Part Two:
Killian inhaled the sea air deep into his lungs relishing in the burn of the salty breeze at the back of his throat. His senses were always diminished while in ghost form, numbed as if he'd imbibed in too much rum leaving everything dulled around him. Now that he was corporeal again, Killian marveled in the feel of the cold sand between his toes and whisper of midnight against his skin.
Just as it had happened the times before, Killian found himself upon the shore where his curse had been cast, appearing there in solid form at midnight of his first day back as a flesh and blood man. The first thing he'd done was divest himself of his leathers and other garments, and run head long into the sea allowing the waves to wash over him in order to give proof of his physical form. He now stood at the water's edge in nothing but his skin and drew in the comfort the moonlight dancing over the waves provided him.
Gods, he missed the sea.
Should he and Henry succeed… no. When. When he and Henry succeeded, Killian would take the lad and his mother sailing up the coast. He still had quite a cache of valuables tucked away, enough to provide him and Emma and Henry a comfortable future. Though he'd never begrudge Swan her work. It was evident just how much her occupation meant to her, and he'd be content to follow after her from one project site to the next for the remainder of his days if that's what she wanted.
But he was getting ahead of himself, again. An introduction might be warranted first, mate, he chuckled to himself as he collected his garments and made his way to the small cavern within the cliff side.
Tucked away in the back corner was the piece of luggage Henry had been able to procure for him. Within it were articles of clothing the boy had either pilfered from his uncle, or acquired within the last week while in town. They would hopefully meet Killian's needs over the next two weeks while he'd be staying at the manor.
As fortune would have it, the final stages of the manor's restoration project were being completed, and to celebrate the Misthaven Historical Society would be hosting a Grand Opening Celebration whilst Killian was in his corporeal form.
Invitations for the event had been sent to members of the Jones Family Trust, who were invited to come and stay at the manor during the festivities. Henry and Killian had launched a plan to contact the manor's curator in order to gain an earlier invitation to the estate. The lad had sent an electronic communication as Mr. Killian Jones asking if he'd be welcome to arrive two weeks early, under the pretense that he'd be in the area on business anyway.
The truth of it was that the celebration occurred at the tail end of the time in which he would be in flesh and blood form, and he had no wish to hide out in the woods or the cavern until the event in question. Besides, having access to the manor meant having access to Emma and Killian did not want to waste a moment's opportunity to physically be in her presence.
The curator had happily agreed and had even offered to arrange for the town's tailor to come up to the manor in order to fit Killian for a suit for the more formal part of the celebration should he have need. Which he did. The appointment would also afford him the opportunity to fill in the gaps in his wardrobe, which now that Killian had chance to see it, he found sadly lacking. Though he would have to ask the lad how it was he'd been able to acquire a leather jacket with his meager means and resources. Clever boy.
All that remained for the time being was to wait for a more acceptable hour in which to present himself, and then he could begin the pleasurable task of wooing his Lady Swan.
Over the past seven days he and Henry had poured over the riddle on the compass and had come up with a few concluding assumptions. The first being that the spinning needle of the compass seemed to signify that the elements by which his curse could be broken were in place. It was clear by the inscription that the love of a woman featured highly in the spell's intricate design and Killian had not hesitated to confess the love he already held for Emma as he and her boy schemed long into those dark nights in his study. The mention of not repeating past mistakes seemed straightforward enough, so it was the bit about trading their love for one another that Killian and Henry had honed in on. Killian already loved Emma, all they needed now was for her to return that love.
Henry felt certain that his mother already held a love for him. The lad argued that she had come to fall in love with the Captain Jones she'd met through the pages of his journals and letters, and that if they could just get her to believe that he was that man, believe in the curse, then she would embrace the love she already felt for him, and the curse would be broken.
So that had become their mission - Operation Compass Believer - an endeavor to get Swan to believe in the unbelievable and hopefully guide him out of his cursed state within a fortnight. Simple. What could possibly go wrong?
Nervous energy coursed through Killian as he paced the tight quarters of the cave, his heart hammering within his chest in a painful rhythm of which he was not accustomed. He had been anticipating this moment for months. Imagining Swan's reaction to meeting him in the flesh over and over again.
Would she be as taken with him as he'd been with her at first sight?
Would his and Henry's Operation be enough to get Emma to believe in the curse? And even if she believed, would it be enough for her to fall in love with him? The true him? Would he be enough?
As the sun crested the horizon, illuminating the walls of his temporary hideout, Killian took a long fortifying breath before emerging from the cavern to make his way to the cliff top. Whatever the outcome, Killian did not intend to waste his moments with Emma and Henry in self-doubt.
He didn't want Emma's love merely so he could be free from his curse, but because, before her, he'd had nothing left to fight for. He would fight for her, though. And for Henry. With everything he had, he would fight for her belief and her love and for their future.
After all, he always did love a challenge.
Emma was not a friend of early mornings. Especially early mornings that meant the start of a day where her brother and sister-in-law would be packing up to head to the next project site, while she would have to stay and play hostess to the first stuffy member of the trust she'd been hired by to restore the Jones Manor.
Actual construction had wrapped earlier the previous week, and the work crews were setting up at the next job, which was a restoration of an old Inn the next town over. Emma had to stay behind to oversee the final details of decor and furnishings, and make nice with the members of the Jones Family Trust and Misthaven Historical Society.
Oh, and help plan the soiree they'd insisted on as the Grand Opening Celebration of the project.
Okay, she really wasn't that grumpy about the whole thing. She just hadn't had coffee yet. Emma was actually rather excited about the Grand Opening. They'd planned to make it an educational event as much as a celebration, with tours of the estate and actors to serve as members of the staff and household that would have worked and lived in the manor three hundred years ago. Everything would culminate with a formal affair in the evening, complete with an orchestra, servers providing champagne on silver trays, and period dancing.
Okay, yeah. She was pretty excited about it. If only she could find someone to play the role of Captain Killian Jones to haunt the place while the tours were being conducted.
As Emma made her way down the hall towards the foyer, she could hear the voices of her brother and Mary Margaret.
"...must be a direct descendent of the original Killian Jones, huh?" She heard David speculate incorrectly, and couldn't help but take the opportunity to correct him.
"Actually," she said as she turned into the entry, "The original Killian Jones had no children, so all of the current descendents are…" Emma's words fell away as she took in the reason, or the person rather, who had led her brother to make such a speculation.
If Emma didn't know any better she would have thought that Captain Killian Jones himself was standing in the grand foyer of the very manor his family had originally built. Though the tight jeans, t-shirt, and black leather jacket were a bit of a departure from the pirate aesthetic she usually applied to him in her fantasies.
"Are directly related to his older brother, Liam Jones," the man supplied when it became apparent that no more words would be forthcoming from Emma's mouth. Which she was pretty sure was hanging open.
"Emma," Mary Margaret began, "This is Mr. Killian Jones. Mr. Jones. This is Emma Swan."
"A pleasure to meet you Miss Swan," Mr. Jones greeted as he offered his hand with an adorably lopsided smile on his lips.
A tingling sensation shot up Emma's arm as she took his proffered hand, causing a pleasant shiver to course through her which nearly stole her breath. It almost reminded her of the sensation she'd experienced in the ballroom several weeks ago after Henry's near accident. She'd broken down and offered up her thanks to whatever unknown force, okay, okay. Fine. She was totally thanking the ghost of Captain Jones. It's not like she actually believes in ghosts, though, and had a similar moment where the tingling at her cheeks and lips had sent a surge of something just like this right through her; an experience that had stayed with her for days afterward.
Emma mentally shook herself when she realized she still hadn't responded, her hand held in his as he watched her expectantly. She placed a polite smile on her lips, one that she hoped conveyed a confidence she found herself floundering for in this stunning man's presence, and greeted him back.
"Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Jones. I'm so pleased you were able to make it to Misthaven for the unveiling of the restoration."
