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Weekend mornings usually run smoothly. During the week, they are always rushing —to work, or school, or whatever— but on the weekends, they are able to take their time, which is nice. They are good at weekend mornings. They have a dynamic, routines that work really well for them for the most part.
Emma’s job is the cooking —scrambled eggs, and pancakes this morning— while Henry does all the table setting and plant watering.
They work seamlessly —a little team, the two of them.
Emma’s thoughts are wandering though, her eyes darting from Henry to the eggs in the pan, but her mind miles and miles away.
This happens often —a lot more often than she wants it to.
“Uh, Mom, you forgot something,” says Henry after she has set the plates on the table and a mug of hot cocoa by him.
His voice breaks Emma from her thoughts, and only for a few seconds, she’s confused.
“Right, cinnamon,” she smiles at her son, reaching for the cinnamon sprinkler and passing it to him. Their family rituals of sorts are a new thing to Emma, she likes them, she loves them even; she appreciates them. Her life with her son is a really good one —she is making a good living, Henry is thriving at school, he has friends. Most importantly, they have each other and that is all that matters right?
After both their cups of cocoa are sprinkled with the magical touch of cinnamon, she and Henry click their mugs together before taking a sip of the chocolaty goodness at the same time.
Suddenly, their quiet morning is interrupted by a knocking coming from outside the door.
Emma frowns almost immediately.
“Someone coming over?”
“No.” She tells Henry simply —no, they aren’t expecting anyone that she’s aware.
Just then, the knocking resumes as a loud pounding
Emma gets up to check, eyes wide and frown deep. “Henry, wait here.” As Emma heads to the door, she turns off the music player they had on all morning.
She opens the door to find someone dressed in pirate clothes behind it.
The look on his face is one Emma hadn’t seen on anyone in what feels like centuries. He’s smiling —recognizing her. “Swan. At last,” he says, but seems to remember suddenly why he’s here. “Swan, Listen—l” he tries to say, but she cuts him off, shaking her head —finally snapping out of the stupor seeing him caused. “It’s you,” she says, and he’s obviously taken aback.
“Aye, it’s me,” he replies softly, awestruck. “You remember?” His tone is so uncertain, eyebrows knitted, eyes solely focused on her.
Emma in any case, simply nods, looking back at him just as intently. Part of her thinks maybe she’s dreaming? That has to be, because really, there is no way Killian Jones can be here, right? Travel between realms is impossible. Hell, magic is impossible in this world, so he just can’t be here.
Somehow, he looks real though —he even smells real, and Emma is not sure how to react, or how she feels. She ends up smiling, because on top of every emotion she feels right now, she’s mostly fucking glad to see him. “You found me,”
“Aye,” Killian nods, barely believing it himself. Apparently, he was not the only one who spent the last year with his memories. He wasn’t the only one who tried to go back to the life he had before the curse. Emma had too, but by the look on her face, he’d say she’d been as successful as he was with that task.
And that was not very successful at all.
“Ho—” He’s about to ask her how she remembers, but then he simply has to stop himself. There’s no need to ask —he gets it. “You are the bloody savior Swan,” of course half-assed spells to give her cursed memories didn’t work. Part of Killian wishes it had worked though —if only so that her life would have always been happy with her boy —at least in her mind.
If he’s being completely honest though, then he has to admit how glad he is to see her not looking at him like a stranger. Killian prepared himself for that, but the reality would have been too bloody painful to bear.
This reality, however, with Emma looking at him as if he is the very last piece of home she has, is priceless. She can’t tear her eyes from him to save her life, and honestly, neither can Killian.
He has to make himself focus in the details; the glow surrounding her smile, the way her nose wrinkles making all those little lines form around her eyes and mouth. Killian needs to commit this moment to memory —soon enough she is going to learn just why he is here, and he knows the smile would disappear with the news.
A voice interrupts them after a moment, before Emma can reply. “Mom! Who was that at the door?”
“Is that—”
“Henry,” Emma supplies, uneasily looking back over her shoulder and then back at Killian in front of her. “He’s off to a friend’s house in a while. Do you wanna—”
“I’ll be back,” Killian says, but Emma’s not completely okay with that —although she knows it’s the smartest decision. She’s still in her pajamas for God sakes, and explaining to her son everything about their life being a lie during Sunday breakfast doesn’t exactly appeal her.
