Note: An epilogue, of sorts, to my prior work "The Absence of You". You don't have to read the prior story to understand this one, I think it stands on its own. But, of course, please, by all means, feel free to read it.
Coda
Spring eases into summer, and though the water is still chilly, the days are long, the sun is warm, the weather is perfect for sailing and they take the Jolly Roger out whenever they can – usually with Henry for company – often with her parents and friends.
But today it will be just the two of them – enjoying a perfect summer day on the water.
"There's a bag on the bed," she calls from the bathroom where she is stuffing gaily striped towels into an oversized canvas tote.
"A bag of what, love?"
"I bought you a swimsuit. It should fit."
Rummaging under the sink for a bottle of sunblock, she stills, straining to listen for a reaction when she hears the distinct crinkle of a plastic bag.
"Swan!"
Rising from her crouched position, she shares a devilish grin with her reflection and waits.
One heartbeat.
Two.
And then…
"SWAN!"
Rubbing her hands on either side of her mouth, she forces a cool and questioning expression onto her features to hide the merriment bubbling below the surface and pokes her head through the door.
"I'm right here, Killian," she reprimands in a mild tone and lugs the overstuffed tote into the bedroom. "No need to shout."
"What the bloody hell is this thing?" He raises his arm and shakes a miniscule scrap of black fabric caught on the end of his hook.
"It's a swimsuit." Her voice takes on a tone of extreme patience as she forces down the giggle which threatens to erupt from her throat.
"For whom?" He turns his head to stare at the offending garment. "Surely this is intended for a child."
"Of course not." She shakes her head. "I told you, I bought it for you."
"For me?" He glares at the suit, then at her, his brow furrowing with apparently growing indignation that she thought his… assets would fit comfortably within the confines of the scrap of fabric dangling from his hook.
Emma gnawed on one thumbnail to hide the smile trembling on her lips.
"You don't like it?"
"I'll not be caught dead in this… this…" He thrusts his arm toward her again, giving the suit a violent shake. "Tis bloody obscene!" he half-shouts. Pinching the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, he gives the suit an experimental tug between hand and hook, his eyes widening comically as the material stretches and then snaps back into place.
"What in the names of all the gods is this made of?"
"It's made of lycra," she chirps in a sunny imitation of her mother's natural cheerfulness. "It stretches!" she enthuses.
Lycra, he mouths silently, his lip curling in a disgusted sneer. "I'll not wear it." He tosses the offending scrap of material onto the bed. "There isn't enough of it there to be considered a garment," he decrees with an indignant sniff. "Tis scandalous."
"Oh," she whispers in a tiny voice, and lowers her chin as if in embarrassment, her hair swinging forward to hide her expression as her fingers gather up the hem of the oversized black tunic she is wearing. "In that case, I should probably…" She skims the gossamer thin garment over her head to reveal her own choice of swimsuit.
Though her lower lip juts out in a feigned moue of disappointment, satisfaction and mirth dance in her eyes as she watches Killian's open-mouthed reaction to his first introduction to the bikini.
"You don't like it." Her shoulders rise and fall in an exaggerated shrug as she turns toward the closet, her hands closing around her usual sailing attire – namely, a pair of denim capris and a t-shirt. "I'll change," she sighs dramatically.
She feels him approach from behind, hand and hook settling on her hips, thumb dipping into the hollow of her navel exposed by the low-riding bikini bottom.
"Now," he demurs. "Perhaps I spoke in haste." His chin settles on her shoulder as he takes in the swell of her breasts rising above the cups of the bright red bikini top, the miniscule scrap of fabric lovingly clinging to her hips and arse, all the way down to the matching red lacquer slicked over the tips of her toes.
"I stand corrected." He fingers the thin straps at her shoulder; marvels at the engineering of the garment which somehow both highlights and hides her curves.
"You like it?" she breathes, glancing over her shoulder, unable to mask the merriment shining in her eyes another moment.
"Aye." His brows narrow as he realizes he's been had, though he grins in response. "You look quite fetching in this… this…?"
"Bikini," she supplies helpfully.
"Bikini," he dutifully parrots. "It's a delightful garment, but it does expose a worrisome amount of flesh." He trails his knuckles along the shallow groove of her spine, dips his fingers briefly into the twin dimples at the small of her back.
"A worrisome amount of flesh?" she repeats with a dubious arch of her brow. "I'm pretty sure you'd have me naked all the time if you could," she points out dryly.
"Perhaps not all the time," he counters, lips stretching in a familiar leer. "Just when we find ourselves alone. As, to my delight, it appears we are at this moment."
She feels his hook slip between her skin and the string tie at her hip and she clamps her hand over the leather brace covering his wrist.
"Don't even think about it," she warns. "I paid a lot for this suit and I like it."
