Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They end up adopting a kitten, albeit by accident.

It all begins when Emma sees a small mouse scurrying across the counter in the kitchen. She screams a bit when she notices it, more out of surprise than fear of rodents.

(She’s fought dragons. Emma Swan can handle a mouse.)

She hates mice though. They remind her of the crappy apartments she lived in when she had just gotten out of jail and (barely) on her feet. It annoys her that her house – her nice, wonderful house – already appears to have a mouse infestation so soon after moving in, and she wants to search to find from which the rodent came, but she’s already running late, and knows she can’t spend time hunting around her kitchen for a mouse.

(Her father would never let her hear the end of it.)

Killian offers to take care of it while she is at work, and then she is out the door with a kiss, giving no further thought to the matter of the mouse. (Or on instructing him on where to purchase mousetraps and the like.)

It isn’t until she returns home from the station that Emma remembers the thing. When she opens the door, she expects to find hidden mousetraps or rat poison waiting somewhere. Maybe a dead mouse, if she were lucky. Instead, she is greeted by a small ball of orange fluff that is a ten-week old kitten. Killian seems ridiculous proud by his selection, boasting that it was the most active feline in the shelter.

“He will be an excellent mouser,” he says to her, lovingly stroking the space behind the small cat’s ears. “I’ve had a number of cats over the years on the Jolly. Best way to prevent rodent infestations.”

At first, she laughs, because there is no way Killian adopted a kitten without consulting her. Except, of course, he did just that. She had no plans on adopting a pet – she could barely keep plants, herself, and really this whole town alive without drama – but Killian looks so endeared by the thing. She also can’t really blame him because as far as he knows, he really did find the best way to rid the house of mice. Besides, now that he’s adopted the thing, they can’t just return it. What kind of damage would that do to the poor kitten’s psyche?

(Maybe not a lot, because it is now gnawing on Killian’s hook, unfazed by the deadly weapon.)

So they keep it.

Henry names him Oliver, if only to parrot the movie. (Because everything in her life must be inspired by some fictional story.)

Emma still introduces Killian to the wonders of mousetraps.

Good thing, too, because Oliver is a terrible mouser.

Chapter Text

Emma loved her home, the wraparound porch and gorgeous hardwood floors. She loved the color of the walls, the many windows, and even the molding on the walls. She loved its proximity to Granny’s, the nice lawn, and spacious backyard. Everything about the house was perfect.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, she hated her home. What she didn’t realize about moving into what is supposed to be a much-older home – it’s technically only thirty years old, but is designed like it is closer to seventy-five – is how cold it would be in the winter. It had been “renovated,” of course, but the renovation didn’t account for the poor insulation or how it would fare in the Maine winter.

She already had the thermostat cranked up to an ungodly number, one that she normally wouldn’t consider under most circumstances. Tonight wasn’t most circumstances though. Tonight, a particularly nasty Nor’easter was sweeping its way through Maine, with tiny little Storybrooke being caught in the mix. Had the storm not been projected by meteorologists across New England for days, Emma would have almost believed that the storm’s cause was magical. She almost would have preferred it that way. She could handle magical storms. She couldn’t stop Mother Nature.

Emma huffed and checked her phone. She had a number of unanswered texts from Grumpy, and an equal amount from her father telling her to ignore the dwarf. There was only so much the sheriff’s department could do before the storm rolled over Storybrooke, and Emma felt like they did a good job preparing the town. Now they just had to wait it out to see what damage that would be done. Of course, that wasn’t good enough for Grumpy. Then again, what ever was?

At least Henry seemed to be having fun. He had been sending her a stream of pictures from the snow adventures he, Roland, and Robin had been sharing. A snowball fight, snow angels, and one particularly impressive snowman. Regina had even allowed them to make snow cream. Her kid was having a blast bonding with the other half of his family, and that made her feel warmer than anything in her house ever could.

Not that it was hard to at the moment.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she padded into the den to find Killian prodding the wood in the fireplace. As such, the den was now the warmest room in the house, and she was highly considering spending the entire night down her, fire hazard and uncomfortable couch be damned. Emma sighed heavily as she fell into said uncomfortable couch, and pulled the discarded throw blanket over her form. Hearing her enter the room, Killian turned away from the flames and looked at her with an amused grin.

“Cold, are you?” Killian asked with a grin. Emma shot him a glare in response as he sauntered over to join her. As he settled next to her, he maneuvered so she could curl into his side. “You know, Swan, maybe it’s a good thing you were brought over to this realm. If this bothers you, you hardly would have managed in the Enchanted Forest.”

“I would’ve had a castle,” Emma argued as she snuggled deeper into his chest, reveling in his warmth.

“This dwelling is still warmer. Trust me, I snuck into many a castle back in my day,” Killian countered as he placed a kiss on her forehead. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, causing Emma to sigh happily. This was good. This was going to get her through the cold.

“So what you’re telling me is that this princess would have had a pirate sneaking into her bedchambers to keep her warm.”

“Perhaps,” Killian laughed, “though being in Storybrooke, I don’t have to do any sneaking to get into this princess’ bed. In fact, I can be there anytime I wish. Such as now.”

Emma shook her head against his chest. Between him, the fire, and the blanket, she wasn’t going anywhere. “Mmmm…no…too warm now. This princess is good to stay right here.”

She half expected him to reply with one of his patented innuendos, but instead he tightened his arms in a hug and murmured into her hair a soft, “As you wish.”

There was one thing Emma forgot to add to her list of things she loved about her home: the pirate with whom she shared it.

She loved that part the most.

Chapter Text

Killian has her pressed against the mast of the Jolly, his lips hard and insistent and hips rutting into hers deliciously. She should care about the fact that they are standing here out in the open where anyone can see them necking like teenagers, but it’s been far too long since they were truly alone, and he feels so good – especially the way he is drawing patterns on her skin under the hem of her shirt. She’s trying to remember how to perform a cloaking spell while Killian does his best to brand her neck when her phone buzzes.

“Ignore it,” he moans against her skin, doing his best to drive his point home with another roll of his hips, “whoever it is can wait.”

She wants to, God does she want to…but she can’t. There’s something niggling at her that tells her that this call is important. She reluctantly breaks away from Killian, both of them sighing in defeat as she attempts to wrangle the phone from her back pocket. She briefly realizes that Killian has somehow managed to pop the button on her jeans without her knowing. Maybe her instinct is wrong, and he can get back to finishing the job.

Henry’s name and picture flashing on the screen tells her that her instincts were right, and that they won’t be resuming their activities anytime soon. Killian is still shooting daggers at the device in her hand, but his expression softens when she mouths her son’s name in explanation.

“Hey, kid, what’s up?” Emma does her best to get her breathing and voice back under control. Her heart is still pounding in her chest, and she knows it isn’t solely from Killian’s ministrations alone. Henry wouldn’t be calling unless something was going on, going wrong. She just doesn’t want to convey that sense of panic to her only son.

“Mom, I’m so sorry,” Henry begins, his voice rushed and reflecting the panic that she definitely feels, “we were watching a movie and  –  oh shit –nobody’sdyingbuthelp!”

Her heart skips a beat, and the fear Emma is feeling must be written across her face because Killian is taking her hand and pulling her into him. His blue eyes look so very worried and concerned as he tightens his grip on her waist as she poofs them back to their front lawn. The house looks quiet in the night, and judging by the way Henry was able to get a call out, villains aren’t attacking. That thought still doesn’t keep her from bounding up the stairs of the porch, Killian on her heels. Judging by the way he is holding his left arm, he’s ready for a fight just in case. They throw open the front door, steeling themselves for whatever they are about to find inside and –

“Momma! Papa! Look! Snow!”

Whatever Emma expected when she burst though the door, it wasn’t this. Their living room has somehow been turned into a veritable winter wonderland, the hardwood, sofa, and all of the furniture covered in a fine layer of snow. Killian makes a noise that sounds like a half-laugh/half-sob, eyes darting between his snow-covered bookcase of centuries-old tomes to the tiny figure standing in the middle of the room looking immensely proud of herself and her exasperated older brother.

“You made it snow…” Emma is the first to speak, her voice a strangled mix of shock and awe, because it really is an impressive show of magic –  even if it means that they will almost assuredly have to replace all the furniture in the room. When they realized their daughter would be magical – product of True Love and all that – indoor snowscapes is not what they had in mind.

“Yeah, Momma, isn’t it awesome?!” Their daughter proceeds to demonstrate her glee by running around the now-white room, kicking her feet and spreading the snow everywhere. “I’m just like Elsa!”

Eliza doesn’t know Elsa, at least not the real Elsa; however, she’s becoming intimately familiar with the Disney-version of the character recently, and it seems that she was sharing this discovery with her older brother when she decided to do a magical demonstration of her own. Emma and Killian had honestly been trying to shield her from Disney movies, at least until she was old enough to differentiate between the film versions and real people, but that plan had been shot to hell after one particular sleepover. The morning Emma had picked her up, the girl had been belting “Let it Go” from the top of her lungs, and hadn’t stopped since. Now, it appears her emulation of Arendelle’s queen is complete.

“Papa, do you wanna build a snowman?” Their daughter bounds up to Killian, practically leaping into his arms. He lifts her up, and she wraps her tiny arms around his neck. “Henry says you wouldn’t wanna, but I think he’s just bein’ mean.”

“Excellent show my little duckling, but I’m afraid your brother is partially correct, if only because snow is not something we play with indoors.” Killian tries to explain gently, eyeing his little girl carefully to avoid any breakdown or misconstrued discouragement of her powers. “Now, if the snow were outside, I would gladly build a snowman with you.”

“See!” Eliza exclaims victoriously. She sticks her tongue out at her brother, seemingly offended that Henry would ever doubt Killian’s willingness to play with her. Which, in all fairness, is true. Eliza does have her father wrapped around her tiny finger.

“I skipped going to the beach for spring break for this…” Henry sighs, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. “Anyway, sorry to break up date night, but yeah…indoor snowmageddon.”

He waves his hands around uselessly. Emma only feels partially sorry for kid, if only because she knows he didn’t actually turn down a college spring break in some coastal, Florida town. It’s not her son’s style. Now maybe if it were a vacation to a different realm like Arendelle – that is something more his speed. The whole situation has Emma thinking that maybe a family vacation to Arendelle might actually need to be in order. If only so Eliza could hear about the best time and place for magical exhibitions from the Ice Queen, herself. Besides, it wouldn’t be so bad to see Elsa again…

Yes, a family vacation to Arendelle is definitely in order, assuming they could get a portal there. At least, it will be once Emma manages to magic the snow out of her house.

(And maybe after she gets some actual alone time with her pirate, as well.)

Chapter Text

Henry tells Emma about Operation Light Swan.

He says it's it to help inspire her light the Promethean Flame, but there’s an ulterior motive to his handing over the classified section to Emma, the one with Hook’s super elegant handwriting circling a home that’s going to be theirs. This motive has nothing to do with potentially defeating the darkness once and for all, and everything to do with helping his mom along on this next step in her relationship. Because no matter how she finds out – from him or Hook – she is most definitely going to freak out.

Hook suspects she might freak out a bit, but he’s hopeful she won’t because he’s super in love with her and super distracted with the Dark One thing. He’s not thinking too clearly, because Henry also saw him fiddling with a ring, and that would really scare his mom, and Hook has to know that. Right?

Henry’s pretty sure that Hook is his mom’s True Love, but Henry is still (and will always be) her first True Love, so he feels he has a little more insight into her. Insight such as knowing that his mom is definitely ready to move in with him, but needs to be totally eased into the idea by someone not Hook. Because though she really likes the pirate and his sweeping declarations, they also scare her a bit, because that means he really cares and she wants him to really care.

And nothing scares Emma more than wanting something.

So that’s why Henry tells her, so she can know it’s okay to want the house and the future, because he wants it too. She’ll handle it much better if she knows she’s not alone in wanting the family thing with Hook. After all, she never really went on a real date with the guy until he pushed her on it, so Henry expects this to more or less be the same. Especially since moving in is a much, much bigger thing.

(Seriously, what would Emma do without him?)

Best thing of all – Henry isn’t even be telling her a lie. Because it’s all true. He’s totally down with the whole “buying a house” thing, and not just because his grandparents’ loft is much too crowded, though that is certainly an added bonus. And it’s not just because it would make Emma happy, even though he knows it will.

Henry wants Operation Light Swan to succeed because it would make him happy.