Still, she just got Hook back. She doesn’t want to let go so soon. Emma bites her lip. “Eat up, kid! You don’t wanna be late to meet Fred,” she says, not shifting her eyes from Killian’s.
He nods and is about to move from her door, but Emma stops him, her hand grabbing the crook of his elbow. She bites her lips again, but then she says, “It’s good seeing you, Killian.”
“Likewise, Swan,” he says, but he’s containing himself so much. He had planned to kiss Emma in hopes to jog her memories this morning. That had been his big elaborated plan; kiss his Swan, and hope like hell she remembered him and everything they’ve gone through.
As it is, Killian hasn’t gotten close enough to Emma to touch at all. Expect, of course, for her fingers on his arm, where her touch alone seems to be almost burning him.
Alas, he has to go now so any sort of personal displays of affection would have to wait.
“I’ll be back, Emma.”
/-/-/-/-/-/
He doesn’t come back for three hours. Three whole unending hours in which Emma manages to clean up her entire apartment, top to bottom, twice. She wishes so badly she could speed time —today more than ever she misses being able to wield magic.
Emma is almost mad at Hook when he finally does show up.
However, her anger vanishes as soon as she lays her eyes on him again —same dashing pirate look, as if no time has passed. God, she missed him.
But damn her for thinking this was just Hook coming to find her —for the sake of finding her. Boy, she’d been wrong. Of course, it is a crisis. It is always a fucking crisis when magic is involved.
“So a new curse?”
“I’m afraid so, Swan,” Killian tells her frankly. “The message told me that the only hope was you, so I came,”
Emma breathes in and out deeply, not really wanting to accept any of this, but truly not seeing a way out either. She sighs and can see out of the corner of her eye the look of actual sympathy Hook’s giving her.
”I loathe being the carrier of sad news.”
Emma regards him softly, takes a moment to actually consider if he’s being honest or not, and is not surprised when she realizes he is. “Yeah, well,” she sighs. “Better it’s you and not, I don’t know, Leroy?”
Killian catches on her joking disposition, and smiles. He knows she’s hiding her real emotions about this whole ordeal behind a mile high wall, but he can pretend too —for now at the very least. “I reckon the anguished little man has his charm, won't you agree Swan?”
She shrugs; eyes playful, the softest of smiles on her face. “Sure I can, Hook.” Again Emma sighs, shaking her head and cursing the time of the day —she could really use some alcohol right now, and she could bet an arm and leg Killian has some rum on him (like always, like old times)
“He probably got ripped back to Storybrooke too.”
“Same as everybody, right?”
“You’re asking about your parents, love?”
Emma likes Leroy all right, he is indeed charming in his own way, well…sometimes —some very counted times, but still.
The truth is, knowing if her family is back in this world is the one thing she can’t stop thinking about.
Emma nods eventually, slowly, solemn.
“Aye, love —I believe them, and everybody else is back. I don’t know why but they need you, everybody does.”
“Naturally,” she lets out sarcastically unable to stop herself.
“Are you coming back with me?” Killian feels unsure all of a sudden, his voice not carrying its usual cockiness. “To help them?”
Emma notes the unusual tone, but still brushes it off, instead just looking at him —really looking at him. “Do you really have to ask that?”
No, he doesn’t. Killian shakes his head, briefly letting a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Your boy,” he starts. “The message, it came with a small vial, memory potion I was to use on you, but now…”
“…We can give it to Henry,” Emma finishes his thought for him —she sounds uneasy though, as though the thought alone of giving Henry his memories back scares her.
(And it does. Terribly)
“Would you like to do it, Swan?”
She looks at him, biting her lip. “I don’t know —yes, but…not yet.”
“Fair enough.” He can only imagine what she’s feeling —one moment she is just a mom taking care of her child, no more savior responsibilities to worry about, and the next, he is back, turning her life upside down again.
Eventually however, Emma shakes her head, and plasters a fake smile on her face. “Would you like to stay for lunch?” She asks Killian after a beat. She’s looking at him hopefully, and he remembers right then and there, how there is nothing in this earth he wouldn’t do for her.
“Aye, that’d be lovely, Swan.”
/-/-/-/-/-/
Killian ends up staying the rest of the day, they don’t go out, just stay in, and talk. They catch up about their lives —he went back to his pirate life, he tells her. Emma is not exactly surprised to hear that, but she was at the way Hook had said the words. As though he had only done it because he had to. Emma tells him she’s back working as a bail bondsperson —she tells him a lot about Henry, how much he’s grown, the things he says, how fucking damn well Regina’s spell worked on him.
