Mary Margaret decided to skip on the lamp for the time being and they all walked back to the Nolan house. Henry immediately migrated back to his room to do boring teenage things and Emma and Killian sat down on the couch.
Emma tucked herself into Killian's arm like always. He chuckled into her hair and rested his left hand on her thigh so she could easily massage at his no-doubt aching muscles. She rested her head on his shoulder when she took his hand, not able to hold back the familiar chills of remembering that terrible day. Killian smiled and closed his eyes in relief.
Mary Margaret and David sat down on the couch opposite them with matching happy sighs. David noticed Emma's motions and Killian's hand and couldn't hold back a wince. "What happened to your hand, Killian?" Mary Margaret gasped before Emma could stop her with warning eyes or David could hold her back with a comforting hand on her knee. Emma inwardly sighed. They hadn't worked out this story.
Killian's eyes snapped back open and he looked not unlike a cornered puppy for a moment. Sad and slightly scared, not dangerous, thankfully—Killian, not Agent Jones. Emma felt him tense then relax when he thought of something. "Boating accident just before I went to work for the insurance place Emma and I met," he answered. Emma patted his wrist. That was a good one. Very nearly true, too—they had been on a harbor when the fire started. Just left a few details out, like how they'd already been married five years and this accident had only happened two months ago, and it was basically a medical miracle that he could use the hand as much as he could. The doctors had really wanted to amputate, but Killian had refused through his pain meds-induced haze and Emma had fought for him.
"I'm sorry," Mary Margaret replied, with a time-and-repetition-patented yet completely genuine sad face. Emma sensed David's judgement softening again. But it wasn't enough to stop the next questions.
In a rapid-fire sequence, David asked Killian basically every question from "Where did you come from"—London, as he'd already told Henry—to "Why did you start working at the insurance company"—needed some cash in this land of plenty and insurance was basically the only option with his qualifications—to "Where does your family live"—brother died four years back, mom died when he was two, and father disappeared to the ends of the earth right before he was born—to the all-important "How long have you two been dating, and what are your intentions regarding my only daughter?"
Emma took that as her cue to stand up and go visit Henry. She kissed Killian, whose face had sharpened from my father-in-law is going to murder me in my sleep into a smirking I'm going to tell my wife's father exactly what my intentions are, on the cheek, and motioned for her mother to join her. Mary Margaret thankfully understood that this was a father-potential-son-in-law conversation, despite her desperate longing to hear whatever Killian said.
They both went up the stairs before the conversation could really start, and Emma poked her head into Henry's room. The kid was sitting on his bed, watching something on his TV—how long had he had a TV?—and he grinned when he saw her.
"Can we come in?" Emma asked cautiously, absolutely no idea if Netflix time for teenagers was a thing much-older sisters and moms could interrupt.
"Yep!" Henry said, nodding vigorously. He was probably the exception to every rule.
Emma sat down on the bed next to Henry, and Mary Margaret sat down on the other side. "What are you watching?" Emma asked. She hadn't really had time to watch much Netflix lately, aside from Parks and Rec.
"It's The Flash," Henry explained excitedly. "That's Barry, he's the Flash, he got his superpowers when he was struck by lightning, and that's Iris, she's awesome…"
Emma zoned out for a few minutes while her brother continued to explain the show and her mom nodded attentively, pretending to understand what was going on in the show. She couldn't help wondering what was being said downstairs, whether her dad liked Killian enough to not throw him out on his handsome face, whether Killian was going the whole route and asking for her father's blessing to marry her, whether they were just sitting there awkwardly after only pretending to intimidate and be intimidated. It was a mystery.
"And that's Joe, he's Iris's dad, he's a police officer, and he knows that Barry's the Flash, and he's also awesome!" Henry wrapped up his summary of the show with far-younger-than-his-age enthusiasm, and both Emma and Mary Margaret smiled and nodded, like it had all made perfect sense. Not much had made sense, aside from pretty much everyone being rather awesome. "Why are you two up here, anyway?" he asked suddenly. "Weren't you all double-dating or whatever?"