"Money well spent, love," he concurs, staring into her eyes with lecherous grin and a twist of his hook. Instantly, she feels the bikini bottom give way on one side and her temper flares until she looks down to see the strings intact, though dangling loosely against her hip.
She turns back, finds his face close to hers, a mischievous expression in his eyes, and feels the other tie loosen beneath his deft fingers.
"How…"
"Pirate, love," he reminds her, brushing the heavy fall of her hair to one side and going to work on the tie behind her neck with his teeth. "I'm no stranger to knots." His voice lilts triumphantly as the bikini top sags and he quickly strips it and the matching bottom from her, tossing both scraps of fabric over his shoulder.
"You've skin like the most priceless of pearls." He skims his fingers over the upper curve of her breast. "Pale and luminous with hints of pink and blue and gold." He maps the faint blue lines of the veins running beneath the milky skin, thumbs a dusky pink nipple to life and traces the tip of his tongue over her clavicle, playing connect-the-dots with the golden sprinkle of freckles scattered in the hollow of her collarbone.
"It's a poor pirate, indeed, who would not seek to protect so precious a treasure."
He scoops a bottle of sunblock from the tote near their feet, flips open the lid and pushes it toward her, extending his hand until she squeezes a generous dollop of cream into his open palm. Her head falls back against his shoulder, her arm curling up and behind his neck, while the fingers of her other hand dig into the leather brace covering the wrist banded around her middle when his wide-palmed hand, slick with lotion, covers her breast. His thumb massages the cream into her nipple with methodical precision, the combined heat of their skin warming the lotion and releasing the scent of coconut oil into the air and she groans, sagging in his arms.
"You know, that part is covered by the bikini." She tries to choke out the words with her trademark dry wit, but the words escape her on a little squeak instead, when he slicks his hand up her throat, turning her into his kiss.
"I'll not take any chances," he breaths against her lips. "I'm going to make sure every inch of you is covered." He topples her onto the bed and towers over her for a long moment, his eyes sweeping down her long, curvy length. "No matter how long it takes," he vows, sinking onto the mattress beside her.
"We're supposed to meet my parents for breakfast," she reminds him on a breathless sigh.
Lips fused to the fragrant skin of her throat, he fumbles on the bedside table for her phone, then tosses it to her.
"You had best tell them we might be late."
They were very late.
0o0o0o0
She never does get him into a swimsuit – neither the Speedo (his reaction to which she suspects she'll laugh about forever) – nor the more modest black trunks she had chosen. But looking at him now, she's grateful.
Standing at the wheel of the Jolly is a man who has blended the modern with the pirate. Tanned calves sprinkled with dark hair and bare feet are exposed beneath the rolled up cuffs of a pair of olive green cargo pants which ride low on his hips. He has gained back most of the weight he had lost and months spent hoisting sails and piloting the ship had restored his toned musculature which was on glorious display between the open plackets of the thin button front shirt. The silver chain and charms around his neck gleam in the sun, his hair is tousled by the wind and dark, aviator-style glasses shade his eyes.
He's beautiful.
As is the day. Only a few fluffy white clouds dare to mar the clear blue of the sky. Because it was just the two of them and they had the freedom to sail beyond the waters bordering Storybrooke, they had left the harbor to head for the open seas. The wind is steady and the Jolly Roger skims effortlessly over the waves, her captain at the helm, his steady hand making minute adjustments to the wheel in order to catch the wind.
For he knows his Swan likes to "go fast".
She's on the deck below, her hair caught up in a jaunty, golden tail, the fingers of one hand knotted into the rigging as she leans over the starboard rail to stare toward the barely definable coastline in the distance. He follows her line of sight and his experienced gaze notes something she does not. A fine spray of water plumes above the ocean as a flock of sea birds wheel about overhead, dive-bombing the surface. He tears off the sunglasses, snatches up his spyglass and puts it to his eye.
"Swan!" He sees her look up expectantly and he holds up the spyglass.
"Catch." He tosses the object down to her and points. "Off the starboard side." He gives the wheel a slight spin, adjusting course to bring them closer.
"What am I looking for?" She peers through the glass, sweeping it back and forth across the surface of the water.
"Whales," he tells her.
She leans forward eagerly, following his directions and then,
"There!" Her head whips around to look at him, a beaming smile curling her lips. "I saw a tail!" She turns back. "Oh! There's another."
"Indeed. It would seem we've found their feeding grounds."
He makes another minor course correction and trims the sail so it catches less wind, and the Jolly obeys her captain, her speed slowing.
Emma can feel the chop more now as the ship rises and falls with the waves but she doesn't care. She watches with fascination as another tail lazily rises above the surface of the ocean and then slaps back down causing a minor eruption of water in the near distance.
She fumbles and yanks her phone from her back pocket. "Do you think we can get closer?" she asks as she sets the camera to record.
"Aye." He squints and follows the path the pod is following, making another small adjustment to intercept.
