Warning that there is mention of suicidal thoughts in this chapter. A couple lines at most. Fair warning.
Killian Jones
December
Waking from a coma is not like in the movies. He doesn't miraculously wake up with all of his facilities functioning at a high level. His energy ebbs and flows; in the beginning, ten minutes is all he can manage with his eyes open. Barely able to keep his head up the first couple of days, normal tasks like speaking, walking or feeding himself are out of the question.
Not being able to talk bothers him the most, he finds. He's always been a man who speaks his mind and now his thoughts are so muddled, he can barely think them, let alone say them aloud. The first time he wakes to find Emma beaming down at him, he tries to tell her how much he loves her and all he can manage is a smile...nothing more than that. Thankfully, she seems to understand, brushing a kiss to his lips and whispering in his ear that she loves him.
Each day after that brings an accomplishment, some of them woefully small, but milestones nonetheless. It takes a few days before he can stand on his own. When he finally does, shuffling to the window and back in halting steps, he feels as if he could pick the world up and carry it on his shoulders.
After a nap, of course, because that ten foot shuffle nearly levels him.
Through it all, Emma is at his side, murmuring encouragement and smiling proudly with each task completed. He's convinced he gets better as quickly as he does because she's with him. The doctors talk to both of them, but defer to Emma on those decisions he can't make for himself yet. They believe she's his wife and neither corrects them.
The cottage is gone, Emma confirms a few days after he wakes. She takes it all in stride, telling him that she'll find a place for them to stay after he's released, a place close to the hospital as he'll need therapy sessions. He doesn't respond, simply watches as she settles in one of the guest chairs, the light from the morning sun coming in through the blinds and lighting her with an ethereal glow. Spread out on her lap is the Storybrooke Mirror, open to the real estate section. Biting her lip, she reads listings out loud, circling those she thinks are promising as he stays silent beside her. He eventually closes his eyes, falling into a fretful doze as she plots out a future he's not entirely sure he's worthy of having.
When he's not working on his recovery, he's fighting his inner demons. Graham's ghost is often in his ear, whispering things that have him questioning his sanity. He knows he's imagining it all, but he can't keep from listening to the man in his head that tells him he's not worthy of being alive, that he should have died on that dock, that he should have left Emma to find happiness without him - to perhaps find a man without rage and jealousy in his heart, the exact opposite of both Graham Humbert and ultimately, himself.
He knows he should talk to Emma about what he's feeling, but talking is hard these days, his mouth slowed by injury. The myriad of thoughts caught in his head torture him with the dark turn they've taken. Nightmares plague him; he dreams of Graham hovering above him, his taunting voice in Killian's head as he wakes up in a cold sweat.
On such a night, he startles awake, his heart racing and his chest rising and falling with each gasping breath. He shifts in his bed, seeking Emma and finding her asleep in the cot they've set up for her. Moonlight highlights the lovely curve of her jaw, her blonde hair brushed over her shoulder in curling tendrils. Her hands are clasped under her cheek, her lips parted as she breathes deeply, peacefully. He watches her slumber long into the night, worrying about the man he'd been before he'd met her and the man he longs to be for her now.
He wonders if he'll ever be enough for a woman like her and believing, despite how he tries to convince himself otherwise, that he falls far short of what she deserves.
David and Mary Margaret visit as often as they can. They take turns cajoling Emma into going out to eat. They can usually manage an hour at most before she demands to be returned to Killian's side. Mary Margaret tries to get her out for a spa day, but she steadfastly refuses until finally Mary Margaret brings her portable home spa to Emma instead. She sits in a plastic guest chair, smiling as her toenails are painted a vibrant red, the color so bright it follows him into his dreams.
It's on one of those days when David comes round to pick Emma up for a trip to the loft to visit Wendy - which is really an excuse to get her out of the hospital for a few hours - that Mary Margaret stays behind. It had been a bad night, Killian's dreams twisted and dark, made worse by the pain killers they keep pumping into him. He'd woken up screaming more than once in the night. Now, tired and listless, he stares up at the ceiling and refuses to speak. Mary Margaret, seeing Emma's hesitance about leaving his side, offers to stay in her stead.
Emma gives him a reluctant kiss to his forehead and exits the room with a worried glance over her shoulder. Killian gives her a wave and an encouraging bob of his head as she goes, hating the fact that the frown on her face is there because of him. It's simply one more sin to add to his already long list. As soon as her ponytail moves past the doorway, he drops his head back and stares in dejection at the ceiling - a ceiling he hates with every fiber of his being having stared up at it for more hours than he'd care to remember.
"It's not as bad as all that now, is it?" The question startles him; he'd forgotten Mary Margaret was still in the room. Rolling his head to the side, he finds her in Emma's chair, her arms crossed over her chest and her head tilted slightly to the side. He can't decide if it's her mom-look, teacher-look, or cop-look, but any way you slice it, he's about to be given a talking to he's not likely to enjoy.