“He has no idea, I’d mention a random thing, hoping he’d remember, something, anything, but he’s just clueless…”
Killian nods, sympathy in his eyes, but he still refrains from saying anything.
They are eating pizza later that day, his flask of rum on her table between them, when the doorbell rings.
Emma winces, her face scrunching up and falling.
“Who’s that?”
“Walsh,” Emma tells him, before rolling her eyes. “Henry probably invited him—”
Killian moves to stand up from the table. “I could get rid of him,” he says, but Emma stops him.
“No,” she waves a hand in front of her. “No, no,” she says, but then stops. “You know what? Would you? Just tell him I’m not home.” Maybe seeing another man answering her door would finally clue in Walsh on how much she does not want a relationship with him.
“My pleasure Swan,” Killian answers, a devilishly smirk on his face as he stands and walks to the door.
Emma can’t exactly hear their exchange at the doorway, but Killian’s grin and smug disposition is not at all hard to decipher when he returns. “He’s gone?”
“Aye,” he answers, smug grin not faltering one bit.
Emma wants to roll her eyes so badly, so so badly, so she does actually, but she grins up at him too. So what if there is a freaking curse? She dealt with that already and she broke the damn thing. She can just do that again.
Killian here means she is going home —back home, again. Perhaps if she just focuses in that little part of the equation she can make it through tonight and tomorrow when they return to Storybrooke.
/-/-/-/-/-/
Emma doesn’t exactly insist he stays overnight —she merely proposes it. She’s decided the sooner they go to Storybrooke the better, so tomorrow morning, as soon as Henry comes back from his sleep over, they’ll start their trip back.
She tells Killian Henry’s room is going to be unoccupied tonight, so he might as well just stay so that tomorrow they can leave without delays.
Truth is, Killian Jones hadn’t needed her asking twice.
In Henry’s room, Emma shows him how to work the blinds that for some reason are different from the ones he grew used to back at Granny’s. The ones in the lad’s room required Emma’s touch to close.
Killian stands near Henry’s bookcase, which is filled with games instead of books for reasons beyond him. Emma’s telling him something about setting some sort of time instrument to wake him up at around six the next morning, well before Henry comes back.
Killian’s attention is mostly on the way her mouth moves when she speaks, but he still manages to nod at her.
Before Emma can say anything else, they both hear the sound of the door opening, keys rattling, and a loud “MOM! I’m home!”
“Shit, shit, shit, shit!”
“Swan, I thought the lad—”
“Shit, shut up!” Hissing her words, Emma moves to stand in front of him and presses her palm to his mouth. “Do not say a word, just…” She trails off, peeking her head out the door slowly. Good, Henry stayed in the kitchen. “Go in my room,” Emma says, taking his hand and as quietly as she can, she walks them both to the room down the hall.
“What are you doing home?” She shouts after shoving Killian in her bedroom. She stands in the hallway right outside her door, watching as her kid takes a big sip of orange juice —from the jug.
“Fred was being a drama queen, we got into an argument, so I just came home,” Henry explains absently. He takes a glass from the cupboard, and pours himself a generous glass of juice before glancing back at his mom. “You okay? You look weird, Mom.”
Emma shakes her head at him, forcing a smile on her face. “I’m great Henry, just need to change, give me a minute and we can talk, okay?”
“Sure, kay,” he mumbles, picking up his juice and backpack and walking to the living room.
Emma breathes a hell of a lot easier once he’s out of sight. She turns back to Killian who is looking at her with a stupidly amused face. “Shut up!” she whispers, trying so hard to glare at him, but failing. His face, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, makes her want to smile more often than not.
“You are gonna have to be extra quiet,” Emma tells him once she closes the door behind her. She pushes him with her hands flat on his chest to the opposite end of the bedroom. “Not a peep from you, okay?”
Killian just looks at her —seductively and Emma slaps him on the chest. “Just shut up, stay quiet,” she tells him again, ignoring his stupidly sexy face.
A beat passes, and Emma releases him, walking to her dresser, pulling out an old worn-out sweatshirt. Without thought, she removes the dressy shirt she was wearing and puts on the sweatshirt instead.
She’s quick, but for a few seconds, seconds Killian did not miss, she is in just that delicate lacy breast band she uses underneath her clothes. It takes Killian’s breath away —quite literally actually, but before he’s allowed a reaction, Emma steps right out of the room.
