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The first time Deputy Sheriff Emma Swan met Killian Jones, she was sure he’d been doing something she should arrest him for. She just couldn’t prove it.
Her decision to stay in Storybrooke was only a few days old, and Graham had insisted on daily patrols for her first week to show her the ropes. So far the ropes in question had consisted of very little other than driving around and occasionally giving warnings for jaywalking, but that was apparently “not the point”.
“You need to know the town, Emma,” Graham said as they pulled up by Granny’s to grab lunch. “Learning what’s normal for Storybrooke means you’ll know when something isn’t right.”
Emma nodded slowly, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the car door. “You mean like two suspicious characters making some kind of trade on a street corner?”
“Exactl- what?” By the time Graham had started speaking, Emma was out of the car and striding towards the two men who had already noticed the Sheriff’s car and had started walking in opposite directions. She wasn’t going to catch the one in the red hat, but the guy in the leather jacket was walking towards her with an air of nonchalance.
Two could play at that game though; Emma turned to watch Graham exit the car, nodding her head towards the diner and hoping he got the hint (she was hungry, damn it), counting down in her head until –
Thud.
It was with surprise that Emma actually bumped into the man; she’d expected him to get out of her way, but apparently he was equally committed to pretending he’d simply been interested in the scenery. She staggered back as a hand grabbed her arm to steady her, and looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. If it wasn’t for the fact she’d definitely seen him hand something to the red-hatted man, she’d have almost believed his look of concern was sincere.
“Are you alright, love?” he asked, and Emma blinked at the accent; British, if she had to guess, and incredibly out of place in Storybrooke’s small-town American atmosphere. Pulling her arm out of his grip, Emma smiled sweetly.
“I’d be a lot better if you told me what you and your friend were trading on the street corner.”
The grin he shot her was almost indecent as he took a step back and winked. “Aren’t we a bit suspicious?” Emma shifted, placing both hands on her hips and pushing her jacket back just enough to flash the little deputy badge pinned carefully to her belt. Blue Eyes looked down at the glint of metal, but didn’t react. “Well, well, Sheriff Graham made a friend. It’s about time he had one,” he said. “But alas, I’m afraid I have to be an unhelpful citizen in this case; I have nothing to report other than giving a friend a gift.”
“A gift.”
“It’s his birthday,” Blue Eyes said with smile, the picture of innocence.
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Which is why he bolted when he saw the Sheriff’s car pull up.”
Blue Eyes shrugged, unfazed. “His relationship with the law is none of my business.”
“Well, your relationship with the law is mine,” Emma snapped. “Here’s the thing - I know a shady deal going down when I see it. Broad daylight, outside a local establishment? Nice touch, makes it looks legit, because nobody would be dumb enough to make a trade in those circumstances unless they’re really confident. And do you want to know a secret?” Emma tilted her head, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulder as she gave him a cold smile. “I can always tell when someone’s lying. So you can either tell me now, or make a little trip with me to the station,” she tugged the pair of handcuffs out of her back pocket without breaking her stare, “with or without these.”
“A tempting invitation.” It was practically a purr, and Emma didn’t bother trying to fight the eye roll. “But given the lack of evidence, reason, or anything other than a feeling you have, I think I’ll pass.”
“Emma!” At Graham’s voice, Emma looked over her shoulder. He was hovering at the end of the steps up to Granny’s, a look of concern on his face. “Can I borrow you?”
Blue Eyes let out a low chuckle. “Duty calls, love,” he said. Emma snapped her head back to him, levelling a hard stare. He moved past her before she could respond, stepping around so that he was walking backwards for a moment. “Oh, and do let me know if you want me in handcuffs again. I’m certain we can make an arrangement.” He winked again, saluting her as he turned forwards and ambled away. She curled her palms into fists, breathing deeply through her nose as she strode towards Graham.
“What the hell?” she asked as she approached. “He was up to something, I know it!”
“You’re right,” Graham agreed, nodding calmly.
“Hell right I’m right- wait. I’m right?”
Graham tilted his head towards the diner, where Ruby was unashamedly staring from the counter. She waved to Emma when she noticed her staring. “After you,” Graham said, tugging the door open and holding it for Emma. She brushed past him, making a beeline for her friend, who was already pouring filter coffee into a large takeaway cup.
“So, tall, rugged, and in a leather jacket is your type, huh Em?” Ruby asked with a smirk as Emma reached the counter, placing the plastic lid on the cup and carefully sliding it towards the Deputy Sheriff, along with a brown bag Emma just knew held a bear claw. Emma blinked.
“I – what?”
Ruby waggled her eyebrows, placing her chin in her palm and leaning on the counter. “Saw you talking to Killian Jones. Looked pretty heated from where I was looking.”
Emma’s jaw dropped. “Yeah, because I was trying to arrest him.”
“Oooh, kinky.”
“Ruby!”
Ruby swatted Emma’s shoulder gently, letting out a bark of laughter. “I’m teasing, Emma, calm down!” She flicked her eyes to Graham, who was settling the bill with Granny. “So how’s being Deputy? Any thrilling cases?” Ruby began pouring out another, smaller coffee, before putting the pot down and adding sugar and cream to it.
It was Emma’s turn to laugh. “Storybrooke is hardly Crime Central,” she said as Graham made his way over. “But hey, while we’re on the subject – you were watching the window?”
Ruby gestured to the nearly empty diner before placing on the coffee lid; the lunch shift was yet to start, and the breakfast crowd were long gone. “Not much else to do.”
“You didn’t happen to see what -” Emma paused for a second, deliberating, “-what Jones handed to the guy in the red hat, did you?”
A sigh from Graham cut off Ruby’s reply. She handed him the coffee, raising her eyebrows as he nodded in thanks.
“Listen, Emma – leave Killian Jones be,” Graham said. “Is he shady? Definitely. But if he’s doing something dodgy, there’s no way to prove it. It’s not worth the time or resources.” Graham took a sip of coffee, and Emma narrowed her eyes.
“Sounds like Regina, or Mr Gold,” she snapped. “Just how many people in this town should I not bother doing my job with?”
“If you could add me to that list, I’d love to be able to get away with some minor crime,” Ruby chipped in cheerily. At the look on Graham’s face, Ruby raised her hands “Kidding!” Emma bit back a grin as Ruby stepped away from the counter to acknowledge one of the only diners who was gesturing for a coffee top up. Emma followed suit, grabbing the bear claw in her free hand and making her way to the entrance, Graham on her heels. He darted in front of her to open the car door, having a spare hand. Emma gave him a curt nod of thanks, sliding into the seat and balancing the bag and coffee carefully on her thighs as she pulled it shut.
Graham was tugging his seatbelt across as Emma looked over at him. “Seriously though, you think this guy is shifty and you’re not doing anything about it?” Putting his cup in the holder by the gear shift, Graham turned the keys and the car rumbled to life.
“Look Emma, whenever I’ve had a suspicion or tip-off about Jones, it seems to always be wrong; the guy’s either better at clearing his tracks than Gold or Regina, or he’s clean and I’m just bad at my job.”
“I mean, I didn’t want to be the one to say it…”
Graham raised an eyebrow as Emma shot him a grin. “Tell you what - you become Sheriff, and you can chase Jones to your heart’s content while I provide coffee and bear claws. Until then, let’s not waste our time”.
She grabbed the coffee cup from its precarious placement as Graham started to drive, the heat of the coffee curled between her palms, and Emma nodded. “Sounds like a sweet deal. You planning on retiring soon, Sheriff?” The laugh Graham gave her was dry.
“Not for a while, Deputy.”
***
When Emma pinned the Sheriff badge to her belt, the tear tracks on her cheeks dried and her eyes bloodshot, Killian Jones was the last person on her mind.
***
Life in Storybrooke ticked on as normal – well, as normal as Storybrooke could be, given the near-daily chaos the town seemed to generate – and Emma was too preoccupied with trying to keep Henry out of trouble and Regina off her back to think about Potential Criminal Mastermind Killian Jones. At least, until she nearly shot him at the docks.
Dusk was falling, streaks of pale pink clouds lining the darkening blue sky as evening began. Emma was swathed in the fading glow of the sunset as she tramped across the cobblestones. Silence surrounded her, apart from the quiet waves and her own footsteps; Emma was pretty sure Regina had sent her on a wild goose chase, but if “concerned citizens” were asking Emma to check on suspicious individuals lingering at the docks, the newly sworn-in Sheriff had no choice but to investigate.
What she was meant to do if she found said suspicious individuals, Emma had no idea, but she was fairly confident Regina just wanted Emma out of her hair for a few hours. The feeling was mutual.
Despite Emma’s reasonable assumption that she wasn’t going to find anything, she was on edge. Every sound not made by her feet made her jump, even as she neared the end of her patrol and started to make her way to the edge of the docks.
Her nerves were frayed, she was generally stressed, and to be honest Emma was also quite tired – Mary-Margaret really wasn’t as quiet as she thought she was when returning from her ‘secret’ rendezvouses with David – so it wasn’t really a surprise that, when Emma heard footsteps behind her and a voice she didn’t immediately recognise, her fight instinct kicked in. She’d already spun and elbowed the person in the stomach, pulling her gun and pointing it at them, before realising who it was.
“You?” she said.
“Hey beautiful,” Killian gasped as he bent over, clutching his stomach. “Miss me?”
Emma let out a breath as she stepped back, putting her gun back into its holster before moving towards Killian. “What the hell are you doing, sneaking up on someone like that?” she snapped.
“Lovely to see you too,” he replied, still breathless even as he straightened up. “You’ve got one hell of a punch there, Sheriff.”
“Were you following me?”
“Obviously not. I believe I called out hello, so as not to scare you.” He shrugged. “Clearly that didn’t work.”
Emma frowned, placing her hands on her hips as she gave him a once-over. “Are you alright?” She hadn’t hit him hard, but the last thing Emma needed was a lawsuit.
Killian nodded. “I’ve taken worse hits than that, love, but it was definitely top five.”
“I’ll do better next time.”
Killian held out a hand, pressing his other against his stomach. “I’d appreciate it if we didn’t repeat this greeting, Swan.” For the first time, Emma noticed the lack of movement in the hand held against him, and realised it was a prosthetic. It was only a second, but Killian noticed the drop of her gaze. He raised his eyebrow, almost daring her to comment, but Emma had already shrugged it off.
“Sorry. Fight or flight, you know?”
“I’ll remember that next time I say hello to you,” he replied. “What brings you to the docks this fine evening, Sheriff? Not your usual stomping ground.”
It was close enough to an innocent question for Emma to nearly let it slide; if it had come from most people in town who knew her well enough to comment on her patrols, it would have been completely innocuous. But coming from Killian Jones, who Emma had barely seen during her time in Storybrooke, it raised a red flag.
She didn’t bother with the niceties. “And how exactly do you know my usual patrol, Jones?”
