Bells jingled. Emma Swan looked up from the newspaper she had been trying to read for the past fifteen minutes, her heart skipping a beat. Dr. Hopper shut the door behind him and waved at her with a small smile of recognition before he walked up to the counter. Granny paused in her sweeping and called to Ruby, who retrieved a styrofoam container and handed it to Archie with a smile.
Exhaling with a puff, Emma crumpled the paper up into a large wad. She slid out of the booth and swept it off the table, tossing it into a nearby trash container. She had been fooled exactly three times now, and every time the stupid door chimed, her heart felt as if it would leap out of her throat. She shouldn't be this nervous about meeting her parents. She was an adult.
Of course, she thought, sitting back down, so were her parents. And at approximately the same age as Emma, having been robbed of the chance to raise her due to a curse that transported them to a new land, robbed them of their memories, and froze time, they were understandably overprotective of their daughter now that they had reunited with her and gotten their old memories back.
The bells pealed again, and she looked up. Mary-Margaret walked through the door, removing her gloves with a laugh as she glanced back at her husband. David entered behind her and spotted Emma, tapping his wife on the shoulder. They walked over, their cheeks ruddy from the cold air outside, and hugged Emma in turn before they slid into the booth across from her.
"Hey," Mary-Margaret said with a smile, her eyes aglow, "hope we didn't keep you waiting too long. What's up?"
"Well, uh," she said, flustered because no matter how many times she had rehearsed the words to herself, they had somehow evaporated at the moment of truth. "We should order, I guess."
Her parents shared a knowing look.
"Emma," David began, "we are happy to have lunch with you, but it was obvious from your phone call that you have something important to tell us. Hadn't we better get that out of the way first?"
"No," she answered shortly. She needed the distraction of something to occupy her hands with while she dropped the bomb regarding Killian.
Her parents shared another look.
"All right," Mary-Margaret said in her placating, schoolteacher's tone, "if that's what you want." She folded her arms on the table while David flagged down Ruby to bring them menus. "How have you been?"
"Uh," she swallowed, "I'm fine."
"And Hook?"
Her eyes narrowed. "It's Killian. I've told you."
Her mother inhaled with a frown. "Emma, I know you care for him, but don't you think that it might be...blinding you to certain things about him, his past?"
"Sort of like the way you're blinding yourself to things about Neal's past?" The barb flew out of her mouth before she could stop it. It struck true, and her parents' expressions became shocked. Emma felt a tiny sliver of satisfaction, followed by shame. Sure, her mother was being dense, but Mary-Margaret's experience of true love involved the first man she had ever loved, period. It was easy to see how she might assume the same might be true of Emma's chance at true love.
Either way, her mother didn't deserve to be spoken to in such a manner.
"Emma," her father began, his expression stern, "that was uncalled for."
"I know," she said as Ruby placed menus in front of them and tactfully made her exit, "I'm sorry." She inhaled deeply, preparing herself for the worst. "But it's really important to me that you call him Killian from now on."
"Are-are you pregnant?" her mother managed, a look of anxiety on her face.
"What?! No! No, I am not pregnant!"
David exhaled audibly, looking considerably relieved. For all that he remained neutral regarding Emma's relationship with the pirate, she suspected he rather liked Killian; but she doubted such good will would have extended to Killian if the pirate had knocked his daughter up.
"Then-I don't understand," her mother sighed with a saddened look.
"Did he ask for your hand?" her father inquired with an intent gaze.
"No," she managed, biting back a groan at how fast this entire conversation had spiraled out of control. "We're moving in together."
David's face darkened a shade. Apparently Killian living with his unmarried daughter didn't top the list of ways her boyfriend might endear himself to David, either. "So where is he?" David asked. "Shouldn't he be here with you, breaking the news?"
"No," she said, opening the menu as she avoided her parents' gazes, "he's at a job interview. And...I haven't asked him yet." She peered up at her parents, worried. "You-you don't think he'll say no, do you?"
Was six months of dating too soon to ask someone to move in? Should she have waited longer? Emma had never lived with anyone before, except for Neal, and in her opinion that didn't count at all. A life spent in a car or the occasional night at a motel, always moving, always on the run, wasn't commitment. Certainly not the commitment to make a home together. How could it be, when they'd had no home?
"Oh, Emma, I'm sure everything will be fine, if this is what you really want," her mother soothed.
She appreciated the effort, particularly since she knew Mary-Margaret still held out hope that Emma might reconcile with Neal. When Emma had revealed with crystal clarity all the pain Neal had inflicted on her in the past, her parents had both been quite upset. But her mother's forgiving nature idealized the situation as she was wont to do, and it wasn't long before she had started hinting that Emma might give him just one more chance.
Of course, her mother hadn't counted on Emma starting to date Killian last summer. Hell, the entire town of Storybrooke had been shocked, save Ruby, who'd had something of a hand in bringing them together to begin with. Ruby's support (and by extension, Dr. Whale's) had been especially precious at the beginning, when gossip raged and puzzled looks were thrown their way; but it hadn't been long before Archie had expressed his own cautious approval of their relationship, and then, gradually, others came to accept it as well.
Including Neal, whose own romantic attentions had been captured by Regina these days.
Emma didn't understand the match herself, but who was she to judge, based on what she and Killian had been through with each other? If Regina truly wanted to turn over a new leaf for Henry and foreswear use of her dark magic, who better to encourage her toward that goal than Neal?
"What job interview?" David leaned forward, his expression softening with interest. "What about his job with Archie?"
She made a face. "Come on. Can you really see him happy there for the rest of his life? Office work isn't for him. He needs something more..." she avoided the word "sweaty," feeling herself blush at the connotations that word had forever seared into her brain, "...suitable to his skill set," she finished diplomatically. "He only took the job with Archie because I arranged it for him; no one else would take a chance on him at the time, except me-and the town never would have accepted him working in law enforcement with his past so fresh in their minds." She shook her head. "He's interviewing for a job at The Rabbit Hole."
David frowned. "Bartending?" he guessed. "Don't you have to go to school for that, now? This isn't the Enchanted Forest."
She nodded. "That's why he's applying for the position of bouncer. He'll have a job more suited to him while he learns, and eventually he can move up to the position of bartender." And then open up his own place, she thought with pride, happy that Killian had managed to plot a course for his life in Storybrooke that interested him. But she said nothing of the last part, as it was a goal that was unlikely to happen for many years, and it seemed the sort of thing that he should bring up to her parents himself. Killian had made it his unspoken goal to prove himself worthy of their daughter, and Emma didn't want to spoil the satisfaction of his being able to surprise them with it himself at some future date.
"Well," David said, sliding a glance over toward his wife, "I doubt they'll turn down a bouncer with a hook for a hand." He smiled at Emma. "So it would seem cautious congratulations are in order for both of you."
"So-so you're okay with this?" she asked in confusion. "Me and Killian living together?"
"Absolutely not," he stated with vehemence. "But I'm smart enough to know I can't stop you."
"What about Henry?" Mary-Margaret asked after a moment. "What will he think about all of this?"
"Well, if he hasn't fainted dead away at his dad spending the night at Regina's now and then," she answered wryly, "I wouldn't imagine he would be shocked by my living with Killian."