Giving a halfhearted shrug, he doesn't bother responding, facing the ceiling once again and closing his eyes in an attempt to shut her out. He hopes she'll take the hint; he's not in the mood for a chat.
"I'm pregnant."
He slowly opens his eyes, blinking hard at the florescent lights. Apparently she doesn't care if he's not in the mood to have a talk. Lifting his head, he looks at her again, finding her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. He knows he should be happy for the Nolans and part of him feels that, but mostly there's just a despairing numbness in his chest.
Knowing he's supposed to show an emotion other than apathy, he slowly says, "Congrats," the word cumbersome on his tongue. She beams and smooths a hand over the bump hidden by her oversized sweater. Now that he's looking closer, he notices that she's a little rounder than usual, her face fuller. She definitely has a glow about her and a momentary warmth fills his chest for her and David, allowing him to give her a genuine smile of congratulations.
"Thank you. We're excited." They watch each other, an uncomfortable silence stretching between them as his smile falls away. He wishes he knew what it was she was hoping for him to say, so that he could say it and be done with it. He simply doesn't have the mental capacity to try and guess right now.
She doesn't keep him waiting long.
She keeps her eyes locked on his, asking softly, "Do you want kids some day, Killian?"
The question takes him off guard and he gapes at her, his first reaction is to try and change the subject, but his damaged mouth can't work quickly enough for that. He's forced to stare into her inquisitive green eyes and imagine Emma cradling a little one to her chest. The image causes his heart to ache and without much more thought, he gives a brief, sharp nod. He does want that, more than anything.
Tears fill his eyes and he blinks hard, not wanting her to see them. Turning back to the ceiling, he stares upward and tries to push back the despair rolling through him. He wants a happy ending with her, but he simply can't ask her to shackle herself to him. He's as damaged as Graham Humbert - obsessed, jealous, possessive...only steps away from insanity.
How can he ask her to spend the rest of her life with a man like that? Let alone ask her to bring a child into the world with a father as deficient as he is?
"I think you'll make a great dad, Killian," Mary Margaret says softly, somehow understanding the pain he keeps trying to blink out of his eyes. "She loves you, you know. If you asked her, she'd marry you in a second." All he can do is shake his head to that, staring resolutely up at the ceiling, cursing as he thinks about the futility of loving Emma Swan.
Mary Margaret sighs, standing and reaching down to take his hand in hers. He continues to stare up at the ceiling, breathing heavy as her fingers curl around his.
"You probably don't remember, but before you woke up, we had a chat. Pretty much like this, you lying in that bed and me holding your hand. I told you to fight, to not leave Emma like everyone else has. And later that day, you woke up."
He doesn't remember that, not exactly. Much of that time is a dark void in his head now, a memory so faded he can't see it properly in his mind's eyes. He knows it's there, but there's no discernible shape to it, no definition other than darkness filling his head when he thinks of it. Her words, though, evoke a desperate need for Emma and a sense of loss so great that the tears in his eyes multiply.
"You may be awake, but you're further from her now than you were when you were asleep. You fought to come back to her then and you need to fight the demons in your head telling you that you aren't worthy of her now."
He shakes his head, keeping his mouth shut while he wonders how a woman so good and kind can possibly understand the dark thoughts plaguing him. When he finally forces himself to look at her, there are tears in her eyes that mirror his.
"Everyone has thoughts like that, Killian. Everyone has demons to fight. She doesn't see yours right now because she's so happy you're alive, she's willing to ignore them, but I see them. I see the sadness when you look at her, the despair when you think about a life without her. You want to be with her, but you don't think you can."
He blinks hard and she reaches out, swiping at the lone tear that slips down his cheek.
"Emma hasn't had an easy life, Killian. You know that. It's hard for her to trust anyone, but she found a way to trust you. If you don't love her, then be kind and end it, but I don't believe that's true. If you do love her, but you think you should leave because she'll be happier without you... well, you won't be doing her a kindness, believe me. She'll never be able to trust again, never be able to open her heart. You need to fight whatever beast is in your head and find your way back to her. You both deserve happiness."
Her words hold a note of maternal care, but also a sternness that he knows comes from her desire to protect Emma. If he hurts her friend, all bets are off when it comes to Mary Margaret Nolan. She was hesitant to trust Killian in the beginning and while she's certainly being supportive now, there's a caveat to it that he would be an idiot to ignore.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a small, white piece of paper and slips it into his hand. He flips it over and sees that it's a business card. "I'm here if you ever want to talk, you know that, but I think you have more you might want to talk about than just you and Emma."
Glancing down at the card, he reads "Doctor Archibald Hopper, Psychologist" printed across the front. The idea of spilling his guts to a complete stranger is abhorrent; he's never in his life revealed his darker thoughts to anyone. Not wanting Mary Margaret to know he's rejecting her suggestion out of hand, he palms the card and looks back up at her.
Carefully quirking an eyebrow, he takes a deep breath and says, "Talking...to...a...shrink... will...take...me...hours, love. Too...pricey."
