had no idea.
*********************************************************
“Ruby asked me what you’re like in bed.”
Killian lost his aim and the dart he just threw went pinging off the edge of the board as he stumbled forward. Emma laughed at his reaction. He turned to her with a cocky grin, but he was scratching behind his ear, which Emma well knew canceled the first out.
“And how did you describe me, pray tell?” he quipped with a quirk of his expressive eyebrows. He settled across from Emma at their usual spot at the bar at The Rabbit Hole. He motioned for another shot from the bartender, which he promptly choked on when Emma answered.
“That you wear thick socks with anchors on them and drool a lot.”
“You wound me, Swan! That was one time. One bloody time.”
“The drooling? Or the socks?”
They both laughed again and each took another shot. Emma had admittedly had more than her average already. For some reason, the town rumor mill had put her on edge all day. Couldn’t a man and a woman just be friends without everyone speculating about them? Couldn’t a man and woman flirt? And banter? And have drinks? And give casual affection? And spend every waking moment together . . . Emma took another shot, then reached her hand out to run it along Killian’s arm. His very muscular arm. And he may be her best friend, but she wasn’t blind. She was fully aware of how attractive he was. How much had she had to drink again?
“Maybe we should just go ahead and do it.”
Killian’s mouth hung open. “I’m sorry? Come again?”
Emma laughed so hard at that, thinking of Ruby earlier that morning, she almost fell off her bar stool.
*********************************************
“Okay, Swan,” Killian told her as he deposited her on the couch in her living room, “I think that’s the last time I’m letting you have tequila.” He then brushed her hair back, kissed her forehead, and headed for the door.
Emma lunged to her feet and grasped Killian by the shoulders. She had meant to say something, but instead, she just grabbed the lapels of his shirt and hauled him in for a kiss. For a second, she was afraid that he would extricate himself. She was drunk, after all, and he was always going on about being a gentleman. But he kissed her back. She had kissed him before, but this was different. The kiss right before the curse broke, was cursed Killian. Then, in their trip to the past, she had kissed Captain Hook. But the man she was kissing now was both, and that changed everything. This kiss was filled with all of the history, all of the pent up sexual tension, and even all of the friendship of the past two and a half years. It was hungry and tender all at once. When they finally broke apart, their fingers were tangled in each other’s hair, and their foreheads were pressed together as they struggled to catch a breath.
“Stay,” Emma asked, voice husky. His eyes widened; he knew what she was asking.
He took a step back and quirked an eyebrow at her. Teasing and flirting was easier than sincerity, this she knew just as well as he. “Please, Swan, you couldn’t handle it.”
Emma’s answer wasn’t teasing, it was a challenge. “Maybe you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”
His eyes sparked, and he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. His hook rested at her hip as he kissed her again, even hungrier than before. Emma shoved him until he hit the wall and reached down to fumble with his jeans. Killian let go of her waist to curl his fingers around her hand and stop the movement. This was where she thought he might stop things, but instead he scooped her up into his arms to carry her to the bedroom, fusing her mouth with his once again.
Emma expected the sex to be pure lust; all hunger and need. But it wasn’t. Killian made love to her. Slowly. Tenderly. And when he finished, she fell into the most relaxing sleep of her life, her head pillowed on his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair.
It wasn’t until the next morning that the panic came. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he was still in her bed. After all, how many times had he crashed at her place? But waking up naked next to a naked Killian was far, far different. They had shifted away from each other in their sleep, but as Emma craned her head to see if he was still awake, he rolled back towards her. He flung his arm around her waist and drew her to his chest.
Then he buried his face in her hair and whispered, “I love you, Emma Swan. So bloody much.”
Emma froze. Killian nuzzled her shoulder, and then his grip relaxed and his breath evened out. It seemed he had been talking in his sleep. Emma suddenly felt like she was suffocating, so she lifted his arm ever so gently and slid out of his embrace. She slowly lowered his arm back to the mattress, and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t awaken. She then dressed as quickly and quietly as she could. She paused on her way to the door to look back at him briefly. He looked so at peace, so relaxed.
