The stainless steel door slides open with a cheerful ding to reveal another cookie cutter hotel hallway, and Emma smiles sweetly at the middle-aged couple that steps off the elevator – this pause on the 14th floor marking the fifth stop it's made on its way toward the roof. She heaves a sigh as the door closes once again and she finds herself alone. Finally. The elevator hums to life, and she shifts her weight, now free to utter a dissatisfied sound in the back of her throat in response to the pressure of the floor on the balls of her feet.
"What is it, darling?" Killian's voice is soft.
She sighs, examining her reflection in the mirrored walls, her gaze dropping regretfully to her heels. "These shoes were a mistake," she grumbles, wincing at the waves of pain that the sexy, four-inch stilettos are also starting to impart on her toes.
"I thought you said they'd be fine."
"Yeah, well, I may have misjudged." She tips her head slightly and reaches beneath her hair to adjust her earpiece.
Killian's voice comes back to her a little clearer this time. "It's not too late to back out, you know."
She rolls her eyes, the side of her mouth quirking. "I'll be fine," she answers indulgently, checking the elevator's progress before she goes back to studying her appearance. "I know you're not a fan of the honey trap, but this whole thing'll be over in under an hour, and then we can drop this guy at the precinct and go home and catch up on Game of Thrones, okay?" She smoothes a wrinkle from her very tight, very short red dress and double-checks her make-up.
"He better not touch you."
She relishes the little thrill his possessive growl sends down her spine. "He won't."
"A man like him? And you in that dress?" Her pirate snorts.
"I thought you liked this dress," she teases.
"Aye." The sudden drop in the pitch of his voice gives her actual goosebumps. "I'm fairly certain I made it clear how much the last time you wore it."
Emma's cheeks glow a shade of red that rivals the fabric, and she bites her lip at the pleasant pull she feels in her belly. "You may need to jog my memory," she says, sounding a little breathless.
He rumbles agreeably. "Just get this guy so we can go home, alright?"
"Deal."
The elevator dings, and she straightens and tosses her head a little as the door slides open. Eyes swivel in her direction as she steps out into the hotel's rooftop bar, clicking her heels a bit louder than strictly necessary on the dark tile floor. The intimate little space is just starting to fill up for happy hour, and a quick visual sweep reveals about a dozen other patrons as Emma wanders in and sets her clutch down on the glowing surface of the bar. Her fingers reach for a cocktail menu while she admires the amazing view this place has of the Empire State Building towering a few blocks away, its myriad lights brilliant against the royal blue evening sky.
There's a small surge of satisfaction when the man she's looking for appears at her side in the span of a few moments. The dirty blonde curls and slightly creepy smile are straight out of the photo that's been on her kitchen table for the last couple days, and despite the fact that her paycheck depends on this encounter, the light in his eyes and the flush of his skin tells her that he's still a lot more pleased to meet her than she is him.
He doesn't even try to disguise the way he looks her up and down as he approaches, grinning like a fool who's just won the lottery. "Emma?"
Emma schools her features into something akin to pleasant surprise and forces her attention away from the menu. "Oh! Mick! Hi!" She beams. "You're here!"
His artificially white teeth gleam as he flashes them at her. "Wow. Your profile picture doesn't do you justice at all."
She affects a demure chuckle. "Thanks. Sorry I'm a little late. Traffic was a beast, and I can't exactly run in these shoes."
Her skip's eyes travel appreciatively down her exposed legs on cue. "I'd say they were worth it." He gestures at her long black coat. "Can I take that for you?"
She waves him off. "No, I'll keep it for now. I'm actually a little cold. I love this dress, but it's not the warmest thing in my closet."
Killian snorts in her ear yet again.
Mick laughs knowingly and sidles a little too close for comfort. "Sounds like you could use some warming up. What can I buy you?"
Emma does her best to ignore the way his proximity makes her skin crawl as she turns her eyes back to the menu. "I don't know what I'm in the mood for. What do you like?"
"I'm partial to Long Island Iced Tea, myself."
"Yeah." She chuckles dryly and shakes her head. "Pretty sure that's a bad idea. The last time I had Long Island Iced Tea, I got into a brawl at a biker bar and was almost arrested for drunk and disorderly."
