Author's Notes:
*peeks out from behind the door*
*waves awkwardly*
*blushes*
Uh . . . hey, guys.
So . . . this is late. Whoopsie. But, you see, I made the mistake of starting Sense8 on a Thursday night, which led to a late night binge, which led to sleeping away half of Friday, which led to finishing Sense8 at roughly 6am on Saturday. Which then resulted in another self-induced coma, which was followed by work, and then classes.
But that's alright, I tell myself. I'll just post next Friday. What's one week? Well, that's Fall Break. Fall Break means going down to the farm. Going down to the farm means playing with the horses. Playing with the horses leads to waking up early yesterday and HOLY SHIT THERE'S A BABY HORSE IN THE PASTURE WE DID NOT EXPECT THIS UNTIL APRIL THE VET LIED TO US OMG IT IS SO FUCKING CUTE KILL ME NOW.
*clears throat*
*a la Deadpool*
Anyhoo . . . I've got my shit together. Here we go. Storytime.
Chapter 29
The men were not happy about their new course, yet none thought to complain when Killian's glare dared them to even try. It was a two-day sail back to Shipwreck Cove, and they arrived in the late afternoon when the sun was just beginning to settle in the sky and set the tops of the waves aflame. The Cove still bore the remnants of the chaos Emma remembered fleeing. The roads leading to the rocky outcrop of the Brethren were deeply rutted and businesses were blackened from fire. Yet it was the docks that bore the most damage. Half the dock was gone, torn away in a massive gale or blown apart with cannon fire. It was difficult to tell.
Killian eased the Jolly Roger into the slip next to Elizabeth's Empress, and in a bold move, ordered everyone to stay on board while he and Emma met with the Brethren. The only man brave enough (or foolish enough) to question him was Smee, who nervously fiddled with his hat as he asked, "Are you sure, sir?" to which Killian surged forward, closed the gap between them in two quick strides, and grabbed his fat first mate's collar. His words were too low for Emma to hear, but if the way Smee's complexion had turned a frightening shade of white was anything to go by, she silently thought that perhaps she was better off not knowing.
He barked at the rest of the crew once he released Smee, daring them to object to his order, and only when he was met with three long seconds of wary silence did he turn, place a firm hand on Emma's back, and lead her down the gangplank and onto the docks. She waited until they were walking through town before she said, "Bit harsh, don't you think?"
Killian glanced at her, his blue eyes darker than usual, simmering with a rage that she hadn't seen since the day Davy Jones had held a blade to her breast. Still, his hold on her hand was gentle as he tugged her closer to his side when they entered the tunnel-like halls of the Court. "Coming here now is a risk," he explained, tone low and clipped. "Everyone here is vulnerable. Damaged ships and short crews. Anyone in a stronger position could swoop in and take what they wished with little fight or perhaps use this opportunity to attack who they believe is to blame."
Emma frowned. "Killian, none of this is your fault."
"It was my blood that was needed, Swan. My blood everyone wanted and fought for and died for, though it was hardly the most noble of endeavors. For me to walk in, alive after all their trouble, Calypso dead in my stead, it's a bloody slap in the face."
"You think someone might try to bribe the crew?" she asked. "Mutiny?"
"I did get half of them killed. They're hardly lacking temptation."
"You should trust them more."
"They're pirates."
"So are you, and I trust you."
Killian shook his head. "That's different."
"How?"
"Because I love you, Swan," he said, tugging her to a stop. "The crew doesn't. They're fond of you, yes, and I don't think any of them would actively seek to cause you harm, but should an opportunity present itself, should another Captain attempt to take the Jolly, if the offer was great enough, not one of my men would hesitate to offer my head up on a platter." He paused to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering along her cheek. "I would lose everything that belongs to me," he explained softly. "And while my first thought would be you, the same would not hold true to them. They'd think of forfeited treasure, everything in my hold. They wouldn't immediately think of you or what would become of you."
Emma stood yet again stunned by him. It was almost ridiculous, she thought, that his every thought somehow seemed to revolve around her. It was just . . . new. And odd. But so, so incredibly sweet, and dear god, she loved him for it. She smiled, just a small, surprised little quirk of her lips before she stood up on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
Killian's hands were warm on her waist before they locked at the small of her back, and then her feet were dangling above the ground and she was suddenly taller than him as he lifted her so that he didn't have to bend. He still held her up when he pulled away. "No one is taking you away from me," he promised, though it could have easily been a warning to whoever could be listening. "You're mine."