While Emma felt an anxiety so deep she felt as if the walls were closing in. What had she done?
*******************************************************
Emma headed straight to the sheriff’s station to work on paper work that really wasn’t pressing at all. Killian, however, didn’t call her out on it when he arrived with coffee and bagels in hand. She avoided his gaze as she took the bag with a muttered thanks. The tension in the room was thick, the silence heavy. Finally, after an hour of working like that, Killian cleared his throat and laid his hand on her shoulder.
“Emma, we need to talk.”
“About what?” Emma shrugged, finally turning to look him in the eye. The rejection and pain she saw there cut her deeper than if he had yelled at her. Actually, him yelling she could handle. They had yelled at each other plenty. He opened his mouth, and she clearly saw that he was about to actually answer her purely rhetorical question.
So she leapt to her feet. “Actually, Killian, I’ve got an errand to run. Watch the station.”
Then she did what she did best; she ran. Not out of town, though. Of course not. Her son was here. Her parents were here.
Which was precisely why she ran to the loft. When Mary Margaret opened the door, Emma gave no preamble, she just blurted it out.
“I slept with him.” Her mother blinked, but didn’t look shocked or surprised. Maybe she hadn’t been clear. “With Hook. I mean, Killian. I slept with him.”
Her mother nodded slowly. “Well, let’s be glad your dad’s not home.” She pulled the door open wider and motioned Emma in. “Let me make some hot cocoa.”
Emma made her way to the kitchen bar and sat down. She watched as her mother shuffled about the kitchen, hand absently stroking her belly. It was still odd to think that as a thirty year old grown woman, she was about to have a baby brother or sister. Her mother made the cocoa, filled two mugs, then topped it with whipped cream and cinnamon. She then set a mug in front of Emma and gave her an encouraging nod. Then it all just poured out of Emma; Ruby’s question, the way it bothered her all day, getting drunk at the Rabbit Hole, and then Killian taking her home.
“And now you regret it?” her mother’s voice held no judgment.
Emma frowned as she stared into the brown liquid. “I don’t . . . know?”
“Well, was it . . . so-drunk-I-can’t-remember-it sex?”
Emma blushed immediately as memories of the night before flooded her mind’s eye. “No, definitely not that.”
“Slam-bam sex?”
Emma shook her head at her mother. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
Mary Margaret shrugged. “You know what I mean.”
“No, definitely not that.”
“Oh,” Mary Margaret said, with a glint to her eye and a knowing smile, “so it was good sex.”
Emma groaned and let her head drop to the table. “He said he loved me,” she whispered, her voice muffled by her hair.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, what was that?”
Emma lifted her face a fraction and scowled at her mother. Then she sighed. “He said he loved me. But he was still asleep. He probably didn’t mean it, I mean, he couldn’t mean it.”
Mary Margaret lifted both eyebrows as she lifted her mug to her lips. “So then you ran.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “How did you know that?”
Mary Margaret sighed as she set her mug down on the counter top. “Because I know you, Emma. I also know Killian, and yes he did mean it. That man has been in love with you since before the curse broke, sweetheart.”
Emma shook her head, “Not you too, Mom! Why does everyone in this town think that?”
“Because the two of you are always together for one.” She lifted her finger and pointed it to shush Emma before her daughter could speak. “And, no, I’m not just talking about work. I’m talking about meals at Granny’s, drinks at the Rabbit Hole, movie nights at your apartment, days out sailing the Jolly Roger. I hate to break it to you, honey, but you two have been dating each other whether you want to admit it or not.”
“We’re best friends, mom! Can’t anybody understand that?”
Mary Margaret crossed her arms and gave Emma a pointed look. “Best friends who just slept with each other? Furthermore, Emma, this town has witnessed some pretty intense arguments between the two of you in some very public places. And always when one or both of you are jealous.”
Emma scoffed. “Like what?”
Mary Margaret began ticking them off on her finger. “When Cora came to town.”
