Uniquely Portable Magic
What Emma is most surprised about, when she first gets the chance to really look around the Jolly Roger (after Killian gets rid of every trace of Blackbeard and returns it to his own liking), is the amount of books scattered around. They aren't nicely arranged on a shelf, but piled two or three books high in seemingly random places. Aesop's Fables, Dracula, and Great Expectations sit on the corner of his desk; Tess of the d'Ubervilles and Robinson Crusoe are in the kitchen cabinet In the Court of King Arthur, Peter and Wendy, and Moby Dick are tucked away in his closet; Treasure Island, and the complete works of Jane Austen are in a large crate full of rope on deck; Far From the Madding Crowd, The Woman in White, and The Canterbury Tales are stacked in the hold; most interestingly though, is Paradise Lost and Gulliver's Travels tucked far under his bed, impossible to see unless you lie on the floor (Emma finds them one day when she is looking for her socks).
"What's with all the books hidden around here?" Emma asks Killian one night when they're eating a picnic on the deck, gesturing around her.
"I've picked up many things in my years of travel, love," he answers, somewhat evasively, scratching behind his ear.
"Killian," she smiles, her heart warmed by his embarrassment.
"Alright, love, I happen to be quite fond of classic literature." Killian turns to look out over the water in an effort to hide the color rising on his cheeks.
"Only the classics?" she teases, nudging his arm with her shoulder.
"I am three hundred years old, after all," he jokes, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, and Emma can tell there's something he's not quite telling her, but she doesn't press the issue.
"Tell you what," she says, running her fingers down his arm until she can wrap them around his hook and tug lightly, his eyes turning back to her after a moment, "why don't I give you some newer books to read, and you can tell me which of the classics I should embark upon, and we can see who has better taste." He smiles broadly at her competitiveness, completely in love with the way her proud challenge issues from her eyes as well as her words.
"You're on, Swan," he answers, injecting as much confidence as he can into his words.
The next morning Emma sits in her usual booth with Henry, sipping on hot chocolate (with cinnamon of course) and making a list of all the books she thinks Killian she read, Henry adding his own recommendations every few seconds. So far the list looks like:
A Clockwork Orange
Lord of the Flies
Fight Club
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
The DaVinci Code
The Lord of the Rings
To Kill a Mockingbird
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
The Three Musketeers
Catch-22
"Harry Potter!" Henry adds enthusiastically, pointing towards the list.
"He's not a kid," Emma protests, but Henry just rolls his eyes.
"It's not just for kids. Besides, it's a modern classic, isn't that the whole point. Come on, no one can go through life without reading Harry Potter."
"I've been doing just fine," Emma counters, feeling a little defensive.
"Mom! You have to read it too! I'm adding it to your list!" He grabs her jacket before she can stop him, and reaches inside the pocket where he knows she keeps the list Killian wrote for her, taking it out and scrawling Harry Potter in big letters across the bottom (as much as she protests, Emma knows she'll treasure this little note even more now).
"Henry…"
"Come on, Mom, please." He flashes her puppy dog eyes, and damn does she love this kid.
"Fine," she sighs, writing it along the bottom of the list.
Emma lounges in the big leather chair, her feet hanging with her knees hooked over the arm as she flips the page of The Secret Garden (she's enjoying it much more than she will ever admit, having a hard time putting it down). Killian waltzes in through the door, and Emma can't even peel her eyes away to greet him as he kisses the top of her head.
"What are you up to, love?" he asks teasingly, as the answer is apparent, and Emma ignores him. "Enjoying it?" She hums in response, and he chuckles lightly, knowing her answer is a sign that she is completely engrossed in the book. "I'll get dinner ready then, shall I?" There's a pause before she answers.
"Thank you." She says it quietly, almost a whisper, and it's not only a thank you for dinner, but for letting her read, for letting her get lost in the book, for giving it to her in the first place. And as always, it's a thank you for coming home, for always coming home, for wanting her in the first place. He kisses the top of her head again and moves away toward the kitchen. "Hey Killian," she calls out, and he turns back to her, raising an eyebrow in question. "I love you."