Warmth
Hello all. Two reasons for this.
One, I still can't decide how to tackle an in-season fic for the start of 4B yet, given that, despite cutesy-shmoopy coffee dates and hand-holding, Emma is still lacking her own place. SIX weeks. We have to assume the sexytimes have commenced, right? Especially all they've had to deal with in the meantime was de-hatting fairies? So I'm going to have to go with them already banging. But where? When? How? And why still living with moms and pops Charming? (I SO SO SO wanted Hook to sleepily pop up behind Emma as she dug through her closet.) Can't quite figure it yet…
Two, a little birdie said on Sunday's pre-show that a happy ending for Hook would be for him to "…be able to sit at home with Emma and drink rum." And this then this came out of my brain.
The storm's breeze licked at the flame of the old gas lantern he insisted on using as a reading lamp and Killian looked up from his book, craning his neck to listen for any sound beyond the steady drum of heavy rain. Hearing nothing but the rain, wind, and surf, he settled back in his seat, once again allowing himself to become absorbed in his reading.
It was just a few moments later that a few tail thumps against the battered old floor boards from the half-asleep product of Pongo's indiscretion with a black lab and Henry's incessant begging alerted him to another presence on the screened-in porch. He fought a grin, and purposely kept his nose buried in the novel. She'd been silent as she slipped through the door from the house, but now he could feel the weight of her gaze as she studied him in the dim light.
Finally, he felt a slight nudge to the wicker swing in which he sat, setting off a gentle swaying and a muffled snicker from Emma. He lost the battle with his own expression, a wide smirk spreading even as he continued to feign reading. "Enjoying the view, love?"
His comment earned a soft snort from her, and with a broad smile, he finally tore his eyes from the page and looked up.
Even now, late in the evening of a long, tiring day, she was a wonder.
Her hair was a bit tangled, pulled back in a messy, loose plait. She wore one of his worn, white t-shirts, covered by a knit cardigan that she practically swam in, and a faded pair of those soft, stretchy, impossibly tight trousers that she fancied. Nothing special, but her eyes sparkled in the flickering light and still she took his breath away. "I was wondering how long you'd just …lurk there," he chided her playfully.
She rolled her eyes, but in one fell swoop, as if perfectly choreographed, she gravitated to him, and he'd lifted the edge of blanket that covered his lap, she'd curled up under it against his side, and their lips were pressed together in a gentle kiss as the swing swayed beneath them. He could feel her move to pull back after a moment, but, with his hooked arm over her shoulder, he held her tight to him and deepened the kiss.
He could sense her surprise, and when she did eventually lean back to catch her breath, she was even lovelier, her cheeks tinged with a rosy flush.
With the chill in the air growing stronger as the last of the summer daylight faded on the horizon, Emma pulled the blanket up to her chin and burrowed beneath the arm Killian had wrapped around her shoulder. With her head nestled against his chest, he felt her breathe deeply as he shifted his gaze to watch the distant lightning flash in the clouds out over the ocean.
They swayed in peaceful silence for he didn't know how long; Killian found himself lost in thought, simply reveling in Emma's closeness and the sound of the rain; such moments were among his favorite.
A particularly strong gust eventually got his attention, causing the lamp's flame to dance wildly and Emma to shiver ever so slightly against him. It was enough to remind him of the question he should have asked as soon as she'd appeared on the porch. "She asleep, love?" he asked as he tweaked the corner of his current page, closed the book, and set it aside.
Emma let out a soft groan. "Finally. Eight times!" she exclaimed, suddenly less serene, her voice kept to a hushed whisper of exasperation.
"Not awful," Killian considered thoughtfully. "You know there's precedent for quite a few more," he reminded her gently.
He felt her huff against his chest, clearly not placated by his diplomatic words. "You'd think the kid of Captain Hook, the granddaughter of Snow White and Prince freakin' Charming," she snorted, "would have slightly more diverse and sophisticated tastes than 'Green Eggs and Ham'. Kid basically is a fairy tale, but she wants none of those. Just more green eggs," Emma glowered. "And more ham."
He let out a soft chuckle. "I never did quite see the point of a tale about oddly-colored breakfast fare."
"Oh sure, you laugh at my misery," replied Emma, with a hint of wicked glee, "but it's Daddy's turn tomorrow. See how many times you end up reading it."
Killian lifted his hand slightly and nodded, a silent admission of defeat on the topic. But he did continue with his questions, venturing, "And his highness?"
Emma lifted her head from its resting place near his shoulder and grinned. She tugged back the blanket to reveal the still-silent baby monitor she'd been clutching. "Still out like a light. At least he's easy."
"For now," Killian corrected. "Who knows what enchantingly awful children's tale will be his literature of choice two years from now."
With a playful slap to his chest, Emma growled, "Bite your tongue. Yes, for now." Then, with a peaceful sigh, she changed tone as she settled against him once more and continued, "But did I mention how wonderful this new sleeping through the night thing is?"
"Every morning and evening since he first accomplished the feat six days ago," Killian teased as he angled his body more towards Emma, encircling her with both arms and resting his cheek against the top of her head..
