Author''s Note: Hellooooooo! I just got home from spending a few days in Texas with my best friend I haven't seen in a year. I had pangs, guys. But now we've snuggled and enjoyed some good southern food and I'm home and ready to post.
After all, we've got a date!
Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT.
Chapter 9
Emma woke up first yet again.
The first thing she noticed, to her delight, was that she could feel all ten of her toes. She wiggled them just to make sure they were still there, smiling a little at her silliness.
The second thing she noticed was that she was a captive.
Killian was wrapped around her like he expected her to attempt an escape. Which, actually, wasn't all that far-fetched. Emma felt the need to move, to put space, distance, between them. Because this was too close. He was too close.
But he was warm.
"Relax, Swan." Contrary to his words, Emma tensed further, and he chuckled sleepily in her ear. "I won't bite unless you ask, love." Emma smiled. "Is that a smile?"
"No."
He hummed like he didn't believe her, his arms flexing briefly around her as his hand slid up to twine their fingers. "Go back to sleep. You nearly died yesterday."
Emma frowned at the reminder. "How'd you get me out of the water?" she asked suddenly, turning so that she could face him. "It was a crazy out there."
Killian's gaze darkened with the memory. "Aye," he agreed. "I didn't see you go overboard. I just looked up and you weren't there."
"Hey, that's not your fault."
"It's a Captain's duty to always know the happenings on his ship," he argued.
"But you saved me."
Killian looked away then, down to their twined hands. His thumb brushed against hers. "It wasn't me who saved you, Swan," he admitted. "I had every intention of jumping in after you, I promise, but Vincent was faster."
"Vincent?"
"Aye."
Emma watched Killian's eyes drift down to their hands again. Her eyes narrowed as he continued to avoid her gaze. "Killian, I'm not . . . I'm not disappointed," she said. "I know you would've saved me. It doesn't matter that Vincent was faster."
"He's your friend."
"Yes," she said honestly. "He's the first friend I've had in a long time."
Her words only seemed to dishearten him more, and Emma scrambled to understand why. What was the big deal about Vincent? He was just a friend, a kid who was nice to her and who had helped her learn a little about herself and who she might become if she stayed aboard the Jolly. She was grateful to him, and she definitely had plans to buy him a drink the next time they were in port, but she didn't see how that . . .
Oh.
Oh.
"Are you jealous?" she asked and his jaw clenched. "Killian, hey," she pulled her hand from his to hold his jaw, forcing him to look at her. He was always so confident when he looked at her. She didn't like this uncertainty in him. Once his eyes met hers, she said, "Vincent is just a friend. You're . . ." Come on, Emma, say it, ". . . you're more."
He stared at her like he wasn't certain whether to believe her, and Emma felt a strange mixture of anxiety and patience as she waited for him. Did he feel like this whenever she questioned him? She felt a stab of guilt. This was maddening. It wasn't a horrible feeling yet it wasn't a good feeling. It was like a persistent pressure on her chest, and it made her want to squirm.
"So you'll stay?"
Emma blinked. "What?"
"I thought you'd leave," he said. "After what I said, after what happened, I . . . I thought I'd ruined it. This."
He softly stroked his thumb over her cheek, and Emma couldn't believe it had taken her this long to see, to understand.
You and I, we understand each other.
He'd convinced her to come with him with those words. They'd resonated with her, sunk into her bones and made a home. But she hadn't really thought about them, those important words. She hadn't thought about what they really meant.
She was alone, and so was he.
She had been abandoned, and so had he.
And both of them were waiting for the other to leave, because neither one of them thought they deserved to stay.
"You didn't ruin anything," she said simply.
Killian's eyes brightened, and a stunned smile began to form. "I'm going to kiss you now, Swan," he warned.
Emma was proud when she didn't blush, but her voice gave her away. "Okay," she breathed.
He kissed her with the same quiet passion he had last night, and all Emma could think about was that she quite fancied the taste of rum in the morning.
The first thing Emma did when she went on deck was find Vincent, and she noted with some surprise (and a bit of possessiveness) that he was in her nest. She climbed up nonetheless, and he greeted her with a bright, relieved smile. "It's good to see you breathing, Emma," he said. "Alive is a good look on you."
