They were standing just outside the Boston airport. David had promised to pick them up, to save the rental car fees. They were standing hand-in-hand, waiting, when Killian started. "Emma, the rings." Emma pulled her hand from his and slowly pulled the rings off. She took Killian's left hand and helped him get his wedding band off, then zipped all three into her purse.
"We're professional spies," Emma muttered. "How did we forget them?"
"I suppose we're slipping, love," he said.
"Look at the tan lines," she couldn't help pointing out, showing him her hand. Killian looked at his own hand and shrugged. With his hand and the lines of burns and melted flesh, she really couldn't see the lines. Which was probably a good thing.
"I do hope your parents aren't particularly observant in such areas, Swan." Emma copied his shrug. He leaned down and kissed her, pulling away slowly. "It's going to be okay, my love."
"I know." Just then, she saw her dad's truck. "Alright, Mr. Jones. Showtime."
"Aye, aye, Mrs. Jones." They took a breath in unison. Then they made their way to the truck.
David was leaning against the driver's door and Emma couldn't help grinning and releasing Killian's hand to run into her dad's arms.
"Emma," her dad breathed, hugging her close and cradling her head in his hand. She felt the moment he noticed Killian because he suddenly tensed. Emma pulled away and glanced quickly at both of their faces. David looked suitably suspicious and just a little murderous, and Killian looked just the right combination of scared and confident.
"Dad, this is Killian Jones. Killian, this is my dad, David Nolan." They slowly shook hands, David's grip just a little too much for the slight bruising Killian had across the top after he somehow closed his hand in a car door on their last mission. Idiot.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Nolan." Emma suddenly had to bless her five-years-ago self for explaining her parents' name differences and her own, for that matter.
"And you," David said briefly. Emma rolled her eyes.
"You guys can try to kill each other later, when we're not in an airport parking lot. Get in the truck," she said, pushing her dad to the driver's seat. Once David was safely in the truck, she turned to Killian. "Be good," she whispered before pushing past him to sit between them.
"I'm always good," he murmured before following her.
The ride to Storybrooke, Maine, was awkward, to say the least. David was never the one who interrogated anyone Emma brought home; Mary Margaret had questioned every guy or girl to cross the Nolan-Blanchard front door, whether it was to pick up Emma for a date or just to study. David had always just glared. Killian tried twice in the car to start a conversation with his father-in-law, but David shut him down with a single sentence.
That left Emma to burn with embarrassment, sitting between her husband and her father. Why hadn't she taken Killian to meet her family before they got engaged? There was a whole year when they knew each other before they were married; she had had time to introduce everyone. Of course, she had been terrified of what was happening between her and Killian—she had trouble enough telling Regina, who already knew both of them probably better than they knew themselves, that they were getting married.
They arrived in Storybrooke, in front of her parents' loft, in record time. Killian and her dad both jumped out of the truck to untie the luggage and fight silently over carrying it in. Emma knew that if her dad didn't get the suitcases, Killian would get them as he always did, so she ran up to the front of the apartment complex where her mom was waiting, open-armed and slightly teary.
"Mom," she whispered as she threw herself into her mom's arms.
"Emma," Mary Margaret whispered back, cradling her daughter's head much like David had.
She loved her family so much; she'd forgotten. Emma was really wondering why she had stayed away so long. Cursed CIA.
Henry ran down the stairs and attempted to toss himself into Emma's arms. There was a considerable age gap, nearly fifteen years, but Henry was still taller than her. So she settled for hugging him tightly, as tightly as she could. She could've sworn that Henry buried his face in her hair and sniffed a few times. "Goodness, kid, are you crying that I'm back?"
"No," he muttered, pulling away. Emma couldn't resist patting him on the head. He'd grown so much; she couldn't use his head as an elbow rest anymore. She mourned that loss for a second.
David and Killian chose that moment to appear, Killian with a peeved expression of he wouldn't let me carry your things, love, I'm sorry, I tried and David with an annoyed expression of I'm not that old, I will carry my daughter's bags. Emma grinned. Then the grin flew away on little wings, because it was introductions time.
Emma glanced at the bags in Killian's hand and he lightly set them down. "Mom, this is Killian Jones," she said. "Killian, this is Mary Margaret Blanchard, my mom, and Henry James Leopold Nolan-Blanchard." Henry started to interrupt but she cut him off. "Call him Henry unless you want to die a painful death," she muttered. Killian knew very well what her brother wanted to be called due to all the stories that Emma couldn't help sharing, but Henry liked to tell guests in vivid detail of the terrible death that would occur if they so much as breathed another syllable beyond "Henry."
Killian bowed slightly and took Mary Margaret's outstretched hand, shook it and kissed the top. Emma rolled her eyes and Mary Margaret looked slightly shocked. Emma couldn't help thinking that chivalry wasn't dead, not while her husband, the last image of the truly knightly aside from her father, lived. It was always such a relief to remember that. "My pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Blanchard. And rest assured, Henry—" he released her mom's hand and turned to the kid "—I know full well the trials of a somewhat difficult name," he said, winking. Henry also looked shocked, but in the I-have-just-met-my-hero way.
