A/N: To bmbbcs4evr and let-it-raines (check out the GORGEOUS edit she did for this ❤) for reccing this story for csficrecmonday on Tumblr and to all of you beautiful people who have been enjoying this slow burn with me - I thank you with this chapter ;)


He doesn't think he has ever – in all his 40 years on this blasted earth – been so conscious of every single movement he makes – of the nervous fidgeting that overtakes his fingers from time to time, of the way his left elbow will twitch unexpectedly, the way his chest rises and falls with his every breath, the way his leg stiffens when the circulation is completely cut off.

He has never been so conscious of his every movement and he has never tried so hard to suppress it all. He must do well enough because she doesn't stir even once.

When Peter opens the carriage door, Killian still hasn't decided what to do about the woman sleeping in his arms. It seems particularly melodramatic to carry her into the house but the warmth of her hand in his is enough to make him loathe disturbing her fragile comfort. Not to mention the softness of her hair against his skin and the delicate puffs of warm breath that make gooseflesh rise all over the arm she is pressed against. He is very conscious of not paying attention to the way her knee is bend and lying on top of his thigh and obstructing that very crucial circulation.

Perhaps it is for the best that the carriage coming to a stop was apparently enough to rouse her.

"Killian?"

Killian is good with numbers, estimates and predictions but he can't say he ever imagined he'd hear her say his name in that way – sleepy and disorientated, unguarded and completely trusting.

"We're home, love."

"Oh."

She looks over her shoulder and through the open door in no great hurry, her head rolling languidly against his shoulder, and, for a moment, Killian thinks she will just turn back around and go to sleep again. Then Ruby bursts through the front door and he tries to neither laugh, nor groan as Emma scampers to get herself and all her skirts off his lap and out of the carriage.

"Why on earth are you back so early?"

He sees Emma freeze on the spot and quickly gets out as well, trying not to trip over the leg that is still half asleep.

"It would've been much too great a shock to my system to spend so much time in company," he replies smoothly as he places his hand on Emma's back and leads her inside and away from Ruby's displeased scowl and mutterings about "grumpy old sailors".

"Upon my word, you couldn't have had your fill of dancing," she says to Emma and, before Killian can steer her away again, his wife speaks up.

"Oh, no, rest assured, I more than had my fill."

Ruby shakes her head and looks at them like she doesn't know who to be more disappointed in.

"You can retire for the evening, Ruby. We should manage fine on our own?" he looks at Emma with the question and she nods almost imperceptibly but he can see that she will be glad to not have anyone fluttering all over her and pestering her with questions.

Ruby is only too willing to accept his suggestion, after realizing that she will have to wait for Alice's return to learn all the details of the ball.

Soon as she is out of sight, he returns his full attention to his wife, who is looking up the stairs with palpable reluctance and, even though it's quite late and she was asleep just minutes ago, Killian finds himself compelled to offer her some distraction, anything to wipe the uncertainty off her soft features.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?"

When she turns her face toward him, he knows he has succeeded.

/

Even in the sleepy sluggishness of her mind, Emma is aware that falling in love with Killian Jones was not part of anyone's plans for her. Not her own, not his or his family's, certainly not Regina's.

And yet, as she watches him move quietly around the kitchen – jacket and cravat discarded and his hair a bit more of a mess than when they left – and fiddle with the handle of his spoon, while he waits for the milk to heat up, she is also aware that she couldn't have done anything but fall in love with Killian Jones.

"I am sorry," she breaks the late night silence. "I should've been able to… master my emotions."

Killian keeps his silence until the cocoa is ready and he is sitting across from her, sipping at the hot liquid and studying her with the blue depths in his eyes. But the silence doesn't worry her – she finally doesn't feel tense or anxious, she rather appreciates the quiet moment to gather her thoughts before Killian speaks.

"A ball is supposed to be a source of entertainment, or so I am told. There is no sense attending one longer than it brings your pleasure to do so. And I'm glad we did not."

