a/n: sorry this update took a little longer, I was essentially on vacation for three weeks and then had a lot of life to catch up on when I got back. I hope you enjoy the chapter and next will come much sooner. Thanks so much for reading! Your love and enthusiasm for this little world makes me so happy. Just a reminder that full sections in italics are memories
Killian mixes a little more cinnamon into the batter before dipping the first piece of bread into the mixture and placing it on the skillet.
For what felt like the millionth time that week alone, he'd woken up way too early and had been unable to fall back asleep. And after nearly an hour of tossing and turning he'd given up, resigning himself to his sleepless fate.
With literal hours to kill before he had to do anything, he'd ended up taking an obscenely long, steaming shower, reading a few more chapters of his book, and deciding he might as well make french toast.
He yawns a bit as he places a few more pieces of bread on the skillet and lets the deep, warm smell of cinnamon and sugar surround him.
It's not much later that the sound of Emma padding barefoot into the kitchen reaches him, and glancing up he spots her in the midst of a deep yawn. Her arms stretch high above her head and Killian's eyes are immediately drawn to the tantalizing inch of skin that's revealed just above her sleep shorts.
His stomach swoops low and he swallows thickly, cursing how weak he is when it comes to his desire for her.
She relaxes from her yawn and Killian forces his eyes upward to see her run a hand through her tangled hair. She grimaces as she pulls herself up onto the barstool, the frown tugging at her lips making it seem as though the morning has somehow personally affronted her.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, and Killian can't help but smile to himself as he watches her try to blink the sleep from her eyes. She's never been a morning person, but he's always found how long it takes her to fully wake up nothing short of adorable.
Feeling his gaze, she lifts her focus and watches him curiously for a moment—the only sound between them is the popping and sizzling of the french toast as it mixes with the soft instrumental music Killian had turned on earlier as background music.
With a smile still tugging his lips, he slips the spatula under the bread and flips it over.
"Why are you smirking?" Emma asks after another beat of silence, her head titling as she scrunches her forehead in equal parts suspicion and confusion.
Killian lets out a small laugh and shakes his head, his smile only deepening. "No reason."
She watches him for a second longer before she must figure that's the only answer she's going to get because she lifts her head from her hands and rolls her eyes. But Killian doesn't miss the small smile that slips onto her lips as she looks down at the counter.
"Not that I don't love waking up to the smell of cinnamon," Emma says after a moment, "but why the special breakfast?"
Killian shrugs. It's true that the only other time he's gotten up early to fix them a hot breakfast was the morning after she left the hospital, so it's not a far stretch for her to think there's a reason he's doing it again. And even though there is a reason—besides just that he couldn't sleep—he wishes they were at a place where she wouldn't question him wanting to do something for her.
"Well," he muses as he tries to gather his thoughts, unsure why he's suddenly nervous. "Today is the day you get your stitches out, and I thought maybe we could celebrate your recovery with some french toast and a day exploring the city like you wanted?"
"Oh," Emma breathes simply, her lashes fluttering as she blinks rapidly, and Killian feels his heart stumble at the way her eyes stay glued to his.
She doesn't elaborate, and Killian suddenly finds his earlier nerves rising. Just because she'd said she wanted to do this a couple of weeks ago, doesn't mean that she still does. And the longer she stares at him without saying anything else, the more he wishes he could sink into the floor and disappear.
He shouldn't have assumed she'd want to spend the day with him.
So it's with a tense scratch of his ear that he looks down and begins scooping the french toast from the skillet and placing them on a plate. Doing his best to avoid eye contact as he stammers out his next words.
"Of course that's only if you want to. If you'd rather do something else, or go on your own I understand. I didn't mean to—"
"I think that sounds wonderful," Emma interjects, effectively cutting off his rambling.
Killian snaps his head up and finds Emma beaming at him, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
He can't help the hopeful smile that begins edging its way onto his lips. "You do?"
"Of course I do. I just forgot that was today." She practically leaps off the barstool as she says this, as if eager to forego breakfast all together and leave that very second. "I haven't remembered anything from the pictures, and the only memories that have come back besides meeting you are small things that don't really matter. I just think that being out and seeing things and hearing things is what's going to help me get back the big stuff."
