You guys are AMAZING! I love how enthusiastic you guys are for this little story; it really makes me more motivated to write this for you guys! Oh, I'm wondering if any of you have ideas where I'm taking this story (it's all planned, has been since the first chapter), and I'm curious to hear what you think.
I'm also a little startled by how much all of you seemed to dread this chapter :p I'm telling you now, I don't have any real, serious, heartbreaking angst planned for this story, though I do have to admit that sometimes, the story has a life of its own.
I can't make any promises, but I do know that right now, no major angst is coming.
There's a timejump at the end of this chapter-I did indicate it, but I figured I'd say it here, just to be sure too :)
Thanks to JustSmileBFF for being an awesome beta-wouldn't be able to do it without you! I love you, girl!
Now, I hope you enjoy.
Please, R&R!
Love,
Annaelle
PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon (and they make me write faster :p)
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Across Time And Space
She hears the door open, but doesn't look up, and doesn't stop what she's doing. She's right to be doing this; it is for the best. "Emma?" She winces as he repeats her name, but steels her resolve and does not look up to meet his eyes. She's well aware that if she looks into his eyes, she will crumble, and she can't.
"Emma, what are you doing?" She swallows thickly and shoves the last piece of clothing into the duffel bag she had found in the back of one of the cupboards. "I'm packing," she responds evenly, though on the inside, she's crying and cursing her insecurities.
"I can see that," Killian says tersely, and she can almost imagine him stiffening, glaring daggers at her back. "But why?"
She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself, before turning around to face him. "Because," she explains slowly, trying to avoid looking at his eyes, "I don't think me staying here is a good idea. I know we make port in two days, and though I'm very grateful for everything you and Liam have done for me, I think it'd be best if I disembark there and try to find my home on my own."
He falls silent completely, and she can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows (and it really shouldn't make her want to jump in his arms and beg him to never let her go), his entire body freezing as he processes her words.
"You—you wish to leave?" His voice is deep and hoarse, his accent thicker than usual, and it makes her shiver, even though it really shouldn't.
"Yes," she breathes, nodding, still refusing to look him in the eye, "Yes, I do. I want to go." She hates doing this, and she hates saying it even more, because it's just not true (but she has to, this can only end in heartbreak, and she can't risk getting her heart broken), and she knows exactly what she has to say to make him walk away and accept this.
"I don't wish for you to take care of me anymore," she chokes, her voice thick, on the verge of tears, her eyes fixed on the top button of his vest, "I'll be fine on my own, and we can both get back to our own lives."
There's a long, tense silence, and for a moment, Emma fears he's going to fight her, force her to look him in the eye and repeat it, knowing she won't be able to do it, but then he spits, "Of course. I will make sure arrangements are made for your departure, miss Swan." And before she can say anything else, he spins around, stomping out of the cabin, slamming the door shut in his wake—and all she can do is flinch at the harsh sound.
It really is for the best, she nods to herself, he's better off without me.
If only she could make herself believe those words.
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She's not sure how much time has passed, but the sky is darkening, and Killian hasn't come back (not that she expected him to), nor has Liam or anyone else. She's guessing that Killian told everyone to leave her alone for a bit—she's grateful for that. She doesn't need to see anyone who will make her change her mind.
She feels horrible enough as it is; she's been crying for hours after Killian left her alone. She still isn't sure if it was because he left without a fight or because she hates having to tell herself it's for the best over and over again—there's this little voice nagging her, telling her that if it really were for the best, it wouldn't hurt so much.
A glance at the duffel bag that she shoved in the corner when Killian left makes her heart clench painfully, and she swallows thickly, snuggling deeper into the pillows on the bed (they still smell like him, and it's oddly comforting), pulling the sheet over her head too.
She's feeling like crap, and she just wants to hide away in here until it's time to leave.
It's the easiest thing to do.
She's plucking at the tiny little threads on the sheets when the door suddenly bursts open, and someone stumbles inside clumsily and quite loudly. "Bloody hell," the intruder curses under his breath, slightly slurring his words—Emma's heart stutters a little as she recognizes Killian, and she shoots up, out of the bed to help him back to his feet without even thinking about it.
"No, no, no," Killian rambles drunkenly, pushing her away clumsily, stumbling back to lean against the wall, "Don't do that," he spits, "You can't …" Emma's not sure what to make of it; she's never ever seen Killian drunk before, and according to Liam, he's never actually been drunk before either.
"Killian, what are you doing?" She whispers, her lower lip trembling a little (Dear God, please don't let him be drunk because of her), taking a slow step back, giving him the space he so clearly wants from her.