“Killian, please.”
“Fine. And how exactly do you know my usual patrol, Killian?”
He raised his other hand, expression the epitome of innocence. “I’ve simply never seen you round the docks before, love. Simple deduction.”
He wasn’t lying, which was irritating. There was something about this guy which got under Emma’s skin, and even worse was that it wasn’t from annoyance.
“Besides, I can only assume that, as you’re wandering the docks, our dear Mayor has you investigating “suspicious characters” reported by the concerned citizens of Storybrooke.”
Emma took it back; she was annoyed.
Folding her arms, she gave Killian a stare that had caused so many of her targets to freeze in fear. Usually she was in a killer dress and a winged eyeliner rather than a beanie and oversized rain jacket, but it usually did the job. It didn’t seem to shake Killian.
“I assume you aren’t one of the concerned citizens,” she said through her teeth. He let out a chuckle in return, taking a step closer to Emma, who held her ground.
“Let’s just say the Mayor would also send Graham round the docks now and again when she needed some quick arrests to make her look good. You know, a couple of drunks being charged with disturbing the peace and being thrown into a cell for a night. Funny how the charges would never stick…” he trailed off at Emma’s horrified look. “I assume Madam Mayor’s popularity is particularly low with the town at the moment?”
Emma nodded slowly, anger curling in her gut as she detected nothing but the truth. “So there’s nothing here.”
Killian opened his arms, gesturing to their surroundings. “Nothing but yours truly, some fishing boats, and a mediocre bar.”
Emma let out a huff, shaking her head in frustration. “Well then, unless you want to be arrested, I’m going to stop wasting my time here.” A tilt of the head was Killian’s response, followed by a grin Emma could make out even in the poorly lit docks.
“Should I be concerned about how desperately you want me in handcuffs? You’ve suggested it every time we’ve met.”
“Maybe we should stop meeting,” Emma retorted. “Problem solved.”
He let out a laugh, and it echoed across the empty docks.
“I didn’t say I was complaining, Sheriff. Quite the opposite.” Before Emma could respond, he continued. “How about a drink then, if handcuffs are still off the table? Now you’re off duty, and all that.” Emma would blame the fact she was still reeling from having her time wasted - again - by Regina for being taken by surprise at the question.
If nothing else, years of acting to get to perps meant that Emma had a killer poker face. She raised an eyebrow. “At the mediocre bar.”
“It’s only the bar that’s mediocre; the rum is fantastic, although the barman is a bit of a lout.” Emma didn’t even pretend to consider it, despite the temptation of a cold beer and some easy flirtation. It had been a long night.
“Well, although you’ve really sold it to me, I’ll pass. I’m not really in the mood for a drink.” She was in the mood to go knock loudly on Regina’s door and yell at her, but it would wake Henry up. So that was off the table.
Clearly something in her tone of voice put off any attempts at convincing her. Instead, Killian raised his hands again in surrender. “Perhaps next time then, love.”
Emma rolled her eyes, but not quite able to fight off the smile toying on her face. “Perhaps,” she said, turning around and beginning the long walk back to her flat, “but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
She heard the chuckle, and Emma shook her head as she heard him call out “Sorry, Swan; too late!”
***
From then on, Killian Jones seemed to appear more often than not in Emma’s day-to-day life. Whether it was during the lunch rush at Granny’s or bumping into him on patrol, Emma could have sworn he was more present in Storybrooke than before. Mary-Margaret, however, insisted otherwise.
“You’re just noticing him more Emma,” she said over their kitchen island as she mixed waffle batter. “He’s always been around. Clearly you were just otherwise occupied.”
Emma let out a huff as she moved around Mary-Margaret, opening the fridge to pull out a carton of orange juice. Currently. Regina was letting Henry near Emma, which meant pulling out all the breakfast stops when he came round to the apartment. Bumping the fridge door shut with her hip, Emma pulled out a tall glass and poured the drink ready for her son. “Name one time he’s been around and I haven’t noticed him.”
“He was at the mines when Henry ran in. He’s been in Granny’s most days, although usually at about seven ten in the morning.” Emma raised an eyebrow, knowing exactly why Mary-Margaret had been at Granny’s so early, causing a red flush to rise in her roommate’s cheeks as she whisked the batter harder. “He was also at the town meeting when you were voted in as Sheriff,” Mary-Margaret said, as she continued looking intently into the bowl.
Emma looked up to the ceiling, shaking her head as she put the carton away. “To be fair, I was a bit preoccupied at those particular events. You know, with my son running into a collapsing mine, and then being manipulated in an election after pulling Regina out of a fire.”
Mary-Margaret shrugged, putting the bowl down and switching on the waffle iron. “I’m just saying, he’s been around, and understandably not at the centre of your attention. But he seems to be now.” Mary-Margaret was practically singing, and Emma bit back a groan.
“Sounds like you’ve been paying him attention,” Emma countered.
“I’ve been paying attention to the way he looks at you.” Mary-Margaret shot Emma a grin and waggled her eyebrows, a move Emma was far more used to seeing on Ruby’s face.
Emma shrugged. “Not interested.”
“Sure, which is why this is the third time we’ve had this conversation since you saw him at Granny’s,” Mary-Margaret murmured, slicing a knob of butter and spreading it onto the waffle maker. The butter sizzled as she did so, loud enough that Emma either didn’t hear her, or ignored her completely.
“What does he even do?” Emma asked, drumming her fingers against the countertop. Mary-Margaret sighed.
“I still don’t know, Emma. He hasn’t deigned to contact me in the last half hour with a full resume. Maybe ask him next time you see him. Perhaps over dinner,” she replied, spooning the batter in carefully so it didn’t overflow and pressing the top down. Before Emma could protest, the loft door swung open, and Henry ran in, scarf trailing behind him as he made a beeline towards Emma. She moved in front of the island, wrapping her arms around Henry as he squeezed her tight, and Killian Jones was once again pushed to the back of Emma’s mind.
***
One of the many downsides to being the only Sheriff in Storybrooke was that there were no early or late shifts; Emma had to pull them all. And so, after Regina had pulled Emma aside to report a newcomer to Storybrooke, which was apparently of huge concern in a town with exactly zero tourist attractions apart from a now-working clock tower, Emma muted the alarm ringing on her phone at six thirty exactly, and slid into the jeans and shirt she’d thrown haphazardly across the floor in preparation for her early start.
The apartment was silent, Mary-Margaret having not yet snuck back in after her not-so-secret rendezvous with David. Emma tugged on her boots, and looking at the clock, decided to make her exit before Mary-Margaret came home. At least one of them had to be good at pretending her roommate’s affair was a secret.
Forgoing her regular coffee and cereal, Emma made her way to the best – and only – breakfast joint in town.
Granny’s was fairly quiet, the breakfast rush yet to come. Granny herself was on duty, Ruby undoubtedly still asleep at this hour of the morning, and she gave Emma a friendly wave as she entered. Scanning the mostly-empty tables, Emma’s eyes landed on a figure she only half-expected to be there, a cup of coffee and eggs on toast half-eaten on the counter.
She had to admit it to herself; Emma was curious about Killian Jones. After their meeting at the docks she’d scoured Graham’s old files, looking for any information on the man, but there were no arrests, warrants, or even references in case files; all she’d found was a list of jobs Killian had, but nothing on his current work. She’d asked around about him (“How does nobody know what he does?” she’d almost yelled at Ruby when she’d been met with another dead end) and come up blank. Call it intuition or a hunch (or, as her roommate would call it, trust issues), but Emma would swear that under his flirtatious demeanour, he was up to something. And Emma was tired of not knowing.
She made her way over to him, ignoring the multitude of empty seats and Granny’s unsubtle observation.
“Alright then, Killian Jones,” Emma said bluntly, taking the barstool next to him, “what’s your story?”
“Good morning to you too, Swan,” he replied jovially. “You’re looking lovely as ever.”
Emma was willing to concede that under Killian’s flirtatious demeanour there could just be even more flirtation, but she doubted it. “Everyone in town knows who you are, but nobody knows what you do. You lurk around the docks and make deals in the street. You’ve done every kind of job under the sun, but never stick at them for long. What, exactly, is your game?”
A raised eyebrow was the response. “My, my, someone’s been doing her research.” He lifted his coffee mug and took a sip, placing it back on the coaster carefully. “I’m flattered by your interest, love, but there are much more pleasurable ways to find out about me. Over breakfast, for example.” He gestured to the plate in front of him.
A to-go cup of coffee and a bear claw were placed in front of Emma, and it was with a rush of affection that she realised Granny had prepared her regular order without Emma even noticing. She smiled at Granny, who winked before topping up Killian’s coffee and bustling over to another customer. Emma turned back to Killian, who shot a salute and a wink to Granny before giving Emma his full attention again. She gestured at the to-go breakfast.
“Over breakfast isn’t how I do things,” she said. “I prefer the direct route.”
“Like confronting poor, innocent citizens over their giving birthday gifts in the street.”
Emma scoffed. “If that was a birthday gift, I’m a princess.”
“So untrusting,” Killian sighed, placing his hand over his heart. “I’m hurt, Swan. Truly.”
“You’ll live.”
“But only just,” he said, batting his eyes at her and pouting, and Emma couldn’t hold back the huff of laughter which escaped her. His expression switched at the response, a genuine smile on his face, and Emma did her best not to mirror it. She picked up her breakfast and stood up, looking at Killian. “Leaving so soon?” he asked genially.
“Duty calls, but don't think for a second that I'm taking my eyes off you,” Emma said sternly.
“I’d despair if you did, love,” he replied, raising his mug to Emma who shook her head. As she turned to leave, she saw Granny unashamedly listening in, and bit back a groan as the old lady gave Emma two thumbs up and nodded at Killian.
Emma walked out of the diner and began the trek to the station, her boots clicking on the empty sidewalk. She was aware there were far more important things happening than one mysterious man – for example, August Booth and his briefcase, who was still dangling and had increased the total of mysterious men in Storybrooke to two – but dammit, she was intrigued, and Emma Swan always got her perp in the end. Her son was determined to see the best in people, but Emma knew better.
And, well, that was the other little piece of research she’d done. Curiosity had won against concern of indulging Henry’s fantasy, and she’d turned to him and his book about Killian’s fairy tale persona. Chomping at the bit when his mother showed interest of her own accord, Henry had been all too eager to oblige.
Sitting in the Bug, with Henry bouncing excitedly in his seat, Emma ruffled his hair affectionately. “Go on then, kid,” she said, giving her son a half-smile. “I know you’re dying to tell me. Who’s Killian in your book?”
The eye roll Henry gave her was almost uncannily like the ones Regina gave Emma on a daily basis, albeit in Henry’s case with affection rather than derision. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s Captain Hook!”
She decided not to ask Henry questions about anyone else.