She says this all rather fast and very serious, and Killian can only imagine how sick she is of her predicament. And as he watches her, he feels a sudden surge of empathy and tenderness rise inside him. He wishes more than anything, that he could pull her to him and wrap his arms around her, but instead he's left trying to do the same thing with only his words.
"It'll all come back, Swan," he breathes, his voice low and soft.
She bites her lip on some sudden emotion, and then looks down as she shrugs. "I know. I uh…I'll just go get dressed so we can go."
Killian knows her well enough to know she's only deflecting in order to avoid the ache he's sure is in her heart.
But he also knows her well enough not to push.
"Breakfast first, love," he says as he lifts a hand and gives her forehead a couple soft taps with his index finger. "Then we'll go work on finding some of those memories of yours."
They sit next to each other in relative silence as they wait for Emma to be called back to have her stitches removed. And when a nurse arrives and calls out Emma's name, Killian offers her a reassuring smile as she stands and follows the woman down the hall.
As she walks out of sight he feels his phone buzz, and pulling it from his pocket he looks down and spots a text from his brother.
Liam: I'm sorry for upsetting you. I just want what's best for you.
Killian sighs, slumping down and resting his head against the back of the chair as he stares up at the ceiling.
It's been a few days since their argument, and Killian's given Liam nothing but radio silence.
A huge part of it is because he's still upset and hasn't had the desire for another lecture on what he should and shouldn't do concerning Emma. But a smaller part is that despite his current irritation towards him, he hasn't been able to help the way at least part of Liam's words have begun to slink into his thoughts, as much as he tries to push them away.
He really is getting in too deep—and in all likelihood there is only one way this is all going to play out. But as much as he recognizes that at the end of everything he's going to end up hurt again, he knows he's not going to do anything different. And he's not sure what masochistic things that says about himself.
But he'd do anything for Emma Swan.
He's just putting his phone back in his pocket, deciding he'll answer Liam later, when he hears his name being called out.
"Mr. Jones."
Looking up Killian spots the same doctor who took care of Emma after her accident making his way over to him.
The kind, graying man weaves his way between the waiting room chairs and tables; his white doctor's coat a perfect match for the room's stark walls. Killian stands and takes his offered hand, shaking it firmly as he tries to match the man's solid grip.
"How's Emma doing?" the doctor asks, real concern in his question.
"She's good. She's uh—" Killian looks around him for a second and gestures vaguely to somewhere down the hall. "She's here getting her stitches out."
The doctor nods his head and his glasses slip somewhat down his nose as his lips press into a thoughtful line. "That's good to hear. And what about those memories of hers? Any progress so far?"
"Not a lot," Killian says shaking his head. "She's had a few come back, but that's it."
"Any memories this soon after the accident is a good thing," he says pushing his glasses back up. "It means the rest should have no problem returning at some point. These things take time, but they do tend to build as time goes on. She'll remember more and more until one day it'll just all be back. Keep your chin up Jones; she'll remember everything before you know it."
Killian nods in thanks, hoping his smile doesn't look as tight and fake as it feels. He knows the doctor means to be reassuring, but his words have somehow tangled a knot inside his chest that leaves his lungs feeling dense and heavy.
With nothing left to say, the doctor pats Killian on the shoulder before he turns and makes his way over to the information desk and begins talking to one of the nurses behind it.
Killian watches them for a second before he releases a deep sigh and drops back into his chair, his head falling forward into his hands.
He wants Emma to get her memories back, he really does. But a very selfish part of him keeps whispering how once she does, he more than likely is going to lose her again. And he hates himself for wanting to hold onto her for as long as possible.
But it's not right of him to want to keep her this way, when he's pretty sure an Emma that remembers everything wants nothing to do with him. The right thing to do—as much as it hurts him—is to help her get her memories so she can move on with her life.
-CS-
Emma gazes out at the bright colors of Boston's Public Garden as they make their way across the little suspension bridge that rests above the park's lagoon.
There's something about the colors at the end of October that breathes warmth into the otherwise brisk air. The garden is full of trees of bright orange, yellow, and red. Hints of green still cling to a few trees as one last effort to hold onto summer, but autumn is taking over—swift and vibrant as the cold winds it brings with it.