She grins and releases his hand to return to her chair. "We both know you love talking about yourself and you have the cash to pay for double sessions. You'll do just fine."
He's released to Emma's care a few days later. He's much improved, all the doctors agree, although he personally feels he has a long way to go. Emma picks him up that day wearing a bright red jacket and a black hat pulled down over her ears, her blonde hair hanging thick and bright about her shoulders. She drives him across town in the jeep Smee had finally returned, stopping outside a huge gray house with a wraparound porch.
"Welcome home," she tells him with an excited grin as he stares up at the behemoth house she's found for them.
As she helps him up the front steps, she explains how she and David had found it on one of their lunch dates. It's available to lease on a month to month basis while the owners are off enjoying a timeshare in Florida for the winter. It's fully furnished; they can move right in and settle down while Killian recuperates. His heart sinks as she chatters excitedly at his side. It's clear she has an image in her head of how it will be, them living here, and he doesn't have the heart to tell her that it'll never be like it was before.
He's too damaged for that.
She ushers him inside, helping him over the threshold although he could manage on his own. Closing the door behind them, she takes his coat and hangs it up. He stands in the huge foyer, looking around while Emma hangs her jacket next to his. He hears a meow off to his left and spots Wendy wrapping herself around the chair legs in the kitchen. She gives him an almost offended look and he grins, shaking his head. Still Emma's cat, he thinks as she meanders out of the kitchen and trots up the staircase to the second floor.
The house is massive, more space than the two of them need. Bright winter light filters in through the bay windows in the living room, highlighting the high ceilings and the beautiful wood floor. Despite the slightly neglected feel of the place, everything is bright and welcoming. It has a different vibe than the cottage; more hodgepodge vintage than sparsely modern. Everything is careworn - well loved, but clean — and he finds as he looks around, that he likes that about the place.
Best of all, there's no trace of Graham's influence in the layout or the details. It's perfect.
"You like it?" she asks, her green eyes anxious as she watches him look around. He walks into the living room, stepping closer to the table and chairs by the windows, his fingertips dancing over the dusty surface of the wood. Emma follows him, hesitating while he inspects everything. "I'll have to dust. The place has been empty for a few weeks," she hurries to explain.
Giving a quick look outside, he smiles when he spots water sparkling in the distance. He'd thought when they'd pulled up that they were near the harbor, but he hadn't realized just how close. There's a telescope next to the table and he steps up to it and gives a look, his heart calming as he watches the water dance in the sunlight. Turning back to her, he holds out his hand and she comes to him, allowing him to press a kiss to her temple as she leans into him.
"It's grand, love."
"Do you want to take a nap or something? Today's been an eventful day." It really hadn't, but a week ago eating jello had been taxing, so he can understand why she's concerned about his stamina. He waves off the suggestion, but does move to the sofa, tucking himself into the cushions and staring into the empty hearth. The house is quiet; it's only the two of them now, the first time they've truly been alone in weeks.
They need to talk about what happens next. The case is closed, their fake marriage can end. They can go their separate ways, but the thought of that...He wants Emma in his life and he's certain she's amenable to that, but self doubt has plagued him since he woke up in that hospital bed. It has a tenacious hold and he's not sure how to break free of it.
So, despite what they need to talk about, he stays silent, staring into the empty hearth and wishing for a glass of rum to help quiet the voices in his head.
"I was thinking maybe later we could call Liam and give him an update on your progress," she says, coming up behind the sofa. He sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch to give her an upside down look of annoyance. She'd reached out to Liam while Killian was in the hospital, maintaining contact with him as he'd slowly healed. They've have formed a friendship while Killian has refused to speak with him.
At first, it was because speaking was nearly impossible, but now...now he's simply unsure of what to say. He knows he needs to tell his brother what he's been up to the past five years, that he needs to come clean about Emma and their fake marriage, but he can't manage to form the words in his head, let alone on his tongue.
"Or, you know, not today," Emma says when he continues to glare up at her. "I can text him, tell him you're exhausted and that you'll call another time?" He gives a brief nod then lets his eyes fall shut, not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes.
It's one more way he's let her down. One more disappointment to add to the list.
Despite how he'd rejected a nap earlier, he falls asleep curled up there. Mercifully, it's a dreamless sleep and when he wakes, he finds that he feels rested, a rare occurrence these days. There's a roaring fire in the hearth now and a blanket spread out over his lap, Wendy beside him and purring. Emma sits at the other end of the couch, her legs tucked up beneath her and a book in her hands. He sits up straighter, dislodging Wendy and earning himself a sleepy glare, her green eye and blue peeking up at him in disdain. Emma looks up from her book and smiles.
"I think she missed you."
"Is that right, Wendy darlin? Did you miss me, my lass?" he asks, reaching out to scratch behind her ears. She closes her eyes, relaxing into him once again, her purr growing louder. He smiles, glancing up at Emma. "What're you reading, love?"