***
Emma was late for girls’ night, and she was pissed.
Stopping Mr Gold from committing honest to god murder had taken up most of her evening, and by the time she’d been able to finish up, get home and changed, and head to the bar, Mary-Margaret had gone. Meanwhile, Ashley had apparently been proposed to and left with Sean, and Ruby was busy wiping the floor with the rest of the darts players.
Happy Valentine’s Day indeed.
A brief catch-up with Ruby filled Emma in on the night’s events, and Emma decided to treat herself to a drink before heading home. Partially as a reward for preventing Mr Gold from killing a florist, but mainly in case Mary-Margaret had decided to sneak David in while Emma was out. There were some things she just didn’t need to hear.
Leaning against the crowded bar, Emma caught the eye of the bartender and managed to order. To her relief, she was now well-known enough in Storybrooke as the Sheriff to be left alone by the barflies vying for each other’s attention. Dropping cash into the barman’s hand as he passed the beer bottle to her, Emma stepped away from the crowd to scan the room for a spare seat.
Couples were taking up the majority of the booths, and groups of singles stood around the tables; spaces were few and far between, and with Emma’s only friend busy scoring bullseye after bullseye, Emma decided to amble to the nearest empty stool at a corner table, where Ruby’s red jacket was slung over a now-vacant seat. Figuring Ruby wouldn’t mind (or notice) Emma stealing her spot, Emma made her way to the table and made herself comfortable. Shrugging off her own jacket, she looked around, pleased to see she had a prime view of Ruby single-handedly wrecking the egos of most of the men playing darts in the bar. When Ruby noticed, she gave her a wave before going back to the game against her current opponent.
There were worse ways to kill a Valentine’s Day, Emma thought, letting the stress of the day roll through her as she watched the games unfold. The current darts player was good, she had to admit, and provided a pretty good view in those jeans; he was also clearly taking Ruby seriously as a player rather than patronising her, which gave him points in Emma’s book.
Said points immediately vanished when he turned his head to say something to Ruby, and Emma realised she was currently staring at the profile of Killian Jones. She couldn’t make out what he was saying over the buzz of the bar, but she could see Ruby point in her direction, grinning, His head snapped to face her, and Emma raised the bottle she was holding in a mock toast. Killian winked back, turning back to the darts board and flinging another dart.
Emma didn’t even try to hold back a laugh when it bounced off the wall instead of going anywhere near the board. She watched as Ruby clapped Killian heavily on the shoulder, before collecting the stray dart. Killian ran a hand through his hair before shrugging, picking up his glass and offering it to Ruby, who picked up her own cocktail and clinked it against his. Clearly accepting defeat, Killian moved away from the game and headed in Emma’s direction. She raised her eyebrows as he sat opposite her, the laughter still curling through her.
“Gotta say, you were doing well for a while there,” Emma said. “Ruby must be disappointed to lose the only person actually challenging her.”
“I’m sure Ruby won’t lack for opponents,” Killian replied, before letting out a sigh. “She says she didn’t put you here as a distraction, but I can’t say I fully believe her.”
“It took ten whole seconds before you started flirting. I think that’s a record.”
“I must be losing my edge,” he grinned. “What brings you down the rabbit hole this fine evening, Swan? Don’t tell me you’ve been stood up – not only would it be bad form, but I wouldn’t believe you.”
Emma shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Girls’ night,” she said. Killian looked around the bar before raising an eyebrow at Emma. “I missed most of it,” she shrugged.
“Well, their loss is my gain,” Killian responded. “Perhaps I can finally buy you that drink?”
Emma considered saying no; it had been another weird day, her feet were killing her, and her bed was calling. But, if she was being honest, she had been looking forward to this evening, and although girls’ night was apparently over, she had to admit she enjoyed Killian’s company. And after the events of the day, Killian Jones wasn’t even in her top twenty most suspicious things in Storybrooke anymore.
That, and her beer was mostly empty.
“One drink,” she replied, “and then I’m out of here.”
Killian’s smile grew even wider, and he leaned over the table towards her. “Better make it count then, hadn’t I?” He stood up, striding towards the bar without looking back. Emma shook her head, gaze flicking across the bar as she waited. The thrum of voices in the background grew louder as more drinks were consumed, and Emma rolled her shoulders to relieve some of the tension still coiled in them.
It wasn’t long before Killian returned, bottle resting in the crook of his arm and his glass in his hand. Placing the glass down first, he grabbed the bottle and placed it in front of Emma.
“That was fast,” Emma said, moving the now-empty bottle to the side of the table. Killian shot her a grin as he tugged a keyring with a bottle opener out of his pocket.
“What can I say – I have some connections. At your service, Sheriff,” he said, holding out the keyring with a flourish. Emma rolled her eyes as she took it from him, her fingertips brushing against his palm as she did. He closed his fist once her hand left his, his gaze not leaving Emma even when she quickly broke eye contact and slid the opener under the bottlecap, cracking it open.
“Thanks, oh concerned citizen,” Emma said drily, dangling the keyring over the table as Killian sat down. He reached out, palm open, and Emma dropped it back into his hand. As she looked up from his hand, her gaze travelled up his arm, and Emma couldn’t stop the look of surprise.
It was the first time Emma had seen Killian out of his jacket, and with his sleeves rolled up the vibrant red heart on his forearm with the name Milah inked in cursive was clearly visible. Emma's eyes dropped to the name, all in capitals, and blinked in surprise. Killian followed her gaze and let out a small "ah" when he clocked why she had stopped talking.
"Didn’t take you for a tattoo guy. An ex?" Emma asked, keeping her voice light. Killian leaned back, folding his arms in an attempt to cover the tattoo.
"A very good question," he replied, his blue eyes never leaving Emma's face. "To be honest, Swan, I have no idea. I don't remember her, or getting the tattoo." He shrugged, forcing nonchalance even though Emma could see the tension in his shoulders. "Must have been one hell of a night."
Emma looked up, and was surprised to see a hint of a blush on Killian's face, along with a slight frown. "I didn't know Storybrooke had a tattoo parlour," she said.
"Aye, it must have shut since I got it…" he said, his words trailing off as he frowned at the heart. He was quiet, a state of being Emma wasn’t used to with Killian. She shook off her surprise at the glaring tattoo, and clinked her bottle against his glass to draw him out of his reverie. He looked up, blinking.
"Don't tell me you're embarrassed by one wild night?" Emma grinned, taking a swig of her drink. "Trust me, I'm sure I can beat a blackout date and a tattoo."
Killian gave her a half smile, brushing his prosthetic fingers against the ink. "It just... feels wrong to not remember someone I clearly felt strongly enough about to mark them permanently on my skin. And I’ve found no trace of her in Storybrooke, so it’s somewhat of a mystery."
The bottle came down harder on the table than Emma intended, clunking against the wood loudly. "Well, maybe you'll bump into her again. You never know." She meant to say it playfully, but a tug of jealousy pulled at her at the thought. Clearly the beer was getting to her, because she didn’t hide her expression as well as she thought, which Killian picked up on instantly.
The grin he responded with was wide and amused, Killian's mood switching from morose to interested in a heartbeat. "Why, Swan, are you jealous? Because I could get your name tattooed on the other arm if it would make you feel better."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Shut up."
"No, really,” he smirked, picking up his glass and swirling the rum inside as he spoke, “I think the name ‘Emma’ surrounded by two swans making a heart would look fantastic-"
"I swear, I'll arrest you if you don't shut up right this second, Jones."
He paused, before winking at her and taking a swig of his drink. "Is that a promise?"
Emma groaned. “You’re incorrigible.”
“You like it.”
Emma rolled her eyes, took a sip of her beer, and was glad that he didn’t point out it wasn’t a denial.
***
Somehow, Killian became part of Emma’s routine.
Regina would create chaos, Henry was hell-bent on Operation Cobra with increasingly complicated and concerning plans, Mary-Margaret was having relationship drama straight out of a soap opera and August Booth remained a mystery wrapped in an enigma, but every morning Emma would trek to Granny’s and be greeted by coffee, pancakes, and Killian’s smile lighting up his eyes.
There was an unspoken agreement that neither of them actually mentioned their new morning routine; Emma told anyone who asked (which so far had only been Mary-Margaret, but still) that she just preferred not having to cook breakfast so early, and Granny made a damn perfect pancake. Which was, in all fairness, true.
Saturdays were the exception, with Emma’s morning usually committed to Henry and his latest theory, and Emma was certainly not planning on introducing her son to Killian. But then again, Emma’s plans seemed to have a way of not working out.
Emma was always surprised that Regina let Henry wander around on his own, but it meant more time with Henry and less time with Regina herself, so Emma wasn’t exactly going to complain. It did mean, however, that Henry had taken the opportunity to acquaint himself with Killian while he waited for his mom.
She really regretted asking about Killian in the book.
Killian noticed her first, raising a hand in greeting from his side of the red booth facing the door, and Henry swivelled around, his little scarf swinging across his jacket with the movement. “Emma!” Henry called, as if she wasn’t walking directly towards them, and Emma matched his grin, ruffling his hair as she reached them.
“Hey, kid. How on earth did you beat me here – I got up early and everything!” She smiled at Henry, taking in the waffles, hot chocolate, and an extra pancake on the side. A sugar rush was definitely incoming, but Henry was smiling so widely Emma couldn’t care less.
“I snuck out early,” Henry said, beaming. “My mom thinks I’m at the school library.”
Emma groaned, wrapping her arm around Henry’s shoulder as she slid in next to him. “Henry, we talked about this – I’m trying to stay on Regina’s good side, remember?”
“You didn’t lie to her,” Henry protested. “Besides, she knows I won’t be far, now you’re here instead of Boston.”
“The lad makes a fair point,” Killian added, unfazed by the narrowed eyes Emma sent his way. “I shall be a witness to vouch for you if Madam Mayor decides to take a shot at you.”
“Snitching on a ten-year-old. My hero.”
“Teaching him the value of honesty, Sheriff.” Emma raised an eyebrow, looking over at Henry who was nodding along. She gently poked her son on the shoulder, eliciting a giggle, and how could she even pretend to be mad when Henry laughed like that?
She ruffled Henry’s hair, before grabbing a strawberry off his pancake, dunking it in the very generous blob of whipped cream Granny had given him – it seemed everyone in town had a soft spot for the Mayor’s kid, not matter what they thought of Regina – and laughed off Henry’s protest. “Don’t lie to Regina, ‘kay? I wanna keep seeing you, kid. Especially when you’re being fed the works by Granny.” She took a bite of the strawberry, and as if Granny had heard, a cup of coffee and a bear claw were slid in front of her.
Emma looked up, and Ruby waggled her fingers at her before sashaying back to the counter. Emma shrugged before tearing off some of the pastry and popping it into her mouth. Licking some stray icing off her thumb, she bumped Henry with her shoulder and steadfastly ignored Killian unashamedly watching her. “You ready to go? I thought we could head to the beach, grab an ice cream.” She looked at Henry’s plate. “Because the one thing you’re lacking in this place is sugar.”
