David draped the blanket over Emma's shoulders while Henry made hot chocolate. Killian was at her side, a warm shoulder for her to rest her head. And she did, without a care as to whom might lay witness to the moment, clutching Killian's hand as though it were an anchor to her own mortality.
The only thing missing, he mused, is a human icemaker with a missing OFF switch.
Henry called from the kitchen and David answered without delay, leaving the two of them nestled in solitude.
It was then that Emma whispered, her words like a soft caress to ears that'd known only insult for centuries on end, "I love you, too."
"So I gathered." Killian smiled cheekily.
Emma rolled her eyes. "You're going to be obnoxious about this, aren't you?"
"It's not every day a miserable pirate like meself awakens a fair maiden with True Love's Kiss."
"Hm…" Emma melted against him like her body was made to fit his, "should we change your name to Captain Charming?"
"I'd rather you didn't."
Emma laughed, and the sound, more than any before, unmade the blackened depths of his vengeful heart.
He woke to an empty bed, and for a dreadful moment, as his search of the covers yielded no results, he feared the night's evens had been a dream. Then he saw her standing by the window, looking upon an afternoon gray with fog, arms crossed, hair caught by the wind whistling through the screen.
"Aren't you cold, Love?"
She smirked without looking at him, and ran her hands along the sleeves of her sweater, white as winter's first snow. "I'm freezing."
The bedsprings groaned at Killian's departure. He approached his wife, wrapped his arms around her waist, and chanced a kiss across her cheek.
"There wasn't much fresh air in that place." She said.
If ever he got his hands on that bloody sorceress, gods only knew what he'd do. Killian had an inkling, but he knew himself well enough to be aware of his temper, and of the transformation it yielded during confrontations with creatures who threatened the ones he loved. About one thing, there could be no question—he'd never doubt his daughter again.
"Killian…" Emma untangled herself from his hold, turning finally to face him. A shadow across her countenance, she backed away. "I just…" her hands fisted and unfurled as she closed her eyes, taking a breath for strength. Once opened, the shadow was replaced by something equally as unsettling, something Killian couldn't quite name. "You know how much I love you. I just…I need some time. To…readjust."
"Of course." Killian increased the space between them, feeling a fool. "I'll go and…see about some coffee."
Amusement twisted Emma's mouth. "You drink coffee, now?"
Scratching behind his hear, Killian grinned. Gods, why was he nervous? She was his wife. His True Love. The mother of his child.
Whom he hadn't seen for seven years. And was, no doubt, severely traumatized by her recent incarceration.
Get a bloody grip, Mate.
"Dave's fault." He said as the memory of his adamant refusal raced to the surface of his thoughts ("…revolting black sludge—and I'll be damned before it passes my lips a second time,"). "Beth's first years were..." he avoided Emma's eyes, "…difficult." Killian interrupted her attempt at apologizing—nonsensical lass. "Your father insisted the vile dreck would aid me in staying awake. And bloody hell if he wasn't right." He smirked, feeling every moment more self-conscious.
Gods, if he didn't get out of that room, he'd show himself for the lovesick sod he was.
Seeming to sense his simultaneous need and disinclination to leave, Emma said, "I guess I'll meet you out there."
—
The kitchen was eerily quiet as Killian entered. Every eye looked up from their day's first meal and trained an inquisitive gaze on his face.
"She's washing up." He told them, and their curious stares dispersed. As they did, Killian observed a distinct absence at the lunch table. "Where's Beth?"
Henry answered, "Haven't seen her since I tucked her into bed."
Killian glanced across the loft, as though expecting his daughter to materialize at the mention of her name. When she didn't, he excused himself to the enthusiastic understanding of everyone watching.
—
"Come in," came her voice from beyond the door.
"Morning, Love—er, afternoon."
She smiled half-heartedly from her perch at the edge of her bed.
"Pathetic." Killian quipped. "You can do better than that."
Her second attempt was grossly exaggerated, the gesture closing her eyes and stretching her mouth to show every last tooth. Killian laughed and Beth could maintain her sour mood no longer.
"Bloody terrifying." He said. When she didn't inform him of a fresh debt, he crossed the room to sit beside her. "What's got you so forlorn, Love? Thought you'd be over the moon—Mum's back, and we've got you to thank."
She looked down at her hands. "Nothing. It's stupid." She fidgeted with the wrinkles in her flannel shirt. Killian tucked his hand under her chin, imploring her to meet his eye. "I was just thinking…about the mansion."
"What about it?"
"There was no Light magic."
Killian furrowed his brow, waiting for an explanation that never came. "Stands to reason, Love, it being an evil lair, and all."
"But Mom was there. Shouldn't there have been some spec of light in the darkness?"
Killian opened his mouth to respond, to lay her fears to rest, but found his assurances lacking. "I suppose this sorceress is more powerful than our initial inference." He watched worry etch its way across his daughter's features. "Hey," he pulled her to his side, "we'll sort everything out, Love. All of us, together. Don't get lost in all the possible ways this could go wrong."