She holds the book up to show him. He can barely make out the title on the crumbling spine, but when he does, he looks at her in surprise. She's reading Peter Pan and he realizes with a pang that the copy he'd toted around with him since he was a boy had burned in the cottage fire. "I found it on the bookshelf. Thought I would give it a read and see what all the fuss is about."
"Ah," is all he says in response. He scrubs a hand down over his face, careful of the tender spots that linger from Graham's beating. To think of that time has him wincing, the echo of Graham's fists in his ears...he can still feel the sting of each punch as they'd landed, can taste the blood as it had flooded his mouth.
He wonders if it will ever go away, if he'll ever forget those few hours of hell.
"You slept for a while. Feeling better?" The rays of winter sun alight on her skin, causing her to glow beside him. He doesn't deserve her - doesn't deserve the simple happiness of sitting next to her on a couch in a home they can make their own. He's a fraud of a man, not enough for her, never enough for her. Clearing his throat, he forces himself to ask the question that has been banging around in his head for days now.
"What are we doing, Swan?"
She's obviously confused as to what he's talking about, her eyes wide and anxious. She sets the book aside, marking her place with a piece of scrap paper then turns to him and asks, "What do you mean?"
The sun lands more squarely on her face now, highlighting her green eyes and the cluster of freckles on the side of her nose. Her eyes mesmerize him...they're so cool, so deep, and he wonders if he could drown in them...drift along until he's free from the pain of his existence. Shaking his head to rid himself of such fanciful, melancholy thoughts, he focuses on her question. He knows he can't hide from this conversation. It's one they've needed to have for a while now, perhaps even before Graham arrived to destroy their happiness.
"I mean...the case is over. We don't have to pretend any longer." He holds up his hand, the ring he's worn for months catching the sunlight and glinting at them both. Her eyes flick to it then back to his face, her confusion even more evident. His words, so halting of late, rush out like water breaking free of a dam, following a path that leads to devastating destruction. "We've no reason to continue lying. Our sham of a marriage can end, love. You can return to your life in Boston and I can return to New York."
Silence descends as she processes what he's said. He drops his hand to his lap, twirling his wedding band around his finger while he watches the light in her eyes dim. The loss of that vibrancy nearly kills him.
"You...you want to go back to New York?"
"My life is there, Swan." He shrugs, breaking their gaze to lean back into the cushions and stare up at the ceiling.
"Your life?" He can hear the pain and the anger, but he steadfastly ignores it, tamping down his suddenly rampaging heart to focus on the expanse of white above him. "I've spent my whole life running away when things get too hard. I recognize it when other people do it." The couch groans as she leans closer to him. He can feel her gaze on his face and then there's the warm press of her hand on his jaw, forcing him to face her once again. Her eyes are sparkling again, this time with determination. "You're scared, Killian and you're pushing me away."
She continues on earnestly, her eyes locked with Killian's, that determination he sees in her eyes reflected in her words. "Here's the thing, though. I'm not running. When I thought you were dying..."
She pauses, tears filling her eyes and smearing the green. She swallows hard and gives him an odd, lopsided smile, her cheeks pink with emotion. "When I thought you were dying, I thought I'd never get a chance at happiness again. So, even though this is hard, I'm not giving up. I'm terrified about what comes next, but I'm more terrified of losing you. So...I'm not running."
Her words cause his heart to beat even harder in his chest, this time with happiness and he gasps, sucking in a lungful of disbelieving air. After days of floating in an abyss of emotional and physical turmoil, to hear that she loves him and that she's not leaving is almost too much for his battle weary body to handle. He surges forward, finding her lips with his own and silencing any other proclamations she'd intended to make. The kiss is chaste by their standards, his wounds not healed enough to allow more than this.
When she finally separates their mouths to breathe, he tries to convince himself that this - with Emma - is a happiness he can have, that her kiss is the only remedy he needs to silence the darkness in his head. Despite the fact that he knows he should end this, that he should let her go to find happiness elsewhere, he selfishly decides to stay a while longer, hoping Emma's love is enough to heal him.
That, with enough time, he'll finally be the man worthy of being in Emma Swan's life.
After that first day, he finds himself pulling away, despite her attempts to engage him in conversation. She senses something is off, her worried gaze following him around their rented home, but she leaves him to himself. He's not sure how he would respond if she were to push him for an explanation of his silences and brooding stares. Perhaps she realizes, much as he did in the early days of their relationship, that to push him to open up would only push him away.
Regardless of why, he appreciates that she knows he's not ready to share what he's slowly processing in fits and starts.
He finds their roles reversed now. Where once he was the one who shared everything about his life, now she's the one revealing herself. In the evenings, when they sit before the fire and he's stubbornly silent, she tells him stories from her childhood, the stories she'd once refused to tell him. She talks about foster care, about the few foster families she cares to mention, telling him about her life as a runaway and a thief. She even talks about those sorrowful days after she'd left jail and was on her own once again while trying to cope with the loss of her baby. There's little she doesn't touch upon and although he appreciates her show of vulnerability and trust, he's unable to reciprocate, staying silent at her side.