Henry’s face split into a wide grin, and Emma’s heart burst with affection for her son.
“Sounds great, Emma! Just gotta go to the bathroom,” Henry said, and Emma shuffled out of the booth to let Henry out. “Back in a sec!” Emma sat back down, grabbing her coffee mug and taking a sip. She watched Henry walk away, and when he was definitely out of earshot Emma gave Killian her sweetest smile and said, "You have two choices: either convince me in the next minute that you aren't as shady as you seem, or you stay the hell away from Henry."
Killian blinked. "A hello would be nice, one of these days."
"I'm not kidding," Emma said. "I want answers, right now, or you leave this booth." Killian raised his hands in defence.
"You realise your lad came and sat at my table? Just so the record is clear."
"That's not what I asked."
Killian sighed. "You won't let this go, will you?"
Emma shook her head. "I'm not known for giving up."
"That doesn't surprise me in the least," Killian muttered. "Fine. On our first meeting, I was giving William some dice for a weekly games night he hosts. They have certain… qualities which may help him in some bets, but would make both him and I quite unpopular should said qualities be revealed."
Emma blinked. "You were exchanging loaded dice?" she asked incredulously; she knew he was telling the truth, but couldn't believe it was something so simple. At his nod of affirmation, Emma narrowed her eyes. "Okay, let’s say that's all. What’s with the jack of all trades job list?"
Killian shrugged, taking a swig of his coffee. "Let's just say that no matter where I work, I have to be let go after Mr Gold inevitably intervenes. So now I do odd jobs around the docks. Luckily, Gold doesn't own much down there, and I know a few people from previous jobs, so I offer my services if they need a hand." He smiled, raising his prosthetic. “Alas, I can only offer the one.”
Emma didn’t laugh, instead raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "Mr Gold is getting you fired."
"Aye."
“From every job you do.”
“Aye.”
"Just one question,” Emma said, placing her chin on her knuckles and leaning forwards, “why the hell would he do that?"
Killian let out a humourless laugh. "That, Swan, is the million-dollar question. Apparently, our charming Mr Gold has something against me. I personally would love to know what, but he’s hardly the heart-to-heart type." He put the coffee cup down, his tone turning serious. “But as we’re apparently at that point in our relationship, why exactly are you so interested in my job list? Surely there are far more pressing matters for the Sheriff?”
Emma held up her other hand, pointing a finger into the air. “One: my kid wants to be friends with everyone, so I have to make sure anyone he tries to befriend isn’t some kind of serial killer.” She held up a second finger. “Two: in my experience, mysterious men usually don’t bring along sunshine and roses.” Another finger. “Three: I’m the Sheriff – looking into this stuff is kind of my job.” Emma raised her pinky. “Four: I hate not having answers. And five,” Emma shrugged, splaying her hand to five open fingers, “I was curious.” She lifted her head from her chin, leaning back into the booth and crossing her arms almost defiantly.
The nod Killian responded with was slow, as his gaze searched hers, assessing her. Emma refused to be the one to blink first, which Killian seemed to find amusing. His lips quirked upwards as he curled his hand around the coffee mug. “You know, Swan, if you were interested, all you had to do was say.”
Emma bit back a groan. “Because asking you has worked so well before,” she retorted, before frowning. “Final question – why tell me now?”
Killian gestured his head to the bathrooms. “I’m happy to be thought of as mysterious, love, but I won’t have you thinking of me as a threat to your boy.” He paused. “Who, by they way, keeps asking me about sailing – why exactly does he think I have any nautical knowledge.”
This time, Emma did groan. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“And here I was, thinking we were being honest with each other,” Killian sighed. Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Killian raised his hand. “I’m kidding, Swan. But I do fully plan on reciprocating your twenty questions. Perhaps over a drink, or dinner.”
And maybe it was the fact Killian hadn’t lied to her once during the entire conversation, or because Henry had taken a liking to him, but Emma didn’t shut him down. Instead, she let out a warm laugh. “You don’t quit, do you?”
"I'm not known for giving up,” he replied, throwing her own words back at her. Emma smiled, but was saved from answering properly as Henry came back into view, speed walking towards her in his excitement for spending time with Emma, or getting an even bigger sugar high. Emma hoped it was the former, but knew from her own sweet tooth that it was probably a bit of both.
Emma stood up, shrugging at Killian with a smile as she grabbed the rest of her bear claw. “Another time, maybe.”
“Aye, Swan,” Killian grinned. “Have a wonderful day – Henry, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Henry beamed back, giving Killian a big wave. “You too, Killian! Let’s play dice next time, ‘kay?” Emma placed her hands on Henry’s shoulders and spun him to face the door, gently tapping him on the back to get her son moving. She turned to shoot Killian a look, clearly mouthing the word “dice?” over her shoulder. Killian held up his mug in a silent toast, and Emma shook her head as they exited Granny’s, letting Henry’s words wash over her.
They walked for a while through town, heading towards where the yellow Bug was parked, when Henry tugged on Emma’s hand. She drew to a halt, looking down at him.
“Hey Emma, can I pop into Mr Gold’s and buy something? My Mom said I could spend my allowance on anything I wanted.” Henry pointed to the sign ahead of them, having stopped Emma just before the shop.
Emma paused; Storybrooke didn’t exactly have malls to go to, but Mr Gold’s shop was definitely a weird place for a kid to buy things. Then again, the kid in question was looking at her with puppy dog eyes, a look that Emma was learning she couldn’t say no to. She nodded, moving to head inside, when Henry stepped in front of her. “No, no! It’s a surprise!” he said and spun around to run into the store. Emma shrugged, placing her hands in her pockets as she took in the street. A few people waved to her, and she returned the gesture, although she had to admit she only recognised the faces of most, rather than the names.
It didn’t take long for Henry to reappear, a brown bag in his hands and a wide smile on his face. He held out the bag as he approached, and Emma opened her hands so he could place the bag in them. Whatever was in it was heavier than she’d expected, and Emma gave Henry a smile as she opened the bag.
Really, she hadn’t expected to pull out a giant hook, but that was apparently what her son deemed a worthy gift for her. Emma blinked in confusion. “Uh, kid? I’m not sure Mr Gold should have sold you this. Pretty sure it could be used as a weapon.” She frowned. “Was this why you went in?”
Henry nodded. “It’s for Killian, when you break the curse! I figure he’ll want it back, and it shouldn’t just gather dust in there. I saw it when I last went in.”
Ah. There it was. Emma placed the hook carefully into the bag, nodding back at Henry. “Right. So it’s for Operation Cobra?” Henry’s little head was in danger of falling off if he nodded any harder. “Okay, well, we’ll put it in the backseat for now and keep it somewhere safe.” And talk to Mr Gold about what he should and shouldn’t be selling to ten-year-olds, Emma thought. Henry hummed in agreement, before continuing the walk to Emma’s car.
Later, after skipping stones and drawing in the sand, followed by Henry’s inevitable sugar crash, Emma put the hook on her nightstand, unsure where else to keep it. She figured on the 0.0001% chance Henry’s theory was right, at least it was somewhere safe.
Emma pinched herself; she was letting Operation Cobra get to her, and needed to remember she was only here for Henry.
Everyone knew fairy tales weren’t real. Captain Hook sure as hell hadn’t asked her for a drink.
But Killian Jones had, and that was the thought Emma let roll through her mind as she fell asleep.
***
Some days in Storybrooke felt like a fever dream; locking Mary-Margaret in a cell after she’d been accused of murder was definitely one of them. Turning the key in the cell had felt like the deepest betrayal, especially with Mary-Margaret looking at Emma like a wounded bunny, but at least her roommate understood why she was doing it.
To be honest, the most difficult part had been finding Leroy and cornering him to let him know that this latest Kathryn update was not to be announced loudly at the diner.
There was so much to do, first and foremost try and explain to Henry why his favourite teacher was behind bars, all while trying not to encourage his belief that his mom was the Evil Queen (although Emma had to admit, the moniker was certainly apt if Regina had anything to do with this – and really, of course she did, Emma just didn’t know what yet).
Emma had gone back to the apartment to clear her head and look for anything which could prove Mary-Margaret’s innocence, peeling off her jacket as soon as she entered. Given that the only people she would expect to visit were currently in jail or at school, the knock at the door came as a complete surprise. Emma glared at the door when the person knocked again, bracing herself for Regina and her bragging, and was ready to throw down as she swung the door open.
“Listen Regina, you can’t just come over here after framin- oh. Hi, Killian.”
Killian, Styrofoam cup in hand, simply blinked. “Your greetings really could use some work, Swan. I’m not sure I want to come in now.”
“You haven’t been invited,” Emma pointed out, leaning against the doorframe, the wood pressing against her bare arm, and trying to reign in the tension in her voice. “And I’m a little busy right now.”
Killian nodded. “Yes, I imagine so. Is Mary-Margaret alright?” Emma let out a groan.
“Leroy told everyone already?”
“Aye, that he did.”
“He promised to keep his mouth shut for at least twenty-four hours!”
Killian raised an eyebrow. “And you believed him?” Emma gave him a pointed look, and Killian held out the Styrofoam cup almost in defence. “I come with gifts. Thought you may need it.”
Emma straightened up, reaching out to take the cup. She carefully peeled off the plastic lid, and looked up in surprise. “You got me hot chocolate?”
“With cinnamon on top.” He winked. “Your lad told me it was your favourite when we spoke last.”
Emma shook her head. “Subtlety isn’t that kid’s strong point.”
“It must run in the family,” Killian responded, and Emma rolled her eyes as she stepped into the apartment. She nodded her head towards the kitchen, leaving the door open as she walked back in. Taking a sip of the hot drink, Emma realised she hadn’t taken a break in hours, and she’d just locked up the person she usually relaxed with after a long day.
That, and she hadn’t really seen Killian in a few days. She refused to admit she’d missed him, but she was certainly glad to have his company right now. Emma heard his footsteps behind her, and called out over her shoulder “Don’t touch anything – I’m searching the place.”
“Because the school teacher will surely have left the murder weapon in the home she shares with the town Sheriff?” Killian said drily, earning him a fresh glare from Emma.
“She didn’t do it,” Emma snapped, immediately defensive. “She wouldn’t.”
Killian shrugged. “Stranger things have happened in the name of love, Swan.” It was a fair point, but not one Emma was willing to concede.
“Mary-Margaret is innocent,” she said firmly, ”and I’m going to prove it.”
“I’m sure you will, but perhaps taking five minutes to rest wouldn’t hurt.” Emma leaned against the kitchen island, one palm resting on the counter as she took in Killian’s look of concern. The hot chocolate was warm in her hand, a sweet gesture by anyone’s standards, but a faint suspicion couldn’t help but form in the back of her mind. Everyone she’d trusted in her job had been in Regina’s pocket, and a nugget of doubt crept in that this was another of Regina’s games.
