This is part of the "Storybrooke Downs" universe, set sometime in June 2010 when Killian still lived in Ireland.
He wants nothing more than to sucker punch Sullivan right in his smug face, but he still has to stick this gig out for six more months. This means playing nice, even with smarmy bastards who think they're God's gift to the world. Just six more months of dancing to Sullivan's tune, then he'll have some time to rid himself of his personal effects, and then commence the arduous process of immigrating to the States. Killian Jones loves a challenge, but the mountain of paperwork involved with legally entering a new country just might make him change his mind on that.
Killian decides he needs to cool off before going back to work - the horses will know if he's in a foul mood and react terribly to his commands. He's not one for the whip if he can avoid it and he'll be damned if Sullivan causes him to start now.
Killian shoves his hands deep into his pockets, pacing around the edges of the shedrow. His eyes sweep the ground as he walks: he knows he's near the foaling paddock and thus the cats' nesting area. Like the new foals, the kittens have started to gain their independence. The little squeaking fluffballs care not for where they roam and he doesn't care to accidentally maim one of them. And as he rounds the corner, he can hear the squeaking intensify. His gaze travels up the lawn and he grins at the sight he sees.
There's a good fourteen or so new mousers on the farm this year. It appears all of them have discovered a new toy: one of the mares' tails.
Killian takes care to walk quietly to the fence, watching as the little ones forget their manners and pounce over one another to tangle themselves in the mare's increasingly snarled tail. Occasionally the mare flicks her ears back in annoyance, but Killian knows her: she's a patient lass, and he'd expect her to grow wings before she'd kick. The kittens have chosen their playmate wisely.
There's more squeaking down hear his feet, and then small weights hit his boots. He looks down to see two kittens battling his shoelaces; a hardier man could not resist the urge to smile at the sight, and Killian crouches down to gently run his fingers along their soft fur. His fingers are attacked next - feisty little bits of fluff - with new teeth and barely controlled claws. They look alike, his two assailants: blue eyes that almost match his own, dusty gray noses that match their front paws and ears, and cream-colored fur for the rest. "Oh, you're grand, fierce lions now, are you?" Killian asks softly, his fingers dancing just out of reach as they leap and snap their paws in an attempt to capture him.
"They're runts," Sullivan's voice booms from behind him. "They'll be dead come winter, Jones, so don't get yourself attached. I'm paying you to move Thoroughbreds, not feck around with the pest control, get your sorry arse back to work."
A chill settles through Killian's bones. His face is blank, eyes cold as he stalks past his employer. He knows the way of the world, lost enough of his people to have misplaced his innocence. Creatures die all the time. They lost one of their best geldings just last week, heart burst during a race.
But just because it's the natural order of things doesn't make it right.
So when Sullivan releases him for the night, Killian sneaks back around to the nesting area and smuggles his two fierce lions out under his shirt, the little fluffballs squeaking protests the whole time.
"You big softy," Emma teases, raking her fingers through his hair and pushing it away from his forehead.
"Aye, but it's one of the best decisions I ever made. They were my home when I had none," he tells her, catching her wrist and bringing her hand to his lips. He brushes a kiss over her knuckles, enjoying the way her cheeks flush.
Am chirps as she stretches, then jumps up to drape herself around Emma's shoulders. Killian grins as Emma scratches Am under her chin and hears the cat start to purr. "She's adopted you," he says.
"Si's your baby, so Am just wants someone to pay attention to her," Emma retorts. "By the way, I have to ask: Lady and the Tramp? Really?"
His grin broadens. "Well, Swan, I've always considered myself a bit of a tramp, wandering where I may, living by my own rules. A scoundrel of the first degree. And they do resemble Siamese cats, do they not?"
Her gaze flicks between Am on her shoulder, and Si, curled up in his lap. She nods. "I can't argue that."
Killian picks up her free hand and kisses her palm, his eyes never leaving hers or the soft smile on her lips. "And just like Tramp, it took me some time, but I eventually found my own Lady."
The end bit here takes place sometime between the end of the main story and the epilogue of "Dark Horse". There's no spoilers for that, promise.