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“The everything omelet.”
“You want a coffee with that?”
“Black. I’ll add the sugars myself.”
“Got ya, hon.”
Killian nods at the elderly waitress and moves away from the counter, avoiding the people who are starting to gather around. The place is odd but in a quaint sort of way. The booths have old leather that are cracking in places, the walls are covered in a woodland wallpaper, and from the looks of it, not much has been updated in the past few decades other than some of the cookware. If he wasn’t starving, he wouldn’t have stopped, but his stomach was roaring and his head was starting to ache from lack of sleep and lack of caffeine. His low opinion of the place seems not to be shared by the people of the town, however, because with each passing second, more people come in, filling the leather seats and ordering mountains of food.
Storybrooke, Maine.
Liam once lived here for a few months when he was on leave because an old buddy had told him about how relaxing it was. Killian remembers a few letters, even fewer phone calls, but Liam was happy. Killian remembers that. He’d met a woman who struck his fancy, and after years spent in the high-stress environment of Her Majesty’s Navy, Liam liked living in a place where the pace was slow and the people were kind. In a small way, Killian gets that. He’s spent the past seventeen years of his life in the Navy himself, and he could use a slower pace, not necessarily this slow but slow all the same. Flying across an ocean to constantly just to stay on the road doesn’t do much for that, but he isn’t sure what to do or where to go now that he’s entirely on his own.
No Liam, no Milah, no anyone.
It’s a world he never thought he would see himself in, but here he is in Storybrooke hoping that the omelet doesn’t taste like shit.
Killian settles down on a barstool at the edge of the counter that’s closest to the window and looks outside. It’s the beginning of October now, and the leaves have begun to change, many of them falling. It’s much sunnier here than in England, where the air and ground are always wet and the sky often dark, and though the quaint nature of the town rubs him the wrong way, he does appreciate the weather. It’s cool and crisp, yes, but the sun feels good on his skin.
It’s been a long time since something did.
His eye catches a woman walking outside. She’s got long blonde hair that looks much like the sunshine he was just admiring. It’s hidden under a knit beanie with a large white ball of fuzz on top. She’s of medium height and thin, the denim on her legs hugging each and every curve, and she’s wearing a long red and black checkered coat, bundled up against the slight chill. She’s beautiful, but so are many women. He doesn’t know why she’s caught his eye until she turns, and he sees the lad she’s walking with, a small boy with brown hair that is holding her hand, almost reluctantly if Killian had to guess. Killian’s never been good with ages, but he can’t be more than ten or eleven.
Is he her son? He couldn’t be. She’s much too young for that.
They turn and walk up the steps into the diner, the little bell ringing over the door, and the boy immediately runs toward a couple sitting in a booth, sliding in next to the woman as the blonde woman from outside slides in next to the man. Are they family? Friends? He couldn’t tell, and it’s none of his damn business.
He’s here…well, he doesn’t know why he’s here other than to get some food and inquire about a place to stay.
“Here you go.” The woman who took his order places his food in front of him. There’s bread and bacon on the side of his omelet, sides he definitely didn’t order. “The sides are no extra charge. You look hungry.”
“Thank you,” Killian mumbles, pulling the plate closer. He picks up his fork, ready to begin eating, but he feels the woman’s eyes hovering over him. “Is there something I can help you with, love?”
“You’re not from here.”
“The accent give me away?” he chuckles, flashing her a bright smile.
She huffs and crosses her arms. He’s never been so terrified of a woman twice his age. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been so terrified by anyone. “You need place to stay? Or are you passing through? Not many people pass through here. Though, there was this British man a few years ago who took up with our Elsa, but I believe he was the last one who had no kin here who didn’t come here during the summer months for vacation.”
Killian’s chest aches, and he hasn’t had any of the bacon yet to clog his arteries. “A place to stay would be nice, love.”
“I run the inn that’s connected to this place. I’ll get you a room if you want it. Everyone calls me Granny.”
“Nice to make you acquaintance. Killian.”
She finally smiles. “Nice to meet you as well. Eat your food before it gets cold.”
“Aye, lass,” he laughs, “of course. Thank you.”
-/-
Elsa’s home is in a more affluent neighborhood in Storybrooke. Killian only knows that because he spent the entire day walking around the town, racking up miles on his boots and taking it all in. The town is bigger than he thought. Main street seems to be where all the shops are, but the further he traveled, the more he saw. There are apartments mixed into businesses, neighborhoods and grocery stores spread out around the schools, several beach houses along the shoreline, and several miles away from the heart of the town, are gated neighborhoods with houses bigger than anything he’s ever seen other than the homes in the country sides of England.
Elsa’s house is white brick with natural wood accents, and the door is, well, intimidating. He’s not often intimidated, but this town keeps doing that to him.
He should have called or written or let her know he was coming.
Then again, there was no guarantee he was ever going to cross the town line. Many times he thought about turning his bike around, but he didn’t.
He should have.
The sun is setting behind him, oranges and pinks covering the once blue sky, and Killian inhales before stepping up to the door and pressing his finger against the bell.
It takes her long enough to open the door that he nearly turns away, but then she’s coming into view, still dressed in her scrubs from work. They’ve never met, but she recognizes him. The widening of her eyes and parting of her lips tells him so.
“Killian?”
“Aye, love. I – ”
He doesn’t get to finish his words before she’s hugging him, fiercely holding on, and he’s moving his arms to embrace her as well. She’s a stranger, but she’s not, not truly. To him, she’s the last tie he has to Liam, the only other person who loved him too, even if that was years ago.
“What are you doing here?” she whispers.
“I retired from the Navy, didn’t have much to do, and I ended up here.”
Simple, concise, and enough of the truth that it passes muster.
Elsa pats his back and pulls away with a soft smile. “Won’t you come in for some tea?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I – ”
“You’re coming in.”