“Bloody hell,” he whispers to himself, hand already searching for his flask.
/-/-/-/-/-/
They are laughing, Emma’s laughing at something her boy says, and Killian finds himself smiling too. He finds himself thinking about it —such an odd thought to be thinking right now, but he still does.
A family.
He was never one to actively seek one. Most certainly not after the Crocodile took Milah’s life. But this last year he did nothing other than miss Emma. Killian dreamed about her, if not every night, almost every night. He saw her sometimes, at this port or the other, a blonde head of hair. Wavy and wild like hers.
The reality would hit him sooner rather than later though, and the constant dull ache in his heart from missing her would come back.
Not even drinking helped. It made him miss her more and Killian hadn’t thought that was even possible.
If Emma would have him (not that he was naïve enough to think she ever would) Killian would never take her for granted. He’d treasure her, and her boy, because to him they would be that —a treasure. The most precious one of all.
He would never leave Emma —he’d stand by her through everything. He would help her trust again, he would help her see that he is not like Baelfire —that he would never ever in this lifetime turn his back on her.
He’d thank her every night, every day, every evening and morning for allowing him to be part of hers and her son’s life. He’d tell her their twosome is remarkable, but that he’s forever glad they decided to let him be a part of it —of them. To perhaps even complete their little family.
They could become his home.
—Alas, those were just thoughts. Dreams.
Bloody impossible drea—
“He’s going to bed,” Emma whispers as she quietly walks into the room. He’s kept the lights off, so she misses the moment Killian blinks up at her overly confused.
Instead, when she flicks the lights on, she’s smiling at Killian as though he hadn’t just been torturing himself with thoughts of a future he’d likely never have.
Still, he smiles back at Emma —he does it out of sheer instinct, and has to swallow hard everything he wishes he could tell her. How bloody miserable he was this year without her. How happy he is to have her back, but how hard it is to have her, but not really in the end.
“You okay there, sailor?” Her voice is the softest whisper —a caress almost.
Killian can’t believe he survived a whole year without that voice. “Aye, I am, Swan,” and he doesn’t lie —he is all right. Now anyway.
/-/-/-/-/-/
Night sets quickly in this city —from his spot by the window, Killian can barely see stars up in the dark sky. He doesn’t like that, at all, but then again, he’ll take it if that means he is reunited again with his Swan.
Killian turns around on his spot, catching sight of Emma as she steps out of the bathroom. She has changed again, this time in the privacy of her bathroom though. She is wearing sleep clothes that to Killian seem to be overly soft. He meets her eyes, smiling slightly and offering a nod of his head. “Do you believe the lad has fallen asleep already?”
Emma’s face falls at his words —she knows why he’s asking the question. But, “Maybe,” she replies quickly, moving to her bed, and crawling under the covers. She keeps her eyes on Killian as he shuffles about the room for a small moment.
“If it’s all right with you, I’ll wait a few more moments before stepping out —wouldn’t want to wake him and see me,”
She frowns, because yeah, she was right, he wants to go. “You’ll probably wake him anyway,” she says then, her tone sounding annoyed all of a sudden. She doesn’t want to keep him in the same room with her if he doesn’t wants to go, but at the same time, she just doesn’t want him to go.
Fuck, what is wrong with her!?
Her own thoughts make Emma roll her eyes. She knows why she doesn’t want him to go. She is lonely. This year has been torture; miserable unending torture. She tried to put on a brave face earlier, told Killian all the cool things she’s done, how settled and seemingly happy she is with this new life in New York.
The reality is so far from that. She is fucking lonely, and...the truth is, she doesn’t want to be.
“Pardon me?”
Emma sighs, licking her lips before looking up and meeting his eyes. He’s standing now just by the foot of her bed. “He’ll hear the door,” she tells him. But it’s a lie. Henry wouldn’t hear anything. That kid of hers sleeps like the dead for sure. Still. “I’m gonna have a lot to explain to him tomorrow, don’t make having to explain you be one of those things,” Emma almost winces at how pleading her tone sounded, but she hadn’t been able to help herself.
She looks down before Killian answers, but she can still feel how uneasy he became.
“I’ll just rest on the floor then —if that’s all right with you, love,” he says softly.
Emma looks back up at Killian; she regards him, looking at him again in that way she did when they first saw each other this morning.
