Killian's slowly woke, finding his vision focus from a blur to recognize a still dark room bathed in the willowy accent of moonlight. His arm was draped over Emma's waist, the curve of her shoulder blades pressed into his bare chest, her silvery hair silken against his cheek. He inhaled deeply with a smile and lifted himself up slightly to note the glaring red numbers of the clock on the night stand…2:00 AM.
Bloody hell it was early, but he couldn't bring himself to care, his attention snagged on the soft rise and fall of her stomach, the skin milky in the thin light. He traced feathery patterns down her arm, pressing his lips to her neck and enjoying the feel of her pulse against his lips, deepened in sleep.
Every so often he found himself in this position, being up before her, he took comfort in it. It was time like this he believed more than ever she was his human angel, the gentle hands of unconscious dreaming pulling a slight smirk at the corners of her mouth and smoothed the crinkles in her forehead.
Though the years had passed, stealing away their youth and dulling their screaming confrontations, he felt that familiar feeling in his throat when he recalled their struggle and their journey. It was tinged with regret at his ability to count the moments, too small a number, but their liquor-like sweetness was still easily accessed in his thoughts.
The First
A towering giant's lair and rubble at his feet, the room surrounding him was bathed in the golden hues of piles of treasure. But for all the gold that often haunted a pirate's waking dreams, so plentiful that even the atmosphere was tinged in the metallic shine, he could only find himself unnerved by icy blue. Two irises that had a sallow, haunted persistent glint that steeled the owner against the world. Her eyes. His eyes.
And they met again and again, at first out of defiance and belligerence, then tentative curiosity. And strolling lazily behind her as she hunted for a magic compass, he decided he liked the way she smirked when he taunted her, the feel of her in his arms. She could lash words out and meet him halfway without backing down. The Swan girl, Emma, had an uncanny ability to catch him off guard.
There was no one instance when it happened, but when he extended a hand forward he fully expected her to take it. Because somewhere along the way between the banter and the inadvertent touches he had decided he could inexplicably trust her. And when she let him down that burned inside him like nothing else had in a long time. It would lead him back to her time and time again.
The Next
The screaming words echoed off the walls in her kitchen, as she threw a glass against the wall and watched it shatter in crystal shards into the sink. He would return her anger with equal enthusiasm, asking her what else he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to live for.
His coat sleeves still stained with Gold's blood, he found a pistol at his head and a sneering Emma with her eyes sparking cold, mirthless laughter. He dared her to do it. He wasn't a murderer, he hadn't killed the Crocodile to his dismay when she tackled him and pinned him to the floor. He goaded her, told her he had known it was what she'd wanted all along.
She dropped the gun and did something he had never seen before. She dropped to her knees and let out a shaking sob, still shouting muffled cusses at him with her face buried in her hands. And without thinking he sank to the ground in front of her and tugged her hands gently from her face. And he was kissing away the tears, on her cheek, eyelids, nose and forehead. And when he finally found her lips, he couldn't stop the spark to gasoline as he pushed her against the wall as she tugged his shirt up over his head. He lived for the sea but suddenly everything was fire, her hands fisting in his hair, his lips drawing lines from her shoulder down her collarbones, the whole of her skin and everything within her as well. They didn't even make it to the couch.
And Then
The easy comfort of sitting beside someone he loved on the couch, her sly smirk as she pulled away an old fantasy book from his hands, teasing him affectionately for his guilty pleasure. He'd shake his head with a chuckle, thinking she wouldn't understand his reasons no matter how he bloody explained them.
Her seaside eyes lit up with genuine laughter that shook in her shoulders, and turned devious when she asked him questions about what kind of princess he'd expected to save. He kissed her to shut her up. But one night she crawled into bed with an old dusty book, the cover worn from use and without speaking she leaned against his chest and they began reading together in comfortable silence, he pressed his lips to her temple and she would quietly ask if he was finished before she turned the page.
It was rusted and brittle, that feeling of familiarity and trust and companionship. Just simply being with her, breathing her in and wanting to sit like that until his legs were stiff and his back hurt. He almost didn't remember what love was. Almost. but she had given him that. She had given him so much. Somehow they fit together in a twisted mauled way. Even if it was just old dusty pages where the knight saved the princess. He would never tell her that she was his princess.
And Finally
He fidgeted and tugged at the crisply folded collar of his dress shirt trying his best to ignore the frivolous traditions of the ceremony. Her mother and father had insisted it be done the proper way despite the protests from both he and his fiancee. The forest floor was uncomfortably spongy and it was a dismal grey, cloudy day. He stood alone on the grooms side, no best man or anyone, starkly contrasting her side littered with giggling women.
And then she appeared at the back of the part in the audience.
Her hair golden, tousled lightly down her shoulder like it always was, a plain white dress that was no doubt borrowed from her mother that had a skirt only to her knees. She held single red rose in her hand, arm looped through her fathers and she stared straight ahead with a smile that looked more like a grimace. And she was beautiful.
And when she reached him he didn't stand his respectful distance as he should have. He looped his arms around her waist and hers found their usual place around his neck, and he stared into those sky blue eyes. Suddenly, with a crack of thunder it began to pour, and everyone seemed to disperse, trying to take cover and protect their finery. But he simply put a hand to her face, where her hair now hung in sodden ropes over his knuckles, and she smiled a stunning heart stopping smile.
And he whispered "I do".
And lifted her by the waist and kissed her while the rain soaked them both through. Because even in a world where he was cursed with an eternity of hatred and despair, he found a new forever with her. And no matter wether he deserved her or not, he loved her and she was his. His Emma.
She stirred slightly and turned herself around so that she faced him. Her smile was groggy but she was awake, kissing him lightly.
"Hey there." she whispered, inching a little closer.
He tightened his hold, "Hush, love, go back to sleep. I apologize if I woke you."
She exhaled, "If you're up I won't be bored so I forgive you."
He kissed the top of her head, "You need the sleep."
She laughed, "I'm only pregnant Killian, I'm not that fragile."
He shifted uncomfortably, "Right, lass sorry if I've never done this before."
She only murmured an unintelligible response and burrowed into his chest.
This memory was in progress. This was present. His face buried in the crook of her shoulder he inhaled the lingering scent of vanilla and shampoo. She was wrapped in him. And it caught in his throat when he understood she belonged to no one else. That there would be someone new to share all the extra happiness he thought had been lost on him. His as well.
The presence of skin on skin and breath tangling with breath.
There was still time for them.