"Please, love," he purred warmly in a tone that should positively be outlawed. "You're about to have a dozen or more Mr. Jones descending upon the manor in a week's time. Killian will do."
Did she still have knees? She was pretty sure she'd had knees at one point. They were totally failing her at the moment. And she was still holding his hand. She should probably stop shaking it at some point. Like now. Now would probably be a good time to let go.
She didn't want to let go.
That could get awkward.
Though, he didn't seem to be in any hurry to end the friendly gesture either.
The sound of a throat clearing startled both of them back into the moment, and Emma noticed a tint of pink crest at the tip of his ears. He gave her a shy smile as he released her hand, his eyes remaining fixed on her. His very blue eyes. That crinkled handsomely in the corner. With long dark lashes.
Seriously, Emma?! Get it together!
"Um… he'll probably want to get settled," Mary Margaret prompted while shooting Emma a knowingly smug look.
"Right. Yes," Emma agreed as she attempted to further compose herself. "You'd probably like to see your room."
"I can show him!" Henry enthusiastically offered from behind her.
When did he get here?
"Hello there, lad." Killian greeted, giving Henry a smile that beamed almost as brightly as her son's. "Killian Jones, at your service," he introduced as he stepped forward to shake hands.
"I'm Henry," her son replied brightly, and Emma marveled at the instant connection the two seemed to share.
Henry was friendly with just about everyone, but this was on a completely different level. It probably shouldn't have surprised her. Emma's reaction to the man who appeared to be their infamous pirate captain in the flesh hadn't exactly been subtle or subdued either, and she hadn't been pretending to be his best friend for months on end. Her musings and imagination about Captain Killian Jones hadn't been quite that innocent if she were being honest.
Neither were the ones shaping up about the current Killian Jones.
Wow. Her brain really needed coffee.
"Is it okay if I show Killian to his room, Mom?"
"Um… sure, kid," she agreed, the eager look on her son's face rendering her incapable of saying no. "Just come right back down for breakfast when you're done. You're welcome to join us if you're hungry, Mr. J-... Killian."
She saw him attempt to suppress an amused smirk as he replied, "Thank you, love. I feel like I haven't eaten in a century."
Henry tried to cover a snort with the worst fake cough she'd ever heard, and Emma couldn't help but feel that she was missing some sort of inside joke between the two.
Impossible. They only just met.
Obviously noticing her suspicious side-eye, Killian turned to Henry and said, "Lead the way, lad," as he grabbed his suitcase and excused himself from the foyer.
Emma watched Henry and Killian Jones disappear up the stairs, and she absolutely did not notice the positively sinful swagger of the man's ass as he ascended.
"That's one hell of a family resemblance," her brother quipped in her ear, making her jump. "Think you could get him to play the part of the ghost captain at the Grand Opening?"
That's all Emma needed. An actual, physical Killian Jones bedecked in head to toe pirate leather.
She scoffed at her brother and began to turn towards the kitchen when the presence of a familiar scent caught her attention. The scent of leather and the sea and spice. The scent she'd been experiencing for months after moments like the one she'd just shared with Killian Jones. Moments that had left her nerves sparking, her breathing shallow, and her mind vigorously reminding her that there were no such things as ghosts, or cursed pirate captains. She took another deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent and the comfort it had always provided her and wondered if it could have come from him. Killian Jones. The flesh and blood one. She made a mental note to check later.
What?
She really needed that coffee.
Killian lay upon the four post bed in his room replaying the events of the past several days of his corporeal time over in his mind. Things seemed to be going well, though to say it was all a bit overwhelming would be an understatement.
He'd forgotten how unnerving yet exhilarating it was to feel. To be alive. Colors a bit richer, sounds a tad clearer, smells more pungent, tastes wholly decadent, and everything that touched his body was like a shock to his system. None more electrifying than those from Swan herself.
It had taken every measure of control he'd possessed to not pull her into his arms when they'd first been introduced. The sparkle of her viridian eyes that much brighter, the sheen of her golden tresses all the more brilliant, and the lushness of her skin and lips never more enticing than when he'd finally stood before her in physical form. The touch of her hand had sent a current sweeping through him, threatening to steal the newly gained breath from his lungs.
Never in all his centuries of ghostly form had he ever actually floated, but there was no other word to describe the manner in which he'd made it to his room. The moment he'd left her presence he'd been eager to make his way back downstairs in order to be with her once more. Of course, the lad throwing himself around Killian's waist, attempting to give him a bracing hug had delayed that plan a bit. Not that Killian begrudged the boy's enthusiasm, he was just as happy to finally be able to bestow a measure of affection upon him as well, and was quite touched that Henry felt the same.
Once they'd finished breakfast, an experience that again stirred every one of his senses into a heightened state (gods had he missed coffee), Emma had offered to give him a tour of the manor in order to show him the work that had been done. Even though he'd been present for the entirety of the restoration, he was able to experience it all with fresh appreciation as Emma pointed out every thoughtful detail and discovery of the project she'd poured her heart and soul into. Which was probably what had affected him the most.
The care and consideration she'd shown for the manor, his home, and how she had taken the time to learn every little quirk and recovered every last detail he'd thought lost to time, even a few that had been lost to his own memory, had astonished him. Her exuberance and passion had endeared him even more to the amazing and brilliant woman he knew her to be and he'd allowed himself to get caught up in her excitement, spending hours by her side as she led him from room to room throughout the expanse of his home.
Killian chuckled to himself as he remembered the indignant sound she'd made when the door to his study was found locked once again. Muttering her brother's name under her breath, completely unaware that, at that very moment, he was fiddling with the key in his pocket, having pilfered it from her one last time before becoming corporeal.
Though she'd been busy with the final stages of getting the manor ready for the Grand Opening the past several days, Killian had been able to spend time with her over meals and in attendance at various meetings in which she and the Historical Society had wished his input as a member of the Jones family. But so far it hadn't been enough to get her to believe that he was Captain Killian Jones, nor fall in love with the man she could see and touch.
There was not a doubt in his mind that he had every bit as much of an effect on her as she had on him. The permanent flush to her cheeks and dilated gaze of her eyes whenever she was in his presence, as well as the warm and flirtatious manner in which they related to one another giving proof to his estimation. He hoped.
Desperate as he was to simply confess the truth to her, Killian knew that such declarations would be too much too soon at this juncture. He had to stick to the plan he and Henry had concocted. Allow Emma to get to know him as a flesh and blood man while exposing the all too coincidental similarities between his physical representation and the legendary persona of Captain Killian Jones. Eventually Swan would have to see the truth. Surely, at some point, her mind would no longer be able to deny the reality that stood right in front of her. At some point she would have to believe, he just hoped that when she did it wouldn't be too late.
With no hope of sleep claiming him due to the turmoil of his thoughts, Killian made his way from his chamber to the ballroom hoping some time at the piano might settle his mind. Foregoing the use of an artificial light source, Killian set the small candelabra he'd used to light his way on the edge of the piano and sat down to play. Losing himself in the solace of the familiar melody, a more complicated arrangement than that which he'd taught Henry, he was unaware of changes to his surroundings, including the added presence of a certain woman who'd been drawn by the sound of his performance.
Emma stood in the doorway of the ballroom watching him play. The soft glow of the candlelight highlighting his features in a wash of timeless elegance made him seem right at home within the grandeur of the three hundred year old ballroom. Indeed, Killian Jones had struck Emma as a man displaced from another time as she'd gotten to know him over the past several days.
There was an old-fashioned nature about him that revealed itself in his customs and manners. Things like pulling out her chair whenever they gathered together for a meal, or opening doors for her, insisting ladies first, with a gentlemanly demeanor that spoke of an intention of respect and deference for her and not some chauvinistic attitude of superiority. He was thoughtful of her comforts and anticipated her needs and desires, like when he'd brought her hot cocoa that evening as she studied the plans for the upcoming inn project, because he'd somehow known that she enjoyed a cup in the evenings. Though how he'd known to add the whipped cream and cinnamon, she wasn't quite sure.