"He-they," her mother stuttered, "they what? Regina and Neal? When did that happen?"
Emma laughed. "A few weeks ago."
Her mother cast a perturbed glance from Emma to David. "How come no one told me?"
"You know why," Emma sighed. "And it's not our place to tell. Though from the way they've been carrying on around town lately, I would have thought you were aware they're together."
"I haven't been feeling well," her mother murmured. "I haven't left the house much, except for teaching or groceries."
"Well, I'm glad you're doing better now," she told her mother sincerely. "As for Henry, I plan on talking to him about it after I pick him up from school today, don't worry." She smiled crookedly. "He's thirteen, Mary-Margaret. He knows about the birds and bees by now. And Henry seems to like him well enough, if his penchant for stopping by the Jolly Roger after school to visit with Killian is any indication."
"And when do you plan to clue Killian in about all of this?" David asked.
"Tonight," she admitted. "After Henry goes to bed. The three of us are having dinner together again, since it's my week with him."
Mary-Margaret reached across the table and took Emma's hands in her own. "Good luck, Emma," she said, her expression caught between sadness and hope. "We will support you no matter what happens with Killian."
Hearing the use of her boyfriend's name fall from her mother's lips at last made her tear up. Warmth and affection for her parents coursed through her, and she blinked back the moisture in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. Then, embarrassed at her own display of emotions, she cleared her throat and pulled the menu closer to her. "I hear the chili is excellent today..."
Emma picked at her food, glad that she had eaten dessert with her lunch at the diner that afternoon. She had done it mostly to humor her mother, who had so badly wanted to try the new gooseberry pie that Granny had introduced recently, but felt too embarrassed to place the order herself. When pressed on the matter, her mother muttered something about not wanting to be pigeon-holed into her movie counterpart, and Emma had struggled not to laugh. She had ordered the pie for her mother, however, and one for herself, more as a gesture of solidarity than out of any real liking for gooseberry pie.
Now she was grateful that she had eaten the extra bit of food. Her stomach felt queasy, and even the few forkfuls of dinner that she had managed to worry down were doing their best to rebel against their fate. It was ironic, really, as dinner had turned out much better than usual. Emma wasn't a great cook, even on the best of days; she had never really had the time to develop the skill while working long, unpredictable hours as a bailbondsperson, and then always being called to deal with one crisis or another as the sheriff of Storybrooke and general "Savior" of her people. Rescuing Henry from Neverland had changed that, however, and she had begun to make more of an effort-although most of her attempts were mediocre at best. Certainly nothing compared to the gourmet skill Regina regularly displayed these days.
"Something wrong, love?"
She looked up, blinking. "What?"
"You've been quiet all evening."
Henry's gaze slid to hers. His expression was questioning. She shook her head. "No," she directed her answer to both of them, "I'm fine. Who wants more food?"
"Me!" Henry answered with a smile. "This is the best chicken you've made yet, Mom," he encouraged. "You should make it again sometime."
"I'll try, kid," she smiled back, "I'll try." She half-rose to reach across the table for his plate so she could to fill it again, but Killian, who had already put a second piece of chicken on his own plate, placed one on her son's. Emma froze for a moment, struck by the simple familiar domesticity in the scene before her, as the two most important men in her life interacted without a word. Pleased, she sank back into her chair, watching with careful interest as her boyfriend slipped some green beans onto her son's plate as well.
"Hey!" Henry protested, wrinkling his nose at the sight of his least favorite vegetable, excluding spinach. Killian raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him. "Fine," he sighed. "But you better keep your promise."
Emma's ears perked up at this. "What promise?"
"Killian's going to take us sailing some weekend and let me steer the Jolly Roger," Henry said, his face glowing with excitement. "Only-" His face fell. "Only I have to build up my strength, 'cause the wheel is heavy." He tossed a skeptical glance at Killian. "I didn't know this meant you would become a vegetable-pusher. I thought it meant, like, lots of pushups or something."
"I've not the slightest idea what a 'pushup' is, but I gather it's a form of exercise," the pirate answered, "and you'll need both, if you wish to steer the Jolly Roger someday."
"I hope you're not encouraging him to consider a career in piracy," she told her boyfriend with a wry look.
"Of course not," he said just a shade too innocently. She sensed the truth of his words, and yet her lie-detecting ability whispered that this wasn't the entire truth.
"You're just not discouraging it," she guessed with a sigh. The rakish grin that lit his face confirmed her suspicions. "He's thirteen, Killian. Far too young to recruit on a pirate vessel."
"I don't know about that, love," he mused, "the youngest I heard of was a boy of nine or ten. Proved his own potential worth as a pirate by threatening his own moth-" He cleared his throat, halting abruptly as he noted the intense interest on Henry's face. "Ah, but perhaps King's story is one for another time," he amended, casting an apologetic look at Emma. "Not entirely fit for the dinner table."
Henry rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I can just look it up on the internet, you know."
Emma stood up with a sigh. "I'll get dessert ready while you two finish eating."
"Aren't you going to eat more, lass? You've hardly touched your dinner."
"I'm not that hungry tonight," she said truthfully, meeting Henry's knowing gaze. "I had a big lunch at the diner with my parents."
"Um, you know what, Mom?" Henry spoke up, "I'll just take dessert with me to my room tonight. I have a spelling test tomorrow, and ice cream helps me think better."
"A likely story," she retorted, walking to the garbage can with her plate. Scraping the food into the bin, she placed the dirty dishes in the right side of her sink. "But I refuse to take the heat from Mary-Margaret for sending you to school with ice cream dripped all over your homework and textbooks. Eat at the table, kid."
She knew what Henry was trying to do, and on one level it was rather sweet. On the other hand, her son should never have to feel second to Killian, as if he had to sacrifice his time with her in favor of the pirate. There would be plenty of time to ask Killian later.
And she enjoyed the familial feeling it evoked when they ate dinner together. It sparked a hope that one day Killian might become part of their family for real.
After dessert, Emma spent an hour helping her son finish his homework and quizzing him for his test the next day while Killian settled down in the living room to read. When she was finally satisfied that his papers were reasonably legible and that he knew the material that would be on his test the next day, Emma made sure Henry had enough blankets for his bed since it was supposed to be an unusually cold night, and kissed him goodnight.
Shutting the door to his room, Emma walked back to the kitchen and began stacking the dirty dishes together. Hefting them into the sink, she rinsed them with water and resolved to load them into the dishwasher the next morning. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and flung it on the counter, pivoting on her heel as she turned to walk back to the living room where Killian was.
"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, bumping into the pirate's chest as she spun around. "I didn't realize you were behind me."
Arms snaked around her waist, and he drew her into a close embrace. "What's on your mind, darling?" he murmured into her ear. "You haven't been yourself all evening. Talk to me."
She smiled to herself, touched at his concern. Emma wasn't used to anyone taking notice of her subtle changes in mood, much less behavior, but Killian always seemed to know. Even as far back as the beanstalk, he had shown an uncanny knack for perception when it came to her thoughts and emotions. She might have known that he would sense something amiss with her.
"Actually, yeah...uh...can we talk?"
