“At times the world may seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe that there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough, and what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may in fact be the first steps of a journey.”
She shifts onto her side again, resolutely avoiding looking at the other side of the bed. She can feel the cold, empty spot from behind though, a slight breeze gusting across her neck where his comforting breath should be. She squeezes her eyes closed, trying not to imagine strong arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close, heat spreading along her spine right through her, warming her all the way to her heart.
A lone tear slides across her nose, making a trail across her face and dropping onto the pillow. She presses her lips together, willing her chin to stop trembling and blinks until her vision has cleared enough to stare at the alarm clock. 3:47am. Her phone sits silently on the bedside table.
She’s grown soft. The girl who could sleep under bridges, in a room full of fidgeting foster kids, on the hard plastic mattress of a jail cell, she can’t sleep in her own king-sized bed under a thick, downy comforter. She’s grown soft and she didn’t regret it, doesn’t regret it, because he dismantled her walls one by one and made himself a home inside, only now he’s not there and having no walls doesn’t keep the warmth in very well when the source has disappeared.
Pressing her hands to her eyes, she sits up again, swinging her feet one at a time onto the cold wood. She should put on socks, she thinks, but there’s something comforting about the numb weight of her toes sliding across the floor.
She goes downstairs because sitting in that room - their room - any longer, when she’s clearly not going to sleep, feels pointless. Halfway towards the light switch by the front door she pauses, changing course for the kitchen and leaving the room in the dark. The ghost of her four-hours-ago self flicking that same switch off is still too close. There’s nothing (no-one) to see with the lights on anyway.
Her hands fumble in the kitchen cupboard for the tin of hot chocolate powder, spending several minutes clutched too tightly around the bottle of Captain Morgan at the back of the shelf. The shaking of her hand from clenching the glass reminds her to let go and she feels for the tin, pulling it down and setting it on the counter. Every creak of the porch in the wind sounds like it could be a footstep.
Making the hot chocolate is an automatic process, but she still burns her thumb on the pan, tears springing to her eyes at the pain and then lingering too long. She presses her lips together, refusing to blink until the cinnamon is dusted on the top of the milk and she knows they won’t spill over.
The silhouettes of heavy snowflakes dash across the kitchen blinds as she picks up her mug. Her thumb is stinging, heat spreading fiercely from the epicentre of the burn. She focuses on that one glowing spot of pain, letting it drown out her heart. It leads her towards the front door and then she’s sitting on the top step of the porch, pressing her thumb into the snow building on the step below until it’s numb with cold.
Her eyes flick upwards towards the gate in the white picket fence - the same one she rushed out of not three days ago to kiss him and bring him in and feed him her milk dud popcorn until their teeth hurt from the sugar and he kissed the chocolate smears off her mouth as he pressed her into the mattress later that night. She takes a gulp of the hot chocolate but it burns her tongue and the boiling liquid burning a path down through her to her stomach is the wrong kind of warmth.
Pulling her numbed fingers from the snow, she wraps them around her mug and sucks in a deep breath. The thick flakes are slowing and she’s shaking in her thick winter pyjamas, watching clouds of warm air leave her mouth and disappear almost instantly in the chill.
‘I can’t lose you too.’
The snow has almost stopped and the air is full of deadened silence. Her traitorous ears wait for the crunch of snowy footfall but she should know by now that waiting never brought anyone back for her before.
She’ll just sit on the steps until she’s finished her drink.
So Jen said there will be an interruption to the Captain Swan engagement and my head went places.
Killian was so tired his limbs couldn’t carry him any further when he arrived on the Jolly Roger.
He felt empty, distant, like a ghost walking among the living.
His lips turned up, just barely, with the sick irony of the thought. He was a ghost, in some way. Zeus had brought him back to be with Emma but if she didn’t want to be at his side, then what reason did he have to live?
It had been a few days since she had found out the truth about her grandfather. It had set her off - obviously, Killian already knew she would be mad - but not for the reasons he had thought.