Henry probably.
Which was another astonishing aspect to the character of Killian Jones. His respect, consideration, and affection did not stop with her but had carried itself over in his interactions with her son as well. There had not once been a hint of impatience or attitude of mere tolerance at Henry's ever present enthusiasm and desire for Killian's attention. He was content to spend time in either of their presence, and Emma found herself more and more drawn to his as well. Though she hadn't realized it was his presence she'd find in the ballroom until after she'd arrived.
The melody had sounded like the one Henry had taken to playing, and she had expected to find her son seated on the piano bench. Now that she was there she could distinguish that Killian's song was a more complicated version of the same tune. His nimble fingers danced over the keys with such practiced precision that he didn't even need to look at them. His eyes were closed, brows narrating the language of the music as they lifted and arched to the lines of each measure as the hint of a smile captured the spirit of the piece at the corner of his lips.
He opened his eyes to finish out the remaining stanza, his attention solely focused on pouring out the reserve of emotion he had clung to in order to give life to the piece, and Emma could feel the prickling of tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes in response to such beautiful intensity. The sound of the sniffle that had escaped her as she willfully tried to stay the flow of tears must have caught his attention as the piece ended; a chagrined look on his face as he faced her.
"My apologies, Swan. I hope my playing didn't disturb you."
"No, no," she insisted, stepping forward to be closer to him now that he was aware of her presence. "I thought maybe you were Henry. He's been known to sneak in here at night and play a tune similar to that one. Or a more simplified version of it, anyway."
"Really?" he replied with a sly smirk and brow playing at his features. "How astonishing. It isn't a very well known tune. Wherever did he learn it, do you suppose?"
"Well, if you ask him, he'll tell you that the ghost of Captain Killian Jones taught it to him," she offered with a light hearted roll of her eyes. "The kid has quite an imagination."
"So it would seem," he stated, the mischievous undertone of his words and expression sparking an unresolvable curiosity within her as to how it was her son and this man shared a knowledge for the same piece of obscure music. "Well, this Killian Jones would be happy to teach you the simpler rendition if you'd like," he offered as he patted the bench, inviting her to join him.
"I don't know. I've never really played before," she demurred, even as she moved to take the seat beside him.
"First time, then?" he confirmed, his voice softer now that the distance between them had closed. "Well, you never forget your first." His brows lifted and twitched at his hairline as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth giving her a playfully seductive look that had her laughing at his ridiculousness.
"Here, Swan," he said as he took her hands. "Just place your hands right here. There's a good girl," he teased as he positioned her hands over the keys, earning him a withering side-eye from Emma; one that lost its effect as she couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips.
Emma wasn't sure how long they'd sat there. Killian patiently demonstrating the notes to be played while she attempted to copy him. At some point he'd positioned himself behind her so their hands could work in tandem over the keys. His strong arms outstretched on either side of her, the warmth of his breath hitting the side of her neck as he gave instruction into her ear.
He kept reminding her to slow her pace, but her racing heart was acting as an internal metronome causing her fingers to move across the keys in a hurried tempo. When she'd finally been able to play the tune without his assistance, and completely in rhythm, they'd both rejoiced in her success with a joyful laugh, his arms circling her waist from his seated position behind her as praise fell from his lips.
"That was brilliant, Swan!"
As their laughter subsided, Emma felt a tangible shift in the room. The humming of the atmosphere around them drawn taut like one of the strings within the piano. Emma felt him nuzzle his face into the hair against her neck, and she leaned back into his chest. His hands were splayed across her abdomen sending sparks across her skin where her shirt did not quite meet her pants as his fingers grazed the open expanse. She shuddered slightly at the murmur of her name against her ear, his breath whispering across her cheek urging her to turn her head and mingle hers with his.
She caught his gaze as she answered the silent plea, and found their depths to be as dark as midnight. His eyes searched hers before briefly flickering their attention down to her lips only to meet her gaze again with a hopeful inquiry.
Before she could answer the sound of footfalls roused them from their mutual longing as Henry made his way across the ballroom, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes.
Emma jumped out of Killian's embrace, nearly knocking him over backwards off the piano bench. She offered him an apologetic look as she reached out to steady him by his shoulders, his hands grabbing at her hips to further gain him some stability. He met her look with an understanding expression that she go and tend to her son, and Emma flashed him another smile of gratitude before turning and making her way to Henry.
"What are doing out of bed, kid?"
"I heard music," he mumbled, not quite coherent in his woken stupor. "Were you playing the piano?"
"Sorry, lad," Killian chimed as he made his way over to them. "I was playing earlier, and when your mother caught me I convinced her to join me. I'm sorry we woke you."
"S'okay," Henry replied through a yawn. "Can I stay up and play, too?"
Killian and Emma both chuckled. Henry could hardly keep his eyes open, but Emma knew the will of a child to cheat bedtime was one of the strongest compulsions in nature.
"Sorry, kid. It's late. We need to get you back in bed."
"Alright," Henry complied sleepily, falling into Emma's side as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "Good night, Killian," he yawned.
"Good night, lad," Killian chuckled. "Good night, Swan."
Emma glanced back over her shoulder to bid him good night as well, her heart rate increasing at the look of hopeful promise in his gaze. She'd been flustered and irritated when Henry had interrupted them, but now she couldn't help but be a bit relieved. As much as she'd like nothing more than to kiss Killian Jones, she was pretty sure that once she did, she'd never want to stop.
Though…
Why did she think that was such a bad thing?
Killian was fairly certain Swan was avoiding him. The morning after their interlude at the piano, she had announced that she and Henry would be going to check in with her brother at their next project site. A venture that seemed to surprise the lad as much as it had him. She'd left the number of the manor's curator with him in case he needed anything while they were gone and had left later that morning.
That was three days ago.
Having just finished his last appointment for the suit he'd ordered for the Grand Opening and receiving the additional wardrobe pieces he'd requested, Killian had shown the tailor out, and was now standing on the veranda watching the horizon. A storm was coming. He could smell it in the air and feel it in his nerve endings.
He spent the afternoon securing things on the grounds and readying the property for the oncoming weather. He'd hate to see any of Emma's work tarnished due to broken off tree limbs crashing through an unshuttered window, or carefully selected garden furnishings lost to the winds. As the sun began to set the wind began a whipping pace and he could see the deluge of rain in the distance over the choppy waves of the sea.
Preparations were made inside as well, as he gathered candles and matches into the library in case the manor lost power and started a fire within the hearth for warmth. He'd waited out many a storm in that room when he'd first lived within the home as Captain Killian Jones. Its position within the manor afforded the exterior windows some protection from the driving winds and rains off the ocean, and it provided endless hours of distraction from mother nature's fury with the sheer volume of reading material it offered.
A distraction was exactly what Killian needed.
He'd gone over that moment with Emma in the ballroom a thousand times. The scent of her hair, the feel of her in his arms, the sigh of her breath against his lips that moment before Henry arrived. The entire experience with her at the piano had been magical. Quiet moments of closeness that teased the promise of something more.
Was it the more that had sent Swan running the next morning? Worried about what expectations he might have after their near dalliance? Did she think him the type of man who would feel entitled to her affections now that she'd shown him a moment's willingness?
Was he?
It certainly could have been said of him at one point in his life, but not any longer. Emma wasn't loot or some conquest. Though he certainly had more to lose, whatever they became was as much up to her as it was to him. He didn't want to win her heart with trickery or pressure. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her. Which was why her belief was so important.
He wouldn't stop trying to get her to believe. He still had a little more than a week left. He just had to have faith that it would be enough time.
That is, of course, if she ever came back.