Mary Margaret grinned. "Your father wanted to have a talk with Emma's suitor about his intentions," she said conspiratorially. Henry laughed and Emma sighed.
"What if they end up fighting to the death over Emma?" Henry asked, still laughing. "They should use lightsabers. That way they'll get their wounds cauterized immediately, and Mom won't have to deal with blood on the carpet."
Emma groaned, head falling into her hand. That was honestly what she was imagining, and her father was not doing well in her mental image. Killian had taken swordsmanship as a geeky teenager at his brother's advice. "I'll have to kill whoever comes out on top, then," she said, matching Henry's grin.
Mary Margaret checked her watch. "They've had long enough to discuss like the manly men they are, and it is time for bedtime, young man," she said to Henry. He sighed but hugged Emma, kissed his mom on the cheek, and bounced off to the bathroom to prepare for bed.
"Why is he the perfect kid?" Emma asked her mom.
"I have no idea," Mary Margaret replied, staring after her son. "Goodness knows you weren't that obedient." She wrapped her arm around her daughter as they stood up to check on their husbands.
"Which is why I wonder how he got to be so good," Emma muttered.
Twenty minutes later, Killian was brushing his teeth and Emma was curled under her blankets.
"What did you and Dad talk about?" she asked, trying to keep her eyes open.
"My iblurghfs, cocenerigneg ooo—" He choked and quickly spit. Emma giggled and waited for him to finish in the bathroom. "My intentions, concerning your lovely self," Killian said as he stepped back into Emma's bedroom. He pulled back the covers, letting just a little cold air inside. Emma shivered, and he got under the blankets quickly.
"Mom and I were starting to worry that you two were going to duel to the death, as Henry said. He was hoping for lightsabers. I probably would have preferred those huge sabers—katanas."
Killian laughed, lightly pulling Emma into his chest. "Your father considered it, I believe, but he thankfully decided against it. The resulting fight would probably have messed up the delicate living room arrangement your mother fixed up so nicely." He nestled his face against the back of her neck. "I would have been Luke, I suppose," he whispered into her hair. "Or maybe Han. Dashing space pirate, he is. And your father is Vader, and you're the lovely Leia." He nuzzled into her hair once more.
Emma smiled at the Star Wars commentary—Killian was definitely Han, down to the low-cut shirt and chest hair—and sighed. Their little game was going well so far, and her family couldn't see the slight deception at all.
"What's wrong, love?" Killian asked, trailing his fingers along her side, making her shiver slightly.
Emma tangled her feet with Killian's. His were always akin to an oven, and hers were more like a freezer. Comfortable combination, it was, once they both got past the initial shock. "I hadn't realized how much I missed them until we came home. I should have been there for them and for Henry." she whispered.
Killian kissed her jawline. "I'm sorry, love."
"I don't like pretending to them." She nestled further into Killian's chest.
Killian was silent for a moment, and Emma started to think he had fallen asleep before noticing that his breathing pattern hadn't changed enough for sleep. "Your father asked if I intended to marry you, since we've been 'dating' for so long. I put us at three years, by the way."
"What did you say?" she asked.
"I told him I did."
"Good answer, you married man. What did he say?"
"He nodded, seemed pleased with that answer. Then we discussed football."
Emma rolled over and glared at her husband. "You and my father discussed football while my mother and brother and I were nearly sure one of you was going to be murdered?"
Killian laughed and kissed her quickly. "Meant that the discussion for your hand was over, love. He basically gave me permission to ask you to marry me, if you must know. I'll ask again if we go through with this second-marriage thing. But I believe he thinks I'm a fantastic catch."
"Really," Emma said, vaguely surprised. She would have expected her father to make Killian wait for such a momentous answer, take a few days to decide or something. He'd known Killian for exactly one day and apparently the bromance had quickly grown strong without her realizing. She should have expected it, of course, but still.
"Go to sleep, love," Killian muttered, his voice dropping off into slumber.
Emma stared at his face for a few moments, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "I love you," before falling asleep.