Emma smirked as she sat beside him. "Thanks," she said dryly before her eyes softened and her smirk settled into a smile. "Really. Thank you, Vincent." She looked at his arm still in its sling. "Are you okay? You didn't hurt yourself jumping after me, did you?"
"Not my brightest idea," he admitted with a grin, "jumping into stormy waters with a bum arm. Didn't even notice in the moment, though." He bumped his shoulder with hers. "I'll be fine, lass."
Emma shook her head a little as she looked him in partial confusion. Old wounds full of abandonment and worthlessness welled within her chest. "I can't believe you jumped in after me," she said.
"What are friends for?" he said easily. "Between you and me, I haven't had much luck in the way of friends before. I like to keep the few I have." He glanced back at Killian who stood behind the wheel and gave him a respectful nod when their eyes met. "Same goes with Captains," he added. "He meant to go in after you, you know."
Emma smiled with pink cheeks. "I know."
Vincent grinned. "Couldn't have that, though," he said. "He's a strong swimmer, I'm sure, but I knew he might've drowned right along with you if he hadn't found you." Emma's eyes widened and his grin grew soft. "You really don't get it, do you, lass? The effect you have on people."
"I'm nothing special," she tried to argue, but he shook his head.
"Special people always say that. Part of their charm."
Emma abruptly shoved his shoulder, a playful smile on her lips. "Shut up."
"Eloquent as ever, lass."
"Don't you have work to do?"
"Orderin' me about, are you? I wasn't aware this was your ship." His grin suddenly turned devious. "Or has the Captain finally made you his first mate?"
Emma's eyes widened as her face blossomed in a vivid shade of red. "Shut up," she repeated. "I haven't been . . . promoted, thank you very much."
"That's alright. Means I've still got a chance."
Her stomach dropped. "A what?"
Vincent laughed at her horrified look. "Relax, lass. I was talking about the pool."
"The what?"
"The crew's bettin' on you and the Captain."
"On if we've . . . you can't be serious!"
"Oh, but I am, my dear, dear, blushing friend," Vincent cackled. "Don't be offended. I'm on your side. Said you weren't that type of woman to, uh, board a ship without a care."
Emma sniffed. "Well, you're right about that."
"Oh, I know. The crew's caught on as well. Now, it's just a matter of time."
"You're betting on when? There's not gonna be a when," she insisted quickly, despite her memory of the wonderfully sensual, toe-curling kisses that morning.
Vincent's jaw dropped and a wide grin threatened to split his face. "Oh, but you've thought about it, haven't you? Thinking of having your way with the Captain?"
"No!"
"Tell me all about it. This is a nest of trust, here."
"So we've kissed," she hissed suddenly. "It's not a big deal."
"But it is. How was it?"
Emma huffed as she tried to calm her thundering heart. Half of her was panicked. Why was she spilling her guts to Vincent? She shouldn't. She should keep her feelings to herself. It was safer that way. She knew that.
"Emma?" She looked over at Vincent, who no longer wore a teasing smirk but a hesitant frown. "I don't mean to push, lass. I was just havin' you on. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
"No, it's . . . I just haven't had many friends before either. I'm out of practice." Emma looked down at her hands to hide her embarrassed blush until Vincent reached over and took her hand. He squeezed gently.
"That's alright, lass. You just have to do me one favor."
Emma looked up curiously. "What?"
"When you finally pillage our good Captain, let me know, would you?" He grinned. "There's hell of a lot of money in that pool."
Emma's eyes narrowed. "Fine," she agreed. "If it happens, and I mean if . . . you split that pool with me. Fifty-fifty."
Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Seventy-thirty."
"Are you kidding me? I'm doing all the work."
"We'll see what the Captain has to say about that."
"Shut up, Vincent," she hissed. He chuckled. "Fifty-fifty."
Vincent sighed but shook her hand. "You drive a hard bargain, Emma Swan."
"I wasn't aware you were on my ship to flirt with Miss Swan, Mr. Turner," Killian suddenly called, causing both Emma and Vincent to jump apart and turn toward the helm. "I'm sure there are plenty of things on this ship that require your attention. Perhaps you should find one."
Vincent grinned. "Aye, Captain," he called back. "But none of them are so pretty!"
The crew laughed, and Killian's eyes narrowed. Emma blushed as Vincent turned to climb down from the nest. She followed after him. "What the hell are you doing?" she whispered. "You're just making him mad."
