Title: Stars Lined Up

Warnings: Rated M

Summary: It was requested that I show a reunion side to the little speculation fic I wrote a couple days ago. So here it is, the reunion of these two lovelies, according to my imagination. First part is titled "Til We're Staring at the Stars".

A/N: Huge thanks to Oubliette14 for just about everything I can think of to thank her for.

She doesn't actually remember who grabs her first. There's a flurry of activity around her so fast she can't even make out one face. It's all hands and eyes and blurs of crying smiles, but she knows whose hand grasps hers first. She feels the dig of his rings against her skin and that's when it clicks: she's home.

They spend hours celebrating her return and she has to spend the whole time sucking down water because it's been so long since she's talked so much and laughed, and the feeling of tears streaming down her cheeks is welcome without the hollow ache that usually accompanies the gesture.

She keeps touching Henry's face and hair, sweeping the soft brown off his forehead and murmuring about how much he's grown. He endures it all with less teenage sass than she expected, and she's even more blown away by how mature he is. Her other hand is still in Killian's. He has only released it a dozen times since they sat down. She is perfectly fine with this because she's not convinced she won't just float away if he lets go.

Her parents spend a lot of time holding her, Snow crying, David cradling the back of her head and all she can do is hold them back with one arm, refusing to release Killian's hand, to let go of the thing still anchoring her. She's shown pictures of baby Neal, who is not so much a baby anymore as he is a small bundle of movements in most of the photos.

What feels like days later, she's leaning on Killian's arm, unable to even keep her eyes open as he unlocks a door and leads her into a room and after that she doesn't know anything but exhaustion and sleep and his hand resting on her hip.

She wakes after only a couple hours breathing fast in a place she doesn't immediately recognize and thinks it all has been a dream; that she's still far away from everything she knows and loves. She doesn't realize that she's crying, that she's curled into a ball until she hears the whispering in her ear, feels his fingers lacing with hers.

"Emma," she hears and it's all she needs to open her eyes again and recognize the décor as a room at Granny's, to remember that Killian is pressed against her back, folding himself around her body to shield her from everything, kissing her shoulder. She turns and buries her face against him, inhaling his scent with each shaky breath until she's calm again. She's still so exhausted, but wide awake now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks quietly.

"No," she says, can't believe that's her croaky voice in the dark of the room. She clears her throat and swallows, squeaking out "not yet" to make the first word less harsh. And it's enough for him. He nods and kisses her forehead, leaves his lips against her skin and hums in contentment. He's quiet after that, and she thinks he may have fallen back to sleep. She concentrates on his breathing, how it's deep and even and ruffles her hair with each exhalation.

Then his hand moves on her back. The light stroke starts between her shoulders and trails down to the hem of the t-shirt she'd gone to sleep in. He drags the edge up to brush his fingertips over her lower back. He moves his hand up again, over her side, and he focuses on a particularly sensitive spot he knows makes her squirm until she does just that. He never moves his lips from her forehead though, so she can feel his lips curve up moments before he makes one good poking motion against the side of her breast and she hears the faint "squeak" he murmurs against her skin.

She laughs loudly and freely, laughs harder when he snuffles against her skin, can feel the tears at the corners of her eyes again and so she leans up on her elbow and looks down at him. And as she gazes down on him in the dark, thinks how the pictures in her mind didn't do him justice, she traces her fingers over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. She brushes over his eyebrows and the faint bags under his eyes. She memorizes the stubble and thumbs at his earlobe and touches his lips with her fingertips and the words seem so easy to say now, so she says them.

"I love you, so much," she whispers, and replaces her fingers with her lips and kisses him, realizing she hasn't yet kissed him properly since she got back and needing to make up for lost time. She's on her back in seconds and hunger replaces reverence and clothing is being pushed out of the way and pulled off. He rolls again and easily hauls her on top of him, her legs sliding to each side of him, like riding a bicycle, even as he slides inside her.

He's whispering promises of love and forever that he damn well intends to keep as she rocks against him. She feels the tears rolling down her cheeks and can't find it in herself to stop them. He sits up, bracing himself on his left arm as he wraps his right one around her, hand sliding up the back of the t-shirt they didn't bother to remove. Her arms are wrapped tightly around his shoulders and she gasps as he thrusts up into her, rolling her hips down so they fall into the rhythm that is all them.

Her cheek is pressed against his temple as he continues to confess, to admonish, to worship against her shoulder. She catches snippets of Emma and love you and what were you thinking and never again, gods I love you, you bloody brilliant woman and he's moving faster, bringing his fingers forward to circle her clit, intent on bringing her over the edge before he falls. It's all she can do to hang on and let him lead. She wouldn't have the energy to take control, not tonight, not when they have all the time in the world now.

And with a moan that's much breathier and higher pitched than she remembers, she's coming, burying her face into his neck and letting the pure pleasure roll through her. Killian moves with even more purpose after that, anchoring his hand on Emma's hip and moving them together until he stills, his groan muffled against the same spot on her shoulder that now holds all the words he saved for her return.

She slows her movements above him, helping both of them ride out the last shocks of pleasure and when she pulls back to look at him, she sees his eyes are as swollen as hers are, can feel the moisture from his tears now that his hot breath isn't on her shoulder. She presses her forehead against his, reaching down to grab his hand and hold it against her chest, above her heart.

For the night, that's all they need. He shuffles them until they are laying again, face to face.

"Sleep now, love," he whispers, caressing her cheek once before he reaches for her hand. She falls asleep with her fingers firmly laced with his.