She turns and walks inside the house, leaving him to make the choice of whether to stay or go, and in his head, he hears Liam tell him to go inside. He’d call him a ponce and slap the back of his head if he didn’t, so Killian steps forward and walks inside the house. The inside is just as pristine as the outside, everything in shades of white and blue, and he easily finds the kitchen where Elsa is puttering around putting on some tea. Killian sits at a barstool and looks down to see a white cat moving around Elsa’s feet. He remembers Liam mentioning something about the “bloody fucking cat” but this creature looks much sweeter than the one Liam described.
He wishes Liam had shared more, had been more open. Killian is grasping at straws when it comes to Liam’s time here, so much so that he traveled an ocean and wandered into this place looking for any firm grasp on Liam when there was never any guarantee of finding anything.
“How are you?” Killian asks, shaking himself out of his melancholy. “How is work? Do you still work at the hospital? In pediatrics if I remember correctly?”
“I’m still there, loving it even when it’s hard. My sister and her husband just moved to town, so that’s also really nice. Anna is a nurse, and even though she works on a different floor than me, she’s always finding her way to my office.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Yeah, yeah, it is.” She turns from the stove and looks at him. “So, retirement? Aren’t you a little too young for that?”
Killian holds up his left hand, the red scars lining it, before hiding it underneath the countertop. It’s instinct to answer by showing off the scars on his hand, the inability for his fingers to close all the way into a fist, to talk about the aches in his wrist when he holds it in one position for too long or when it gets too cold outside. But when he did talk, that was to doctors, to his officers, to everyone who needed to know about the injuries he suffered in his car crash. Elsa doesn’t need to know about any of that.
“Younger than I expected to be, but I was there for seventeen years. Not too young.”
“Ah, yes, because everyone retires in their mid thirties.”
Killian shrugs and reaches for his left wrist, massaging it. “I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life behind a computer screen, and I figured it was time for a change. When the retirement offer came in, I took it.”
He’s medically retired, something he didn’t have to take since he did mostly work with computers and logistics with very few deployments and missions on Naval ships, but something told him to take it and leave. It might have been the heartache over losing Liam and Milah within two years of each other, but mostly, he thinks he needed the change.
“Good, good. Liam always talked about how hard you worked. He was always so proud of you and bragged about how brilliant you were.”
“That’s an honor coming from him,” he blushes.
She turns the kettle off and pours water in the mugs before bringing him a mug and settling across the island from him. “I miss him too, Killian, and I wish we could have met before this.”
He nods with a tight press of his lips. This is much more difficult than he expected it to be. “I agree.”
“But, better late than never.” She smiles and lifts her mug moving it toward his for a toast. She’s resilient, this one, and he wishes he were more like her. “Now, tell me about your plans while you’re here. Do you have a place to stay?”
“Granny’s Inn. Other than that, I don’t have many plans. I just…” He shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip of his tea. “I have money saved up, have a visa to let me stay for a long while, and I thought it would be nice to relax and do nothing while I figure things out.”
“I think that sounds perfect. You can stay in my guest room if you want to save money.”
“No, love, I couldn’t.”
“I insist.”
“And I insist that the inn his fine.”
“Elsa, oh my gosh, I have to tell you about this lunatic that came into the restaurant today. He literally asked me if I was on the menu. Why would anyone think that would ever work? What an assh – oh.”
Killian looks toward the new voice, and he sees the blonde from this morning sliding open the doors that lead to Elsa’s backyard. She’s in a pair of checkered pajamas now, her face free of makeup and her hair piled on top of her head.
But he thinks he’d recognize her anywhere.
What is she doing here?
Really, what is he doing here? That’s the question he should still be asking himself, especially as his skin continues to crawl with nerves and regrets, a combination he’s tiring of.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company. I’ll come back later.”
“Emma,” Elsa starts before the lass can leave, “this is Killian Jones, Liam’s younger brother.”
The woman blinks and takes another step back, one foot in the house and one foot out. “Oh. Nice to meet you.”
“Did you know Liam?” he asks. He doesn’t know why, but it would be nice to know of more people who got to see him and know him. He has to remind himself that’s why he’s here.
“We met a few times, but I didn’t know him well. I’m sorry for your loss.” Killian clicks his tongue and takes a sip of his tea, only humming in return. “Elsa, I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”
“Yeah, Emma, that’s fine. I’ll come by when Killian leaves if it’s not too late.”
Emma nods and leaves the house, quickly shutting the sliding door behind her. Killian has twenty different questions, but he doesn’t ask any of them. It’s none of his business. Nothing here is.
“Emma and her son live in my guest house,” Elsa explains anyway. “Have for about six years now, I think. They’re really nice company.”
“You have a guest house?”
Elsa hums, “yeah. It pays for itself when it’s rented out, and Emma and Henry are great. I feel like I’m his aunt I’ve known him for so long.”
“That’s great that you have them.”
Elsa nods and smiles, holding her mug to her lips. “Are you hungry, Killian?”
“No, no…listen, I think I should head back to the inn, but would you like to get coffee, or tea of course, sometime this weekend? If it’s not too much trouble for you. Liam said – ”
“Do you want his things? He left a few things here, and they’re really yours. I promise. I have no right to them.”
Killian reaches across the island and places his hand over Elsa’s, squeezing and hoping she doesn’t notice the scars he nearly displayed to her earlier. “You loved him, too. You have every right to keep everything. I simply thought that I’d like to get to know you, that…”
“There’s no need to explain.” Her smile is a kind comfort, and Killian could use more of those. “Come over for dinner Saturday night. I have been meaning to make lasagna all week, and this gives me a perfect opportunity, especially since you’re staying at Granny’s when you could be staying in my perfectly acceptable guest room. You’ll need food other than hers.”
Killian nods toward the backyard. “I think you have enough company.”
Elsa shakes her head. “I was alone for a long time. I like the company now.”
-/-
His first week in Storybrooke passes by slowly. People stare at him as he walks down the street, like he’s the first foreigner they’ve ever seen, but few actually say anything to him. Some nod, others smile, and a few say hello. Most whisper about him, and from what he overhears, they all know he’s Liam’s younger brother, the moniker that will always follow Killian in any place where Liam walked before him.