When alone, he often takes out the card Mary Margaret had passed him, reading the name printed on its face until he can see it even with his eyes closed. He's not afraid of much in life - never has been - but the darkness welling up inside him now gives him pause, especially the numbness it leaves in its wake. He wonders if opening himself up to a professional will help with it, but he finds it hard to admit he needs help.
It gets to the point where he knows something needs to change. He can't continue like this, floating listlessly through life, wishing for it all to be over, but unwilling to make any move to end it, one way or the other.
It's a week before Christmas when he finally ventures out of the house for the first time on his own. It had been a hard night, his dreams consisting of fists slamming into his body and Emma in danger with him powerless to stop it. He'd woken up in a cold sweat to find Emma peering down at him with wide, concerned eyes. He hadn't been able to fall back asleep after that, staying up long into the night, watching over Emma while the wraith of Graham Humbert whispered incessantly in his ear.
Luckily, Mary Margaret had planned a shopping excursion with Emma for that afternoon. She's hesitant to leave him after the night he's had, but Mary Margaret is relentless, not giving up until she agrees to go out for a few hours. He encourages her, knowing she needs some time away from his dark mood.
With a wave over their shoulders, they leave him sitting on the couch with a promise to bring Granny's back for lunch. As soon as the door clicks shut, he's leaning forward, elbows pressed to his upper thighs and his hands cradling his throbbing head. Tears burn his eyes as he thinks about how close he'd come to confessing his dark thoughts to Emma that morning. It had been a near thing in the gloom of dawn, his heart racing from his nightmare and his desire to transfer his burdens to her nearly suffocating him. Instead, he'd caught her mouth with his, kissing her to silence his morbid thoughts, the gentle press of her mouth a balm to his troubled heart.
Now silence weighs heavy on him, this huge house so in contrast with the cottage they'd left behind. He wonders about the burnt remains of their previous home, wonders if he looked through the ashes would he find memories of their life together there. Moments he'd once wanted to cherish forever tarnished by the fierce jealousy of a madman. He digs his fingers into his scalp, a ragged sob escaping his mouth as he tries to convince himself that life will not always be this dark and hopeless, that it will get better.
Deciding that he needs to get out of his head, he pushes himself to his feet, grabs his phone and checks that he has Dr. Hopper's card in his wallet. Taking his new leather jacket from beside the front door, he picks up the keys to the jeep, jerking open the front door and telling himself that he's not running away...
He's running forward...
It takes him two passes in front of Dr. Hopper's door to finally force himself inside. He knows he's not in a good place, that he's depressed and possibly dealing with post traumatic stress. He can even admit that in his darkest moments, he's contemplated ending it all. He knows he needs help, but understanding all that doesn't make it any easier to open the door and walk up the stairs to ask for it. He's never been one to talk over his feelings, to hash out his hurts, and the thought of doing that with a bloody stranger...
But then again, the last time he'd had such a crisis of character, he'd gone completely rogue and became a criminal. He doesn't want to make a choice this time that he can't come back from and he fears that if he doesn't ask for help now, that's exactly what will happen. So he forces himself to take the final two steps to Dr. Hopper's door. Taking a shaky breath, he pulls it open and ducks inside, the sound of the door slamming shut reminding him of a coffin lid closing. Shaking off the morbid thought and the sudden panic it brings with it, he climbs the stairs two at a time and with a final steadying breath, steps into the outer office and asks the secretary if the good doctor has any availability that day.
It's not like he expected - this therapy lark. It's not talking over his emotions. Well, not exactly. It's more about shifting through the past, examining it and categorizing it in a way that helps him understand how it has influenced the man he's become. There is some talk about emotions, but those conversations tend to be cursory as Killian learns more about his triggers and how to manage them. He learns how to deal with the ghosts that haunt him, both the vaguest apparitions as well as the more solid phantoms - like the Graham Humbert shade that currently resides in a back corner of Killian's head.
He goes nearly every day that first week, talking slowly, his still healing brain making it that much harder to express himself. Dr. Hopper is a patient man who offers a different perspective and Killian finds that an outsider's thoughts help. It's not always like that - there are times when long after the session has ended, dark thoughts still follow him - but mostly his head is clear and his dreams are serene after speaking with the good doctor.
It's not an instantaneous change, but it's enough of one that Emma notices, commenting on it at dinner one night. He shrugs, nonchalantly replying that he's been visiting a psychiatrist, not wanting to hide it as if it's something to be ashamed of - because it very much is not. She starts at the name of the doctor, but gives him a sweet kiss on the cheek, telling him that she's proud of him. He blushes, something he finds he does more and more around her, shifting his eyes carefully away from hers and back to his plate. She drops the subject, but later that night, she asks him for Dr.'s Hopper's business card, muttering something about maybe wanting to chat with him as well.
He knows she's been hurting, but she's been focusing so much on his wellbeing, she hasn't taken time to look after herself. And he's been a poor helpmate in that regard, too wrapped up in his head to do much to help. He's barely capable of handling his own emotions, let alone help her sort through hers. Handing over the business card, he presses a kiss to her temple and tells her that he's proud of her, too.