She sighs and sinks into her seat. It's not only this ball though. Emma knows that every woman still in her prime is supposed to be overjoyed at the prospect of attending such an event but—

"It's just that… well, I never saw the point of it. Dancing with people whose acquaintance you've just made. And with all those other people around – watching you like hawks, waiting for you to step out of line. Or on someone's toes."

Killian's lips quirk up at her petulance and there is something calculating in his expression.

"If you were to only dance with people you were already acquainted with, I'm afraid your options would've been limited indeed."

"I don't think I should've minded this time."

He fixes her with one of his searching looks and, for a moment, Emma wonders just how much her face might reveal in the soft glow of the firelight. But then the set of Killian's jaw loses some of its careful neutrality and his eyes sparkle in a way they didn't at the ball.

"Well, if that is the case – and seeing as there is no one here to scold me for it – perhaps I should ask you for a second dance."

Something in her stomach swoops low in a pleasant feeling that she didn't think she could reclaim tonight.

"Perhaps you should."

Her answer seems to both surprise and amuse him and prompt him into pushing out of his chair and putting it to the side, before he urges her up and does the same with hers. The space for dancing is still limited but, as Killian takes her hand and pulls her closer, she doesn't think they will need any elaborate footwork.

They hardly need any at all as he leads her into a simple back and forth that seems much too unpretentious and intimate for any ballroom. She has just come to terms with the fact that they are indeed doing this in the middle of the kitchen when he starts humming under his breath. It's no song she has ever heard and that suits her just fine. Few things that involve Killian Jones are ones she has seen or heard or felt before.

His left arm is stiff at her back at first but, after they've done a couple of circles around the room, he lets it slip more firmly around her and pulls her infinitesimally closer.

Emma takes that as permission to loosen the rigid angle of her own arms and her right hand slowly slides from his shoulder to the hair at the nape of his neck. She marvels at the contrasts that can exist in a single man – with his proper words and constant warmth, his cautious movements and engaging eyes, his calloused fingers and soft hair, his demanding business and welcoming home. With his rough voice and gentle melodies.

Her gaze skirts over his jaw and finds his lips with relief, as if it has been fighting a battle to stay away until now. Emma doesn't think she has ever contemplated a man's features so intently before. Then again, she is sure she has never been as interested in one before. It seems impossible to her, in this little slash of space and time, that she shall ever grow tired of looking at Killian's face. Which is probably for the best, seeing as they did vow till death do them part.

She is starting to understand how people can say those words and mean them.

It's another turn and another length of the kitchen table before she finds the courage she had before setting off for the ball and lifts her eyes, following the lines on his face, until they meet his own.

This time there is no interruption.

Except, before she has even realized that she is rising slightly on her tiptoes and leaning closer, the look on his face arrests her every movement, including the rise and fall of her chest. In that moment she has certainty enough for the both of them and yet, the lack of it in his wide eyes makes something inside her tear a little.

She doesn't know why it should, when he has as well as told her that he married her neither to bed her, nor to fall in love with her. But, when she turns her attention inward, Emma realizes that this new life of hers has made her want things again. Killian Jones chief among them. And, while the thought that he might not want her back stings a little, it cannot diminish the sheer joy of having the will to want again. The hope that wanting might amount to something other than nothing.

"Emma."

She blinks and searches the blue of his eyes and the deep lines around them. He doesn't look quite so uncertain now. He looks like he is willing to be convinced.

The space between them is almost gone already but somehow she manages to close it slowly enough for a few seconds to thick by and for Killian's hand to leave hers onto his shoulder and slide up the curve of her jaw, barely making contact along the way.

Her eyes flutter closed when his have turned eager rather than apprehensive.

It is nothing but her lips against his at first – closed, unmoving, solid, warm.

Emma thought she'd been kissed – once as a child when she barely knew what it meant and then again, a decade ago, when she knew all too well and was a fool to let it happen anyway. She doesn't remember any of those kisses now. She never did remember them in vivid detail but now she knows she shall never be able to recall them again and she smiles into the first kiss she knows she'll never forget.