—
The room echoed with the clanking of metal forks against ceramic plates. Henry and Neal pushed the food around, touching nary a bite to their lips. David took tentative swallows from his cup, while Mary Margaret looked around the table with an undying smile. Beth stared at her plate with the same sad eyes Killian had seen in her room. And Emma pretended not to notice their strange behavior.
Killian fought the urge to take his wife's hand, fearing her rebuke, and knowing the effect it would have on Beth's already distrustful temperament. But the silence was getting to him—getting to them all, by the looks of it.
What did one say in situations like this? Couldn't exactly inquire after Emma's diversions during the past seven years—"By the way, Love, you never did tell me what kept you from losing your mind while you were away." Away. As though she'd merely been on a solitary vacation she hadn't meant to end.
Gods, he was so much more than nervous. He was bloody terrified.
Would one wrong move send her running? Did they need to schedule her an emergency session with Dr. Hopper, that she might work through her trauma with a professional? Did the cricket count as such, having attained his accreditation from a blasted curse?
Or did she merely need, as she'd said, time to readjust?
Whatever the proper course, Killian couldn't push her.
"So, Henry," everyone looked to Emma as she spoke, all movement ceased, "Killian tells me you chose a college overseas."
"Yeah." Said Henry, a bit sheepishly. "I didn't…" the lad caught a reproving glance from his grandfather and reconsidered his tack, "I thought it would be a nice change of scenery, a chance to be immersed in a different culture, you know. But if I'm being honest, the lack of drinking age is what really sold me."
"Henry!" Mary Margaret flushed.
"Kidding." Henry smiled at Emma. "Mostly."
Emma laughed and they all breathed more easily. Reaching across the table, she cradled Henry's cheek in her hand. "You're all grown up, kid."
"You keep saying that." Henry cleared his throat, returning his attention to his plate, but Killian caught sight of the moisture he blinked away.
"What about you?" She turned to Beth, the child appearing petrified by the attention. "Seven years." Emma smiled sadly. "What grade is that?"
"Second." Beth said with a small voice.
"Second grade," Emma whispered, taking a moment to digest this revelation. "Do you enjoy school?"
Beth shrugged. "It's okay."
"I hear Regina has been teaching you magic."
"A little."
"She's rather gifted." Said Killian, nudging his daughter with his arm. "She's much too modest, but we've the highest confidence in her abilities."
"It's exciting, isn't it? Having magic?"
The atmosphere shifted with Emma's words, as each of them openly wondered if they'd heard her correctly.
"I mean…" Emma glanced around the table, "…it wasn't always."
The tension relaxed, but not completely. Pretenses resumed as the table was once again consumed by silence.
Pushing her chair back, Emma stood. "I'm pretty tired, so I'm just gonna…go." At Killian's evident panic, she added, "To bed. Go…to bed."
"Of course, Love." He said, trying to sound as though his very existence didn't hinge on her every move.
—
A fortnight passed in much the same manner, wrought with every inelegance that came with taking up one's old life after an extended absence. Three nights into lying at opposite ends of the bed they'd once shared, staring up at disobliging rafters while waiting for their bedmate to say something—anything—to break the unbearable quiet that teemed with the weight of their separation, Killian and Emma agreed that they should follow a slower progression.
He'd succeeded at sneaking back into their quarters before the loft was awake, and at avoiding suspicion—even from Beth, who seemed nigh on nocturnal these days. But that morning, he was late in waking, or was the lad early?
He watched Killian from his seat atop the wooden chest David and Mary Margaret referred to as the coffee table. "Did you sleep out here?"
"Aye." Killian rubbed his tired eyes with his thumb and middle finger, feeling as though he'd drunk the town dry of rum, when in reality he'd had but a glass. Or two.
The count didn't matter.
"Is something wrong? Are you and Mom fighting? Did you say something to upset her?"
Killian looked over at the boy and read the deep concern staring back at him through Emma's eyes. Killian's muscles protested his efforts to sit up, pulling a groan from his throat as he leaned forward, arms on knees, feet flat to a hardwood floor.
"You've nothing to fear, Lad. Your mother just needs some time to—"
"Readjust?"
Killian nodded, immediately regretting the action, as he experienced what felt like his brain rattling around his skull.
"She said the same thing to me. Meanwhile, Beth has barricaded herself in her room—when have you known her to miss a single lesson, let alone two weeks' worth? Grandpa's practically living at the sheriff's station, and Grandma won't stop baking—Neal and I have eaten our weight in Danish and the fridge is still overflowing. Emma might as well still be trapped in that mansion for all we've seen of her. Does any of this seem normal to you?"
"Normal is a big ask at the moment, Lad, but we'll get there. You can't expect everything to go back to the way it was before Emma…" Killian cleared his throat, unable to continue despite the word holding no power over him anymore. His wife was alive. Emma was alive. "It's going to take some time, but whatever your mother needs, I'll give her. If that means sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future, then so be it."
