Married. Married. Married? Getting married. Being married? The whole town joked that they already were, had been for years, but acting like it and actually going through with it was another kettle of fish.
The bottom line was, Emma was about thirty seconds from having a mental breakdown, and she had no one to talk her down from any high ledges.
Her parents, well… David was over the moon, practically planning it himself, and she and Mary Margaret were still… they'd put duct tape and hope on their relationship over the last few years, but this kind of conversation would absolutely destroy it. She didn't need any further damage to her relationship with her mother. And Henry didn't get it, and she could hardly talk to Killian about it… Emma squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to hyperventilate, fisting her hands in her hair, and all the lightbulbs in her office exploded.
Killian was in the room in an instant as she curled up on her chair. "Oi! Emma, what's going on?"
"Go away," Emma spoke to her knees.
"We've been through this, darling. Snow Queens, dragons, psychopathic fashionistas, crime lords, they can all make you frightened for my sake and push me away, but I'm not going anywhere. It's been ages since you've made something explode, what happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
He made a disbelieving noise, and put his arms around her hunched shoulders. "I didn't ask if you wanted to, when it's clear you need to."
She remained in stubborn silence. If he'd sighed or said anything else, she would have completely shut down. But all he did after a few moments was kiss the top of her head and his footsteps said he was walking away; she lifted her head and it all came spilling out so fast that she was surprised he could even understand her, "We're getting married and I'm having a panic attack and I don't know if I want to keep my name and I don't know if I want to take yours and David was calling me this morning about flowers for God's sake and who let anyone decide we needed any freaking flowers why are we even letting my parents plan this I have never in my life wanted a big wedding or even a wedding at all but they're insisting that I need some kind of freaking fairy tale wedding which is the most absurd but true statement I have ever said and—"
"Emma. Emma, love, slow down. One thing at a time," Killian returned, kneeling in front of her this time and gently touching her cheek to get her to look at him.
She was absurdly reminded of that night eight months ago, after talking about it for about eight months leading up to it, when he was on his knee in front of her, asking her if they could stop talking about it and actually go forward with it. There wasn't even a ring, and it was so spontaneous—from the man who was entirely about grand gestures when he could get away with it—that it was actually more romantic than anything he could have meticulously planned.
For weeks she'd worn his pirate's luck around her neck until they could find a suitable ring, and if she thought buying precious minerals with a pirate was going to be easy, she quickly learned otherwise. Decades of stealing priceless gemstones and metals had given him a keen eye for such a thing. No flawed or artificial stones or impure metals for his Swan, that was for certain. At one point, she joked that he should give up the criminal investigation and go into gemology. So here she sat, shaking and trying to hold herself together with a (to her mind) frankly enormous red garnet (in reality it wasn't even a full carat, but the cushion cut made it look huge) surrounded by small diamonds, set in a 24-karat gold ring on her finger. And that hand was currently being soothed by his. "All right. Aye, we are getting married. And we can wait as long as you need to. I'll marry you tomorrow, I'll marry you in a month, I'll marry you fifty years from now, when we've had seven bastard children and have grandbabes of our own."
Emma gave a shaky smile, absolutely refusing her mind to freak out about the possibility of more children. He continued, "Which leads me to tell you that I will promptly tell your parents to walk the plank if they try to plan anything when you're feeling this way. We don't need flowers, or a ceremony, or any of those preposterous frivolities a royal wedding insists upon. We need a boat, and international waters, and I can marry us myself with only Henry as witness. We'll lock the prince and princess in the clock tower until it's over and they can't do anything about it."
She chuckled. He smiled. "There's my own, sweet lass. Now what's this nonsense about names?"
Emma shook her head a little. "I can't explain it. I've been Emma Swan my entire life. It's all I've ever known. I'm not Emma Nolan, or even Princess Emma of the Enchanted Forest, or Misthaven, or whatever it is. I'm just… me."
"Swan, you don't need to give up who you are for me," Killian said softly.
She met his eyes, and the sincerity practically radiated from his face. Giving up who she was: how did he always know exactly what she was feeling? "You're not going to be mad if I'm not Emma Jones?"
He scoffed. "I can't call you Jones, it'd be like talking to meself. No, you're my Swan, and if you want to stay Swan, then stay."
She felt some of the tension leave her body. She uncurled herself slightly from her defensive ball, turning her hand in his to lace their fingers. "You're being very reasonable about all of this," she said dryly. "I don't know whether to be relieved or worried."
"Emma, you are enough for me. Everything else is garnish and frills."
Emotion gripped her again, but it was love, not panic this time. "I think we need to talk to my parents… something small. Simple."
"And you'll be okay, love?"
"Yeah... I don't know. Maybe. I hope so."
There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Say the word, Swan, and we'll be on the dwarf's boat in no time with the lad, and have done with it."
Emma chuckled, and uncurled herself fully. "As tempting as eloping is… I can't break David's heart like that. If nothing else, I think he wants just one dad moment, and walking me down the aisle… We'll keep it small. And no party after. I do's and then straight to the honeymoon and away from all of the crazy people."
Killian got up with a laugh, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now you're speaking in tongues I know, love."
He left, saying he was going get the broom and dustpan for the glass, and Emma looked around to realize just how much damage she'd done. He'd even knelt in some of the glass. Idiot. She drew a shaky breath, and combed her hair with her fingers, pulling it back into a ponytail. She sent a text to David, asking him and her mother to meet them for dinner later.
When Killian came in with the broom, she took charge of it while he held the pan. "What about next weekend?" She asked.
"Next weekend what?"
"Getting married next weekend," Emma said carefully, eyeing him from beneath her lashes. "I figure we say it's soon, and then no one has time to plan anything outrageous, and it's all over with and we can go back to normal life."
He smiled. "Brilliant as usual, Swan."
A corner of her mouth ticked up in a smile. When the floors were glass-free, she allowed herself a moment to be in his arms before going back to work. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For putting up with me."
"For loving you," he corrected.
"That too."
Killian kissed the top of her head. She breathed him in for another moment, his scent masculine and calming, and then she pulled away reluctantly. They went back to their respective desks. Okay, she was definitely going to not freak out anymore. Today, at least. Tomorrow would come and so would the panic. And the wedding would all be over with next weekend. And she really meant it when she said no reception or party. They were going to escape and not see the light of day for a week. That alone was comforting enough to keep Emma calm over the next few hours.
In the meantime, figuring out how to explain to David that his dreams of a big wedding for his eldest daughter were dashed was her top concern. David would just have to learn to live with the disappointment.