He's not the most sentimental man, but he does keep some old remnants of his childhood in boxes at the back of his closet. However, he doesn't go through it often, but today, he's rather reminiscent about his past. Perhaps it's the way Liam is moving on in his life with a new son soon, or maybe it's just his desire from desire. Whatever reason it is, he's going through some of his old stuff.
Photos, little sentiments gathered through the years, stuff he just hasn't touched in ages.
At the bottom, buried in the corner, is a flap of paper he doesn't remember putting there. At first, he thinks about throwing it out since it must've been something long forgotten and recklessly thrown into his box of old possessions, but when he decides to open the flap, sprawled across in black sharpie is a phone number he specifically remembers from one of his childhood friends.
The one he...well, at least at the time, loved. He knows his feelings are dormant, but for a fact, he knows he still loves her.
He spent years with her, from elementary all the way to the sophomore year of high school, despite herself being thrown back and forth in some foster families and group homes. Unless she's transferred an entire state, she always managed to end up not leaving the schools he was attending.
"Killian!" she shouts. "Give me my apple back."
"Unlikely, Emma." He chuckles, taunting her with biting the apple, though he has no intention of eating it. "I'm joking, here you go." He hands it back to her, her hand snatching the fruit from his hands with a small scowl before she takes her bite into it.
"Thanks," she mutters after she's done chewing, only to keep eating.
The memory still makes him laugh, their childish days back in grade 5, the both of them practically inseparable. For a moment, he debates about calling the number, to see if it still works. Most likely a new handler, but there's no harm in trying, right?
He sets it on his nightstand for now, rummaging through his things for a little longer, finding some other items from his childhood. The more he searches, the more he remembers a lot of these were from his times spent with Emma, stuff that's been a distant memory in his mind.
He used to be young and dumb, bothering her so often. But secretly, he knew how happy it made her, how he was a light in her darkness because the foster families never really care much for her. He knew that she was friends with him because he was the same, because all he had left was Liam and no parents. However she never had family. In a way, he remembers, he was family to her, before getting ripped away in tears.
With a shaky sigh, he squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of the happy times.
She's not smart in mathematics, she tells him.
There's no hesitance when he offers to tutor and help her through the school work they get, even if they have different teachers. So long the curriculum is the same, he can guide her through the work. According to her, the foster parents at the house don't care too much about where she is as long as it's somewhere safe or with someone to watch over her, which is disappointing parenting skills, but she's safe at his house, welcome.
Liam never cares, he likes Emma Swan, thinks she's a bright, young lass with plenty of potential. And obviously, he always teases Killian about liking her, even when he's barely got that notion down on girlfriends and loves.
He spends hours after school with Emma at home, trying to have her comprehend the word questions she struggles with.
"I've always sucked at word questions," she huffs. "Why do they even exist in math?"
He laughs, stretching his legs out on the bed. "Now that is an answer I do not have. But they're a lot easier when you break them down, right? Write down the facts they give you, figure it out step by step. Honestly, don't overthink it, Swan."
By the looks of it, her head throwing back with a groan means her opinion isn't going to change. "Yes, it's easier, but I'm still highly incapable of completing them."
"How about a break, then? I'm sure Liam's making dinner by now."
"TV?"
He grins. "Race you."
Slowly, he begins to shove things back into the box before setting it back into the back of his closet. He stares at the piece of scrap paper that's worn before picking it up and getting his phone from the living room, hesitantly dialling the number.
It'll be pure luck if she still owns this number.
"Swan, love, would you wanna join us in a friendly game of cards?"
She scoffs, shaking her head. "Last time you said that, it ended up with all of us screaming at each other about who was cheating and who actually won."
"You're correct on that." He chuckles, throwing his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, let's play one, yeah? Robin, Ruby, Victor, and Dave, we're all playing." When she finally gives in, he fishes the deck of cards from his pocket before they all sit down in a circle, spending their lunch playing a match of Slapjack and Crazy Eights.
"You sure you're not dating her?" Ruby asks.
"We're best friends, Ruby," Killian responds, denying it.
Emma nods. "Yep; best friends. What about you and Victor?"
Ruby grumbles, "God, no."
"God, yes," everyone else chirps, leaving Ruby with a little blush and Victor nervously chuckling.
He knows better than anything that he loves her. He simply denies it.
He should tell her before all 4 years pass by.
(Not yet.)
It's taunting him, this ringing that keeps him waiting.
