an: here's a bonus chapter because I'm feeling generous! Thanks for all of your support!
eight.
The sheer beauty of the Christmas tree in front of Storybrooke's town hall was enough for Emma to forgive Killian when he decided to put his arm around her.
It was almost enough for her to forget that they're even doing this weird marriage thing. For a few moments, she'd allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be happy and it felt good.
But, as David and Mary Margaret stand with them outside of their apartment door and Henry cuddles up with Killian, snow still clinging to both of their hats and shoulders, Emma feels uneasy.
It's their first night in Storybrooke and she had thought at the start of this that they'd be spending their nights separate. It was part of she and Killian's agreement, after all.
"Well, that was fun," Mary Margaret says on a sigh as they enter the apartment. "I think every year it just gets better."
"There were a lot of people there tonight," David nods his head as he toes out of his boots by the door. He's holding the leftover trays in his hands and he carries them into the kitchen before slipping out of his coat.
Emma helps Henry get out of his winter gear while he's still in Killian's arms. She avoids making eye contact with the man she's pretending to be forever devoted to so as to avoid any unnecessary lingering feelings to bubble over.
"It's getting kind of late," Mary Margaret says.
"Aye," Killian agrees as soon as Emma holds Henry in her arms.
She's out of her coat and boots, instead standing on the hardwood floors of the loft apartment in her socks. Henry's fussing in her ear and she just needs to put him down for bed, so she clears her throat.
"I think we should head to bed," she states, no matter how badly she wishes she didn't have to with Killian. "It's upstairs, right?"
David nods his head and rubs his hands together for sake of warming up. "Yes. If you need anything feel free to ask. Mary Margaret has a whole closet of blankets."
"Oh, and if you want, the bathroom is down here. Down by the nursery." Mary Margaret adds. She appears sorrowful, her brow creasing. "I'm sorry we only have one. It's just what we have."
Emma thinks it's funny that she'd even apologize, because she has been so giving the whole time they've been here, but she smiles and nods. "It's fine. Thank you."
The ladder to go upstairs is kind of a terrifying feat with a one-year-old in her arms, but she makes it in one piece and sighs when she turns to find the little quaint bedroom.
There's not much space up here. The queen-sized bed is positioned under a window and there's an antique desk against the wall closer to the stairs. An armoire is pressed against the brick chimney that's next to a short space that Emma presumes is storage.
The bed is covered with a massive quilt that Emma knows Mary Margaret must have crafted herself and on either side of the bed there are two dressers. Emma crosses the room, settling Henry down on the bed, and flicks on the lamps atop the dressers.
Killian had brought their bags up, as well as Henry's portable bed, and it's waiting to be set up.
Emma gets to preparing Henry for bed, which consists of his pajamas, a diaper change, and a solid ten minutes of cuddling with his favorite book in her hands while she sits up on the bed and reads to him in a low murmur.
Henry likes to point at the pictures and she'll make the noises of the animals, much to his sleepy delight.
Killian comes up the steps with his heavy footfall then and she glances up from her reading just slightly to find him standing there in his night clothes: a plain white shirt and sweatpants.
Well, at least he isn't down to his underwear.
He runs his fingers through his hair and then settles the clothes he'd been wearing as well as his bag down by the armoire and crosses the room to the crib that still needs to be set up.
It's flawless, how he's fallen into her and Henry's lives, as if he's always been here. Emma feels a knot tightening in her chest because of it, but she shakes it off, instead turning her attention to her son.
"What does the cow say, baby?" Emma asks Henry in a whisper as he starts to sag back against her body heavily. "Hmm? Does it say 'moo'?"
She glances down at him and gives the top of his head a kiss, starting to sway a bit with him. "I love you a whole lot, kid."
Emma rests her cheek on his head and watches as Killian assembles the pop-up crib. It doesn't take very long and once he's finished, he stands and tilts his head back toward it.
"I hope it's alright," he says lowly.
Emma just manages a smile as she settles the book down on the bed and carries her sleeping child toward the bed.
He sighs sleepily as soon as she settles him down and she tucks his favorite toy into his arm as well as a blanket around his body.
It's quite cold up here. She can hear the storm that had just barely started at the Christmas tree ceremony. The winds are howling and there's a moment where she can hear the ceiling squeaking against the weight of it all.