Emma laughed softly. "I know, babe," she assured him. "You can save the caveman talk." She gave in to the urge to kiss him again, though she kept it short. "Now," she said. "Put me down and let's get this over with."
Killian reluctantly set her on her feet, though he kept one of her hands in his as they started down the hallway once more. Emma expected him to let go once they entered the familiar chamber, but he kept a firm hold of her even as everyone fell quiet and stared at them. Scarred, angry faces followed them as they approached the table. Some men were still healing from their wounds, dirty bandages wrapped around arms, legs, and torsos. The room was hardly half as full as it had been only weeks ago.
Five of the nine chairs at the table were empty, and to the surprise of everyone in the room, Killian did not immediately take a seat. Instead, he pulled out the open chair next to Jack and gallantly led Emma to it as though they were attending a formal dinner. Emma shot him a questioning glance that he soothed with a look that said trust me.
So Emma sat, feeling horribly out of place and trying desperately to appear as though she and Killian had a plan. He wasn't giving her much to work with, slouching lazily in his chair next to her and throwing his arm so pointedly over her shoulders that he might as well have hung a sign over her head that said: "Property of Killian Jones."
Which Emma did not appreciate at all.
And she made sure he knew it the only way she could at that moment. She reached over, laid her hand on his thigh, and made sure he could feel the bite of her nails through his leathers. His response was to maddeningly trail his fingers up and down her arm as he evenly met the stares of the other captains at the table before he uncaringly flashed Elizabeth his best smile and said, "Looks like we're all here, your majesty."
Elizabeth's only response was to raise a single dark brow. "So it would seem, Jones," she returned with little inflection. "You all know why we're gathered here," she continued, turning to scan the faces assembled around the table. "There are seats to fill. Who among us wishes to join the Court?"
"Aye, I claim the seat of Captain Cormack of the Lucky Lady." A woman strode forward from the back of the room. She was well-built, lithe, with dark skin and equally dark, angry eyes. A wide-brimmed hat covered half of her face before she looked up at the table's occupants and smirked as she added, "By force."
She reached into her bag and dropped a severed hand onto the table with little ceremony.
"His ring is mine now," she said, holding up her hand to show an oddly light, intricate gold band fitted with a single opal stone. "Does anyone wish to challenge me?"
"Don't think anyone here is quite dumb enough, love," Jack spoke up as he eyed the detached hand warily, as if he expected the fingers to twitch. "Welcome to the fold."
"Let it be known that Captain Anna Maria of the Jolie Rose is now a Pirate Lord, as she will be until her title is passed on or taken from her," Elizabeth said formally. Emma thought if there was a gavel, Elizabeth would've banged it to emphasize her point. "There is the matter of Captain Irons's seat to be resolved," she said. "Who makes a claim?"
On it went. Captains surged forward to claim the seats, all faces and names that Emma didn't recognize, and all—quite tellingly—young. Younger than Killian, even. One Captain, a stringy blond named Hamish, couldn't have been twenty. Emma stared at the assembled faces, trying not to look as curious as she felt, as she attempted to piece together what was happening. It didn't sink in until she glanced at Elizabeth at just the right moment and saw the flash of smugness in her eyes.
Like everything had gone to plan.
And Emma suddenly understood.
These captains weren't taking the chairs at random. Elizabeth had planned for it. She was stacking her deck with people she felt she could trust, or perhaps control, so that what had happened three weeks ago wouldn't happen again. There would be no mutiny, no division.
No one to challenge Elizabeth for her crown.
Yet once everyone was seated, there was still one chair left empty.
"I see there's still one chair to be taken." A smarmy voice followed by arrogant, clunking footsteps came out of the shadows of the crowd toward the table. "Just my luck."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "I was under the impression that Mr. Quincy had taken Captain Melville's token."
"Ah, this?"
There was finally a face to the voice as the man stepped up to the table, one gaudily ringed hand resting casually but possessively over the chair back while the other held up a thin gold chain with a sea blue pendant. The necklace winked even in the low candlelight, but Emma gave it little notice. She was too focused on the tension she felt in Killian. She wasn't entirely sure how, but she was overwhelmed by the distinct impression that it was only her hand on Killian's leg that kept him in his seat.
"You could say I relieved him of its burden," the man continued with a conman's smile. "A good thing, too," he added, taking a look around the table. Emma was positive that his smile sharpened when he met Killian's eye. "Seems to be a bit too much fresh blood in the water."