"I don't know!" He moans, running his fingers through his hair, "I have no idea what I'm doing—not since I met you!" He looks up at her, his beautiful blue eyes bloodshot and wet with tears, "And Liam's right, and I hate it so much, because I can't do anything about it because you, you won't let me take care of you anymore!" She barely gets the chance to process his rambling before he stumbles forward, colliding with her, his hands suddenly hot on her cheeks, the heavy, spicy scent of rum invading her nostrils.
"Why won't you just let me love you?" he breathes against her lips—her heart stutters, and she chokes.
Love?
No, no. He couldn't have—no.
"Killian," she pleads, her fingers wrapping around both his wrists, "Please, don't…" He can't say things like that—things that make her heart skip a beat and butterflies flutter in her stomach and that make her want to stay and trust him and love him—he's making her resolve crumble.
"I love you so damn much," he chokes, his lips now so close to hers that she can feel their lips brush every time he speaks. "And I hate that you don't feel it too—I can't believe you don't feel it too—there's no way that all this is one-sided. Please, Emma," a tear rolls down his cheek, and her heart damn well nearly shatters at how desperate and pained he sounds. "Please don't leave me. Not you—please."
Emma chokes a little, but nods slowly and pulls Killian towards the bed, "Okay, Killian, come on, sit down." He lets her push him down meekly, only protesting when she pulls away from him, at which point he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face against her stomach (it just makes her giggle; his scruff tickles the skin that had been exposed when her shirt rode up).
She winces when he, once again, whispers that he loves her, and that he wants to take care of her, and says nothing in return; she doesn't know what to say. Instead, she runs her fingers through his unruly hair, knowing that it always soothes him—and she needs him to be calm, so he can just lay down and sleep it off.
"You need to lay down," she says softly, goose bumps springing up on her arms when he just mumbles sleepily in response and tightens his arms around her waist. "No," he moans, "I don't want to let you go. You'll go away."
She closes her eyes for a moment, a tear rolling down her cheek, and then bends down to press her lips to the top of his head. "Lay down, Killian," she orders gently, pushing him down onto the mattress, pulling off his boots and his jacket before pulling the sheets from underneath him and covering him with them.
"Don't leave," he whispers, tugging on her hand, "Stay with me."
She hesitates for a long moment, before sighing in defeat and smiling sadly as she crawls into the bed with him, allowing him to pull her into his arms. She giggles a little when he grumbles, pulling her against him tightly as he buries his nose in her hair.
"I love you, Emma," he breathes against her, his entire body relaxing as he falls asleep.
She lays in his arms, thinking, worrying, brooding for a long time after he falls asleep, her fingers sliding over his hand slowly, reverently, as she considers all the reasons why she had decided to leave earlier today.
But no matter how many times she goes over them, they all pale in comparison to the one reason that makes her want to stay.
She tightens her fingers around his, pressing their joint hands onto her stomach as she snuggles deeper into Killian's embrace, her eyes drifting shut slowly—her mind is still spinning; but she's accepted one, fundamental thing that she just can't change.
She loves him too.
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The sharp whistle sounds clear and loud on the cold, dark deck, and Liam frowns a little when, like the first three times he'd made Stiles whistle, there's no response from his Lieutenant whatsoever.
It's not like Killian to not respond to the change of watch—even when he had been preoccupied with everything involving miss Swan, he had always come running, or at least arranged for someone else to take his watch.
Liam sighs and shakes his head—he knows Killian went to talk to miss Swan about their… romantic relationship, but that was hours ago; no one has seen either lovebird since. While he does know what every other man on this ship is thinking (and it is quite obvious; they're all positively leering, smirking at the thought of their Lieutenant being anything but the prim and proper bastard he'd always been), he also realizes that it is most unlikely.
He sincerely doubts whether miss Swan would simply allow his brother into her bed this easily.
He is no fool—it is a likely possibility—but he does not believe it to be true.
"Jukes!" He bellows, gesturing for Stiles to take the wheel, "Where's Lieutenant Jones?" The man fidgets nervously—which Liam takes as his first clue that something is not quite right—and looks down at his shoes rather than face him. "I don't know, Cap'n," Jukes says slowly—and not convincing enough to fool Liam.
"Jukes," he threatens, staring the man down, "Where is the Lieutenant?"