She stares at her sleeping boy for a few long moments and then retreats to the bed to her bag and Henry's things she'd left laid out.
"I'll sleep on the floor," Killian tells her as she settles her bag on the floor and grips her nightclothes to her chest.
Emma lifts her eyebrows at him in surprise. "Really?"
He shrugs, already grabbing a pillow from the bed and a blanket from one of the dresser drawers. "It's no problem, love. I promised you we wouldn't have to share."
Her jaw falls open just slightly and she sees his smile inch up from the corners of his lips as his eyebrows dance at her.
"Though if you need me to keep you warm, I don't mind. I've been told I'm quite the good bedfellow."
Emma scoffs. "Shut up. The floor works." Killian settles his pillow down on the floor and she sticks her thumb toward the stairs. "I'm going to go clean up for bed. If he wakes up-"
"I've got him, love," Killian says gently. He sits on the bed facing Henry and gives an encouraging nod.
She rolls her eyes and goes to the steps to climb down again.
The Nolan's only bathroom is small, but it does the job, and Emma finds herself lingering longer than she has to, just because she doesn't want to have to face Killian Jones and his inevitable words about just about everything.
The night had been almost too much, with all of the lingering looks and touches, and it's only been barely a day since they started this charade. She can hardly imagine what it's going to be like after a few more of these.
She can't get close to him and she can't keep feeling like this is even a little bit real. Because it's not. She's here because Killian lied to his friends and he continues to lie to them.
As Emma leaves the bathroom, she can hear David and Mary Margaret's voices murmuring lowly from their bedroom behind the wall.
"Night, Emma!" Mary Margaret all but sings as she draws close enough.
She stops walking and her eyes widen as she peeks into their room, finding them folding their laundry together.
"Oh! Goodnight." She waves at them and the couple smiles back at her so kindly that she feels bad for just about every little thing she's ever done wrong.
Emma immediately closes her eyes as soon as she's out of their line of sight and exhales heavily.
Killian is upstairs waiting for her. She has her glasses on now that it's bedtime and she knows he's going to have something to say about them, so she throws up her defenses and tries to be prepared for just about anything.
She glances up at the upstairs room before climbing the stairs determinedly, and when she gets to the top floor, Killian is lying on the floor, turned to face her. He has turned out the lights, so it's a bit darker than before.
She tosses her clothes into her bag and shivers at the cold air of the loft. She rubs her arms as she bites on her lip.
"Are those glasses, Swan?" Killian asks quietly, a smile spreading on his face.
Emma finds him sitting up from the floor, curiously watching her as she stands between the bed and her bag. He's laughing, the jerk, and Emma feels the need to wave him off as she shuffles toward bed.
"Yeah. I'm blind. I get it. Laugh all you want, buddy, but Mary Margaret showed me some pretty damaging pictures of you earlier."
"What pictures?" Killian asks, a furrow in his brow.
Emma just shrugs. "Some I'm sure you're going to want to have burned someday."
Emma peels back the sheets of the bed and climbs in after removing her glasses, frowning at the sounds of the old mattress and bed frame.
Her immediate impression upon lying still is that this bed is far, far too big for her.
But she doesn't think it's even a little bit appropriate to ask Killian to join her, regardless of the fact that she thinks it's just a little unfair to him to be sleeping on the hard, cold floor while she's resting atop a mattress with blankets.
As she lies there, staring up at the dark ceiling, she grimaces, because her toes are freezing.
"Are you cold?" she wonders in a whisper.
He doesn't respond at first and then she hears him shift on the ground. "What?"
"I asked if you were cold," Emma repeats in a whisper.
Again, he's quiet. "Aye. Just a smidge." He pauses. "But it isn't anything I can't manage."
Typical man response. Of course. She knows he's probably a little more than a smidge cold, with one blanket covering him as he lies on that cold floor.
"My feet are freezing," she responds.
They let that sit between them for a few long moments. Emma isn't sure what she intended for him to say about it, if anything. Maybe he'll catch the hint she's trying to give him. She just wants him to ask if he can come up and join her so she can give him a little bit of flack for it and he can help warm her up.
It's selfish, but he's the one who brought her here with intentions to use her for much more than body heat.
"What would you like me to do about that, Swan?"