Once they reach the middle of the bridge Emma makes her way over to the railing and rests her forearms on the metal as she looks down at the water. Leaves drift in lazy patterns atop the water like countless bright freckles against the deep blue of the lagoon. At the water's edge, a pair of swans float gently under a willow tree as their little cygnets splash and play in the water. Dipping their heads beneath the surface only to come back up and shake the water from their feathers.
It's beautiful and peaceful, and Emma feels a familiar desire to paint swell somewhere just beneath her breastbone. She hasn't painted in the longest time, and she can feel the urge calling to her, waiting for her to pick up a brush and capture this moment.
She breathes in deep and closes her eyes, letting the breeze tickle her skin until she senses Killian coming to rest against the railing beside her. Opening her eyes she stares back out at the water, watching the reflection of the trees ripple on the water's surface.
"It's so pretty," she finally whispers, turning her head to see him staring off at the little family of swans.
He hums and shoves his hands deep in his pockets. "Aye, it is. It's one of your favorite spots here in Boston."
She smiles to herself and looks back out just in time to see one of the baby swans climb on top of its mother's back.
They've spent the whole day going to what Killian has declared as her favorite places. Her favorite coffee shop, her favorite bookstore, her favorite practically everything—but this is the first place that actually stirs something inside her.
The wind picks up, blowing her hair in her face and she reaches up to tuck it behind her ear before turning to face Killian. She leans her side against the bridge and tilts her head as she watches him for a moment.
His handsome jaw is tense and there's a brooding crease to his brow, but she finds herself distracted by the way his dark hair lifts and tangles in the wind, and by the way the blue of his eyes seems a little darker when he's in serious thought.
And as she studies him, something she's not quite ready to define swirls in her chest and dances in her stomach.
She'd told him, that day when he came and found her at the harbor, that he felt familiar to her. And as more time has passed and she's spent more time with him, that feeling has only grown, and she's quickly recognizing that it might be evolving into something else.
She likes him. And as scary as that is, she's desperate to know what her feelings had been for him before this whole mess. But she doesn't remember and he's been adamant on their so called friendship.
But she's not an idiot, and he knows way more about her than any casual friend would. Then there's the way he looks at her, the way he treats her, and the way her heart just seems to want to be near him.
She just can't figure out why he would keep it from her if they are something a little more.
It's maddening, feeling like he should be something more to her but being told he's not.
"And did we ever come here together?" she asks. She watches his reaction carefully, she knows she's digging, but if he won't tell her anything all she has to go on are the small moments that catch him off guard. The small moments where his real feelings slip free before he carefully controls his answer.
She's not disappointed. She'd miss it if she wasn't looking. He inhales sharply, his tongue darting out to lick his lips and his lashes fluttering furiously as he tries to blink away a deeper melancholy that she doesn't miss.
But it's gone when his eyes meet hers. Whisked away as he gives her an answer that doesn't tell her anything she actually wants to know.
"Once or twice."
"Hmm," she hums, and she wonders if he can hear the skepticism in her tone. "And what did we do here?"
He shrugs, his eyes suddenly able to look everywhere but at her. "More or less what we're doing now."
"I see," she muses. And she's not sure what's gotten into her, but she suddenly wants to push him. Wants to see if she can make him reveal something—anything.
So she takes a purposeful step closer to him, placing herself almost chest to chest with him as she lifts her gaze to watch him carefully.
His lips part as his breath catches in his chest and finally his eyes meet hers. She could count his lashes she's so close.
Killian swallows thickly, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers. "Emma?" he whispers unsure, his voice breaking on the last syllable of her name.
Her eyes drop to his lips and she wonders for a second what he would do if she were to simply rise a little on her toes and press her lips to his. But she doesn't get to find out because in the next instant he's stepping back and running a hand through his hair.
"Bloody hell," he mutters almost to himself as he drags a hand down his face and across his scruff. "I uh—I have—" he swallows again. "There's one more place I want to show you before we head back. If you want?"
Emma sighs, disappointed, and sinks back a step. "Alright, sure."
A very big part of her wants to stomp her foot down and demand he tell her what she knows he must be hiding. But a more reasonable part of her keeps her mouth shut. There's still the very real chance that she's reading too much into things and that there's nothing to keep from her.