Henry likes Hook a whole lot. He makes a pretty cool kind-of step-dad. Henry still misses his dad a whole lot, and Hook could never replace him, but the pirate does a pretty good job of filling in for all the “dad” things that his real dad can’t be there for anymore. Hook takes him sailing, gives him embarrassing dating advice, and teaches him how to gamble. Once on a sailing trip, Hook also let Henry try some rum – which he hated. Henry still doesn’t understand why Hook and Emma like it so much, but Hook says it will grow on him. (Though he hasn’t let him try it again since.)

Most importantly, Hook tells him stories about his dad. It’s comforting to hear about his dad from someone who knew a different side of him. Grandpa Gold and his mom try, but they get kind of weird about it sometimes. Hook tries to relay all of his stories back to how “Baelfire” and Henry were similar. Henry hasn’t told his mom this, but Hook also talks about his grandmother – Milah – from time to time, because Hook thinks he should know about her too. Henry doesn’t think his mom would care, but some things are best left man to man. It’s nice knowing about her, too, because the only other person who ever did is Grandpa Gold, and he certainly isn’t talking about her.

On top of all that, Henry reasons that he already has two moms. His relationship with Regina doesn’t take away from his relationship with Emma and vice-versa, so having Hook as a kind-of step-dad won’t take away for whatever Henry had with his real dad. He doubts Hook would let it anyway. (And maybe it makes Henry feels closer to Hook to know he misses his dad, too.) Besides, Henry is pretty sure Robin and Regina are probably going to get married sometime soon, so he’ll have three dads sooner or later. The more the merrier. Or something.

So, yeah, when Hook approached him about Operation Light Swan, Henry was ecstatic, and not just because of his mom.

Which is why Henry needs her not to freak out a ton, even though she totally will. Because out of anyone, Henry might actually want it to succeed the most.

Hook and Emma just don’t know that yet.

Chapter Text

They follow Emma down to the pits of hell – the Underworld – as an act of support. They won’t tell her this, but they have a difficult time believing in the success of this endeavor. Though they’ve fought death before – they share a heart after all – but somehow Hook’s death feels more permanent than David’s ever did, a heart crushed somehow more repairable than a sword meeting flesh. How sharing a heart will heal that wound, neither one knows, but Regina says it is possible, and Emma is determined so they don’t question it.

They’ve learned from their past mistakes. They asked too many questions in Camelot. They resisted Emma and her plans every step of the way. They think maybe that if they’d hadn’t fought so hard against the perceived darkness back then, Hook would still be alive and they wouldn’t be challenging the Lord of Death to reclaim his soul. They don’t tell Emma that either. Their daughter is already too burdened with the guilt of losing her lost love.

She loves Hook. Truly loves him in the truest sense of the concept. Hook’s not who they ever imagined for her – a prince or a knight maybe, but not a pirate – however, a shepherd was never meant to marry a princess either, so they can’t judge. Not anymore. Not after he died for her, for them. Not after everything he did before that.

Because it’s not just his death that’s taking them to the Underworld, it’s him – what he did to and for Emma. The Emma they knew before he waltzed into their lives would never have taken this chance. She would have never believed in love, never would have considered fighting death and fate for something so true. Just as Emma cannot walk away from him, they cannot walk away from her. They cannot abandon True Love.

They would pray, but they know the God of this realm is not on their side, so they place their faith in Emma and Hook instead. They don’t want it to come to this, but if her plan fails, they will stand by her. Hold her. Just as they did when the paramedics took his body away, and she fell broken into their arms. How they hope it will not come to that, but they will be there if it does. They will not fail their daughter. They will not fail him. Because the biggest failure to Hook would not be the inability to save his life, but to fail Emma. They all love her so. If only she could understand how much.

It’s not until they see him that they realize just how much is at stake. He is bruised, bloody, and burned, and though they are directly in front of him, his gaze is hazy and lacks all recognition. If they thought they’ve seen him broken before, they were wrong. Nothing compares to this, his visage the embodiment of the worst imaginings of Biblical hell. Fire and brimstone and torment indeed.

The sight is only made worse by the sound of Emma’s broken scream, he worst nightmares come to life. And they know: Emma will not leave until he is by her side.

And neither will they. 

Chapter Text

She’s sitting in what is supposed to be – what was – their booth at Granny’s, spinning his ring between her fingers. Her family is there with her, each trading ideas for their next course of action in order to complete Operation Firebird, but Emma is barely listening to their words, too lost in her own line of thought.

The image of Killian bruised and bloody is seared into her mind. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees his broken body and has to fight the urge to vomit. She can’t shake the feeling that this is all her fault, that she’s the one that put him in this state. Had she not let him sacrifice himself, had she not turned him into the Dark One, had she not thrust the dagger into the swirl of darkness…

She has to save him. Any lingering doubt she had before is now dissipated, engulfed with the all-consuming need to free him from this hell. Killian doesn’t deserve this fate, not after everything he sacrificed to save her.

(In more ways than one, if she wants to be honest.)

The problem is this: she doesn’t know how to save him. She’s come out victorious from so many battles, but she doesn’t know how to fight death itself. She’s faced obstacles before – a beanstalk, a jungle, a curse, flying monkeys, a tree – but what are those compared to the laws of life itself? Even if she did have a clear path, the fact that the Underworld is a twister mirror of Storybrooke gives her pause. Everything is so familiar, yet so different. She doesn’t even know where to begin. Everywhere she thought he would be has proven futile. What should be a home field advantage is working against her.

Where does she go from here?

The door to diner being wrenched open pulls Emma from her reverie, startling her and her family as a woman stumbles through the threshold. The not-quite-living patrons briefly turn to study her, but lose interest just as quickly. Emma is struck by how different she looks from the rest of the Underworld’s inhabitants. Her hair is disheveled and here is a panicked look in her eyes, not the dull glaze of hopelessness that appears to be the standard here. More telling is her sense of style – her dress looking nothing like the modern clothing everyone else wore, but decidedly more Greek.

“This can’t be good,” Emma hears Regina mutter. Normally Emma would be inclined to agree, but something is drawing her to this girl.

“Please, someone, I need to find Emma Swan. Please, someone, please help me find her. Captain Killian Jones needs her help. Please!”

And for the first time since arriving here, Emma’s path becomes a bit more clear. 

Chapter Text

Liam is furious, pacing across the floor, unable to look Killian in the eyes. He hasn’t seen his older brother this angry in years, not since the crew nearly sunk the Jewel in a drunken haze. Killian knows he ought to feel some form of remorse, but –

“You eloped.”

“Yes.”

“You eloped with the Princess of Misthaven.”

There’s the rub, because Killian can’t really apologize for that. He could probably apologize for the trickery, the cloak and dagger routine that kept his brother and Captain unaware of his secret courtship with Emma, but he can’t apologize for eloping with her. Not now. Not ever.

(Killian is still in awe that he gets a “not ever,” because that implies a forever, one that he now has with Emma, the golden band on her finger proof of that.)

“Please tell me she isn’t with child.”

Killian feels a blush rising on his cheeks at the insinuation. For the first time since returning to the Jewel, Killian is glad Emma isn’t there witness to this conversation. “We didn’t – I mean, we did, but after – she was a maid before.”

Liam sighs. “So you simply came to conclusion to run away with the princess on your own volition for no other reason than simply because?”

“I love her,” Killian protests as if that solves anything. Still, it should matter. It matters to him, at least, and to Emma. Liam may think him stupid, but he is stupid for love, and that is a sacrifice Killian is willing to make.

“I could have you punished for insubordination, you know,” Liam warns, finally facing him. His older brother’s eyebrows are knitted together in consternation, almost as if he is unable to process the information that Killian proudly unloaded on him, partially because –

“Technically I outrank you now, being married to a princess and all,” Killian begins with a grin. Not that Emma’s station factored into his decision to marry her. Well, it factored in the sense that it prompted them to elope – a princess marrying a lowly lieutenant with no claim to well, anything, isn’t exactly the most accepted match among royalty -- but it played no role in him falling in love with her. That part was all Emma, her charm, her passion, her smile. “Also, you never explicitly forbade me from consorting with her.”

Liam palms his face, clearly exasperated. Killian doesn’t care. He won’t apologize for his actions. He will never apologize for loving her. “You should have told me, Killian.”

“Why? So you could stop me?”

“No, little brother,” Liam sighs, “So I could stand with you.”

For this first time since this conversation begun, Killian began to feel a wave a remorse wash over him. Not that he tells Liam this. “You wanted to stand with me.”

“Of course, little –“

“Younger.”

“ – brother, I wanted to stand with you when you married the woman you love. What sort of brother do you think I am?”

“One who sends very mixed messages,” Killian replies, trying (and failing) to remain cool, the wide grin on his face belying any sense of control. “So, truly, you are happy for me?”

“Yes, Killian, I am.” For the first time since Killian announced his elopement to Princess Emma, a smile breaks out on Liam’s face. “Now, pray tell, where are you hiding my newest sister. I would like to give my condolences for marrying a fool such as yourself.”

Killian laughs and leads his brother to where his wife – his wife! – is waiting. Truly, this is greatest day in Lieutenant (Prince Consort?) Killian Jones’ life.

Chapter Text

The last time she had seen her nursery, it has been in ruins, destroyed by Regina’s curse along with the childhood it promised. There’s something so surreal about seeing it now in its full glory, the plush stuffed animals and pristine crib casting a stark contrast against what is the Underbrooke version of her adult living room. It’s a perfect symbol for “what could have been,” in more ways than one really, but Emma steers herself away from those thoughts as she assists Killian toward the dark sofa in the middle of the room. Since crossing the threshold of their home, his breath has grown more labored and harsh, and Emma knows he needs to be healed soon.

Killian’s breath hitches as they practically trip over a stuffed whale, causing them to more or less tumble against one another into the couch. He does his best to muffle a scream, but fails. Her heart seizes at his pain, and she helps him into a sitting position. Though she was never one to run away at the sight of blood, the sight of him makes her nauseous. He is covered in lacerations and bruises, and the blood mattes his hair to his skin. Judging by the way Killian is clutching his side, he most assuredly has a broken. Emma’s never been more thankful for her magic than in this moment when she glances her hand over him, and his wounds disappear.

“Thank you,” he sighs. Though she may have healed his wounds, exhaustion wraps around his words. He doesn’t say any more, his face drawn in consternation, his hand gripping the arm of the sofa. Emma isn’t sure what exactly she expected – passionate declarations, a kiss? – but it isn’t this, his unnatural silence and troubled expression.

Emma doesn’t really know what to say, or what to even do, so she turns to her old fallback – masking the pain with some form of humor. “So, um, how freaky is it that our living room is now my old nursery? Maybe it was a good thing I got cursed, because I’m pretty sure I would have drowned or suffocated in all of these toys.”

His head snaps to hers in an instant, shock and confusion etched across his face. “This…this was yours?”

There’s a sense of relief in the tone of his question, and it surprises Emma that he really felt the need to ask. Of course it was her old nursery. What else could he have thought it was supposed to be? And then the realization hits her like a ton of bricks. Oh.

“You thought this was supposed to be ours. Like our baby ours.”

“Aye.” He looks ashamed, and when he answers, he doesn’t meet her eyes. “So you aren’t with child?”

“No, no, no, no.” She swears vehemently. She’s not pregnant. At least, she is fairly certain she’s not. They weren’t exactly the most careful back in Camelot, the darkness and desire blurring both of their better judgment, but Emma would know if she was pregnant. And she most certainly isn’t. She hopes. With Killian dead, and her potentially stuck here until they can stop Hades, Emma doesn’t think she can handle the implications.

“Praise the Gods,” Killian sighs. He seems to catch the implications of his words, because he quickly follows up with an addendum, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought…I thought that this meant you and our child were both damned to this place, and it would be all my fault.”

She wants to cry at that, the knowledge that Killian feared he would be the cause of his family’s demise. She wants to reach out and assure him that this is most certainly not the case, that she can’t imagine him placing their child, hypothetical or not, in such danger. It would be so easy, she’s done it before, reassured him that he is a hero and will do right by everyone. Instead, however, Emma takes a riskier course of action, one that she hopes conveys everything she feels, and even more. “So you’re saying that once we get out of this and no one is stuck in hell, you want a baby with me, right?”

Someone knocks on the door before he can answer.

Chapter Text

Killian is greeted by a mostly-dark house when he rounds the corner of his street, the top right window and porch lamp the only illumination he sees. He shifts the grocery bag in his arms as he opens the front gate, its creak more comforting than annoying -- a reminder that he and Emma have too much on their plate now to worry about extraneous tasks such as oiling a squeaky hinge.