"Come on, Killian, let's get our stuff up," Emma inserted just before Mary Margaret could start the interrogation. It was going to happen, Emma knew that, but she preferred it not happen out in the open. Killian grabbed her suitcase and his and followed her up the stairs. Emma silently pointed out the squeaky step and he avoided that part like he'd been coming to this house for years.
She opened the thankfully unlocked door and stepped into her parents' house. Emma stood next to Killian as he took it in. He slowly grinned. "You know, love, we've had our apartment for five years but it doesn't have something that this has," he said musingly after making sure that his in-laws weren't standing right behind him.
"I know. I think it's mostly that this one's older and Mom likes small mementos and has time to collect them and arrange them in pretty places," Emma said, leading him to the stairs up to her room. "I imagine we'll just both be in here, unless you want to keep up a saintly charade and stay with Henry for three weeks." Killian gave her an appalled expression that showed exactly what he thought of that. She smiled angelically and opened the door for him.
Emma realized, looking at her room, that she had really kind of missed it. Except for the strange posters of long-forsaken bands and movies on the walls, to which Killian of course bounded immediately and examined thoroughly. Emma noticed that he was holding his hand perfectly still as he studied the posters and the rest of her room, so she snuck up behind him, gently grabbed his hand, and started massaging it, like the PT had showed them when they got back from that terrible mission. He sighed in relief and moved slowly around the room to look at it so that she could follow him easily. Eventually, Killian just collapsed on the bed and Emma fell down next to him.
"Always a pleasure to see into your childhood, Swan. Thank you," he said, glancing over at her like he was expecting her to be making this a more momentous occasion. But really it wasn't, somehow. It was right to see the guy she loved hanging out in her room, like they were in high school, sneaking around the parents a little. Such a joy, honestly.
"Emma!" her mom called from below. "Would you like some dinner? I thought we'd go to Granny's."
Emma sighed and stood, Killian mirroring her on the other side. He took her hand in his. "Ready for the show, my love?" he asked quietly.
"Let's do this," Emma said resolutely.
Yeah, they'd acted before. It's part of what being secret agents is. They'd pretended to be married when they weren't, on their first date after they'd gotten married, and everything in between. But that acting didn't matter, not as much; no one knew who they were. No one would remember the blonde in the red dress and the brunet with her who gazed into her eyes throughout their time at the coffee shop. However, most everyone in Storybrooke knew Emma. Even after nearly six years, they'd remember her expressions and moods and et cetera. Storybrooke didn't get many new people.
They walked down the stairs, hand in hand. David glared at their entwined hands and Emma let Killian's go, as awkwardly as she could. Mary Margaret grinned, almost as awkwardly, and Henry just threw himself at Killian. "Where are you from? Do you like football? How about soccer?"
Killian smiled at the lad as they all walked down the stairs, Emma walking safely between David and Mary Margaret. "I'm from London, and I do like American football and your strangely named soccer. I played football—the proper football—in school for a while."
"What position did you play?" Henry asked eagerly.
"That's enough, Henry," Mary Margaret inserted. "Let the man enjoy the surroundings." Killian mouthed "sorry" at Henry and he shrugged, kicking the ground with his pristine new Converse. Emma grinned at her brother.
Emma saw Killian staring at their surroundings as per Mary Margaret's veiled command, and she couldn't help following suit. She sighed quietly and Killian brushed her hand after glancing at her face.
Clearly not quietly enough for David's incredible hearing to miss. "You okay, Emma?" he asked concernedly.
"I'm good," Emma said. "Just missed this place." It was so true. She was looking all around Storybrooke, drinking it in as much as Killian was. She had missed Mr. Gold's evil-looking pawnshop on the corner, the clock tower that liked to stay stuck at 8:15 every so often when the weather was right, and, probably most of all, Granny's.
They walked into the restaurant to the jingle of the little bells. She inhaled the scent of Granny's lasagna and suddenly craved a grilled cheese and onion rings.
"Emma!" Granny called from behind the counter.
"Emma!" Ruby called from another table.
The rest of the people in the restaurant turned and nodded at Mary Margaret and David, a few grinning or waving at Emma. They took their usual table in the corner, Killian pulling a chair over for Henry to sit at the end without being asked. Emma caught David giving her husband a quick glance of approval.
"Hey everyone, Emma, how are you guys? Emma, how was New York or wherever? And who's this?" Ruby was not subtle, by any stretch of the imagination.
"We're doing well, Ruby," Mary Margaret said with a friendly grin.
"I want lasagna," Henry said. Ruby wrote it on her page, probably something like "Henry." Everyone would know what that meant.