"Well in that case, I'd say it's the best idea ever," he laughs. "What was a nice girl like you doing in a biker bar?"
"Just meeting someone." Her shoulders bob in a casual shrug. "Another first date."
"And how'd it go?"
Emma grins. "Well, he did get arrested, so not so well for him."
"Ah." Mick catches the bartender's eye and signals her over. "Well, let's hope this date goes a little better then."
"Well, to be fair, other than the part where he tried to beat me up and I had to take him down, the evening went pretty much the way I wanted it to," she says airily.
She watches with amusement as his smile dims and confusion creeps across his face. "Wait. What are you talking about?"
"Oh, you know how it goes," she continues, setting the drink menu aside. "Guy gets arrested. Guy makes bail. Guy fails to show for court. Bail bondsperson has to track guy down." She arches a brow in his direction. "Starting to sound familiar?"
Mick's eyes bug out, and Emma can see him choke on a breath as he steps back and his pasty complexion somehow manages to grow even paler. "You're…"
"Here to make sure you stand trial for distributing child porn?" The side of her mouth curls humorlessly. "Yup. That's me."
His face darkens. "Bail bonds."
Emma shrugs. "Hey, on the bright side, I'm definitely going to insist on leaving with you." She reaches for her clutch. "Can we walk down to my car quietly, or are you gonna embarrass yourself and make a scene?"
The soft ding of an elevator causes Mick to dart a glance over her shoulder. "I think you're the one about to be embarrassed," he sneers, rotating to snatch the tumbler from the customer behind him and dashing its contents in her direction.
The frigid mixture of gin, tonic, and ice strikes her in the face, and Emma recoils, the shock of it barely allowing her to register what happens when he presses past her, shoving at her shoulder and knocking her feet out from under her with a backward sweep of his leg. She crashes to the floor with a yelp that triggers cries of surprise and dismay from all corners of the bar, and Mick makes a break for it, pushing his way past the pair of startled young women who have just stepped off the open elevator behind them. He leaps inside and whirls to hit the buttons, shooting her one last glare through the closing door, and only when his face disappears from view does she realize that Killian is barking in her ear.
"Emma? Emma! What's going on?"
Emma curses, struggling to get to her feet in heels that are most definitely too high and a skirt that now threatens indecency with every move she makes. She accepts a hand and a dry towel from the female bartender with a gasped word of thanks. "He's in the elevator," she grunts, pressing one hand to her earpiece while she hastily mops her face, neck, and chest.
"The one on the right or the left?"
"My left." She huffs with frustration at the lack of any sort of numeric indicator on the elevators on this floor. "Ugh. I can't tell where he's going."
"It's alright, love. I've got it. He's heading straight for me," he reassures her gruffly. "Did he touch you?"
She tosses the towel back onto the bar with a sigh. "What?"
"Did he touch you?" Killian repeats, his voice more insistent.
Emma rolls her shoulder and groans. "Just got my legs out from under me." She hears him hum as she grabs her clutch to offer the bartender another thanks and a twenty for her trouble. "What?"
"Nothing, Swan," he answers, a grim smile in his voice while the bartender waves off the money. "Just deciding how hard to hit him."
She grins in spite of herself and hustles toward the elevators, stuffing the bill back into her clutch. Her finger jabs the call button. "You know the law," she reminds him affectionately.
"Aye." He chuckles. "And I know a few things about bending the rules."
A smirk pulls at her lips. "Pirate."
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He dislikes this part – the waiting. Not as much has he dislikes the idea of Emma using herself as bait to lure in their latest skip, but having to deal with both things at the same time makes Killian's knee bounce impatiently as he waits in the lobby of the hotel, nestled in one of four very purple, very loud wingback chairs that are arranged around an equally loud yellow ottoman. He grips his phone, thumb sweeping back and forth over the cool glass screen absently as he tries very hard not to imagine the way their latest quarry, Mick Jamison, is about to ogle the woman he loves. Emma's certain to give the villain an eyeful – miles of silken skin and athletic curves poured into a dress with a neckline that's too low and a hem that's too high and those sinful new shoes that made Killian groan inwardly with delight when she first pulled them from the box. He still has no bloody clue how she walks around in those things without snapping her feet off at the ankle, but the effect they have on her legs and her arse and the sway of her hips…
He bites his lip and tries to think of something else before too much of his blood rushes south. A quick check for new e-mail yields a message from a colleague at Sword Class NYC asking whether Killian would be willing to open a few more spots in the wildly popular saber/cutlass course he's been teaching twice a week, but there's little else beyond that to distract him, not even the usual, cursed "spam."