Killian's mouth moves half a breath away and then closes lightly over her bottom lip and this is even warmer now that she can feel the glide of his lips, his palm on her face, his finger tracing the outline of her ear. There is a happy sound exhaled somewhere between them and she is confident it came from her though she did not know she could make sounds quite like it.

Her hands move with cautious determination until she has his face between her palms, then she angles her head to the side and lets her lips quirk up again at the feel of his cold nose against her cheek.

Killian's hand slips back down, his thumb fitting itself in the dent in her chin as he pulls back a little and she leans forward to make up for it. Her toes ache in her satin slippers from raising her up but the pleased sound he makes – among other things – more than makes up for it.

"Do you always smile so much when you kiss a man, my lady?"

Emma blinks her eyes open to see his own as close as they have ever been, their foreheads brushing lightly.

"It would appear I do."

She tries not to smile, despite the admittance, but he does it for her.

"Good."

Killian pulls back completely but his hand catches one of hers as they reluctantly fall away from his face and somehow she succeeds in reigning in her pout.

"I believe it has gotten rather late."

In seconds they are walking out of the kitchen, down the corridor and up the stairs and Emma has yet to decide what she wants his words to mean. She wants him, that much she has decided, the intricacies of how and how soon are a bit more unclear. If he is to lead her into his room, into his bed, right now, she doubts she will deny him. Then again, she wouldn't have denied him that first night either, though she was far from ready for it.

But now – now she thinks Killian will be as concerned with her uncertainty as she was with his minutes ago. And she is uncertain. Her fingers tighten around his as they ascend the stairs and she knows she won't be afraid to tell him so.

But then, he stops exactly where he stopped at their wedding night and, for all her uncertainly, she can't help the light pinch of disappointment between her brows. It sits right where Killian's lips land when he leans over.

"Goodnight, love."

They only have the one candle this time but he finds his way in the darkness without trouble.

/

She knocks lightly on the chance that the woman on the other side is still asleep.

"Come in."

Ruby picks her tray off the ground and pushes down on the door handle with her elbow.

"Good morning. You must be famished after all the excitement yesterday."

Emma is sitting up in her bed and has obviously been awake long enough to twist her hair into a messy braid on one side. Her eyes widen comically at the amount of food piled on the tray Ruby places on her lap.

"I was instructed to bring you breakfast in bed."

The maid winks at her mistress before she starts bustling around the room, giving Emma the opportunity to hide her blush.

"Is everyone else up and about then?"

Her voice goes up in the end, obviously aware of the transparency of the question and hoping cheerfulness might compensate for it. Ruby keeps her back to her until she has mastered the silent laughter on her face. She did not afford her husband the same courtesy a few hours ago when he, for reasons unknown and certainly insufficient for Granny, took it upon himself to decide what Mrs Jones should be served for breakfast. Which, in the end, amounted to more or less everything.

Contrary to popular belief, Emma is much more capable of remaining in control when her emotions are running havoc than the captain has ever been. Of course, in Ruby's experience, he doesn't let it happen nearly as often but, when caught unawares, he is truly helpless at saving face. Which is probably the reason why he's chosen to hide his in the nearby hills, just like Emma is hiding hers under the covers.

"Miss Alice is still at Admiral Jones's estate, the captain has taken Roger out for some "much needed exercise" and Granny is ready to discuss the evening's menu when you are."

"Oh."

She puts Emma's slippers away and wishes she could give her a less disappointing answer.

"Well, you can tell her I'll be down as soon as I… manage to make my way through all of this."

Ruby turns around and grins honestly at the picture of Emma's fork circling uncertainly over all the meats and fruits and pastry on her tray.

"Let me fetch your tea. There wasn't any place on the tray for it."

/

For a man who has long renounced a great number of emotions, Killian Jones currently finds himself experiencing a perturbingly… great number of emotions. Roger, as he has from the first time he actually let his master mount him, seems only too well attuned to them and more than willing to channel them into motion. For that Killian is grateful. He is sure he should have worn out both his legs and his mind with literal and figurative pacing if not for the liberating and unceasing change of landscape around him now.