Vincent chuckled, his grey eyes flashing with mischief. "He's a jealous one, isn't he? You shouldn't be mad. You should be thanking me."
Emma scoffed. "You're an idiot."
"I'm only trying to help you, lass."
"I don't need you to be my wingman."
"What's a wingman?"
"He's someone that . . . you know, what? Get to work, sailor."
Emma jumped down onto the deck, and Vincent soon followed, but not before shooting her a salute, clipping his heels together, and saying, "Aye, Mum."
"I hate you," she hissed when the crew laughed again.
Vincent winked and scuttled away before she could hit him. She scowled at his back, much to the crew's amusement, before spinning abruptly to climb the stairs to the helm. Killian had his compass open in front of him, brows furrowed as he checked their course, and she had to smile a little at the smug smirk that twisted lips before he snapped the compass shut.
"Are we on course, Captain?"
His smirk deepened as he met her gaze. "Aye, love," he said as he held out his hand toward her. Cautiously, she took his hand, and he smiled as he pulled her to him, placing a possessive kiss on the back of her hand. "You should call me Captain more often, Swan," he said, his voice low. "It's terribly attractive."
Emma rolled her eyes when he cocked that ridiculous eyebrow of his. "Uh huh," she said dryly. "I'm not about to stroke your ego."
Killian's eyes danced. "I have something else you can stroke, if you like."
Emma hung her head. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?" she muttered. Killian chuckled and gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. "Where are we going?"
"Tortuga." The name stirred in Emma's mind. She frowned. "Swan? What is it?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I could swear I've heard that name before."
"Really?"
"Yeah." She shook her head. "So, what's in Tortuga?"
"With any luck, a job."
"I didn't think you worked for anyone."
"I don't," he said honestly. "I do, however, occasionally offer to transport certain items of . . . questionable legality. For a price, of course."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "Smuggling."
"Aye."
"Sounds . . ." she frowned, slightly surprised by the disappointment she felt. "Boring."
Killian grinned. "If done right, yes." His smile faded somewhat as he looked out at the sea briefly as he added, "I thought that, perhaps, you might appreciate a quieter aspect of piracy. Much less confrontational, smuggling."
Emma fought against the small smile that wanted to form and ultimately failed. He was doing this for her. "Thank you, Killian."
"I don't want you to think that I take what you were forced to do lightly," he said quietly. "Ending a man's life is a burden I never meant to place on you."
"Hey, I made my choices."
"I don't want you to think me heartless, Swan. I may be a pirate, but I like to think I'm an honorable one."
Emma smiled shyly. "That sounds like good form, Captain," she assured him, and he smiled before turning away from her to adjust their course, turning the wheel two spokes to port. Then he drummed his fingers over the wheel, which Emma thought was odd. Killian Jones didn't have nervous ticks. Well, except for . . .
He scratched nervously behind his ear.
Emma's eyes narrowed. "What?"
Killian summoned his courage. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"
"We have dinner every night," she said, brows furrowed.
If he wasn't so nervous, he would've laughed. Gods, this woman would be the death of him. "Yes, Swan, we do, but this would be more . . . intimate."
Emma blinked in surprise before a little smile toyed at the edge of her lips. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
"Yes."
"Okay," she said, shocking him with how easily she agreed. He'd expected a fight. "But just so you know, I don't pillage and plunder on a first date."
Killian smirked. "Well, that's because you haven't been out with me yet."
Emma wasn't nervous until the sun began to set, and she realized that she had nowhere to go.
There was nowhere for her to get ready, nowhere for them to go. There was just Killian's quarters. Her quarters.
(And no, it was certainly not their quarters.)
What happened when dinner was over? Did she kick him out? Did he expect to stay? As in stay.
Sure, they'd shared a bed the past two nights, but only because both of them had had a brush with death. Killian had been weak with blood loss. She'd been hypothermic. Had the seizure of the naval ship not gone wrong, had the storm not come, Emma knew that the whole bed-sharing episode wouldn't have happened. The kiss certainly wouldn't have happened, and likely this date wouldn't be happening.
But it had happened. It was happening.
Dear god, she was going on a date with no way out.