He raised an eyebrow, his expression suddenly wary as she led him out to the living room. Settling onto the couch next to him, she placed her hand on top of his maimed arm. Stroking the muscles beneath the sleeve of his forest green hoodie, she noted that his hook was missing from his left arm. It had become commonplace for him to shed the hook in her presence, a fact which pleased her. Given his insecurity about revealing his maimed arm the first time they'd made love, combined with his stubborn and silent persistence in wearing the hook in the presence of other people, it implied a level of trust and comfort in their relationship that she found deeply reassuring.
And if ever she needed that reassurance, it was tonight.
"How did the interview go?" She had been nervous and curious about it all day. It didn't matter to her if he failed to secure the job, but she knew it mattered a great deal to him, though he never said as much out loud.
He eyed her sidelong, his expression skeptical. "I had the impression you wanted to talk about something rather more serious than that."
"I do," she admitted, "but I want to hear about your day first."
But Killian was not about to let the matter drop so easily.
"Emma," he said slowly, "are we...bidding each other farewell?"
"No!" she exclaimed with a shake of her head. "No, no, no!" She drew a deep breath, hesitating for a split second before blurting out, "Killian, I-I want you to move in with me." She stared at her hands, not quite courageous enough to witness his reaction. "Henry is open to the idea. We talked this afternoon." He really likes you, she thought. But she didn't say the words aloud, unwilling to put that sort of pressure on him.
"Just to be clear," he said after a silence that seemed stretch for eternity, "are you asking me to live with you, Swan? Here, at this house?"
"Yeah," she whispered, "I am."
He lifted her chin with his hand. "Good," he said, kissing her. "I accept." Gathering her into his arms, he embraced Emma with a firmness that surprised her. "I love you, darling," he whispered, stroking her hair.
"I love you, too," she replied, uncertain which stunned her more: his firm acceptance of her invitation, or their mutual declarations of love. For something that they had danced around for six months, those three little words had slipped out easily enough tonight.
Killian kissed her again and pulled away, settling an arm around her. "I'll have to do something about my ship, " he mused. "Perhaps one of my old crew would be interested in buying her."
"What?!" She stared at him. "You can't sell your ship!"
"Well, if I am to be living here, darling, what else am I do with it? I haven't much use for it as a sailing vessel these days, and as we've discussed, becoming a fisherman isn't exactly my style."
"But that doesn't mean you get rid of your ship!" she fought back. "Where else will we sneak away to for a weekend of rum and hot sex when Neal and Regina have Henry? Besides, who says we won't need your ship again the next time we have to chase some insane villain across realms? And you promised to take Henry sailing and let him take the wheel, remember?"
Killian chuckled. "All right, my Swan; as you wish. I won't sell my ship." He smirked. "Though I find it quite telling that your first argument in favor of the Jolly Roger was as a rendezvous for our dalliances. Is that why you've taken to accosting me in my cabin now and then?"
She blushed. "I like your ship, all right?"
He grinned.
"Both of them," she emphasized in response to the implied innuendo. "We found Henry with her," she said more softly. "How could I not be attached?" She shrugged one shoulder. "And, I don't know...there's something very freeing about being in the open water."
"I knew it."
"What?"
"Pirate," he accused with a pleased expression. "All right," he murmured, nuzzling closer to ply her neck with kisses, "we'll keep the ship, darling. I love you."
"And I love you," she returned again, smiling to herself. "I really do. That's why I want you here with me."
He pulled away. "I will always be with you, Emma." His blue eyes shone with sincerity, and his hand slipped into hers. "So long as you want me."
"I want you," she whispered, pulling him close. I want you with me for always. But the words stuck in her throat, for she was already overcome with emotion at all that had transpired. It was, apparently, a revelation to share with him another night.
One week later...
Emma looked up from the bottles of beer that she'd just opened. "So what are you really doing here?" she murmured to her mother as she brushed past her to return the bottle opener to its proper place in the kitchen drawer. "Killian had all of five boxes to move. Three of which were filled with books."
"He had clothing, too," Mary-Margaret said innocently, sprinkling cheese on top of the homemade pizza that she was preparing for their dinner. "Check the oven to see if it's preheated yet," she directed, adding some parmesan cheese to the mozzarella that already topped the pizza.
"Not enough to justify the little moving party you and David decided to put together." Emma glanced at the digital display on her oven. "It's ready."
"Good."Layering more pepperoni on the pizza, she glanced at her daughter. "You know, you didn't have a lot when we helped you move, either."
"Yeah, but I still had more than Killian." Picking up the chilled bottles of beer, she carried them to the living room. There was no sign of Killian or her father, however, so she wandered down the hallway with a frown. A light was on in her bedroom, and the two men were speaking in hushed tones. "Hello?" she called, awkwardly knocking on the partially opened door with her elbow. "Someone want to take these off my hands?"
The conversation stopped, and she spied movement. A moment later, David opened the door all the way. "Thanks," he said, taking the beer from her and passing one to Killian. "Dinner going to be a while?"
"Not too long, I don't think. Mary-Margaret was almost ready to put the pizza in the oven a minute ago."
"So...how long, do you think."
"Uh, twenty minutes, maybe?"
"Good." Her father smiled at her, taking a sip of his beer. "Enough time to unpack another box of books." And he shut the door in her face.
Blinking, Emma stared at the door with a frown. Something about her father's words didn't ring entirely true. And since when did fathers hang out in their daughter's bedroom, helping her boyfriend unpack boxes and settle in to live with said daughter? Shaking her head, she walked back toward the kitchen. This whole situation was so weird. Something was definitely up.
Determined to pry information out of her mother, she waited until her mother had turned away from the hot oven before she pounced.
"So," she said, apparently startling Mary-Margaret, who jumped and clutched at her chest when she saw Emma standing before her with her arms crossed, "what's going on?"
"What do you mean?" Mary-Margaret hedged, opening a cabinet to reach for plates. "We're here to help you and Killian settle in."
"With a guy you don't particularly like, and for a situation David definitely disapproves of?" She snorted. "You're a terrible liar."
"Emma," her mother sighed, placing four plates around the small table at the other end of the kitchen, "I don't dislike Killian."
"But you haven't exactly been on Team Pirate, have you?" she pointed out while her mother retrieved napkins from the linen closet down the hallway and began folding them.
"I'm on Team Emma," her mother returned, looking up from her handiwork. "Whatever makes you happy is what I want for you. I was mistaken about what I thought would make you happy." She shook her head. "It's funny...twenty eight years apart from you, and I'm still an interfering mom when it comes right down to it," she said with a sardonic smile. "I shouldn't have pushed you toward Neal." She looked up, her expression apologetic. "I'm just trying to make up for it, Emma. That's all."
"So this was your idea, this little get together?"
Her mother shrugged a shoulder. "Mostly. We haven't really had a chance to celebrate Killian's new job, and I think David's been itching to talk to Killian anyway. This just gave him an excuse."
Aha. Now things began to make sense.
"I see." She leaned out of the kitchen and peered down the hallway, wondering if she needed to go interrupt their little conversation again. Killian had always been able to hold his own with her father, offering snarky comebacks to the prince's threats, but they also tended to get him into trouble. The situation was already a little sensitive to begin with, on David's end. If Killian said the wrong thing, the unspoken friendship he had with her father might well go down in flames.