"Good morning!" came the happy voice of Mary Margaret Blanchard from outside Emma's room. Emma jumped and blinked for a few seconds before recognizing the cat poster on the wall. Killian sat up immediately, reaching for the gun he'd stowed under the mattress, until he realized where they were—not on a mission, and that was not the voice of a kindly landlady about to attempt double murder of newlywed house guests—and fell back to Emma's side. She laughed hollowly as Killian's eyes darted around the room before landing on her and relaxing.
They smiled at each other for a moment. "Good morning," she echoed her mother. Killian leaned over to kiss her deeply for a second, then jumped out of bed. "Where are you going?" Emma asked, leaning back in the bed. If he was going where she expected, she wasn't going to have to move from this bed for another half-hour at least.
"I'm going to assist your mother with the morning meal," he said, flattening his hair slightly. Emma grinned. That was exactly her prediction. All hail six years of knowledge about each other. "May as well gain some points with my mother-in-law."
Emma heard a squeak from outside the door, then footsteps quickly descending the stairs, and she groaned.
Killian looked from the door to Emma and back again. "Was your mother right outside the door?"
Emma nodded slowly, her mind racing. "What do you want to do about it?" At this point they had two options. Make something up or admit to the entire thing. It all depended on what her mom had heard.
Killian leaned over for another quick kiss. "If she heard that, I'll tell her I said 'future' or something like that."
"She still won't believe that. They all think I'm too anti-commitment to consider marriage."
Killian chuckled, preening a bit. "That's what they think."
Emma sighed. "Yeah, they do. They really do. Ruby and Belle had an intervention for me one time when I hadn't gone on any sort of real date in a year due to the one night stands." Killian smirked, no doubt imagining the Emma she was when they met the third time. She'd been in a skin-tight red dress splattered with red wine, just off of a shorter job that required catching a cheating drug lord. Even then she'd been able to read his eyes, and they said most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Even now he was smiling that you're-my-favorite-person-place-and-thing smile that made her heart skip beats.
Killian leaned down and kissed her hand carefully, his lips moving over her knuckles slowly. "I'm going to help your mother with breakfast, all right, love?"
Emma nodded and tried to push him towards the door. From her position on the bed, it was more like a light struggle-filled tap on the chest. "I want bacon," she said.
Killian laughed. "As you wish." He left the door slightly ajar and she wanted to murder him. Believe it or not, that was the man's most annoying flaw. The day he finally learned to close the door completely, she'd probably—she didn't know what she'd do, but it would be a truly great day for both of them. She sighed and closed her eyes.
Emma woke up again to the smell of bacon permeating the house. "Emma, Henry!" Mary Margaret called. "Breakfast!" Emma heard Henry's I-am-awake-and-not-pleased-about-anything-life-can-offer-me-today groan that turned into a cheer when he smelled the bacon. They raced each other down the stairs, Emma pretending excellently that she wasn't approaching thirty years old. She won the race, just barely. The boy was getting to be bigger than her. Their parents watched with no small amount of amusement and slight confusion.
Killian stood unruffled at the countertop with spatula in hand. "Your breakfast is served, milady and good sir," he said with pleasant alacrity. "Do help yourself."
Emma kissed Killian as Henry tore through the pancakes and bacon, leaving barely enough for the other four. Killian smirked when Emma pulled away, and she sighed, knowing that her dad had been trying not to stare at them in slight annoyance at the dreaded PDA.
"Did Mom mention the slip of the tongue?" she asked in a whisper.
Killian shook his head and gave her a thumbs up. Emma breathed a sigh of relief and got her plate of breakfast goodness.
They sat down at the kitchen table with their food and Mary Margaret instantly spoke. "Emma, why don't you take Killian around Storybrooke today? Just a pleasant walk—the weather's lovely, isn't it, David—and show him your old wandering places."
Killian turned pleading, longing, bright blue eyes to Emma and she nodded. "Sounds good, Mom," she agreed. It was beyond past time for Killian to see Storybrooke, the place that'd started to make her into who she was today. She took a bite of her bacon. "Has anything changed drastically?"