The moment the ringing ends and there's a voice on the other end, he swears, he may just have the luck in his hands.
"Swan?"
He's reading when his phone buzzes.
Emma: I'm coming over.
She almost never comes over this late, her foster parents likely keeping their eyes out. In less than 10 minutes, there's knocking at the door when he rushes down the hallway to fling the door open. She looks like she's been destroyed. The light on the porch shines on her face, the red-brimmed eyes, her heavy breathing indicating her running over to his place.
"Emma?"
"This - this will be quick," she stutters, rubbing her eyes quickly. "I'm leaving...in two weeks. I'm leaving."
"Leaving? Leaving or being kicked out to another foster home?"
She sighs, like she's struggling to form any words to explain her situation. "Transferred, Killian. And it's not gonna be like before where I could just still end up attending school here. They said they're putting me in a group home in Boston."
"But…"
"I'm sorry," she whispers, shaking her head. "I can't do anything."
"Emma -"
"I gotta go." She steps back. "I'll see you at school."
Liam hears the conversation, tries to comfort him, but Killian walks straight past him and to his bedroom, sinking onto his bed as he stares at the ceiling.
He needs to tell her.
The voice on the other end, the voice that confirms who she is…it's her.
"Killian?"
"Emma," he breathes, running a hand through his hair as he begins to pace back and forth, "you kept the same number all these years."
"How did you know?"
He licks his lips, falling onto his bed like an overexcited teenager all over again. "I...remember the time you gave me your number?"
"Oh," she simply responds. "You...kept that?"
"I was going through some things, I found it at the bottom of a box in the back of my closet." He chuckles, somewhat embarrassed at the way he's presenting himself. This, this is good news, a part of him coming back alive. "Swan?"
"Yes?"
"Where are you?"
"Uh, at home."
"Where's home?"
"Well...an apartment in Boston."
Home is a sensitive topic, he's aware. Curiosity then strikes him, remembering she had been transferred there. "You never left Boston?"
"Oh, no, I did, trust me." She huffs out an indignant laugh. "New York was too much, too busy. Boston's quieter, plus, the job pays well, despite how frustrating it can be. What about you?"
"Still in Storybrooke."
"So you never left," she says, accurately, actually.
He nods, almost as if he'd expect her to see him, even though he knows she can't. "Aye," he murmurs, "well, only for college and then returned. In fact, all of our old friends never really left without intentions of returning. We're rather attached to his little town, planted our roots here and stuck to it."
They stay in silence for a bit, like neither of them have anything more to add to this conversation. It'd be harder if they actually met, but this is over the phone. He wants to find her and visit her, he wants to hug her and never let her go again.
He should tell her he loves her.
They want to throw a goodbye party, but Killian cannot handle the idea of actually attending it. In the end, he only stays for half an hour before he excuses himself, hugging Emma before taking the long route back to the house where Liam is probably waiting for him.
The winds are cold on this winter day.
The winds howling is telling him he should do it.
(He doesn't.)
He wants to.
It's not hard to find her.
But it is hard to say something to her, to try and say three words he's been meaning to say since he was 16. But there's something about seeing her now, all grown up; her golden hair of the sun, her green eyes of nature.
Oh, but there are bruises on her face, already fading in it's dark colours, but still there.
"The job," she says, interrupting his thoughts, "bail bondsperson. Had a rough fight three days ago."
"Does it hurt?"
She smiles. "Definitely."
With a gulp, his lips curl into a smile he returns. "Are you okay?"
"Yes."
.~.
He spends a night with her, watching Marvel films or original Netflix shows. Her yawn indicates she needs sleep, so he takes it as his time to leave.
"I'll call you."
"I look forward to it," she murmurs, hugging him.
Perhaps he keeps his arms around her for a moment longer than needed, but he doesn't regret it. He disappears into the night, driving back down to Storybrooke, Maine before dropping dead on his bed, staring at the piece of paper next to his digital clock. It doesn't take long before he falls asleep.
He tries to act normal around his friends, her friends. But it's hard to, the memory of her still painful. The tears on her cheek when she says her final goodbye.
They say he's miserable. Liam says he needs to stop worrying so much, that he'll see her again. Perhaps hoping isn't a bad thing to consider. He's got decades of life ahead of him, he could see her again, once, and that'd be enough to satisfy him. He just wants to see her again, or maybe hear her voice.
He texts her sometimes, but she stops responding at some point.