She had to come back. Liam's descendants would start arriving in two days time, and there were a number of final preparations to be made for the Grand Opening. Swan would be back soon. She'd come home to the manor, he'd show her that her initial instincts about him weren't wrong, and then… that's when the fun would begin.
Renewed in his mission, Killian settled himself down in front of the fire with a book, though it appeared, upon closer inspection, that the restored library featured a number of book fronts in order to give the illusion of a library, and not many actual books. Thankfully, he found one that suited him well enough but had only gotten a few pages into it when he heard the crash of the front door gusting open.
Arriving in the foyer, Killian saw Emma and Henry struggling to close the massive wooden door against the onslaught of the driving winds. Rain, leaves, and debris littered the floor as Killian slipped and skidded his way toward them to help, putting the full weight of his body against the door until it was firmly closed and locked tight.
"Bloody hell, you're both soaked to the bone," Killian exclaimed, assessing the pair as they dripped water all over the carpets, and stood shivering from the chilled bite of the late autumn rain.
"Ugh, we're going to ruin the rug," Swan muttered as she attempted to remove the lengths of sodden hair that had plastered themselves across her face and neck.
"Forget the rug, Swan," Killian chided. "You both need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death. Off you go," he ordered. "Join me back in library so you can warm yourselves by the fire, yeah? I'll have hot cocoa waiting."
"Thanks, K-killian," Henry chattered through his teeth as he stiffly made his way toward the stairs.
"Yeah, um. Thanks," Emma replied, not quite meeting his eyes as she offered a small smile of gratitude before turning to follow Henry.
Killian sighed as he watched them go. Well, they're back at least. That's something, he supposed.
"Seriously?!" Emma shouted.
She'd made it up to her room and had just finished stripping off her wet clothes when all the lights went out. Power outage. Just. Great.
Fumbling in the dark for several minutes, she finally located a flashlight and quickly threw on a pair of yoga pants and a long sweater before hurrying to Henry's room. She handed him the flashlight through the barely opened door after she'd already barged in on him earning her a, Jeez, Mom! A little privacy!, and backing her way out into the hall.
As she stood against the door waiting for Henry, Emma considered the man waiting for them downstairs. Killian Jones. Her dream man come to life, turning her world completely upside down with his kindness, affection, intensity, and consideration. He was the most attractive man she'd ever met, had offered nothing shy of supportive words and earnest compliments to her, and seemed to care for her son every bit as much as he'd shown care for her.
And she'd run from him.
Of course, she had. She's Emma Swan. That's what she does. It's what she'd always done. She runs and doesn't look back.
Except this time she had, metaphorically speaking, because as soon as she'd left she'd known it had been a mistake. As soon as she'd left, she missed him.
Which was crazy! She'd known him, what… less than a week?
But something inside her felt as though she'd known him for months, not days. She couldn't shake the feeling deep down that she just might know him better than anyone, and that he might know her better than she knew herself.
Which completely freaked her out. Hence the running. But also made her feel wanted. He made her feel wanted, when not many people in her life ever had. Hence the coming back.
Though, truth be told, she had to come back sooner or later, people would be swarming the manor in a matter of days. But she'd chosen sooner. Through a storm, with gale force winds, and near zero visibility, and David was absolutely going to kill her the next time he saw her.
But she didn't care. All she cared about was trying to salvage the mess she'd made. She didn't know if what she felt for Killian was real, or if she was merely projecting the feelings she had cultivated for Captain Killian Jones over these past months onto the man who happened to bear a striking resemblance to him. But she was willing to find out.
If she hadn't gone and screwed it all up already.
Henry emerged in warm, dry clothes and the two made their way back down to the library where they were met with a crackling fire, two mugs of hot cocoa (with whipped cream and cinnamon), and one flannel pajama pants clad man lighting the last few candles he'd set out in order to give them some additional light.
"Have a seat in front of the fire, and you'll be warmed up in no time," Killian instructed, coming back over toward them with a couple of blankets in his arms, which he promptly draped around their shoulders as soon as they were situated.
He'd just settled himself down next to Henry when a flash of lightening and peel of thunder shook through the manor. Henry buried himself into Killian's side, shaken by the turbulent sounds (and probably still trying to recover from the harrowing drive back to manor) that were echoing across the cliffs outside.
"It's alright, lad," Killian comforted as he draped an arm around her son, pausing to glance her way in order to gain her assurance that his actions with her boy were okay.
She gave him an encouraging smile and nod, and her breath caught at the returned grin he flashed her. Maybe she hadn't made a complete mess of things after all?
"Killian?" Henry muffled against the man's side.
"Yes, lad?"
"Will you tell us a story?"
"Certainly, my boy. What would you like to hear?" Emma's heart absolutely did not do that flippy-flop thing you read about when she heard Killian call Henry, my boy, That would be ridiculous.
"Will you tell us the legend of Captain Jones? The way you know the story?"
Killian let out an amused breath, a look of consideration passing over his features before he turned to glance at her as if assessing her in the way one might decide how much of a secret to divulge. His enigmatic demeanor only heightening the anticipation she had for his rendition of the tale.
It began in much the same way as the other versions did. The dashing sea captain convincing a lonely and miserable woman to leave her husband and child to run away with him. Their shared love giving them the courage to stand against scandal and calumny from their peerage.
The middle of his version started to veer from the others, but actually walked the line of truth as Emma knew it from the captain's journals, when he spoke of Captain Jones' insistence that his love remain behind when she suspected that she may be with child. The tale went on to express that he'd begun to feel remorse over the fact that he'd allowed her first born to be left without a mother. A show of conscience the other tales never afforded him, and a detail that had her wondering if that was the thing Captain Jones had confessed such shame and guilt over in his final entries.
Other details stood out as well, like the addition of the woman's husband, and that neither Captain Jones nor his love were to blame for her death, but that it had been a vicious murder at the hand of her estranged husband. Furthermore, that the husband had come with the news of his son's demise, and an already struck deal with the local witch to curse the captain for his selfishness. A curse that bound him to haunt the estate for all eternity unless he could find a way to break the enchantment while he was granted corporeal form every one hundred years.
Henry had fallen asleep somewhere around the telling of the captain's arrival back at the estate, his head resting in Killian's lap. His even breathing the only sound besides the crackling of the dying fire, the storm long since passed over.
Killian stared off into the embers, lost in thought and giving Emma an opportunity to consider the tale he'd just spun, so vastly different from the others, and yet it filled in gaps that had always bothered Emma when she'd studied the legend and compared it with historical accounts.
"Do you think she was really pregnant?" she asked quietly, drawing him from his contemplations.
A somberness passed over him as he cast his gaze down to the floor, and replied, "I hope not. Enough tragedy occurred that night as it was."
Emma could feel a heaviness settle over the room, a sorrow that seemed to emanate from the man beside her, and one Emma suddenly found herself desperate to relieve.
"I've never heard that particular version of the legend before, and believe me, I've heard many. Where did you hear that one?"
She saw the corners of his lips tick up as he let out another amused breath, finally meeting her gaze with a fresh glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Who said I heard it? Maybe I'm Captain Killian Jones, enjoying his time in corporeal form, and relaying the truth of my tale to you," he teased, or at least she assumed he was.
Of course he was.
"Right," she scoffed. "Then tell me, Captain. How exactly do you go about breaking your curse?"
His smile faltered for the briefest of moments before he sighed dramatically and replied, "If you figure that out, love, please let me know."
"Well, lucky us," she continued on in their jesting, "The actual Captain Jones is here to welcome people to his newly restored manor. I should put you to work as host at the Grand Opening."
"Or he could play the part of the ghost," Henry offered, his voice thick from slumber.
"I thought you were asleep?"
"Nah," he yawned. "Just resting my eyes."
Killian chuckled disturbing Henry's resting spot and forcing him to sit up.
"Uh, huh. Sure," she countered. "Time for bed, kid."
"But Killian should totally dress up like Captain Jones for the Grand Opening!" he pressed.