Her parents sighed sadly and reproachfully in unison. Their sighs said You should have visited more often, Emma, because then you'd know what's changed and what hasn't, what's stayed the same for the past sixty-four years and what changed yesterday, but no, you weren't here, you were working in New York. We're fine with that. "Not too much has really changed," David said, musing. "Mr. Gold's shop is scarier than ever, the library's open again, August has actually moved to a camper next to the well, and Regina's planted an apple orchard in her backyard."
"August actually lives next to the well now?" Killian chuckled, taking a bite of scrambled egg.
Mary Margaret glanced at Killian with eyebrow slightly raised and bemused smile. "Emma's mentioned August?" she asked before Emma could change the subject. Would be hilarious if this was when her mother found out that Killian knew literally every detail of her life. Her surprise was quite logical; the Time of August was a subject she usually didn't care to discuss.
"Once or twice," Killian agreed cheerfully, not paying attention to Emma's IF YOU LOVE ME AT ALL YOU WILL ABORT eyes. "High school boyfriend, rather odd, slightly too old for her. Obsessed with the tale of Pinocchio as I recall, right, Swan?" He turned to Emma with a pleasantly bland expression.
Emma nodded with a grin despite herself and her fear that Killian's knowledge of her would start to give them away. August had been somewhat… peculiar. Always insisting she was a genuine fairy tale princess regardless of her insistence to be a social worker or something else decidedly less glamorous. Such as CIA agent.
"What did you put in the pancakes, Mary Margaret?" David asked out of the blue, changing the subject to Emma's relief. Her dad had taken a bite of pancake and was chewing it thoughtfully. Killian glanced at him and his eyes widened in sudden and abject fear. Emma tried not to smile; Killian thought that her father hated the pancakes and was now going to murder him. So sweet and innocent.
Mary Margaret giggled. "Killian made them! Aren't they delicious?" Emma leaned back in her chair to watch the proceedings. Henry glanced back and forth between the adults and took his empty plate to the sink, Mary Margaret giving him permission with a waved hand to escape to his room. She probably wouldn't see her brother again until dinnertime. Alas.
David turned to Killian. "What did you add to them?"
Emma waited for Killian to speak, prepared to tell David that the amazingness about her husband's pancakes was—"A few pinches of cinnamon," Killian blurted out. Emma patted his knee.
"Well, Killian, they are in fact good," David said with a nod and a grin. Emma rolled her eyes, for her father's mission—intimidate daughter's boyfriend—was still continuing.
Killian breathed a relieved laugh. "I'm glad you approve, sir. At this point, I'm fairly sure that Emma's only alive because of these pancakes."
"I never managed to teach her to cook," Mary Margaret lamented. "I tried so many times, but every time we ended up with a scorched pot, a blaring fire alarm, and angry neighbors. Eventually she mastered ramen and David decided she was set for college."
"I survived throughout four years of college without anyone cooking for me," Emma protested. Killian's raised eyebrow reminded her of the doctor's appointment not long after they were married that told her how poor her assorted vitamin levels had been. Then Killian had started cooking for the two of them. Emma had started taking multivitamins.
Based on their own raised eyebrows, David and Mary Margaret seemed to agree with Killian about the whole Emma-eats-like-a-middle-or-high-schooler-unless-supervised-properly thing, so Emma changed the subject. But she had survived just fine. See? She was alive and speaking. That's all someone really needs.
"We'll leave after breakfast then, and we'll go meandering," she said. Killian nodded with a closed-lip smile; he had food in his mouth. Mary Margaret beamed, her hands clasped under her chin, and David copied Killian's nod, food and all.
After they finished breakfast, both of them took quick showers and brushed their teeth. Emma tossed a dark blue button-down at Killian's face and Killian put it on without argument, as per sometimes. Emma chose a red sweater for herself, tugging it on quickly. They both found their skinny jeans—or straight, as Killian preferred—and their boots, gun, and knife.
"Ready, Swan?" Killian asked, breaking the silence as he pulled his black leather jacket on, securing his favorite knife in. He stepped around the newly made bed to grasp her hips gently.