He drops off the bag in the kitchen, not bothering to sort its contents into their rightful places. He purchased nothing that requires refrigeration, and besides, he has much more pressing matters to attend to. Not completing the chore would have been something that bothered years ago, but he’s happy to skirt that responsibility for the time being on this night.

He bounds up the stairs quickly, but when he reaches the top, he moves quietly. Emma’s voice floats melodically through the shadowed hall, her tone soothing to his soul. He follows that wonderful sound down the hall toward the bright light of the only lit room in the house. Killian’s heart stutters as he takes in the sight of his love sitting in the rocking chair by the window, a storybook balanced on her lap and a tiny pink bundle cradled in her arms.

“…and as they climbed the magic beanstalk, the princess knew one thing: that the pirate by her side was someone she could with whom she could fall love. It was that thought that made her tremble, because as powerful as she knew love could be, she knew of it’s dangers. Love could be lost far more easily than it could be found, and the princess knew she never wanted to feel that heartbreak of loss again.”

“Rest assured, littlest love, the pirate did everything within his power to see to it that her heart remained true and full of love. Still does, actually,” Killian says, making his presence known as he sweeps across the room to place a soft kiss on the crown of Emma’s head. He repeats the action for his sleeping daughter, who then squirms at the feel of his lips brushing against her forehead. “I don’t know what is says about us that the story of our first adventure puts her to sleep, darling.”

“I’m willing to take anything that puts her to sleep. If our story bores her, then so be it,” Emma answers with a tired laugh. Sleeping, or rather sleeping during the nighttime hours, is an act their daughter evades, preferring instead to wail loudly for no reason at all. It’s maddening and wonderful all at once, the sight of his child in Emma’s arms worth all of exhaustion and sleepless night. “Besides, I’d much prefer to think hearing our story calms her down and makes her feel closer to us. You know, all that sentimental jazz.”

“Ah, yes, the story of how her mother so cruelly chained up her father, then left him to a painful death via Giant. You truly lived up to your charming family name in that moment.”

“Well, my mother did hit my father in the face with a jewelry box, and they’re the truest of True Loves. Though I think your dad and I give them a run for their money,” Emma coos the last part to the oblivious bundle in her arms, and Killian’s heart swells even further.

“Aye, I’d agree with that wager,” Killian responds as he takes the storybook from her lap, allowing Emma to lift herself from the chair. Together they walk to the crib, and lay their daughter to sleep. There is one more round of goodnight kisses, and then do their best to make a quiet exit. Glancing one last time into the nursery – at least for the next few hours, gods willing – Killian makes one finally addition to Emma’s story.

“And they lived happily ever after.”

Chapter Text

“Admiral of the Fleet.”

“Come again, mate?”

“I’m asking you if you want to be Admiral of Fleet,” Charming repeats slowly, pretending that the pirate didn’t hear his proposition instead of blatantly ignoring it. “If we ever end up back in the Enchanted Forest, you could be Admiral of the Fleet of the Royal Navy.”

The prince regards the man across from him hopefully. Instead of answering, however, Hook plucks an errant onion ring from Charming’s plate. He would almost be insulted, if it isn’t for the fact that he (the Prince of Misthaven) is currently proposing that Captain Hook (fearsome pirate who claims to serve no king) to serve in the now-defunct Royal Navy of a kingdom that they no longer reside in over plates of Granny’s finest cheeseburgers and onion rings.

“Why on earth would I ever want to do that?”

“You’d need something to do around the castle,” Charming argues lamely. “I mean, if Emma and Henry are there, it’s not like you can go off pillaging and plundering everything.”

Hook nearly chokes on his onion rings at the last part, a red flush crossing his cheeks for reasons that Charming doesn’t quite understand. The pirate makes a show of taking a long drink from his water before responding.

“Ah, I see what this is,” Hook says with a grin. He waggles his finger at the prince in a tsk-tsk sort of motion. “You don’t want your princess of a daughter to be consorting with a pirate.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Charming lies, even though it has everything to do with it. “I’m just saying, you’re not totally a villain now –“

“Not totally a villain? Such a shining recommendation you have of me.”

“Would it really be so bad to command an entire army fleet?”

“That was Liam’s dream, not mine,” Hook responds, a dark look crossing his face at the sound of his brother’s name. The pirate recovers quickly, though, falling into his well-known habit of deflection. “Besides, I happen to know that your daughter is quite fond of the pirate side of me, thank you very much. Though we could always experiment with the old Naval –“

“If you finish that sentence, I will gut you with your own hook.” Charming warns, effectively cutting the sentence short. He sighs. “You’ve made your point. The offer is off the table.”

“Oh, but Dave, I was just starting to come around to the idea. Think of the possibilities!”

“I’d rather not.”

Hook simply winks.

-/-

“…and this is Captain Killian Jones. He’s – ah – a privateer for our kingdom.”

To his credit, Hook only pulls a slight face in disgust when Charming introduces him, and holds his tongue until they are alone – truly a feat for the usually mouthy pirate captain. Of course, Hook only remains silent until moments later when they are alone and waiting for a tailor to take their measurements for new clothing to wear to the ball.

“Privateer, mate?” Hook sneers the moment the large oak doors are closed, and their Camelot escorts have departed. “I thought I had no intention of being employed by your kingdom.”

Charming sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose in exasperation, trying to remind himself that he does actually like the pirate captain on some level.

“First of all, a privateer is basically the same thing as a pirate.”

“Is not!”

“Secondly, this literally has nothing to do with working for my kingdom, and everything to do with making the current kingdom believe we’re trustworthy,” Charming grits out in a hissed whisper. “I know you like bragging about your swashbuckling record, but believe me when I say that royalty don’t want pirates in their midst!”

“Whether they know it or not, Dave, they do have a pirate in their midst,” Hook counters, his arms crossed and looking quite put out. His expression then changes to something more devious. “Besides, I’ve charmed over one royal family already. I’m sure I can do another.”

“Can you put aside your ego for one second and realize we’re doing this cloak and dagger routine to save Emma?” Charming knows he’s hitting below the belt, and by the expression that crosses Hook’s face at the insinuation that he was somehow serving as a obstacle to saving Emma, the pirate feels it too. Charming knows he’s being a little unfair bringing up Emma like that, but he also realizes that his daughter is the best way to get through to Hook.

As much as he loathes to admit it, Hook would -- in his own words – “go to the end of the world for her. Or time.”

Hook huffs in frustration. “Fine. I will play your game, but the moment we save Emma and return home, this arrangement is over.”

“Deal.”

Even though he agrees, Charming can’t help but foolishly hope that Hook just might come around to no longer calling himself a pirate…

-/-

“You were holding out on me, Hook,” Charming says with a grin as they both lean against the bar.

“Oh?” Hook asks, paying only half-attention to the prince by his side. The pirate – and to be honest, most of prince’s – attention is instead drawn to the sight of Emma and Henry attempting to waltz in the center of the room. Neither are particularly graceful in their movements, but they look wonderful the same.

“All those times I was trying to get you to become a part of the kingdom – Royal Admiral, privateer – you were just holding out for a better title, weren’t you?”

Hook doesn’t answer, but takes a sip of his drink and waggles his eyebrows in jest. They continue watching Emma and Henry as they dance, their attention occasionally interrupted by guests offering their sincere congratulations. Eventually, the song ends, and Emma and her son share a long hug as the crowd claps around them.

“That’s my cue,” Hook says, draining the rest of his rum. He can’t help but hide the wide smile on his face as he say, “I’m going to dance with my wife.”

Charming mirror’s Hooks grin, laughing as the man practically jogs to sweep Emma back into his arms. They kiss, and this time the prince doesn’t groan or look away, happy to see his daughter so full of joy and love. And, yes, he’s come to accept the pirate in his daughter’s life, as well.

Only Captain Hook just isn’t a pirate anymore, is he?

“Welcome to the family, Prince Consort.”

Chapter Text

When they first met, she pulled him from a pile of corpses and pressed a dagger to his throat. Later she would press a sword through his gut, and once again pull him from a pile of corpses – the latter far more metaphorical than the first.

It’s things like this that Killian thinks about when he lays awake in bed at night, Emma snoring softly by his side. She looks so ethereal bathed in the moonlight that slants between the blinds of their bedroom window, so much like an angel, his angel. She saved him, continues to save him every day that she grants him the privilege of sharing her bed, witnessing a smile, hearing her laugh. It’s a special thing she’s done for him, allowing him to love her and then loving him in return.

When insomnia refuses to allow sleep to take him, or even when he is trying to stave off the inevitable nightmares, his mind turns to her and all of the tiny, impossible moments that set him on course to find his greatest treasure. By all accounts, he should never have met her. Centuries separate his birth from hers, but magic and fate forced their lives to intertwine.

He’s never been one to bow to authority or laws – the laws of fate included – but he doesn’t mind the loss of control as much when it comes to Emma. Without it, they never would have met, but he often wonders why? He’s considered asking Emma her thoughts, but always refrains. She’s always been uncomfortable with the concept of “fate” and “destiny,” resents the role its played in her life. Her parents, Neal, Lily – all important ports along her own course as the Savior, stops that led her to fulfilling the role she bears today, often with disastrous results. (Loss and loss and loss.)

Killian wonders if it means anything that his greatest enemy is the Dark One, the antithesis to the light magic and everything that Emma isn’t. But was – he can’t forget that she, too, became the Dark One – and so was he, and he wonders what else that is supposed to mean, as well. He can’t help but hypothesize on their many intertwining relationships, and why that all has led to here, to Storybrooke, to her in their bed in their home.

It scares him sometimes to think about that, because he worries it means that something terrible is on the horizon. He could say they were destined for one another because it’s True Love, but it’s more than that, he knows that much. Fate and destiny don’t just bend the laws of the universe for love, as much as the stories wish it to be so. It’s something bigger, always bigger.

But just as she sleeps by his side, she fights by his side, and Killian knows something else: as long as they are together, they will win against whatever it is.

Because as much as he’s come to believe in fate and destiny, he believes in Emma Swan far more.

Chapter Text

“ I hope you realize that your wife is most certainly going to kill you once she realizes your treachery.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m already stuck in the Underworld then, isn’t it?”

The two men stood side-by-side, taking in the headstone before them, the name “David Nolan” hastily carved into its face. It had been Killian who had suggested it, sympathizing with the prince’s struggle to return his wife to their son and guilt-ridden for being the reason why they all were trapped in the down below. He wasn’t sure it would work, but there David’s name was etched into the same stone that once bore his wife’s name.

It was a noble thing the prince was doing, Killian thought, sacrificing himself so that Snow could return back to Storybrooke and their son. Killian understood the need to protect those he loved, and knew he, himself, would do everything possible to secure Emma safe passage back home – including staying behind, if need be. Not that he would tell her that in advance. Emma would surely fight him on that, just as Snow would Dave had she been privy to their plans. Killian expected the former bandit would still put up a mild fight, were he to judge by the resurgence of her fiery spirit. He just hoped he wouldn’t have the opportunity to know for sure if Emma would do the same. At the very least, Killian believed he could count on Prince Charming to have his back. They both would do anything to ensure Emma’s safety. Speaking of –

“We ought to find the others. It would be best to get them home before Hades realizes what we’ve done. He can be quite vindictive…” Killian trailed off as the memories of his torture at Hades hand flashed through his mind. He would be damned (well, more damned than he already was) if anyone else was subject the god’s machinations.

Prince Charming didn’t appear to be too much of a hurry, however, as he stared at Killian with a strange look upon is face. “I never got the chance to thank you, you know.”

“Thank me when Snow once again has the young prince in her arms.”

“And I will, but that’s not what I was talking about,” David replied with a shake of his head. The prince took a deep breath, and then sighed. Casting his eyes to the side in a way that reminded Killian of his earlier comments about the pirate “growing on him,” he finally said, “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for Emma.”

“I love her, mate,” Killian answered, the words slipping out as easily as breathing – if only he could actually breathe.

“I know, and I appreciate it, even if you are a pirate,” David responded earnestly and with a grin. He then paused and took another deep breath, readying himself for what came next. “It’s just – you’ll understand someday – but there are things a father wants to know. One of those things being that their little girl would have someone who loves her and would be willing to do anything for her – including dying multiple times just to keep her safe. And it’s comforting to know that Emma has that.”

Killian felt a wave of gratitude toward the man for recognizing the depth of his affection for one Emma Swan. Still, the prince looked slightly uncomfortable at the exchange, and Killian could feel it too, neither one of them quite accustomed to easy friendship – despite Emma having once teasingly calling them “bros.” To ease the tension, Killian fell back into his old stand-by defense of easy humor.