“I was upset that Killian didn’t tell me he used to work with her!”
Her mother tilted her head. “Or were you upset that he used to be Cora’s boy toy?” She didn’t wait for Emma’s response, but kept going, “Then when Neal came back.”
Emma sat up straighter, finger pointing in defense, “Now that one was an odd situation, mom. We found out my ex was his ex’s son. It took us a while to adjust.”
Mary Margaret gave her a look that clearly said she wasn’t buying it, then plunged ahead. “Then you had that huge blow up right out front of Granny’s when Tinkerbell came to town.”
Emma turned bright red remembering that one. She still couldn’t believe what she had screamed in front of the diner’s lunch crowd. Just admit it, Killian! You banged that fairy! Didn’t you? Not one of her finest moments. But it wasn’t that she was jealous, she just didn’t like that Killian was hiding his past from her.
“Then,” Mary Margaret continued, “you both re-ignited those old flames, which should have stayed in the past, just because you couldn’t handle your feelings.”
Emma snorted, “Yeah, until Tink and Neal sat us down to inform us that they were cheating on us – with each other.”
“And you want to know the strangest part about that, Emma? Neither of you were all that upset about it.”
Emma shrugged, “It’s just like you said, we never should have fell back into those old relationships to begin with. They weren’t healthy. So, it was a good thing in the end.”
Mary Margaret shook her head, “I really thought the two of you would stop being idiots after that, but then Walsh showed up. Emma, you threw yourself into that relationship just to avoid facing your feelings for Killian.” Emma didn’t know what to say as her mother finished off her cocoa and turned to rinse her mug in the sink. “Poor Killian. Those were the most miserable eight months of his life.”
Emma rolled her eyes, “Please, mom. Do you know how many jokes Killian has made about me screwing a monkey?”
Now it was her mother’s turn to roll her eyes, “So the Wicked Witch cursed Killian’s lips, for what? Convenience sake?”
“She probably just picked him because he was the one who saved me when Walsh tried to kill me.”
“Risked his life saving you,” Mary Margaret clarified.
“Besides,” Emma argued, waving her hand back and forth, “Killian’s my partner and my best friend. Zelena knew I would give him mouth to mouth rather than see him drown. She had it all planned out.”
“Uh-huh, okay, how about the time portal then?”
Emma furrowed her brow in confusion. “What about it?”
“Killian jumping in there to save you,” her mother explained as if it should be obvious.
Emma shook her head, “Mom, it sucked us in, I told you that.”
“But Killian told your father that he let go –“
“Wait,” Emma cut her mother off, “he what?”
“Killian. Let. Go.” Mary Margaret repeated emphatically. “He willingly went into that portal, honey.”
Emma groaned again and covered her face with her hands. She was the worst person in the history of the world. How could she have done this to him?
“Don’t feel guilty,” her mother said, as if she could read her mind, “there’s no need. Because, honey, you love him, too. I’ve seen it. Your father’s seen it. Hell, the Wicked Witch of the West saw it. The whole town sees it, Emma. Everyone but you.”
“Mom,” Emma said softly, tears pricking her eyes, “it’s not that easy.”
“Why not? After all you’ve been through together? Look at me and your father.”
“My life’s no fairy tale, mom,” Emma argued, her lower lip now trembling. “And just because you’re the product of true love doesn’t mean you’ll ever find it for yourself.”
“Oh, Emma,” her mother said softly, grasping both of Emma’s hands, “you’ve already found it. The question is, are you going to let it slip away, or are you going to grab hold of it?”
****************************************************
Knocking on Killian’s door wasn’t working, so Emma started banging her fist on it instead.
“I know you’re in there, Killian, so open the door!” she banged again. “Killian! We need to talk!”
The residents of their apartment complex were probably fueling plenty of town gossip considering the amount of times in the past 24 hours they had heard Emma yelling Killian’s name through the thin walls. Emma blushed furiously thinking about the very different way she had been yelling his name last night. She shook her head to clear it just as Killian yanked the door open.