Killian explores the town, buys a leather jacket with a warm interior from a shop on Main Street, picks through a pawn shop that gives him gooseflesh with each passing second he spends inside of it, and spends a hell of a lot of time sitting by the pier watching the waves crest in and out. The temperature is even lower by the water, but he doesn’t mind letting his nose go red as the breeze runs over him. He’s used to that kind of weather, and as much as he doesn’t miss England, he is happy to have a wee bit of home with him when he can find it.
Storybrooke, he’s finding, is even more like the small towns in made-for-television movies than he originally thought. Of course, at night around the bars and the restaurants things can become less kept, but that’s rare. He was getting a drink at the Rabbit Hole, minding his own business, on Wednesday night, and the police were called to break up one fight from two men who were apparently dating the same woman. They found out about it when she showed up at the bar with another man. That man, however, was smart enough not to get into the fight. From what Killian can tell, that was the biggest drama the town has seen all week.
Besides him, of course.
He is the talk of the town, the whisper in the streets, the person everyone wants to get an eye on. Granny tells him every morning of another person who came into the diner or the inn asking about him, but he ignores it, getting his coffee and omelet, minding his own business. Eventually the hype will die down, likely when he’s ready to depart from this place and move onto the next adventure, and he’ll be nothing but a passing thought to anyone but Elsa.
Though, he knows he’s about to meet more people because as he walks to Elsa’s place Saturday evening, he can see several people sitting in her dining room through the large window in the front. He figured it wouldn’t be just the two of them, but he wasn’t expecting this much of a crowd.
Killian straightens his shoulders, tugs his shirt sleeve down, and plasters a half-cocked smile on his face. Might as well charm the crowd if he can.
He presses the doorbell, and the kid, Emma’s son, answers it.
“Who are you?”
“Killian Jones. Who are you?”
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“I imagine you’re not supposed to be answering the door then either.”
His cheeks turn red, and Killian swears he sees a little mischief in the lad’s smile.
“Henry, oh my God, what are you doing?” Emma hurries around the corner from the dining room to the front door, where her green eyes blow wide upon seeing him. She’s not in her pajamas tonight. Instead, she’s in a green dress, flannel tied around her waist, and has on a pair of sneakers. Her hair is pulled up, and she looks relaxed. Yet again, he finds himself fascinated by her, but he can’t pinpoint why other than his obvious attraction to her. That’s probably all there is to it. He’s a man who succumbs to his baser nature often, so it shouldn’t shock him when he’s attracted to an undeniably beautiful woman. “Oh, hi. Um, Killian, right?”
“Aye,” he nods. “It’s nice to see you Emma…”
“Swan. And this is Henry, who is not supposed to answer the door unless I tell him it’s okay.” Henry moves from underneath his mother’s arm, and sheepishly smiles before running into the room opposite the dining area. “Sorry about that. I’m letting him play XBOX while we eat, and I think the excitement has made him forget everything I’ve ever taught him about talking to people he doesn’t know.”
“It’s not a problem, love.” Her head tilts, but she quickly corrects herself and points to the bottle of wine in his hand. “Uh, come inside, and I’ll take that.”
Before he can say anything, she’s taking the bottle out of his hands and hurrying through the house. Killian follows behind her, closing the front door and stopping in the dining room where he’s greeted by Elsa and the rest of her guests. He recognizes her sister Anna from the bit of snooping he did online, her husband Kris too, but Ariel and Eric are new to him. Eric owns several of the fishing boats at the doc while Ariel is a swimming coach at the local gym and at the schools, and they both inform him they knew Liam as well and give their condolences for his loss. He gives his perfunctory response before meeting David and Mary Margaret Nolan, a detective and school teacher, and he recognizes them from the diner on his first day in town. Mary Margaret greets him with kind words and an even kinder smile, and while David does the same, there seems to be a bit of apprehension in his gaze. It’s likely a hazard of his job, but Killian hopes he’s imagining things as his nerves are fraying being around so many people.
Not since Milah’s funeral has he been around this many people in a casual setting outside of work where he’s expected to engage with everyone. Though, he damn well knows that a funeral and a dinner party are not the same thing.
Emma comes back into the room with a glass of wine in hand – not his – and he thinks she may be his saving grace from the interrogation he’s receiving from David, but she’s not. Instead, she stays in the corner of the room, sipping at her drink, and he reminds himself that he doesn’t know her.
He doesn’t know any of these people, not even Elsa who fell in love with his brother.
Who his brother fell in love with as well, and from all Liam told Killian, Liam wanted to make a future with Elsa.
Why the hell is Killian here? What good did he think would come from this?
“It’s more time consuming than it usually is,” Mary Margaret remarks as Killian spoons more lasagna in his mouth a little later into the evening. “I know it gets bigger every year, and I’m thankful for that, but I don’t know how we’re going to handle it without more help. It’s not enough with the two of us and you guys when you can swing it, not that I’m not grateful for all your help.”
“Can you hire anyone?” Elsa suggests. “Teenagers maybe?”
“We’re looking into it, but City Hall is being difficult. You have to have special permits for kids to work, especially temporarily, and not a lot of them are willing to volunteer, which would get us around the permits.”
“What do you need help with?” Killian asks. Somewhere along the way he missed a large part of the conversation, and it’s not like him to zone out.
“Oh.” Mary Margaret pats her mouth with her napkin. “David and I live on a farm, so we have all this land that we don’t have much use for. We have a fall festival every year. It started off small, only a few dozen people, but it’s been getting bigger every year. We’re a little overwhelmed, especially with our jobs being so busy, and we’re having a hard time finding adults who want the temporary work since it’s not a lot of money.”
He doesn’t give himself time to think about his words and his commitment until he speaks. “I can help. What do you need? Manual labor?”
The room quiets, conversation stopping and silverware clacking against porcelain dishes, and he can feel everyone’s eyes on him.
“Excuse me?” David asks. “You want to help us?”
Killian shrugs and puts his own silverware down. “I’m currently without a job, and while I don’t know if you can hire me because I’m not from around here, I would like a way to stay busy. I’m good for the work.”