She was so hurt because he had kept a secret with her, she thought he knew she loved him in anyway, despite everything. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t told her right away, why he did everything behind her back.
“We’re supposed to be a team,” she had said, “you and I we – we were supposed to work together. How can I marry you if you can’t trust my love for you?”
And so they had taken a break.
It wasn’t like those Henry talked about, the ones he had shown Killian in movies, because for those couples “taking a break” meant they had split up for good, but both Killian and Emma knew their heart belonged to each other. They just needed some time to heal.
Killian passed a hand on his face, he was trying to wipe away the sadness that had overtaken him in the past days. It was so hard to come back to a silent ship when he had lived in a house filled with love and laughter and Emma, everyday beside him, every morning right next to him to wish him good morning.
Being apart from her after being with her everyday was like deciding to drown when he could sail the open seas.
When he reached his cabin he was so ready to throw himself in bed and shut the world out that he had needed a few seconds to notice the candles that lit up the empty room and covered every surface, or the classic music gently playing from a phone on the windowsill where his book would have been.
In the middle of the room was Emma. She looked at him with a hint of wonder, trying to understand if she was wanted there, if her actions were appreciated.
Killian wanted to bury himself in her embrace and never go back to before. Of course she was welcome. Seeing her back in his cabin reminded him of so many nights with her, when the ship was their only getaway.
“I know you probably had something else in mind but.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t think of anything else, sorry.”
“Emma what are you doing here?” he finally asked.
“I know what I said, and I still believe it. I don’t want to marry you if you don’t trust me.”
Killian stood there, waiting for her to finish, his eyes focused on her face. Silent.
“But I also know that you did what you did for a reason. And dad told me why you sneaked out like teenagers the other day. I’m not saying I forgive you for that but I – I get it.” She stopped to look at the floor, her hands toying with a ring that was no longer there. “And these past few days without you in the house have been crap so.” She laughed a humorless laugh. Killian could see the shades under her eyes.
“What I’m trying to say is I’m still mad at you, and we need to really talk about what happened because it’s not the first time you’ve kept something from me for the same reason but.” Her voice cracked, her eyes filled with tears and Killian fought with every muscle of his body to stay still, to not hug her, and calm her. He hated it so much when Emma cried. “But I also know that I love you. So much. And I want to be with you forever so – what better way to show you how much I love you if not this, right?”
She got down on one knee, and that was the moment that Killian decided he could move. He reached her, ready to help her up on her feet, but she was quicker to take out the ring he had given her from her pocket. He still took her hand in his.
“Killian Jones, will you marry me?”
Killian nodded, unable to gather any kind of word, he fell on his knees right in front of her to collapse in her arms.
They were both crying by that point, the exhaustion from the last couple of days removed from their bodies.
A wedding was supposed to be a time for happiness and good cheer. Well, at least that’s what Emma supposes, having only ever been to one wedding before she arrived in Storybrooke and
was in Vegas when she was dragged into a chapel by a drunk couple to be a witness. (She was technically working- trailing a skip - but the pleading puppy dog eyes of the young bride were enough to make her sacrifice a half hour of her time.)
Literature, movies and goddamn society were insistent that a merry time be had on the occasion that two people decided to legally entwine their lives - and so she would. Aided by vodka.
She should be happy. And really she is - hell, her one of her best friends was marrying the love of her life (and though Emma still balked at
term in general, for Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan she was happy to give a pass).
But really, it was awful, terrible,
timing. Because just as one couple was making the ultimate commitment, Emma herself was realizing that she was in love with her best friend. And he couldn’t be more oblivious.
She watches the Nautilus break above the threshold of the sea, first its scope, then the entire body of the submarine. As the vessel grows nearer and nearer, Emma can feel her walls climbing up to shield against the impending disappointment when Killian does not come off that ship. Part of her thinks it’s stupid to believe that he’d be there. She’s looked everywhere, and so why should Nemo’s ship be any different.