She blinked and forced her jaw to snap shut. Yeah, definitely shouldn’t have been thinking about screaming his name. Because here he was standing before her. Wet. In nothing but a towel.
“You – you –“ she stammered like a school girl. Damn it! He had never left her tongue tied before.
“I was in the shower,” Killian supplied slowly, the tiniest of smiles flirting with the corner of his mouth. They just stood there for a heartbeat. Killian narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What is it, Swan? You come her, demanding I open the door, now what the bloody he-“
She cut him off with a fierce kiss, shoving him backwards into the room. She slammed his door shut with her foot, never breaking off the kiss. She kept pushing until he hit the kitchen table. The same kitchen table where they had commiserated over bottles of rum. The same kitchen table where he had served her pancakes when she woke up on his couch with a hangover. Well, Emma, she said to herself, you’ll sure as hell never look at this table the same way again.
Then she yanked his towel off.
*************************************************
The next few weeks were, hands down, the worst of Emma’s life. And that was saying a lot. She saw Killian at work every day and spoke to him in polite detachment as co-workers. And that was it. No more meals at Granny’s. No more drinks at the Rabbit Hole. No more movie nights or days sailing. Not that Killian didn’t try.
But the thing was, Emma didn’t trust herself anymore. She had tried to break the sexual tension always simmering between them, and Killian had made love to her. So deeply it had wrecked her. Not only that, he had actually said the words, and a fissure a mile wide had cracked down the middle of their friendship. So then Emma tried sex that was purely physical. Nothing but raw, physical need.
And now there friendship was a pile of dusty fragments that she could never hope to put back together.
Four weeks of agony had gone by, and Emma didn’t think things could possibly get any worse. But then, of course, they had. Emma stayed home for a week with what she thought was the stomach flu. It was a relief, in some ways, not having to face Killian every day. But on day four, as she sat there hugging the porcelain bowl, realization dawned. She catalogued her symptoms: nausea, fatigue, tender breasts, headaches. Then she did a little math.
Then she curled into the fetal position on her bathroom floor.
She hadn’t dated anyone since Walsh, so she had gotten kind of lax with taking her birth control pills. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had been to the pharmacy to pick up a new pack. That first time, after drinks, Killian had used a condom. She remembered it clearly because she still blushed at the way she had begged – Please, Killian, please! I need you now! – but he hadn’t been deterred. The day she went to his apartment to “talk,” however . . .
Emma shuffled wearily to her room, picked up her phone, and buried herself under the covers.
“Mom,” she mumbled, suddenly feeling five years old (which was ironic, really), “I need a pregnancy test.”
***********************************************
A wave of nausea rolled through Emma and the room spun. She grasped the back of her desk chair, taking deep breaths through her nose. Behind her, Killian hung up the phone and grabbed his gun. Slipping it into his holster, he called for Emma.
“It’s the Garrison’s again,” he told her with a frown.
Emma groaned and rubbed her already aching temple. Chuck Garrison was a drunk and a bully who mainly liked to bully his wife. Domestic disturbance calls to the Garrison home were frequent, but Kelly Garrison would never press charges. There was also never any clear evidence that Chuck had physically harmed Kelly, so she and Killian couldn’t arrest him. It frustrated them both. Emma had tried convincing Kelly Garrison to leave Storybrooke, even put her in touch with a battered women’s shelter, but still the woman claimed she loved Chuck and didn’t want to leave.
“Okay,” Emma nodded now, grabbing her own firearm, “let’s pray we can nab this jerk this time.”
“Emma, wait,” Killian said, his voice low and gentle. He put his hand and hook on Emma’s shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. Emma forced herself to hold his gaze, though staring into his eyes was always a dangerous thing to do. A woman could lose herself in those gorgeous blue eyes.
“A call like this” Killian began, wetting his lips, “things can go wrong in the blink of an eye. If anything were to happen, I don’t want things left unsaid between us. Don’t you think we should talk? Please, Emma?”
