based on the prompt from gusenitsa over on tumblr
Emma was sure that the only reason she made it from the loft to their…her house that evening was because Henry knew where they were going. She was following him blindly, trusting him to pay attention to their surroundings while she just tried to keep putting one foot in front of the other. She had been that way since stumbling through the portal – not capable of higher functions than "follow me" or "sit here". "Eat this." Killian was gone; she had left him behind in the Underworld after everything that happened. If she thought too much about that she was either going to hunt Hades down and punch that smug smile off of his face or she was going to break down completely and utterly. Killian was her rock. He was the immovable object that she took shelter within as the storm that was her life battered her about. And now, he was…
"So? Can we keep him?" Henry's hopeful voice cut through the tears that were about to fall unheeded down her cheeks. Emma hadn't even thought that she was capable of more tears.
"Wh…What?" Her brain fast forwarded to try and catch up to her son.
"Can we keep him? I'll take care of him and get him a litter box and food and everything. I think he'd be good for you."
'Him' was quite possibly the smallest and most pathetic looking excuse for a cat that she'd ever seen. A stray thought flitted through her mind that he wasn't even big enough to be a cat yet. The kitten was approximately the size of a large mouse. Maybe it's Mickey Mouse come to wreak havoc on town, Emma thought distractedly. It certainly wouldn't be the strangest thing she's had to deal with lately. On closer inspection, she thought the creature might be black, though that was debatable based on the sheer amount of mud that matted his fur. He was bedraggled and mewling pitifully at the top of his little lungs. Apparently, he had been taking shelter from the rain on their…her front porch and by some miracle didn't take off the second he saw Henry reaching for him. Henry had plucked him up and was currently trying to sequester him in the pocket of his coat, much to the cat's delight as he sought the warmth of the thick wool.
Emma shook her head. Here she was, still standing in the pouring rain, unable to even process the need to move to the relatively dry porch, and Henry thought she could take care of another living thing? Didn't he know that he should be running far away from…no, she had promised Killian she wouldn't start thinking like that again.
But Killian was left behind and Emma was here and this tiny little excuse for a creature was far too dependent for her to take on. Not now.
"Henry, no. We can bring him inside tonight and see if we can't get him to eat something, but I don't know the first thing about cats. We'll take him to the shelter in the morning. I'm sure someone will take him in." Emma was proud that her voice didn't waver once.
Henry's face fell. "But, Mom…"
"I said no, Henry. Don't get attached to him; he's going away tomorrow." Steeling herself against the twin pouts that bored into her – and cats don't pout, she tried to tell herself – Emma finally moved to unlock the door to their…her home.
The stark difference between the interior of the house now and the bastardized version in the Underworld is almost enough to undo her again. She watches disinterestedly as Henry squirrels the kitten away to the bathroom, possibly to try and give the animal a bath. Something flits across her memory about cats not liking water, but the thought is gone as quickly as it came. Her son is a teenager – surely he's capable of looking after himself for a moment.
Emma sinks down onto the couch in their…her living room and just stares off into space. She hears water running somewhere and Henry's soft voice murmuring as the tiny sounds of protest from the kitten continue. She's not even sure the thing is really even meowing – he looks too small to even make the attempt.
What was a kitten that small doing alone on their…her…her front porch in the first place? Where was his mother? Surely he wasn't big enough to be by himself. Didn't kittens need to be weaned off their mothers? How did one even go about doing that?
Not that it matters, Emma thought ruefully. It was too late tonight to bring the kitten down to the shelter, but right after she got Henry to school in the morning, she'd make that trip.
But until then, they would need to find something to feed the poor creature. Henry had carried home a bag of supplies that Emma thought her mother had put together for her. She hoped there was something in there that the kitten would be able to eat.
Emma stopped by the hall closet on her way towards the kitchen. She sort of remembered stashing all manner of objects in the closet on one of the nights she had prowled the halls. The kitten would need a place to sleep tonight – Emma thought she remembered an old afghan that had clashed with her fashion sense at the time.
The soft fabric was worn in places, but still in mostly one piece. There were patches of red and green yarn checking the pattern. It was perfect.