But whatever they were or weren't in the past, Emma knows what she's starting to feel in the here and now.
And she'd be lying to herself if she didn't say it kind of scared the hell out of her.
Emma's feet pound against the pavement in time with the song playing through her earbuds. She breathes hard, the air puffing in visible clouds in front of her in the early December air.
She loves running, even in the winter. Loves the way her exposed skin stings a little from the cold, while the rest of her body basks in the heat of her exertion. But most of all she loves the burning of her muscles as she pushes herself forward.
She loves running in the morning especially. There's a quiet beauty to Boston when the sun is still trying to rise, when it's still early enough that not many are out and on their way to work yet. When the snow is still fresh and uninterrupted from where it fell the night before.
It's quiet and peaceful, and the perfect time to think.
The parks in particular, are beautiful and one of her favorite places to run. She loves the pockets of the city where it's more nature than skyscraper.
The public garden is a wonder of its own. The frozen lagoon and the snow cloaking the trees making it look like it's from some other world—some enchanted forest caught in the depths of winter.
Her head is turned, looking out across the water as she crosses the bridge in the middle of the park, and so when she impacts with something solid she loses all sense of equilibrium and is sent flying forward. A cry of surprise bursting from her lips as she lands with a hard thump on top of something solid.
The impact reverberates through her bones and she grimaces as she pushes herself up slightly, staring down at the person she's now lying on top of.
An apology forms just behind her lips until she recognizes the dark hair that's peeking out from underneath a gray beanie, and though the man's eyes are scrunched shut in momentary pain she knows they'll open to reveal a vivid blue.
"Killian?" she gasps, tugging her earbuds from her ears, the white cords swinging as they dangle towards Killian's chest.
"Bloody hell," he gasps and coughs before opening his eyes. "Emma?"
Realizing that she's still lying on top of him, Emma scrambles to her feet, brushing the snow from her leggings before she offers him a hand. "I'm so sorry," she stammers as she pulls him to his feet. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"No don't apologize," Killian says lifting a gloved hand to pull out his own headphones. It's then that Emma notices the trail of sweat starting at his neckline and v-ing towards his chest. He must have been on a run of his own. "I wasn't watching either, got a little distracted by the scenery."
Emma laughs at the incredulity of it all. She can't believe that out of all people for her to quite literally run into, it would be Killian.
She would never admit it to him, but for the past few weeks she's been going to the harbor a lot more than usual, always with the hope of finding him there.
She'd tried to deny her growing attraction to him for days—had even avoided the harbor for a full week. But the more time she'd spent with him the more she realized it was futile to resist the pull he has on her.
They stare at each other in silence for a beat before Emma shakes her head trying to clear it. "Are you okay? I landed on you pretty hard."
He pretends to check himself, patting his chest as he looks down towards his legs. "Everything still seems to be intact," he says with a smirk, his eyebrow arching high.
Emma can't help but smile in return. "Good." She looks around for a second, remembering why she's out here in the first place. "I should get back to my run…but it was good seeing you."
She moves to place her headphones back in her ear when Killian reaches out and stops her.
"Wait. I've been meaning to ask you for a while now but—" He withdraws his hand from her forearm and uses it to scratch behind his ear, looking down at the floor, his winter kissed cheeks somehow getting even pinker. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out…with me I mean."
He lifts his eyes to hers expectant, and Emma swears her heart flips.
"Sure." Emma answers, cringing internally at herself for sounding so eager.
Killian beams at her, and she's suddenly no longer worried about coming across too enthusiastic. "Yeah? Okay, how about tomorrow? Say six?"
"Okay," Emma nods, her smile just as big as his. "I guess I'll give you my number then."
"Okay," he echoes. And she swears one of their faces is going to crack from how much they're both smiling.
Later, as she makes her way back to her apartment, she feels like her heart is hammering louder than the music playing in her ear, and for once it's not from the running.
The memory comes to her as they're driving, and Emma's silent as she stares out the window, the setting sun visible in flashes as it peeks out from behind the buildings blurring past them.
She thought excitement would be her first response to a new memory, but instead she's just more confused. It's clear now that at some point they'd both held an attraction to each other and that they'd been on at least one date. So why hasn't Killian told her any of this?
