AN. so I know I have enough half things going on (and a really really full thing I have planned that is a massive undertaking of CS proportions designed to fill the endless void until March) but here are more Captain Swan things - these are just drabbles and prompt answers that I have on my tumblr. I only am uploading a couple right now because it is almost two in the morning and I should stop doing this before work, but there's plenty more to come!

(I repeat - hiatus until March. Tomorrow's episode please don't be a huge cliffhanger)


The first time it had been a robbery, the second time to prove a point. The third time was to win a bet –– he'd brought back a flask of the Queen's whiskey and they had drank until morning –– and the fourth time was for her to reclaim victory (and win back her favourite set of pearl earrings). The fifth time was to say goodbye, the sixth to say hello again, and by the seventh they had stopped coming up with excuses. Every evening Emma would lock her windows and close her blinds and kiss her mother and father goodnight, and then she would light the candles in her room and wait for her favourite pirate to attempt to break in again.

His visits were the highlight of her week.

Eventually she stopped making him pick the lock at her window, rushing up as soon as she heard the tell-tale click against the pane, informing him that it was better this way, wasted less time (and besides she was holding hope that he'd get rusty with his skills and perhaps one day she'd take him off guard). She would pester him to tell her grandeur tales of life at sea, of towns she could only ever dream of seeing, and he'd oblige if only because he knew how heavy duty weighed down on her.

Some evenings there was alcohol and card games (and small miracles, that the maids never heard or were willing to let Princess Emma's craziness slide), and she began to learn sea shanties and he picked her brain on the faeries' galas. Other times they would just talk into the evening, poking and prodding at vulnerabilities that neither thought to hide.

Their first kiss was the night of her birthday –– he had snuck in to the ball, donned in a regal outfit she just knew he had stolen, and taken her out to the gardens, twirling her around statues of kings gone past and fountains that were only ever on for special occasions, until she had swayed forward and looked up and gazed at bright blue eyes, and then his lips were on hers and it had been magical. The second and third (and fourth and fifth, and gods) kisses had been just as glorious, which remained a pleasant surprise for Emma, and their card games suddenly became a lot more provocative.

–– she played willfully ignorant to reality then, that her parents weren't mere royalty, that his day job was anything less than larcenous –– it was better, this way, keep it light, keep it fun, because she was too scared that it might be anything else.

(besides, if he did get scared off, how would she ever master pick pocketing?)

She was terribly eager to learn every single dirty trick he had (for education purposes of course, she was royalty and it was her responsibility to be open to all kinds of skills), and while he was more than happy to teach her, things tended to take a turn for the seductive about halfway through any lesson.

This thought made her frown, as she walked into her room and he was already sitting on the chair next to her vanity, and she made a mental note (again) to get him to tell her how he did that so fast. She knew her help was absolutely unnecessary and she need not open any doors for him, but sometimes it irked her that he so obviously didn't.

Apparently, it bothered him too. He was quiet, as she entered, and everything about the scene ––his schooled expression, the lack of the typically borderline-euphoric smile –– had alarm bells ringing in her head. She closed the door softly behind her, never taking her eyes off of him.

"Emma, we need to talk."

Her frown deepened, hands fluttering over her dress (she usually changed out formal wear before he came), her words stuck in her throat. Rather than reply right away, she walked over to the window, throwing open the curtains and letting in as much light as possible, breathing in deeply to soothe the sudden panic.

"I find," she said finally, her back to him "that those words never lead to something pleasant."

He remained seated, pointedly away from her, which in itself spoke volumes. "Emma."

"Killian." She repeated, with the some inflection, turning now to face him. His face was twisted into something only slightly softer than anger, his shoulders tensed as if ready to flee.

And gods did that scare her the most.

"I realized something tonight, when I was sneaking past your guards again." He said, his voice strangely calm despite everything else.

"Yes?"

He let out a deep breath, and she wondered if perhaps he was as nervous as her. Wouldn't anyone be nervous, she mused, if they were about to deny royalty?

(she had fervently hoped he would never hold her lineage against her)

"How long have I been coming here? Months? A year almost?" He asked, although she hardly thought he was looking for her answer (which was good, because her thoughts had taken her elsewhere, a place with more finality, and she hardly knew how to respond to a topic that was anything other than goodbye). "In all that time, have I ever been unable to get to you?"