She shook her head, tearing her eyes away and staring at her feet. What do you want me to say, Killian? I ruined our friendship with sex and now I’m knocked up with your baby? A wry laugh escaped her throat as she stepped out of his hold.
“We’ve got a domestic disturbance on our hands, Killian. Every second counts.” Then she shoved past him and headed out the door.
******************************************************
Killian had been right. Things could go wrong in the blink of an eye. And they did. Because one minute, Kelly Garrison, bloody and bruised, was pointing a gun at her husband. Then Emma blinked and the gun went off. And Emma wasn’t even sure how it all had happened. Killian was trying to talk Kelly down; she thought he was succeeding, but then, the gun shot. And now . . .
Now Killian was on the ground, and blood was everywhere. She swayed. She stumbled. Blood was everywhere. She sank to her knees. In the blood. It was everywhere.
“Emma,” Killian called to her, his voice soothing, “Emma, love, listen to me. I’m going to be fine.”
Emma lifted her walkie talkie. “Officer down. 911. Officer down!” Emma’s vision blurred. Was she fainting? No. She was crying. Sobbing.
“Emma,” Killian said again, his hand lifting to cup Emma’s cheek, “I’m here. I’m still here.”
Emma leaned over his chest, the tears coming faster. She traced his face with her fingers, then with her lips. His eyes fluttered closed. Emma shook him, calling his name. He opened them again, smiling up at her. She locked her gaze on his, remembering how badly she had fought looking into those eyes these past few weeks. All that time, wasted.
“Killian,” she sobbed, “you can’t leave me. Please.”
“I won’t,” he gasped. But she could tell he was struggling.
“You have to live, you hear me?” she shouted again, shaking him harder. “I love you . . . I love you . . .”
She lay against his chest, weeping, then she put her lips against his ear and whispered, “And you’re going to be a father, Killian Jones.”
“Sheriff,” a voice behind her spoke gently, pulling at her shoulder, “we have to get him in the ambulance.”
The ride to the hospital was a blur that Emma wouldn’t even remember the next day. All she could think was how pale he looked as the EMTs hooked all kinds of things up to him. Then she stood shivering in the cold hospital lobby, shaking even more when she looked down at the blood on her hands and smeared on her shirt and jeans. Killian’s blood.
Her parents came racing through the hospital doors, and she immediately collapsed. David caught her before she hit the floor.
“Daddy,” she sobbed, using an endearment she had never used before, “Daddy, there was so much blood.”
He soothed her, rubbing her hair, kissing her forehead. She turned to her mother, who cupped her face in her hands. “I can’t lose him, Mom. I can’t . I can’t have this baby without him.”
“I know, baby,” Snow cooed, “I know.”
When Doctor Whale finally came out of surgery, Emma was spread across three hospital chairs, her head in her mother’s lap, her feet in her father’s. But as soon as she saw Whale, she leapt to her feet. The smile on his face gave her hope.
“The bullet went all the way through,” he explained, “and it didn’t hit any major organs. He did lose a lot of blood, but luckily we had plenty from the last blood drive for a transfusion. He’s going to be fine.”
Emma’s knees buckled, but this time in relief. Her parents held her as she wept with joy.
“He’s asking for you,” Whale told her, grinning.
He didn’t have to tell her twice.
************************************************
Killian still looked pale, but the smile that graced his face told Emma that he really would be okay. For some odd reason the sight of him awake and smiling made tears spill down her cheeks. He held his hand out to her, and she came, readily. She sat gingerly on the edge of the hospital bed, and he gave her a cheeky grin.
“That’s all I get? Remember when Gold ran me over with his car? You didn’t stand on ceremony then.”
Emma laughed through her tears. She would never forget that night; racing through the pouring rain to stop Killian before he committed murder, Belle on her heels, then rounding the bend to see Killian flying across the hood of Gold’s Cadillac. She had been so relieved to find out he was okay, that she had crawled right into bed with him, amidst all the wires and tubes.
But that had been Killian her best friend. This was different.
“Emma?” he asked.