“Why are you here?” David asks, and the man is full of questions.
“David,” Mary Margaret hisses, and Killian catches Ariel giving David a look out of the side of her eye.
“What? A stranger comes into town, is living in the inn, and he’s offering up all his time to work at our festival? I am entitled to asking some questions.”
Mary Margaret shakes her head at her husband. She must be used to this. “If you want to work for us, come by the elementary school Monday afternoon, and we’ll talk. Don’t worry. David won’t be there.”
“Thank you.” Killian smiles at Mary Margaret, but eyes are still on him, staring him down. “I’ve just retired from Her Majesty’s Navy, and as you all know, my brother lived here for awhile. I thought it would be a nice place to see and to meet Elsa.”
That’s why he’s here, he reminds himself for the hundredth time. He’s here to feel closer to Liam.
“And I’m thrilled to have you here,” Elsa interjects. “Does anyone want dessert? More wine? Anything?”
The dinner goes on, people laughing and talking, but Killian feels out of place. When he’s allowed the opportunity to move around, he takes it, wandering outside.
Elsa’s backyard is small but well manicured. She’s got a small deck and fire pit with cushioned chairs around it, and she has a bit of yard for flowers and a swing set, which he imagines is for Henry. The guest house is situated in the back and is matching white brick to Elsa’s home. It’s two floors with few windows, and Killian imagines it was once meant to be a garage. It’s a nice home, though, and he can see why Emma and Henry would like it. Henry’s father is obviously not in the picture from what Killian gleamed at dinner, and while Killian would like to ask, it’s not of his concern.
There’s motion behind him, and Killian turns to see Emma sitting on the cushioned chair across from him, mug in hand that has whipped cream piling over the top. She crosses her legs and settles down, letting the fire warm her.
“You’re going to want comfortable shoes,” she says.
“Pardon?” Killian hums.
“To work for David and Mary Margaret, you’re going to want comfortable shoes that you don’t mind getting dirty. When they say farm, they mean it.”
“Aye, I understood. Do you work for them?”
Emma shrugs and takes a sip of her drink. “I did when I first moved here, and now I volunteer so Henry can spend his weekends wandering around the festival.”
“How long does this thing go on?”
“Every weekend in November. It’s a big deal around here, almost as big of a deal as you showing up.”
Killian huffs and blows cold air out of his nose. “So I’ve noticed. This town not get a lot of visitors?”
“Tourists, yes, but not this time of year. You’re an oddity that people want to know more about.”
“Are you one of those people, love?” he challenges, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
“No.”
“Really?” he teases, moving his brows and changing his smile. “I think you would.”
“I think you know nothing about me,” Emma counters.
He leans back and crosses his right leg over his knee, eyeing her. “Perhaps I’d like to.”
The fire catches the color in her eyes, but it also catches the ire. Whatever casual conversation he was making is gone now, and he knows he took it all too far with his teasing. He may not know much about Emma Swan, but it’s easy to see she has buttons she doesn’t like to be pushed.
He wants to push them all the more. What the hell has come over him?
Despite what some have thought, however, Killian isn’t an idiot, and he can stop himself from going too far.
“Comfortable shoes,” Emma reminds him before getting up and moving back inside, leaving him alone by the fire.
-/-
He meets Mary Margaret on Monday after she’s finished teaching, and she gives him the details on the fall festival and how he can help them. For now, he’ll cut the grass on the lands, power wash the buildings, help set up the different booths when the time gets closer to November – the damned thing apparently does happen every weekend in November and on the first weekend of December when local vendors sell Christmas goods – and take care of a few of the animals. He doesn’t have a bloody clue about farm animals, but it’s a solid gig that will pay for his place at Granny’s and allow him not to lose any of his savings.
Henry Swan sits in the corner of the room the entire time Mary Margaret tells Killian about his job, and Mary Margaret explains that he’s in her class and she watches him when Emma’s at the restaurant. She’s a manager at one of the finer dining establishments in town, and she works odd hours but tries to be home to help with dinner and his homework.
“Are you from London?” Henry asks when Killian is walking out the classroom door.
“Birmingham, which is also in England like London.”
“I know that!”
“Smart lad.” Killian reaches down and ruffles the boy’s hair, which he almost regrets until Henry laughs. Killian’s got no bloody clue what to do around kids. He seems to simply not have a bloody clue. “Are you from Storybrooke? I’m not sure I recognize your accent.”
He giggles again and looks up, his eyes a shade of brown he must get from his father. His mother’s eyes are the most brilliant shade of green Killian’s ever seen. “I’m from Boston! Mom says I should be thankful she moved us here because now I won’t have a funny accent like you.”
“Oi,” Killian laughs at the same time Mary Margaret scolds, “Henry!”
“It’s fine, lass,” Killian insists. “I know I’m the odd one out with accents here. Sir Henry, I’ll be seeing you around, aye? I hear you’re the man to go to if one is in need of a good grilled cheese.”
“Granny’s makes a good one, but my mom and I make the best one.”
“I hope to be able to try it one day.” Killian winks and turns to Mary Margaret. “I’ll be at the farm at sunrise tomorrow.”
“See you then, Killian. Thank you. David and I really appreciate this.”
-/-
The early morning hours remind him of his time serving, especially when he was younger and worked before sunrise and long after sunset, but it’s invigorating to be up and doing something with his hands with little pressure behind the actions. He gets frustrated a few times when his left hand doesn’t cooperate. Sometimes the pain burns too much, other times the damn thing is too numb and his fingers can’t grip, but he figures it out, even if he loses control of the power washer and water shoots at some of the horses before he can turn it off. It’s frustrating not to be fully in control of himself, and while some nights it drives him to a bottle of rum so the only numb thing isn’t his hand but also his brain, he’s trying not to do that here, even if being here is more difficult than he thought it would be.
He could leave at any time, but now he feels committed to helping out the Nolans despite not having a real obligation to them.
Besides, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do after this, so biding his time seems like the best option.