She couldn't make an excuse about needing to be home or that she had to get up early for work tomorrow or even that she'd promised to meet a friend. Her best shot at finding some space was literally saying that she needed some space. Emma thought the politest way she could put it was needing fresh air.
And that just sounded pitiful in her head, not to mention the fact that Killian would know.
You and I, we understand each other.
Damn.
She didn't know how to do this. Her dating life was hilariously, depressingly limited. She hadn't dated in school. Who wanted the angry orphan? Then there'd been Neal. They hadn't dated. They'd just gotten together, right from the start. The only time she thought they got close to a "date" was when they'd broken into an amusement park with coffee and sat in the swings.
After jail she'd gone through a year-long dry spell before she'd gotten drunk one night in a bar and found herself in bed with a guy the next morning. She hadn't liked the situation one bit. He'd tried to make her breakfast in the morning, which she saw as a sign of guilt rather than politeness, and she hadn't wanted pity. So she'd grabbed her clothes and bolted.
The next time, with the next guy, she made sure to leave right after he fell asleep.
Emma didn't know how to date. She'd never really been on one, and part of her found that cynically humorous. Of all the things she'd experienced in life, a date was something that had passed her by, and as she watched the sun set, as the crew finished their tasks and methodically went to the galley below, leaving her alone with nothing but her own growing panic, Emma thought the whole situation was completely insane.
Because, naturally, her first date was with the captain of a fucking pirate ship in the Enchanted Forest.
Of course it was.
She waited until she was the last person on deck aside from Killian. He relinquished the wheel, locking their course, before strolling up to her with that little smirk of his that he damn well knew annoyed her. She automatically rolled her eyes in response, and the panic in her veins dulled. "Why don't you go below, Swan?" he suggested. "I'll return with our meal."
The idea of Killian playing waiter amused her. "So you're serving me, huh?" she teased.
"I am a gentleman."
"Says the dashing rapscallion."
He preened. "Aye, love. Now, if you would be so kind," he gestured grandly toward his quarters, "I'll be gone but a moment."
Emma smiled slightly but nodded. She kept her head down as she passed him, letting her hair hide her blush and the panic boiling in her eyes. It was just a date. Just one measly little date. Right? It didn't really mean anything.
First dates were all about getting to know each other, right? You talked about your past and your family and your job and your dreams. Right? That was expected. It should be easy.
Emma groaned internally. Nothing about this was easy. She didn't want to talk about her past as a runaway and a foster kid. She didn't want to talk about Neal. She had no family to speak of. And dreams? Those were just ridiculous fantasies she'd come up with as a kid.
What was left to talk about? The weather?
She was so consumed with her thoughts that she initially didn't notice the candles. She walked right by the desk and straight toward the looking glass that he kept in his chest. Holding it up in front of her, she cringed at the dirt on her face and the tangles in her hair. The urge to suddenly make herself decent overcame her. She fleetingly wished she had a dress, but squashed the thought immediately. She was not making a big deal of this.
It was just a damn dinner. They had dinner every night. This was absolutely no different.
That, ironically, was the moment when she finally noticed the candles.
Two tall red candles burned softly on the desk that had been cleared of its maps and sextant. The desk was set exactly like a table, with two place settings on either side, complete with polished silverware resting atop cream-colored napkins. A bottle of wine and a bowl of brightly colored fruit sat in the middle of the desk like a centerpiece next to a plate of bread and cheese. She sniffed experimentally. It was fresh.
Looks like she was buying Vincent and Wallace the Cook a drink once they were in port.
Emma's eyes drifted back to the candles with a sinking feeling in her gut that she refused to accept as nerves. She wasn't nervous. To be nervous meant that she cared. That this—date, dinner, thing—mattered.
But she suddenly flew into action, grabbing the looking glass and furiously searching through his chest for a comb. She found one, far too feminine for a pirate—a keepsake?—and used it to smooth her hair. She growled once her hair was brushed but flat and lifeless. Carefully, she pulled it up into a high ponytail that made her look softer. Almost innocent.
Hearing footsteps on deck, she hurried to the washbowl and wiped her face, removing the dirt and grime of the day. She just had time to pat herself dry and pinch her cheeks for some color before she heard Killian on the stairs. Emma spun to see him carrying a large silver tray full of what smelled like ham.
Her mouth watered, and she was reminded of the fact that she hadn't eaten all day. Great. Now this date was just going to be her stuffing her face like a, well, a pig.
