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Emma sighs wearily.
Tired. So very tired.
The Darkness never sleeps within her, so neither does she. It buzzes frantically, diving towards the light inside her like a moth. Crashing into her peace, stealing her quiet moments and replacing them with a delicate chaos.
The dreamcatchers take no real thought to complete; her fingers moving deftly through the twine. She longs to talk to someone but her family holds her separate; at arm’s length lest she shatter into madness in front of them.
She knows Killian doesn’t sleep often or for very long once he does. She recognizes the pattern of his footfalls in the hallway outside her room, hears his jaw clenching as he paces. Lately he gives off the essence of a caged tiger, prowling with increasing desperation. She shuffles to the door, gliding it silently open.
“Killian?”
“Aye, love?” his face softens immediately at her voice, feet moving to close the space between them.
“Are you not sleeping?” Emma lets her hand caress his arm. He looks almost as tired as she feels.
“Doubtful. Would you like some company? Can I weave those dream receptacles one-handed?”
“Catchers,” she corrects with a smile, “Would you mind just talking to me?”
“Of course, Swan.”
Killian moves to take his place in the ornate armchair once inside her room, raising an eyebrow at Emma’s patented Really? expression as she realizes what he’s doing.
“Killian…” Emma gestures to the bed with a pat of her hand, sitting down and pulling her knees level with her chest. “I’m going to need you to come closer than that.”
“As you wish.” Killian half-bows as he kicks his boots off, sitting awkwardly beside her.
“Coat.” Emma grins, candlelight dancing in her eyes. Killian shimmies out of his leather, tossing it to the chair with the end of his hook.
“Vest,” comes the next demand, Emma’s grin giving way to cool disdain.
Killian’s fingers pause on each button, watching her intently. “Just how many layers of clothing am I to shed, Swan?”
“That should do.” Emma nods at the discarded vest; moving to wind an arm across her pirate, head settling down to his chest.
The fabric of her nightgown is sheer and slippery against his callouses as he curls his hand around her waist and kisses her hair.
Emma can feel his heart speed up as she sighs into the linen of his shirt.
“Better?” he asks, knowing the answer is something far too subjective right now.
“Mhm.” She stops to run her fingers along the chains around his neck, the metal of the skull cool against the sparking heat of her hand.
“What shall we talk about, love?” The feel of her hair sticking to his beard makes his lips twist into a smile. (There are still moments, not matter how dire the situation).
“I’m not sure. Something nice and distracting…” The moths in her mind are stilling as the warmth of him spreads across her skin.
“You know, I’ve still no idea what Netflix is,” Killian huffs.
Emma giggles softly, attempting to find the best explanation. “Well, you remember when I told you what a movie was?”
“Aye,” he furrows his brow. “I do recall you’ve said your favourite is The Princess Bride.”
“Very good,” her cheeks ache from smiling now. “It’s a story. It’s just that you’re watching it unfold rather than reading it. I mean technically The Princess Bride is a book, but they made it into a movie.”
“Right,” Killian says. She can feel his confusion prickle through the hairs on his arm.
“Netflix is something that shows movies. And TV shows.”
“Why don’t you tell me all about your favourite then, Swan?” Killian strokes circles into her hip with his thumb, eager to keep her occupied.
“Okay but we’re still watching it when we get back,” Emma affirms. “Possibly several times.”
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” Comes the reply, his breath edging a damp heat into her scalp.
“I bet you’ll like it. It’s got fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, chases, escapes, true love, miracles…” Her head was fogless now, clear as the night sky as she’s struggles not to giggle with every word.
“Sounds right up my alley, love.”
“You have no idea.” Emma squeezes him tighter as she begins “Buttercup was raised on a farm, in the country of Florin…”