Though they both looked out over the dark sea beyond the porch rather than at each other, he could practically feel her rolling her eyes at his tone, even as she sighed contentedly. "Well, it is wonderful," she reiterated.
Killian nodded, turning his head to brush a kiss to the top of hers. "Agreed, love," he whispered into her hair.
He let his eyes fall closed as they simply sat there together as the thunder faded in the distance and the damp breeze wafting through the porch began to still. And he marveled, as he did from time to time, in the simple moments like this, at what his life had become with Emma. No more violently pillaging the high seas, no more unquenchable thirst for revenge, no more empty, wasted centuries in Neverland. Now it was dodging brightly-colored children's playthings on the floor and doting on the two wee owners of said playthings, who were currently slumbering away upstairs in the picturesque family cottage by the sea that he'd never thought he'd own. Working a respectable law-enforcement job alongside his lovely bride and his father-in-law while his stepson toiled over the books at University. Walking the devoted family dog. It was all he hadn't known he'd wanted until faced with a feisty blonde with a knife aimed at his throat.
Before his parents had gone, before his brother, before Milah, before his hand, before time had tainted him... As a young lad, had he envisioned this sort of family life for himself? Given the over three hundred years he had under his belt, he couldn't be sure. But he liked to think so.
He had taken Emma by surprise, that day he'd cautiously broached the topic. Enough instances had arisen – seeing Emma play with her young siblings, David play-jousting with his son and doting on his daughters, Henry's excited visits home on break, even the few times he himself was left to care for the younger Nolans in a pinch – that left him with that dull ache in his chest that begged the question, what would it be like to hear a small voice call him Daddy? Did he dare let himself entertain the possibility that he wanted to find out? Whether it was the overblown emotions of an erstwhile pirate gone soft or something more primal, he'd eventually worked himself up to inquiring if Emma would be amenable to ceasing her daily consumption of those still-seemingly-magical fertility-stunting tablets.
Had he not been rather skittish at the prospect of her response, he probably would have found her flummoxed reaction quite entertaining. In all fairness to her, they'd been neither wed nor betrothed; an unspoken agreement had left them simply enjoying each other indefinitely in whatever quiet moments the goings-on of Storybrooke afforded them.
So he'd been equally flummoxed when Emma agreed, and quite quickly.
Their little lass - and Seuss fan - made an appearance just over a year later and it was more wonderful than he ever could have imagined.
Emma had again surprised him, and twofold, two years later, casually mentioning that they could perhaps marry in the next few months, before the new baby arrived.
And so the cricket had officiated the ceremony on the strip of rocky coast behind their new cottage. Only their small family was in attendance, David and Snow with their young ones in their arms, Henry with his sister in his.
Even now, their tiny boy not yet a year, he caught himself slipping with mentions of 'the next one' or 'next time.' But Emma did the same, and his heart beat a little faster each time she did.
Killian ended up dozing off amid those blissful contemplations, only to be jostled awake by Emma's reaching gingerly across his legs. Not to where she might usually reach in the vicinity of his lap, but to the small vessel she would have known he had wedged next to him on the swing.
She looked up and met his gaze as she snagged the flask; he didn't question her outright, but did lift an inquisitive eyebrow. Before the children, in those quiet moments, trading sips together had become a bit of a habit they'd both come to enjoy. But that had fallen by the wayside in recent times, given the many months she'd been with child and that she'd also thus far been fairly diligent about avoiding any such indulgences, especially the harder variety, while still nursing the little one.
But this time, Emma just shrugged. She took a sip, passing it to him as she swallowed, certainly appearing to enjoy the smooth burn warming her for the first time in quite a while. "Pump and dump," she murmured to him. "Sleeping all night, the kid doesn't need these until tomorrow morning," she added, giving a half-hearted wave at her own chest. "Not like there'd be enough alcohol to do anything anyway, but..." she shrugged again, once again cuddling up to his side. "I don't know, I missed it. …This."
Killian smiled at her words, taking his own sip of the rum. The alcohol in combination with the pleasantness of his nostalgic musings and of his lovely Emma by his side kept him warm in the increasingly cool breeze. He passed the drink back to her once more and gave the floor a lazy push with his foot, setting them swaying gently.
The two of them continued alternating sips here and there, with Killian's hooked arm rubbing over Emma's shoulder gently.
At some point, instead of passing the flask back to him, Emma set it down on her other side and reached for his hand. Killian obliged, lacing his fingers with hers. With a small, contented sigh, she murmured, "Can we just stay like this forever?
For an old pirate who had, at various times, had his heart broken, hardened, and quite nearly crushed, Killian was still not always used to the warm, overwhelming, happy ache of contentment that filled that same heart at moments like these. He hugged Emma closer, and with his voice cracking slightly, he responded, "That's my plan, love."
*Also, the tiny pirates (and the dog) were purposely left nameless. I liked the more ambiguous, open-ended feel. Do note, however, that whatever their names are, the kid-lets' names are NOT Liam/William/David/Leopold/whatever, Lily/Ava/Eva/whatever, or any other permutation of being named after some relative/friend/whatever. Because I said so. And because I think Emma and Hook would say so too.