“It is all right with me,” Emma says, pushing back the covers and slipping out of bed. She starts gathering the fluffy comforter from the top of her bed and hands it to Killian. He sets it on the floor, opposite her bed, and then takes the two pillows Emma’s handing him. “Thank you, love.”
She doesn’t answer, merely watches him as he arranges the blanket and pillows on the floor. She swallows, sitting by the end of her bed. Her legs don’t quite reach the floor, so she dangles them, watching her manicured toes instead of Killian.
He’s disposing of his heavy leather coat by the corner of the room. “Is this—“
“Yeah, sure,” Emma replies, waving in the general direction of that corner. She doesn’t care where he puts his jacket; she kind of cares more that he is taking it off at all.
And just why the air in the room has become muggy and hot all of a sudden?
Surely, the AC box must be acting up again. Emma squeezes her eyes shut then, shaking her head as if the motion would get all those thoughts out her head.
/-/-/-/-/-/
A couple of hours later they are still awake. Neither of them makes any noise, but Emma knows Killian’s still awake, just as he knows she is.
It’s a stupid game they are playing and Emma isn’t even sure why they are doing it. She sighs at some point —loudly, and listens as it prompts Killian to shift on his makeshift bed on the floor. Emma can’t really see him from her bed, but she can imagine him just lying on his back, watching the dark ceiling the same way she is.
Emma’s about done pretending they are not in the same room, at last —after over a year of missing him and wondering just where he was, how he was, hell, if he even was.
In the end, she pushes back the blanket with determination and crawls to the end of the bed. She peers down, not surprised to find Killian’s eyes open. He quickly focuses in her; they can still see each other in the dark.
He smiles, but it comes off sad and miserable. (Well, get on board, buddy, Emma thinks, because she is feeling the exact same way.)
She sighs, looking at him and tilting her head. “It’s cold, I’m cold,” she says, “You must be freezing down there, so just…” She trails off, shifting her eyes from his. She focuses in that corner where the chair is, where he put his coat earlier that night. “This is a big bed; you don’t have to sleep on the floor,”
Killian is quiet at first, just watching her as Emma tries so hard to avoid his eyes. She glances back at him eventually. It’s then when Killian decides to test out the waters himself. “Are you certain?”
Emma nods, this time without thinking or considering how maybe this will be a mistake.
(Fuck, but maybe it isn’t.)
She sits back on the bed as Killian stands. He picks up the comforter with his good hand, shaking it a little before moving to place it back on the bed.
Emma helps him spread it in the dark, not really wanting to turn on even the light of her bedside lamp. Truth is, she doesn’t want Killian to be able to read her. She knows with the littlest bit of light he’ll be able to do so, and she isn’t sure she is ready for that yet.
Killian stands by the side of the bed after passing Emma the two pillows she gave him earlier. He feels like he’s intruding, trespassing her trust somehow.
“Just lay down with me,” she tells him, and hates herself for how weak her voice sounds.
Killian in any case doesn’t need more than that. He nods, and rather carefully slips into bed next to her. He breathes out deeply, the comfort of the bed a clear upgrade from his previous spot.
He’s on his back, while Emma’s lying on her side, a hand tucked under her cheek, while the other is toying with the fringe of the blanket covering them.
Her eyes aren’t on him; she’s looking in his general direction, but not at him.
Every time he exhales the bed shifts a little, not much, at all, but a little —it’s reassuring somehow. It reminds her every time that she isn’t alone.
At least not right this minute.
“You know,” Emma says in a whisper eventually. She waits until Killian shifts his head to look at her. He nods at her, encouragingly. She huffs a bit before continuing, “I went back a lot…at first,”
“Aye?”
“To Storybrooke, I mean,” she clarifies, but he doesn’t need it.
“I gathered, love,” Killian tells her, his tone overly soft, yet still him; eyes playful and eyebrows wagging. He softens just a moment later though. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
“Actually,” Emma starts, looking at him, debating with herself whether trusting him is the right call or not. But then he half smiles, eyes soft, and her walls break down. “Yeah…” she sighs.
Killian nods, shifting in bed just the tiniest bit closer to Emma.