“I do believe you were behind one of those many deaths.”

It had the intended effect. The prince flushed a bright shade of red, and a look of annoyance crossed his face at the memory of what his alternate universe self had done. Killian didn’t hold his first death – gods, he still couldn’t quite comprehend the concept of multiple deaths – against Emma’s father, but the prince made such an easy target.

“I didn’t have a heart!” David protested. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Besides, I’m currently on a rescue mission to bring you back. I’m more thank making up for stabbing you in the back!”

“And if we succeed – “

“When we succeed.”

“—I shan’t mention it again.”

David grinned, and clapped him on the back. “All the more reason to bring you back.”

“And here I thought it was all for Emma.”

“Oh, it’s always for Emma,” David replied with a grin. “Speaking of which, let’s go find our ladies that we’ll do anything for, shall we?”

Chapter Text

It’s strange the number of things a man can grow accustomed to over the years – the feel of the rolling ocean under his feet, the awkwardness of losing a hand, the loneliness of sleeping in a bed alone. But now he’s lying in his much too-large bed at the inn, the ground solid and unmoving underneath him as Emma snores softly by his side.

He ought to be asleep, but it evades him, his mind too warped by the preceding hours, days, years. Hours earlier, his heart was held in the hands of the Dark One, and now it beats steadily in his chest. He uses the constant thrum-thrum to anchor him, feeling adrift at his current situation. It’s not as if he isn’t happy, because that same heart that was once missing now feels as if it is about to burst from joy. It’s just that the entirety of it all feels so foreign to him, unreal and unnatural as if it is part of some dream.

There’s a certain wrongness to having Emma here, her naked back pressed against his chest, their bodies curled together as the breathe in near tandem. He’s dreamed of this, of course. The reality of it far surpassed his fantasies, and he doubts he will ever hear another sound as wonderful as his name on Emma’s lips as she’s caught in the throes of passion. But as she curls next to him, his body feels overheated and the bed too small.

He’s had many a woman in his bed over the years, but they never spent the night. The last time he did have a companion of that sort was the night before Milah had died, and he held her in his arms fearful he would never see her again, his due with the Crocodile looming ahead. He was right, in the end, that he would never see her again, and that makes the knot in his chest ache more.

It shouldn’t. Killian knows it shouldn’t. Were their situations reversed, he would want Milah to find love again, to not be consumed with vengeance like he once had been. However that knowledge doesn’t stop the small part of his soul that still – and always will – belong to Milah from gnawing at his conscience and overwhelming him with guilt.

He tries to tamp it down though, unwilling to allow his own failings to sully the moment. He’s wanted this for so long, worked so hard to be the man deserving of Emma, that he cannot – will not – ruin this. Not after his own arrogance almost did that for him.

He wants to catalogue this moment forever, the soft sighs she makes in her sleep, the feel of her naked skin against his own. He threads his fingers through her hair, reveling in its softness and how it practically glows at night. She looks glorious like this – ethereal, even – bathed in the moonlight that slants through the blinds.

He loves her, truly loves her, or so he thinks he does. They haven’t had that mystical kiss that Henry’s book speaks so highly of, but he doesn’t need magic to dictate how he feels. He knows that he loves Emma Swan to the very depths of his soul. He only hopes she feels, or at the very least one day will feel the same. Her presence here leads him to believe it is possible. With her walls so high, the fact that she is asleep next him means something. It must.

Killian tights his hold on her, and Emma mumbles something in her sleep that he can’t quite make out. She turns toward him, nose grazing his chin, and for a moment he believes that he woke her. He didn’t, though, as she makes no further noises, content to further curl herself into him. He doubts he will be getting much sleep tonight, but he doesn’t mind it, grateful for those too-rare quiet moments to admire the wonder that is Emma Swan’s presence in his life.

Chapter Text

He remembers the first time she held his hand, pulling him upwards and saving his life in more ways than one. He didn’t know what it meant back then, too focused on his quest for revenge to notice anything outside of her golden hair and haunted eyes, but that moment was the start of his absolution.

The second time shocked him, her fingers threading through his in an ice-cold embrace. It warmed him all over, though, a single light and the shroud of darkness that had been that night when he almost lost her to the cold, to fear, to the unknown. As she rested against him, thawed by the mountain of blankets and his embrace, he had vowed to never let her go.

They held hands many times after that. Kissed, too, but it was the hand holding that he had appreciated the most. He had always been a tactile man, but the warmth of her palm against his felt extra special. It tethered him, anchored him, kept him from sailing adrift into the stormy seas that were his own fear, self-doubt, and struggles with acclimating to this new land – Emma’s land.

The first time she held his hook, his heart had almost burst from his chest. It was still a point of anxiety for him – always will be, really – but she had reached out and wrapped her fingers around it like it was nothing, just another part of him. He still can’t believe at how easily she accepts that part of him, how easily she grips the weapon that has taken countless lives, but the moment when she first took it – walking side-by-side down Storybrooke’s Main Street – well, he had thought he could be a better man.

One night, when Emma had been distracted upstairs talking with Henry about his book, David had told him about she wouldn’t let go of his hand after he had died, how they had to pull her away. “Don’t make her let go again,” David had warned, and Killian had promised that he wouldn’t.

He broke that promise.

If he hadn’t already been dead, the act would have killed him. Thinking about it now still wrenches at his heart, even though he did what he thought – and still thinks – was best at the time. He forced her to let go, so that she might have a chance to live with her son and family. He forced her to let go because that was what you did for the person that was your True Love, you sacrifice, even if it kills you. Good thing he was already dead.

It didn’t stop him from kissing her hand for one, two, three last times. He didn’t stop him for holding on as long as possible. In the aftermath of it all, he had stood there holding his hand in his hook, hoping and praying he would never forget her touch and the warmth of her hand in his own. He had never thought he would get another chance – they had ran on borrowed time long enough. That was the end.

Except it wasn’t.

It’s why he takes every chance to hold her hand now that he’s topside. He reaches out for her when they walk down the street, and revels when she does the same, always on the same wavelength. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles as they share breakfast in the mornings, sitting side-by-side in the kitchen in their home. He threads his fingers through hers when he moves over her in bed, and doesn’t let go when they curl against one another in the aftermath, sated and happy. It’s why he gives her his hand, not his hook, to squeeze in the hospital room the day their first child is born, and it’s their fingers that brush when he passes their bundled infant into her arms, tears in both their eyes.

Killian knows what it is like to let go of her hand. He won’t do that again.

Chapter Text

It feels good to breathe again. 

He inhales deeply – once, twice, three times – taking in the chilled Maine air. It’s cold enough that it stings his throat a bit, but Killian hardly cares. He’s breathing. He’s alive. It’s something that he never thought he’d be again, a funny sort of thought. Then again, he’s a man who ‘s lived centuries and tangled with gods that “never” hardly holds its weight anymore – realms of possibilities and opportunity open to him in ways he not ever thought possible.

One such thing being holding Emma Swan again.

Their fingers are tangled together, squeezing in such a way that he knows his rings must be digging uncomfortably into her skin. If it bothers her, it doesn’t show. Emma makes no move to loosen her grip, clinging to him so tightly as if afraid that if her hold were more slack, he would float away.  Killian doesn’t blame her on that. The memory of their last goodbye, what they believed to be their final goodbye, still weighs heavily on his soul despite the fact that his heart now beats wildly in his chest.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like for his heart to race.

When the Crocodile had stolen his heart all of those months ago, he had felt hollow. Empty. When he was dead, he felt nothing. Now, his chest full with each beat, his heart fluttering every time Emma presses against his side. He’s happy to once again be alive, eager to begin the future he had promised Emma, a promise that is no longer broken. They’re taking their first steps toward that future, walking hand-in-hand down the rain-slicked sidewalks of Storybrooke toward their home – theirstheirstheirs.

Good thing, too, because the drizzling rain is cold against his skin, and Killian wants to be indoors.

In the Underworld, he didn’t feel temperature, paid no heed to what constituted as weather. That sort of thing didn’t matter, doesn’t matter, not to the dead. It was frigid, he knows, because Emma had bundled herself in an overlarge coat for warmth. He was frigid, or so Emma would tell him when she would curl her body against him. His lips were cold against hers when they kissed, and when he blushed he felt no warmth.

It feels good to feel anything again – cold again, warm again, alive.

He remember their first kiss, the one in the graveyard, their first embrace. It wasn’t True Love’s Kiss, but it was magical in its own right, setting his body on fire for the first time since his death. It had been a chaste kiss, really, but he was – is – alive, and their embrace was confirmation of that. He still feels it sizzling in his blood. Again, it’s nothing untoward – though he wouldn’t mind something like that later – and he hopes it never fades, the reminder of what it feels like to be present, alive, not dead.

He had taken it for granted all of those years he’d been alive. Not that he’d been alive for the bulk of it, but rather a shell of a man hell-bent on revenge and self-destruction. There had been flashes of a life – sailing in the Navy with Liam, stealing away with Milah – but for hundreds of years he had taken it all for granted. Until Emma came along, that is. Emma with her passion and golden hair, Emma with her family full of love, Emma the woman who makes him believe again.

Makes him want to live.

Killian won’t make the same mistake again, forgetting what it feels like to live. He vows it. He will wake up in the mornings, and bask in the sunlight and the feeling of Emma by her side. He won’t forget to enjoy relaxing in a booth at the diner with Emma and Henry, pilfering onion rings from their plates and teasing David until the prince’s cheeks turn red with annoyance. He will revel in the taste of the salt in the air when he is on the Jolly in the bay, will make more of an effort to take Henry and Emma out when the weather is nice and sun high in the sky. He promises to kiss Emma more, take the lead, and not wait for whatever may come.

Killian Jones is alive and breathing, and Emma Swan is in his arms.

It feels good to breathe again. 

Chapter Text

The wind is stronger here by the docks, more biting as it whips around her and sea. Emma tugs her jacket more tightly, trying in vain to protect herself against the bitter chill. A storm is coming soon. If not for the wind, she can tell by the dark gray clouds that obscure the sun and sky. There’s also an electric tinge in the air, one that has nothing to do with the villains now threatening the town.

It’s going to be a dark and stormy night, Emma thinks, laughing to herself at her own joke. There’s a part of her that wishes Killian were here to hear it, if only so she can tease him about another unfamiliar reference in this realm.

But, Killian isn’t there with her to roll his eyes and scold her for making another reference he doesn’t get. Instead, by design, he is holed up in the library with Henry, both her boys doing their best to research and understand the possible newcomers Hyde might have brought with him from the Land of Untold Stories.

He thinks she’s on some sort of Sheriff mission at the moment solving problems caused by the dwarves. Emma feels bad for lying to him, but this is something she needs to do on her own – at least the first time. Besides, with the extra villains running around town, he’s been extra wary to leave her side. That she’s able to understand, and feels the same pull to not part from him any longer than necessary. The thought of losing him again chills her more to the bone than the wind ever could.

The ancient wood of the Jolly Roger creaks under her boots as she boards it. She’s rarely been on this ship without Killian, and it feels like a small betrayal to go behind his back like this. But as her fingers glide against the railing, she knows she’s doing that right thing, and that once she tells him, he will understand. Being True Loves and all, they get one another. Besides, she isn’t doing this for him. She’s here for someone else.

She’s here for Liam.

For a moment, Emma feels somewhat silly standing her on the deck of the Jolly Roger as a storm – both figurative and literal – looms over the horizon. Really, she could be doing this anywhere. Her home. The park. Granny’s. But here, she thinks, is right. The Jolly was as much home to him as it is (was) to Killian. She know it’s where she’s supposed to be. Emma also wonders if what she’s about to do will actually work, but then she remembers Neal and his warning, and –

“Um, hey, Liam.”

She’s met with silence, not that she expects anything different. She doesn’t have the magical ale that summons souls, and she’s not performing a séance. Instead, she’s talking to the air, praying that somehow he can hear her from whatever paradise he’s found.

“I just wanted to, well, let you know that Killian’s okay. He’s back, alive, that is,” she says, twisting her fingers around. She still feels awkward doing this, but it’s important, and Killian is worth it. “I know…I know you didn’t like me all that much. I don’t really blame you, because if anyone other than me did what I did to him, I would be pretty pissed too. And there’s still a part of me that really pissed off at me about it. So, you were justified there.”

The wind begins to pick up, and Emma knows she should head back to her Bug. The warmth of the library and Killian’s embrace tempts her, but she stays rooting in her spot.