Little by little, he gets used to the work, and his muscles don’t groan each morning when he wakes. His hand is a different story, but it’s one he’s growing used to. The Nolans, despite David’s sometimes cold shoulder, are good people and good bosses, and they keep him busy while paying him well. Their land is expansive, green grass that’s beginning to brown covering miles of land, a lake in the center of it with a bridge that crosses over to a small patch of land under a large weeping willow tree. That’s where their dog likes to spend his time, and Killian often does the same, eating his lunch there when he doesn’t drive back to town for it.
The days pass, the leaves change and fall, and the townspeople stare less and less at Killian. He learns several names, hears backstories he’d rather not know, and he is able to ascertain how this little town clicks.
Granny feeds everyone – and knows all their business – her granddaughter Ruby flirts with everyone, Leroy announces everyone’s business, and the mayor makes everyone’s business harder for her own personal pleasure. Mary Margaret is so kind the birds must help her get dressed in the morning, Elsa and Anna keep the hospital running with their willpower alone, and everyone treats Henry like he’s their kid.
Killian’s got everyone figured out but Emma Swan, even though so much of her is an open book to him. There are a few words missing, a couple paragraphs that have been blurred out, but there’s one thing he sees in her because he recognizes it in himself.
She’s been left before, and that loss stung her.
Killian sees her often at the farm. She comes to pick Henry up after she finishes her shifts, and she spends a lot of her weekends sitting by the lake with Henry and the Nolans, a cooler of food next to them. Sometimes Ruby will come with her, sometimes not, and on occasion, he’s waved over by Mary Margaret who asks him to join them for lunch. He doesn’t feel the most welcomed, especially not at first, but he likes to think he grows on everyone, even if it’s as an obnoxious bugger.
Something inside of him hopes that Emma learns to like him. He doesn’t know what it is about her that makes him fancy her, especially since it’s been quite some time since he fancied a woman for more than one night, but there is something about Emma Swan that continues to draw him in to her.
Maybe one day he’ll figure it out.
In the last week of October, Henry tells Killian it’s his mom’s birthday when he’s helping Killian feed the horses. She doesn’t like big parties, but Mary Margaret is throwing her one anyway. He would expect nothing less of the lass.
“You should come to the party!” Henry exclaims. “Mom wants you to be there.”
Killian fills the bucket with feed. “I don’t think your mum cares if I attend her party or not.”
“Trust me, she does.”
Killian raises his brow at that, but he doesn’t get much of a chance to question it before there’s a crunch of leaves behind them as Emma comes into the corner of Killian’s eyes. She’s bundled up in another thick red coat and the same beanie he saw her wear on the first day. He had to invest in one himself to keep his ears warm, but he doesn’t have the puff ball on top. He’d look bloody ridiculous if he did.
“I what?” Emma asks. She leans back against the fence and crosses her arms.
“You want Killian to come to your birthday party!”
Emma cuts her eyes at Henry, but he doesn’t back down. Persistent lad. Takes after his mum there.
“Your boy was telling me it’s your birthday, Swan.” Killian smiles and moves closer to her, swaying away from the horses and into her space. He ducks his head and looks into her eyes, forcing her to look at him. “Happy birthday, love.”
Her cheeks turn red, and it has nothing to do with the nip in the air. “Thanks.” Emma shuffles her feet and glances between him and the Nolans’ house. “If you want to come tonight, you can. I don’t like parties, but it’ll be fun. They do a big bonfire, and we play games and make s’mores. David will shell out the big bucks for good pizza. It’s kind of like our own private test run of the bonfire and the hayride and all that kind of stuff before the festival starts.”
“All that for you?”
Emma flips a bit of her hair off her shoulders. “I’ve been told I’m a special woman.”
“Now that, that I believe.”
Killian loses his footing and moves closer, the white puff of air coming from his mouth intertwining with Emma’s, and they’re so close he can smell the perfume on her neck. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
And it’s intoxicating.
“Uh, what are you guys doing?” Henry asks, and Emma is the first to move back, her cheeks even more enflamed.
“I was telling Killian a secret about my party, kid. One you can’t know about yet.”
“If it’s that your cake is bigger than my head, I already know that.”
Emma sticks her tongue out at Henry and presses her hands down on his shoulders, guiding him away and back to the house.
“I’ll see you tonight, love,” Killian shouts after Emma, and when she turns around and smiles, he’s left wondering what the hell he did to deserve that.
More importantly, how can he earn it again?
-/-
There’s hay in his arse.
It somehow wormed its way into his jeans, and it’s scratching like the devil. He’s so distracted by it that he barely notices the warmth of Emma’s leg pressing into his thigh, but it would be impossible for him not to notice.
The trailer for the hay ride is on the small side and is only one of the three used for the festival, so ten or so people are all crammed inside of it. It’s not bad, especially with how cold the night is and how much that’s causing his hand to ache, but he would really like a moment to dislodge the hay. For now, he knows he can’t move, and he hopes everyone else is suffering the same misfortune as him.
David drives them through the grounds, the road bumping underneath them, but other than that and the hay, it’s pleasant. Everyone packed in tight together makes the chill in the air less prevalent, and the stars are out in full force tonight. Killian can’t remember the last time he took in the stars, and he should have done so more, especially with how often he’s been out here with nothing but open skies ahead.
Killian looks down from the sky when he hears Elsa’s voice, but she’s only talking to Anna and Will Scarlet and is paying him no attention. She looks happy, carefree, and it’s good to see. They’ve spent a lot of nights talking about their grief when it comes to Liam, and she should be happy. She deserves that, and while he knows she won’t admit it to him, she’s been seeing another doctor at the hospital. Henry let that piece of information slip, and Killian was genuinely happy that she’s able to take steps forward and move on.
In the back of his mind, he knows he probably deserves to move on, to be happy too. He couldn’t have saved Liam. He wasn’t anywhere near his ship when the accident happened. He couldn’t have saved Milah. She was the one driving, and the medics told him she was dead on impact.
There was nothing he ever could have done, and he needs to let the blame off his shoulders, at least for tonight.