Yes, this was different. But he was still her best friend. Her best friend and her lover. He was both. She knew that now. So she curled up against his side, gingerly so she wouldn’t hurt him. He held her close, pressing his face into her hair and breathing her in. They stayed that way in silence for several minutes, Emma drawing circles on Killian’s chest with her fingertips while he traced his down her arm.
Finally, Killian broke the silence. “Emma, I’m sorry. For that night after The Rabbit Hole. I knew you were drunk, so I should have put the brakes on. But when you kissed me and asked me to stay, I just lost my head. I was weak. This isn’t the way I imagined telling you this, but . . . I love you Emma. I have for a long time. So when you kissed me that night –“
“I know,” she cut him off.
“You do?”
Emma craned her neck to look up at him. “You talked in your sleep.”
Killian groaned. “No wonder you took off before I even woke up.”
“But you can’t take the blame for the next day,” Emma clarified before he could apologize for that, too. “I pretty much tackled you.” She paused for a moment. “You can’t take the blame for anything. I don’t want you too. I wasn’t that drunk. I knew what I was doing.”
They were quiet for a few moments longer. Finally, Emma felt him squirm a bit beneath her, and she knew what he was about to ask her.
“Emma, before I passed out, I heard some things . . .”
Emma chuckled and buried her face in his chest. “Yes,” she mumbled, “you did.” She pulled away from him so she could sit up and look into his eyes. “What do you remember?”
The smile he gave her was tender, yet hesitant. “You said . . . that you love me.”
She nodded, tears welling up again. She dashed them away. “I did say that. And I meant it. I love you, Killian.” She traced his cheek with her fingertips, then his lips, then she leaned down and brushed her lips to his in a kiss that was slow and sweet.
When the kiss ended, Killian spoke again before Emma could pull away. “I also heard you say . . .” he shook his head, “well, I’m afraid to repeat it. If I was dreaming, you might think I’m crazy.”
Emma pressed her forehead to his, “You weren’t dreaming, Killian. You’re going to be a father.”
She pulled back so she could see his reaction. His eyes widened in wonder, and then a slow smile filled his face. “You . . . I mean, we . . .”
Emma nodded, a smile filling her face as well, “Yes, Killian, we’re having a baby.”
He pulled her close again, peppering her face with kisses, and for the first time in so many weeks, Emma laughed. Ironically, here in a hospital, after Killian had been shot, she laughed. Killian laughed too, cupping her face in his hand. “We certainly went about all of this backwards, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, Emma laughed, “first friends, then we have sex, then I get pregnant, then we say we love each other . . . “
“Now all that’s left is for us to get married,” Killian finished for her.
Emma blinked twice in shock, but not at Killian’s words. At her own reaction.
“Know what, Jones? That’s not a bad idea.”
Emma lay down next to him again, cupping his face and kissing him passionately. She knew it wasn’t a proposal, not really, but she knew one would come. And if she knew them, it wouldn’t go at all the way anyone would expect.
**************************************************
“Watch your step, but don’t peek.”
Emma laughed as Killian guided her. “How am I supposed to watch my step and keep my eyes closed?”
Killian laughed, too, “Good point, Swan. What I meant to say was trust me.”
Emma sighed and leaned against him, “That I can do.”
The past few months had been the usual mixture of ordinary life issues and fairy tale crises. They had battled an ice queen and helped the Queen of Arendelle reunite with her sister. But in the midst of that, they had also had their first real date. Emma had gotten dressed up, and Killian had taken her to an Italian restaurant. He was a perfect gentleman, bringing her flowers, pulling out her chair, and offering her his coat when she got cold. She had worried it would be awkward, but it wasn’t. On the contrary, it was the most natural thing in the world.
Their date of course had been wonderful fuel for the Storybrooke rumor mill, despite the latest villain on the loose. But that was nothing compared to the wildfire that began when Emma’s baby bump started to show. Amazingly, Emma had come to accept that, too. In a weird way, the people of Storybrooke gossiped because they cared.