"I'm not telling you no lies, Cap'n," the man stutters, "I've no clue where the Lieutenant be now." Liam pushes down his impatience and breathes in deeply, glaring at the midshipman icily. "Then where was he earlier?" The man's fidgeting intensifies, before one of the men standing behind him—Carrows, Liam realizes—exclaims, "He took all our rum, Cap'n. He didn't toss 'em this time; he drank 'em all and then went back to see the lady, Cap'n. We haven't seen him since."
Liam's stomach churns uncomfortably, and he glares at his men for a long, tense moment, before he decides he can deal with them later—his little brother is his first priority right now. Angrily, frustrated, he stomps down the stairs and towards Killian's cabin, where he's certain he'll find both his brother and miss Swan, not bothering to be quiet or subtle.
He's not sure what his brother had been thinking—Killian excels at being a Lieutenant, at living up to the expectations—but if he really did drink himself into a stupor in front of the crew, Killian will have to face the consequences.
Open drunkenness is not tolerated in His Majesty's Royal Navy.
He pushes open the door to Killian's cabin, striding in, ready to chastise his brother before Killian can get a word in edgewise, but the sight that greets him stops him dead in his tracks; and suddenly, he doesn't remember why he had been so upset with his young, young brother.
Killian lays on his back in his bed, snoring softly, while Emma is peacefully sleeping next (and half on top of) to him, the sheet tangled around them both, Emma's head resting on Killian's chest and both of Killian's arms wrapped around her.
He stares for a moment longer, almost mesmerized by the blissful smile on his brother's face, before he smiles and leaves the cabin quietly.
He'll lecture him tomorrow.
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Emma wakes up to Killian stroking his fingers over her forehead, her nose, her eyes, her lips—every part of her that he can reach. She hums softly, leaning into his caresses almost without thinking about it, pushing her lower lip out into a pout when his fingers still.
Her eyelashes flutter against his palm when she opens her eyes, and she can feel him shiver from where they're still snuggled against each other.
She has to admit… Waking up next to him…
Not the worst feeling in the world.
"Hi," she whispers hoarsely when he stays silent, his eyes dark and unreadable—she doesn't know what to make of him right now, and it scares her.
Does he remember the things he told her before he passed out?
"Are you—" she chokes slightly, "Are you feeling okay?" There's not a trace of a hangover about him (which does make her wonder if he really was that drunk), no trace of liquor at all; the only reminder is the harsh smell of rum that still hangs in his clothes.
He's silent for a moment longer, before he sighs and drops his hands to her waist, seemingly subconsciously caressing the sheet-covered skin. "I'm quite alright," he responds finally, his accent still thicker than usual, his voice gruff with sleep. Emma shivers a little when his fingers sweep over a patch of bare skin, her own fingers seeking out his shirt almost automatically.
"About," she starts slowly, biting her lip nervously, "about last night—" Before she can finish her sentence (and she isn't sure what the end of that sentence would have been), Killian interrupts, laying his hand atop hers, closing his fingers around hers gently. "I meant it," he whispers, his eyes locked on hers—and she just can't look away from him. "I meant everything that I said," he continues, "I do love you—and I am well aware of the insanity of the whole situation, but Emma…" he smiles weakly and reaches down to stroke her cheek, "I wouldn't wish it any different. I don't want you to leave—and I most certainly do not want to let you go."
"Even though I messed up your perfect life?" She whispers uncertainly, unable to truly grasp what he's telling her. Killian's eyes darken slightly, and he shakes his head, leaning in to press a feather light kiss to her lips—it's over before she realizes, before she gets the chance to really kiss him back. "You are what makes my life perfect," he vows, smiling at her (and damn her, but her heart skips another beat, and all she wants now is to wrap herself around him and never let him go again).
"What happens when I go home?" She chokes, blinking furiously to keep her treacherous tears at bay; she has to be happy now; he's not lying, he does love her (or at least, he's convinced that he does); she shouldn't be crying her eyes out. Killian shrugs a little, pulling her a little closer, smiling brightly at her. "We'll deal with it," he replies, moving his fingers into her hair, "We'll deal with anything—I just need you."
"I'm scared," she finally admits, wiggling closer to him so she can hide her face against his chest. Call her crazy, but she's still terrified of him growing tired of her, or of him deciding she's not worth the trouble after all. "As am I, darling," he whispers, his lips brushing over her hair, "but I'm willing to take that leap of faith. Are you?"
It hits her then, that he's absolutely serious—he wants to take that leap of faith for her. It's all up to her now, and that scares the crap out of her. Her heart clenches as she stares at him, trying desperately to convince herself that it's not a bad thing to tell him she loves him too.