"Henry, I don't think Killian is going to want t-"
"No, no, Swan," Killian interrupted. "I'd be only too happy to assist with your big day."
Emma stared at the pair of them, once again feeling as if they were colluding on some grand scheme of which she had no awareness of.
"Well… okay then," she agreed. "We'll have to see what we can find in the way of a costume."
That sly smirk and brow were back prominently on his face as he quipped, "Leave that to me, love."
It had been non-stop chaos for six whole days. Emma was exhausted and the Grand Opening wasn't even until tomorrow.
Though the effects of the storm hadn't caused any significant damage or issues, it had taken some time to set everything back to rights the next day. Then she'd been roped into meeting after meeting, weighing in on everything from the logistics of housing members of the Jones family to the historical accuracy of the actors' costumes and roles they'd be playing during the daytime event. There was also the small matter of research she was still trying to accomplish for her next restoration project, while also actually being an engaged parent.
God bless Killian Jones.
Without any prompting or hesitation, the man threw himself into the supportive roles of assistant and caregiver. Staying by her side to offer his services as she had need, whether it be wrangling members of his extended family as they arrived in droves, or helping Henry with his homework in the evenings and seeing to it that her son ate and made it to bed at a decent hour.
He'd become her supplier of coffee in the mornings and hot cocoa in the evenings. Her respite from tension filled details as he worked out the kinks in her shoulders with his strong hands, or offered her moments of levity with his wit and flirty innuendo. A sounding board and cheerleader to her ideas that would make the Grand Opening even more enjoyable and meaningful to the visitors that would come through, even offering to sacrifice sleep in order to help her sort through the artifacts they'd discovered during the restoration that would be showcased during the event.
Artifacts like Captain Jones' journals and letters displayed under protective glass that would preserve the man's thoughts and accounts for years to come. Other bits of memorabilia from the centuries of living that had occurred within the manor, as well. Scraps of documents and handwritten notes that had been discovered in the study dating back to 1917, photos of Joneses that spanned from the mid-1800's up until the house became vacant forty years ago, and collections of antique items that had been commonplace at one time, but now served as a time capsule for how members of the estate had lived over the centuries; all available for viewing as the public would tour the manor.
It was the organizing of these final displays that had Emma so distracted that she did not hear Killian's approach as he made his way into the gallery that had been selected to showcase the collection, only becoming aware of his presence when he whispered her name in her ear, causing her to startle.
"Killian! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"On the contrary, love," he purred. "I've come to whisk you away for a few hours so you don't end up working yourself to death."
As he stepped back she noticed the basket and blanket sitting at his feet, an expectant look, raised brows, and head cocked to one side as he waited for her reaction.
"What's this?"
"This, Swan," he gestured to the items, "is a picnic. The lad and I are off to enjoy a lunch along the cliffs and we would like you to join us," he invited softly.
Emma would love nothing more than to spend the next couple of hours lounging on the back lawns of the estate with Killian and her son, but as her eyes swept over all the work yet to do that seemed like an impossibility.
Probably sensing the impending refusal, Killian stepped forward and took her hand in his. "Emma. You've done amazing work, and the Grand Opening is going to be huge success. You deserve to take some time for yourself to relax and regroup so that you can enjoy it as well." Emma felt her resolve (not that she even had much of any) melt away at his words and feel of his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Put that bloody curator woman in charge of finishing this up," he suggested as he gestured to the artifacts around them. "She's lurking about somewhere, isn't she?"
Emma worried at her lip as she gave his offer one final consideration, looking past him to the beckoning lawns outside the window.
"Alright, Mr. Jones," she acquiesced in a mocked formal tone. "I will happily accompany you to a picnic on the back lawns."
He flashed her his most dashing smile, and offered her his free arm after he collected the basket and blanket, which she gladly took as he led her to the spot he and Henry had selected.
He'd certainly gone all out. A platters of meat, cheese, fruit, crackers, and sweets delighted them as they reclined on the quilted blanket spread out to overlook the sea. After they'd satisfied their hunger, Killian produced two wooden swords, offering one to Henry in challenge. Emma laughed as she watched the two duel across the lawn, the sight of which stirred the memories of Henry sparring with the imaginary Captain Jones over the summer. She couldn't help but note the similarity in her son's movements as he thrust and parried and danced with a physical foe. Each looked as if they had done this a number of times, learning the techniques of the other's style through practiced repetition.
Victory hard fought and won, Henry asked if he could go back up to the manor and reward himself with some time on his Gameboy, which Emma granted. Killian laid himself down on the blanket beside her and urged her to turn her attentions to the sea once more.
"What am I looking at?" she asked.
"The horizon."
"Is it doing something?"
"No. I just thought you might find it calming," he mused.
"It is," she agreed.
"The sea has always been a great source of comfort and inspiration for me," Killian confessed quietly.
"Inspiration? What does it inspire in you?" Emma asked coyly, expecting a response of flippant wit or bawdy innuendo.
She wasn't expecting the man to recite poetry to her as she kept a fixed eye on the waters below. Captivating her with the soft lilt and warm timbre of his voice.
"Who is it that appears like the dawn?
As fair as the moon, as bright as the sun?
Show me your face, let me hear your voice.
As I choose you, let me be your choice.
My beautiful one, arise and come with me.
Before the dawn breaks and the shadows flee.
Set me like a seal on your heart,
A forged love that can not be torn apart.
You'll ravish my heart with just one glance
Until it so desires to take love's chance.
My beautiful one, arise and come with me.
Let us set sail with our love across the sea."
Emma became aware of Killian's caressing glance as he quoted, show me your face, let me hear your voice. Felt the weight of his hand on hers as he asked, let me be your choice. Her heart thundered within her chest as he beseeched, set me like a seal on your heart, and she could no longer avoid his gaze when she finally turned to face him to take love's chance.
They sat gazing at one another for long moments after his recitation ended before he moved to kneel before her. Taking her face in his hands, he placed a soft kiss on her lips and Emma's breath caught at the overwhelming rush of sensation that swept over her. The soft, yet earnest press of his mouth against hers, that comforting scent of leather, sea and spice she now attributed to him, the tingling sensation that bloomed beneath his fingers on her cheeks, all working to convey a familiarity at the idea that she had experienced this moment before.
An idea she almost gave a moment's consideration to before her better judgment reminded her otherwise.
Opening her eyes to look at him as he drew back from her lips, she breathlessly offered, "That was beautiful. Do you know who wrote it?"
He smiled shyly and reached back to scratch behind his ear as he answered, "Actually, I did. I told you the sea was a source of great inspiration."
She returned his smile and reached her hand around to the back of his neck, playing with his hair at the nape. "I can think of other things the sea inspires," she said coyly, drawing him back down toward her mouth.
Which of course would be the exact moment a member of the staff called out for her to come and help with some crisis that had developed in the gallery.
Emma groaned as she placed her head against Killian's shoulder which shook under his suppressed chuckle.
"Go on, Swan," he urged. "Go save the day. I'll tidy up here and see you later."
Emma gave a long suffering sigh as she stood and made her way back toward the house, catching a glimpse of Killian watching her go over her shoulder. As she entered the gallery she was met with nothing even remotely resembling a crisis, just a few unfinished displays and a need to finalize their placement.
Grumbling under her breath about interrupted moments, she began sorting through the final stack of papers they'd planned to include. Many were scraps of torn, handwritten notes that were to be arranged in a collage style. The familiar script of Captain Jones caught her eye, which widened as she read what appeared to be the final lines of a poem. A poem that had just been recited to her on the back lawn by the man who'd claimed to have written it, though according to the date and initials at the bottom of the page, these particular lines had been penned by K. Jones in 1917.
It was all becoming too much to ignore, but Emma was nothing if not a well traversed patron on the road of denial. She'd been able to look past several things over the recent months, but these past two weeks in the incomprehensible presence of Killian Jones had tested her boundaries of logic in ways she'd never imagined.
