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The sun beats down on the grassy fields, the warm July air seeping through his leather jacket and into Killian’s skin. He can taste the breeze from the ocean on his tongue, its salt stuck to the air and the material of his clothes. It’s this weather, with a heat that pools beads of sweat on the nape of his neck and a wind that rushes the sea air across his skin, that makes him feel at home in the small Maine town.
Of course, it’s the boy complaining about the weather and the beautiful girl laughing at him that make feeling at home even possible.
“I’m so hot,” Henry whines, shucking his sweater off and throwing it to the ground. “Let’s go see a movie instead.”
Emma rolls her eyes, shrugging her jacket off and dropping it on top of her son’s. “There’s nothing good playing here. They haven’t had new movies since ‘85.”
Henry laughs and Killian grins with him. He likes the way the sunlight glows in their hair, shining Emma’s blonde locks and highlighting the bright strands in Henry’s, likes the way their cheeks pinken from the rays. The feeling in his chest when they turn to him with wide smiles reminds him of the warmth of sunshine on his own skin.
“Besides,” Killian unsheathes his sword, swinging it with a twirl of his wrist, “I remember a certain young lad wanted to train with something that has a little more punch.”
Henry’s head tilts, his face blanking before erupting in a grin so brilliant Killian isn’t sure which parent it reminds him of. “You’re kidding.” He begins to bounce on the ball of his feet, ricocheting back and forth as his excitement grows.
“Settle down, kid, or there’s no way I’m letting him give you a blade.” Emma says, wryly, folding her arms across her chest. Henry throws himself at her, pushing them both back with his hug as he wraps his arms around her neck.
“Careful there,” he starts, but then Henry drops his mother and comes at him, propelling himself towards Killian with his arms wide. Killian maneuvers quickly to keep the sword away from the boy’s body, before hugging him back. It’s brief, but it’s the first one Killian can remember with the lad, and from Emma’s wide eyes and soft smile that he sees over Henry’s shoulder, it’s the first one she’s seen, too.
“This is so cool!” Henry exclaims, grabbing Killian’s sword from his hand. He turns his head quickly to disguise his laugh as a cough in the crook of his arm after spotting Emma’s disgruntled expression. “Can I use yours?”
The boy takes a few experimental swings, slicing through the air with enough enthusiasm that Killian’s sure Henry could be as good of a pirate as his father could have been.
“Not likely,” Emma mutters, snatching the cutlass out of Henry’s grip, handing it back to Killian. She unsheathes a sword she had been carrying, extending the hilt towards Henry. He lunges for it, but she pulls it back quickly. “Hey, hey. You can use Grandpa’s sword, but you have to be careful.”
“Yes, Mom.” Henry eagerly agrees.
“I’m serious. No goofing around or showing off,” Emma levels Killian with a glare, raising an eyebrow, “That goes for the both of you.”
Killian exchanges a glance with Henry; he raises his hook when Henry begins to raise two, extended fingers. “Yes, Mom,” they parrot at her.
Emma sighs, dropping her head back to look at the sky. Her lips move silently and Killian nudges Henry, nodding towards her. Henry bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing.
“Fine, fine, whatever,” Emma gives Henry the sword, wincing when his hand closes around the hilt and he tugs it away from her. “I’m going to regret this.”
“Aw, don’t be that way, Mom.” Henry grins, skipping backwards towards the middle of the field. “You can fight winner.”
He spins a few time, jabbing the sword against the air and lunging with both hands clutched tightly together. Emma takes a step forward before sighing heavily and moving to Killian’s side.
“Take it easy on him,” she mutters, leaning her head against his shoulder. He can still smell the sea, but it’s mixed with vanilla and coconut, an Emma Swan concoction that radiates from the top of her head, and he inhales deeply before dropping a kiss to her hair.
“I’ll give no more than sixty percent,” he promises, pulling away so he can see her face. Freckles decorate the bridge of her nose, the apples of her cheeks bright pink. He dips closer, eyes training on the small part between her lips.
“Hey, old man! Are you coming or what?” Henry’s voice booms, interrupting.
Killian groans. “Sixty-five,” he amends, dropping quickly to peck his lips against hers quickly. “Wish me luck, Swan,” he winks, turning and jogging towards Henry.
He stops a few feet away from the lad, pivoting so Emma can see them both from her spot on the sideline. Henry grins and lifts his sword, both hands tight enough around the hilt that his knuckles are turning white. He’s grinning, despite his feet being too close together and his knees locked, and Killian feels a surge of warmth shoot through him at the image.
He hangs his cutlass on his hook, shrugging his coat off one side before grabbing it to take it off all the way. Henry waits, the toes of his left foot jittering impatiently as Killian pushes his sleeves up his arms a bit.
He takes a step to him and Henry moves, too, the sword coming close enough to Killian that Emma lets out a loud “Hey!”. Killian laughs.
“Hold on, lad.” He holds up his hand and hook in a mock surrender gesture, “Unless it was your intention to run me through.”
Henry’s face flushes and Killian’s sure it has nothing to do with the summer heat. “Oh, uh, sorry, Killian.”
Killian shakes his head, smiling. “Not to worry. Now, spread your legs shoulder width apart.” He stands until he’s right next to Henry, mimicking the way to step. “Bend your knees a little, there you go. You don’t need to give it too much slack, but if you stand too straight you won’t be able to move faster than your opponent.”
He demonstrates the proper level of give, clapping Henry on the back when he moves correctly. “Hold the sword lighter, not so tightly. Remember, this is not just a weapon. It’s an extension of your arm, your own body part as much as your hand or fingers. You must move as smoothly as if it’s a muscle you’ve long since defined.”
Henry loosens his grip, looking up at Killian with the same earnest expression Baelfire made dozens of moons ago. Killian clears his throat. “Perfect, lad.”
“It’s a bit big,” Henry says quietly, frowning at the blade.
“Aye,” Killian agrees, smiling, “Dave is a bit big himself. We’ll get you your own soon enough, but it never hurts to be able to use a blade you might just find lying around.”
He eyes the cutlass in Killian’s hand. “You prefer that kind, though?”
“It’s a pirate’s blade,” he lifts it, watches the way the metal reflect in the daylight, “If you’d like, you can practice with this, as well.”
Henry hesitates, then grins widely. “I’d like that.”
Killian grins back. “Then you shall do it.”
He goes back to his original position, letting Henry mirror his own stance from a few feet apart. Henry is shaking a bit, nerves affecting his muscles and limbs. Killian’s own enthusiasm is raging, feeding off of the teenager’s excitement.
He glances at Emma, but the sun is high enough in the sky that it blurs his vision of her. He squints, making out her outline. It’s trimmed with a halo of light, her curls nearly reflective in the brightness. He thinks it a fitting image, after being his own personal bright spot, a north star guiding him always home. She waves, letting out a small cheer, and he feels brighter for it, too.
“Don’t take it easy on me, Hook,” Henry drawls, pulling his attention back to the impending fight. “I want to beat you fair and square.”
Killian grins, twirling the cutlass in his hand before dipping his shoulders, nodding. “As you wish.”