Her stomach twists and she tosses her head from side-to-side. She cannot believe she's about to do this, but, apparently this whole trip has ignited something new in her in regards to Killian Jones.
"Okay. Come up here," she groans a little, keeping her voice quiet.
But Killian doesn't move.
"God, Killian, I swear, if you don't get up here in five seconds I'm going to yank you up here myself or rescind my offer. I'm already regretting opening my mouth to start with."
He certainly moves then, hopping up to his knees before standing upright as he settles his pillow on the bed and blanket over the width of the bed.
"Oh, Swan, I don't think you should regret opening that pretty mouth of yours," he says quietly.
She scoffs and rolls her eyes, because of course, her gaze on the ceiling above their heads. He's two people right now in her mind and she's having a hard time deciphering which she's with at the moment.
She rests her hands over her middle and waits as the bed shakes and jerks with each movement Killian makes to join her on the bed. The man is about as subtle as a train.
"You comfortable over there?" she asks as she shifts slightly to put distance between them.
Her toes still feel like icicles and she doesn't know how to solve that. Even if she's currently sharing a bed with Killian Jones.
It's one thing she'd never imagined would happen when she agreed to do this, but apparently spending just a little bit of time with him has changed her into a kinder person.
Or at least a caricature of one.
"I'm quite comfortable," Killian whispers. "Thank you for asking."
Emma decides then to turn onto her side so she's facing him. He has a wicked grin on his lips and his eyes shine bright even in the dark.
"It only took me a day," he murmurs. "It's hard to believe, really."
"A day for what?" she grimaces, still trying to get warmer.
She slips her arms beneath the covers and pulls them closer to her chin. Her legs curl up toward her belly and she tries to put her feet below her bottom. It does nothing to aid in her problem of feeling as if she's standing out in the snowstorm that currently surrounds them.
Killian drags his teeth against the flesh of his lower lip. "We're sharing a bed. I knew you'd succumb to my good looks eventually."
Emma rolls her eyes and jerks her arm against his chest, making him flinch and recoil, the bed squeaking under his movements.
"Quit beating me up, Swan," he whispers. "I know you like me. You don't have to keep abusing me to show it."
Emma gives him a pointed look. "I don't like you, Killian. I can stand you. That's different."
"Mm," Killian's smiling at her, dimples in his cheeks and a playful glint in the glow of his eyes.
"God, isn't warm air supposed to rise?" she grumbles. She shivers as the wind outside gets louder and Killian just starts laughing. "What?"
"You know, darling, I'm right here," he says in a tone she knows is intended to seduce. She rolls her eyes at him and jerks her feet against his leg, but then thinks better of it, instead sliding her cold feet between his warm legs. "Is that your solution, then?"
Emma hums happily. "Yep. It's doing the trick, too."
"Well, as long as you're happy," Killian sighs. He presses his hand over his eyes, showing off his wedding ring, and her heart actually flips at the sight.
In order to get her mind off of what they're doing, especially as her feet are tucked in between his legs, she says, "Mary Margaret showed me pictures of their wedding today."
Killian removes his hand and furrows his brow. "Really."
Emma smirks at him. "Yeah. Nice hair."
Killian groans and turns his face toward his pillow, his legs shifting against her feet as he moves. "I can't believe she showed you. I should've had them burned, as you suggested."
Emma can't help but laugh quietly, her chest bouncing with each silent rumble of joy. She shakes her head slowly at him.
"God, Jones, no wonder you moved away. All of the women here must have known about your travesty of a hairstyle. They would have laughed at you for trying to get them to sleep with you."
Killian takes a deep breath. "I'll have you know that I was just as skilled at the art of seduction. Even with long hair. In fact, it was my lure, I think. I got lots of ladies with it."
"Mhm," Emma chuckles.
Killian just stares at her then, a disbelieving smile on his lips. He licks those lips of his and murmurs, "You don't have to pretend you don't like me, Emma. It's okay."
Emma rolls her eyes and digs her feet in deeper, intentionally jabbing him with her toenails so he jerks his legs toward her.
She lifts her eyebrows at him, challenging him. "I don't like you, okay? I'm just doing this for you because of my kid."
"Aye," he says somberly. "I know."
She knows he's telling her the truth; that he understands that she's only here for Henry's sake, and it makes her breathe just a little bit easier.