Emma watched Killian for a moment; if he was disconcerted by her sudden silence, he didn’t show it, simply meeting her stare with worried eyes. She took a sip of the drink, before deciding the direct route couldn’t hurt. “Why are you here?”
That seemed to surprise him, at least. Killian folded his arms, furrowing his brow in confusion. “To bring you a drink?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “No, really. The biggest scandal in Storybrooke history is breaking, and you come straight to the accused murderer’s home? Why?” Emma knew she was coming across as harsh, but images of Graham sneaking out of Regina’s window and the bug Sidney had left in the flowers flashed across her mind. Mary-Margaret was being framed, and Emma couldn’t take the risk of blind trust.
Killian didn’t respond for a few seconds, confusion lining his face.
“Everyone is talking about Mary-Margaret, and whether she’s a murderer or not,” he said after a moment. “I was more concerned with you, Swan, the Sheriff who just had to arrest her friend and roommate.” Killian paused. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Emma waited for the twist in her stomach which told her someone was lying. Instead, she felt relief when it didn’t come.
She exhaled, placing the Styrofoam cup down on the counter. “Okay.” She looked up, and gave Killian a small smile. “Thank you.” He shot her a smile back, and Emma stepped away from the island, gesturing to the rest of the room. “In that case, want to help me search the apartment? I could use a fresh pair of eyes.” At this point Emma needed anyone she could get in her corner, and she was glad that Killian seemed to be genuinely on her side.
Killian tilted his head, grinning. “Why Swan, is that an official request from the Sheriff? Do you want me to play deputy?” The waggle of his eyebrows broke any remaining tension, and Emma let out a groan.
“I take it back. Just sit down and be quiet while I look.”
“No, no, I’ll help,” he said. “Do I get a badge?”
“No.”
“A gun?”
“God, no.”
“Do I at least get handcuffs?”
“Killian!”
***
Somehow, things kept escalating. On top of Mary-Margaret’s ongoing murder investigation, Emma could now tick “meet the local crazy man” off her Storybrooke Bucket List.
Emma’s hands were shaking as she left the Sheriff’s station, Mary-Margaret safely back in the cell, and the memory of Jefferson’s hats and manic eyes lodged firmly in Emma’s thoughts. She didn’t have much time before she needed to head back to take Mary-Margaret to the town hall; just enough to grab breakfast at Granny’s and get back to the station. She really didn’t have time for Killian, who raised a hand in greeting as she walked towards the diner, and made a beeline towards her. But as he approached, his grin falling as he took in her dishevelled appearance, Emma was more than willing to spare the few minutes she had.
When he reached her, concern apparent in his deep blue eyes, she simply shook her head and grabbed his hand, tugging him to the side alley by Granny’s.
“Swan, are you alright?” he asked, right before Emma yanked the lapels of his jacket towards her and kissed him.
It took approximately one second for Killian to respond, his hand winding into her hair as Emma pulled him back with her so she was pressed against the wall. The brickwork bit into Emma’s shoulders but she quite frankly didn’t care, too focused on his lips pressed against hers; she kept a tight grip on Killian’s jacket, the leather soft against her palms, trying to keep him as close as possible while melting into the embrace.
After the back and forth of the past few weeks, Emma fully expected to deepen the kiss, and hopefully spend the only spare time she had today memorising the feeling of Killian’s fingertips curling through her hair and brushing against her neck. She was surprised when instead he pulled back, and she instinctively lifted her head to follow his movement. He kissed her again, far too gently for Emma’s liking, before pulling back and pressing his forehead against hers. His thumb traced Emma’s cheek as Killian stared at her, taking her in.
“I’m certainly not about to complain,” he said, and was Emma imagining his breathlessness? “But I must confess this wasn’t quite how I’d planned to kiss you for the first time, love.”
Emma didn’t loosen her grip on his collar, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to figure out how to explain that she could have died last night, and she hadn’t kissed him, and that it was one of the only things she could think about apart from her son and her friend in danger as she’d tried to make a hat for a madman, and that Storybrooke was insane and Emma couldn’t control anything right now, except whether or not she had kissed Killian Jones. So she’d kissed him.
Instead, she pulled his head down so she could rest her forehead against his, trying to calm herself (from adrenaline or the kiss, she didn’t know) to put it into words. Killian rubbed his hand up and down her back, and Emma let him try to soothe her.
It was nice; a few seconds of peace before more chaos.
Ruby’s scream tore through Emma, and she pulled back from Killian instantly. Their heads both whipped around to the noise, pushing themselves away from the wall and sprinting around the corner to where Emma knew Ruby put the trash out.
Emma had no idea what to expect, her mind running through worst-case scenarios, but somehow she was still taken by surprise when they reached Ruby, who was kneeling next to an unconscious Kathryn.
***
It turned out that Killian’s ‘connections’ were happy to give Emma some perks; free celebration drinks for Mary-Margaret’s release was apparently one of them.
Granny’s had been deemed too public for Mary-Margaret’s first night as a free woman. Emma knew Ruby and Granny were planning a town surprise for her the next evening, but Mary-Margaret had been firm on the fact that the only people she wanted to see on the first day of her release were her two friends. The Rabbit Hole, however, hosted very few people who knew the women well, although all three were known throughout Storybrooke as the waitress at Granny’s, the Sheriff, and the local not-actually-a-murderer respectively.
On the bright side, they stayed unbothered in their booth, only visited by the barman bringing them rounds of rum-based cocktails. Despite Emma and Mary-Margaret offering to pay for them (Ruby was Team Free Drinks), he’d insisted on a few rounds on the house.
Multiple glasses sat in front of Ruby and Mary-Margaret, although Emma was being careful to drink hers slowly; she still hadn’t dropped her guard since escaping from Jefferson, unable to believe not even a full day had passed since then.
Ruby was doing her best to keep the conversation flowing, trying not to focus too much on the reappearance of her friend’s lover’s thought-to-be-dead-wife. With Mary-Margaret still in shock and Emma exhausted, it was a pretty one-sided effort, and eventually Ruby left her seat next to Emma and made her way to the pool table, making a pit stop at the bar for something stronger than the cocktails, her leather pants and bright red crop top causing more than a couple of stares.
The sigh Emma let out wasn’t meant to sound relieved, but it caused Mary-Margaret to look up from the latest cocktail. “Are you alright, Emma?”
Emma’s eyes widened, and she let out a laugh of disbelief. “You’ve just been released from jail after being framed for murder, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?” Emma shook her head. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Mary-Margaret scrunched her nose, tugging Ruby’s abandoned drink towards her. “Well, whatever I am, at least now everyone knows I’m not a killer.”
Emma gave her a half smile. “Pretty sure most of Storybrooke knew that anyway.”
“Not everyone,” Mary-Margaret replied quietly, twirling the remnants of ice in the glass with the plastic straw. Emma shut her eyes, cursing silently before reaching out to place her hand over Mary-Margaret’s. Her roommate looked up at the contact, and Emma’s sad smile was apparently the tipping point. Tears pricked at the corners of Mary-Margaret’s eyes, and she pulled her hand away, giving Emma a large, fake-as-hell smile that Emma was getting sadly used to.
“I’m going to get some air,” Mary-Margaret said, sliding to the edge of the booth, grabbing her jacket as she did. “I just – I just need to walk, you know?” Emma nodded, mirroring her friend’s actions.
“Of course. C’mon, let’s blow this joint.” Emma smiled. “I can let Ruby know-”
“No,” Mary-Margaret said, shaking her head. Her bangs fell into her eyes, and Mary-Margaret tucked them into place with her fingertips. “Sorry Emma - I – I need to be alone for a little bit. I’ll be right back though, okay?”
Emma furrowed her eyebrows, but nodded; she understood better than anyone the need to be on your own, although the number of empty glasses on the table made Emma’s gut twist in concern. “I get it. But keep me posted, okay? You know I’ll come looking for you if you go missing again.”
Mary-Margaret gave her a small smile. “I wouldn’t worry - people don’t go missing for long in Storybrooke.” She pulled on her jacket, the dusty pink dark in the bar light, and headed towards the exit.
“I’ll still come find you!” Emma called out as she left. She leant back against the booth, folding her arms as she watched Mary-Margaret go. Left with uncertainty about her next steps – stay and drink, join Ruby at pool, or go keep an eye on Mary-Margaret – the decision was made for her when Killian slid into the seat next to her, two beers held carefully between his fingers. She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows as she took one of the bottles and placed it on the table.
“You looked like a lost girl,” Killian said, just loud enough to be heard over the low thrum of the music. “Thought it would be bad form to let you drink alone.”
Emma held up the bottle towards him, which he clinked his own drink against. “I’ll drink to that,” she replied, taking a swig. She rested her head back against the booth, her hair falling over her shoulders. She hadn’t really seen Killian since finding Kathryn, forced into Sheriff-mode and trying to put the pieces of what had happened together. Unsure whether to address the morning’s events or not, Emma closed her eyes and rolled the beer bottle between her palms.
“It has been,” she announced to the ceiling, “one hell of a day.” Emma opened her eyes, only daring to flick her gaze to Killian briefly. He was staring at her, and carefully moved his hand to rest on her wrist.
“Are you alright, Emma?” he asked softly, and Emma closed her eyes again. “This morning, you seemed – well - and then Kathryn-”
Emma sighed, not sure how to answer; there had just been no time to take in the past twenty-four hours, life throwing more and more at her with every passing hour. Instead, she slid closer to Killian, and placed her head on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” she replied. “But can we talk about it another time? I - I can’t right now.”
She felt him tense for a second, before moving his arm behind her and draping it over her shoulders, pulling her closer into him. His hand rubbed gently across her arm, soothing and soft.
“Aye, Swan. Another time.”
The beers sat in front of them, condensation rolling down the glass as Emma curled against Killian; she was too tired to care that she was being overtly affectionate, too worn out to play games or flirt, uncaring that people (especially Ruby, who Emma knew she’d hear no end from) could see them. She could have spent hours in that booth, being held, with Killian resting his cheek on her head.
However, Mary-Margaret walking back in with tears rolling down her face put an abrupt end to the moment. As she walked back to the table, Emma shot up, and Killian immediately moved out of the booth so Emma could meet her in the middle.
“I just saw David,” Mary-Margaret said, her soft voice a monotone. “And I – Emma, how could he have believed I would ever-” A tear made its way down Mary-Margaret’s cheek, and before Emma could respond, Ruby was there, linking her arm with Mary-Margaret and Emma’s and turning them towards the exit.
“C’mon ladies, let’s go home,” Ruby said. “I think we’ve made a night of it here, and Emma’s gonna make us some hot chocolate at the loft, right?”