Elizabeth's lips were a hard line. "Let it be known that Captain Blackbeard of the Queen Anne's Revenge is now a Pirate Lord, as he shall be from this day forward until the title is passed on or taken from him."
The latter part of the declaration sounded more like an open invitation, and Elizabeth waited for what felt like a hopeful moment before silently gritting her teeth and nodding. "Very well," she said. "Let us begin with the first meeting of the Eighth Brethren Court. Firstly, we should examine the state of the Royal Navy. A source has informed me that—"
"Pardon me, Captain," Blackbeard interrupted, "but I have a question."
Elizabeth slowly cocked a dangerous eyebrow. "And it would be?"
"Well, it appears to me that all of the newly filled seats were rightly won . . . with a single exception."
Emma tensed in her chair as Blackbeard's dark eyes slid over to her. Her fingers dug into Killian's thigh, though she wasn't sure if it was in blame or worry. Nonetheless, Killian slowly unwound his arm from her shoulders and then placed his forearms on the table as he leaned forward—a move that did more than merely threaten.
It also, happily, blocked Emma from view.
Blackbeard didn't appear to mind. In fact, his smile only grew. "No need to fret, Jones," he said. "I mean the lass no harm. I merely question whether her willingness to spread her legs for you constitutes her place at this table."
Many things happened at once.
Jack jumped from his seat with an uncharacteristic growl, and to Emma's surprise, Anna Maria angrily drew her sword. Killian was faster than them all, sword drawn and two steps taken toward Blackbeard before anyone could even blink. Emma, however, was still faster. She raised her hands and shoved, sending a thin, sharp burst of magic right across the table into Blackbeard's chest.
The pirate flew backward, chair and all, before toppling over with a loud crash. Everyone in the room with the exception of Killian, Jack, and Elizabeth were shocked into stillness. Emma didn't bother to note the room's reaction. She was too busy striding toward where Blackbeard lay cursing. Killian made as if to follow, but she shot him a hard look that had his jaw ticking but his feet rooted to the floor.
Emma had made an effort to understand her magic in the three weeks since the battle. She lit candles with a wave of her hand and had managed to Wingardium Leviosa the things on Killian's desk a few days prior. Magic was like a warm hum under her skin, soft and reassuring. She could easily focus on the feeling if given a few seconds to herself.
This now was nothing like she'd experienced. Her magic felt like angry cracks of electricity snapping against her skin and her hands at her sides were hot. She was mad. Plainly, simply, mad.
"You know," she said. "I'm getting really tired of everyone thinking I'm a whore."
First, it had been the Jolly's crew. Things were different now, they all knew each other better, but she wasn't an idiot. They'd all thought she was just a bit of fun Killian had brought aboard to keep him company, and she hadn't forgotten Vincent's repeated warnings of what could happen to her if Killian wasn't there to protect her.
Even Jack had called her a "strumpet."
Emma barely deigned to acknowledge Barbosa's comments. Killian had told her very little of his fight for the key, but she knew enough by the look in his eyes that she'd been mentioned. With a petty man like Barbosa, it wasn't such a big leap to make.
And now, here was Blackbeard, and Emma recognized the man for what he was in a heartbeat. A bottom feeder. A tagalong. A man woefully compensating. The kind of man who watched the battle from a safe distance and then picked for treasure like a carrion in the aftermath. He was the kid at the orphanage who pretended to be her friend and then stabbed her in the back for extra food or TV time. He was a snake in the grass, cunning but cowardly, a man who only fought the battles he knew he could win.
Emma understood why Killian hated him.
In this moment, she hated him, too.
And god, why were her hands so hot?
She stood over Blackbeard, but he was not looking at her. His gaze was fixed on her hands, and when she glanced down, it was obvious as to why. Sitting in each hand, circling and flickering in her palm, was a fireball. Hot, red, and dangerous.
And it felt good.
"I don't need to wait for someone to pass on their title, and I certainly don't need to take a damn trinket to prove that I deserve that chair," she snapped. "I earned it."
There was a heavy beat of silence as everyone in the room waited for something to happen, their eyes fixated on the swirling balls of flame in Emma's hands. Blackbeard glared up at her from his back where he still laid at her feet, a fact that he was undoubtedly aware of as embarrassment and anger roiled in his eyes. Yet he too waited.