She is at a group home, no one can help pay for her bills unless she works herself.
Killian regrets not telling Emma that he loves her. He'll always love her, that won't change, but he's lost his chance.
The drive home is always a little over an hour long, sometimes even two if traffic on the freeway gets busy. But he spends some weekends driving to her apartment, and sometimes she'll have newly formed bruises or wounds, and he'll tend to them, her winces hurting him at seeing her in pain. Emma insists she's good at the job, pays easy, but there's dangers to it which he worries about for her.
More than once she'll snap at him and he'll back off, knowing his limits. She always apologizes later, when she's half-asleep with her head on his lap while his fingers run through her hair in a soothing manner. Killian knows she means it, it's just her bad days catching up to her when she's had no relief - he'll be a punching bag for her if need be.
He spends more days calling her than visiting, but he does make the best out of the days he can physically be next to her. He never says it though, no matter how much he wishes to, he doesn't. Anything about relationships, she gets a little nervous and fidgety, so he tries to take it slow.
He is, after all, a patient gentleman.
"There was a guy."
"Hm?"
"There was a guy I knew in New York - he graduated three years before us in Storybrooke. His name was Graham. I liked him, he liked me." She laughs bitterly, closing her eyes. "He died. In front of me. He died saving me, right before my own eyes."
"Emma," he murmurs, "I'm sorry to hear that."
"That's why I'm so sensitive with relationships. It's like anyone I like, anyone close to me, just...leaves. Or I leave. Either way, it's not a win-win situation."
It stops there, neither of them continuing on the conversation. No one deserves to watch someone they like, or even possibly love, die. Let alone because they were trying to keep you safe, risking their own life. And he can see it haunting her beneath eyes, this hollow hole, yet engraved with pain, killing her inside while she remembers.
"I won't leave," he promises later that night, carrying her to bed. "And if you leave, I'll follow. I'll find you."
She stirs but she doesn't wake up, only nuzzling her face into his chest.
(He loves her, loves her even more if that's possible.)
(He still can't tell her. He won't tell her. It's not the right time at all.)
"Did you love her?" Ruby asks, setting a mug of hot cocoa in front of him. With sprinkles of cinnamon.
It reminds him of her. It's been six years. "Yes."
"Do you still love her?"
He sighs into his mug, taking a sip and licking his lips, hoping that Ruby will stop interrogating her once he answers.
"Aye." He can't look at any other girl and consider them. Perhaps a one-night stand, but nothing more. "I still love her."
He tells her something over the phone. "Liam's settling in with a wife and soon-to-be child. I wager it's a lad, but Elsa thinks it'll be a lass."
She chuckles. "Your intuition was always pretty sharp as a teen."
"I'll have you know my intuition is still quite reliable, thank you very much." He hears her move about in her apartment, positive he hears her shut the fridge door and pop a cap of beer open or something. "How's work?" he finally asks.
"Boring, at the moment." She sighs and he hears her swallow. "I got a stakeout tonight."
"A game of predator and prey," he says with false enthusiasm, "how exhilarating."
"You can say that again," she huffs. "How's everyone in Storybrooke?"
He shrugs pointlessly, hitting the button on the remote numerous times before he just shuts the TV off. "Same old - it's a small town, nothing very new or interesting around as you know. Ruby helps Granny with the diner, Dave manhandles law enforcement, Mary Margaret teaches, Victor works at the hospital. Liam and I down by the docks, Robin occasionally helping out. Elsa and Anna help their Aunt at Any Given Sundae. Nothing spectacular, really."
"Sounds nice, though. Everyone is well, right?"
"Aye." But you're missing, love, he wants to say.
"Maybe I can visit soon."
"That would be a grand plan, Swan, everyone does miss you." I miss you, he thinks to himself, shaking his head. "Tell me when you plan to. It's almost summer, Liam and I can perhaps arrange a day on one of the ships. We can all go on it if you'd like."
"Sounds good."
He dreams of her all the time, her voice, her laugh, her smiles and her frowns.
He's got it bad.
"You should look for her," Liam suggests, handing him his paycheck. "Have David help you, I'm sure he misses her as much as you do. We all miss her, you know." When Killian glares at him, Liam sighs. "Okay, maybe not as much as you do, but we all feel a little empty with a missing friend."
"She was family to me," Killian grumbles, "and I still love her. What if we can't find her? What if something happened to her?"