"Just home for Christmas, Rubes," Emma said. "And this is Killian, my—"
"I'm Emma's boyfriend, came home with her for Christmas and to meet her family," Killian inserted with a sweet smile. Ruby raised an eyebrow. Emma watched as her thought process went from yay, Emma's home to hot man to darn, why can't he be mine? Emma couldn't help grinning; this man was entirely hers. She had her marriage certificate in her suitcase if anyone was curious.
Ruby smiled at Emma, apparently over her brief bit of jealousy. "You and me, Emma, we're going to talk later, chat about the old days!"
Emma nodded. She adored Ruby, truly, always had since they were best friends in 4K, but hanging out with Ruby left her husband in the dubitable care of her parents and brother. She inwardly shrugged as they all ordered. Killian could handle himself, and it would probably turn out better than if they stayed together all the time.
"So, where are you from, Killian?" Mary Margaret asked as another waitress placed their food in front of them with another lusty gaze at Killian, this one a gaze Emma didn't like. The interrogation had begun.
"Just outside of London," Killian said, tucking into his lasagna. Henry had convinced him to convert to the side of Granny's lasagna quickly. Judging by Killian's slightly upset expression, it was better than his own. Emma, of course, knew this; she'd grown up on Granny's lasagna, and the first time she'd had Killian's she'd been just a bit more than disappointed. She'd told him as much, and he'd vowed that when they eventually came back to Storybrooke, he'd try the lasagna and prove her wrong.
"When did you move over here?" Mary Margaret persisted.
Killian paused, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and glanced at Emma, who patted his bicep to encourage him to go on. Nice bicep, really; very nice. Gotta love a man with good arms and a tragic backstory. "I immigrated when I was thirteen," he said, slightly haltingly.
Thankfully, the tone was enough to discourage Mary Margaret from any other questions about his origins for the time. She quickly switched gears. "Where did you two meet?" she asked happily, looking back and forth between the two of them. Emma noticed that Ruby had abandoned two of her tables, one of which was an angry and probably still hungover Dr. Whale, to drift closer and listen.
"In the insurance office," Killian started. "She worked in the cubicle right behind me, and I could watch her work sometimes, whenever Regina gave me less to do." David glared.
"I promise it was innocent," Emma inserted. David's glare softened.
"Eventually Regina made us work together on a project. We didn't really get along for several months, but Regina thought we worked well together. So eventually—"
"—after a really big argument—" Emma chimed in.
"—the project was done and presented and we both got excellent raises—"
"—he asked me out, and the rest, as they say—"
"—is history," Killian finished.
He finished his lasagna as Mary Margaret and Ruby fairly beamed between the two of them. Emma grinned. Yeah, they were adorable. "Ruby, do give my compliments to your grandmother," he said with slight reluctance. Granny of the ears like a wolf's shouted,
"Thank you! Glad to hear someone new appreciates it!"
They were all walking home an hour later, the lasagna and grilled cheese consumed with typical gusto. Emma had tucked her hand into Killian's elbow and she was talking with Henry about something that she couldn't quite remember. The conversation had started out with him pointing out a new store along Main Street, then went into school, then narrowed to math class, and finally he arrived at the girl he was apparently besotted with.
"Her name's Violet, and she's good at math, which is good because I can help her with writing and she can help with math, and she likes to play with the guys on the playground, which is cool, and she has a horse—"
Killian cut him off with a laugh. "Sounds like quite the lass," he said. "Have you told the lady of your affections?"
Henry blushed and scraped his shoe along the sidewalk for a moment. Mary Margaret had stopped them all to show David a lamp in a shop window. Apparently Henry's most recent baseball throw through the house had found its mark, Emma gathered from her murmuring parents' conversation. If it was the dreadful lamp she remembered, she'd have to thank Henry for the destruction later. "No," Henry muttered. "Don't know how," he sighed.
"Ah, it's not too difficult," Killian teased. "Just walk up to her after weeks of pining and stumble over your words while asking her out to dinner."
Mary Margaret heard his words and laughed, one or two stars in her eyes as she imagined Killian asking her daughter out for the first time. Emma pinched his arm. "You can do it, Henry, and you'll be smoother than the British guy while you ask her, I'm sure."
"Which is quite the feat," Killian inserted.
David chuckled. "Do you want the lamp now, dear? Or shall we take the young ones home and let them curl into the couch and watch some movie that's way too young for me?"
Henry cheered, probably glad to be off the topic of his lady love. Emma grinned, leaning into her husband's arm, which had slowly moved to rest around her waist as David spoke. David darted a light glare at said arm, but he said nothing, for which Emma was grateful and Killian couldn't help but grin.
"Your father approves of me, love," he whispered.
"Good," Emma replied. "He's still probably going to give you some manly talk about not hurting me later though, so be prepared."
"Be prepared!" he sang into her ear, Lion King style. Emma groaned, a smile breaking over her face despite her husband's idiocy.