Emma snuck a glance at Killian through the curling steam of her cocoa.
"Careful, love. That gaze there might just catch flame and burn a hole through my dashing face. And that, truly, would be the highest of crimes."
Busted.
"I wasn't—"
"You were." He said mildly, putting down his book to secure her gaze head-on.
She huffed an agitated sigh.
"What's on your mind, darling?"
She fidgeted in their booth, a slow blush swathing her face to her neck.
"I can't help it, alright?" She finally burst. "It's like—it's like Orpheus."
"The Greek lad?" Of all the relatively obscure troves of knowledge to be found in her world, Emma wasn't surprised Killian had gravitated toward the realms of myth and miracles.
"It's just—hard to keep myself from making sure you're…really here."
It had been a couple of months since the heroes' rally into the Underworld, their rescue mission to save Hook. And she still couldn't shake the feeling that if she let him out of her sight, he'd be taken from her again, this time for good. She'd mustered the resolve—somehow—to not look at him on the ferry back, finding courage in the constant grip of their interlocked fingers. Hades never explicitly said there was that particular caveat to allowing Killian's departure from his kingdom, but it was exactly the type of fuckery she knew he'd delight in.
"Swan." He said softly, after a beat.
Things had been—not tense, but tentative between them, since they got back. Between the Underworld and the dark side, there were a lot of things to be hashed out between them. Add in the confusion of literally becoming halves of a whole, shared heart, and things were—unsteady, despite their best efforts.
"I know it's silly, okay? I mean, I know you're here for good. It just seems—too normal, too nice for you to be here reading your Harlequin romances and sipping spiked cocoa on a Sunday afternoon." She stopped. "We don't get normal. Or nice."
"It is not a Harlequin romance, thank you. It is a gripping tale of finding true love in the midst of the sea." He made a point of returning to his well-worn novel.
She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I wish I could say you were into pirate smut and leave it at that. But the truth is you're reading it for the setting and not the scenario, aren't you?" She shook her head. "Guess I should be grateful I snagged you before you got down on one knee and proposed to the fucking ocean."
"What's that about getting down on knees, love?" He quirked an eyebrow, only slightly glancing up from the text. She knew he knew what that did to the blue of his eyes through his lashes. The bastard.
But she couldn't help but smirk. It was moments like these that made her believe they could shake their ghosts and head to the light that the house he'd picked out represented.
"Odette?" She was startled by a breathy voice way too close to be casual.
Emma looked up at the tall man leaning over her, so close she felt way too intimate with the intricate pattern of his brocaded vest.
"Not slightly." She furrowed her brow.
"It worked. It really, really worked." He said. The reverence he was scouring her features with was really starting to do unsettling things to her spine.
"Um. I think you're very, very confused. No offense but, did you happen to hit your head really hard in the last few hours?" She was extremely tempted to lift her hand and ask 'how many fingers am I holding up?'
"I've come so far to find you." Oh my god, was he tearing up? Emma looked around in panic.
His brow crinkled painfully at her silence.
"I thought for sure—no matter the time, space…" He shook his head. "I thought the instant we finally met—you'd recognize your True Love."
Emma hardly took notice as her mug slipped from her fingers and went crashing to the floor, breaking into burning shrapnel.
When the scorching liquid hit her bare ankles, she recoiled. Her eyes never left his.
"Fuck."