Mary-Margaret began setting the table with flatware, and Emma refrained from pointing out that it was a waste of time. No one but Mary-Margaret would use it to eat the pizza, anyway. But her mother lived for domestic detail, and if she wanted to set the table with flatware and elaborately folded napkins, what did it really hurt to let her?
"Listen..." she began awkwardly, "...thank you."
Her mother smiled. "We're a family, Emma. Families support each other."
The oven timer beeped, announcing that the pizza was ready, and Mary-Margaret pulled on a pair of oven mitts. "Go let your father and Killian know that the pizza is ready," she instructed, taking the pizza out of the oven to cool.
Shaking her head, Emma walked to the back of the house again and saw that the door to her room was still firmly shut. Apparently their little discussion wasn't quite over. Reaching toward the door, she raised her hand to knock, but stopped short at the snatches of conversation coming from the room.
"...not...push it, Dave," Killian was saying. Her father's reply was too garbled to comprehend, but Killian's was slightly clearer, "Now's not the time..." he said, "...not ready...discuss this."
Yikes, she thought, rapping on the door quickly. Time to end that conversation. Mary-Margaret wouldn't be pleased if all the hard work she'd done to prepare dinner and set the table was wasted because everything went to hell between Killian and David. "Dinner's ready," she called through the door, hightailing it back to the kitchen before they could see the guilty look that was sure to linger on her face from eavesdropping just a bit.
Mary-Margaret looked up as she entered the kitchen. "What took you so long?"
"I, ah, had to use the restroom first," she fibbed. "They should be here in a minute."
Pizza had already been cut into slices and dished onto their plates, so Emma fetched some glasses from the cabinet and began pouring iced tea for herself and Mary-Margaret. She'd do her drinking later, with Killian, to celebrate the new step in their relationship. Hopefully as a segue to more interesting things-although she'd never had to entice her boyfriend very hard for that.
The men entered the kitchen a short time later, and Emma scanned their faces with a careful eye for any trace of discord. Dinner would be awkward and unpleasant indeed if her father wasn't on speaking terms with Killian. The men appeared at relative ease, however, and she sighed softly in relief. Whatever differences they'd been having, they appeared to have set them aside for the time being.
She sat down at the table, and Killian slid into a chair next to her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Emma blushed, fumbling to unfold her napkin. Killian had never openly shown affection to her in front of her parents before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw David watching Killian, his expression thoughtful.
Much to Emma's surprise, dinner turned out to be far more enjoyable than she'd imagined. Her mother made a noticeable effort to engage Killian, who responded with caution at first, as if wondering when the other shoe might drop, and then gradually with more enthusiasm. It wasn't that her mother had ignored Killian or been rude during their occasional get-togethers with her parents, but that Mary-Margaret's preference for Neal, and Killian's awareness of it, had hindered the development of any real rapport. Her mother seemed more than determined to make up for past awkwardness, however, and neither David nor Emma contributed more than the occasional comment to the conversation, in an unspoken agreement to let the renewed friendliness between Killian and Mary-Margaret take firmer root.
But if her mother's beaming smile at the end of dinner was any indication, Emma thought, helping her mother clear the dishes, Killian had charmed Mary-Margaret and won her full and open approval at last.
"So what do you and Killian have planned for next week?" her mother asked, squirting soap into the hot water she was running in the sink.
"Uh, Mary-Margaret, I have a dishwasher," Emma reminded her.
"What? Oh!" her mother responded with mild surprise. She shut the water off. "Sorry. Usually it's just David and me. I guess almost thirty years of modern technology can't erase years of habit from the Enchanted Forest. Do you know how many dishes seven men can produce in just one meal?" She shook her head and proceeded to scrub the dishes by hand nonetheless. "So you were telling me about your plans with Killian?" she prodded, resuming their other thread of conversation.
"I hadn't, actually," Emma answered, picking up a kitchen towel. If her mother was going to the trouble to wash the dishes by hand, the least she could do was dry them. "We don't have anything planned."
"Not even on Thursday?" Mary-Margaret said with a frown.
"Uh, nope."
"Emma, you have to do something for Valentine's Day!" her mother scolded.
"Wait, that's next week?" She pulled out her smart phone and flicked through the dates on her calendar app. Sure enough, she discovered that her mother was right. Valentine's Day was next Thursday. Shit.
"You really didn't know?" her mother sighed.
"My shifts have been crazy lately," Emma reminded her mother. "I guess I lost track of my days."
"Hmm," her mother said, "maybe you shouldn't work so many split and double shifts. I'm sure David wouldn't mind taking some more hours."
"Maybe," she said noncommittally. She wasn't about to explain to her mother that she'd been working so many hours to chip in with the dwarves and surprise her parents with a trip to Hawaii for their anniversary in April. "So what do I do? I've been too distracted with work and, well..." She trailed off, giving her mother a significant look. Snow chuckled, causing Emma's cheeks to grow warm. "Are you sure I even need to do much? He's from the Enchanted Forest, and it's not like he has a cursed personality like you and David. Killian doesn't even know what Valentine's Day is."
"Maybe not," her mother conceded, handing her a plate after rinsing it off in cool water, "but don't you think he's going to figure it out? Storybrooke has been decorating for a whole week now, and the shops have been selling Valentine's gifts since practically the day after Christmas. Trust me, Emma. He'll know. Do you really want to disappoint him by not doing anything for him?"
"No." The word was almost a whimper. "But I don't have any sort of experience with this Valentine's thing. Neal had put me in jail by then, and I was never with any other guys long enough for it to be an issue." Because she'd had nothing but a string of one-night stands since Neal. But that was a detail about her past that she didn't care to share with her mother. Hell, she'd only disclosed it to Killian after several weeks of dating, when he'd finally spoken to her in some depth about Milah. "What do I do? Make dinner reservations somewhere?"
"Well, you could," her mother mused, handing her another dish to dry. "But what does he like to do, Emma? Do the sort of things he enjoys most and feels comfortable with." She smiled. "I'm sure everything will turn out just fine."
"Are you ladies about finished?" her father's voice interrupted, walking into the kitchen. He tossed his empty beer bottle into the garbage can. "I think it's about time to head home," he told his wife, "if I'm going to get up for that early shift at the station tomorrow."
"Just finished," Mary-Margaret told him brightly, handing Emma the last dish. She pulled the stopper out of the sink, and the water swirled into a funnel and drained out. "Let me get my coat."
Her mother appeared a moment later, shrugging it on with a frown.
"What's the matter?" David asked.
"I think I need a new coat. I think I shrunk this one when I washed it last week. I guess I was too distracted to notice on the way over." Shaking her head, she hugged Emma and kissed her on the cheek. "Make him feel special," she whispered in her daughter's ear.
Emma blinked. Was this really the same woman who had been holding out hope her daughter might reconcile with Neal until quite recently?
Mary-Margaret released her, and Emma's father bent to kiss her on the cheek. "Killian," her mother said with a smile, hugging him quickly. "Welcome to the family!"