Killian knows he is good for a limited and selected number of things and prudent investments are one of those things. If it were up to his brother to decide on those matters— he shudders at the very idea. So he is the one who settles when, how much and in what the Jones Brothers Company should invest. Speculation is the trade of gamblers but what Killian does is not speculation. Investment is all about numbers and numbers are always what they look like. A 20 is going to be a 20 tomorrow unless you make the necessary calculations and take the necessary actions to turn it into a 60. There are no caveats that can suddenly reveal the 20 on the page to have been a 100 all along.

Now, people aren't like that and investing in people – that is pure speculation. Always. No matter how much information you think you have gathered and no matter how carefully you might have analyzed it a 20 is almost never a 20 when it comes to people. It's usually a 10, a 12, if you are lucky. To get at the real number of a person you have to know what to subtract first. 4 for the family name, 3 for supposed fortune, 1.5 for the clothes and 2.5 for the manners. You have to strip all that away to arrive at the real, raw truth about a person.

Killian is only partially ashamed that his wife was an investment in her own way – partially because she was not an investment made entirely for his sake. He saw the opportunity to save them both a great deal of trouble when Liam first brought her to his attention – save her more than him, to be completely honest. And he did not mind that Emma required no subtractions either – the family name was reluctantly given, the fortune non-existent (rather a small one required for the obtainment of her hand), the manners he was unaware of and, in the end, even the clothes were added later. When he met Emma she was exactly what she appeared to be.

He should've remembered that people are never solid numbers, people are always speculation. Emma is no different. Except in the way that Emma is more than she appears. Nothing was subtracted and then, day in and night out, much was added. Until now he can barely even make his brain view her in that way – numbers, calculations, risks, deductions.

Now it's all impressions and possibilities and surprises and emotions.

Gods help him, he can't even count them all – the surprises are constant and he thought he'd learnt to take them almost in stride until this last one, the pride is not truly earned and his to feel, the guilt is warranted and to be addressed, the hope is probably worst of all – there are so many unknown variables in it. And that other one—

Gods help him.

/

Dinner is an hour away by the time she hears Roger's hooves against the stones outside and Emma has been going back and forth on being angry with her husband all day. Thinking back on yesterday, she is nothing but grateful for his understanding, for both his firmness and his gentleness, mostly for not being another person that she has to tiptoe around and hide half of herself from.

But then she realizes that her attention has strayed from her reading yet again and she remembers that she has been wondering how to occupy herself for hours because Killian has apparently decided to roam the hills and valleys for the better part of the day rather than do anything at all in her company, and she is back to feeling the anger gather at the back of her throat. Her anger feels rather similar to rejection and disappointment but she tries to contradict these thoughts with memories of last night and then she is back where she started from.

"Captain Jones is getting dressed and dinner will be served in a few minutes."

She turns to see Ruby's head poking into her room and her curt response is mostly the result of poor timing, having circled back to recalling her solitude throughout the day.

"I'm not hungry. If you could excuse me and bring me some tea later, that will be all."

Ruby frowns in confusion and goes to enter the room properly but something in Emma's expression arrests her movement and she just nods and leaves.

/

The knock on her door comes sooner than expected but Emma jumps up quickly, prepared to apologize to Ruby for her shortness earlier, which is why, when she opens the door and finds Killian behind the tea tray, she is caught completely off guard and only slightly reassured by the fact that her quick response seems to have interrupted his own preparation for whatever is to come.

"May I come in?"

His tone and expression tell her that he genuinely doubts if she will let him in and, to Emma's chagrin, that alone starts chipping away at any anger she tried to accumulate throughout the day. She pulls the door open wider and motions him inside.

Evenings in the kitchen have taught her that Killian is meticulous and methodical, especially when it comes to the serving of beverages, and unafraid of prolonged silences, especially when it comes to her, so it takes her completely by surprise when he almost drops the tray on her small table with a clatter and whirls around to face her.