“I’m glad you were able to move on, Liam, but there’s a part of me wishes we could have had more time. Killian…he’s always talked so much about you, and you have always been so incredibly important to him, and I really hate that our only interactions were pretty terrible, because I really did – really do – want to know you, Liam. I love him so, so much. I wish you got to see that, and I wish he got to see more of us together. I think he would’ve liked that, you know?”

She feels her phone buzz. It’s a text from Killian letting her know that he and Henry intend to take a break from the library by heading to Granny’s for a late lunch, and if you sort our the mess with those dwarves, won’t you please join us, Swan? He punctuates the text with a smiley face, and it both amuses and warms her heart that the dreaded Captain Hook uses emojis. She takes this as her cue, not wanting to be parted from either of boys for much longer.

As Emma travels down the gangplank toward the Bug, she spares one last glance at the Jolly.

“I promise to take care of him for you, Liam.”

As she races back to the Bug, the rain begins to drop from the sky. As the wind swirls around her and the rain hits her skin, she thinks maybe this isn’t the storm, but rather her lover’s older brother telling her that everything will be okay.

Chapter Text

His jacket sits in a crumpled heap not far from the front door, hers not too much further away. Shoes are scattered about, hastily removed in the urgency to be closer. Her sweater hangs precariously off the side of the bannister. His vest is forgotten on the landing. The tattered remains of her bra make a trail from the stairwell to the master bedroom.

It’s a good thing Henry is staying with Regina tonight.

Killian moves above her in bed, his hips undulating into hers in a rhythm only they know, their gasps and grunts harmonizing with the pleasure that sparks along their skin. Emma lays beneath him, legs curled and across crosses around his back, arching to meet him thrust for thrust. Her hair is golden halo, her green eyes clouded with love and lust as they move together. Emma tangles one hand through his dark locks, twisting and pulling until his lips are meeting hers, tongues tangling.

They go slow tonight, savoring what little time they have together, hidden away in their home. In the morning they will once again don their clothing and face whatever horror Hyde has waiting for them. However, in the shroud of moonlight, they take time for one another. They’ve unfortunately learned all too well the precious nature of time, and vow both silently and aloud to not make the same mistakes again.

Killian threads his fingers through hers and balances on his truncated arm. He does not wear his brace for this, not anymore, and his rings sit somewhere on the nightstand forgotten. He wants to be naked and bare with her, in all meanings of the word. Emma whispers that she loves him again and again as he moves against her, her own show of devotion and love. Danger may be looming, but this, he knows, is all her.

She comes first, pleasure blooming softly then everything all at once, his name a whispered prayer on her lips. He follows not long after, his cries muffled against the curve of her neck. Later, after they are clean and their breath has returned, they curve against one another in the overlarge bed, unwilling to be further apart than necessary.

Tomorrow, they will awaken and take on the world. Tonight, however, all that matters in the world is here.

Chapter Text

They are curled on the deck of the Jolly Roger, a thick wool blanket beneath them as they look upwards to the bursts of color in the night sky. Emma is tempted to get up and move to the railing to watch the reflections of the fireworks dance across the dark water of Storybrooke harbor, but Killian tightens his hold on her, and she knows there is nowhere else she’d rather be than here.

“You know, it’s kind of funny,” Emma begins, a fact from long-ago history classes playing in the back of her mind. “Here we are on a ship in a harbor, and the whole American Revolution began with the patriots dumping tea off a ship and into a harbor.”

Killian hums in agreement, but says nothing more. Henry’s spent the better part of the past two weeks educating Killian on the history of America and its revolution. Her pirate finds it to be strange that the town, memories intact, still celebrates the holiday, as they seemingly have no real devotion to the United States, and Emma is inclined to agree. She doesn’t question it though, content to celebrate the most-American of holidays and the joyous explosions of fireworks.

“I could see you doing it, you know,” she says, conjuring up a fantasy in her head. “If you had been here during the Revolution, you would have been tossing tea into the harbor, doing the whole freedom fighter thing.”

“You probably aren’t too far off the mark,” Killian replies into her hair as one of the fireworks explodes into the shape of a star.

“Well, yeah, I can’t exactly see you being a Loyalist.”

“I could be,” he says, his voice far too serious for the conversation they’re holding. It makes her laugh, because Killian – Captain Hook – fighting in the name of any kingdom sounds absurd, even if he did it once before.

“You, a pirate, fighting for the crown?”

“I would if it you were the one wearing it,” he tells her, and her heart stutters in her chest. He twines their fingers, continuing, “I would pledge my allegiance to you.”

More often than not, Emma forgets that she is royalty. It’s silly, really, because she objectively knows her parents are a prince and princess. But it’s pretty easy to forget, especially since she’s only been in her kingdom a scant few times, and has lived in the United States most of her life. She’s pretty sure she’s voted for the president more times than she’s visited a castle.

Emma rolls to her side to meet his eyes, only to see Killian staring back in the way that once scared her, so serious and devoted and sure. With each explosion, his pale skin is painted over with flashes of reds and blues. He’s beautiful, ethereal even, when he lays his heart open to her like this, and she wants to kiss him.

So she does.

She’s never been one with words, so Emma does her best to pour everything she’s feeling into the movement of her lips against his. It’s no small gesture for a pirate to swear fealty to royalty – especially for him, especially after everything she knows a king tore from him. It’s no small thing to have someone swear utter devotion to you either, something Emma’s experienced far too little of in her life, and she wants him to know she appreciates that, as well.

“I love you, Killian,” she tells him as they break apart, and the smile he gives her in return is brighter than all of the fireworks in the sky.

Chapter Text

The black petticoat is the signal.

The number of handkerchiefs indicate where to meet.

Emma’s fingers tremble as she pins each article to the line. If their plot is discovered, they could be tortured or hanged or taken as prisoners of war. She knows which outcome she prefers. The gallows would be a mercy compared to any other fate.

Upstairs is a book, a dictionary of sorts that includes numbers and words serving as a code. Should any correspondence fall into enemy hands, they would first need to decipher the message before they realized what secrets were ferried to General Washington.

Some would call what she’s doing treason. Emma believes she is fighting for what’s right.

They all have names to hide their true identities, everyone in their operation. In the letters, she is not Emma Nolan, daughter of the magistrate, but rather Lady Swan. Her brother, David, is called James Shepherd, and his fiancé is called S. White.

Then there’s Captain Hook.

He comes up behind her. She hears him before he greets her, his books creaking on the front steps of her home.

Captain Hook is Lieutenant Killian Jones.

He looks every bit the proper Englishman, buttons polished gold, black boots shined, and crimson jacket wrinkle-free. He’s been quartered at her family’s home for the better part of the year, and acting as a double agent for General Washington for the past three months.

Emma likes to think it was her plea to him – “you can be a part of something,” she had begged before he ran off in a ill-considered plot to murder Major Gold – but it truly had been the death of his brother, Captain Liam Jones, that turned him.

Liam had been killed in an ambush of rebels months back during a prisoner exchange. Killian had somehow learned that the ambush had been planned, that Major Gold had aimed to manipulate sympathies against the Patriots. Upon his discovery, Killian had vowed to kill Major Gold, but Emma had offered him another avenue for revenge – espionage.

“Will you send my regards to Robin?” Emma asks as Killian stands beside her. He is to meet Robin Hood at one of their many hiding places to exchange the latest bit of intelligence.

He nods. He’s able to have these clandestine meetings with their courier under the guise of patrolling for Rebels. He claims he cannot lose any more men after what happened to his brother, and a lie that Gold so easily believes because it means his lieutenant has fallen for his machinations. He couldn’t be more wrong.

Killian reaches out and grabs her hand before he goes, squeezing her fingers once, twice, three times before turning away toward his goal.

If they get caught, they will be killed, but as she watches him walk away, she can’t help but feel thankful for this opportunity, and she wonders what comes next. Because nothing can compare to the torture of watching Lieutenant Killian Jones walk into the unknown.

Chapter Text

Emma watches him dress from her spot in her bed, admiring the methodical way he buttons first his shirt, and then his waistcoat. Killian quirks an eyebrow in amusement at her interest, but says nothing as he continues to dress.

It’s become a routine for them. He stays the night, and then leaves early in the morning. Outside of his foray into the Land of Untold Stories, and later, New York City, he’s spent every night with her, in her house, in her bedroom, in her bed.

It’s supposed to theirs, she knows. He’s the one that picked out the house, his promise for a future, their future. One that they won’t even share assuming her vision proves to be correct.

Her hand trembles against the duvet.

If her catches it, he doesn’t say. Instead, he searches the floor for his belt, the same one she so carelessly pulled from his waist and tossed onto the carpet before they tumbled together onto the bed. He finds it halfway across the room, and he tsks at her as he puts it on. Emma much prefers when it takes it off.

He doesn’t have clothes here, so he always leaves in the same ones he wore the night before. Despite knowing the term – she had taught him that the first morning she left his rented room at the inn after staying the full night – he doesn’t call what he does a “walk of shame”.

(“There’s nothing shameful about two adults fucking, Swan.”)

There’s room enough in the closet for his shirts and vests, and empty drawers in the dresser for his socks and boxer briefs. It would be so easy to move all his things in, to take cardboard boxes to the Jolly Roger, and bring them back full of books and knick-knacks. They could line the bookshelves, and fill the drawers, and line his boots against the wall by the door. When he wakes in the morning, her could draw on some warm, flannel pants, not the previous day’s worn denim.

They could build a home. Together.

But then she remembers her vision, the sword stabbing into her gut as he watches helplessly from the sidelines, her son clinging to him like a lifeline.

Emma shoves her shaking hand under the blankets.

In what seems like too little time, he finishes dressing. His hook still sits on the nightstand, what should be his nightstand, and he moves to put it on. He lifts it from its spot, holds it in his hand, and then offers it to her.

“Would you do the honors, love?”

Her heart seizes at his request, and she squeezes her hand into a tight fist. She knows what it means for him to be handing her his hook, the level of trust it shows. For all his teasing about her own lack of comfort at being vulnerable, he is much of the same.

It must be the “True Love” thing.

Emma takes the hook in one hand, and places the other on his brace. He smiles at her, soft and assured, and so desperately in love. She wants to shrink away from it. She wants to embrace it. Instead, she wills her hand not to shake as she clicks his hook back into place.

“There you go,” she says. She looks up at him and smiles, trying her best to reflect the way he looks back at her. She wants so desperately for him to know how much she loves him, how she cherishes these moments, and how she never wants them to stop.

(Even though they will, living on borrowed time as she is.)

“I love you, Killian.”

“And I love you,” Killian replies, and he leans over her to brush his lips against hers. It starts out chastely enough, but passion quickly ignites between them, as it always does, and they break apart, chests heaving. He presses his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I don’t want to go.”

Emma wants so terribly to tell him to stay, to strip him of his clothes and to draw him back under the sheets and into the comfort of her arms. She wants to promise him that this will become his home, and they future will progress just as they said so long ago. She wants to let him know that he didn’t give up paradise for nothing.

But she can’t.

Instead, she pulls away, and strokes his cheek with thumb, his stubble rough against her skin. “I know, but I’ll see you soon, yeah? Lunch at Granny’s?”

He looks a little sad, but he nods in agreement. “Aye, love, lunch at Granny’s.”

She does her best not to cry as she watches him go.

Emma wants and she wants, but as her hand shakes, she knows she can never have.

Chapter Text

She watches from afar, entranced by the ease in which he falls into the role of doting distractor, plopping whipped cream on his nose in an appeal to make a disinterest little girl smile. It doesn’t work on Alexandra, the small child instead clutching tighter to her stuffed doggie, but Emma’s lips quirk up in a smile.

He’s good at this, she realizes, the whole playing with small children thing. He’s always been amazing with Henry, so it really shouldn’t come as a surprise. And yet, her heart feels as if it will burst as she takes in the sight of him cooing at a little girl.

Perhaps…

There are been a brief moment in the Underworld, after she had crossed the threshold of the twisted version of her home, Gold and Milah by her side, that her heart had seized when she saw the assorted playthings – stuffed animals, a mobile, a crib. In the moments between first seeing the room and realizing that it had been her childhood nursery, she had thought perhaps it meant something deeper, something more than her lost childhood. And when it did sink in, that this was her room, not a symbol of a future “what might have been”, it wasn’t relief Emma had felt.

It felt a little bit like disappointment.

Because watching Killian now with a toddler by his side, it’s so easy to pretend that it isn’t Alexandra sitting there, but a different girl, one half-him and half-Emma, his blue eyes and her blonde hair. And, God, Emma’s never been one to think that far in a relationship – not since Neal walked away, not since she had to let Henry go – but she can’t deny that she wants that future with him.