And then there’s that gnawing feeling in her gut, the one that tells her when he’s sad, when he’s hiding something, and most importantly, when he’s in danger. It’s that ache that feels much like the last one, and if something happened to him (again) she isn’t sure how she’ll make it this time. Not after everything they’ve been through, not after they’ve gotten so close to a happy future.
Nemo is the first to come out, eyes scanning over the few people that came to welcome them back. Emma had been under the impression that Nemo would be departing with Liam and his crew indefinitely, which is what caught her eye when she felt the rumble of the submarine surfacing. When the captain’s gaze lands on her, Emma swears she sees him soften.
It appears as though someone might be coming out next, but suddenly they’re shoved out of the way and a familiar head of inky hair pokes out from the hatch. Emma’s heart stops in her chest, and if only for a moment, everything feels like it’s falling back into place.
“Killian,” she chokes in a quiet voice that sounds half like a whimper. As if the wind carried his sweet name to his ears, his head snaps up. The moonfall that reflects on the water is enough illuminescence to show Emma the comforting blues of his eyes. One look at him and she realizes there will never be a place where she doesn’t belong completely to him.
She sees him say her name, a recognizable shape on his lips. He must be saying it in his own whispers of disbelief, because she can’t hear it until he comes barreling forward.
A few quick observations meet her acquaintance as he rushes forward. The first being that he is filthy, patches of blood and dirt sticking to his messy hair and skin. Then she realizes that she seems to be walking toward him, a reflex that takes over when he comes near her like a magnet. The last things she notices are the few tears that trace down his cheek, smearing away dirt in their tracks.
“Emma?” he calls, boots stomping on the snowy ground. “Emma.”
I am still awash in feelings about that sad girl leaning her forehead on the window pane at the door. And ‘cause I’m evil and left to wallow in my angst, I am left imagining Emma leaving that light on all night. So here. Let me share the pain.
She gets ready for bed and grabs her phone as she crawls beneath the blankets. Sends him a quick text message, ‘just hope you’re all right.’
She sleeps fitfully, waking at 2 am to find the bed still empty and her phone screen with no return messages. When it’s then sunrise and there is no pirate tiptoeing quietly across the hardwood floors? That’s when it sinks in that he hasn’t come home.
She doesn’t want to believe he’s not coming back, but she flashes unwillingly to those first couple nights in prison and how certain she was Neal would come from her.
And she can’t do it again.
Emma shuffles from bed and down the stairs, wrapping a cardigan around her as she goes. She heads straight for the switch plate, but her hand pauses when she reaches for the switch. But her quick glance outside, to the undisturbed snow that runs up their stairs, confirms what she’s feared. So she presses on the switch and rights the curtain before heading to the kitchen.
Emma stood at the window of their
house, staring out onto the street. Her heart was breaking by the moment, and
she sniffled slightly, as she felt the pang of realization that maybe Killian
wasn’t going to be coming home tonight. Maybe he had decided that he needed to
leave her, for some stupid noble reason or the other.
Why couldn’t he see that she knew
he wasn’t that man he had been all those years ago? Why couldn’t he see that
she had forgiven who he was, and accepted him for who he was now? Why couldn’t he
see that she loved him? That his bravery and unconditional love for her was all
she needed? That she didn’t need him to be anything more than he already was?
She stepped away from the window,
turning off the light as she walked back into the house, heart dropping. She hugged
herself and a sob emerged from her chest, as tears began to flow down her face.
“I’m sorry,” she heard a voice
echo through the hall, and she turned to see Killian standing there, soaking
wet, and full of remorse, “I’m so sorry, Emma.”
“Why did you leave?” she asked,
as he approached her, wiping away her tears as he looked into her eyes.
“I thought I needed to find
myself. To be a man worthy of your affection,” he said softly, “I was going to
leave with Nemo to give you some time while I worked hard to redeem myself.”
Summary: Wish Realm Hook sneaks through the portal and ends up in Storybrooke. This results in Emma and Killian getting an unwelcome houseguest and Emma an unwanted suitor.