It feels as if they're finding ways to mend each other, despite their own battle wounds. Is this what a real marriage is like, he wonders as she gives him a smile - a give and take of support? A wrapping of emotional limbs around each other, finding ways to hold each other up even when holding up themselves seems impossible?
He's always believed Emma to be incredibly strong. He's often wondered if he has that type of strength, to always do right and be a good person, even if to do so means that he would be the one to lose out. What he's realizing now is that he doesn't need the same type of strength as Emma; he has his own unique strength, a strength that complements hers. Perhaps it's not that he needs to be strong like Emma, but strong like himself...
Because maybe being Killian Jones isn't so bad, after all.
Christmas morning breaks calm and quiet, the sound of Emma shifting next to him catching his attention. She's dreaming something that has her frowning and it's only when he reaches for her hand and pulls it to his chest that she settles.
They've slept late, the winter sun filtering into the room and brightening every surface with warmth. Emma seems to glow as it dances upon her bared flesh, every freckle and scar in perfect highlight. Her face is turned toward him and he sighs, able to see the innocent girl she must have once been in the relaxed repose of her face. Contentment settles over him and he takes advantage of her obliviousness to observe her while she sleeps. He lets his gaze wander over her face then down along her neck to her chest, where the curve of her breasts holds his attention for a time...all that perfection beside him, completing his world wonderfully.
Emma had insisted on purchasing a small fir tree for their nightstand table, their one acknowledgement to the season. They'd left it plugged in last night and Killian spends long minutes staring at Emma and their tree, remembering the one they'd decorated back at the cottage...She'd been breathtakingly happy that day, the Christmas lights reflected in her eyes and he yearns to see her again like that. He remembers that night, returning home to find her decorating their bed with more colorful lights and that moment when he'd finally told her that he loved her.
And the moments after when their bodies had finally merged after so many days of unrequited wanting.
It's been weeks since then - much has happened - but that night is forever burned in his heart. Thinking of it now has blood rushing in his veins, his slowly healing body aching for Emma and her divine touch.
He's not supposed to do much in the way of physical activity - his doctors have explicitly told him that sex is off limits - but that doesn't mean he can't provide her with a little Christmas joy this morning. He grins devilishly, tugging on the hand he holds against his chest to wake her. The insistent motion pulls her from her dreams and she squints up at him. Eyes mere slits of green, she gives a healthy glare of disapproval at having her slumber disturbed.
"Oh good, love. You're awake."
"What the hell time is it?"
"Time for you to enjoy your first Christmas present, Swan."
This piques her interest and her glare morphs into an excited smile, complete with an adorable dimple in her cheek. He lifts her hand to his mouth, pressing an open kiss to the back of it then flipping it over to press another to her palm, this one including a faint brush of his tongue over her flesh. He hears her quick intake of breath and when he glances up, he sees a green fire alight her eyes. Dipping his mouth back to her hand, he traces the lines of her palm to the spot on her wrist where her pulse beats, tenderly tonguing there until she shifts closer, breathless and warm.
"We aren't supposed to..." she whispers and he nips at her, gliding his mouth to the inside curve of her elbow. She squirms then flops onto her back with a huff, throwing her other arm over her head as if to block out what he's doing. "Killian," she whines, "don't tease."
"I'm not teasing, love," he murmurs against her arm. "I can't partake, of course, but that doesn't mean you can't."
She peeks out from beneath her arm as he trails his mouth over her bicep to her shoulder, giving her another nip there before moving to place a kiss to her collarbone. There's a salty sweet taste to her skin and he hums in appreciation, trailing his nose lightly over her skin until his mouth finds the pulse in her neck. The hum turns into a groan when he sucks that tripping beat into his mouth, applying enough suction to leave a pretty red mark on her throat.
He hovers over her, his thumb brushing over that bit of bruised flesh as he admires his work. Reaching out, he brushes tendrils of her hair behind her ear, grinning as he remembers one of his earliest impressions of her. Dipping his head down, he whispers lowly, "You have the most adorable ears, love."
She snorts, turning her head away as if in denial and he follows, his lips brushing over the whorls of said ear. Goosebumps rise on her skin and she actually shivers. He catches her lobe between his teeth and gently bites down then tongues at the teethmarks he's left behind.
"Killian...stop," she whimpers and he pulls away, spotting a blush moving up her neck. He moves closer still, careful of the wound in his abdomen as he aligns their lower bodies. Her hands come up to grip his hips, the cool touch of her on his heated flesh making him instantly hard.
His ego swells along with his cock; it's reassuring to know all his body parts are intact and functional.
"Just because I can't come doesn't mean I can't make you come until you're an absolute quivering mess," he growls in her ear, flexing his hips experimentally. Emma's eyes widen, a little gasp leaving her mouth when she feels him pressing hard and heavy into her. There's a flare of electricity, a burst of desire rushing through his veins as their gazes connect and then he's sliding down her body, his focus intent upon the heated space between her legs.