She doesn’t mind. It surprises her, but she doesn’t mind at all. She lets out a deep breath before speaking, “When Henry and I crossed the town line, it was foggy for a little while. I couldn’t quite place all the memories, yet I knew something wasn’t right. Something was missing. Henry was oblivious to everything, so I didn’t have to worry about him, but things still weren’t right.” She tells him, “I stopped the car a few miles after we left. I began hyperventilating for some reason, I couldn’t catch my breath, I didn’t even know why. Henry gave me some water, told me to just sit for a bit, so we did that. We sat at the edge of the road for maybe an hour. Not even speaking, just sitting there —the memories came back slowly, but they came.”
“I can’t imagine,” he says in a whisper, and Emma knows he’s being truthful.
She gives him a small half shrug. “I kept trying to jog Henry’s memories too; I asked him questions, kissed his forehead, talked to him about my parents, the town, his book, but nothing.” Her disappointment from that day however, has exponentially lessened as the months passed. At first all Emma wanted was Henry to remember too, but eventually she realized her memories were her own curse and she stopped wishing that on her son. “Eventually we got back in the car; I drove straight back, but…”
“It was gone,”
“Yeah,” Emma answers, her head shifting slightly back and forth. “It was erased completely; there truly was no trace of it. Regina wasn’t kidding when she said Storybrooke was going to cease to exist. There was nothing at all. Just countryside everywhere; empty field after empty field. After Henry fell asleep in the car, I got out and walked all over the place, searching for something, a way to bring you all back, but I…I couldn’t find anything,”
“You came here then?”
“Yes I did,” she tells him, her eyes focus in his for a beat. She can’t especially see the sea in them she is accustomed but it still soothes her. She breathes out deeply, shifting on her back and looking up at the ceiling, feeling calmer. “I drove and drove —it hit me suddenly; one more time, I was alone and completely responsible for this child who I love so much, but that parenting still scares the crap out of me. I never wanna screw him up, you know?”
“Aye...”
“I knew I had to snap out of it, and figure out what we were going to do. We stayed in a hotel for a couple of weeks, luck for some reason was on our side, I guess. At least then. I found a job quick enough, I got us this apartment at a steal, it was crazy, things, I don’t know, they seemed to fall into place, but...”
“It didn’t feel right.”
The understanding that comes with his words is shocking to Emma to hear. She shifts her head to look at him, nodding in agreement. “It felt wrong to just start over without knowing anything about my parents. So I guess that’s why I kept coming back at first,” she confesses. “If Henry was away in a camp, or a sleepover, or a day long field trip, I would just go back to Storybrooke. I felt this terrible pull to that place —I kept thinking about my parents, they are Snow White and fucking Prince Charming, you’d think if anyone can find a way to come back and find me, it would be them, am I right?”
“I guess so, yes, Swan.”
“I couldn’t believe that of all people, they were going to just accept this. We had just found each other, and just like that, they had left me again. One more time I was the kid her parents had thrown away at the edge of the highway. I was so mad,” she feels tears pooling in her eyes, and again it makes her glad the room is still as dark as it is —maybe Killian will not notice. “They just gave up.”
“Swan-”
She shakes her head at him, cutting him off. “They didn’t find a way back,” she tells him brokenly. Emma isn’t even sure if they even tried and that breaks her heart more than she is willing to accept. “It took a villain to curse them back to this land for them to come back.” She points out the truth hoping at least Killian can understand just why she is feeling this way. “They were in a freaking realm with magic, I was here, and I tried, I tried so freaking hard to find a way to them, but them…they had magic, they had ways, and yet…”
He feels so uneasy, useless really —seeing her in so much pain, and he wants to fix it so badly, but he just doesn’t have a clue how. Tentatively, he reaches out, wiping at a tear that fell from her eye. “You are angry love, that’s understandable.”
“It’s not,” Emma shakes his hand off her, and bites her lip. “I don’t get to be mad, I get to just save them, remember?” She’s angry, her words mostly forming out of spite, but there is at least some truth to them and they both know it. “They probably don’t even remember who I am anymore,” she sighs, letting all the air out of her lungs before bringing a fresh long breath in again.
“We don’t know that, Swan, we don’t know what this new curse has done to them…”
“Right,” she says, swallowing slowly every bit of her anger. She decides maybe just changing the subject is the smartest thing to do —she can’t quite allow herself to break down, now can she? “I’m going to keep that memory potion you have until we know, okay?”
“Aye, love,”
She chuckles, which startles Killian, but when he looks at her, really looks at her, he can see the sadness in her face. It breaks his heart.
“I can’t believe you came all the way back here to save my family.”