A future that she can’t have.

Emma feels her hand tremor as she remembers her vision, the sword going through her gut as Killian and Henry watch from the sidelines. She dies. They live. Emma won’t survive long enough to have that future with Killian – the picket fence life she once told him she wanted, the same one he has tried to desperately to deliver. The same one she can’t provide him.

Because what if they do have a child, that little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes?

Emma won’t get to watch her grow up. She’d be leaving the kid without a mother, and trauma that comes with losing a loved one. She wouldn’t see her little grow up, and do the things that mothers are supposed to do with the daughters, the same things that Emma had so desperately wanted with her own mother. And if the thought of abandoning a hypothetical child hurts so much, the idea of leaving Henry is downright unbearable. He’s already lost a father, he can’t lose a mother, as well.

(The sight of Killian holding him so closely, protecting him, shielding him, is a small, small consolation.)

As Emma watches Killian at the table, Ashley across from him, she feels envy bubble inside. Because Ashley can have her happily ever after. Ashley can raise her blonde-haired daughter, go home to a man who loves her, and stay safe. Ashley can choose to help, Emma is destined to.

Emma has a vision of the future.

But it doesn’t end “happily ever after.”

Chapter Text

Killian should feel flattered, he thinks. He should feel glad that Henry would call upon him in a time of need, trusting him over his mothers or grandparents. But as he watches the lad hurl the contents of his stomach over the rails of the Jolly, Killian instead feels a wave of anger and shame.

Henry had only called him because he is wildly drunk, and likely afraid that his mothers would be none too pleased with his state. Killian knows the laws of this place a restriction on age one must before he or she can imbibe alcohol. He thinks it’s absurd, but Regina does not. And since both Emma and David are the law enforcement in town, Henry is expected to abide by the rules to avoid any appearances of impropriety.

So as much as Henry apparently trusts Killian to keep him safe in a moment of physical distress, he just as likely views him as the type of man for whom to best turn when committing a crime. It’s something he would once take glee in. He is a pirate, after all. But Killian has been trying to be a good role model as of late. Someone who would make a good father figure. A good father.

Could he really be a good father if he’s still the go-to person to hide crime?

“I don’t understan’ how you drink so much rum,” Henry finally groans, still supporting his weight against the railing. He slumps down, and buries his head in his hands. “It makes me so vomity. It’s bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.”

For a brief moment, Killian is taken back to the first time Baelfire had drank too much rum, and his gut lurches. The boy had been so sick, just like Henry is now, but then, Killian had told the boy it was another step in becoming a man. But Killian hadn’t been a good man back then, had he? As much as he had wanted to, he had been a poor father to Milah’s son. He had failed Bae in so many ways. He can’t fail Bae’s son. Emma’s son. Milah’s grandson. His…stepson. He has to do this right.

“You should remember that, how bad it tastes and how sick it’s making you,” Killian tells the lad. He’s trying to be stern, using his Captain voice, the one that had his crew quaking in their boots. Henry looks up wearily, skin pale. Killian hopes he is doing the right thing.

“Doesn’t explain why you drink it.” Henry’s words slur together, half unintelligible. Killian moves to sit down next to him, and the boy surprises him by leaning his head on his shoulder. “Please don’t tell my mom. She’s gonna kill me, and leave me in the Underworld to die forever and ever.”

Killian holds back a chuckle. He considers making a joke asking which mother, but Killian reconsiders. Henry isn’t in the best of states, and it wouldn’t be wise to agitate him further. “I don’t think either of your mothers would leave you in the Underworld ‘forever and ever’. If they saved my sorry arse, they’ll save you too.”

“Whatever. Just don’t tell ‘em,” Henry replies. “Ugh, I’m going to throw up again.”

And then he does. All over his lap.

“Rum is the worst,” Henry groans after his vomiting subsides. Killian rubs a hand over the lad’s back in a poor attempt to soothe him. “You’re such a liar for making it sound good. I can’t believe you’re such a liar.”

“I’m a pirate, my boy. We drink rum.”

“Pirates are the worst. You’re the worst. Rum’s the worst.” Killian logically knows that it’s the rum talking, but it stings to hear Henry call him ‘the worst’ while under the influence of alcohol. Killian, himself, has made several exaggerated statements while drunk. But still…he doubts the boy would say this to his mothers of grandparents.

“Well, despite being the worst, I am the one letting you get sick all over his ship,” Killian reminds Henry. Killian stands, and reaches his hand out for the boy. “And speaking of sick, we need to get you out of these clothes.”

Henry moans, but says nothing further. Killian needs to help hold him up as they maneuver to the Captain’s Quarters, and he carries him down the stairs. He has a few of he old pirate shirts still stored her, as well as some linen pants. Henry lays half on the bed as Killian fetches the clothes.

“This shirt goes to my belly button,” Henry comments as he redresses. “Do girls really like shirts to go to your belly button? Wait, I don’t wanna know. You have sex with my mom.”

Henry collapses further onto the bed after dressing. Killian knows they won’t be heading back to the house tonight. The boy is too far gone to walk, and Killian is loathe to carry him. Besides, it would be best for him to sleep it off. “Go to sleep, lad.”

Henry snuggles further onto the bed. Killian is relieved to see him curl on his side. Suddenly, his eyes pop open wide, a look of horror crossing his face. “Wait, have you had sex with my mom in this bed? I don’t want to sleep on a sex bed!”

The answer is yes, he has had sex with Emma in this bed, but Henry doesn’t need to know that. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer, lad. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t believe you’re makin’ me sleep in a sex bed,” is the last thing Henry mumbles before he passes out. Killian fetches a bottle of water, one of the many things Emma has requested he keep on the ship, and places it near the bed. The boy will need it.

Next, Killian calls the boy’s mother.

It doesn’t take long for Emma to arrive. She drives up not in her bug, but the Sheriff’s vehicle. She had been scheduled to work to the night shift – another reason why Killian assumes Henry had called him: he wouldn’t be with Emma.

She pulls him into a hug once she boards the ship. Killian can tell the moment she spots the pool of vomit behind him, as she stiffens considerably. “How is he?”

“Well enough, all things considered.” Despite his assurances, Emma climbs down the stairs to the quarters where her son sleeps. She runs a soothing hand over his brow. The boy mumbles in his sleep, but does not wake.

“What happened?”

“By the sound of it, he drank too much rum at Huck Finn’s party,” Killian answers. He wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulder, and she leans into him. “According to him, rum is the worst.”

“Huck Finn is the worst. I knew there was a reason I hated that book,” Emma grumbles. Killian misses the reference, but he knows better than to ask her to explain. “Thanks for calling me.”

“He didn’t want me to.”

“Of course he didn’t. He’s a teenager after his first time drinking, or rather, the first time getting caught,” Emma snorts. “Let’s go up top and let him sleep. He’ll need it. My guess is that he’ll likely have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

He watches Emma climb back up the stairs. She rolls her eyes when he attempts to assist her. When they reach the deck, he catches her eyeing her son’s vomit.

“I could magic it away, but I think you should make him swab it in the morning,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You okay with that?”

“Whatever you desire, love.” It would be better for her to dole our punishment anyway. Henry is her son, after all. Besides, Henry doesn’t view him as an authority figure. He sighs. “I apologize, Emma.”

“For what?”

He looks down, feeling ashamed. “Henry. He thinks of me as an accomplice. I apologize for giving him the impression that I would hide this from you.”

Emma softens considerably. “Killian, we’re supposed to want him to feel comfortable reaching out for help. It means he trusts you.”

“It means he still sees me as nothing more than a pirate –“

She laughs. “He doesn’t think that, and we both know it. Killian, what’s going on?”

Killian takes a deep breath. “I know I will replace Bae, nor do I want to, but I do selfishly desire that he would see me as a father figure. And yet, he doesn’t.”

“He does. Killian, he does,” Emma reaches out and grabs his hand and hook. “Where is this coming from?”

He glances downward to the near imperceptible swell of her stomach. Though small now, it will grow with their child. He takes a deep breath. “If I fail at being father to Henry, how will I succeed at being a father to this one?”

He watches a tear roll down Emma’s cheeks. She cries more often these days. Hormone tears, she calls them. “What in the world makes you think you failed Henry?”

“He’s sleeping below deck drunk out of his mind.”

“And he’s not in a ditch drunk out of his mind,” Emma says, her voice firm. “Killian, you got him safely to bed. You took care of him while he was sick, and you called me as soon as you were able. What do you think fatherhood is?”

He stays with Henry that night, sleeping on a cot besides the bed. The boy awakens with a terrible hangover, groaning and moaning.

“How grounded am I?” he asks, his voice muffled by a pillow.

“Very. Your mother wants you to swab the deck this morning.”

“Which mom?”

“Emma. I don’t think Regina knows yet.”

Henry moans. “Yet.”

The boy looks miserable, and Killian takes pity on him. “Let’s go home and get you new clothes and some breakfast. It will help.”

“Nothing will help,” Henry replies, but he acquiesces, clambering out of bed and following him up onto deck.

They walk toward the house they share with Emma. Henry makes a face at his vomit-covered sneakers, but says nothing more. Finally, he turns to Killian.

“Killian? Thanks for everything last night.”

Killian claps Henry on the shoulder, thinking maybe, just maybe, Emma might be right.

Chapter Text

The house is large.

It’s smaller than the mansion in which Regina dwells, but large nonetheless. When Killian had first scoured the classified ads for a home, he hadn’t put much thought into the size of a dwelling. Finding a home with picket fence had been the first line of business, and though he’d known Emma had been speaking in metaphor, the fence seemed important somehow.

And as he opens the gate to the picket fence, kicking it closed behind him, Killian looks up at the large, grey house, its size suddenly feeling somewhat daunting. He carries in his arms a singular chest, the one filled with most of his possessions, and it feels small. He feels small.

The wooden stairs creak under his boots, and he has to sit the chest down to unlock the door. The key is an unfamiliar weight in his pocket, but one he appreciates nonetheless. Emma has already commented on changing the locks to match his hook, but Killian finds certain comfort in having his key on a ring, one that matches hers. It makes him feel more settled in this land.

The house, large as it is, is lovely on the inside. He mentally congratulates himself and Henry on picking out such a fine place with only a short description to go by. It’s much nicer than anywhere he’s lived before, not that it says much. He barely remembers the hovel in which he spent his earlier years, but he can recall how the floor had been dirt and bone-chilling freeze of winter. Then there had been terrible ships, and finally, the Jolly. Beautiful as she is, the Jolly is incredibly small. He and Belle had been tripping over one another for the entirety of their short stint staying there together.

(“My boyfriend, Captain Hook, is roomies with Belle,” Emma had laughed one morning over breakfast as Killian had outwardly cringed at the word “roomies.”)

But now he’s living with Emma, not Belle. Henry, as well, on the nights he doesn’t stay at the mansion with his other mother. Killian can’t deny how unbelievably happy he is to finally be taking this step with her, that she finally was able to lower her walls just enough to allow him entrance into her home and bed.

That’s where Killian finds her, in her (their) bed. She is blessedly asleep, taking a much deserved afternoon nap. She is curled on top of the duvet, and she looks so at peace. Killian sit his sole possessions down on the floor, eager to crawl next to her. His movements onto the bed wake her, a soft smile curling onto her lips when she sees him.

“You’re here,” she says, her voice thick with sleep. She reaches out to curl her fingers into his hair, her actions soothing as he settles next to you. “Let me wake up, and I can help you carry the rest.”

He kisses her forehead. “No worries, love, there is no rest. It’s all here now.”

He expects her to look startled, or somewhat sad as Belle had been. Emma is neither. Instead, she cuddles closer to him. Killian recalls the sole box she had shown him months earlier, and he feels a tug at his heart thinking on how similar he and his Swan really are. He wonders if it’s related to the True Love they share. Maybe, their similar pasts have only made them stronger.”

“We’re gonna have to go shopping, you know,” Emma tells him as she snuggles deeper onto his chest. “Get some picture frames and some furniture and wall art and rugs.”

“We can do that.”

“You picked a really massive house, you know.” Her voice is light and teasing. “We’re going to have to spend so much money filling all of this space. We’re gonna need knick-knacks, too.”

“I’ve been told the exchange rate from gold to this realm’s currency is quite favorable,” Killian replies, and he feels Emma smile against his chest.

She rolls herself until she is half on top of him, balancing her chin on his chest. She looks up at him, her expression full of love. “Thanks for picking out this place, Killian.”