“Henry keeps trying to teach me all the constellations,” Emma whispers, and Killian twists his head to look at her. “He knows more of them than I do, and I can guarantee he’s telling David about all of them up in the cab of the truck.”
“You can navigate with the stars if you’re in a pinch. They teach all of us to do that in the Navy, even if most of my time was spent on land behind a computer.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he hums, his leg pressing a little further into hers. “I can talk to Henry about it if you want, help him finish learning, help you learn too.”
“Being nice to my kid isn’t going to help you get close to me.”
“That is not what I’m doing.”
“That is exactly what you’re doing.”
Killian laughs and brings his travel cup of hot chocolate to his lips. Emma made it for him before they left the bonfire, and he’s now learned that she puts cinnamon in her drink. It’s different, but he likes it.
“I like your boy. He’s a good kid.” Killian shrugs. “That said, I also fancy you from time to time when you’re not giving me the cold shoulder.” He accentuates his words by pressing his shoulder into hers, and Emma blows air out of her nose. “But I would never use Henry to get close to you.”
“You would be the first.”
He turns to try to see her face, but she’s turned away, her profile lit by the moonlight, pale skin illuminated until it glows.
“I’m no stranger to fucking things up when it comes to women, but any man who uses your son to get to you is a bastard who deserves neither of you. I’m sorry, Swan.”
“Thanks.” She turns back, her lips in a firm line, but she forces the corners upward. “So, was that really your first s’more earlier?”
“It was. Are they always that messy?”
Emma laughs, and it’s a sound to behold. “Messier, usually, but always worth it. If you’re going to be here for awhile, you’ve got to try all the classic things.”
“I’ve not yet had a lobster roll, and we are in Maine.”
“We have to fix that,” Emma scoffs. “I’ve got Tuesday off. We can go to the Fish Shack by the pier. I know it sounds disgusting, but they have the best lobster rolls.”
“If you insist, Swan.”
“Oh, I do.”
-/-
The lobster roll is delicious, but the company is even better. He’s not sure what’s shifted between the two of them, but something definitely has.
Killian can’t say he minds.
-/-
On Halloween, Henry and Emma both dress as Spiderman, Henry’s latest superhero obsession. He sees them when they come into Granny’s for supplies – Emma’s words – in between houses during their trick or treating campaign. Emma’s costume is only the slightest bit distracting, even when she’s stuffing an entire grilled cheese sandwich in her mouth, and Killian tries to keep his focus on Henry showing him all his candy. The kid is going to be high on sugar for weeks.
There’s only a slight terror in Emma’s eyes when Killian mentions that.
“I’ll eat half of it,” she shrugs, flipping her hair off her shoulders. She’s not wearing the mask like Henry, and Henry has claimed it ruins the illusion. “And I’ll hide a lot of it in my secret stash. It’s every mom’s must.”
“Has he not found it yet?”
Emma presses up on her toes and cups her hands around Killian’s ear so her lips press against his skin. “It’s in Elsa’s house.”
She pulls back and walks away, hips swaying a little extra in her stride, and while his vision might have blurred from the distraction of her lips on his skin, he swears she winks.
Killian’s got no clue what he’s gotten himself into.
-/-
The first day of the festival is hectic. Killian’s been moved from maintaining the grounds to helping with cleaning up and making sure no one harms the animals, and his feet never stop moving. Emma was right about needing comfortable shoes all those weeks ago. There’s barely a moment to breathe, especially when a truck breaks down and the hayride routine is broken. In fact, there are a lot of things that seem to be broken or become delayed, and while David and Mary Margaret take it all as normal, Killian knows it can be better. He’s spent over a decade dealing in logistics and supply chains, and what he did in the Navy can be easily applied at the farm.
He spends all of Friday night working on a plan, perfects it Saturday morning, and he shows it to David and Mary Margaret thirty minutes before opening. Mary Margaret is open to the ideas, David not so much, but he tells them to let him do it all today and tomorrow. If it doesn’t work, they go back to the way things were.
-/-
It works.
He still is figuring out some kinks, but it works and makes things easier for everyone. Killian is able to sit down for a ten-minute lunch, and if anything, that makes it all worth it.
Then again, it also enables him to work side by side with Emma for most of the day, and he likes that too.
“How do you manage to get off to do this?” Killian asks as they walk over the bridge on the lake to bring more water over to the food stalls. “Aren’t weekends the busiest times for restaurants?”
“It helps when you know people…and when you’re the manager who makes the schedules.”
“So you hold all the power then?”
Emma shrugs and adjusts the cases of water in her arms. “I’ve been in food service since I was sixteen, and when we moved here, I got really lucky to get the job I have. They were in a bind, and it worked out for me. The people here are kind, and they’ve made it so I can be with Henry as much as possible. I’m sure you’ve noticed how everyone acts like he’s their kid.”
“I may have gathered that. It’s because he’s a good kid.”
“He’s a mess,” Emma corrects, “but he’s the best. His dad was…his dad was a piece of shit who put me through hell at a very young age, and it messed me up for a long time. But I got Henry out of it, and he’s been my saving grace for a lot of my life.”
Killian turns and looks at her, but she doesn’t return the move. He can see the freckles on her nose like this, that bits of blue and gold in her emerald eyes even under the shade of her baseball cap, and once more he’s struck by her beauty. Even more so, her strength.
“That was my brother for me,” Killian tells her. His hand is beginning to ache from having to clutch onto the boxes, but he ignores it. “We didn’t have much growing up, and after our mum died and we were left with our dad, Liam stepped up and helped me through it. He could be a right pain in the arse, but he was there for everything for me when he could be. It’s nice to have family.”
“Especially when you haven’t always had it.” They reach the end of the bridge and walk along the edge of the lake to place the crates of water behind the stalls. Killian’s hand is relieved, and he shakes it out until there’s feeling in it. “You okay, Jones?”
“Right as rain, love.” He flashes her a smile. “My hand can be finnicky from an old injury.”
“Navy?”
“Car accident,” he quietly admits before he can stop himself.