Killian smiled when he saw her. "You look beautiful, Swan."
She scoffed even as her cheeks warmed. "Don't get too excited," she said. "All I did was put my hair up."
"Always so modest, love."
Her eyes rolled. "Just set the food down so we can eat," she said. "I'm starving."
"Of course."
Emma took her pick of thick-cut slices of ham and potatoes while Killian poured the wine. Of course, this was after he had pulled out her chair for her, a gesture that had startled her and amused him. She sipped her wine nervously. Her wine knowledge was nonexistent, but she knew from the taste that this was one damn good bottle. She drained her glass too quickly, and Killian refilled it with a small smirk.
"Nervous, love?"
Emma focused on cutting her ham into manageable bites. "No."
"It's hardly something to be ashamed of."
"I'm not ashamed," she said simply as she continued to carve into her ham, "because I'm not nervous."
"I am."
Though his admission cost him some pride, Killian was rewarded with Emma's attention. Her eyes snapped up to meet his, her lips parted slightly in surprise and curled faintly with amusement. "You are?" she asked.
"Aye," he nodded. "To be perfectly honest with you, Swan, I've never courted a woman before."
Emma's smile grew. "This is your first date," she said, loving the fact that for once, it was Killian blushing. She swore she could see a hint of pink in his cheeks, and she nearly laughed, until she looked into his eyes and saw the vulnerability there. God, he was nervous. Emma felt a swift pang of sympathy and something else she couldn't quite name, but her chest felt unusually warm. She looked at the candles burning softly between them, bathing them both in a warm glow. "It's my first date, too," she admitted.
Killian raised an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe."
"Yeah, well. Being a runaway didn't leave much time for dating."
"Nor, I'm afraid, does being a pirate."
"What?" Emma smirked. "You don't have a girl waiting for you in every port?"
"More than one, actually," he retorted lightly before growing serious, a heavy weight in his eyes that Emma recognized. Loneliness. "But alas, it's merely a dalliance."
"A one-time thing," she said softly.
Killian smiled slightly. "Exactly. It doesn't do well to get . . . attached."
"It's safer. People leave."
"Aye, darling. That they do."
"So who left you?"
Killian paused, his wine goblet halfway to his lips. Emma watched as his fingers tightened around the goblet. His eyes tightened with an old pain that she understood all too well, and she suddenly felt stupid for asking. "Sorry," she said quickly. "That's not really a first date question, is it? Forget about it."
"Perhaps," he agreed. "Wounds that were made when we're young tend to linger."
Emma looked down at her plate. She still keenly felt the pain of the Swans, the only people she had ever called "Mom" and "Dad", telling her that she couldn't live with them anymore. "Yeah," she agreed. "That's true." She shook her head and took a large gulp of wine. "Okay, that's depressing. Tell me something funny."
Killian raised his eyebrows. "Like what?"
"I don't know," she shrugged. "Most embarrassing thing you've done when you were drunk."
"I'll have you know, Swan, that I can hold my rum."
"What decent pirate captain can't?"
"Precisely," he said smartly, even as he shrugged, looking as close to sheepish as she thought he could manage, and added, "Although, perhaps I've made some . . . questionable choices."
Emma smiled. "Like?"
"Well," he scratched behind his ear, "I might have, when I was younger, mind, decided that I could speak Mermish."
"Mermish?"
"Aye, the language of the mermaids."
"Mermaids are real?"
"Are you going to let me embarrass myself or not?"
"Sorry. Go ahead."
"Thank you." Killian took a sip of wine. "You see, Swan, the issue with speaking Mermish is that it can only be spoken underwater."
Emma closed her eyes and held her head in her hand. "Oh god. You didn't."
Killian chuckled. "I dove right in the water to prove it. Nearly drowned myself."
"That's not embarrassing. That's just stupid."
"Oh, no, lass. That's not the embarrassing part. A woman at the docks saw me jump and actually hauled me out. She was a real tough lass. Had arms as big as mine."
"So you got saved by a woman," Emma smirked. "Must've hurt your manhood."
"Interesting choice of words." Killian looked down with a begrudging smile on his lips before he looked up with a sigh and continued, "You see, before jumping into the water, I—for some reason I still do not understand—decided that the mermaids wouldn't come to me unless I enticed them. So . . . I stripped down to my bare skin."