“Thank you for wanting to share it with me.”

She kisses him then, and Killian can’t help but feel excited at filling this house with something greater than furniture of knick-knacks: memories.

Chapter Text

Killian appraises Henry’s choice of attire for the dance – dark trousers and a white button up – and casts him a wide grin. “One look at you, my boy, and the Lady Violet will be swept off her feet.”

“You look very handsome, Henry,” Snow White says from her perch next to her sleeping husband. She looks sadly toward his prone form. “I’m sure your grandfather would agree, as well.”

Henry blushes at the compliments, distracting himself by looking down at his shoes. “These go, right?”

“You’ll be fine, lad. After all, it’s not the clothes that woo a lady, it’s the dancing,” Killian assures him. “After all, it’s how I wooed your mother.”

“I thought we agreed to not talk about you wooing my mom…or anything relationshippy with my mom.” Henry makes a face of disgust.

“Hook’s right, though,” Snow cuts in. “To be honest, I don’t remember a thing David wore at our balls, just the dancing and how he made me feel. But you should probably compliment Violet on her dress. Remember that.”

“For example, your mother’s dress was red,” Killian adds, a wistful expression on his face as he remembered his adventure back in time with Emma. “It’s important to remember those things.”

“Yeah, but you have picture in a storybook to remember that.”

“In Camelot, she wore a white dress. There are no pictures of that,” Killian replies with a smirk. Henry simply groans in response.

“What we’re trying to say is that what you wear isn’t the most important thing,” Snow tells him, her voice soft and reassuring. “It’s who you are.”

“Yeah, well, Violet is pretty much ignoring me so I’m going need all the help I can get – clothes included,” Henry huffs out. “So are you going to help me or what?”

Killian and Snow exchange a glance.

“Well, then, why don’t we find you a tie?”

Chapter Text

“I never thought there could be so many books about magical babies.” 

They’re in the library, Emma and Killian, surrounded by dozens of books about magical pregnancies and infants. Based on Belle’s earlier research, the Shears of Destiny were often referenced in regards to magical infants. And since they had been the ones who threw the Shears away, and inadvertently into the hands of Rumplestiltskin, they feel obligated to help.

Emma lifts one of the texts, and overlarge book that’s name should be “What to Expect When You’re Potentially Expecting a Magic Demon Baby”, but is instead something more mundane: Foetus Magicae. “You know, when I woke up this morning, I totally didn’t expect to be reading about magical babies. Well, I didn’t expect to do it ever, but especially not today.” 

Killian looks up from his book, eyebrow quirked. “Really? Never?”

“What, and you have?”

He shrugs.

“I always assumed there would be a chance that your magic could be inherited. Thus, research.” To punctuate his point, Killian waves his hook over the book-filled table for emphasis.

“Yeah, well, Henry doesn’t have magic powers, and if he developed ‘em now, he would be a magical teenager, not a baby.”

“I wasn’t talking about Henry, love.”

Her breath hitches a bit at his admission, because if he’s not talking about Henry, he’s talking about her future offspring. Future, as in something she cannot have, will not have, assuming her vision is correct. (And in all likelihood, is.) 

He’s been doing this quite a bit lately, talking about their future, the one they cannot have. He asks her, a teasing lilt to his voice, if she will still love him when he hair grows gray. He promises that they will cut down the largest tree possible come Christmastime. He’s even mentioned taking her and Henry sailing up the coast once the weather grows warms.

It’s his way of showing her that he truly believes that can change her fate. It’s both sweet and overwhelming. And as much as she loves his steadfastness in his faith for her future, she also hates it.

Because what if they fail? If she dies, everything he’s hoped for will evaporate into nothingness. Christmas, summer sailing trips, magical freaking babies – they’d all be broken dreams. Or dreams he would have to share with someone else. 

She feels her hand begin to tremble. 

“Swan,” he breathes, noticing the shaking of her hand immediately, always so in tune to what she is feeling. “Talk to me, darling.”

“You know there’s a chance there won’t be magical babies, right?” Her voice comes out harsher than she expected, a tinge of anger coming through. “I’m supposed to die, and I didn’t look pregnant or like I just had a baby in the vision, just so you know.”

“Swan, I—“

“And, I really can’t think about babies, magic or not, if I’m supposed to die, Killian,” she tells him, her voice rising considerably with each word. She feels the pinpricks of tears stinging at the corner of her eyes. “I’m not going to leave another of my kids without its mother. I can’t.” 

Emma’s last few words are breathed into Killian’s chest as he engulfs her in his arms. She’s always appreciated his solid presence and the strength of his arms. Right now, however, it reminds her of everything she stands to lose.

“You’re not leaving any of your children, theoretical or not, without their mother,” he tells her, stroking his hook down her back. “And if you don’t wish to think about babies, you don’t have to.”

Except that’s also the thing: she’s been thinking about babies. Not in the serious kind of way, but it’s crossed her mind more than once. She’s not even sure if she wants more kids, but since the choice has seemingly be stolen by fate, the idea has been there in the back of her mind – “Look at this other thing you can’t have.” 

And now she knows Killian’s been thinking about it too. 

“It’s not that I don’t — I just — I can’t do this right now.”

“It’s okay, love.” He plants a kiss on her temple and pulls away slowly. “You know will solve this, right?”

 She nods in response, not quite believing him, but desperately wanting to. She brushes at the corners of her eyes in an attempt to wipe away any errant tears. “Yeah, but before we solve anything, we need to figure out how to keep Belle’s baby safe.”

“Right.”

He eyes her warily as he goes back to his books, settling down in a seat closer to her. He returns to his research, but not before reaching out and taking her once trembling hand in her own, and squeezing it tightly.

He doesn’t let her go.

Chapter Text

He finds her on the back porch, sitting cross-legged on the swing that Marco had gifted them that first summer after the defeat of the Black Fairy. Killian has half a mind to go fetch her a blanket, an admonition already on the tip of his tongue about the chilled weather, but he thinks better of it. He knows he’s been overprotective -- “overbearing," some might say -- as of late, and he can tell by the tense set of her shoulders that any further warning might be unwelcome. Instead, Killian pads across the damp wood and takes his place beside his wife.

They sit in silence, the only noise the occasional taps of the morning’s drizzle against their roof and the creak of the swing’s hinges. Killian threads his fingers through hers and finds relief in the small upturn of her lips. “Love?”

She sighs and closes her eyes. “Sometimes when it rains, I can just close my eyes and imagine I’m back in the Enchanted Forest. There’s something about the smell after a storm that takes me back there, you know? And for a moment, I allow myself to believe that I’m there with him.”

His heart drops at the mention of Henry. He’s never been far from her mind, but lately, Killian can tell she’s been missing him more. As her own belly swells, the void of his absence seems to grow deeper. Killian knows guilt has been eating away at her -- from giving him up, from celebrating the milestones of the child growing inside of her now when she hadn’t done the same with him, from leaving him behind to search for his own princess.

She wishes that they could have stayed in the Enchanted Forest with him, but they both know why they did not -- could not . Her magic has been too unreliable, her own health too fragile with morning sickness that had landed her in the emergency room more than once. “High-risk.” That’s what the doctors had called the pregnancy. And staying in the Enchanted Forest was too high a risk to take. It’s why they left, why Henry didn’t ask them to stay.

“Maybe after the lass is born, we can go for a visit, yeah? Introduce her to her big brother,” he suggests, squeezing her hand and nudging at her shoulder. He keeps a wide smile plastered on his face, one he doesn’t entirely feel, “And perhaps we can finally meet in person the lovely lady that’s stolen Henry’s heart.”

“Regina says she’s impressive.”

“High praise coming from the Evil Queen.”

“ Former Evil Queen.”

“Regardless, when is the last time we’ve witnessed her calling anyone impressive?”

“There’s a first time for everything, I guess.” Emma quirks another smile at that, and Killian feels victorious. But, the moment quickly passes, and she’s back to feeling melancholy, her lips downturned. “I just wish there was more we could do than just hearing about everything secondhand through mirror magic.”

“I know, love.” He presses a kiss to her temple, and she leans into him. They try to take advantage of the rare moments when one or both of them can communicate with Regina and Henry through the magic of mirrors, catching up and checking in. It’s not the same, but they make do with what they’re able.

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful or -- it’s not that I don’t want this.” Emma’s hands drift down to the swell of her belly. “I’m incredibly happy we get this chance but--”

“--but you wish our entire family could be here with you,” Killian finishes for her. She nods, and he can see the glisten of tears in her eyes.

“I just feel so selfish for it though, because Henry’s supposed to leave the nest and go on these grand adventures away from me. I know that,” she says emphatically, “but I want him here. I want to help him defeat his girlfriend’s crazy step-mother. I want him to be here when his sister is born. I want us all together. But I guess we always want what we can’t have, right?”

“Emma…” Killian begins, but the words die in his throat. There’s nothing he can say properly to soothe her in this moment. Instead, he allows his actions to speak louder than any encouragements he could muster, and he pulls her properly into his arms.

On a wet April morning, Emma Swan-Jones cries.

Chapter Text

Emma watches the news of the events in New York play out, ignores the guilt churning in her gut and the magic sparking at her fingertips. She reasons that there’s nothing she can do, nothing that she could have done. Tony Stark is missing and he’s –

– a man in an metal suit, a traitorous voice reminds her. He doesn’t have special abilities, doesn’t have magic. Not like you, says the voice, the one that sounds a lot like Henry.

But Henry’s the reason why she’s ensconced away in this sleepy Maine town, no longer living in New York or Boston. Aliens don’t attack here. Storybrooke isn’t even a blip on the radar to the villains in their own metal suits, resurrected Nazis, and mythological monsters. Storybrooke is, for all intents and purposes, safe. And as someone who spent a great deal of her young life not feeling safe, she knows better than anyone that the best gift she can give her son is a bubble of warmth and security. Here the biggest dangers are mundane – car accidents, falling into the harbor, accidental food poisoning from Granny’s Wednesday Surprise. Those, Emma can live with.

What she can’t live with is New York again and the horror of being separated as the world fell apart. Henry hadn’t been harmed then – thank the Avengers – but she wasn’t going to risk it again, not after the nightmares that plagued Henry’s dreams since and the ones that torment her own. So, Emma picked them up and moved them somewhere far, far away, to the small seaside town bracketed by forests that one of her former coworkers once spoke so fondly of, the town that same woman now lives with her husband and infant son. 

Emma hadn’t really paid attention then, too busy trying to earn tips and keep her job so that she could continue to feed her infant son. But after the invasion, the memories resurfaced, and Emma found herself reaching out to her old friend. Lo and behold, a position at the police station had recently opened and Emma had jumped at the chance.

Emma sees now what Mary Margaret had waxed about all those years ago, back when both she and Emma were waitresses trying to get by. At first, a small part of her had feared leaving her own relative anonymity in a city of millions while uprooting Henry from his own friend base. But, her son has taken to his new school like a fish in water, and well, no one appears to have cottoned on to her own abilities.

It’s a secret she keeps close to her heart, one she’s shared with a sacred few. She learned early that secrecy was the key to survival, and in her dreams, Emma can still hear the jeers of her foster families – Freak. Monster. Just as Hagrid did with Harry, Emma once fantasized about someone coming to take her away where she could with people like her. But those fantasies never came to fruition, and a life on the streets had been her destiny.

But that was years ago. She’s in a better place now. She has a home and job. She has Henry, and Emma hopes she doing her best by him. He does well in school, and she no longer worries about him going to bed hungry – and she doesn’t either. They both have friends. Emma might refuse to join the librarian’s book club, but she goes out to drinks with her every now then. She has dinners with Mary Margaret, just the two of them away from their kids.

And then there’s Killian.

It’s the thought of him coupled with the knowledge that Henry is with him that has her searching for the keys to the Bug and driving down towards to harbor. Henry adores Killian, adores even more now that Killian is teaching him how to sail. As for Emma, well, Killian’s enthusiasm for spending time with her kid makes her li – love – him even more.

There. She can say it - love.

She loves Killian Jones. She just hasn’t told him that.

It’s something that she’s spent quite a bit of time thinking about – her feelings for the former Naval Lieutenant-turned-bartender. She hadn’t intended to fall in love with him, not even fall “in like” as Henry says. Emma hadn’t been searching for a man, not after what happened with Neal, or worse, Walsh. But he somehow nudged his way into her heart, likely after one too many nights in bar where she slowly spilled her guts as he listened. He never judged her, just watched her with understanding in his eyes.