Emma backtracked to the couch, folding the blanket into a comfortable fluff of fabric before heading to the kitchen once more to try and find suitable kitten food. She thought briefly about calling her father to ask, but she couldn't handle the conversation that would bring about – it was going to be hard enough to let Henry down when she brought the kitten to the shelter in the morning; she didn't need her father pouting at her, too.
One saucer of milk and one can of tuna fish later and Emma is satisfied that the creature won't starve overnight. She peeks in on Henry in the bathroom – not overly surprised to find that he's nearly as soaked as the kitten. The mud is mostly gone, however, and Emma can see that the kitten was, as she thought, mostly black. There is a bright white patch on his muzzle, and his left paw is white to match. The tail that is flicking back and forth is scraggly at best, but it's the eyes that stop Emma dead in her tracks.
She had thought once that Killian had the bluest eyes she had ever seen – a depth to them that spoke of clear summer days and the vast ocean that had always calmed them both. But this kitten? His eyes could have given her pirate a run for his money.
They're staring at her now, a sad little 'mew' escaping the kitten's mouth as he regards her, and Emma finds that she just can't. She can't deal with this kitten or the memories he's dragging up. She can't deal with Henry's sympathetic gaze as he looks up from where he's unfolding a towel to dry off the kitten's damp fur.
"There's some food that I think he might eat, and there's a blanket on the couch for him to sleep on. I'm going upstairs to take a shower and then I'm going to bed." Emma's voice is shaking violently and she's not sure how long she'll be able to hold up the tissue-paper thin façade that says she's okay at the moment. She needs to get away from her son before she breaks down.
Henry seems to sense this, nodding silently as he fully envelops the kitten in terrycloth. "I think I'll call you…"
"Henry! No!" Emma whirls back around, snapping more sharply than she intended. "You will not name this cat. We are not keeping him."
Henry looks startled and Emma thinks she sees the first hint of tears checking at the corners of his eyes. She retreats as quickly as she can to the sanctity of upstairs, not thinking about anything other than cleaning the stench of the Underworld off of her and then crawling into the bed that she was supposed to share with Killian.
It's only after she's stepped out of the shower that Emma recalls Henry's tears and remembers that she's not the only one who lost Killian today. She can't keep the kitten, but maybe she can convince Regina and Robin to take the animal – surely an outdoorsman like Robin could handle a kitten and Roland would love him.
She thinks that maybe Henry was trying to take in the kitten to fill in the hole in his heart a little bit and that's why he's gotten so attached so quickly. Emma half expects to find the kitten sleeping in Henry's room tonight.
The kitten is curled up on the red and green afghan at the foot of her bed.
Emma stares down the animal as he cocks his head to the side and wiggles his nose at her. She won't smile. She won't. He's not cute, she's not going to get attached to him.
Emma picks up the kitten, blanket and all, and places the bundle on the chaise under the window. The kitten looks heartbroken – no, Emma, he's a cat, he's not heartbroken so stop projecting – but turns around a few times before settling in his new bed. Emma does the same, curling into a tiny ball under the covers.
It's then when it hits her. This too-large bed was supposed to be for the two of them. They were supposed to make happy memories and a future here – maybe even a future that Emma had never hoped for once she let baby Henry be taken from her hospital room without even looking at him. Killian was supposed to be there to wrap his arms around her, to be there for her to burrow against to stave off the chill of the coming winter. Instead, she wraps her arms around the pillow that should have been her pirate's, pulling it tight against her chest and sobbing into the cotton.
She has no idea how long her tears continue to soak into the pillow, but it's a good time later when she's startled out of her sorrow by what sounds like a small motor in her ear. She tries to lift her head to discover where the sound is coming from, but there is a warm weight pressed against the back of her neck and Emma knows now exactly what has happened. Despite plunking the kitten across the room, he must have heard her and come in search of more warmth. Emma rolls over carefully, intending to deposit the little ball of fluff back on his bed. But before she can move, the kitten paws his way up onto her chest and butts her chin with his head. He sits back on his haunches and continues to purr as he kneads at the hair spread out over her collarbones.
Emma expects the sharp prick of pain from his claws, but they are safely retracted as the kitten continues his ministrations.
She stares at the little animal that, by all rights, should be terrified of a creature that is so much bigger than he is. But it's like he knows that she can't give him any more than this right now, and he's okay with that.