"Emma, I— I must apologize."

His face seems to crack a little and the anguish underneath physically tugs on her heart and with it goes the last of her resentment.

The truth of the matter is that she doesn't know Killian Jones, not completely, not yet. And, while spending time in his company seems like the logical solution to her, maybe that's one of those things she doesn't know – when and how and what parts of himself he is willing to reveal.

"You don't ha—"

"I do. I— Emma, I hope you believe me when I say that taking advantage of you in any shape or form was the furthest thing from my mind when we were wed and I—"

"Wait," now she is pulled forward by her confusion and his distress. "Killian, you have not— You've never—"

"You were clearly distraught last night and I should have seen you directly to your rooms, I should've never—"

"That's what you are apologizing for?"

"Of course, I—"

"I don't wish for you to apologize for that," she says sharply, startled and mortified at the way her voice cracks at the end and lifting her chin higher to compensate for it.

Killian seems to hear it nonetheless because his hand reaches for her arm, hesitating just short of making contact. She takes it in her own and moves another step closer, her eyes flickering between his own almost frantically, searching for an explanation.

"You didn't do anything untoward and I… I hope I didn't either..."

His shoulders seem to loosen a little and the next step forward is his.

"No, love, you did not. I just… I didn't want you to think—"

"I didn't. I didn't think there was anything wrong or— Well, except that you seem to prefer spending your time with your horse rather than your wife."

Killian's face screws up comically and she can't quite conceal the unladylike snort.

"Perish the thought. I'll have you know, that's how rumours start."

This time she laughs fully and freely.

"I promise not to make your preferences public knowledge."

"Appreciated," Killian nods solemnly before his eyes soften and his lids drop a bit lower. "And I apologize if you felt neglected. I assure you Roger's personality has nothing on yours. I just didn't think—"

"Truthfully, I think you should stop thinking quite so much."

Both their eyes widen at her frankness before Emma pressed her lips firmly together and squints at him apologetically.

"Sorry."

"No, no, you… you might have a point."

His eyes leave hers for the first time in the last few minutes and focus on the teapot and cups he brought with him. If she has to take a guess, she'll say he is thinking far too hard again.

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat?"

"Later, perhaps."

"Of course. I can make you something. I believe Mrs Lucas hasn't started keeping the kitchen under lock yet but it's certainly only a matter of time."

"Would you have some tea with me?"

/

Truthfully, he is rather tired from pushing Roger and himself to their mutual limit for most of the day. Truthfully, there are a few letters he saw in the morning and left to answer upon his return. Truthfully, he already had a cup of tea, while debating if he should come up here at all. Truthfully, he can't refuse her anything when she is tugging on the end of her horrendously done braid and looking at him with her face so genuine and open.

"If you'd like."

She doesn't reply, just brushes past him and takes the tray, moving to sit before the fireplace where her book is lying on the ground and she seems to have formed a nest of her blankets and pillows.

"You know, if the furniture is not to your satisfaction—"

She looks over her shoulder and arches a bemused eyebrow, while continuing to pour the hot tea into one of the cups – it's rather impressive.

"The furniture is perfectly satisfactory and I didn't expect judgement from a man who sits on the ground any chance he gets."

He shakes his head and finally joins her, snagging one of the pillows.

"Most ladies I know do not share many of my habits."

Emma's eyes sparkle dangerously, she opens her lovely lips and he can literally see the reply on the tip of her tongue but then, for some reason which will probably always remain a mystery to him, she closes her mouth and just hums a little. It is far from acceptance or submission – the way her eyes are boring into his might be one of the most straightforward challenges he has ever been issued. He is just not sure if she is daring him to say something or—

Killian Jones used to think he was a bold man before life saw fit to teach him that even the strongest and bravest thing won't do when caution is called for. He knows the first bold thing he has done in years is marrying the woman before him. The second is reaching for her now.

He would like to take credit for kissing her as well but once again that is mostly her doing.