Last week, Emma and Killian had gone for the gender-reveal ultrasound. Now that they knew they were having a little girl, they had spent the day making a baby registry. And now Killian informed her that he had his own special gift for their baby girl. Which was why Emma was standing . . . wherever she was, with her eyes shut tight.
“Okay,” Killian told her, a slight edge of nervousness in his voice, “you can open them now.”
Emma had no idea what this special gift could be, but this? This wasn’t on her list of possibilities. It was . . . a house. An adorable blue Victorian with white trim and a wraparound porch. It even had a turret – a turret! Emma turned in a circle to see a beautiful, big front lawn with a white picket fence. She blinked as she took it all in, including the big pink bow on the door.
Killian scratched behind his ear then gestured with his hook to the front door, “That was the best I could do with wrapping it.”
Emma still stood there, speechless, so Killian grabbed her hand and pulled her up the front steps and through the front door. “See,” he said, “an open floor plan.” He pulled her further into the living room to stand in front of a bank of bay windows. “And an ocean view.”
He was blushing now, all the way to the tips of his elf-shaped ears, and Emma knew she ought to say something. But words just wouldn’t come. He pulled her into the kitchen and gestured with his arms, a cocky grin on his face.
“And here’s where we can put that kitchen table of mine that you love so much,” he winked at her, and that got a chuckle out of her. Killian gently caressed her burgeoning belly and then knelt to whisper to the babe inside. “That’s how we got you, little one.”
Emma laughed fully then, throwing her head back. When she looked down, he was still grinning rakishly, and she mussed his hair. He got to his feet and offered her his hook. Once she took it, he gently pulled her up the stairs. He showed her the first room on the left, which would be Henry’s, then a small bathroom. Then he opened the next door with a flourish; the one with the turret. Inside, that piece of architecture was a nook with a bank of windows. Below them was a window seat.
“Can’t you just see her, Swan?” he asked eagerly. “Sitting here, curled up with a book?”
She could, she could see it, but damn it, the words were still lodged in her throat. She swallowed and nodded, feeling like the bob came across terse. Killian frowned, and she hated it. But then he grinned again, a bit more nervously this time, and pulled her down the hall to the master suite. There was a huge bathroom with a garden tub and double sinks. The room itself had an arched ceiling and was big enough for a king size bed. He offered her both his hook and hand, which she took. He walked backwards, leading her slowly towards a set of French doors. He let go of her briefly to open them, then guided her onto a balcony. Emma’s heart beat faster as she stepped up to the railing. Killian came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her now broad waist.
“Look,” she was finally able to breathe, “you can see the Jolly Roger.”
“Aye,” he replied softly, resting his chin on her shoulder. They stayed there quietly like that, until finally, he asked her softly, hesitantly, “Do you like it?”
She turned in his arms, her eyes wet with tears, “No, Killian, I love it.”
His face relaxed with obvious relief. “Good. You had me a bit worried for a minute there. I mean, buying a house without asking you – “
Emma cut him off with a kiss. In it, she attempted to pour out all the love she felt for this man. When she pulled back, she cupped his face in her hands, “We do things backwards, remember?”
Killian smiled and nodded, “Aye, we do. Which is why I thought this would be the perfect place for this . . . “ He sunk down to one knee as he pulled a little velvet box out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He opened it to reveal a glittering diamond solitaire. Emma’s smile wobbled as tears welled up again.
“Emma Swan, you’re my best friend. We do almost everything together. I also love you from the very depth of my soul. Want to make it all official and marry me?” The thickness of his voice contradicted the lopsided grin on his face.
Emma nodded her head vehemently, offering her ring finger as she blurted out, “Yes!”
He slipped the ring on her finger, then stood and gathered her tenderly in his arms. He kissed her awkwardly as they both laughed giddily against each other’s lips. Then they turned, Emma leaning back against his chest, and his arms around her as they watched the sun set behind the mast of the Jolly Roger.
Her mother had been right; true love had found her. And Emma Swan planned on never letting it go.