What the hell? Emma thought with embarrassment. Was her mother completely incapable of being normal, instead of jumping from one extreme to another? She glanced at her father, gauging his reaction. But rather than the bulging veins she expected to see popping out of his neck, the prince was instead pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, and shaking his head in exasperation. Tentatively, she looked past her parents at Killian. He flashed her a smug grin and winked, and she exhaled with relief. She'd been a bit afraid that her mother's overeager assumptions might have made him uncomfortable, but he seemed to take it in stride.
After bidding her parents farewell, Emma shut the door and locked it with a sigh of relief. Closing her eyes, she leaned against it, trying to get her bearings again. The scent of rum and spices filled her nostrils as lips gently brushed her neck, trailing kisses lower and lower until they reached the vee of her t-shirt. She smiled, refusing to open her eyes as she savored the sensation. "What are you doing?" she murmured. "Didn't my parents drive you crazy enough to give you second thoughts?" she teased.
"On the contrary," he whispered, sliding his hand beneath her t-shirt with sensual skill that never failed to send a shiver down her spine. "I'm celebrating." He unhooked her bra in one motion-something that had taken him much practice to perfect. Personally, Emma suspected he'd used his unfamiliarity with the undergarment as an excuse to have his way with her as much as possible, early in their relationship. But as she'd certainly never had any objections, she'd let him "practice" this skill to his heart's content.
"Celebrating, huh?" she whispered raggedly as his hand slid beneath the loosened bra and found her breasts. She opened her eyes, gazing at him archly."Are we gonna celebrate right up against this door or find a bed?"
"Whichever the lady prefers," he purred, pressing himself against her. The hard length of him pushed against her abdomen, and she suddenly felt the overwhelming need to be touching him, as much of him as she could. She needed to press her bare skin to his, their sweat allowing them to slide against each other in frantic need until they found release together.
"The lady prefers not to be kept waiting," she flirted back, loosening the buckle on his belt. She pulled the belt free in one quick motion, dropping it on the floor. Unfastening his jeans, she pushed them down with his underwear in one motion.
"Then as a gentleman," he said, kicking out of them, "I must oblige." He removed his shirt and stepped close again, swiftly divesting her of shirt, pants, and lacy pink underwear.
"Forget the gentleman," she gasped as he began kissing and stroking her in all the right places. "The lady wants her pirate."
He pulled away, eyeing her with amusement, one brow raised. "Indeed? How kinky, Swan." He chuckled. "I like it."
And then, in the first of a series of "celebrations" that night, he pressed her up against the door and proceeded to conquer and plunder her body until both of them, filled with overwhelming emotion and tightly coiled tension, cried their release.
Valentine's Day...
Emma approached the end of the dock, peering up at the Jolly Roger with trepidation. As Mary-Margaret had predicted, Killian had figured out about Valentine's Day. And if his secretive and smug manner the past week had been any indication, the idea of an entire holiday dedicated to romance intrigued the pirate to no end. Emma, on the other hand, had spent most of the past week fretting. How in the hell did you make a pirate feel special, anyway?
After three days of frustration and worry, Emma nearly gave up altogether. Perhaps she ought to simply go shopping with her mother and be done with it. Whatever her mother helped her pick, Emma knew it would be romantic, at least-perhaps sappily so. But at least she would have something to give her boyfriend.
Henry, noticing her distraction, had finally inquired about it as she walked him home from school Monday afternoon.
"Mom!" Henry crowed, hopping up and down on the sidewalk the minute after she'd explained her dilemma. "Let me help! I know what you can get him! I have the best idea!"
"What is it?" she'd asked warily.
Henry shook his head. "Nope. You have to see it." Grasping her by the hand, he towed her down the street behind him. It was thus that Operation Swan had been born.
"Why 'Swan'?" she'd asked suspiciously. "This is about Killian, not me."
"Because swans mate for life," he told her matter-of-factly.
Well, shit, kid, she thought with embarrassment, unable to form words for an actual response. No pressure or anything.
"Do we have everything?" she asked, turning to Henry.
"Yeah." He bobbed his head up and down. "Are you sure he's not going to be here?"
"Nah. He's busy fleecing David's wallet this afternoon." She smiled crookedly at her son's confused expression. "I arranged for them to play poker with Dr. Whale and Dr. Hopper," she clarified. "We have plenty of time to set up."
"Great!" he said with enthusiasm. "Let's get started."
Emma followed her son aboard the Jolly Roger and they made their way down to the galley of the ship, carting bags full of groceries with them. "I hope you're right about all of this." She peered around the old-fashioned facilities and shook her head. "Good thing we brought the camping stoves," she muttered, jerking her head toward ancient cooking pots that hung suspended over a large sandbox elevated on top of a layer of bricks. "Cooking in those would take forever."
"So do you remember what to do?" she asked her son, when they finished cooking some time later. Following him topside, she smiled as a breeze scuttled across the deck. The weather, while not exactly warm, was pleasant today. She and Killian might be able to eat on deck if he felt inclined.
"Yeah. Convince him I left my homework here yesterday, and I gotta get it back or Mary-Margaret will kill me."
"Well...'kill' might be a strong word," she smiled, "but that's close enough." Reaching forward, she swept him into a hug. "Thanks kid."
"I wish I could see the look on his face when he opens his gift," Henry said wistfully.
"But then you'd miss your party at Grace's house," she winked.
"I know, I know." He grinned briefly, then his face fell. "You're sure she'll like the valentine?"
"Hey, you helped me, I helped you. Trust me. She'll adore it."
"Thanks, Mom." He hugged her tightly.
"Hey, no problem, kid. Just make sure you call Regina and Neal when you're ready to get picked up. And be good for them."
"I will, I promise." Releasing her, he shot her a grin and raced down the gangplank to set Operation Swan into action at last.
"And now," she muttered to herself with a nervous shudder. "I prepare my part of Operation Swan." She waited several moments to be certain her son had left for good, and hurried to Killian's cabin. Retrieving the sack she'd stashed in Killian's cabin last night, she shucked her dress off and slipped into a screaming red babydoll and matching panties. She'd never worn actual lingerie for him before, but this part of his present, at least, she was certain Killian would love, even if Henry's idea was a bust.
Slipping her dress back on, Emma zipped it up and pulled on her winter coat, emerging on deck in just enough time to hear Killian and Henry walking down the dock toward the ship.
"Thanks a lot, Killian!" Henry was saying as they walked up the gangplank. "I owe you one!"
Emma took a deep breath and stepped forward as Killian stepped onto his ship. "Surprise!" she said nervously. "Care to do a little sailing tonight?"
"Swan?" He looked from her to Henry. "You two planned this?"
"Yeah. We did."
"Were you surprised, Killian?" Henry smiled.
"Aye," he said with a wry look. "I gather now that you don't really need your homework, do you, lad?"
"Nope," her son said jovially. He hugged the pirate. "Happy Valentine's Day!" he said. "I gotta hurry and go, now."
"Where?" the pirate asked in confusion.
"Grace's party!" Henry shouted over his shoulder as he left the ship and dashed across the docks.
Killian fixed his gaze on Emma. Smiling uncertainly, she walked toward her boyfriend and embraced him. "Happy Valentine's Day?" she said, and the statement sounded more like a question, because she was already second-guessing Operation Swan. She kissed him on the cheek.