She'd still been confused, even a bit shaken when she'd gotten up that morning over the problematic discovery of that scrap of paper. A poem penned in a hand two hundred years after the writer had died, and one hundred years before the author was born. It was a puzzle that had kept her up most of the night.
Maybe the handwritings were just very similar and not truly the same at all. Maybe Killian had heard the poem, first penned by his ancestor, and had subconsciously been inspired by it without realizing the reference when he'd written his version? That had to be it, right? It wasn't like Captain Killian Jones, Killian Jones the founder of the Jones Family Trust in 1917, and Killian Jones the man she'd come to know over the past two weeks were all the same man.
As Emma came down to the grand foyer she shook off the remaining trepidations that had clung to her throughout the night. It was easy to remind herself of the difference between fantasy and reality in the stark light of day.
She had just finished giving final instructions to some of the actors and staff hired on for the day when she felt a presence come up behind her.
"Boo," Killian teased in her ear, startling her slightly and causing her to spin around to face him. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open at the leather clad, opened shirt sight before her. "What's the matter, Swan?" he inquired, a smug smirk at his lips and arched brow practically raised to his hairline. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
He gave her a cheeky wink that earned him an eye roll, but as Emma glanced over his shoulder her gaze fixed itself on the portrait of Captain Jones that hung behind him, and for the first time since she'd arrived at the manor a shiver of unease ran down her spine.
Their outfits were identical. From the embroidered red vest, to the great overcoat, even down to the buckle at his belt, they were as identical as the two men were. Down to the wind swept hair, vivid ocean eyes, and even the small scar each had marring his right cheek.
Emma's heart began slamming within her chest, and thankfully Killian was being called away at just that moment. He quickly kissed her cheek, wishing her luck for the day, not that you'll need it, Swan. I've yet to see you fail, before he'd had a chance to see her distress.
Their schedules and assigned duties for the day left no real opportunity to interact afterward (though she did take a few moments to appreciate his appearance in all that leather throughout the day), and for that she was grateful. It gave her time to get her head back on straight, so that when she saw Killian later that night at the formal gathering in the ballroom, out of the pirate leather and in a modern (and very well fitted) suit, she'd attributed her earlier insanity to the stress that had been threatening to overtake her all week.
Compliments and praise for the restoration and the Grand Opening flowed as freely as the champagne, and Emma couldn't have been more delighted or more proud. Killian stayed at her side for most of the evening, and several times she had to laugh at herself for indulging in the ridiculous notion that she could have possibly believed for even a moment that he was actually Captain Killian Jones.
A notion that still had her smirking as the last song of the evening began playing.
"May I have this dance, milady," Killian inquired formally as he bowed before her and offered his hand, a seductive smirk at his lips.
"I don't dance," she informed apologetically. "Especially when I don't even know what the dance is."
Undeterred, Killian took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. "It's called a waltz," he supplied as he positioned one of her hands at his shoulder and the other within his grasp. "There's only one rule," he stated, and then added with a wink, "Pick a partner who knows what he's doing."
It wasn't until the song had nearly finished that the memory of why those words had sounded so familiar crashed over her.
"Dance with me, Mom."
"Sorry, kid. I don't dance."
"Killian says all you need is a partner who knows what he's doing."
As the song came to an end Emma stepped hurriedly out of Killian's embrace, declaring that she had to say her goodbyes to the guests and then oversee the cleanup crews before rushing off in a panic. A little later she made her way out onto the verandas outside the ballroom warring with her own mind, and once again trying to reconcile her experiences with logic.
The cold autumn breeze made her shiver. Her short, low back evening dress offering little protection against the night air, she turned to make her way back inside when she caught sight of Killian making his way towards her.
Tie loosened, collar unbuttoned, shirt sleeves rolled, and jacket slung over his shoulder, the sight of him made Emma's belly tighten, and not with the unease she'd been fighting off for the past twenty-four hours.
"There you are, Swan," he said, a casual, but warm expression set upon his face. "Been a long day for you, love. You should head up to bed. Let the members of the Historical Society handle the clean-up."
Emma gave a noncommittal hum in response. She didn't want to turn in for the night, not alone anyway, but she still couldn't shake the feeling that she was teetering on the edge of something significant.
"It's bloody freezing out here, love."
Killian stepped forward and draped his coat over her shoulders. It was then that Emma noticed a tattoo she had not seen before on his right forearm. Milah, it read.
Milah.
The woman Captain Killian Jones was cursed for loving. Why would her name be inked into this man's forearm? What were the odds that this Killian Jones would have loved a woman enough to brand himself with that exact name?
Suddenly everything clicked into place, unlocking that part of her mind that Emma had been stubbornly refusing to access. The part that maybe did believe that there were such things as ghosts. The part that could no longer reconcile all the similarities and coincidences between the two men she'd come to know and love. The part that realized they weren't two separate men at all, but that they were one and the same. Captain Killian Jones. A man cursed to exist in ghost form except for a time every one hundred years. A time that, according to her researched accounts of other references of Killian Jones over the centuries, coincided with that exact moment.
Emma let out a startled gasp as the full realization and acceptance of the truth settled over her and she snapped her eyes up to meet Killian's intense gaze.
"What's the matter, Swan?" he questioned softly, his expression cautious yet overflowing with a type of hopeful anticipation. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
His eyes searched hers, his jaw muscle ticking with nervous expectation, and Emma was quite sure they had both forgotten how to breathe. There was no teasing in the words this time. No cheeky wink or smirk to apply his comment as nothing more than flirty banter. No. This was a statement of fact. A challenge to her set belief that the impossible scenario before her might actually be real.
That he was real.
Captain Killian Jones in the flesh. Standing before her in a form she could see and hear and smell and touch. And she very much wanted to touch him.
"Maybe I have," she admitted as she reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into a kiss before either of them could comprehend her intention.
Killian had no bloody idea how they ever made it back up to his room. He was pretty sure they hadn't stopped touching one another in some fashion since she'd pulled him into that kiss out on the veranda.
He wanted to ask her what it meant. Wanted her assertion that she well and truly believed that he was, indeed, Captain Killian Jones. Needed to hear her express her belief in him.
Just not as much as he wanted or needed this, though. Needed her.
Needed the feel of her body against his. The taste of her on his tongue as it plundered her mouth and explored the line of her slender neck. The desperate gasps and pants that gave over to groanings in response to his touch that echoed within his ears. The shudder he felt traverse down her spine as he whispered her name in her ear. He needed it all, wanted it all, and was desperate to offer it back to her in equal measure.
Her hands shook as she began to work at the buttons of his shirt.
"Sorry. It's, uh… it's been a while," she muttered against his lips, eliciting a chuckle from deep within his chest.
"Darling, it can't possibly have been any longer for you than it has been for me."
She pulled back to stare at him with wide, amused eyes and he knew in that moment that she believed. Could see her acceptance of his words as truth and not just teasing. Though, she did apply a teasing tone to her next words.
"That's true," she smirked, as she challenged. "Are you sure you remember what to do?"
Her eyes widened again at the growl that tore past his lips as he turned her and pressed her front against one of the four columns of his bed, pinning her against it with his hips.
"I assure you, love," he murmured along her ear. "I know exactly what to do with you. And to you."
He felt her shiver again as his hands roamed the expanse of her body, one finding its way beneath the skirt of her dress as the other began to slide its zipper down the length of her side.
Placing heated kisses against her neck, his mouth followed the line of the strap of her dress as he slid it from her shoulder, repeating the action on the other side until she stood before him in only her panties.
And such lovely panties they were.
They'd be even lovelier on the floor.
Slowly he spun her again to face him and feasted on the sight before him.
"You are bloody beautiful, Emma," he praised as he brought his mouth to her throat, working the flicker of her pulse with his tongue as his hands cupped her breasts.