"You can't...you can't hold yourself up long enough to...to do that," she says with a blush. She gestures between them with a shaking hand and he lifts his gaze back to her face, noting with pride how her pupils are blown black and her cheeks are flushed.
"Have you no imagination, darling?" Lifting a suggestive brow, he carefully maneuvers onto his back then holds out a hand to her. She stares at him, clearly not understanding what he wants. He wiggles his brows as he says, "There's more than one way to skin a cat, love. Up you get."
"Hey!" She gives him a scandalized look, but whatever her reservations are, they don't stop her from quickly shimmying out of her panties. He grins at her haste, watching as she throws them over the side of the bed before sitting up and reaching for the hem of her camisole. He quickly shakes his head and she gives him another look, this one filled with confusion.
He sits up enough to press a gentle kiss to her cheek then one to her lips. He lingers at her mouth as he pushes the strap of her camisole slowly down until one perfect breast is revealed. Pulling back to take in the effect, he groans. She's a vision with her bared mound visible beneath the hem of her camisole, one perfect breast out, the nipple hardening even as he watches. She looks half debauched already and he's hardly touched her, a fact he swiftly remedies when he lifts his hand to cup her breast, thumb tenderly brushing over her nipple to encourage it. She gasps, back arching and eyes falling shut. She's so responsive, squirming on the bed and he hums in appreciation as he watches her move.
He needs to taste her, to rediscover her unique flavor. He moves to carefully plop back onto the mattress, mindful of his healing wound. With his hands on her hips, he helps her move to straddle his head.
"Wait," she pants and he looks up at her from between her thighs. "I can sit the other way and you know, reciprocate?" His cock gives an excited jump. God, this woman will kill me, he thinks, but despite how wonderful her suggestion sounds, he politely declines.
"This is all about you, love. You and no one else." She blushes prettily at that and ceases to protest. Bringing his hands up to cup her ass, he helps her shuffle closer. It takes a few seconds to get her perfectly aligned - they have to stop and put a pillow under his head - but soon enough, he's lapping at her sex, the taste of her bursting over his tongue.
The sweet tang of her is indescribable. It has him sliding one of his hands back to hold her open, allowing him more access to her nectar. Pulling away enough to see what he's doing, he groans at the beautiful sight before him. She's pink and glistening, the mysteries of her body revealed to him and him alone. He takes his time exploring, wanting to know every inch of her, to understand what turns her on, what makes her feel good. He uses delicate, teasing touches, dipping a fingertip inside her then dancing it over her protruding bundle of nerves, spreading her heated essence there. The gasps and sighs she gives as he works spur him on and when he looks up from between her thighs, he finds an erotic tableau above him. She's bloody gorgeous, one hand gripping the headboard as she gets lost in her pleasure, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her cheeks flushed, eyelashes fluttering.
God, he wants her. Wants to once again be joined with her and feel her luxurious heat as she ripples around him, but neither his body nor his soul are ready to be that vulnerable right now. So he gives her this instead, tamping down his own desire best he can.
"Feel good, sweetheart?" he asks, slowly pumping his hand in and out of her, fingers curving with each thrust. His hand mimics the way he'd very much like to fuck her and she takes in a gasping breath, squeezing her eyes shut tighter as she utters a breathy, "Yeah," in response.
"Good," he whispers, that ego of his swelling his cock even more.
There's just enough room between her thighs for him to lean forward and suckle her clit. He laves the tiny jewel of sensation with his tongue until her hips begin to move in small, careful undulations. The bed creaks as she gently rides his face and he moans, his free hand sliding down his body to where his length rests between his legs. Sliding his hand into his pajama pants, he frees himself enough to begin to stroking in time to her movements.
It's been a while since his body has reacted like this, but god, it feels fucking amazing. Pleasure sparks in his nerve endings, each sensation heightened by the woman riding his face: the sound of her, the feel of her, the fucking taste. He wants nothing more than to spend every waking hour giving her pleasure enough to forget any pain she's endured in life.
He groans, spurred on by the desire coursing through their veins and the thought of having this for the rest of their lives. He wants to come with her, to fall into the abyss at the same time, but his body is weak, his stamina at an all time low. Emma seems to be holding back, perhaps wanting to enjoy this a while longer and normally he'd be all for that, but he feels like he's about to lose control like an untested youth, his body shaking as he nears the point of no return. When he feels her shift above him, he peers up at her, gasping when he feels her small, warm hand around his cock. She's leaning awkwardly backward, stroking his cock with him, both their hands wrapped tight around him.
"What are you - oh, fuck hell, love - what're you doing?"
"Helping. We make a good team, after all." He opens his eyes to find her grinning down at him and he stops her, his body protesting instantly. He must be bloody insane. He absolutely must be. "Killian...let me," she begs and he grips her wrist in his, pressing a wet kiss to her inner thigh. "While I do appreciate the sentiment, love, this isn't about that."