"Well, now," he smiled at her, "aren't you the secretive little minx? Happy Valentine's Day, love."
"We can do something else if you don't like-"
He put a finger on her lips, halting her babble. "Darling, I wouldn't dream of depriving myself of the pleasure of all your hard work and planning." He kissed her neck. "Although this does alter my plans just a bit."
"Oh," she said with chagrin. It hadn't occurred to her that he might have something special planned for their evening as well. A present, certainly, from the hints he'd been throwing around all week, but not actual plans to do things.
"Don't worry, darling, it'll keep until we return home," he reassured her. "Care to help me at the wheel, love?"
"Okay." She smiled to herself. It was an excuse to slip his arms around her and press close while she steered the ship, and they both knew it. They pulled anchor and set sail within minutes, the Jolly Roger coasting through the water at an easy pace. He held her, as she suspected he would, his head nested against hers and his arms clasped around her waist as Emma manned the wheel. It was so comfortable that she almost hated it when, quite some time later, she pulled away and told him to drop the anchor again.
He peered at the open water surrounding them on all sides. "You're sure, darling? We can go farther out, if you like."
"That's okay. I like seeing a bit of the shore along the horizon. Besides, we don't want our food to get too cold."
He raised an eyebrow at that and she made her way down to the galley again while he dropped anchor. Lifting the lids on the pots and pans, she used a thermometer to make sure the food was still warm. Satisfied that they wouldn't be getting food poisoning tonight, she prepared a plate for Killian and then herself.
"Smells good, Swan," he said from the doorway. "You cooked all this?"
"Henry helped," she admitted. "Regina's been giving him cooking lessons. Where do you want to eat? In the hall, or out on deck?"
He eyed her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "My quarters?"
"All right," she said after a moment of hesitation. She was fairly certain she hadn't left anything sitting out that might spoil her surprises for later. She followed him through the ship and up to his cabin, laughing to herself silently. Killian was angling for some "dessert," as they'd long ago termed sex, after they ate. (It had been weeks before Emma hadn't felt the urge to blush every time Henry innocently used the term.) He had absolutely no idea what was in store for him in that department.
"Very good seafood, Swan," he complimented her as they finished dinner. "Much better than anything our cook ever prepared. Better flavors than what seasonings and supplies we were limited to aboard our vessel." He reached for her plate and stacked it against his, placing them both on a table which usually held maps and all manner of tools used to navigate.
"Thanks." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear nervously. "I have a present for you."
He watched with interest as she retrieved a shopping bag from a cupboard on the other side of the cabin. Reaching into the bag, she removed the gift. She'd wrapped it in white paper with curling red ribbon. "Here." She placed it in his hands. "Open it."
Pulling the ribbon off first, Killian opened the present with slow precision, much as he had at Christmas. It had puzzled her, at first, since she'd assumed that pirates would be the rip-it-open-with-glee sort of people, but Killian had explained that gifts, like treasure, were something to be opened and handled with care, for haste was as likely to destroy an irreplaceable artifact as it was to trigger a trap.
"It was Henry's idea," she told him when he unwrapped the book. "Since you like to read so much."
Killian ran his finger over the spine, and traced the letters stamped on the book's cover. "Treasure Island," he read. He smiled in amusement.
"It's a famous book about pirates in our world," she explained. She walked over to him and opened the cover. "Look," she said, pointing inside.
"1883," he read.
"First edition," she clarified. "It used to belong to the Storybrooke library, but Henry convinced Belle to part with it for a fraction of its actual worth in exchange for our help in setting up a digital card catalog and internet access for the library-and teaching her how to use them. She has her heart set on modernizing the place a bit more, but hasn't had anyone to help her."
"This is an incredible gift, Swan," he said in a soft voice. "Thank you." Setting the book down with reverence on a small table near the bed, he turned to her. "But not as incredible as you," he murmured, drawing her into the shelter of his arms.
"Hold that thought," she murmured as he nibbled on her ear. He pulled away, puzzled. Emma took advantage of this moment of confusion to slip the handcuffs out of her coat pocket. Pushing his arms together behind his back, she latched the cuffs shut over his the wrist of his unmaimed arm and the wooden prosthetic that attached to his hook underneath the leather sleeve he wore on his other arm. "You were right about the handcuffs," she told the stunned pirate, shrugging out of her coat. Pushing her hair over one shoulder, she unzipped her dress slowly and then let it fall to the floor. "I really do have a thing for them."
"Gods, Swan," he croaked, as she kicked her dress away and stepped toward him in the lingerie. "Are you trying to kill me?"
Laughing softly, she gently pushed him onto the bed. "Of course not," she purred, leaning over him. "I can't have hot sex with a pirate if he's dead." Trailing her fingertips down his chest, she unbuttoned his shirt with incredible slowness. "Of course," she told him coyly, "that doesn't mean I don't intend to torture him until he almost wishes he was dead." Parting the navy colored fabric, she planted a single kiss in the center of his chest.
Emma took her time undressing him. She lingered in her care of him, a kiss here, a stroke or a slow lick there, and Killian's breath became shallow and panting after a time, the expression in his blue eyes desperate. He rocked his hips against her, trying to entice her to pay more attention to his masculine wiles, but she only laughed wickedly and continued to lick, stroke, and nuzzle other parts of his anatomy instead.
"Swan!" he almost shouted at her in frustration.
Giggling, Emma sat up. "All right," she relented, reaching underneath him to unlock the handcuffs. "Ruin my fun, why don't you."
The cuffs were shaken off instantly. "I'll show you some bloody fun," he growled, pinning her down on the bed, his eyes wild with lust. Reaching forward with his hook, he ripped through the babydoll and panties with one quick pull from chest to abdomen. Emma gasped in surprise, staring at him. With one simple movement, he had made her feel incredibly turned on. Maybe she'd start letting him wear the hook during sex after all...
Killian gave back as good as she'd given him, and by the time he finally entered her, they were both slick with sweat and gasping desperately for breath. Pausing to ply her collarbone with kisses, he began to move within her, foregoing the usual build from gentle to frantic. Emma moaned, amazed that it was possible to be turned on all the more by his quick, hard thrusts. A few moments later, amid the haze of lust, she was vaguely aware of the drawn out scream that he coaxed from her when she reached her peak. Her arms relaxed as the tension left her body, and her grip on him loosened. Killian's gaze was smugly satisfied. "All right there, Swan?" he teased between breaths.
But he reached his own climax before she had time to answer, and after several drawn out moans of his own, he collapsed on top her, spent. Cradling the nape of his head with one hand, she planted a kiss on his jawline. "God, this is the best Valentine's Day ever," she grinned.
He rolled off of her, his expression coy. "It isn't over yet, darling."
They returned home three hours later, hands clasped together, smiling at each other like no one else in the world existed. Climbing the steps of the front porch together, Killian paused when they reached the top and drew her into a kiss. She cupped his face in her hands and returned it with tenderness, feeling in her soul that she had made the right decision in asking Killian to live with her. They broke apart with a smile, eyes locked on each other for a time before they clasped hands again and approached the front door. A large pink and white basket overflowing with flowers and tied off with garish red balloons sat in a corner of the porch, and Emma halted mid-step, throwing a confused glance at Killian.