Eventually, she would learn why. He lost his brother in a war, and his fiance later in Sokovia. He knew loss, not quite the same as she, but loss all the same. They bonded over their mutual pain – and later, over other things. A mutual interest in Die Hard movies, similar senses of humor, and very strong feelings regard Kentucky versus New York bourbon.

In the car, she doesn’t turn on the radio, not wanting a chance of hearing any more news. She wants to focus on the good things, like Killian and Henry’s faces when she surprises them at Killian’s boat. They should be getting back by now. Killian will kiss her, and Henry will pull a face, and it will feel normal. Not like the world is falling apart outside the cover of their small town.

Perhaps tonight Emma will even tell Killian she loves him.

When Emma gets to the harbor, she’s surprised by the quiet, but doesn’t think too much of it.  With everything that’s happened in New York, people likely begged off early, and hunkered down at home with their families in hope that whatever happens out there won’t touch them here. And, in a way, Emma supposes that’s what she’s doing, searching out her own little family.

Yeah, Emma thinks, I’m going to tell him tonight.

Of course it takes the world almost ending for Emma to admit how she feels.

She finds a parking spot with ease, and heads down to the docks. She spies Killian’s boat – the Rolly Joger - docked, but she neither him nor Henry.

“Killian?” she calls.

The docks are surprisingly ashy. She’d been off the previous night, and hadn’t heard anything about fire or fireworks down her. She can already imagine Killian clucking about the mess. He’s a bit of a neat freak, that man of hers.

He doesn’t answer her shout, and neither does Henry. She wonders if she somehow missed them, though she thinks Killian might have texted her. Emma fishes her phone from her pocket, and pulls up Killian’s name.

They’re probably at Granny’s, Emma thinks as she waits for his phone to ring.

He never answers.

Chapter Text

“You have got to be kidding me. You’re a captain! You’re supposed to be able to sail your ship! That is what I’m paying you to do!”

Under most circumstances, Killian imagines the princess’ voice would be loud and shrill, but instead her words come out in a harsh whisper. They’re huddled together at the furthest corner of the seedy tavern, and between the cacophony of the drunken patrons inside and the storm raging outside, he doubts anyone would hear them. But considering he’s ferrying the goddamn Princess of Misthaven around, he appreciates that she’s not yelling, even if she is questioning his ability as a captain.

“You’re paying me to get you to Arendelle safe and sound, love–”

“I am not your love!”

“–and if this storm capsizes this ship, drowning us both, I don’t think I’d be fulfilling my part of the bargain, eh?”

She appears to take heed of his words. “So you’re saying we’re trapped here until the storm passes?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say trapped, but if that’s your preferred descriptor, then yes. Looks like we’ll be trapped for awhile.“

He should have known that when the beautiful woman across from him approached him at a tavern weeks ago, he was in for some trouble. But she had enchanted him with her pretty green eyes, words that fueled his ego (“I’ve heard from countless men that you’re the best sailor around…”) and the mountain of gold she’d offered him, and well, a pirate doesn’t turn down easy treasure. All he needed to do was get her to Arendelle, an act which required sailing through enemy territory.

He’d been upholding his end of the bargain until the storm came around. Thankfully, when he had noticed the oncoming storm, he’d had enough time to navigate them to a friendly – well, friendly for pirates – port.

“How long are we stuck here?”

“Hopefully just for the night. Maybe two.” At her stricken expression, he adds, “Worry not, Princess, you’ll get to Arendelle in plenty of time to aid your friend.”

He doesn’t have the full picture of why exactly she needs to get to Arendelle, and why her travels need to remain so secret, though he supposes it has something to do with the war brewing between her kingdom and that of her estranged grandfather. Whatever it is, it’s earning him a mighty bit of gold. As long as he keeps his head, it will be worth it.

“What exactly are we supposed to do for the next day or so? Sit around and wait?”

“More like sit around and drink.” He makes a show of raising his stein of ale. He’s had to cut back on his drinking with her aboard. “I’ve also secured us a room for the night. No use staying aboard the ship. Even moored, it’s bound to be choppy tonight.”

“Wait, just one room? Singular?” Killian watches as her cheeks turn scarlet. He would find it delightful if he didn’t know it was a precursor to her anger. “In what world would you ever think that I’d want to share a room here with you?”

“You wound me, love. I’ll have you know that I quite fancy you from time to time when you aren’t yelling at me.” He winks, which only deepens her scowl. His pride might have been hurt by her declaration, but he’s caught her sneaking enough glances at him when she thinks he isn’t watching to know that she’s at least considered sharing a room with him – or at the very least his bed. He’s certainly considered it enough. He is, after all, a man who has been in close quarters with a beautiful woman.

“Yes, well, be that as it may, I’m still going to get us a second room.”

Emma makes a move to stand, but he catches her arm. “There aren’t any rooms left, and even if there were, the two of us splitting up would appear conspicuous.” Emma sits back down, considering his words. “No one knows who you are. Your dignity will remain intact. I promise I won’t bite, unless you ask me to.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.” Despite her words, she remains sitting. Balancing her chin on her palm, she sighs. “What do you recommend we drink?” She pokes at his stein with her free hand. “If we’re going to be stuck drinking, I want it to be something good.”

“Unfortunately, I doubt this place will have anything for your refined tastes…” Emma rolls her eyes at his sarcasm “…but nothing beat a good bottle of rum.”

She gives him a ghost of a smile. “Then rum it is.”

Chapter Text

The gardens are beautiful in all of their springtime splendor, and Killian can’t help but be in awe as he and Emma wander through the rainbow blooms. They’re under the watchful eye of the castle guards – the princess not allowed unsupervised and alone with a man – but that fact is easy to forget when surrounded with such beauty. Every few steps, his hand brushes against Emma’s, the contact sending an exhilarating thrill up his spine, and he notes how she doesn’t pull her hand away.

Perhaps, maybe, she might actually feel the same…

He tries in vain to rid himself of such hopes. He’s carried a torch for Princess Emma for quite some time, but that’s to be expected. She’s kind and funny, and she has the most beautiful smile. How can he not be drawn to her? But the idea of her harboring feelings for him is, well, laughable. Though he’s proven himself in her kingdom’s Navy, he’s still a lieutenant. And he knows she has princes from faraway lands vying for her hand – she’s mentioned them in her letters to him.

But always with a hint of disdain…

“However did you keep yourself occupied all those months at sea? I think I would have gone mad!”

“Oh, most of days are spent on tasks keeping the ship in order,” Killian explains. His duties in the Navy had been less odious than those he had as a cabin boy, but they were duties all the same. “When I had down time, I would read or write. And, of course, we had shore leave.”

“And what did you do when you had shore leave?” Her tone has a hint of suggestion, almost as if she knows just what most sailors do when meeting dry land after weeks and months at sea. He feels his cheeks burn at her insinuation.

“Not what you’re implying,” he counters, not sure if he’s showing his hand. He might have paid off a lady – not his finest moment – to imply about his prowess to save face, but he hadn’t done any more than that. “Who knew princesses had such filthy minds?”

“I’m full of surprises. Perhaps you were gone for too long to notice.” What he does notice is her satisfied smile, as if she is all too pleased by the turn of events. Killian chances a glance over his shoulder. Though he knows they are being watched, the guards don’t appear to be standing within earshot.

He considers his next course of actions. Shoving his hand into his jacket pocket, he runs his thumb over the trinket he’s kept hidden. He feels a unsurprising amount of doubt, but he pushes his way through it. “A man can be full of surprises too, you know.”

“And I assume the man in question is you?”

“You would assume correctly.” He takes a deep breath and briefly loses himself in the sparkle of her eyes. “I got you a present.”

Her grin is wide. He takes the trinket out of his jacket, and he feels foolish as he hands it over to her. It’s a small wooden swan – one he had seen at a vendor as he explored a market in Agrabah during his most recent deployment. It’s nothing compared to the jewels he knows she received from other men. “The moment I saw it, I was reminded of you.” 

She’d earned the nickname The Swan Princess years ago. The night she’d been presented, she’d worn a beautiful feathered dress, and she’d danced so elegantly, Emma had been compared to swan. The moniker, itself, drives her a bit mad, but Killian finds it fitting.

“It’s beautiful, Killian, really.” He can tell by the tremble in her voice that her words are genuine. “I’m surprised you thought enough about me to find me a gift.”

“Please, there’s not a day that went by that I didn’t think of you.” The words fall from his mouth automatically, and he regrets how forward he sounds. She seems to notice it too, because a soft blush erupts across her cheeks. He braces himself for the moment she lets him down.

Princess Emma, however, is full of surprises.

“Good,” she says. Emma then stands on the tips of her toes and wraps her arms around his neck. Before Killian can so much as react, she presses her lips her against his own. He smiles, far too happy by the turn of events, making their kiss sloppy. But he doesn’t remove his lips from hers, not until a guard clears his throat and they pull away, both of them blushing.

Killian Jones has never better happier for a surprise.

Chapter Text

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you!”

“There are worse ways to go, I suppose, and I should know,” he called down. He even had the audacity to wink, that bastard. “Promise me that you’ll revive me with the kiss of life.

Emma watched as her husband balanced precariously on the roof of their house, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She was planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much, and had no intention of climbing up the ladder to join him in his endeavor. She knew, however, she couldn’t be too annoyed. He was up there for her, kind of, and once they were all hung, the Christmas lights would be pretty. But still.

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me use my magic to make them just – whoosh – appear.” It would certainly be easier, and not require Killian to do acrobatics on their roof. “And, with all the time we’d be saving, we could be curled up on the couch or in bed.”

He laughed deeply, and she smiled. She liked his laugh. “Are you attempting to seduce me out of hanging these lights, Emma?”

“I’m just stating the simple facts!”

“You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

“I believe I already was.” As the words left her mouth, she felt a chill run down her spine. Okay, not to the point where I can joke about it yet.

Sensing the shift in her emotions, Killian’s expression softened. “You brought me back, love, and it’s because of that I’m up here on this gods-forsaken roof fighting with these gods-forsaken lights.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye. It’s our first Christmas in this house, and it’s our first one together as husband and wife.” It amazed Emma that she still felt butterflies at being called ‘husband and wife’. “And this year, I want to honor that fact by hanging this lights the proper way.”

“Even if you break your neck?”

“I’ve climbed to much greater heights hundreds of times on the Jolly. This is nothing,” he boasted. She rolled her eyes in response, as was expected, but she had to admit she found his ego a little hot. Not that she would ever admit that to him. No, not in one million years.

“And you aren’t doing all of this work just for me?” She knew that they didn’t celebrate Christmas in the Enchanted Forest. They had holidays dedicated to the Winter Solstice, and Yule Balls like right out of Harry Potter, but Christmas with the lights and trees and cheesy song was purely a Land Without Magic thing. Killian hadn’t even heard of Christmas until she had introduced him to it all during those six magical – or non-magical, in this case – weeks of peace.

“You act like doing something for you isn’t a worthy enough cause. I assure you, darling, it is.”

A wave of warmth and sentimentality spread over her, and Emma knew for sure that she was blushing. Leave it to her pirate husband to sweep her off her sweep, even from all the way to the top of their roof.

“Fine, put up the Christmas lights. Just let me know when you’re finished. You deserve a kiss for that one.”

When Killian was finished, he received a kiss. Then another, and another. And when the sky turned dark that night, Emma had to admit that the light did look spectacular. And so did Killian in their warm glow.

“Merry almost-Christmas, my love.”

Merry almost-Christmas, indeed.

Chapter Text

“Like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives…”

Emma returned home from the grocery store to find Killian sitting in the den, an aghast look on his face as he started at the television program. She placed the bag on the counter and moved to join her boyfriend on the sofa.

“Not gonna lie, but you don’t strike me as a soap opera kind of guy,” she teased, stroking his fingers through the hair on the nape of his nape.

Killian made an affronted noise at her suggestion, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Rest assured, Swan, I am not a ‘soap opera kind of guy’. How is it that people in his realm are entertained by this drivel?”

Emma laughed. “If it makes you feel better, this is pretty much scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

“But someone has to enjoy it if it's is on the talking box.”

Emma shrugged. “Well, yeah. It’s a form of escape. Absurd scenarios, a carousel of sex partners, random explosions.”

“Like how you enjoy the program with the dreamy doctor,” he supplied with a grin. “Though what you’re trying to escape from, I hardly know. You get your fair share of explosion and frankly absurd scenarios here, and I know you’re satisfied sexually.”

“Am I now? Care to prove it?”

Emma’s laugher rang out as Killian chased her up the stairs, the television forgotten behind them.