“Oh, Emma,” he whispers, moving so that their faces are almost touching. “I came here to save you, love…”
She doesn’t move, just meets his eyes for a long moment before slowly nodding her head. The tip of her nose brushes against his nose, and she closes her eyes feeling him so close, yet so far away at the same time.
“Killian?”
“Aye?”
“Thank you,” Emma whispers, before shifting on her back and closing her eyes.
Killian does the same.
/-/-/-/-/-/
This time sleep takes Emma quickly; before Killian knows it, she is snoring softly beside him. He reached out once to grace the skin of her cheek; it is so soft, just the slightest bit moist from the tears she cried earlier. He would give anything to be allowed to truly feel her.
Just then, as if reading his bloody thoughts in her sleep, Emma’s face scrunches and she shifts on her side. She’s still asleep as her body inches closer to his. Killian is frozen in place, watching her carefully; her body curling closer to his with every little breath she lets out. And she’s warm, oh God, she’s so warm against him, Killian can barely take it. He has to bite his lower lip strongly to keep from reaching out and properly hold her to him.
It hurts how much he wants her, but he knows better.
In the end, he closes his eyes; morning is still ways away, and he needs to survive.
/-/-/-/-/-/
By the time they first early rays of light stir him awake, Emma’s body is completely curled into his side. She’s merely using his arm as a pillow; her cheek squished against his skin, one of her arms draped over his torso, while the other holds onto his arm —tightly, almost like a lifeline.
Killian swallows hard, a lump suddenly in his throat. He uses his good hand to tuck a few wild strands of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t wake up, but instead snuggles deeper into his side.
He’s in heaven.
But —he’s in hell too.
Once she wakes up, Killian knows it will be as though tonight never happened. Her walls would go back up, and the honesty and understanding would have to be replaced back with swagger and his colorful flavor of bravado and innuendo.
Maybe that is okay, though. Deep down inside he will know tonight was real, and if it’s the last thing he’ll do, he’ll keep trying to break through Emma’s walls. One day perhaps, for good.
/-/-/-/-/-/
Emma wakes up when Killian peels her off him. She’s confused, suddenly cold without him, missing his touch, his warm flush against hers. She’s still only half awake, but she knows she doesn’t like it.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, blinking sleepily, and licking her dry lips. “–going?” Her throat is so dry she can’t properly form words yet, but whatever did manage to come out, is enough and Killian turns back to her.
“It’s morning, love,” he tells her, lovingly almost, a shy smile on his face. Killian has seen Emma Swan a lot —a lot, but never this early in the morning. And she is beautiful. Her hair spilling all over the white sheets, her eyes sleepy and small, her mouth a bow he’d give anything to kiss good morning.
“Um?” She asks him, struggling to blink sleep away.
“I was going to fetch my things, slip out before your boy awakes.”
Right, Emma thinks, trying to sit up a little in bed. She can’t quite manage, but she does prop herself up on her elbow. She rubs her eyes, the memories from yesterday and last night returning one by one.
The alarm clock shows it’s barely five in the morning; they still have hours before Henry wakes up. She yawns, finally feeling more awake than asleep. He’s smiling playfully at her the next time she looks at his eyes.
(the pirate’s back)
She pushes the covers back still with Killian’s eyes on her. She pretends he’s not watching her oh, so carefully as she swings her legs to the side of the bed and sits there taking a sip of water from the glass she keeps on her bedside table.
Killian wants to look away, to just grab his things, and slip out before he’s tempted some more to stay, but he can’t. He just can’t look away and he knows Emma’s making it harder for him to do just that.
Once she finally stands from the bed, Killian’s eyes are following her as if she were a magnet he has to follow. Attracted in ways he can’t even understand.
Before he knows it, Emma’s standing so close him, looking up at him through thick eyelashes. He gulps.
“I was hoping to use the restroom,” she says, but Killian doesn’t understand a word she says at first.
She’s teasing him, smirking at his dumbfounded face. “You are standing in front of the door,” she says, again her words drawling out playfully, the smile on her face silly, almost flirty.
“Oh,” he manages to let out at last. Killian snaps out of it, almost jumping away from the door (and Emma).
She smiles at him, full on, actual beautiful smile, before slipping behind the bathroom’s door.
Bloody hell.
/-/-/-/-/-/
He’s putting on his heavy coat when she steps back out. Emma watches him; he’s graceful, always is, which is an odd thought to be focusing on right now, but still, she can’t help it.