Emma finds the look in his eyes terrifying, though, just a little too real, and she removes her feet from between his legs when her gut twists.
"He had fun today," Emma says. "He really liked those lights."
Killian grins. "Aye." Her heart stutters and she sucks on her lower lip. "Tomorrow should be quieter. There's a party at Granny's, but we'll see if it happens. Depends on the storm."
Emma nods against her pillow and sticks her arm up under it as the other curls up in front of her neck.
Killian's lying on his side facing her with his arms up under his pillow, too, and she doesn't think he could look any more human than he does now, with his tired eyes and ruffled hair.
Considering what her day will look like tomorrow makes her uneasy, but she hums regardless.
"Do you like it here?" Killian asks suddenly, as a timid child might.
Emma shrugs her shoulder. "Yeah. It's nice." She yawns and blinks away the tears that form due to tiredness. "How's it feel being home?"
Killian sighs heavily. "Like a ton of bricks on my chest, to be honest." He slides his hand over his face and rolls onto his back. Emma watches him, as his hand falls to his chest, at the way he stares up at the ceiling for a moment before turning his head to look at her. "But… it's better with you here."
Emma almost wants to allow her heart to fall to her gut, to allow those butterflies their right to flutter, but she just laughs quietly instead.
"You have to stop trying to get me to like you, Jones, because I'm not changing my mind." She decisively flips onto her other side, facing the wall, and murmurs, "If I wake up and you're spooning me I'll probably find a way to cut your arm off, by the way."
Killian releases a sigh. The bed squeaks when he flips his body onto his side. "If the baby cries in the middle of the night should I even bother?"
"No."
"As I thought."
/
The baby wakes up at around four in the morning and his cry is a gentle sob.
Emma grunts at the sound and he turns in bed to make sure she's getting up. She does, looking a glorious mess, her hair slept on and her eyes squinted as she steps around the bed toward the crib.
She licks her lips and murmurs, "Hey, baby boy. It's okay." Henry stops crying the instant he's being held and she whispers, "Did you have a bad dream? It's okay. I'm here."
Her ability to soothe her boy is always admirable to him, but even more so as he's watching it in the quiet of the very early morning, ripped from a dream to see it.
It's beautiful, the way she smiles, and how Henry eases himself back to sleep after she gives him a bottle.
Killian's mostly awake as he watches Emma lower her son back into his bed. She stays there for a few long moments, making sure he's asleep probably, and then she folds her arms against her chest and shuffles back toward the bed.
The bed whimpers and creaks when she adds her weight to it again and she sighs as her head hits the pillow.
Emma goes to sleep in a matter of minutes as he watches her, as if she'd been asleep when she went to tend to Henry to begin with, and suddenly, without explanation, she starts to whimper and thrash her legs.
Killian furrows his brow as sadness overcomes him. He knows this feeling all too well. Nightmares are something he often wakes in a cold sweat from.
Her voice is what breaks him, though, as if she's in pain, and Killian can't bear to hear it, so he goes to her, wrapping her in his arms after he turns her onto her side facing away from him.
They're very similar, he and Emma, and he knows he bit off more than he could chew when he dove into this whole thing.
He hadn't known she would pierce his darkness with her smile or her laughter. He hadn't known that her boy'd so easily melt him, the lad that coos and giggles at him.
Emma's body is warm, but she shivers, and Killian rubs his hands down her arms as she seems to be calming from her dream. He pulls the blankets up higher and then her arms grab his, pulling him and holding him against her.
She smells like vanilla when he rests his head on her pillow just above her head. Her legs curve so easily against his that he finds it hard to breathe, much less understand how a woman so beautiful could be so maddeningly against him.
He's never had a woman so forward about her feelings for him. Well, feelings in the negative sense.
Emma breathes easy and rests easier, and it's a relief to him to feel that in her posture and in her heartbeat against his palm.
The position they're lying in is comfortable. Probably too comfortable. The rise and fall of her chest as she breathes is enough to lull his eyes closed just as he thinks about rolling back over and allowing her the space she'd requested- the space she quite honestly deserves.
He falls asleep thinking about how he wishes that this feeling swelling in his heart might never leave him. That somehow, he'd be enough for Emma Swan and those great towering walls of hers.
That maybe this game would turn into something real.
That maybe it already is.
It's easily the best sleep he's had in ages.