Her thoughts eat at her as she tries to come up with some explanation for everything, and she hardly notices when Killian stops the car and walks around to open the door for her.
It turns out that his last destination for them is the beach. But she can't muster anything but silence as she follows him out towards the ocean.
The sun has almost completely disappeared beneath the horizon and she watches the ocean kiss the shore over and over before Killian finally says something.
His voice drifts over to her, as soft and easy as the ocean breeze. "You're awfully quiet, Swan."
She kicks a bit of sand and starts walking parallel with the sea. "Just thinking,"
It's not a lie, she is thinking after all, but her silence is a product of so much more than her thoughts.
She wants to tell him of her newest memory but something keeps her quiet. There has to be a reason he's keeping things from her, and maybe the best thing to do is to just wait and figure it out on her own.
On the other hand, a very large part of her doesn't want to stay quiet. Instead she wants so desperately to be mad at him. To rage in indignation and demand to know what he's keeping.
But then she thinks about all the things he's done for her, all the kindness he's shown her. She thinks about the sadness she periodically sees in his eyes when he thinks she's not looking—and she just can't.
Because she can't help but think that maybe she's the reason for that sadness.
She knows she has walls a mile high—and maybe what he's not telling her is that she just never let him in.
That they're a sad story of two people who never happened because one was too damaged to let the other love her.
Even if deep down, letting someone love her is all she's ever wanted.
She sighs and slips off her shoes, burying her toes in the sand as she reflects on everything.
Pushing him away, or never giving him a real chance definitely sound like things she'd do. It would explain why the distance he tries to keep between them conflicts so starkly with the longing she sees in his eyes.
She walks a little closer to the ocean, just far enough out that when the tide comes in, the cold water barely skims over the top of her feet before it's dragged back out to sea.
The sand trickles out from under her toes as the water disappears and she stares hard at the wet sand, willing the ocean to give her some clarity. Because isn't there some ridiculous saying about how the sea is supposed to heal everything, or something?
One thing is for sure though, and that is that Killian has been a constant light as she's fumbled her way through the dark these past few weeks. And his warmth has seeped inside her—she can feel him in her bones, thrumming through her veins, and racing through her thoughts.
He's almost all she thinks about lately.
And if Killian is keeping his distance from her for some noble reason of respecting a decision she made in the past, she's almost certain she doesn't want him to.
She knows herself well enough to know that she probably pushed him away.
And maybe this accident has given her a new perspective on things, or maybe it's just given her a second chance, but she suddenly wants to show him that—if he wants—she's ready to let him in.
Because as terrifying as it is, maybe it's time to just let her heart find a home.
"Killian…" She licks her lips and looks up at him, her feelings swelling and crashing through her like the waves they're standing next to. Flooding through her until they steal everything she wants to say and she's left stammering for some way to articulate what's spinning wildly inside her.
But she's not even good with words to begin with, so instead she reaches for his hand and traces her thumb against his skin.
It's like the contact triggers something inside him, and he groans as he closes his eyes and drops his forehead to rest against hers.
Suddenly her breathing spikes and her pulse begins pounding in her ears.
"Emma."
The way he says it is almost pained, like saying her name is one of the hardest things he's ever done.
They stay that way for what feels like an eternity. Pressed together, Killian with his eyes shut tight breathing as if he's struggling with some internal conflict, and Emma doing her best to gain control of her racing heart.
He's so close, and this is way more intense than she was expecting when she reached for his hand.
It's entirely overwhelming, but not necessarily in a bad way.
But she still takes a shaking breath and steps back, keeping their hands locked. Because though she may be ready to let him in, it's still a little too much at once.
As his eyes open and meet hers, she finds herself unable to say everything she wanted to. Too overwhelmed to say anything except what her scarred heart deems the safest.
"I just want to say thank you…for everything, not just today."
And though it's not exactly what she wanted to tell him, she's still rewarded with a smile that makes her heart stutter.
He lifts his other hand, almost like he's helpless not to, and brushes back a bit of her hair. "Anything, Swan. I'd do anything for you."
Dazed, she stares at him as her lungs try to remember what it means to breathe.
She doesn't need her memories to know just how much he means it.