Emma knew what they were all waiting for. They were waiting for her to finish him off. Flick her wrist, send the fire right into his chest, and watch him burn. She saw the advantages of the move. No one would dare question her, and if they did, it would be with caution. She'd start a reputation. Like Killian.
He'd told her about his rings. She hadn't thought much of the question when she'd asked. She'd simply been fiddling with them as she stood between him and the helm of the Jolly on night watch. The first ring he'd taken from a deckhand who had dared to drink from the Captain's rum.
Killian had drowned him in it, killed a man for the same crime that had cost him his first ten lashes at fifteen.
Killian himself had only been nineteen. Hardly a year into his piracy, not yet a Pirate Lord. He said he'd done it out of anger, that dangerous sort of anger one felt instead of blinding sadness. Only after did he think of the advantage of the act. He'd proved himself hard. Cold. Ruthless. A reputation that could compensate for his young age.
This was her drowning moment.
And she . . . she couldn't do it.
"If anyone else wishes to question Captain Swan's right at the Court, they should do so at their own peril," Elizabeth said, her wry voice cutting through the tension like a butter knife, but it was enough for Emma to take a breath.
The flames in her hands vanished into smoke.
The glare that she shot the room as she returned to her chair was entirely for show as the past few moments truly began to sink in. Killian's eyes followed her cautiously, and once they were both seated, it was his hand that reached over to rest on her thigh, a touch higher than was appropriate, but his thumb rubbed soothing arcs along her leg and so she didn't care.
She focused on him, on his hand, as the meeting continued. Blackbeard gathered what was left of his dignity and rejoined them all at the table, scowling at the snickers and smirks he received, and Emma could feel his glare burning a hole into her skull, but she didn't give in to the urge to look at him. She focused on Killian's hand, on those calming gentle sweeps of his thumb, and willed her magic to settle.
And, slowly, it did.
By the time the meeting ended, Emma was barely aware of anything that had been said, but she readily stood when Killian grabbed her hand. Everyone broke off in their own little groups. Some went to their ships while others lingered to chat. Emma wanted to leave, as did Killian, but they were waylaid by Jack and Elizabeth.
"That was a brilliant bit of work there, love," Jack praised with a smirk. "Every pirate enjoys a bit of spectacle."
"Though you could have done us all a favor and burned the bastard to a crisp," Elizabeth said with a dry snort. "Honestly, the nerve of that man," she said, casting a disparaging look across the room at Blackbeard, who had regained his confidence and was loudly proclaiming his latest conquest. "Doesn't deserve his ship."
"Yeah, well," Emma sighed and shrugged lightly. "He won't be forgiving me for that anytime soon." She glanced at Killian. "I've never really had an enemy before."
His smile was small. "I'm sure between the both of us, we can handle him, Swan," he said.
"Aye," Jack agreed. "You've got True Love on your side." He grinned self-deprecatingly. "Always been a bit of a secret romantic, me."
Emma flushed slightly but said nothing in response. She squeezed Killian's hand. "So you've mentioned," he said with a smirk at Jack before he glanced at Elizabeth. "Try not to call another meeting anytime soon. I've seen enough of this place."
Elizabeth huffed. "As have I, for that matter," she said before smiling, looking more like a soft-hearted girl for a brief moment. "Safe sails, Captain. Though I could borrow Emma for a moment?"
Despite the question being directed at Killian, Elizabeth addressed Emma, raising a hopeful eyebrow. Emma nodded. "Yeah, sure."
Elizabeth led her away from Killian and Jack, leading her into a small alcove that was partially hidden by a curtain. "For future reference," she began, "this leads to a secret passage that leads out to the beach. Just push this stone," she said, tapping a square grey stone with a chipped corner. "Makes for a convenient escape."
Emma smiled slightly. "I'd wondered how you and Jack made it out," she said. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
Elizabeth shuffled her feet, uncharacteristically nervous. "I, well, how are you, Emma?" When Emma frowned, she hurried to add, "I only ask because I . . . I've been where you are before. No matter how much I dreamed of adventure, I wasn't always so happy when I found it. This life can be cruel, I think we both know that well enough, but, I just thought that . . ." She huffed. "I just thought that you might like to talk to someone, once in a while. Not that you can't talk with Jones, but—"
"It's different," Emma finished, and Elizabeth nodded in relief.
"Yes," she agreed. "So I wanted to give you this."