The whales are in a playful mood, a handful of cows and their calves. One pair streaks near and when they are less than thirty yards from the starboard side, they disappear, their tails breaking the surface of the water as they begin a dive.
"Port side!" Killian calls and Emma races across the deck in time to watch the pair pop up on the other side of the Jolly.
They watch for another ten minutes until the whales move on to follow their meal.
"That was fantastic!" Emma bounces up to the helm, a wide grin on her face. "Henry will be disappointed to have missed it."
"We'll come back." Killian pulls out a pencil and makes a notation on a chart. "Do you want to take the helm?"
"Aye, captain!" She snaps off a playful salute and slips under his arm to stand between him and the ship's wheel.
"A hair to port," he directs. Leaving her side, he climbs down to the lower deck and makes a few adjustments to the sails. They snap, catching the wind, and the Jolly begins to once again leap across the waves.
"Can we go faster?"
He hides a chuckle and moves to stand behind her again. "We're on a pleasure cruise," he murmurs against her temple, "not trying to outrun the king's navy."
"And have you ever?" she asks, peeking up at him. "Outrun the king's navy?"
He gives her a droll look.
"How fast do you have to go to outrun a navy?"
"Just fast enough to stay out of range of their guns," he says pointedly, and she barks out a laugh in response.
"I guess so."
The ship skips over an unexpectedly high wave and she whoops with delight.
"Better than a roller coaster," she declares.
He has no idea what she means, but he knows a compliment to his ship when he hears it and beams in response.
She gives up any pretense of manning the wheel and leans back against him, contentedly closing her eyes and lifting her face to the sun.
"I'm thinking that perhaps it's time to reapply that sun protection lotion, love." He runs an idle finger over the curve of her breast where it swells above the cup of her bikini top.
"You do, huh?" She tips her head back and shoots him a knowing look. "You did a pretty thorough job helping me apply it this morning."
"I believe in a job well done," he says with a pious sniff.
"So well done that we were an hour late getting to the diner." She turns and loops her arms around his neck. "My parents were already paying the bill when we got there," she chides.
"Swan. Do I have to remind you? I've but the one hand." He shakes his head sorrowfully. "Have some pity. It takes me longer than most to perform some tasks."
She gnaws on her lip to hide the smile that threatens at the pathetic look he adopts. And then bites back a gasp when his forefinger slips beneath the edge of her suit to tease the soft flesh beneath.
"While I'm quite taken with these freckles…" He runs his finger over the swell of her breast, tracing the constellation of golden marks, "…as I believe I mentioned earlier, you've very fair skin. I should hate to see you burn."
"Hmmm." She hums in pleasure as he dips his head, his tongue trailing along in the wake of his finger. "Later, Captain," she promises grinning at the exaggerated pout pushing at his lips as she slips from his arms and settles with a book in a shaded section near the bow.
And so they spend the afternoon, he guiding the ship as the Jolly aimlessly races over the waves, she alternating her time between her book and standing behind him, her arms curved around his waist, her cheek resting contentedly against his back, until finally he sets an actual course toward the coast and the secluded cove they had previously discovered, where they will drop anchor and spend the night.
As they approach the cove, he turns the wheel over to her, shouting out directions and he leaps about the lower deck, trimming the sails before hurrying back up to the quartermaster's deck. He closes his hand over hers, nudging the wheel slightly to starboard until they reach their destination and drop anchor.
Emma hurries below deck and returns with a nylon cooler and blanket in her hands. Shaking the blanket out on the wooden deck, she sets out the food while Killian makes his way about the ship, securing it for the evening. Moments later, he settles beside her. The sun and warmth of the day combined with the sea air, sharpens their appetites and as the sun begins its descent, they fall onto the meal of thick slices of cold roasted chicken, potato salad, glossy green grapes and cubes of sharp cheddar with gusto. She produces a sleeve of Oreos from the bag – his favorites – and watches his eyes light up with pleasure.
Replete, they pack the leftovers into the cooler and she leans her back against the wooden housing of the helm, Killian's head resting in her lap as they sip at cold beers and watch the stars dot the night sky. He points out constellations to her – learning the charts of the skies of this realm was one of the first tasks he assigned himself – and they laugh and murmur to one another companionably.
She loves seeing him like this. The darkness and despair falls away and his entire being is permeated with joy and freedom and playfulness. She thinks sometimes that he feels constricted by life in a small town. She's sure of it because sometimes, she feels the same way. But love for her family makes it a burden she can bear.
And as he curves his hand around the back of her neck and draws her down to meet his kiss, she sees the love he bears for her in his eyes and knows that this life they have carved for themselves makes up for all the pain and trauma in their lives – past and present. This life – it is enough for them both.
And she thinks that it is here, on the water – and in one another's arms – that they find true healing from the darkness.
End