Emma nearly spit out her wine as she laughed. "You were enticing them, huh?"
"I am devilishly handsome."
She smiled, close-lipped but undoubtedly amused. Killian liked to think he saw something resembling fondness in her eyes. "So a big, butch woman saved your drunk, naked ass," she said.
"Aye, but that's not the worst part."
"How does this story get worse?"
"Well, the water was rather cold . . . and quite the crowd had gathered . . ."
Emma buried her face in her hands with a groan, followed by a quick, stifled giggle. "And you're naked," she said. "How cold was the water?"
"Bloody freezing," Killian laughed. "My manhood, as you say, wasn't in good form."
Emma snorted into her goblet. "That is bad form, isn't it, Captain?"
Once their laughter faded and they paused to take a few bites from their plates, Killian looked up with a mischievous light in his eye and said, "You realize it's your turn, Swan."
And that was how Emma explained to him the horror of the time when she got her shirt caught in a revolving door at the mall.
The candles continued to slowly burn as Killian and Emma traded stories. Most were light-hearted and funny, a few of them bittersweet. They opened another bottle of wine once it was time for desert, and Emma nearly started a food fight when she threw a piece of cheese at his head when he implied that she couldn't hold her liquor after she'd suggested that they stop for the night. Now, that second bottle of wine was nearly gone, as was the cheese that went with it, and Killian suggested that they go on deck for fresh air.
He didn't understand why the suggestion reduced Emma to a fit of drunken giggles.
The night was breathtakingly clear, not one cloud in the sky. It seemed to Emma entirely too bright with the light shining from the stars and the moon. She almost asked that they go back to the cabin, where the candles still burned with their soft, little flames, but she pressed her lips together before the words could slip. Although the night seemed far from its end, she still had enough wits to know that she'd be sending the wrong impression if she said she wanted to go back below.
So she followed him to the rail, placing her hands on the smooth wood and listening to the water brush against the hull. "I never knew how much I loved the water until I was on this ship," she said.
"You said you lived near the water in your realm."
"Yeah, and it was nice. I went to the beach sometimes, but it wasn't the same."
"Why not?"
"I was alone." Her voice was soft and measured as she stared at the water. "The sea is this giant, endless, powerful thing. You stand on the beach and stare and it's all you see and suddenly you feel so, so incredibly small."
"But now it's different."
"Yeah. I'm . . . I'm part of it, now. I mean, the sea's terrifying and huge, but it's beautiful and it's strong and that's . . . I'm part of it here."
Killian smiled. "Aye, love."
"Do you think you could ever give it up?" she asked.
"Give up what, darling? The sea? Piracy?"
Emma laughed. "I think you'll always be a pirate," she said, looking up at him with a smirk. "I'm talking about the sea, the Jolly."
He was quiet for a long moment, and his eyes were suddenly too intense for her to meet. "Depends, I suppose," he finally said.
"On what?"
"Who's asking."
Emma blinked, and for a second she thought that the wine had truly gone to her head, because surely he wasn't implying what she thought he was implying. Because this was Killian Jones, Captain of the Jolly Roger. He was a pirate. He answered to no one. He didn't give in to anyone.
But with the way he was looking at her, she had the silly thought that he might give in to her.
"Share a dance with me, Swan?"
The question pulled her from her reverie, and she gladly went. Those were dangerous thoughts, dangerous because she wanted to believe them, to think that maybe, just maybe, she meant that much to someone, to him. But that was ridiculous. He'd only known her for a month. One little month. He may understand her, but he certainly didn't know her.
But wait, what was he asking? A dance?
She looked around the deck. "There's no music."
"Well, then," he said lightly as he took her hand and slowly tugged her away from the rail, "I guess I'll have to improvise."
Killian watched fondly as Emma cautiously stepped into his arms, her hand tentatively resting on his shoulder. He pretended she didn't tense under his touch when his hand rested lightly on her back. "I don't dance," she warned.
He grinned. "It's simple," he assured her. "There's only one rule." She raised her brow, and he tugged her closer. "Pick a partner who knows what he's doing."
He stepped toward her then, she took a step back, and then much to Emma's surprise, they began to move together seamlessly. Killian smiled down at her, his heart warming when she flushed but smiled back at him instead of looking away as she usually did. She wasn't hiding from him.