After all, he's already laid his own heart bare before her.
He wouldn't crush hers if she shows him—she knows he wouldn't.
She's admitted it to herself, she can say it again; her throat seems constricted, and she's not sure she remembers how to talk.
"I—" she chokes, "I—"
Killian swallows thickly, but smiles sadly, understandingly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I know, love, I know," he whispers against her skin. "Try something new, darling. It's called trust."
Emma lets a shuddering breath fall from her lips, shaking a little as she swallows thickly a few times, trying to convince herself that she is okay—she's fine.
Killian's one of the good ones.
She knows this.
"Sorry," she mutters, casting her gaze down to the (this time unbuttoned) top button of his vest.
She breathes in deeply, trying to find the courage to tell him that she does want to trust him, that she does want to be with him, but she feels like she's only able to reach it with the tips of her fingers—she's absolutely terrified of confirming her feelings for him. "Promise you won't hurt me," she breathes, realizing she needs that answer; she needs to know that he's not just playing with her.
Killian shakes his head at her, leaning in slowly to caress her lips with his. She kisses him back slowly, almost automatically, her heart skipping a few beats. Reluctantly, he leans away again and smiles at her, whispering, "I promise, my love."
"Okay," she breathes shakily, "Okay." Slowly, she leans in again, pressing her lips to his again—she's craving how safe she feels when he's touching her, even though that fact on itself scares her. He kisses her back—oh, he really kisses her back—but he breaks the kiss far too soon for her taste, leaning his forehead against hers.
"I will not let you go, Emma," he whispers, "I love you, lass, and I will always fight for you." She bites her lip, sliding her leg up, over his, to pull him closer, and smiles lightly. "Good," she breathes, "because I love you too."
The breath she takes next is the last one she takes for a while as he pounces on her (and God, she loves every second of it).
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Two months later
She's standing at the helm, gazing at the setting sun with awe—she's watched the sunset (and sunrise) many times with Killian since she's been here, but its beauty takes her by surprise every single time.
She also wishes to enjoy every minute she has left on the ship; they are on their way back to the capitol, where Killian and Liam will receive their permission for their annual three-month leave, before they have to take another assignment from the King.
Both Killian and Liam have already stated that she won't be allowed to accompany them on another one of their assignments though, and she absolutely hates it.
Killian has offered to let her stay with Liam wife and daughter (she'd had no idea he was married), until he returned, and for now, she has accepted; but she still feels weird about staying with a stranger for months until her … Well, she's not sure what he is, returns.
"Hello love," Killian's voice draws her from her thoughts, his arms sliding around her waist, pulling her back to rest against his chest. "Enjoying the sight?" She hums in agreement, her entire body involuntarily relaxing in his arms, "I just still can't believe how beautiful it is." He chuckles, the vibration against her back making her skin tingle, and responds, "Aye, it is quite the sight."
She doesn't even have to look at him to know he's not looking at the setting sun. She slaps his arm half-heartedly and grumbles, "I was talking about the sun, Killian!"
"And I was speaking of the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon," he responds smoothly, pecking her cheek quickly, "And how I still marvel that she allows me to call her mine." Emma closes her eyes for a moment and rests her head against his chest, soothed by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Moments like these have been numerous in the past few months, and she still cannot bring herself to regret the decision to let Killian in; it's the best thing she has ever done.
"I love you," she whispers, resting her hands on top of his, the pair of them swaying lightly with the waves that roll against the ship. Killian rests his cheek against her forehead and smiles lightly, tightening his embrace on her slightly. "I love you."
They fall silent for a long, comfortable moment, before Killian suddenly turns her in his arms, cupping her face in his hands. "Emma, love," he starts, his voice shaking lightly, "Do you truly love me?"
Emma frowns in confusion, but nods and smiles at him. "Of course I do, Killian, you know that." He swallows thickly, and Emma wonders confusedly what's wrong with him. "What would you say if I told you I wished for you to be by my side for the rest of our lives?"
She smiles brightly, reaching up to wrap her fingers around his wrist. "I would say that sounds perfect." He nods jerkily, his fingers tightening a little around her face as he breathes out, his entire body shaking with what she finally recognizes as nerves. "Killian, what's going on?" She questions slowly, frowning a little.
"Emma," he whispers, "I love you. And… I meant it—I do wish for us to spend the rest of our lives together." She blanches a little when she realizes where he's going, and her heart stops when he finally lets the words fall from his lips.
"Will you do me the honor of being my wife, Emma, my love?"
Well, shit.