His sigh of relief is nearly audible when his phone suddenly vibrates in his hand. It's a text from Henry. Killian's thumb swipes across the screen.
Operation PAROI is go.
He hums, dimples making the briefest appearance, and sets about typing his response, his thumb carefully tapping each letter with only mild awkwardness compared to the way it was ten months ago when Henry and Emma first taught him how.
You got them?
Yeah. Smee brought them over. They're in the cabinet. IDK what he's cooking, but you guys better leave me some cuz it smells awesome.
Good.
What's your ETA?
Killian's brow furrows.
What?
When will you be home?
He makes a mental note to ask about "ETA" later. Some days it feels like this whole world speaks in bloody letters.
Your mum is on her way to meet the target. An hour at least.
What if he doesn't show and you guys come back too early?
He'll show.
How do you know?
Killian huffs and hesitates a moment before keying in his reply.
I saw his messages to your mum. Let's just say he's keen to meet her.
Keen?
Eager.
Oh. Is this the part where I get grossed out?
The corner of his mouth twitches.
Completely.
EWWWWW.
He stifles a laugh.
Mom won't let him get away with anything though, right?
No. And neither will I.
Good.
A fond grin blooms on Killian's face, and he begins to key in his next message. His thumb pauses for a second at the irritated sound Emma suddenly makes in his earpiece. "What is it, darling?" he asks, glancing around to make sure no one is watching him talk to himself and then hitting "send."
When do you go to Avery's?
"These shoes were a mistake."
Killian frowns. "I thought you said they'd be fine."
"Yeah, well, I may have misjudged."
"It's not too late to back out, you know," he reminds her. He experiences a prick of apprehension at the prospect of leaving early and mucking up the plot happening at home, but it fades as quickly as it came when he all but hears her rolling her eyes at him.
"I'll be fine." Emma's voice warms with affection. "I know you're not a fan of the honey trap, but the whole thing'll be over in a few minutes, and then we can drop this guy at the precinct and go home and catch up on Game of Thrones, okay?"
His phone buzzes again.
Avery's mom's running late. Smee's gonna take me over on his way back to the restaurant.
"He better not touch you," he grumbles, even as he replies to Henry.
Good man. I'll text when we're on our way.
She hums. "He won't."
"A man like him? And you in that dress?" Killian snorts.
"I thought you liked this dress."
He can envision the sly smile on her lips, and he shivers at the thought. "Aye." He glances around again for onlookers and lowers his voice. "I'm fairly certain I made it clear how much the last time you wore it."
"You may need to jog my memory."
He groans inwardly, and his blood threatens to run south yet again. Bloody hell, he's a lucky sod."Just get this guy so we can go home, alright?"
"Deal."
The next few minutes listening to Emma make contact with Jamison have Killian clenching his fist and trying not to openly scowl, but she keeps her flirtation blissfully brief. He almost dares to relax a little, but then things go sideways and the sound of her yelp makes him sit bolt upright. "Emma?" The clerk at the lobby desk shoots him an odd look, and Killian hurriedly raises his phone to his ear to keep from looking like a madman as he springs to his feet. "Emma! What's going on?"
He's relieved to hear she isn't hurt, but that relief quickly gives way to determination when she fills him in. Adrenaline pulses through his chest as he spins and stalks toward the elevators, eyeing the slow, steady sweep of the dial on the circular floor indicator above the door on the left with a predatory glare. A smooth, black pillar with a silver upholstered bench wrapped cleverly around the base stands nearby, and he ducks behind it, poking his head out to watch the numbers continue to count down. 9…8…7… It's times like these he finds he misses his sword the most, and he briefly laments how much more effective (and entertaining) it would be to catch this bastard at the tip of his blade. Killian shrugs off the idea and wets his lips in anticipation. 4…3…2… No matter, he thinks, checking his brace. There are other ways to get his satisfaction.