Her head tilted back as she arched up against him, beckoning him on in his exploration as his mouth continued down her neck, stopping to nip at her collar bone.
"Killian," she pleaded, burying her hand in his hair, guiding him lower still until she gasped at the pull of her nipple between his teeth.
His hips bucked when her other hand palmed him through his trousers, becoming painfully aware of his own body's pleas for the sensation of her touch. Continuing to lavish his attentions on her breasts, he worked with her to undo the fastenings of his belt and trousers until they slipped over his hips and down his legs; he almost came apart when she reached for him again, this time with less of a barrier between them.
"Wait, love," he groaned against her chest as he took her hand in his. "If you start that now, I'm not going to last. And as a gentleman, I must insist. Ladies first."
Her smug little giggle was cut off by the moan that escaped her throat when he sank to his knees before her and divested her of those enticing panties. Placing one of her legs over his shoulder he wasted no time in offering up his ministrations of worship to her as he savored the heady tang of her scent and taste and gloried in her cries of completion.
Setting her back steadily on her feet he was met with her fierce response as he stood before her once more. Gone were the shaky fingers that had fumbled over the buttons of his shirt upon entering his room. Indeed she gave them no heed at all as she tore the garment from him, fusing her mouth to his as the buttons scattered across the floor. A hum resonated at the back of her throat as her tongue swept over his, still coated with her essence.
"Bed. Now," she instructed as she pushed at his chest, her mouth still hungrily devouring his, only pausing long enough to issue the demand.
"As my lady commands," he replied as they made their way around to the side of the bed, the backs of his knees meeting the edge just before he was pushed back onto it.
Her hands pulled at the elastic band of his last remaining article of clothing, trailing them down his legs and leaving him as bare as she was. His manhood weeping between them and drawing her attention with a wanton gaze that made him flush with fresh desire.
"Come here, love," he beckoned as he situated himself upon the bed, pulling back the covers to welcome her as she climbed in next to him.
Her skin against his was sublime. The heat of her mouth, the silkiness of her hair, the scent of her skin, all things he'd longed to experience those torturous months when she'd been just out of his reach, and things he'd give anything to experience again and again, hoping with everything in him that they'd be granted more than just this one night together. Praying to the powers that be who held the conditions of his curse within their grasp that he might receive absolution within the love of Emma's embrace.
For she did love him, of that he was certain. The words may not have been uttered, but there was no mistaking the shine of it in her eyes. A brilliance that left him humbled in its reflection, yet emboldened to display his reciprocation through the action of his love making.
Pressing her onto her back, Killian placed himself within the cradle of her thighs and waited at her entrance.
"May I have you, Emma?"
"Yes, Killian. I'm yours," she breathed.
It might have been because he had not been with a woman in over three hundred years, or because, though he'd dreamt of this moment often, he'd never quite believed he would have the pleasure of being with Emma so intimately, but as Killian sheathed himself within her tight heat he'd never experienced any other sensation that felt more like home. Surrounded as they were by the very walls of his upbringing, it paled in the comparison of being surrounded by her.
"Gods above, Emma," he moaned as he set a steady rhythm between them, his gaze sweeping over her stretched form beneath him, marveling at the expression of adoration on her features as she watched him with equal passion.
Pulling him to her lips, she quickened their pace with purpose driven movements of her hips as their bodies came together in a frenzy. She wrapped her legs around his hips allowing him to gain greater purchase within her, and he could feel the build of his release gather at the base of his spine.
"Let go, my love," he urged. "Come with me, Emma."
Just as he felt the last vestiges of his control snap, she tightened around him. Cries of ecstasy fell from her lips, as groanings deeper than words escaped from his own as they spent themselves in that moment of shared bliss.
In the soft afterglow of their love making, Emma nestled into Killian's side caressing nonsensical patterns through the hair at his chest as it rose and fell in an even keel.
Captain Killian Jones.
Emma's mind still had trouble wrapping itself around the fact that the man lying naked next to her was, in fact, a three hundred year old ghost, but little else in her world had ever felt more real or true. He was real, and the legend was true. The legend, the curse, all the inexplicable occurrences she'd experienced for months finally had an explanation. Him.
The scent, the feeling of being watched, the tingling sensations, Henry's imaginary friend, the study…
Emma raised her hand and brought it back down in a hard slap against Killian's chest.
"Ow! Bloody hell, woman! What was that for?!" he exclaimed.
"The key!" she accused, raising up onto her side to stare down at him. "The damn key and locked door to your study! Do you have any idea how crazy that drove me?"
Killian chuckled and pulled her back down to him until she was nestled upon his chest. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he began running his fingertips along the length of her back in an attempt to appease her.
"Darling, do you have any idea how boring it is to haunt a vacant house for forty years? I couldn't resist a little fun after you arrived," he confessed. "Besides, I quite fancied our little game, you're rather lovely when you're all riled up."
She pinched his side, which only made him laugh harder. She wasn't really all that upset with him, she just hated that it took her this long to realize the truth. It seemed foolish now that she'd denied it for so long, especially after everything Henry had tried to tell her.
Henry.
"The chandelier," she whispered against his chest, and she felt him go rigid beneath her as she pressed herself up to look him in the eye. "You stopped the chandelier."
The muscle in his cheek jumped as he clenched his jaw, the memory of the event darkening his gaze the way it did hers when she considered how close she'd been to losing her son. Killian didn't answer. He didn't have to. Emma already knew, knew back then even, and had gone so far as to thank him in the ballroom later that night. Now he was here to thank in person, but those words would never be enough to express her gratitude for his actions.
Emma stretched herself up towards him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. His hand moved to the back of her head burying itself in her hair as she poured out her appreciation. As intense as her emotions were in that moment, their kiss remained soft and tender. An expression of love and affection more than passion and desire, which concluded with her pressing her face into the crook of his neck, content to simply hold him and be held.
"How much longer?" she asked.
"Hmm?"
"How much longer before… you know."
"My corporeal time ends tomorrow night at midnight," he answered softly, placing a kiss against her shoulder as he began to caress the length of her arm.
"So what do we do?" she asked. "How do we break the curse?"
"I'm hoping we may already have," he replied, his answer causing Emma to sit up so she could face him.
Pointedly ignoring the fact that neither of them had a stitch of clothing on and that he seemed rather happy at having her astride him, she pressed on in her inquiry, "What do you mean?"
She watched in amusement (and a small amount of feminine pride) as his gaze swept over her exposed form before he closed his eyes and forced a swallow as he attempted to gain some semblance of composure before answering.
"There is a riddle," he explained. "Henry and I have been working on parsing it out. It speaks of me finding someone. A woman with whom I won't repeat past mistakes. A woman with whom I can... trade my love."
He looked at her with a tentative expression of hope as he waited for his words to sink in. Words that expressed the depth of his feelings, and the longing he held that they might be returned by her.
Emma offered him a small, but coy smile as she said, "Well, I think what we did tonight adds up to more than just a True Love's Kiss. Isn't that how they always break curses in fairy tales?"
Killian shot up to sit before her, wrapping her in his embrace before pulling back slightly to cup her face in his hands. "Emma, does that mean you? That you...?"
Emma leaned in and whispered, "I love you, Captain Killian Jones," against his lips, and heard his sharp intake of breath before his lips took hers.
"And I love you, Emma," he confessed, resting his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.
Captain Killian Jones loved her, and she loved him. The curse didn't stand a chance.
"Bloody hell!" Killian cursed as he took in the familiar scene around him, the familiar form of his ghostly visage.
"It didn't bloody work," he muttered to the rocky shore around him. "Why didn't it bloody work?"
Killian set a purposeful pace back towards the cliff top and the manor beyond as he tried to figure out what they had missed. Emma loved him. They had traded declarations of that love through their words as well as their bodies, so how could the curse not have broken?