He's waiting for her to accept him, and he won't push for affection just yet.
More tears track down her cheeks as the kitten curls up on her chest, tucking his head under her chin and letting out a soft 'mew' and going back to purring. His steady little breaths expand his chest to the point where the fur tickles Emma's neck, and the feeling is so comforting that she feels something in her heart smooth over a little bit.
She falls asleep easily, no longer worried about how large the bed is or what the morning is going to bring.
But what she does know for certain is this – the morning won't bring a trip to the animal shelter after all.
This kitten is never going to the shelter. Not ever.
Emma wakes the next morning feeling like she went to bed with a scarf wrapped around her neck. Her brain is still muddling through the fog of sleep as she tries to unwrap the wool and let the skin around her neck breathe.
She jolts into a sitting position when something wet and rough drags across the palm of her hand before she can latch onto the "scarf".
Last night's visitor comes back to mind a second after that and Emma glances apologetically at the kitten who has been unceremoniously dumped into the mess of blankets pooling around her legs. His little blue eyes are blown wide and his claws are clamped down on the fabric as he tries to keep his legs under him. The creature wobbles a bit before letting out an indignant sound and bounding off the side of the bed.
Emma almost throws herself off the mattress trying to make sure the kitten is fine, but he doesn't give her a second glance as he takes off like a shot towards the door.
Where he sits and scratches at the wood while mewing plaintively until Emma gets the message that he expects her to open the door right that instant.
When she finally makes her way down to the kitchen, dressed for the day and somewhat ready to face the world, Henry is sitting patiently at the table with his backpack at his feet and a flipbook with what looks like charts and pie graphs just waiting for her.
Emma doesn't think there's enough coffee in the world for this.
He starts before she can tell him that she's changed her mind and the kitten can stay.
"Mom, look, you have to listen to me, all right? I know that you said we can't keep him and I know you think that he'll be picked up by some other family at the shelter, but he's so small that no one will want him. They'll want some big, fluffy kitten to take home. And what if the other cats are mean to him? He's only tiny, after all. What if he's in his cage at the shelter and he sees all these families coming by and they keep picking out the other cats but not him? How's he going to feel when he's so cute and cuddly but no one wants him?"
Emma is about to burst into tears again. Henry couldn't know exactly how close he was hitting home with his words, but she remembered each and every time she watched another foster child get to go home with their "forever family". The burn of her eyes and the thickness in her throat go unnoticed as Henry pushes himself back from the table and drops the flipbook – which is filled with objective 'evidence' for why the kitten should stay with her – onto her placemat.
"Here, look at all of this and you'll see that we have to keep him. It'll be good for yo…for me to have a pet. Besides, all kids should have animals – it helps us grow up right." He places a hasty kiss on the side of her head before grabbing his backpack and sprinting for the door.
He doesn't wait for her to tell him that they could keep the kitten, just shouting out "I'll stop by the shelter and get some supplies after school. Thanks, Mom!" before the door slams shut behind him.
Emma stares, unblinkingly, at the bright colors that he must have spent hours crafting after she cried herself to sleep the night before.
She loves her son just a little bit more every day.
But his words still hurt. How many times had young Emma Swan hoped for a family to take her and understand her? To love her and give her the home that she so desperately wanted? Last night wasn't the first time she had cried herself to sleep, and without Killian there to save her – she is certain that it won't be the last.
The tears are just about to start again when the kitten jumps up on the table and nudges his head under her hand. He keeps sliding his skull under her fingers until she gets the idea that he wants her to pet him. Emma lifts him up and holds him up so they're nose to nose.
She is staring into his eyes and he is staring into hers, and something about the blueness there settles her even further.
"Well, Cat. We're just going to have to come up with a name for you, aren't we?" The kitten shakes his little head at her as if trying to say that he's been waiting for her to catch up.
But then he gives the tiniest little sneeze Emma has ever heard and she can't help it. She bursts into laughter and finds that she can't stop until tears are streaming down her face for a completely different reason than they were ready to.
"I'm not calling you Sneezy. We already have one of those around town." Emma leaves the kitten on the table. If she's going to get anything done with her day – least of all figuring out a suitable name for the creature currently trying to reach over the side of Henry's discarded cereal bowl – she needs breakfast.