Henry averted his eyes, ran his hands back and forth along his legs for a few minutes before falling still. "I'm sorry, Killian. About…what I said."
"You're a good man, Henry." Killian smiled as well as he could in his state. "Don't burden yourself with guilt you didn't earn." Standing, he tousled the boy's hair and walked with deliberate steps toward the pot of black sludge awaiting his return.
"Thanks, Killian."
—
"What did you say to her?"
Henry stood between Killian and David, watching Emma help Beth with her coat. "Nothing. She just changed her mind."
"Just like that?" Said David.
"Just like that."
Beth turned to them. "What are you lot staring at?"
"Nothing." Said David and Killian at the same time.
"You ready?" Asked Henry, breaking from their pack to meet his sister at the door. "Bye, Mom," he kissed Emma on the cheek, seemingly on reflex; he stepped back as though he'd been burned by fire. "Bye, Killian, Grandpa." And with that, he was gone.
"Back by three." Said Killian to Beth, who nodded before joining Henry in the stairwell.
As if on cue, David said, "I should head out, too." He cut his glance between the loft's two remaining occupants. "Unless I'm needed here."
"Sod off, Dave."
"We need to work on your people skills."
Emma smiled when he kissed her forehead. "Bye, Dad."
One word resonated in Killian's mind as the door closed behind his father-in-law: Alone.
Something he and Emma hadn't been in over a week.
He scratched behind his ear before remembering himself. ("I do not have a bloody nervous tick." Emma laughed. "Okay.")
"Can I get you some breakfast?" Killian gestured toward the kitchen, as though she'd forgotten its location.
"I'm okay."
"Something to drink—coffee? Tea? Mary Margaret made some fresh pastries this morning."
Emma smiled. "You don't have to entertain me, Hook."
Killian winced at her use of his old moniker. "Right. Of course. I'll…leave you to it, then." He turned to walk away when she called him back.
"Killian, wait. I'm sorry—I don't know why I said that. It just sort of…slipped."
"No need to apologize, Love. It's been a trying time for all of us." He tried to smile, certain she could see straight through him.
"I know it has, and I'm trying, Killian. Really. I don't want you to think I'm oblivious to how this has affected you, and my parents, and…and the kids." Emma moved from right foot to left, squaring her shoulders, as though to summon her courage. "I don't want you to think I didn't miss you. That I didn't think of you every day we were apart."
The tremble of her lip did him in. Crossing the invisible chasm between them, he took her in his arms and held her tight. She didn't pull away—on the contrary, she closed her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.
"I don't know how to be what everyone expects. I'm not the person I was when I left."
It took all his strength to step back, but he needed to look her in the eye when he said, "You're still you," he brushed her hair back, cradling her face in his hand. She sighed into his touch, "my love."
Tears stained her cheeks, and for a moment, Killian could've sworn her eyes were brown. In fact, he was sure of it. Sharpening his gaze, appraising her as he would a cluster of dark cloud on the horizon, he knew there could be no mistake. They swirled like a maelstrom, the colors interspersing, whorls of every hue collecting at the centermost point.
And then only green.
"What?"
"Nothing." Killian forced the quiver from his voice. "Nothing…I was only thinking." Starting at her shoulder and working its way down her arm, Killian's hand found hers. "Do you know one of Beth's favorite stories?"
"What's that?"
"Our first date."
Emma smiled. "It's one of my favorites, too."
"She loves hearing how the fearsome Captain Hook stumbled over his words to ask the woman he loves to join him for dinner."
The waiting was eternal. His eyes roved her every feature, on alert for any discrepancy, his heart thudding madly in his chest—wretched organ was out to betray him.
A lifetime later, she ended the battle in his mind. "Nervous, were you?"
"Supremely."
"You played it off well." She laughed, and suddenly the sound was amiss. "Is something wrong?"
"Not at all, Love." He leaned forward to seal his performance with a kiss—what had David called it? A Bloody Mary? ("Hail. Hail Mary. Don't worry, you'll get the gist", "Why the bloody hell is it called football if no one's using their feet?").
She pushed him back, her hands planted firmly on his chest. "Killian, I'm not ready."
"I understand."
The thickness of silence surrounded them as Killian searched for an excuse to leave.
"I'll go wash up." He said. "Will you be all right?"
She smiled sweetly. "I'll be fine."
He moderated his pace, suppressing the overwhelming urge to run. As soon as he reached his quarters, he closed the door behind him and hastened to the nightstand on his side of the bed, remembering too late that he hadn't slept in that room for nearly a fortnight in full.
"Shit."
Turning back, he was halted in his tracks by the woman wearing his wife's face. She stood at the threshold, holding his phone in her hand. "You didn't ask Emma to your first date."
"She asked me."
Cocking her head to one side, the witch pursed her lips. "That's unfortunate."