The elevator dings, and the blonde man from Emma's photo hurries out, looking disgruntled and nervous as he makes for the front door. In one smooth movement, Killian emerges from behind the pillar and swings, his jaw clenched and his outstretched arm slightly bent as it catches Jamison hard across the upper chest and brings him to a comically abrupt stop. The clash of momentum causes the villian to topple backward with a delightful choking noise and Killian to drop to his knees expelling a gratified grunt. Any pain he feels when he hits the floor goes largely unnoticed as he scrambles to his feet and gets in Jamison's face. "Didn't anyone ever tell you, mate?" he asks through gritted teeth, twisting his hand into the front of the man's shirt. He hauls him to a sit none too gently and brandishes his hook. "It's bad form to run out on a lady."
Jamison utters a few choice words between wheezes, going a little cross-eyed as he gapes at the sharpened steel point hovering inches from his nose. "Who the hell are you?" he demands.
Killian allows his expression to grow thunderous, and he thrusts the curve of his hook against Jamison's throat to extract another gurgle from him. "Where I come from, most people would say I'm their worst nightmare," he replies darkly. "Here I can still come pretty close. Don't tempt me to demonstrate." He reaches for his cuffs and slaps one around the man's wrist, his hook pressing deeper into the cleft above Jamison's Adam's apple and his blue eyes flashing hard and cold. "You're going to apologize to my partner when she gets down here, is that clear?"
The miserable little skip nods weakly, cursing again when Killian circles around and yanks his arms behind his back to finish cuffing him. Killian has him situated on the bench at the base of the pillar by the time the elevator on the right dings and Emma strides out.
Some of her allure is lost in her damp hair and the wet spot on the front of her dress, but the fire in her eyes more than makes up for it. They land on a defeated-looking Jamison before she flashes Killian a grateful grin, a little more swivel in her hips as she covers the last few steps between them. "My hero."
Killian smiles winningly and reaches out to cup her cheek. "Are you alright, love?"
"Nothing bruised but my tailbone and my ego." She chuckles and lets him pull her in for a quick kiss. "And the dress will wash out," she adds with a knowing gleam in her eye. He laughs quietly, and she tips her chin toward Jamison. "Left him in one piece, I see."
"Aye, against my better judgment." Killian arches an eyebrow expectantly at their perp. "You have something to say to her, mate?"
Jamison glowers at him before shooting a petulant glance at Emma. "Sorry," he mumbles.
"Good enough, I suppose." Killian nods, allowing himself to look smug as he grabs the wretch by the arm and drags him to his feet. He savors the pleased smile that curls at Emma's lips and throws her a wink while he gives Jamison a little push toward the front door. "Now let's get out of here. The lady and I have better things to do."
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The worst of the rush hour traffic has thankfully abated by the time they make their way home from Manhattan, having left their skip in the capable hands of the booking officer at the Thirteenth. Emma lets out a satisfied sigh as she pulls the Bug into the parking spot in front of the house, switching off the ignition and slumping back in her seat in slightly exaggerated fashion.
Killian eyes her from the passenger seat with a smile. "Tired, Swan?"
"Mmph." She fingers a wet-and-dried lock of hair out of her face. "I'm okay. Starving more than anything. What do you want to do for dinner?" She swivels her head to blink languidly at him.
He smiles and tips his head, as if considering. "Why don't you let me handle dinner tonight?"
"Really?" She straightens a bit, pleasant confusion appearing on her brow.
"Really." He leans forward and gives her a kiss that's short and sweet and leaves her craving more. Her kid's almost a teenager but she's still thinking about making out in cars with boys, she muses as she purrs and tugs him into a more heated embrace. His satisfied growl sends a shiver rippling across her skin. Well, one car. And one two hundred year-old boy who looks damn good in black leather.
They pull apart at last, his breath warm across her lips and his forehead still pressed to hers as she gives a gratified sigh and enjoys the pleasant flip of her stomach. "So are you calling for pizza or Chinese?" she manages.
Killian chuckles and plants a quick kiss on her nose before shaking his head. "Neither. Come on." He releases his car door and turns to set a foot on the pavement.