She knew from his gaze –– eyes narrowed with anger, closed off to her own searching look –– that he wasn't boasting. "You're very good at what you do." She tried, tentatively.

She noticed then that his knuckles were white, gripping the arm of the chair with dangerous, pent-up something. "So are others." He argued.

What was he getting at? "No one is trying to reach me Killian. No one but you."

There's no one but you.

"But someone might one day."

None of what he was saying seemed to be an easy way to lead to a departure, and it was confusing and frustrating, had been her biggest fear since that first evening she had invited him in, and she couldn't follow what he was trying to get at.

"Well no one is today, so I'm not sure what the problem is–"

"Damn it, Emma, don't you see what's wrong with this?" He interrupted, a snarl on his face. "If I can get in, someone else can. You're the Princess! The Princess. The only heir to the most powerful realm in our land."

Her eyes narrowed now, and his anger was doing wondrous things to the high thrumming of her heartbeat in her neck, turning panic into ire. "You've know that all along!" She whispered, the harsh sound still quiet because it wasn't like her parents slept that far away. "You've always known who I was, why does that matter now?"

"Because," he replied, with more despair in his tone than before "you should be the most difficult to person to reach."

I shouldn't be able to get to you.

And suddenly, with a wave of immense relief, she realized that this wasn't about them. It wasn't about them at all (and she was absolutely going to hit him upside the head as soon as she was done feeling pleased that it wasn't about them).

It was about her.

"Are you worried about my safety?" She said, a small laugh in her voice now. "Is that what this is all about?"

He stood up, and she was so close, leaning into him because he wasn't running scared, and grasped her upper arms in a tight grip, ducking his head down so that she could see into his eyes. They were open to her now, terrified, and she wondered maybe if she shouldn't have smiled.

(it was his own damned fault, for making her think –– )

"This is serious Emma."

"I thought you were trying to leave." She said, the words coming out rushed, and at his raised eyebrow she scrambled to clarify. "Me, uhm, leave me, that is."

Thankfully this seemed to send enough shock through him to chase away the fear. "Emma." He said, and held her closer, his hands drifting slowly down her until they held her waist. "Emma, I love you. You know I wouldn't - I could never…"

Her returning smile was on the edge of a breathless laugh, and she held up her hand to gently cup his face. She had suspected, had felt it in his touch and his grins, but she had never presumed –– "And I love you." She admitted, her cheeks flushing.

For one perfect moment they were absolute copies of each other, full and open smiles, happiness racing through her body and soaring until it reached the points where he was touching, and he leaned down to brush his lips against hers. They were grinning too much for it to go anywhere (yet, she thought, with a wicked smirk) so she fell against his embrace and tucked herself into him, her face flushed against his neck.

After a moment she found her voice again. "So don't try and tell me that I need to strengthen the guard or tell the dwarves to bolt the windows shut –– I couldn't stand the thought."

Because she knew, with absolute clarity, that now was not the time to be facing her parents and convince them that she wanted to court a pirate (although she had a sneaking suspicion that her mother would be alright with it, if only because her father had been a shepherd and then a prince and briefly a runaway, and background didn't really matter).

She felt him smiling against her hair, and then he was pulling her away just enough so that he could see her face. "Your dwarves would have me strung up by my toes if they ever knew why you wanted that."

Emma would have argued…except it was pretty much true. "So they won't find out."

"Emma…" Killian said again, and she could hear a bit of the worry leaking back into his tone.

"You can teach me how to defend myself. I'll even sleep with a dagger." It had been a big hold-out of hers, because knives were uncomfortable, and she hated to have to be so paranoid all of the time.

"That isn't enough–"

She brushed her fingers against his lips and shook her head softly. "No, it's fine. My safety is not worth my happiness."

He groaned, tugging her back into him. "You make me a selfish man princess."

Her arms were around his shoulders and she began playing gently with the hair at the nape of his neck (he was a pirate, for heaven's sake, how was it so smooth?). She could practically hear him purr. "How so?"

"I do want your happiness. But I want my own as well, and I fear I can only be happy with you."

His hands were on her hips, stroking softly against the fabric there (and again, she hated that he had snuck in before her, because she was in this gigantic dress and it was ridiculous how much work it took to get off) so she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, until she placed one on his lips and nothing had ever tasted so sweet.

"It's a good thing then," she said, staring up into eyes so blue and so passionate that they had stopped her from calling the guards the first time she had laid her gaze one him "that my happiness can only be found with you."