“Shouldn’t you make it?” Emma countered as they began to move. “Don’t you have, like, Granny’s secret recipe?” She looked over her shoulder at Killian, who gave her an understanding smile and a wave. Emma raised a hand back, and Ruby poked her in the rib.
“Oh, as if Granny’s given me that recipe. And don’t you think I missed that little display of PDA,” Ruby teased, throwing her arm around Mary-Margaret and pointing a finger between Emma and Killian, who was moving back to the bar. “Mary-Margaret, we have some interrogating to do. Very important stuff. I can use all the techniques I learned when I was working in the Sheriff’s office.”
Emma snorted, wincing as the cold air hit them from the exit. “Oh yeah, “Hi, this is the Sheriff’s Office, how can I help you?” is really going to get me to talk.” Ruby blew her a kiss.
“I have my ways. Now c’mon. We’ve celebrated our bestie’s release, and now we’re gonna commiserate over her bad taste in men while teasing you for yours. Sound good?” Ruby asked. Emma looked at Mary-Margaret, who gave them both a little smile. She raised her hands in defeat.
“I can promise you hot chocolate or answers. I can’t promise both.”
Ruby and Emma play-bickered all the way to the loft. The occasional giggle from Mary-Margaret was worth every second.
***
Emma had agreed to meet August at the station, but she was still unsure about where he wanted to take her. Despite her best efforts, he remained a mystery; there was something odd about him, and his refusal to clarify all his hints and opaque words was driving her mad. It seemed everyone in Storybrooke was hiding something, but August was the most frustrating. So if this little road trip would bring some answers, then Emma was willing to play ball.
What she hadn’t counted on was Killian trying to surprise her with food “just to keep you company on a dull Thursday, Swan” (and Emma just knew Henry had something to do with it, because she had never told Killian she preferred onion rings to fries, but he had them anyway).
And then, because she had the sweetest roommate ever, Mary-Margaret had also decided to surprise Emma with food as a mid-week treat. Granny’s was definitely out of onion rings, if the amount Killian and Mary-Margaret had each brought was anything to go by.
It was a weird combination, to say the least, but Emma had to admire the effort both of them put in to making it as unawkward as possible. Mary-Margaret and Killian seemed happy to join forces and provide Emma with a mega-lunch, pushing the two desks together to create a makeshift table; however, the mini picnic was thrown off when August arrived early and apparently on a time limit, something Killian didn’t take particularly well.
“It’s half an hour more mate, let her eat,” Killian said firmly, arms folded as he leant against the desk. Emma, mouth full of cheeseburger, nodded in agreement.
August let out a dry laugh. “Sorry, but this is more important than your little lunch date. Emma, we need to go now if we’re gonna make it back before nightfall.”
“And where exactly are you going that can’t wait?” Killian asked. Emma’s gaze flicked to August, interest piqued – he hadn’t shared where they were visiting, and she had to admit she was curious.
The response was a grin and a shake of the head. “It’s a surprise; wouldn’t want to ruin it right before I show her.” Killian narrowed his eyes, and Mary-Margaret and Emma shared a look universal to women everywhere, which conveyed the simple message of: why are men like this?
Killian and August levelled hard stares at each other, with Emma raising an eyebrow as she glanced between them. Between Killian’s set jaw and August’s crossed arms, it was clear that the staring contest was some kind of test of manliness to see who would concede first.
Emma was tempted to throw them both in a cell, but glaring was not, unfortunately, an arrestable offence.
Emma swallowed, putting down the remainder of her food and standing up. “Alright, alright,” she raised her hands. “If it’s that urgent, we’ll go.” Emma shot Mary-Margaret an apologetic look, before doing the same to Killian. “Thanks again, both of you. This was… really sweet.”
Killian gave her a small smile back, but his gaze flicked back and forth between August and Emma. She rolled her eyes. “Come on August, I want to be back in time for dinner.” She met Killian’s eyes, and he didn’t look away. “You’re buying.”
He blinked, and Emma did her best to ignore Mary-Margaret watching the whole thing, chin in her palms and a wide smile on her face. August simply shrugged. “The sooner we leave, Emma, the sooner we’re back. You want answers?” He paused, and Emma nodded in response. “Now’s the time.”
Emma rolled her eyes again – she’d had more than enough drama for a lifetime in the months she’d spent in Storybrooke, and August certainly had a flair for it – but grabbed her jacket from the back of her seat and waved goodbye to Killian and Mary-Margaret.
But before they could exit, the office door swung open, and Regina walked in. Emma’s mood immediately worsened.
Regina cast her eye over Killian and August, arching an eyebrow as she turned to face Emma. “Well, well, Miss Swan; Graham is barely in the ground, and you already have two more stubbled, leather-jacket clad men lined up. It’s clear you have a type.” Emma moved towards Regina, curling her fists at her sides in anger.
“It’s not like that,” she snapped, ignoring Killian and August giving each other a confused once over. “And unless you have something to say which is worth my time, I’d suggest you get out of my office.”
“If only I could,” Regina drawled, “but I do need to speak to you. Alone.”
Emma wasn’t sure if it was touching or really, really annoying that both Killian and August felt the need to step forward, placing themselves at either side of Emma like bodyguards. Mary-Margaret’s “Awwww” in the background was not helpful.
“I’ll be sticking around, Ms. Mayor,” Killian smiled, “Unless the lovely Sheriff over here tells me otherwise.” August shot Killian a glare, before nodding at Regina. The Mayor blinked at the two men, before letting out a chuckle.
“My goodness, you’ve trained them well,” she said drily. “But this is Henry business, so if the rest of the Leather Jacket Convention wouldn’t mind stepping outside, it would be good to get this over with. I have a son to pick up from school.” The smile she gave Emma was pure vindictiveness, and the urge to punch it off Regina’s face was only quelled by the thought of Henry’s disappointed little face if Emma gave his adoptive mom a black eye.
Taking a deep breath, Emma looked at Killian and August respectively. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I can handle this. Regina – my office.”
A look of hurt flashed across Killian’s face, and Emma nearly regretted her brusque tone. Said regret immediately evaporated when August placed a hand on her shoulder. “Remember, Emma, we have business. Make it quick.” She shrugged off his hand and pointed her head towards the small room which hosted her office. As she walked past, Killian’s gaze trailed her before flicking back to August. He gave her a nod.
“Take as long as you need, love – we won’t be far.” He directed the second part at Regina as she followed Emma’s lead, brushing his fingertips against Emma’s arm as she moved away from August and toward the door. The tiny action sent goosebumps across Emma’s skin, which she steadfastly ignored as she strode away, opening the door and bowing sarcastically as she waved Regina in.
She really should make glaring an arrestable offence; it would save her so much time, she thought as the door swung shut behind her.
Cut off from Emma and Regina’s conversation, Killian threw a glance at August. “So, it’s ‘not like that’ with you and Emma?” The chuckle August responded with didn’t fill Killian with positivity.
August turned to look at Killian, unabashedly assessing him. “No, it’s not. But it seems to be with the two of you.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t get too attached. Everything will change soon for her. For everyone.”
“That almost sounds like a threat,” Killian said quietly, voice fierce. He took a step closer to August, narrowing his eyes. “I’d tread carefully, mate.”
“Not a threat,” August spread his hands wide, “just a fact. When Emma gets to the truth, you may not be quite her type.”
Killian’s entire body was tense. “And what exactly is this ‘truth’,” he made air quotes with his hand, “you’re on about?”
August gave him a genial smile. “You’ll remember soon enough.”
“Listen, I don’t know what-”
A delicate cough drew the men’s attention to Mary-Margaret, who was unashamedly staring at the two men as she listened in. “Just thought I should suggest that maybe Emma should get a say in all this,” she said, resting her chin on her knuckles and shooting Killian and August a smile which was usually reserved for her pre-schoolers in the midst of an argument. “Being a key part of it and everything.”
Killian cleared his throat, taking a step back from August who remained unfazed. “Right you are, Mary-Margaret.” Silence fell, with Mary-Margaret unsure how to start a fresh conversation, and Killian and August in some kind of silent standoff.
The office door slammed open, and Emma stormed out, face like thunder as she strode past the trio and out of the station, only pausing to call out “Come on, then,” to August gruffly. Regina strolled out after her, shrugging at Mary-Margaret with a sly grin on her face.
“My, my, she’s in a bad mood today, isn’t she?” Regina said. The Mayor didn’t leave time for questions, and Mary-Margaret had barely stood up by the time Regina had also left the room, work clearly done.
Killian and Mary-Margaret shared a look which August didn’t participate in, instead following the lead of Emma and Regina and walking out of the Sheriff Station without a goodbye.
The silence was tense, the remaining pair unsure of what had just transpired. Mary-Margaret held out the brown bag in front of her.
“French fry?”
***
August was, Emma had decided, insane. Talking nonsense about her being a Saviour and repeating the same lines her ten-year-old son told her about fairy tales and curses, which was significantly less adorable on a grown man. Combined with yet another argument with Regina about Henry, and Emma was at the end of her tether. Running away with him wasn’t the answer (Mary-Margaret had made that perfectly clear), but with every passing day it became clearer that this whole thing wasn’t good for Henry.
She was currently keeping a giant fishhook in her room as a promise to Henry just in case Killian was Captain Hook, for goodness’ sake. It just wasn’t healthy.
So she’d spoken to Regina. And, apple turnover in hand, Emma made the decision to leave Storybrooke for good.
A week ago, Emma would have left without a trace; make a clean break, all the easier to heal from and forget about. But as she swung the gate at the end of Regina’s pathway open, Mary-Margaret’s hurt face from Emma’s impromptu road trip with Henry floated in her mind. She let out a huff, biting the inside of her cheek as she began the walk back to their apartment.
Really, it would be better if she just left. She’d told Mary-Margaret, and, Henry aside, who else in town would really care if she was gone? Okay, she was on good terms with most of the town, but not enough to warrant individual goodbyes. August was AWOL, and Killian-
Well. And Killian.
The diner was on the walk back anyway, and Emma’s feet took her there almost instinctively, even when her mind was still wrestling with saying goodbye. She hopped up the entrance steps, still damp from the rain the day before, and took a deep breath as she reached the door.
Doing the right thing really sucked, sometimes.
Granny’s was full when Emma swung the door open, but her eyes found Killian instantly. How he knew to look up when she entered a room, Emma would never know, but her heart twisted as he did, his gaze locking on hers. Emma walked over to him, giving Ruby a small wave as she did. She didn’t slide into the booth as usual, and Killian raised an eyebrow at the change in routine.
“To what do I owe the pleasure so late in the day?” Killian asked, and Emma hated how genuine his smile was. It would have been so much easier if he had actually been committing crimes, she thought.
“Can we talk outside?” she asked quietly. “It’s important.”