Emma nodded slowly. "I'm not sure how I'll react if it's too different or too similar to how I remember it." She straightened Killian's lapels.
Killian merely nodded in return. "I know how you feel, my love." And she knew he did—if he were to go back to London, the place he'd grown up, where he and Liam had been so happy and yet so abandoned, he wouldn't know how to react.
It still amazed her how truly similar they were and how good of a team they made. Emma found herself repeating the sentence—the theme, perhaps—of this vacation. "Let's do this." Killian smiled then leaned forward to kiss her, a kiss probably intended to be naught more than a peck, but when Emma opened her eyes again they were sprawled across the bed and Killian had his hand up her shirt and her hands were at Killian's shirt buttons.
Killian opened his eyes and the same surprise was in his face. He kissed her one more time and stood, straightening his jacket. "My apologies for that—" He shook his head. "Actually, no, I don't apologize. I've not yet in six years and I will never apologize for kissing you." He grinned down at Emma as she straightened her own shirt and she raised an eyebrow up at him. "But are you ready, love? Better get moving if we want to see the whole town by sunset."
Finally the Joneses were outside of the apartment twenty six minutes after finishing breakfast. They took the steps down slowly until they were in the great metropolis of Storybrooke, population approximately one-thousand. Killian took Emma's hand and squeezed. "I'm so glad you brought me with you, Emma," he said contemplatively.
"Why in particular?" she asked. "And if you say it's because you would have been bored at home, that's a legitimate answer that I won't argue with, but I won't be very pleased."
"Oh, just looking forward to seeing more of where you came from, Swan. It's always an honor. And I do love getting to spend time with you without being consistently shot at."
Emma tilted her head and considered. Yeah, that was when they got to spend the most time together. The CIA was good for something after all. Except for the chances of imminent death it offered. Not so great there.
They wandered throughout Storybrooke, Killian wide-eyed and excited throughout the entire walk. He admired Mr. Gold's pawn shop with a practiced eye at the Creepy Factor; he would have spent hours in Belle's library if not for the desire to see more stuff; he laughed as long and quietly as she did when they saw August next to the well singing to the nymph of the water and crying for Geppetto; he glanced with the same "that's nice" expression as her own when they saw the mayor's new backyard apple orchard.
Emma introduced him to those they passed as her boyfriend Killian from work, and he greeted them cordially. After the sixth introduction, he commented, "It does hurt that we're not married in the eyes of this town, love." Emma nodded vehemently and Killian took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. "Also, do you know everyone here?"
"I'm the daughter of the best schoolteacher and the sheriff of this town." She leaned in conspiratorially, Killian practically resting his head on her shoulder. "Yes, I know everyone." Killian pulled back to look her in the eye, amusement written across his face. They kept walking until they got to the church.
Eventually it was time for some sort of food, and Emma texted her parents to inform them that Henry was free to eat their share of the lunch. He'd appreciate that, at any case. "Granny's?" Emma asked as they stepped up to the front of the restaurant.
"Why, Emma, you should know better than to have to ask me that," Killian reproached, squeezing her left hand. With his own left hand, he absently rubbed over the place where his wedding ring should have been. Now that Emma thought about it, he'd been doing it all day—apparently the man she could have named I'm-sorry-love-I-do-love-you-with-all-of-my-heart-but-I-probably-won't-wear-the-ring-it'll-get-in-the-way-of-everything missed his wedding ring.
Emma grinned, both from her husband's newly revealed area of sappiness and his insistence upon eating at Granny's. "Why should I not have to ask you that?"
"This is Storybrooke, and this is apparently the best eating establishment," he said, motioning toward the fluorescent GRANNY'S sign. "Or so my lovely wife has informed me many times." He turned to Emma as if to interview her for a high-end cooking magazine. "Emma Jones, what do you—"
"What?" said a voice from the side of the patio. Emma and Killian turned in unison toward the unexpected voice, their hands moving toward their concealed knives. Ruby stood up from a table where she'd apparently been sitting for a while. "You two are married?"
The Joneses sighed. "Oh, bloody hell."