She clicks her tongue and reaches forward, looking at him for approval before she takes her hand. Her fingers are cold to the touch, but quickly, she starts to work a little magic, massaging away the aches and pains in a way he’s never been able to before. He can’t take his eyes off her fingers, how they move across his hand and up over his scars like it’s nothing.
Like they’re not marks that warrant shame and are reminders of one of the worst days of his life.
“Better?” Emma whispers. She looks up at him and stops massaging his hand as her lips part and her eyes widen. It would be so easy to kiss her right now, but Killian knows he shouldn’t.
That he can’t.
Not when they’re just now able to talk without mile-high barriers between them
“Aye. Thank you, love,” he says instead, flipping his hand over to squeeze hers.
-/-
The second weekend is better than the first, and the third weekend is their best yet. The crowds never thin, and very little goes wrong. It’s gotten much colder as November has progressed, and someone leaves a new coat and gloves outside his room at Granny’s. He’s got little inclination as to who did that, but then he finds a note in the pocket of the coat.
My mom didn’t want you to know she bought these, but she did. I picked out the scarf. I hope you like it!
Love, Henry Swan.
Killian smiles to himself and puts the note in his wallet for safekeeping. He won’t tell Emma about it when she obviously doesn’t want her good deed to be known, but he will hold the fact that she bought him warm clothes close to his heart.
-/-
Killian celebrates his first Thanksgiving at the farm.
It seems there are a lot of people in Storybrooke without large, full families, and the Nolans have taken them all in. The tables from the festival are put together for seating, and a buffet line has been made for food. Everyone has brought something different, some more than others, and Killian places his macaroni next to Emma’s sweet potato pie. She allowed him to use her kitchen to cook since he didn’t have access to anything else, and the two of them and Henry spent most of yesterday puttering around in the kitchen. Henry insisted that he make something too, and Killian helped him shape and decorate a plate of cookies. It’s the most unattractive plate of cookies Killian has ever seen, but Henry is proud of them. That’s all that matters.
Killian settles down in between Emma and Anna at the table, and he barely has time to eat with all the talking Anna does. Even after these two months, he still isn’t used to that. But he’s getting there.
He’s getting there with a lot of these people.
While some in town still look at him with suspicion, most have accepted his presence. Killian doesn’t understand it and doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but it’s nice. So much of the past few years has been spent shaded in darkness, and it’s pleasant to come out into the light.
Never in his life has Killian eaten so much in such a small period of time, but he doesn’t regret it. Mary Margaret fills several containers full of leftovers for everyone, and since he doesn’t have a refrigerator in his room, he keeps it all at the Nolans house. He’ll eat it for lunch and dinner over the next week or so, until he’s sick of it all.
When the dinner is over and people start to filter out, Killian moves toward the field where all of the cars are parked. His bike is up against the fence, and he’s just about to get on when he sees Emma and Henry standing outside Emma’s little yellow car.
“Problem, love?” he asks, stepping away and walking toward them.
“The car won’t start,” Henry informs him before dramatically falling onto the hood of the car.
“And Henry ate too much and is tired,” Emma finishes for her son. “It’s an old car. Sometimes it doesn’t start when it’s cold. I’ll give it a few minutes, and we’ll try again.”
“I want to go home,” Henry whines.
Emma reaches over and rubs his back. “Get in the car, kid. We’ll get home soon.”
“Can Elsa take us?”
“Elsa already left. She’s working tonight.”
“But – ”
“Henry, don’t.”
“I could take you,” Killian offers as a chilled breeze washes over them. Emma shivers, but she’d never admit it. “I can get one of David’s trucks and drive you home. Then I can take a look at your car in the morning. It’s too dark for you to have to be worrying about it now. Too cold as well.”
“Oh, I can drive the truck. It’d be less complicated that way…but if you want, you can come over for some hot chocolate and leftovers? Pie is better later anyway.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely,” Emma smiles, and Killian returns the smile, the cold melting away from him as his heart beats that little bit faster like it does every time he’s near Emma now.
-/-
Henry doesn’t last long once they’re at Emma’s place. Emma takes him upstairs to go to bed, something about making sure he brushes his teeth before falling asleep, and Killian walks around the small guest house, exploring the pieces of it he didn’t get to when he was here yesterday. The outside may match Elsa’s place, but the inside doesn’t. The furniture was obviously bought at separate times, but it still melds well together. It’s a home, one that’s lived in, and pictures of Henry line the shelves and the fireplace. In the pictures of him as an infant, Emma looks so young, and he’s reminded of how young she was when she had Henry.
Emma is resilient. She’s been through hell, but she’s still going. He likes to think he’s the same way even if he’s still working on it all.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” Emma says as she moves down the stairs. There are clothes and shoes everywhere, but they don’t bother him.
“I was here yesterday, love. You know I don’t mind.”
She shrugs and keeps walking toward the kitchen, where she starts to get out the ingredients for her hot chocolate. “Yeah, that’s a good thing because I am not at all put together.”
“I would beg to differ.”
“You would be a liar.”
“Oh, Swan, you know I don’t lie.”
She hums and ignores him, continuing to putter around to make her hot chocolate. She doesn’t use those little packets, instead going through the effort to make it decadent, and Killian leans against the small island near her, watching her be so at home here. Emma pours the milk and the cocoa powder into the saucepan, moving it around and adding in her extra ingredients until she deems it done and pours them two mugs. Emma doesn’t allow it to cool before taking a sip, coating her upper lip in chocolate.
Killian subtly points to his own upper lip. “You’ve got a little something on your lip, love.”
“Yeah, it’s called chocolate. You would know if you’d drink yours.”
“Don’t want to burn my tongue.”
“Trust me, you won’t.”
He doesn’t believe her, but he wants to stay on her good side. So he takes a sip. It doesn’t burn his tongue, and it’s definitely better than any other hot chocolate he’s had in this town. He’s nearly always surprised by that every time Emma makes him some. Emma knows it too from the way she’s smirking over the rim of her mug.
“Don’t be smug about it, love.”
“Oh, I’m not.”