Killian frowned, but stood up without question. Emma didn’t elaborate, turning and leaving as quickly as she’d entered, knowing Killian was right behind her. She didn’t want to stop walking, didn’t want to have to say the words - she’d said so many goodbyes, and hated that she was adding even more to her lifelong list - but as she reached the dark green fence, Killian’s hand grabbed hers, bringing Emma to a halt. She spun around, and didn’t give him time to ask.
“I have to leave,” Emma blurted out, letting out a low curse as Killian’s look of concern was immediately replaced with one of shock. Killian closed the distance between them, curling his hand around hers. “Emma, what are you talking about?”
“I’m going back to Boston,” she said, tugging her hand back and stepping away. “It’s what’s best for Henry.”
“Really? Because he seems pretty happy to me,” Killian countered, folding his arms. Emma raised her chin, sliding her thumbs into the pocket of her jeans and facing Killian down.
Emma shook her head, looking back at the diner instead of Killian. “At what price, Killian? This whole me versus Regina thing - it’s not good for him,” she said. “He’s got this fantasy that I’m some sort of Saviour, and Archie said to go along with it, but it’s dangerous, Killian. And if me leaving gives him some stability, and puts a stop to it, then it’s what I have to do.”
Killian sighed heavily, the fight in him evaporating at Emma’s words. “You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?” Emma nodded, and Killian looked around the street before shooting Emma the fakest smile he’d ever given her. “And I can’t convince you to stay?”
Emma bit her cheek; in all honesty, she’d expected a fight, something to piss her off and convince herself that the final person she was leaving behind wasn’t worth it. Of course the bastard would be understanding about the whole thing. “I promised myself I’d give Henry his best chance ten years ago,” she said. “I need to do that again now. And his best chance is here, without me and Regina in a constant battle for him.”
“Of course,” he murmured. “The town will be worse without you, Sheriff.” The smile on his face dropped, but was sincere. “Breakfasts at Granny’s just won’t be the same.”
Emma wrapped her arms around herself, biting her cheek again. “You know…” she swallowed, “Boston isn’t too far. I’ll be here so often, you won’t even miss me.”
Killian’s smile didn’t meet his eyes. “Now that’s just not true, Swan.”
“Hey, I’ll be visiting Henry as much as I can!” she protested, anger and hurt flaring at his accusation. He shook his head.
“Not that.”
It clicked. “Oh.” Emma paused. “If – if you ever found yourself in Boston… you’d have a place to stay.”
Killian nodded, his smile warmer, but still small. “Now that’s an offer I can hardly refuse,” he said, the jovial tone forced. Emma nodded once, taking a deep breath and steeling her shoulders.
“I need to go,” she said firmly, hoping that the bravado in her voice could convince at least one of them that she meant it. “I have to pack. Don’t want to be on the road too late.” Emma took a step backward, and raised her hand in a small wave. “Bye, Killian.”
“Emma!” he called, grabbing her hand and stopping her once more. She spun to face him, and before she could protest he lifted her hand to his lips, silencing her with the gesture. Pressing a kiss against the back of her hand, he winked at her over the top of her knuckles. “Don’t be a stranger, love.”
Emma nodded, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat. She pulled away and turned her back to Killian, shoving her hands in her pockets as she walked away, doing her best to ignore the tingling of her hand where he’d kissed her as she prepared for her final goodbye.
Henry.
***
The curse was real.
Henry was in a coma.
Regina was meeting her at the library so Emma could get a goddamn True Love potion, and Emma was running through town as if her (no, Henry’s) life depended on it. The last thing Emma needed was a distraction, but Killian had never had great timing.
She just about heard the voice calling her name as she sprinted through the street, and the urgency in it was the only thing that could have made Emma pause. She slowed down, and when she turned, Killian was running towards her, a look of concern lining his face.
“Emma - you’re still here,” he gasped as he reached her, having run to catch up with her. “What’s happened? Leroy practically kicked down Granny’s door to announce Henry’s in hospital. Is the lad okay?”
For a moment Emma couldn’t respond, her mind remembering the hook on her nightstand, and oh god the curse was real and Killian was Captain Hook without his memories and she’d made out with a fairy tale pirate in an alleyway.
She would definitely need to book a session with Archie, she thought.
“Emma, love, talk to me,” Killian pleaded, reaching out to gently grasp her arm. His touch brought Emma back to the here and now, and she grabbed Killian and pulled him into a hug. His hand splayed against her back, bringing her closer to him as she buried her head in the crook of his neck, just for a second, before pushing him away.
“Meet me at Granny’s later,” she said. “When it’s all over.”
“When what’s all over, Emma?” he asked, and she gave him a wry smile.
“Trust me,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke, “you’ll know.”
Killian opened his mouth to respond, but Emma was already sprinting towards the library.
***
Finding out your best friend and the man she’d been having an affair with were, in fact, your long-lost parents placed under a curse was overwhelming at best. Having an entire town regain their memories and turn out to be fairy tale characters was a bit too much to handle.
Emma was gripping Henry’s shoulders too tightly, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t comment, too caught up in the whirlwind of reunions and excitement to care. Around them people were running to each other, hugging, crying, and Emma could only gape at them as they all called out names from Henry’s book. Which was, as it turned out, not fictional.
She was proud of her kid that he hadn’t immediately said “I told you so” when he’d woken from his slumber, but Henry was too kind. He took after his Grandmother (her mom, who was standing in front of Emma, tears streaming down her face as she took in her grown up daughter) that way, she supposed.
Everything seemed to move in a blur for Emma; all at once she had her parents, an explanation for her entire life, answers to every question she’d ever wanted to know about who they were and why they’d abandoned her.
It was too much.
Mary-Margaret and David pulled Emma and Henry into a hug, stroking Emma’s hair and saying words Emma couldn’t make out, her mind unable to take in any more than it already had during the chaos of the curse breaking.
The rest of the day was a bit of a blur; arresting Regina was certainly a highlight, but doing it because she was the Evil Queen rather than because of her many illegal activities as Mayor was something Emma could never have predicted. By the time Emma, Mary-Margaret, David and Henry finally arrived back at the apartment, she was ready for a drink.
Mary-Margaret and David were taking the whole thing in their stride. David was giving Henry a piggyback, “making up for lost time” and trying to draw Emma into conversation, with Mary-Margaret hovering between them and Emma. She was clearly trying not to overwhelm her long-lost daughter, but as soon as they entered the apartment, Emma was halfway up the stairs, calling behind her that she was getting it ready for Henry.
Emma sat on the bed, placing her face in her palms and taking a moment to let everything wash over her. She could hear Henry asking his grandparents – her son had grandparents her age – every question he’d ever had about the Enchanted Forest, and the clatter of dishes as someone cleared the sink Emma and Mary-Margaret had left this morning, back when Emma’s life hadn’t been completely turned upside down. She looked up to stare at the ceiling, taking deep breaths and trying not to completely freak out, when Emma saw the glint of light reflecting off of her bedside table. She sat up on her knees, reaching out and taking the hook. It was cold in her hand, and Emma squeezed her eyes shut, taking a steadying breath before slipping it into her jacket pocket.
***
Killian was waiting at Granny’s; Emma knew he would be.
He was sitting at one of the tables outside, a glass of rum in his hand, watching the bustling interior as Granny’s had better business than ever; reunions apparently meant dinner, and dinner in Storybrooke meant Granny’s lasagne. He didn’t hear her approach, jumping as she reached out to touch his shoulder. His head swivelled round, and Emma nearly took a step back at how exhausted he looked.
“Swan,” he said jovially, but Emma could hear the relief in his voice, “you made it. Thought I was being stood up.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Someone once told me it was bad form to stand someone up.” Killian gave a quiet laugh, not one Emma was used to, and she distracted herself by nodding to the rings which now adorned his hand. “Those are new.”
“Actually love, they’re quite old. Congratulations on breaking the curse, by the way.” He raised his glass to Emma in a toast, and she knew there was no avoiding it.
“So should I call you Captain, or is Killian still okay?” Emma asked, crossing her arms, and really wishing that she didn’t have to hear Killian confirm his pirate identity. She thought Neal being a thief was bad.
Killian shrugged. “You can call me whatever you like, Swan.” He winked. “Ideally somewhere more private.” Emma rolled her eyes, but had to admit the familiar flirtation was comforting. What wasn’t, however, was its half-heartedness, Killian focusing on the drink in front of him instead of Emma. A few hours ago he’d been promising to visit her in Boston, and Emma had a pretty good guess at the change of behaviour. The name Milah written in permanent cursive flashed in her mind, and Emma shook off the nerves curling within her.
“Okay, I can see getting your memories back hasn’t been the same delightful experience as it was for my – Mary-Margaret and David,” she said. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, or would you prefer to spend the evening with your hip flask?”
She expected a retort, a comeback, an innuendo – anything to bring their own little version of normality back. Instead, Killian took a leaf out of Emma’s book, and was straight to the point.
“I remember Milah,” he said quietly, pouring more amber liquid into the glass. Emma paused at the table, uncrossing her arms and leaning towards Killian, fingertips resting gently on the glass.
“Are you going to go find her?” Emma asked, the nonchalance in her voice forced as she braced herself for the inevitable; she’d spent the past few hours watching reunions left, right and centre, and had no reason to believe Killian would be any different. “I’m surprised you aren’t out there now.”
Emma traced the bubbles in the glass, her finger pressing down so hard the fingertip was white as she held back the jealousy coiling in her gut at the woman tattooed on Killian’s arm. She’d seen first-hand how the curse had barely managed to keep Mary-Margaret and David apart, and the unadulterated joy at their reunion. She didn’t know much about Captain Hook, but if Killian Jones had a woman’s name on his arm, Emma doubted that it was a passing fling. And, really, she’d been preparing to say goodbye since memories rolled through the town; Emma never got to keep people for long.
Killian downed the rum like it was water. “That would be somewhat difficult, love, given that she was buried at sea.”
Emma let out a quiet curse, ashamed at the relief she felt. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt,” Emma said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Killian looked up at Emma, frown lines creasing his forehead as he took her in. “No,” he said slowly. “No, I know what I need to do for Milah in this land. I think the more pressing matter at hand, love, is why you’re standing at a table with a pirate when your new-found parents are surely waiting for the big Charming family reunion at your home.”
Emma looked towards Granny’s, the thrum of laughter and raucous cheering inside muffled by the building. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about that, either.”
The look Killian gave Emma was far too understanding for her liking. “It’s never easy when a lost child comes home. I’ve seen enough of them.”
“Ah,” Emma said. “Neverland. Right. That’s a real place, then.” She nodded again, aware that she seemed to be doing little else. She slid into the seat opposite Killian, the metal back cold against her jacket.
Killian raised the glass in a silent toast before taking another sip. “You want to tell me why you’re brooding outside a diner instead of celebrating your returned memories with the rest of the town?” Emma asked, shooting his question back at him. Killian put the glass down and drummed his fingers on the table before looking Emma straight in the eye.