A hesitant smile forms on Emma's mouth as she follows suit. "Okay…"
He waits for her on the curb, his arm wrapping around her shoulders as he guides her toward the front steps. "Give a man a little credit, Swan. I know how to use the microwave too," he reminds her cheerfully.
"Oh, I see how it is." Her grin is teasing, even as she silently acknowledges that he probably could find a way to make frozen food seem romantic.
They climb the steps together, and she pauses on the stoop to pull him to her again, yanking on the lapels of his black leather motorcycle jacket and sealing her lips hungrily over his. The sound he makes in the back of his throat sends a shower of sparks raining down between her shoulder blades and makes her forget the screaming protest of her aching feet, and between the dress and the heels and the making out with her hot fairytale boyfriend in front of the whole street, she wonders in some recess of her mind whether the neighbors will start to get the wrong idea about her.
Killian chuckles and nuzzles her cheek, his scruff scraping pleasantly over her skin. "I love you."
Let them think whatever they want. Her smile feels impossibly wide. "I love you."
"Almost a year later and still kissing me on the front step, I see." His fingertips trace the curve of her jaw.
She laughs softly, eyes dancing. "I'm pretty sure you're the one that started it," she says, glancing down to locate her house key.
"Aye. One of several excellent decisions I made that day."
Warmth rises in her cheeks, and she chews on the corner of her lip, darting him a warm glance as she turns back the bolt and lets them in. "Yeah."
She stops dead in the doorway with one foot still on the stoop when she gets her first whiff of the delicious smells that hang heavy in the air. "What…?" Her mouth falls open, and she shoots a quizzical look over her shoulder only to be met with Killian's reassuring nod.
"I told you I'd take care of dinner, Swan." His trademark smirk is slightly muted, but his eyes gleam nonetheless as he nudges her inside and relieves her of her coat.
Emma sniffs and cranes her head toward the kitchen while he leaves their things on the hooks by the stairs. The house is dark, save for the light of the living room lamp they always leave on at night, but she searches the shadows nonetheless. "Is Smee here?"
"He was, but he's gone back to the restaurant." Killian meets her incredulous expression with a casual shrug, though the dimple in his cheek reveals his self-satisfaction. "And Henry's at Avery's for the night."
Her eyebrow arches at the obvious implication, her heart rate speeding up all over again. "So we're alone."
"Aye." He takes her hand in his and gives it a gentle tug, his grin strangely shy. "Come. Before dinner gets cold."
Emma pulls back and glances down at her front with a sheepish chuckle. "Give me a few minutes to change, okay? I know you love this dress, but dinner might be more romantic if I wasn't wearing something sticky. You can go open some wine. I'll be right there." She notes the slight disappointment in Killian's eyes and the way they flit over the lines of her dress like he's trying to commit them to memory, and she takes a step closer, feeling the heat creep over her skin when she tips her chin upward to murmur in his ear. "Unless, you know, you'd like to help me out of this thing."
His face morphs in an instant, one telltale brow leaping upward and his lips parting in that look of hunger and awe that always generates a tingle at the base of her spine. She's already slipped beyond his grasp and ascended the first few stairs before he regains his wits and hustles to follow. "I suppose I could be persuaded."
He misses one of the steps, and the glimpse she catches of her singularly suave and singularly coordinated pirate nearly face-planting in his haste to follow her causes Emma to burst into giggles, the upstairs hallway ringing with the sound of her laughter.
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Smee would probably be exasperated to know that they risked letting his wonderful meal grow cold, Killian supposes when he and Emma finally make it back down to the kitchen. A dopey grin curls at his mouth in the afterglow of their not-so-brief activities upstairs, and he relishes the sensation of feeling quite sated despite the embarrassingly loud gurgle that resonates from his stomach as he trails after Emma in his pajamas and bare feet, hair still damp and the pads of his fingers still wrinkled. One glance toward the upper cabinets, however, sends his heart into his throat, and he swallows hard and tries to focus, thinking about the pair of coffee mugs planted inside that together read, "Let's have coffee together… for the rest of our lives." Operation: Put a Ring On It is go, he can hear Henry saying.
Right.
"Oh my God," Emma chuckles. She adjusts the belt on her midnight blue bathrobe while surveying the handmade ravioli that Smee had the forethought to leave warming in a crock and the picture-perfect apple pie that's cooling on the counter. "He really went all out."