Reaching into her coat, Elizabeth withdrew a small notebook. "It doesn't look like much, I know," she said. "That's the trick of it. This notebook is enchanted. I have its twin. Should you wish to contact me, merely write a message in its pages, and the same missive will appear in mine. It works both ways. You'll find the cover warm to the touch if there's a message to be read."
"Wow, so it's like the Renaissance version of texting," Emma said, smiling slightly when Elizabeth's brows furrowed in confusion, even as she nodded in assent. "I'm just not sure I should have it," she continued. "Shouldn't you . . ." she glanced over at Jack. "Wouldn't you rather give it to Jack? You sail on different ships."
Elizabeth smiled. "Jack and I are not . . . well, we love each other, yes. I went to the bloody Locker for the man, but we're not . . . we're not you and Killian."
"What? You mean True Love?" Emma scoffed lightly and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm not sure that's even a thing."
"You'd deny it? Even after the Kiss?"
Emma flushed. "It's just . . . what does it even mean?"
"You mean he didn't tell you?"
"We've just sort of . . . ignored it."
"How the bloody hell do you ignore that?"
"We kind of had other things on our mind."
Elizabeth smirked briefly, but then quickly shook her head. "I'll not spoil it for you, then," she said. "Besides, it's a conversation you should have with him. I'll only tell you that True Love is the rarest magic of all, and that it is one of the greatest gifts to be given." She placed the notebook in Emma's hands. "My true love is the sea," she said. "I can always find Jack on my own. I'd like to be friends, Emma," she said, looking nothing like the fearsome Pirate King she was supposed to be but a shy little girl on the first day of school. "We Swans have to stick together, yes?"
Emma smiled. "Yeah," she agreed, tightening her hold on the book. "I'll . . . write you, I guess."
"I look forward to it."
Killian Jones had never failed to face a problem head on, but Emma Swan made him hesitate.
He wanted to ask about what had happened at Court. He wanted to ask about the fire she'd held in her hands. He wanted to ask if she would have done it. No, he wanted to ask why she hadn't done it. Why had she let Blackbeard live?
He knew the answer. It was because she was Emma. It was because she was the light to his darkness. Yet despite knowing that, he still felt the need to ask why.
She was quiet as they made their way back to the ship. Once the Jolly was beneath their feet, she softly excused herself to their quarters where she stayed until night fell, and he finally joined her. He found her how he'd grown used to seeing her this late in the day—on the bed, wearing his shirt as a nightgown, legs bare and crossed beneath her. Usually she had a book. Sometimes she had one of his charts, brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of it. Other times she'd be surrounded by floating papers and spare doubloons.
This time she just sat.
And it bothered him more than it should.
"We need to talk, love," he said. "What happened at Court—"
"Why didn't you tell me?" she interrupted. "About making me a Lord? Did you even stop to think that I might not want to be one?"
Killian scratched the back of his head. "The thought might have crossed my mind," he admitted, and Emma scoffed. "It was a strategic move, Swan. It—"
"Oh, I know exactly what it was, pirate," she snapped. "It was you being a high-handed ass."
"To protect you."
"I can take care of myself."
"I know that, darling, but I can't just do nothing when I know you're in danger," Killian insisted. "You know how precarious my position was coming here. Yours was even more so. You needed power of your own. They needed to know that you're more than just my—"
"Whore?"
"Emma," he protested, but she threw out her hands.
"What, it's true," she insisted. "And I get it, okay? I know why you did it, but that doesn't mean I'm not pissed about it. You backed me into a corner, Killian. You took away my choice, and that is not okay with me."
Killian opened his mouth to argue, only to realize that he had no argument whatsoever, and so he let his head drop and his lips press together. "Aye, love," he agreed. "I'm sorry."
Emma sniffed. He might be sorry that she was upset, that his actions had caused her distress, but she knew that he didn't regret it enough not to do it all over again if given the chance. Stubborn pirate.
Her first instinct was to hold a grudge, to mentally mark his indiscretion, and forever use it as an excuse to keep her walls up. But she . . . she couldn't do that anymore. He was too firmly rooted in her heart and to block him out, to throw up her walls now, it . . . it hurt to even imagine. Lonely days hiding in the crow's nest. Cold nights in bed. Stilted conversation over dinner.
It wasn't worth it.
So she glared at him. "Don't do it again," she said. "Or you're sleeping with the crew."
"Fair enough." He walked toward the bed, but to her surprise, didn't sit. Instead, he knelt in front of her, his hands reaching out to cradle hers. "What happened today, Emma?"