He knew that she would, eventually. When the glow of the wine faded, perhaps tomorrow morning, she would once again pull away from him. He accepted that. It was simple to accept, really, since he had every intention to tug her right back to him.
So he summoned his courage and prepared to reveal a part of himself that he kept very close to his heart. He began to sing. He didn't stop, even when Emma stared up at him in shock, her feet now mindlessly following his as he sang about mermaids sending sailors to their deaths and fair lasses from exotic shores.
They danced until Killian finally fell quiet under the weight of Emma's stare. She was slightly out of breath as she stared up at him like she didn't know what to make of him, and her fingers flexed around his shoulder as if she needed to make sure he was real. Finally, she said, "I didn't know you could sing."
"Very few do," he said softly before correcting himself, "Did. You're the only one, now."
"Liam."
"Aye, the man couldn't carry a tune to save his life." He smiled slightly. "I quite enjoyed the knowledge that I had bested him in at least one aspect. Tis an unfortunate thing to be a sailor and unable to sing. Makes for a dull sail."
Emma smiled. If anything had been made clear to her during her time aboard the Jolly Roger, it was that sailors liked to sing. Bee usually led the chorus as they manned the sails, his deep voice carrying easily above the waves. She'd learned her fair share of sea shanties already, but it wasn't until this moment that she realized Killian never sang along.
"Why don't you sing with the crew?" she asked. "You are the Captain."
"Aye, lass," he agreed with a slight smile as he ran his hands down her arms to lace his fingers with hers. He held their twined hands up between them, marveling at the feel of her small, slender fingers against his own larger, calloused ones. "You're quite right, but it's a talent I prefer to keep to myself."
"It's personal."
"My mother died when I was a wee lad, and the only real memory I have of her is when she sang," he said softly. "I can't remember her voice, but I know it soothed me."
Emma gently squeezed his hands. "One more dance?" she asked hesitantly, feeling slightly guilty for asking yet refusing to take it back. The idea that he was willing to share something so personal to her was intoxicating. It was unbelievable, and she wanted him to prove it again. It wasn't at all fair, but she couldn't stop herself.
She needed more proof.
Killian glanced at their hands before nodding. "One more," he agreed.
He tried to resume their previous position but Emma stopped him. Instead of the proper ballroom hold, she stepped forward and looped her arms around his neck. His eyes widened slightly in surprise even as his hands naturally went to her waist. Emma smiled shyly. "This is how we dance in my world," she said. "Sometimes. For a slow song."
"I quite like some things about your world, love," he said as he teasingly brought her closer until her chest as pressed against his. "Very much so."
Emma looked away but didn't do anything to put space between them. Instead she laid her head on his shoulder and waited for him to sing. Killian looked down at the top of her head, marveling at how much trust she'd given him, and suddenly felt the need to return the favor, even if she didn't know it.
So he decided that their last song of the night would be his mother's favorite, the very first song he'd ever learned, the one that he remembered listening to as she sang him to sleep.
"Oh, the summer time is coming
And the trees are sweetly blooming
Where the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather
Would you go, lassie, go?
And we'll all go together,
Where the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather
Would you go, lassie, go?"
They moved in a slow circle, Killian letting Emma lead them as he sang softly in her ear.
"And I will build my love a bower
And yon' pure crystal fountain
And around it I will place
All the colors of the mountain
Would you go, lassie, go?
"And we'll all go together
Where the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather.
Would you go, lassie, go?
Emma let one of her hands slip from his neck to slide to his chest, smiling slightly when she felt his quick heartbeat beneath her palm. Killian's hand came up to cover hers.
"And if my true love's gone,
I will surely find another.
And to her I will sing
Things that make her know I want her.
So would you go, lassie, go?
"And we'll all go together
Where the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather.
Would you go, lassie, go?"
The song ended but they kept turning in small circles for another moment before Killian finally stopped and held her still. Emma lifted her head from his shoulder to stare at him. He met her gaze without flinching, just as he always did, always open, always willing to let her see whatever she desired. Like an open book.
And there was power in it, safety in it. She was in control.
So she didn't hesitate. She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him.
Annnnnndddd cut!
That is totally one of my favorite scenes in this whole story.
See you Friday,
AC