"Don't look at me," he said with a disgusted look on his face. "That's not my work."
She knelt to check the card on the flowers, and heard him mutter darkly, "They had better not be from that jackass, Neal."
"He's with Regina now," she reminded him. "Besides," she said, handing him the card, "they're from my parents. Look."
He glanced at the card and then surveyed the basket again. "It looks like your mother's idea, all right."
Laughing, she unlocked the door, thankful that she hadn't resorted to using Mary-Margaret's help in picking out Killian's gift after all. "She meant well," Emma felt the need to say as she hefted the flowers onto the counter. "Probably overcompensating for all those years she couldn't give me anything." Killian shut the door, and walked over to her.
"Emma, that bloody light is blinking again," he told her.
"That's the voicemail," she reminded him patiently. "Press the big button and play back the message. It's probably Mary-Margaret and David, anyway."
He obliged, and the machine proceeded to play back no less a long, rambling message from a breathless and very excited Mary-Margaret, urging Emma to return her call as soon as she received it, tomorrow.
"I wonder what she wants." She frowned. "Should I call her back tonight, or wait until tomorrow like she asked? She knows it's Valentine's Day. Do you think something's wrong?"
"If something was wrong, darling, I doubt she would have left such a cheerful message or such a-" he glanced at the basket of flowers again with a disbelieving shake of his head "-large basket of flowers." He shrugged. "Call her back, if you like. I've something to attend to for a moment, anyway," he told her with a mysterious wink. "Don't come in the bedroom."
"Now there's a first," she snorted at him as he retreated. His answering chuckle echoed down the hall to her, and she dialed her mother's phone number with a smile. "Hello? Mary-Margaret?" Her mother's voice was unusually cheerful (even for her) when she replied, and Emma listened for a few moments as her mother explained the reason for her strange message. "What? A baby?" Emma stuttered. "Congratulations," she said faintly. "When are you due? September?" She paused, trying to process it all. "Of course I'm happy," she reassured her mother. "I'm just surprised." And, she realized with a clarity that startled her, a little jealous.
She chatted with a few more moments, offering to take Mary-Margaret shopping for the new baby next weekend, thinking wistfully of the lost opportunity to shop for her own child when she'd given Henry up for adoption. "Mary-Margaret? I gotta go," she said, seeing Killian emerge from their bedroom at last. "Congratulations again." She paused. "Yeah, I'll tell him. Thanks for calling. Henry will be so excited." She bid her mother goodbye and pressed the button to end the call on her cell phone.
"Good news, then, love?" Killian said, watching her from the doorway. His hands were hidden in his trouser pockets, and he wore the faintest smile.
"Yeah. My parents are having another baby." She stared at her boyfriend, still dazed from the news. "They just found out the results from the doctor today."
He walked over to her, hugging her. "And are you happy with the news?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said honestly, "I mean it's weird, don't get me wrong, but everything in this town is weird. What's a sibling thirty years younger than you, compared to sharing custody of your child with your step-grandmother and her boyfriend, which just so happens to be your own ex-boyfriend and the natural father of said child?" She shook her head. "Kid'll fit right into the bizarreness of our family tree."
He laughed softly. "That's what I like about you, darling. Always taking life's adventures in stride." He leaned close to her ear. "I have something for you, sweetheart. But first, dessert."
She grinned. "You're insatiable."
"Actual dessert, you dirty-minded darling of mine," he chuckled, leading her into the kitchen.
Emma stopped short when she saw the neat linen tablecloth that hung over her small table, and the two tall, wine-colored candles that sat atop it next to a bottle of champagne. "What's all this?"
Killian used his hook to uncork the bottle of champagne with a loud pop. "Well, I'd intended to cook dinner for you, love, but you beat me to the idea." He poured a flute of champagne and handed it to her. "But dessert is in the big cold box-"
"Fridge," she corrected with a grin.
"Fridge," he sighed. "So we can still enjoy that."
"Wait a minute," she said, "you can cook? You couldn't even work a toaster right the first time you tried to make me breakfast. There are still scorch marks on my counter from where Henry put out the fire."
"And a humbling experience it was," he agreed with a pained expression as he poured himself some champagne. He lifted the alcohol to his lips and inhaled its scent. His expression was comically skeptical as he sipped at the liquid. Apparently he'd never had champagne before, either. "I've been taking lessons."
"What? When? And why?"
"For nearly a month," he said, taking a larger swallow of the alcohol, which apparently agreed with him more than he'd figured. "Ruby taught me for a while, but when Snow found out a few days ago, she offered to take over the lessons." He shrugged. "Henry will have someone to cook for him when you're working late, and I can give you a break now and then, darling." He eyed her with amusement. "I know you don't exactly enjoy cooking."
"Thanks," she told him with sincerity. "Wait-did you just call my mother 'Snow'?"
"Aye, she asked me to."
Emma blinked. "She's never asked me to call her that," she said slowly.
"Well, if I had to guess, darling," he said with a knowing gaze, "I'd say she's hoping you'll take the initiative and call her 'Mum'."
"I'm not ready."
"When the time is right, the words will come easily."
"So-what's for dessert?" she asked, changing the subject.
Killian looked almost embarrassed. "Cake."
"Cake?" she echoed, peering over his shoulder as he opened the fridge. "What kind of cake?" He mumbled a reply, leaning into the fridge to retrieve it. "What was that?"
"Rum cake," he sighed, holding it up.
"Let me guess, my mom's idea."
"Your father's, actually." He shut the fridge door with the heel of his boot, turning toward her. "Your mum was too busy being ill, and Dave said if he was going to be stuck baking in her stead, he might as well have fun with it." He looked thoughtful. "Though that may have something to do with the rum I'd already slipped him when your mother wasn't looking. He may not have actually intended it to be a rum cake. By the end of my visit, he was pouring rum in everything."
She didn't know whether to groan or laugh. "I bet Mary-Margaret loved that. Killian, you're going to undo all the good will my mom finally has for you, if you're not careful."
"I live for danger, darling, you know that," he winked.
"Yeah, yeah, let's taste this cake, House Boy."
Killian lit the candles while Emma cut two pieces of cake and placed them on dessert plates. They ate the cake in companionable silence. The rum was rather strong, but not overpowering, and Emma chalked it up to her father's liberal hand with the alcohol. She made a mental note not to let him have unsupervised reign in her kitchen around the holidays, or the eggnog might make everyone pass out before they got to the turkey. Still, the mental picture of her boyfriend and her father trying to bake a cake together was enough to make her giggle.
"Something amuse you, darling?" he asked with a suspicious glint in his eye.
"Nope," she said, trying not to choke on her cake. She took a long drink of her champagne. "Not at all." He gave her a sour look as she collapsed into laughter again. "This really is good cake," she told him when she'd calmed down again. "Thank you."
They each ate another piece of cake despite the strong rum, and Killian cleared away the dishes afterward while Emma snuffed the candles. "And now, sweetheart," he told her as they walked back to the living room, "a gift. Close your eyes."
She eyed him for a moment, wondering what it might be, and closed her eyes with a smile. She sensed movement as he stepped around her, and warm fingers brushed her hair aside, folding it over one shoulder. Cool metal slid against her skin, and she reached for it instinctively, her fingers closing around the necklace.