Reaching back into the far dredges of his mind, Killian brought forth the memory of the witch's words when she'd first cursed him.
"How? How do I break the curse?"
"You don't," she replied. "But this will help guide you to the answer."
The compass!
Killian had thought it was merely a token that would point the way to the person capable of breaking his curse, but now he remembered the section of the riddle that had outlined the part the artifact would play in actually freeing him.
Simply place the compass within her hold, and watch as all your dues unfold.
He had to retrieve the compass and get it to Emma. Perhaps it wasn't too late.
By the time Killian arrived at his study, Swan and Henry were already there.
"Mom! Killian's here!" Henry exclaimed, and Killian's heart clenched at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks.
"The compass, Killian," Henry continued on excitedly. "We forgot about the part with the compass!"
"Aye, lad," Killian replied as he knelt down before Emma as she and Henry finished prying up the last of the boards that concealed the compass.
The moment he placed it in her hand, the compass began to glow brightly and Killian could immediately feel the change that came over him. Gradually the floor below him became more solid, the room sharpened in its contrast of light and dark, his senses becoming more attentive to the woman before him.
"It's working," he marveled, and Emma's head snapped up in response.
"I heard that," she whispered in quiet awe. "I heard you!"
Killian cupped her face and watched her eyes close at the sensation as she brought her free hand up to cover his. "I can feel you."
It was working!
Emma opened her eyes and they sparkled with delighted wonder and tears as she said, "I can see you!"
Killian's exhilaration at her assertion was short lived as a deathly pale Henry suddenly collapsed beside them.
"Henry?" Emma exclaimed, as she leaned over her prone son. "Henry?! What's happened? Henry!"
As Emma tried to revive her son, another terrible memory took hold of Killian's mind. He focused on the glow of the compass still gripped in Emma's hand and remembered the similar way it had shone as it took the life force of Milah's husband in order to give life to the magic that bound him.
The horrific truth settled over Killian as he realized that his life was being restored because it was being taken from Henry.
Life will be restored. Should she choose to trade her truest love for his displayed.
A trading of love; not he and Emma trading their love for one another, but Emma trading the true love of her son for her love of him.
"Swan. The compass. You have to destroy the compass," he said with quiet resolve.
"What?!" she exclaimed, her heading snapping back up towards him. "But, if I do that you'll be cursed forever."
"If you don't, Henry will die," he asserted, and her face drained of all color at his words. "This is the compass' doing. This is the trade the riddle meant. His life for mine. I'm not worth that sacrifice, Emma. Nothing is."
There was no hesitation in her action as she quickly looked for something substantial enough with which to destroy the compass. Because, of course she'd choose Henry's life over his, and he was glad. Relieved even. Though it didn't alleviate the ache of heartbreak he felt, the heartbreak evident on her face.
"I don't want to lose you," she sobbed as she held the paper weight she'd grabbed from the desk, readying it in her hand to destroy the evil artifact.
"And I don't want to lose you," he confessed, taking her face in his hand one last time as he placed the other over hers. "But I won't separate another mother from her son ever again. Save Henry. You have to let me go."
"I love you," she said, her forehead coming forward to rest against his.
"And I love you," he replied. "Both of you."
Together they brought down the paperweight and smashed the compass. A blinding pain shot through Killian as he heard Emma call out his name before everything went black.
"Captain… wake up, Captain," a voice called, pulling him from the void.
Once again he found himself on the cursed shore, still in his ghostly form.
"Good to see you again, Captain," the voice greeted, and Killian spun around to find the petite form of a woman standing before him.
"You can see me?"
"Of course," she stated matter-of-factly with a shrug of her slight shoulders. "I've always been able to see you. I just usually don't let you see me."
Killian studied her a bit more and recognized her as the woman who served as the manor's curator.
"Look closer, Captain," she smirked as she stepped toward him.
Killian sucked in a startled breath of recognition after examining her a bit closer. "The witch!"
The woman tsked at the label and rolled her eyes. "Why must every purveyor of magic share that term?" she muttered.
"How is this possible?" Killian asked. "You should be-"
"Dead?" she supplied. "You can't take part in a curse and not end up bound to the others involved," she explained. "We each served a role. You, the purpose. The husband, the means. And I, the resolution."
"The resolution? What does that mean?"
"It's been my job to see the magic through to the end," she stated, as if the answer was quite obvious. "I've been tied to the curse and to this manor in much the same way as you. I told you that I believed you deserved a second chance, so I bound myself to the curse in order to resolve it once you proved yourself worthy of being free of it."
"Proved myself worthy? How-"
"You were willing to sacrifice yourself, Captain. Your happiness, a chance for life. Sacrifice everything so that the woman you love wouldn't be parted from her son. You were placed under the curse so you could never again tear apart a family, and I believe that if I do not free you from it, then I will be the one guilty of that transgression."
Killian stood and watched as the restored compass materialized within the witch's hand, still not quite daring to hope that the moment he longed for with every fiber of his being had finally arrived.
With a wave of her hand the compass shone once more and within moments Killian felt breath fill his lungs as his heart leapt to life within his chest.
Once the glow of the compass subsided, the woman offered him one last smile as she commanded, "Go to them, Captain. Your family is waiting for you."
Killian did not need telling twice. He turned and ran as fast as his feet would carry him back towards his home.
"Henry? Come on, kid. Wake up," Emma pleaded. "Henry? Can you hear me?"
A sigh of relief tore from Emma's lungs as Henry's eyes fluttered opened.
"Mom?" he rasped as he slowly tried to sit up. "What happened? Where's… where's Killian?" he asked as he frantically looked about the room.
"It was a trick, Henry," she explained thickly. "The compass. It was taking your life to restore Killian's. We had to..."
She couldn't go on. Words choked by sobs that demanded to be free from their restraint. Henry buried his face into her shoulder and they held each other as they cried out their heartache.
"Henry?" Emma began hesitantly as they each wiped the last of their tears from their cheeks. "Can you, um… can you see him? Is he here?"
Henry's downcast eyes were the only response she needed, and a fresh wash of tears threatened as they pooled at the corners of her eyes.
"Wait!" He cried, his head snapping up with sharp focus. "I think… I hear him! It sounds like he's outside, but I can hear him!"
Emma gripped Henry's hand as the sound of her name rang in her ears. "Henry," she replied. "I can hear him, too."
They locked eyes with one another as the astonishment of that fact settled over them, and then leapt up to race from the room as they both heard their names called once more.
As they reached the upper walkway that overlooked the foyer, the front door burst open as Killian ran in, still crying out for them.
"Emma! Henry!"
His gaze settled on them, a wide smile breaking over his face before he turned to rush up the stairs to meet them as Emma and Henry raced down towards him. They met at the landing, she and Henry throwing themselves into Killian's arms as the three laughed and cried and rejoiced.
Emma cupped Killian's face, peppering it with kisses as she asked, "How? How are you here?"
"It was the curator! Well, the witch really, she-" Emma cut off his explanation with a crushing kiss to his lips.
"I don't care," she muttered against his mouth. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is that you're here."
Killian chuckled and hugged her tightly, drawing Henry into his side to share in the embrace.
Once Emma was finally convinced that he wasn't going to disappear again, she pulled back and took his hands into hers as she said, "Welcome home, Captain."
"Aye, love," he replied, squeezing her hands. "I am home. Wherever you and Henry are, that's my home. You're my home."
"And you're ours, Killian."
"Well, then," he said as he pulled them both back into his arms. "Welcome home, my loves."
THE END.
Killian's poem borrowed/based on the lyrics of Arise My Love by Michael Card; inspired by the Song of Solomon.
I hope you enjoyed my Legend of Captain Killian Jones. I had so much fun writing it! Please drop me a line and let me know what you think of it ;o) Also, feel free to come flail with me on Tumblr ( hollyethecurious). Much love and thanks again to kmomof4 and artistic-writer!