“I hardly think Storybrooke will relish the thought of another villain in town,” he said drily. “I know a few of my crew are around, but quite frankly I’m not overly concerned about a warm and fuzzy reunion. The only people I give a damn about seeing are either waiting for a swift right hook to the heart-” he grinned at his own joke, and Emma wasn’t entirely sure if she was in on it “-or sitting in front of me.”
She would blame the heat rising in her cheeks on the combination of her jacket and the cool evening air, if Killian pointed it out. She was almost surprised that he didn’t, but then again, that would be a Killian Jones comment; she didn’t know Captain Hook.
Emma looked at Killian, trying to see any changes from the man she knew that morning. Apart from the tension in his shoulders, he was exactly the same; she didn’t know why she thought it would be any different.
“I’m honoured to make the list,” she replied, “but I think the town are a bit too busy being pissed at Regina for the whole ‘cursing them for twenty-eight years’ thing to be focused on you right now.”
“Then it’s the perfect time for me to regroup and plan my revenge,” he said calmly, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to say to the town’s Sheriff. Which, Emma thought, it could well be for residents of the Enchanted Forest. Another sentence Emma never thought she would hear. “In case you haven’t heard yet, Swan, I have a score to settle with Gold.”
“I know,” she countered. “I’ve read the book. He took your hand.” She didn’t tell him she’d only skimmed the stories or had heard Henry tell them, not wanting to associate people with characters; in hindsight, the research would have been really useful. Damn it.
“Ah, but there’s more to the tale, Swan.”
“There always is.” Emma paused. “Trust me, I’m the poster child for ‘there’s more to it than that’. My past isn’t exactly a clean slate, and it’s just gotten way more complicated.”
“What with being the Saviour and the offspring of fairy tale royalty.”
Emma snorted, placing her face in her hands. “It sounds insane,” she groaned. She moved her head back up to meet Killian’s gaze, pushing her long hair back and trying not to grin as Killian’s eyes followed it falling behind her back. “Look, you don’t have to tell me. It’s your life. But I’d rather hear about what happened from you. Not whatever version is in Henry’s book, or what Gold will tell me if I ask. Your story.”
Silence fell between them, thick with the tension of uncertainty. Killian exhaled, nodding slowly. “Okay, Emma. Just – not today.” Emma nodded; today had been overwhelming for her single set of memories, having an entire lifetime forced back onto you was a whole new level.
Watching Killian, Emma understood Jefferson’s fears for Grace for the first time.
Steeling her shoulders, Emma slid her hand into her jacket pocket, the metal cool against her palm as she gripped the reason – well, part of the reason – she’d come to the bar in the first place.
“Okay. Another day. In the meantime, I have something for you, courtesy of Henry.”
Killian smiled, the first full one he’d given her since she walked into the bar. “Now then, how can I say no if it’s from that little spitfire?” Emma gave a small shrug of agreement, before taking out the hook and carefully placing it in front of Killian. His smile faltered for just a moment as he took it in.
“He figured you may want it,” Emma said quietly. “I wasn’t so sure, but last time I doubted that kid there was a whole lot of trouble, so I’m going to listen to him from now on. Besides,” she nudged Killian’s leg gently with her foot under the table, “he’s pretty good at reading people.”
“Aye, that he is,” Killian murmured. He fell silent, staring at the shining metal, dark against the pale table. Emma bit the inside of her cheek; nothing in life had really prepared her for giving her kind-of-boyfriend who was actually a pirate from a magical land a weapon to replace his current, regular hand prosthetic.
She shrugged. “Well, it’s your choice what to do with it, but as Sherriff I should warn you that you can’t use it as a weapon.” She shot him a grin. “I wouldn’t want to have to arrest you.” The short laugh Killian let out broke the tension in a heartbeat.
“You can handcuff me any time, Emma, I thought I’d made that perfectly clear.” Emma rolled her eyes, but didn’t retort, too relieved to see the Killian she knew break through the uncertainty of Captain Hook. The smile she gave him seemed to reassure Killian as well, and he relaxed into the seat. The hook on the table moved into his eyeline as he did so, and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked between it and Emma.
Opening and shutting his mouth twice, Killian steeled himself again, and Emma tilted her head in concern as he began to speak.
“You’re not at all concerned about my being a pirate?” he asked, and Emma’s jaw almost dropped at the sincerity in his voice. “I doubt their Royal Highnesses are going to approve.” Emma leant back against the leather of the booth, folding her arms.
“Look, I just found out my roommate and – well, and David – are not only my parents, but they’re Snow White and Prince Charming, who put me into a magical wardrobe to protect me from an evil curse courtesy of my son’s adoptive mom. Henry was in a magically induced coma and only woke up because of True Love’s Kiss. I fought a dragon in the library basement a few hours ago. You being Captain Hook is honestly the least weird thing to happen to me today.”
Killian blinked. “Well, that is quite the list of events, Swan.” He drained the sliver of rum left in his glass, frowning at Emma as he placed it back down. “Wait, you fought a dragon?”
Emma gestured to the hip flask. “Pour me a glass. It’s been a long day.” An arched eyebrow was his response, as he picked up the flask and poured the rest of the rum into his glass before pushing it over toward Emma. Gripping it carefully, she didn’t break eye contact as she swallowed it in one, mirroring his movements. It burned as it slipped down her throat, but she ignored it as she finished the drink. As she did so, Killian carefully removed his prosthetic hand, grasping the hook in front of him and attaching it. As he put it into place, he held the hook up in the air, the bar light glinting off it.
“What do you think?” he asked, staring at the point before looking over at Emma and winking. “Rather dashing, no?”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “It suits you.” It was weird that it was true; it was ever weirder that this was still by no means the oddest thing to happen to Emma today.
“So you agree it’s dashing?”
“Is it important that you think it’s dashing?” Emma asked.
“It’s important that you think it’s dashing,” Killian responded, the levity from his voice fading. Emma laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them, giving Kilian a smile.
“Repeat this to anyone and I’ll throw the damned hook into the lake, but yeah. Somehow… yeah.” She paused. “I am serious about not using it as a weapon though. If I find that thing buried in Gold’s chest, there’ll be trouble.”
The lazy salute Killian gave Emma was not particularly reassuring. “I promise, you won’t find my hook buried in the Crocodile’s chest.”
“The croc- you know what, never mind; I’ve met enough fairy tale characters for today. That’s not a promise not to hurt him, though.”
Killian shrugged. “It’s the best I can do, love,” he said. He tucked his hand into his jacket, and pulled out another hip flask. It took him no time to twist open the cap and pour more rum into Emma’s glass.
Emma frowned. “Okay, we’ll shelve that as a future problem,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just please don’t do anything illegal for at least twenty-four hours. I have a feeling it’s going to be a busy day tomorrow, and I’d appreciate not having to put you in a cell next to the Evil Queen.”
“Careful Swan, one would think you’re fond of me.” Killian batted his eyelashes at Emma as she swirled her glass in her hand, and it gave her real satisfaction to see his face redden as she grinned and said “Well, yeah. I actually came here to ask you out. If you’re still interested with, you know,” she tapped her head with her free hand, “all the memories back.”
Luckily, Emma was close enough to grab the hip flask when Killian dropped it. He stared at her, eyes wide, and Emma simply shrugged before taking a sip of the rum in her glass. “Should I take that as a no, or…?”
“No!” Killian exclaimed, and a look of confusion lined Emma’s face.
“No as in I should take that as a yes, or no as in ‘no’?”
“No – no, as in yes,” Killian said. He cleared his throat, regaining his composure and shooting Emma a grin. “Thought you’d never ask.”
“Well, it’s been a busy few weeks.”
“And Sheriff Swan has no problem letting a pirate court her?”
“From the sounds of it, a lot of people in town have done a lot of shady stuff back in the-” Emma paused, trying to say it seriously. “-Enchanted Forest. So I figure unless you committed a crime in Storybrooke, you’re not taking up the only unoccupied cell I have.” She raised an eyebrow. “Also, court me? How old are you?”
“Three hundred, give or take.”
Emma blinked, pausing only for a moment. “You know what? At this point, nothing surprises me. That’s still not the weirdest thing someone’s said to me today.”
“It would have been so easy to say you can’t believe it because of my youthful glow and dashing good looks, Swan.”
“That too.” She let out a laugh at Killian’s face, and his look of offence melted away as she did.
“So you’re no longer going back to Boston, what with all this-” Killian gestured towards Granny’s with his hook, “-going on.”
Emma tilted her head, nodding. “Yeah, I think I’ll stick around.” She looked up, her hair falling over her shoulders as she did. “Besides, nobody could visit me in Boston, what with the whole ‘deadly town line’ thing.”
“I know how you kiss, Swan. I’d have gone after you, town line or not.”
Emma felt heat rush to her cheeks as Killian brushed back her hair, the back of his fingers caressing her cheek. And, really, he was so close it would have made no sense not to lean forward and kiss him, skimming her hands up his chest as he cupped the back of her head, pressing himself closer to her. Emma kissed him softly, slowly, the world around her fading to nothing but the chill of the evening air around them and Killian’s lips on hers.
Until, of course, her phone trilled as a text came through. And she wanted to ignore it, wanted nothing more than to kiss Killian for just a bit longer, but then another text beeped. And another. And then the phone rang, and Emma groaned as she slid one hand out of Killian’s hair, keeping the other firmly gripping his shirt as she caught her breath.
“One of these days,” Killian sighed, running his hand through Emma’s hair as she pulled back, careful not to catch any strands on the rings now adorning his fingers “I’ll get to kiss you properly without interruptions.”
Emma’s reply was lost as her phone beeped yet again, and Mary-Margaret’s name flashed on her screen. She looked up at Killian, giving him an apologetic look as she read the message. “There’s a problem.” Emma frowned. “Mary-Margaret- my mo- Snow White- Mary-Margaret says there’s a wraith after Regina.” She looked up at Killian, shaking her head in confusion. “What the hell is a wraith?”
Killian grimaced. “Quite a large problem,” he said, “which I assume the Saviour is needed for.” He shot her a half smile, before standing up and offering her his hand. Emma bit her lip, already feeling out of her depth; she was used to men who skipped bail, thieves and liars. Fairy tales and magical creatures had never been in her remit, and her hesitation must have been clear as day as Killian gave her a soft look. He met Emma’s gaze dead on, raising an eyebrow and smiling. “I’ve yet to see you fail, Emma.”
Emma nodded, smiling at the confidence in his voice. She took a deep breath, steeling herself before taking his outstretched hand, which he squeezed gently as she stood up.
She laced her fingers through Killian’s, and nodded in the direction of the Sheriff’s office where her family (her family!) were waiting.
“Let’s go then, Captain.”