Killian hums, swiftly moving toward the refrigerator to pull out the salad and bottle of wine he knows are waiting inside. His eye darts anxiously toward the glimmer of gold champagne foil that just peeks out from behind the milk as he hastily shuts the door. "Smee's always been a quick learner, and this job at Tony's seems to agree with him," he says absently, toting the items to the table. "He was an able pirate, but I daresay he makes a much better chef. Believe me, he gets more excited about cheeses these days than he ever did about anything in the Enchanted Forest."
Emma grins at the professionally laid dinner table and retrieves the plates to begin loading them up with ravioli. "Well, Tony says he owes me a favor for finding him. He thinks he has a lot of potential. They're even thinking of writing a cookbook together." She chuckles, her wooden spoon clinking softly against the cool ceramic. "If he becomes famous, you can tell people you knew him back when he was fencing magic beans." She throws Killian a playful glance over her shoulder and bites her lip. "Well, maybe not."
He laughs, rummaging through a drawer to locate the corkscrew. "He's certainly come a long way." He meets her halfway to the dinner table and pauses for a quick kiss, favoring the glint in her eye with a sly smile. "I suppose we both have."
They continue to chat amiably over dinner once Emma finishes groaning and muttering Smee's praises through her first mouthful of ravioli. It takes a rather heroic effort for Killian to not spend the meal staring at her with a foolish grin plastered on his face. With damp, disheveled locks framing her washed face, her features enhanced by nothing but the healthy flush in her cheeks, and her figure hidden beneath her rumpled, careworn bathrobe, her appearance is a far cry from the splendor of the costume she wore the night they shared True Love's Kiss, but it matters little. He's just as enchanted with her now as he was then, especially when she gives a little chuckle and wordlessly holds his napkin out to him to wipe the sauce off his moustache.
"So are you going to tell me what the occasion is?" she asks at last, sitting back and arcing an eyebrow at him over her wine glass.
Her question causes the butterflies in his stomach to stir once again, though his only tell is the anxious way he rubs the side of his curled index finger against the pad of his thumb as he jumps up to go start the coffee maker. "Does a man need an occasion to plan a nice night of dinner and dancing?"
"Dancing?" The pretty frown in her voice is obvious even with his back turned to her. "We're not exactly dressed to go out anymore."
"Who said anything about going out?" Killian flashes her a roguish grin and sets the pot beneath the running faucet before he rotates to grab the stereo remote from the center island and aims it toward the living room. Michael Bublé's smooth baritone suddenly cuts through the air.
Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Reeds driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good
Emma's laugh mixes with the deep brass swells that follow, and she obligingly sets her hand in Killian's when he comes back over to pull her out of her chair, the sensation of her warm weight falling into his arms an automatic balm to his nerves. He walks her back a few steps toward the living room, and she makes a small sound of playful protest.
"This isn't a waltz."
His eyes twinkle as he shakes his head. "No."
"I don't know how to dance to this."
Killian's chuckle vibrates in his chest beneath her fingers. "Neither do I." His grin widens as her hands slide up to encircle his neck.
She smirks devilishly. "Don't I need a partner who knows what he's doing?"
"Hmph." The corners of his eyes pinch in mock offense. "I may not know a formal dance for this song, darling," he rumbles, pulling her hips flush with his and savoring the sensation as she begins to sway with him, "But believe me, I still know what I'm doing."
The way her lashes flutter and her cheeks wash a deeper shade of pink is pure magic, and he commits it to memory in the split second it takes for him to lean down and capture her lips with his.
Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun, you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when the day is done, that's what I mean
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me
For me
This kiss is soft and slow, and Emma utters a happy sigh when they finally come up for air, the two of them still moving together in time to the patient, heavy beat. She glances down at their bare feet in the carpet and chuckles. "This is kind of like the first time we danced," she points out. "You know, PJs in the living room."
"Aye," he murmurs, head bobbing. "Except I couldn't kiss you then." His smile is a little melancholy as of her hands find their way to his jaw, her thumb brushing fondly across his scruff.
"Did you want to?"
Killian chuffs. "You know I did, love. More than anything. Luckily," he continues, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, "Fortune saw fit to show me favor, and here we are."
