The Energy Never Dies
A/N Just a little soulmate Au drabble based off of The Script song The Energy Never Dies. Enjoy!.
1816
Lady Emmeline woke up. She felt the breeze coming in through the open window, subconsciously stretching her arms out across the bed in search of her husband's warm body only to find the bed cold and empty next to her. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence that Sir Killian was up before her. He was accustomed to rising with the sun having been in the royal navy up to a few years previously when he had been honorably discharged after losing his left hand after five years of service. Since then he had taken up painting, something that both of them had loved since they were children.
She grumbled slightly as her feet hit the cool wooden floor as she went to retrieve the night gown one of them had tossed across the room the previous night. She pulled in over her head and walked out the door towards what had become a makeshift art studio that they both often spent hours in. Emmeline watched him quietly from the door with him still oblivious to her presence. She smiled at him, the look of concentration and something almost akin to reverence clear on his face.
"You could've woken me up too,Jones". Emmeline grumbled from the doorway. He tossed a sheet over his painting and turned towards her, his face lighting up. "Nah,Love. You looked too peaceful. It would've been a crime". He said before his eyes started to sparkle with mischief. "Not to mention bad form after how late we both stayed up. Aye,Swan. She rolled her eyes at the nickname he had given her at her eighteenth birthday ball when her mother had insisted she wore a white feathered dress. It was the night they met. Not to mention his quip about the previous night's activities.
"Well then". She said. "Are you going to show me what you've been up all morning painting?" She asked not really waiting for and answer before moving to pull back sheet over the canvas. He grabbed her by the waist and gently pulled her back. "No you don't!" he exclaimed playfully. She pouted stubbornly. He grinned. "I always show you my paintings' she reasoned.
Killian shook his head. "I haven't done it justice yet,Love". She rolled her eyes. 'typical' she thought. Her husband, the perfectionist. "You know I can help you, Killian. You just have to ask". He shook his head sheepishly and scratched the nape of his neck. "That's quite alright, Love. I'd rather this to be a surprise". She smiled slightly taken aback and put her hands on his bare shoulders. "You painted me?". He grinned. "You're my greatest muse, my love". He said sincerely his eyes shining with pure unadultered love. She smiled and pulled his body flush against hers. "And you are mine".She replied kissing him ardently on the lips, their mouths fitting together perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle, made to be united as one.
"I love you". She mumbled against his mouth. He smiled. "And I you, my Swan. Nothing will ever keep us apart even time. No matter the circumstances". She grinned pulling him closer again. "You got that right,Jones". He chuckled. She leaned back slightly but still drowning in his blue cerulean pools of forget-me-not me not eyes. The best form of drowning.
2016.
Emma Swan's eyes flew open. 'Crap' she thought. The digital clock glowed neon green on her bedside locker displaying the time. 8:15. 'shit'. She grumbled throwing off the covers. She had to be in the art gallery at the other side of Boston in half an hour. There was a 19th century art exhibition going on today and she had to be there if she wanted to have a decent her art major.
She made her way across the apartment towards the coffee machine not able to shake off the aftermath of her very vivid dream despite the very important and busy day she had looming ahead. She couldn't put it all out of her mind. It had all been so clear and not at all hazy or patched like her usual dreams.
She could still feel the coolness of the wooden floor, the brightness of the morning, the smell of the paint as strong as it was in the art studio in Boston University. She could still see his eyes bright cerulean pools still like the sea on a peaceful day. Impossible to forget. She could still his voice warming and loving echoing in her ears.
She shook her head.'Get yourself together, Swan' she thought. 'it's just a stupid dream'. As she gathered up the keys of her yellow bug and her red leather paint stained jacket and made her way out of the small apartment and on to the busy street.
It wasn't long before she was standing in the entrance hall next to where the exhibition was to be held. Emma scanned the room for Elsa who she said that she would meet her. She found the other blonde woman in her signature blue sweater at the other side of the room. Elsa was also an art major who's specialty was sculpturing specifically ice sculptures.
Elsa sighed in relief. "There you are,Ems. Is everything okay?". Emma nodded as they both walked into the room scanning the several corridors of paintings. There was no way that they would both find enough time to critically analyse anything by closing time today. "We could split up". Elsa offered. Emma nodded in agreement. "Sure. See you later". Elsa nodded while heading off to the left while Emma went off to the right.
The plaque a the edge of the corridor stated that the paintings had been recovered from the house of two nobles who lived in the early eighteenth century. Emma strolled down the corridor. Many of the painting depicted ships of the era in storms and on calm waters. A shiver ran down her back. It was as if she had seen these before as if she knew they them. She looked closely. 'that's so freaking weird' she whispered under her breath. The brushstrokes and the style was almost identical to her own and the penmanship that signed the corner. Emmeline Jones.
Emma shook off the feeling of having seen them before. She had probably seen something similar online. She continued down the corridor until stopping dead in her tracks. Stunned. "Holy shit". She muttered under her breath not that there was anyone around to notice. There perched up on the wall at an eighteenth century art exhibition was a portrait of her.
It was definitely her but not as she saw herself. It was obvious that the painter had painted with a lot of love and affection. The woman in the painting was sleeping and peaceful with her hair falling around her face on the pillow and the duvet tucked up to her bare shoulders. The room in the painting looked so familiar. Emma immediately recognised it as the bedroom from her dream the previous night. She was speechless,staring.
Emma felt a warm hand grasp comfortingly on her left shoulder. She turned around ready to make up some random excuse as to why she was staring dumbfounded at the painting of an eighteenth century woman. But she didn't.
Emma recognised him straight away. How could she possibly forget. Dark perpetually unruly hair. Bright cobalt loving eyes and a mischievous grin. It was him. They had found each other after two hundred years of looking. They always would. He grinned brightly enough to light up the room, his smile stretching out across his scruffy cheeks. Emma's stomach did a summersault as her lost memories returned for all she had to go was see him again.
Killian chuckled softly at her expression. "Do you like the painting,Love".