She looked down at her hands in his. "I got mad," she said. "I didn't mean for it to happen." She stared harder at her hands. "I didn't even know I could do that."
"Summon fire? Well, you can't always have a candle."
Emma shook her head. "No, it . . . it felt different."
"Different how?"
"Scary," she admitted quietly. Her hands balled into fists. "I didn't like it. It wasn't just warm, it was hot. It burned, and it . . . god, it felt good. I felt like I could do anything."
"You wouldn't have killed him."
"I thought about it."
"But you didn't do it."
"You would have."
There wasn't any judgement in her tone, just knowledge. Killian nodded. "Aye, love. Wouldn't have lost a wink of sleep over it."
Emma twisted one of his rings. "I wouldn't think of you any differently, you know," she said. "If you had killed him."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm gonna choose to see the best in you," she said with a small, sincere smile that Killian returned.
He kissed her knuckles. "And I you."
Emma gently tugged on his hand. "Get up here, Captain."
Killian arched an arrogant eyebrow as his lips turned in a familiar lascivious grin that made her huff and roll her eyes as he all too hastily complied, though he kept hold of her hand and gently pulled her until she was forced to straddle his lap. "Mmm," he hummed against her throat as his hands skimmed her hips. "Much better."
"Cool it, Casanova," Emma said, tugging on his hair to make him look at her. "I've still got another question."
Killian had a quip on his tongue but he held it back when he caught the nervous look in her eyes. "What is it, love?"
"The whole True Love thing," she said, hating the awkward blush on her cheeks. She began to pick and pull at the collar of his shirt. "How does it work? We never really, you know, talked about it."
Killian smirked. "We had something else on our minds, I think."
She weakly hit his shoulder. "Killian, I'm serious. What does it . . . is it even a thing? I mean, it sounds . . ."
"Like magic?" he offered with a soft smile. "Something you'd find in a storybook. Hardly sounds real, doesn't it?"
"Well, yeah. But we kissed, and there was a whoosh, and . . . stop grinning at me like that."
"Sorry, love. Never heard of True Love being described as a whoosh."
"You know, what? If you're going to be like this then—"
"No, no, no, no," Killian's arms tightened around her when she tried to slip off his lap. "You're not going anywhere. I promise to refrain from commenting on your perfectly apt descriptions of our love."
Emma blushed. He bit his cheek to keep from grinning before dropping his gaze to the far wall behind her, suddenly feeling anxious. "Not every love is True," he tried to explain. "Many people find love and love deeply, but for a love to be True Love it means, well, it implies . . . fate."
"What? You mean like, soulmates?"
Killian smiled faintly and nodded. "Aye. Two people, unbound by circumstance or time, always managing to find each other. It's a rather romantic notion, I'll give you that, but, well . . . you did fall three hundred years into the past only to find me, Swan."
Emma frowned. "So you're saying that none of this was my choice? That the universe just decided for me?"
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Yes," she replied immediately before wincing, "I mean, no. Maybe. I . . ." She cupped his jaw. "I want this to be real because of me," she said. "I want this to be my choice. I . . . I chose you, Killian, and that's huge for me and I don't want the universe to take that away from me because dammit, I love you—"
Killian kissed her. His lips were rough and seeking against hers, wanting more, more, more, and Emma had little choice but to fist her hands in his collar and hold on. He eventually pulled away with a gasp, though he didn't go far, pressing his forehead against hers as he caught his breath. "Tell me something, Emma," he said. "If the Kiss had never happened, would you still love me?"
He'd never been so forthright about her feelings for him, and the bluntness of his question made her stomach flutter. "Yes," she whispered.
Killian's lips twitched, and there was the faintest hint of relief in the brief smile he gave her before he asked, "And now that you know, do you love me any more or any less?"
She slowly shook her head. "No."
"Then I don't see how this wasn't your choice, Swan."
Emma smiled and gently pressed her lips to his. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
Much later, after making love well into the night, they lay quietly in bed, wrapped up together in a familiar tangle of limbs. Emma smiled as she drew random patterns on his chest. "Where to next, Captain?"
"I reckon we start looking for that island, Swan."
"Maybe find a little trouble first?"
"Aye." Killian smiled. "Just a little."
That sounds like an ending doesn't it? And it is!
Next chapter starts Part Three: The Crocodile.
Tick, tock, tick, tock . . .
Next in Run, Baby Run . . . "You're positively glowing, lass." - Vincent
See you next time,
AC