Killian rolls his eyes and puts his mug down before stepping forward and getting in her space, dipping his head until they’re eye-level. He raises his hand and taps the corner of her mouth with his pointer finger. “This smile, darling, is a smug one.”
Emma raises her brow in challenge. “If it is, I don’t plan on getting rid of it.”
She’s so close to him, the heat of her body rolling off in waves, and for the first time in a long time, Killian does something without thinking of the consequences he’s spent the past few weeks obsessing over. He takes her mug from her hand and places it on the counter behind Emma before cupping her cheeks with his hands. He doesn’t give himself or Emma time to question what he’s doing before he kisses her.
The first thing he notices is how much she tastes like chocolate, how much he must as well, but that thought quickly dissolves as Emma’s lips move in synch with his. Everything about her is warm and soft, even when she roughly wraps her arms around him and tugs on his hair, pulling and pushing in all the ways he wants to as well.
This is not what he intended to do when he accepted her invitation to come over tonight.
He can’t say he’s never thought about it when he has spent many a sleepless night thinking about just this, but he had intended to be a gentleman. He’s trying to leave a lot of his past behind him, the womanizing, alcohol-reliant man most of all, and he wanted to do this properly.
Every inch of Emma, however, is pressed up against him, and all thoughts of being a gentleman disappear when he helps lift her onto the countertop and her legs wrap around him. She’s pressing into him in all the right places, a low growl coming from the back of his throat at the same time that Emma makes a particularly delicious sound, and Killian can think of nothing other than how good this feels.
How right.
Everything about this feels right, and never did he think he’d feel this again.
Hands claw at his back as he moves from Emma’s lips to her jaw. Her fingertips are like fire when she gets his sweater up, and he wants more, more, more. He wants to feel all of her, no barriers between them, and even as his jeans get a little tighter, he pulls back, putting space between them even as their foreheads come together.
“I,” he starts, not sure where to go next, not sure how to explain himself.
“I can’t sleep with you when Henry’s upstairs,” Emma whispers, voice hoarse.
“I can’t sleep with you if it’s only going to be a one-time thing.”
Emma hums and quickly kisses him again. She moves to pull away, but he holds her closer, lingering for as long as he can as his heart stays steadily beating and his forehead stays pressed against hers.
“I don’t want it to be,” she says, and that increasingly familiar sense of hope fills his chest.
Killian moves back from her and takes in how unkempt her hair is, how red her lips look. He can’t imagine how ruffled he looks because he feels utterly destroyed. “I haven’t even taken you out to dinner.”
“We had dinner tonight.” Emma reaches over and picks up her mug of hot chocolate, which is regretfully cold now. “I believe we were having drinks. Sounds like a proper date to me, but…if you want, we can go to the movies to really drive the date home.”
“When do you suggest we do that?”
Emma pushes at his chest and jumps down from the counter before walking toward her living room and settling down on the couch. “Right now, Jones. Right now. Get the popcorn out of the pantry. Oh, wait, no. We have pumpkin pie in a container. Bring me that and a fork.”
Killian mockingly bows. “As you wish, milady.”
-/-
He wakes with an arm that’s numb but somehow still bloody hurts and blonde hair tickling his nose. There’s also a pain in his back, and Killian has never hated nearing thirty-six more.
He also wakes to a pair of brown eyes staring down at him.
“Did you kiss my mom?” Henry blurts out. Killian blinks, making sure he’s not imagining anything, and Henry comes into clearer view. Emma too, though she’s still sleeping.
“We fell asleep watching a movie,” Killian grumbles, sitting up and shaking out his arm to put space between he and Emma.
“I’m ten. I’m not stupid.”
“Henry, go put on coffee,” Emma murmurs, apparently awake. “Stop pestering Killian.”
“I want to know if he kissed you.”
“I want to know why you think that’s any of your business.” Emma straightens out her back and sits up on the couch, stretching her arms above her head until a small sliver of her stomach shows. “No, I didn’t kiss Killian. We fell asleep watching movies. If you go put on some coffee, I’ll make you an omelet.”
“I want waffles.”
Emma gives Henry a look that Henry seems to respond to, and he scurries away to the kitchen.
“Your boy knows how to make coffee?” Killian asks.
“He’s known how to make coffee as long as he’s known how to put on shoes.” Emma pulls her hair off her neck and into a large bun on the top of her head, wrapping it with a tie from her wrist. “Listen, I don’t want Henry to know just yet. He likes you. I like you, and I…”
Killian reaches over and places his hands over Emma’s. “I understand. For Henry, nothing has changed. I’ll keep it that way for as long as you wish.”
“Does that mean you’re planning on sticking around for awhile?”
He scratches his ear and leans closer. “I’ve become a pretty good farmhand, but I’ve also been offered work at city hall, to help redo some of the logistics of different branches in the city. I could get more into it, but I’m afraid you’d find it dreadfully boring.”
“How’d you land that job?”
“David, surprisingly enough.”
Emma flips her hands and threads their fingers together, looking over his shoulder to see what Henry is doing. “I told you that you’d grow on him. Killian, that’s amazing. I didn’t…”
“You didn’t think I was planning on staying,” he finishes for her. She looks down, smudged lashes landing against freckled cheeks, and he lets go of her hand to wipe flakes of mascara away from her cheek. “I wasn’t planning on it. I was supposed to meet Elsa, to maybe get a little more closure with Liam. I never planned on getting work here, on making friends, on meeting you. And Henry, of course. But I like this peculiar town.”
“Mom,” Henry calls, “where’s all the pumpkin pie?”
“Killian ate it.” Killian narrows his eyes at her, but she shrugs and gets up from the couch, pulling her jeans up and straightening her sweater in a pathetic attempt to make her put together. “Don’t worry. I hear he has some leftovers that are still at the farm. I bet he’d be willing to share with you.”
“It would be my honor, lad.” He nods at Emma, who returns a smile. It’s his favorite of hers, soft and sweet but mostly subtle, like no one else is supposed to see it than the person it’s directed to. “So, we’re making waffles and omelets? Lucky for you all, I make a mean omelet.”