"Alright, cheesy advice, but you won't know unless you try to find out."
"Horribly overused advice, brother."
"But it's exactly what I meant it as, anyways." And he is right, his brother is always right in one way or another, but sometimes he doesn't listen and gets himself stuck in sticky situations. "Talk to the Sheriff. Do it. See if you can find anything on her, the internet is helpful."
It's less than helpful in the end, not drawing up any information on her.
He continues to hope.
It's a month before she decides to come over. (Three months since he called her in the first place.) By surprise, of course, she doesn't specify when, only the general time. Her yellow bug shows up and she walks into Granny's being bombarded by Ruby and Granny herself. David and Mary Margaret hug her next, being there for breakfast and all. Killian, he comes last, hugging her tightly by burying his face in her hair.
Even when they still talk over the phone, when he drives to her place once in awhile, hugging her is such a pleasure.
"The ship is ready, should we take it out tomorrow, then?"
"Yeah," Emma answers, "tomorrow's good."
"Everyone else?"
Everyone else agrees and he sends a text to the others, including Liam.
"Granny, got a room?" Emma asks. Of course there's a room, he told Granny to spare at least one room for her this week in case she drops by.
Originally, Killian planned to offer the spare room in his apartment, but that'd be too much. (With the baby coming, Killian got booted out of the house by Liam.)
"Of course! Ruby will get you the key."
.~.
The sun shines bright and there's a gentle breeze perfect for a ride out. There's food and drinks in a cooler for everybody, he thanks the Jolly for being so spacious to fit all these people on at once. He spends more of his time at the helm (old fashioned ship and all, attracts tourists, however), making sure they're far out enough before he anchors her down.
It's all chit chat, shorts and t-shirts, tank tops or sundresses. It's all beer or pop, chips and other unhealthy snacks. It's not like it's often there's a large reunion.
"Why did you never change your number?"
She shrugs. "Too much trouble to go through and memorize a new one. Just renewed what I could, luckily it was still available."
There's nothing more to her answer, do he nods and turns to the sea, both arms resting on the edge with a bottle of beer. "I'm glad I decided to call you. Had I not, we would not be join this position."
"Yeah, I know," she huffs, taking a bite out of her cookie. "You remembered."
"Remembered what?"
"Favourite cookie...drink." She bites her lower lip. "Why?"
He chuckles, brushing it off. "I remember plenty of things, love."
"Normal things, sure. But things about a friend you found after twelve years?"
"Things about my best friend, Swan, things I vowed I would never forget about in case you'd ever return or if I'd find you. Besides, such information was not difficult to memorize. I did spend many years with you."
"You're weird," she mumbles.
He feigns offense to that. "Glad I have induced such a wonderful impression."
"I missed this," she says, her voice quiet while her eyes wander. "I missed us, too. I'm glad I have you guys back."
"I can't speak for everyone, but -" he turns to face her, "- I missed us quite a bit, too."
"Good."
Afternoon soon bleeds into evening, and then he's teaching Emma how to steer the helm, his arms at each side, holding onto her arms while she gets them to port. She's a natural, they discover. This bodily contact though, it's close and he wishes it'd mean more. He's a man with desires, he can only control himself so much with her back and arse pressed to his own crotch and chest.
He'd be lying if he said he doesn't want to release the tension in his pants, right now.
There's still a way to land, and he keeps himself stable and strong around her, being a frame. He has to clench his jaw and suppress the urge of thinking about taking her on places he shouldn't. He wants to take her to the Captain's Cabin, he wants to take her against the helm, on the deck, perhaps even in the water against the Jolly.
Shuddering, he sighs softly at his wants, attempting to focus on getting the ship parked perfectly so they can handle the gangplank. But the breeze is getting cooler and Emma's only in a tank and shorts, so she leans back into him subtly, which he notices, and grinds a little against his groin, which of course, wants to turn into an erection by this point. He nearly growls, managing to stay silent. But he tightens his grip a little bit on her arms.
"Emma," he murmurs, "what are you thinking, love?"
"Nothing."
"Not much of a liar, are you? We have an audience, Swan, and as much as I could take you, that's not the proper thing to do. We've been friends and never gone past that. Friends don't fuck each other."
She laughs quietly. "Friends with benefits do," she teases. "But, I know," she eventually says, "I just...today has been fun. And you decided on this, you remember my favourite stuff, you drive to visit me in Boston and call me when you get home."