Note: I just thought it would be funny if Wish Realm Hook ended up in Storybrooke and met his counterpart, while stirring up some trouble. This is the result. Hope you enjoy it! ~Steph
….Houseguest from Hell: Part 1/1…
Killian kicked the front door closed with his boot, as his lips remained fused to Emma’s.
“I missed you so much,” he breathed into her mouth.
Emma pulled back for a moment, caressing his cheek as she met his eyes. “After that portal closed, I was scared I might never find a way back to my family. Back to you.”
Killian offered her a smile. “I never doubted for a moment that you would find your way back to me.”
Emma grinned as she captured his lips again. She began to maneuver them to the couch.
“Henry is staying at Regina’s tonight, so we have the house to ourselves,” she managed to mumble between kisses.
Killian moved his lips to her neck. “I want to take my time with you. Let’s go to our bedroom.”
They didn’t stop kissing all the way up the stairs, nearly falling several times in the process. By the time they made it to the threshold of their bedroom, Emma’s jacket had been shed, as had Hook’s. Emma was hard at work on the buttons of his vest.
Killian wrapped his arms around Emma’s waist as he pulled her flush against his body and backed them into their bedroom. Emma felt the back of her legs hit the bed and she felt onto it, Killian landing gently on top of her. She clawed at his back, a moan escaping her lips.
“Do you mind? I am trying to sleep,” a voice sounded behind them.
Emma and Killian’s eyes flew open and they quickly parted, scrambling to their feet to face the voice. Spread out on Killian’s side of the bed, was Wish Realm Hook.
Summary: After a series of events leave her life in pieces, Emma Swan finds herself hitchhiking out of Maine, her wallet empty and her heart broken. The best she hopes for is a driver who isn’t a pervert and takes her far away from the painful memories of Storeybrooke. But when she finds a ride with a quiet truck driver named Jones, Emma discovers that maybe a trustworthy friend is all she needs.
Note: This chapter was originally split up into two parts, and I was only going to post the first. But then I watched tonight’s episode of this @$%#ing show and i have such a major case of viewer’s blue balls that I figured it would be mean to do the same to my lovely readers. Please enjoy this monster chapter. Bless.
Don’t freeze out there, huh? Good
advice, but hard to follow, Emma thought sourly, as they left the warm,
comfortingly grease-scented air of the bar behind. It had already been cold
outside when they arrived, but the temperature seemed to have dropped even further
while they were inside, and a light snow was falling. She pulled her coat’s
hood up with one hand, then returned it to Jones’ arm, keeping a firm grip with
all ten fingers.
He wasn’t staggering anymore, although as they walked slowly across the
parking lot, threading through cars and trucks, his steps were slightly uneven.
Not that she was perfectly steady, herself; Emma could still feel the beer
pounding through her veins, making her a little dizzy. Their breath formed
clouds in the freezing air, and Emma longed to call a cab, even just for a
Early last week, a nonnie sent me a prompt asking me to write about Emma finding the engagement ring in Killian’s sea chest. It took me all week, but I was determined to get it finished before tonight’s episode. Look at that! Nearly 5 minutes to spare! Here you go, nonnie! Hope you like it!
Emma transferred an arm-full of clean, wet clothes into the
dryer, turned the dial, and pushed the start button. Then, reaching for the basket of dry clothes,
she headed up to her bedroom.
Her and Killian’s
At the thought love and joy bubbled up again, and she smiled
with abandon as she pulled a bath towel from the basket and set about folding
it. Seemed like the giddy smile never
left her face anymore. She was happy,
really, really happy. She was pretty sure she’d never been this
happy, this in love before in her life, and it was almost overwhelming
She’d always made fun of musicals—people walking around and
just randomly breaking into song—but in the last few weeks they suddenly seemed
much more realistic than before.
Whenever she thought of what her life was like now she wanted to
sing. Must be her fairy tale heritage