She decides to stop overthinking herself; this, them, last night in that bed, and instead steps closer to him, determination in her eyes.
Killian doesn’t see her coming, she startles him just standing in front of him. He looks at her, but before he can put in a word, Emma’s reaching up, cupping his face with her hands, and just like that, she’s kissing him.
Killian’s too shocked to react at first, so he doesn’t, but she doesn’t stop —she kisses him, her lips pressing to his, and for a few seconds that’s that.
But then she demands he reacts, and his mouth opens just a bit, enough to allow her entrance. Killian snaps right then, finally comprehending what is happening. Urgently, he kisses her back, he growls into her mouth and lets himself go for a few moments.
She’s hot, open to him, needing him —just perfect to him.
Emma’s the first one to pull back —panting; she looks at him, eyes focused in his blue ones. Killian’s hand reaches up to touch her lips tentatively, he isn’t quite ready to let go yet. “What, what was that for?” His voice comes shaky, which makes Emma smile softly.
“A thank you,” she whispers back. “For finding me…”
He finally has the nerve to look up at her, he licks his lips, —he can almost still taste her. He wants more.
And given the way she’s looking at him, so does she.
“Fuck,” Emma curses when Killian suddenly jerks her into his arms. He kisses her again, and Emma accepts him once the surprise wears off. She’s kissing him back, hungrily, desperately almost. Killian pushes her back with him until her back is flat against the far wall in her bedroom. She moans at some point, loudly, and Killian’s mouth is hot on hers in seconds. “Shush,” he whispers, fighting for entrance once more.
Her legs are shaking beneath her, hardly holding her up at his point. And it is as if Killian can sense it, because he hauls her against him, prompting her to wrap her legs around his waist which she does, completely gone to the world and anything that isn’t the perfect man before her.
She’s tugging at his clothes, his coat falling to the floor first, the rest following shortly. She’s nipping at the skin of his neck and shoulder when Killian’s brain seems to snap out of it all for an instant. “The lad,” he pants, but Emma shakes her head urging him to keep going.
“He’s a heavy sleeper,”
A chuckle actually escapes her when he stops all together and looks at her.
“You said—”
Emma kisses him before he can remind her of her lies. She rocks her hips against him, shaking her head. “I lied,” she confesses, feeling him so completely against her thigh. “Just kiss me,” she pleads, and Killian doesn’t need to be told twice.
He does; he kisses her to oblivion until he can’t just take it anymore. She’s clutching to him, breathing heavily, gasping, and moaning despite her better tries to stay quiet. “God, Emma,” he says and her hand flies to grab his. She moves it to her hip, the top of her pajama pants. He’s looking at her, the slightest bit uncertain still, but she offers a nod, and he’s suddenly sure —just as she is.
He doesn’t wait more before taking her, muffling her cries with his mouth on hers. He’s filling her and it feels better than he could have imagined. Her fingers dig deeply into the flesh of his shoulders every time he pushes into her, deeper and deeper every time.
Her vision is blurry, she’s almost dizzy, but she doesn’t want him to stop. She wants more, she wants to feel, she wants to just fucking feel him and never let go. “Please,” she says and Killian thrusts into her hard and fast making her come undone beneath him.
It continues for just a few more moments, his mouth is on hers when she comes, seconds before him. She’s jelly in his arms, leaning heavily against him. Killian’s forehead moves to rest against the cool wall beside her as he catches his breath back. Emma’s legs slide from his waist, and Killian has to tighten his hold on her waist, preventing her from falling. “There, love,” he whispers, kissing her forehead before gently depositing her on the chair by the corner of her room.
“This,” she’s panting, her eyes squeezing together as she forces herself to breathe deeply and bring her heart rate down.
Killian tucks a finger under her chin in that moment, gently making her look up at him. He nods at her slightly. “A one time thing, love,” he says, shifting his eyes from hers. “I know,” he adds, before letting go of her.
Emma’s mouth opens to speak, but the words don’t form. Instead, she watches him smiling at her, before he gathers his things back, halfway re-dresses himself, and then, just like that, slips out of the room and then her apartment.
Emma doesn’t move for a long time, processing, remembering, committing to memory his every kiss and touch.
The next time Emma sees him is when Hook comes back to her apartment and she’s with Henry and they are ready to go.
They don’t speak about any of it at all again.
Not for now, anyway.