"Here we are," she echoes with a sunny grin. "And now you can kiss me whenever you want."
His expression sobers, and he studies her shining eyes, breath growing shallow. "Promise?"
Emma gives a little laugh and rises on her toes to give him a quick peck. "Promise."
"Good." And suddenly he knows. The way his heart beat grows more insistent, the way she's looking at him. This is it. This is the moment. He throws a look toward the kitchen. Hang the plan. He clears his throat, dark eyebrows creasing. "In that case, I have something for you." Emma steps back, puzzled, as he releases her and his fingers disappear into the pocket of his sleep pants to fish out the ring he's been keeping on his person all day. The round, polished opal encircled with diamonds and rose gold sparkles in the lamplight, and Killian's smile is watery as he looks down on it and carefully drops onto one knee. "A promise for a promise." His shimmering blue eyes lift up to her in earnest.
She claps a hand over her mouth. "Oh, Killian…"
His gaze flits nervously over her perfect features. "Swan," he begins slowly, "Darling, you're my one true love, and I promise to always, always be by your side." His heart soars when she gives herself away with a premature nod and a solitary tear, and a chuckle bursts from his chest. "That is, if you'll have me."
Emma shudders and hurriedly swipes the moisture from her cheek with the heel of her hand, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep, steadying breath before she reaches for his elbow and pulls him back to his feet. His arms fall back around her waist, and she lovingly palms the angles of his jaw, her face aglow. "Yes," she sniffles. "Yes, I will."
He can feel her trembling when she kisses him, as though her happiness can barely be contained, and Killian wonders if he's ever known so much joy in one moment as he does now. A lifetime with Emma Swan, protecting her, loving her, making her smile – no reward he'd ever dreamt of when he first when looking for the battered compass that now sits in a place of honor on the bookshelf could compare.
They both laugh when they get to the business of actually putting the ring on her finger, and Emma's eyes grow round with her first good look at it. "Is that…?"
"A piece of the Sea Star," he says with a quiet grin. "I found it snagged in what was left of the old carpet when we were tearing it out. As far as I can tell, it's the only bit that didn't get sucked back through the portal." He runs his thumb reverently over the stone's smooth surface. "I kept it as a reminder of how we found each other, and once I started thinking about a ring, well…" He shrugs, a flicker of anxiety in his stomach once more. "I understand large diamonds are more traditional in this realm, but Henry thought you'd like it." Relief washes over him when he looks up to see her on the verge of tears again.
"I love it," Emma murmurs, settling her left hand on his chest and sliding the fingers of her right hand into the hair at the nape of his neck. "And I love you."
Killian leans forward to press his lips to her forehead. "I love you too."
A telltale beep sounds, and he glances toward the kitchen with a sheepish smile. "There's the coffee. Or we have champagne, if you prefer. Smee insisted."
"Why am I not surprised the three of you were in on this together?" She chuckles.
He shrugs. "A captain needs a crew. Operation: Put a Ring On It, Henry called it, though I will admit that the original plan involved proposing over coffee and pie."
"Oh, I see. You were going to exploit my weakness for pie."
The grin on his face stretches to his ears. "Figured it wouldn't hurt." He nuzzles her hair with his nose. "Shall we? I can show you the special mugs we got for the occasion."
"Mm. Later," she breathes, her smile turning impish as she rises up on her toes to kiss him again, her lips brushing softly across his skin. "Right now, I just want to dance with you."
He draws her closer and rumbles contentedly. "As the lady wishes."
They rock together to the strains of jazz standards until long after the coffee has cooled, the lamp casting their combined shadow across the shaded windows and out into the New York night. And Killian marvels that even though all of this – the city, the technology, the music, the clothes, the food, this home – though all of it was so entirely foreign to him just months ago, he's never felt such a profound sense of belonging as he does here, in the arms of the woman who was perhaps always meant to be his North Star.
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Feeling Good (Michael Bublé)
Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Reeds driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good
I'm feeling good
Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom on the tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good
Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun, you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when the day is done, that's what I mean
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me
For me
Stars when you shine
You know how I feel
Scent of the pine
You know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good
I'm feeling good
I'm feeling so good
I feel so good