And coffee.
Emma is just taking a sip out of her oversized coffee mug when the kitten manages to balance himself on Henry's spoon and lean over the side of the bowl. He is trying to lap out the leftover milk when his paws lose their traction and he ends up sitting in the dish instead, looking for all the world like he has no idea how he's gotten there.
Emma burns her throat trying to swallow the hot caffeine before she sprays it all over the kitchen.
It takes her a few minutes to set the kitten up with a saucer of milk, his fur fluffed by the kitchen towel she used to mop him up.
"We can't call you Grace either, Buddy. You're a boy and we have a Grace in town, too. Try again." She smirks as he huffs out of his nose and doesn't think too much on the fact that she's having a serious conversation with a cat.
Said kitten looks perfectly content to remain nameless as long as she keeps plying him with milk, so she turns back to the frying pan full of eggs and concentrates on her own breakfast. She plates up the eggs and reaches for the newspaper that Henry left for her, settling in on the other side of the table from him without much thought.
Emma is distractedly shoveling eggs into her mouth as she flips through the pages of the Storybrooke Mirror. She's not really paying attention to much else, wrapped up in the gossip section and wondering how such a small town can have so many stories in this section. Then again, she thinks as she spears some more of the eggs on her plate, it is a small town.
Emma doesn't think about much else until her teeth crunch down on hard metal instead of fluffy egg. It startles her out of her dazed state and she drops the fork, reaching up to check that she didn't do any actual damage. Her plate is still half-full of her breakfast, so she's not sure entirely what happened. She chalks it up to a careless mistake and takes care to spear another clump before her phone chimes with a message from her mother asking if she needs anything.
She is just about to set her fork down to type out an answer when she figures out where the first missing bite of eggs went.
The kitten darts forward from where he was hiding behind the newspaper and snatches the bit of egg off the tines of her fork, swallowing it down quickly and smacking his lips at the taste.
Emma just stares as he looks right at her and then darts back behind the paper.
"Why you little pirate! You can't steal my…" Emma trails off. "Pirate. You're a pirate."
The kitten pokes his head out from behind the gossip section, cocking his head to the side. Seemingly unperturbed by her, he sits down and licks the white of his left paw before starting to groom his whiskers.
Emma nods. "I guess you found your name, didn't you, Pirate?"
Pirate follows her around constantly, and Henry doesn't even try to pretend that the kitten is his. There are still moments when Emma is hit by the loss of her human pirate, but the feline one is always there looking to be scratched behind the ears or butting his head into her chin until she can't help smiling at him. She gives up on making the afghan his bed at night, moving the blanket to the end of the couch in her living room and decreeing that that is his spot.
For such a small thing, Pirate can take up more room than she and Henry combined if the blanket isn't there to corral him.
She finds it easier to get through the next few days, fighting with Zelena and Hades but not letting it break her when she's fighting their True Love without hers at her side. She's a little bit soured on the idea that this is the rarest magic of all if even these villains can find and keep it when she only had minutes with hers confirmed before she had to let him go.
It's in no small part thanks to Pirate that she makes it through the nights – she's not alone when the little body is curled on her chest or behind her neck or around her head. She repays him with a ridiculously large Amazon Cat Tree Mansion, quietly laughing at just how pirate-like it looks while Pirate, himself, can't quite decide if he's affronted by it or in love with it.
Some well-placed catnip makes the decision for him and Emma vows never to use the stuff again.
And then, Killian returns. Emma is shocked and amazed and thankful and so many other emotions that she can't even begin to describe them all. She has him back and no one else better even think about trying to separate them ever again.
She'll destroy them before they even get close to stealing him from her again.
It's later, after everything that's happened, that she finally can drag Killian away from the bustle of town and squirrel him away into her…their home. She barely lets him make it past the front door when she's dragging his arms around her, nestling into the crook of his neck and just – breathing. The scent of him calms her in a way that nothing else could and she just revels in the moment.
That is, until her human pirate makes something of a startled squawk. She jolts back abruptly, looking around for an intruder, only to double over in laughter. Emma hadn't even noticed their little stalker until he had sunk his claws into Killian's pant leg, trying to climb the new human in search of snacks. She knew from experience that those claws were sharp.
