The thing is that when you are little and you don't have a family and a home of your own, you have nothing of your own. And, yeah, the family is what you miss the most but, you see… you have nothing. Nothing is truly yours and if it is, you can bet that it won't stay that way for long.
So Emma learnt to stash things away. Important things at first – like her baby blanket or her ruffled copy of Oliver Twist or the little stuffed rabbit that one girl left her when she was adopted or the blue scarf she found with the frayed edges and the little anchor in the corner. Important stuff.
But overtime it became more and more a strategy, a method of coping. She'd have different secret places for different things. The important ones still went into the safest hiding place but she also had a stash of clean socks, a stash of pens and paper (she loved the colourful post-it notes and she hid those for so long that she never actually got around to using them – not that she had anyone to leave post-it notes to but… you know) , a stash of seashells and weirdly shaped rocks (you'd think nobody would want to take that from her – you'd be wrong), a stash of food that wouldn't go bad. Food stashes became Emma's speciality when she was about 11. Different things, depending on the place, the situation, the need.
It was a necessity and then it was a habit and… well, she never entirely grew out of it.
/
"Umm, Swan?" Killian pokes his head in the doorway, bewilderment written all over his face, effectively stealing her attention from the movie she'd just queued up. "Why are there two packs of PopTarts in the bathroom cabinet? Behind the toilet paper and your lady supplies? And three packages of those Oreo biscuits."
Her eyes burn a little with how wide they have gone.
"Why the hell were you looking there?!"
"Toilet paper," he says a tad defensively, as if it's the most logical thing in the world.
Nothing is sacred anymore, if you can't hide something behind your pads and tampons and know for certain that the boys living with you won't dare go anywhere near it.
"I-"
Emma sits there, staring at him, her mouth hanging slightly open, feeling her face catch on fire, feeling her foot go a little numb from the position she is sitting in, trying to come up with something. Anything.
How do you explain the cookies stashed in the bathroom when your fridge is full and you were just bemoaning the amount of pizza you had?
God, this looks really bad. Couldn't he find her secret stash another night? Any other night. Any night but pizza night. Fuck, this looks bloody terrible.
"Alright."
Emma blinks herself back to reality. A reality in which Killian is nodding slowly, a mixture of concern and understanding. The kind that doesn't come from actually knowing what's going on but from knowing how to handle it anyway.
"Alright?" she asks, confusion and disbelief warring with the elation caused by the mere idea that she might not have to explain that one after all.
And, yet, she almost feels bad. Because this is worse than finding your boyfriend's porn stash. It's more like finding your boyfriend's porn stash behind the pans in the kitchen.
"Swan, I've been around for awhile, you might have heard-"
She manages to sneak in an eye-roll before he can go on.
"Believe me I've seen stranger things. If you wanna keep sugar treats in the bathroom, by all means keep sugar treats in the bathroom."
She stares at him for a second, stares as he winks at her without losing the kind smile and understanding blues, and starts backing out of the room.
Then she jumps off the couch, runs across the room and properly throws herself at him.
"I love you so much," she murmurs against his neck and it's not like she doesn't say it often and it's not like she doesn't mean it every time – it's more like… every time she means it a little bit more, every time he adds another reason to the freaking pile.
/
"Oh, bloody hell!"
"Killian, come on, my ice-cream is melting!"
"Well, at least you have ice-cream," he grumbles as he plops down next to her on the couch, arms crossed in front of his chest and pouting like the 5-year-old she knows perfectly well that he is.
"You said you didn't want any 5 minutes ago!" Emma exclaims indignantly.
"I don't… We're out of gummy bears."
She tries to suppress her sigh because at this point his obsession with things that can barely pass for food doesn't even faze her. Which makes it no less ridiculous, of course.
"Just have some ice-cream, it has… some real stuff it in. I think."
He just shakes his head and nods towards her laptop in a sign that she should start the show. He almost manages to get rid of the pout. Almost.
"Does it really have to be gummy bears?"
He looks at her, slightly confused, a tad sheepish by this point.
"It's fine, love, Henry's not here so I think I can break the 'NO no snacks at movie night' rule."
"It's not…" she looks at him thoughtfully.
If she'd ever imagined this moment, she would've probably thought it would take her more than 5 seconds to make up her mind. You see, she has never done this. The whole point was to never have to do this. To never have to share. But… well, things with Killian always did come easy. And… it's Killian.
"Ugh, here," she hands him her cartoon of ice-cream (she doesn't bother with a bowl when Henry is not around and he is never finding that out, thank you) and walks out.
Emma returns a minute later. Two packs of gummy bears in her hand. She promptly drops them on the couch, grabs the ice-cream, goes to put it back in the fridge and returns to close her laptop and resume her place on the couch, her feet tucked under her and facing Killian this time. He puts his feet up so she's caged between his legs. Except she doesn't feel caged, she feels safe. She is safe. And this is hers. It's all hers. And she doesn't have to hide anything anymore.
"So I have this thing…"