He sobers up, turning the helm to the left just slightly. "Perhaps one day, love. Perhaps one day we can be more."
And it feels horrible to deny her at the moment, but the alcohol in him has settled down and the Jolly is docked properly, Liam pushing the gangplank onto land.
Emma sighs turning to face him. "You promise?"
He gulps. "I promise."
By one day, he means this day, when he escorts her back to Granny's. When she pulls him inside and he willingly goes (he can only be patient for so long), when he pushes her up against the door, her back making a dull thud from the contact. He's resisted for too long.
Clothes are discarded quickly, his lips never leaving her skin, cherishing this woman he loves. But she doesn't know that. He knows, also, this isn't just sex. He wants to make love to her, he wants to burn this bridge and show her he cares about her. It's a dream, making her squirm and writhe beneath him, when he teases her and she gets impatient, telling him to hurry the fuck up, Killian. He trails kisses everywhere, nips at the sensitive spots he finds, whispers in her ear of all the things he'll do to her before she's hot and wanting beneath him.
It doesn't take long before she starts to tease him, her hand finding his aching member, her fingers gently wrapping around him. His head falls back with a groan escaping him, and then her lips, her soft lips are wrapped around him, and her tongue does wonders. Emma Swan is a bloody marvel. He feels like he's at his high before she stops, only licking a stripe at the underside of his cock to taunt him. Letting out a shaky breath, he falls forward to find her lips with his, biting at her upper lip, his fingers teasing her folds.
And she's already wet and ready. "Condom?" he rasps out.
"I'm on the pill. No need."
On any other circumstance, he'd be concerned, but he's waited for too long and he can't back out now. "As you wish," he whispers, hitching her leg over his side, closely easing himself in. And her moan echoes in the quiet room, matching with the sounds of skin. It's beautiful, watching her break down like this, become open to him.
One of his hands wrap around to knead at her breasts, to play with the swollen nubs. His other roams her body while he sets a pace, at least, until she begs for him to go faster. By then, he follows her demands, increasing the pace and shifting his angle a little bit, hitting the spot that makes her moan the loudest, the sound coming from the back of her throat from pleasure. He now knows everything about her now, every sweet spot, every sound, every skill of hers.
They've skipped all the traditional steps of dating, and perhaps he'll regret it later, but this is the best session he's had in forever.
"Fuck, Kill -"
Her orgasm hits just then, and he follows a few solid thrusts after (the flutter of her walls, mainly), stilling inside of her before he gently pulls out, causing her to whimper at the loss.
"Sorry, love," he murmurs.
"I love you," she blurts out.
At that surprise, he widens his eyes at Emma, and all he finds is her sheepish, yet sincere expression. "Do you now?"
"Yes," she responds quietly. "I didn't know what love was back then, as a kid, but if what I'm feeling now after this mind blowing sex means anything, it feels like love. And if it is, then it's right."
"Emma," he whispers, cupping her face in his hands, "I've loved you since I was a skinny, nerdy adolescent at sixteen."
"You never told me. If you did, I would have come back as soon as I could."
"I was bloody terrified of saying it. I didn't know if you even loved me or had feelings for me back then." He sighs, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "If I'd known, I would have said it. Besides, would it have stopped you from fancying that Graham fellow if I'd told you?"
"Probably, yes," she murmurs, leaning into his touch. "I probably wouldn't even had gone to New York if I knew."
"Sorry it took so long then, Swan," he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I love you, too, if that wasn't obvious enough."
She's soon asleep after they clean up, exhausted from a day of sailing and more pleasurable events. He yawns quietly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her against his chest, breathing in her shampoo, her soft skin beneath his fingers.
When morning rises, he cracks an eye open and finds that she's still in the same position as he last left it then previous night - pressed against his chest, arm draped over her middle. He manages a lazy smile before kissing her bare shoulder softly, which causes her to stir a little, but she only shifts around slightly.
He gets to face a new day with her. Whatever possessed him to call that number that evening, he'll never forget about finding the old number in the back of his closet, tucked in a box of old childhood memories, and an answer from her angelic voice.
"Move here to Storybrooke," he says during breakfast downstairs.
"Move here to Storybrooke, or move in with you?"
"As long as I have your company, either will work. No more bloody phone calls or two hour drives, love. And perhaps other things can be arranged on the ship as well."
He notices her swallow.
"My lease is up in a week. Wait for me?"
"I've been waiting for twelve years." He grins. "A week is nothing."