"What, pray tell, is this beast doing in our home, luv? Did I find us an abode with a pest problem?" Killian looks like he is torn between removing the animal from his thigh and not letting her out of his arms – their forced separation had been equally hard to bear.
Emma solves the problem for him, plucking the kitten from his new scratching post and cuddling him between their chests.
"This is Pirate." She scratches a finger between the cat's ears, smiling softly at the resulting purring.
"P…P…P…Pirate?" Killian splutters out, sounding equally affronted and perplexed. "Swan. This…animal isn't the least bit like a pirate. He's…he's…I'm not sure what he is. You can't call him Pirate!"
"He's a kitten, Killian. You'll like him." Emma pulls away from his embrace, grasping his hook and leading them to their couch. She sinks down onto the soft cushions and allows Pirate to scamper over to his blanket.
Killian heeds her pull, sinking gingerly down onto their couch and arranging them so Emma can curl into his chest. He had had plans that involved the bedroom and far fewer items of clothing than they're currently wearing, but he would have to be blind not to see the dark circles under Emma's eyes. They have time now, all the time in the world – and he won't squander a minute of it.
The kitten curls in a ball after pawing at the red and green fabric – an afghan he doesn't remember seeing the last time they were in this house. And then he remembers that the last time he was inside these walls, the sky outside was tinged red and he shuts that line of thinking down swiftly.
"He's harmless, Killian. I promise." Emma is smiling up at him with a sparkle in her eyes and he just knows she's trying not to laugh at him.
"It's not that, luv. It just he's so…mangy. And he's probably flea-infested." He has a look of disgust on his face as the kitten starts licking under his back paw.
Emma huffs at him and smacks his chest. "He is not flea-infested. Pirate is cleaner than some of your men were – Smee was a rat. And besides," she tugged on the curls behind his ear. "You're not exactly military issue at the moment, either, Buddy."
Killian growls at the slight pain, still eyeing the animal near Emma's feet with a baleful look. When his True Love redirects his gaze to her, there is a pout on her lips that he longs to kiss away. Gods, he would do anything for this woman.
"Do you really not like him?" Emma's lower lip quivers and he's a goner.
He sighs. "I'm not exactly a cat person, luv. We had them on the ship to work, but they weren't pets. But if he makes you happy…"
Emma grins, tucking her head under his chin and letting loose a yawn. She waves her hand and the quilt from the Jolly drapes itself over her shoulders. The kitten doesn't even bat an eye, instead losing its balance as it tries to groom itself. Emma's eyes are already closing and it's only minutes later that he feels the soft puffs of air sneaking in under the open v of his shirt that signify her easy sleep.
Emma had made her promises to him in the Underworld – sleeping for weeks now that they were home seemed to be the easiest one to keep.
Killian couldn't have said how long he watched her sleep, her fingers spasmodically gripping the fabric of his shirt at random intervals, trying to reassure herself that he was there, even in her dreams. It brought a soft smile to his own features, the last few fractures of his heart healing with her calm acceptance of his return.
Killian gently soothed his fingers up and down Emma's spine, calming them both with the gesture and losing himself in the hypnotic moment. It was an eternity later when the glint of something caught his eye. Turning his head sharply to find what had startled him and prevent whatever it was from waking Emma, he was shocked to find the cat wiggling its way backwards down his leg until it was perched on the shin of his boot, his foot resting on the ottoman in front of the couch. Between its teeth was the piece of eight that Killian had carried on his person since their adventure on the Beanstalk. He hadn't even felt the little creature pick his pocket.
As if sensing Killian's eyes on him, the cat looked up from its task, slowly laid the gold down at its paws and then laid itself down to settle in on Killian's leg. It cocked its head to the side as if measuring him up. Killian raised an eyebrow at the action and did the same.
He must never tell Emma that he was in a staring contest with her kitten.
After a moment, the cat must have weighed him and found him acceptable, because it…he used his paw to draw the gold piece further towards him. He made a sound that Killian thought was an attempt at a meow but came out more of a "mew", and tucked the gold under his chest.
Killian grinned. Maybe the kitten would be all right after all. "Pirate, indeed."