"Open your eyes."
Emma loosened her hold on the chain and peered down at the necklace Killian had fastened around her neck. A gleaming, teardrop-shaped emerald hung from a gold chain of tiny, interlocking octagons. "This is too much," she breathed, "I can't accept this."
"You haven't a choice, darling," he informed her with a soft smile. "So don't argue." She opened her mouth to argue anyway, but he kissed her cheek. "It belonged to my mother. My father gave it to her as a betrothal present. It was the only thing of his she kept after he left us." A hint of sadness entered his gaze. "It was meant for Liam, but after he died, she gave it to me and made me promise I would give it to the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."
Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. "Killian, is this-?"
He stepped toward her, closing the gap she'd put between them instinctively. "No, darling. Only a request that you think about it. In the meantime," he breathed, kissing her softly on the lips, "it looks stunning on you."
She traced the shape of the emerald, wondering if the necklace had once belonged to Milah. His expression became pained when she found the courage to ask that question, and he shook his head. "I considered giving it to her many times, but I always put it off, waiting for the perfect moment." His blue eyes reflected a bitter sadness. "That moment never came, and I lost my chance." He looked up, meeting her gaze. "I didn't want to make the same mistake again. Please, Swan. I know it's too soon, and I risk scaring you away, but I want you to have it."
"Please," she said with a dismissive snort after several moments of intense silence, "afraid of a book-loving pirate who's taking cooking lessons from my mother?" But she hoped the look she gave him while she spoke told him all he needed to know about the possibility of a future together, even if the words stuck in her throat. Home, she thought. You and Henry are my home, my forever.
Maybe someday soon she might be able to tell him.
"Now, Swan," he told her, wrapping his arms around her waist, "be nice, or I won't dance with you." Resting his hooked appendage around her waist, he clasped her other hand in his and guided her in a series of movements that felt very formal and old-fashioned.
"Shut up, House Boy," she teased him with a smirk, nestling her head in the curve of his neck as he swirled her around the living room.
"You have the most interesting monikers for me, love. 'Yard Boy,' 'House Boy'... Someday you must explain them to me."
"Maybe," she smiled, "but where's the fun in that?"
"That's all right love." Laughter rumbled low in his throat, vibrating against her ear. "Knowing the way your mind works, I can gather their meaning well enough . Honestly, Swan," he said with an innocent air, "I think you're the one that's corrupting me, turning ordinary things such as yard work or dessert into something dirty... And those handcuffs-!"
She lifted her head from his chest and fixed him with a knowing gaze. "Don't pretend you don't like it," smiled wickedly.
"On the contrary, darling," he grinned, "I adore it about you."
"Good." She locked her arms around his neck, stilling his steps with her gaze. "Adore this," she insisted, drawing him into another heady kiss.
"Always," he murmured in answer when they broke apart, breathless and unsteady.
But Emma wasn't done with him, not by far. Her fingers scrabbled for the buttons of his shirt again, tugging them with all the impatience she had restrained herself from earlier that night. Buttons popped off the shirt, scattering into unknown corners of the room. She'd have to remember to find them later, she thought vaguely, before Henry found them all over the living room carpet. Knowing his mom was living with her boyfriend and having sex with him was one thing to know in theory, but in actual practice?
She caressed his chest with hungry fingers, enjoying the silken skin that underlaid the coarseness of his chest hair. It was a combination that she found intensely arousing; one that she had never fully appreciated with any other man. Nipping at a shoulder, she shifted, sliding her arms around his neck, and inhaled his scent. Even when he wasn't wearing his pirate outfit or drinking, he still smelled of leather and rum.
He responded to her urgency in kind, backing her into the couch with hot, openmouthed kisses along her collarbone. She fell onto the soft cushions with a sigh, and Killian settled himself between her thighs, pressing his body flush with hers. Reaching around with his hand, he unzipped her dress. Emma obliged him and shifted, shimmying out of it as he laid her on her back. The necklace he had given her slid to the side with her movements, and she paused, lifting the emerald to peer at it. Shifting her gaze to Killian's, she saw that he was watching her, a question in his eyes.
"Someday," she whispered the promise, and he smiled. The gentle understanding in his eyes told her that he knew what an enormous admission it was for her.
"But for now," she told him, slipping her arms over his shoulders, admiring the muscular strength of them, "what we have is enough."
"As you wish, my love."
Late August...
Emma shifted in the bed she shared with Killian, not quite awake, but not fully asleep. Sunlight warmed her face, and she rolled away from it, instinctively seeking to snuggle against Killian. Instead of the wall of warmth and comfort she expected, her arms encountered cold sheets. She rubbed at her eyes and sat up.
A small grey box sat on the pillow where Killian usually slumbered next to her. Wondering if this was a dream, she reached forward and touched it, tracing its shape with one finger. It felt real enough. Emma picked it up, holding it in her palm for a moment before curiosity got the better of her. She eased it open.
A gold ring was nestled inside, adorned with a single teardrop-shaped emerald. Emma smiled, for it had clearly been designed as a match to the necklace Killian had given her several months ago. She turned the box at an angle, admiring the ring, and the emerald winked at her in the sunlight. Swallowing thickly, she searched the room for him, knowing by instinct that he lurked nearby.
She found him tucked in a corner of the room, leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed, the sole of one boot resting against the wall, and he wore the most adorable smirk she had ever seen.
"Well, love?"
Smiling, she held out her hand.
A/N: I hope everyone liked this sequel to The Yard Boy. I think this set of fics has been very fun to write. So much fun, perhaps, that this story took on a life of its own and ended up almost twice as long as the original. And yet, there were still scenes that I wanted to include but couldn't fit into here. I'd originally intended for the Valentine's bit to be...well, a bit. But the characters did their own thing, and here we are, with a different story altogether than what I meant to write.
But because I still really want to include some scenes of them adjusting to this whole living together thing, I'm going to write and post a series of "deleted scenes," as they were, of stuff that happened between Valentine's day and the proposal, as separate "chapters" to this fic. I'm not certain how many I'll write yet, but when I get this wrapped up completely, I'll let you know. The sheer length of this fic, plus the tightly interlocking structure of its parts just didn't lend itself to adding anything else to the main text of the story.
Fun fact: There really was a child pirate, named John King. They used to believe he was just legend, as well as the ship he eventually died on, the Whydah. They found evidence of the wreckage in 1984, as well as part of King's leg, proving the truth of two pirate legends. The Whydah is history's only verifiable pirate vessel to date. I was lucky enough to see an exhibit on the Whydah, with King's remains, a few years ago, and the tale has stuck with me. As such, I couldn't resist weaving it in to my story a bit, since King's existence used to be considered something of a myth itself.
One more note: there's still one more fic in this series that I have to write, but I'm struggling with the name a bit. I'm trying to keep the same title theme, so if anyone wants to suggest ideas, let me know. The third fic will deal with the final steps in the growth of their relationship: their period of engagement and eventual marriage. As such, if you can suggest titles that you can creatively link to this concept, I'm all ears. Right now, all I have is The Pool Boy, which would I guess tie into their honeymoon, but I'm open to other titles and ideas. Thoughts? Criticisms? Complaints?