"But..." She struggles to pull her wrist free and he sighs, letting her go and then plopping fully onto his back. Moving back a little, so that she's sitting on his chest, she peers down at him. Her eyes are wide and confused, those damnable cheeks flushed pink.
They sit there, staring at each other, aroused within an inch of their lives. They'd both been so close to release. It still throbs in Killian's veins, demanding he partake and he ignores it the best he can. It's hard to do that with the scent of Emma lush in his nose and her flavor still thick on his tongue. He feels nearly mad with it.
"Bloody hell, woman, hasn't anyone ever just done something for you and not asked for anything in return?" he finally asks in exasperation. The question is said in equal parts annoyance and humor, but he can see that he's hit on something important by the way she tenses. He tilts his head to the side, watching as her flush of arousal turns to one of discomfort.
"Emma?"
"No," she replies, shrugging her shoulder in an attempt to be nonchalant. She gives him an embarrassed smile, trying to keep her tone light as she continues, "No one has ever just done something for me and not asked for something in return."
"Never?" he breathes out. She thinks it over in a heart wrenching pause then shakes her head, her face crumpling a little. "Oh, Emma."
She reaches out then, fingers combing through his hair. She watches the movement of her hand, avoiding his searching gaze. He wants to sit up and pull her into an embrace, but the wound in his stomach makes such a maneuver out of the question. So, he does the only thing he can - he reaches for her free hand and interweaves their fingers, locking them together. He says the only thing he can think to say, the tenderness in his statement taking the place of his arms around her, wrapping her up in affection with a few carefully chosen words.
"Let me be the first, aye?" She sniffles and continues to card her fingers through his hair, avoiding his eyes. He presses another kiss to her inner thigh, this one on the opposite leg then he encourages her to move back into position, their hands still linked.
"You know what they say, love," he murmurs, licking his lips indecently as his gaze takes in the bounty before him, "you never forget your first." Then his mouth finds her again, his free hand moving between her thighs, fingers slipping once again into heaven. Eyes falling shut, he grips her hand tight in his own, moaning when his tongue alights on her, the sweet and salty tang making his blood sing. Her fingers tighten around his hair and the stinging pain makes him groan, his hips moving up and down involuntarily. He knows he'll need to relieve himself in the shower afterwards, but god, the agony of not experiencing the pleasure with her now is worth it.
He loves her with his mouth and with a keening cry, she falls in spectacular fashion. A wicked curse rends the air, falling from her swollen lips, the filthy sound of it making him groan. She shakes and jerks, holding on to him best she can, her fingernails digging into him as she rides it out. He feels the rhythmic ripples of her release, can feel her slickness coat his fingers. Gentling his tongue on her clit, simply keeping his lips wrapped around the nerves there, he allows her to ride him until she's a quivering mess.
As promised, he notes with pride.
Sooner than he'd like, she collapses off to the side, legs and arms akimbo. She's spread out beside him and he licks his lips as he props himself up to watch her catch her breath. Her camisole is still in disarray, one perfect breast exposed while the rest of her is modestly covered. With her legs slightly spread, he can see the way the lips of her sex glisten and he groans at the sight, his cock giving a mighty throb. She has one arm thrown over her head, which she moves enough to peer at him with hazy, sated eyes. Her gaze moves from his wet mouth down to where he's exposed, his cock weeping for her.
"You sure, Jones?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. He grins, leaning forward to kiss her knee before he's pushing himself up and off the bed, moving as fast as a man in his condition can.
"Another time, Swan." Pulling his pants up over himself, he adjusts everything to walk to the bathroom and then throws out over his shoulder, "Happy Christmas, love."
He takes a quick shower, deciding against taking care of himself and then returns to her, body mostly quieted and mind at peace. He finds her in bed, sitting up with her clothes put back to rights. She grins at him as he slips back in beside her and returns the smile, her happiness filling his entire being with a matching emotion. He marvels at that; it's nice to simply be happy with no guilt accompanying it.
"Presents!" she proclaims, bouncing in her seat. He glances to where she's pointing under their tree, spotting a box wrapped in black paper with a bright red bow. She grabs it, then makes a big production of peering at the tag attached to the ribbon, reading aloud with a blush, "To Killian, from Emma."
With another grin, this one decidedly more impish, she holds out the box to him. He stares at it, a lump in his throat that makes it impossible to speak. When he can finally breath again, he leans forward and kisses her, tenderly, one hand holding her gift and the other gripping the back of her head as he plunders her mouth. When he pulls away, her green eyes glitter with a hunger he knows all too well. He gives her a salacious grin, one that makes her blush deepen before she playfully pushes him back and away.
Clearing his throat, he begins to unwrap the box, prying the tape up and keeping the paper intact, not wanting to tear into it despite the way his fingers tremble with excitement. He sets the paper aside to find an elaborate box inside, large enough to fill his palm. It's a work of art itself and he admires it, the carved wood stained a beautiful dark brown. Inspecting the carvings on the lid, he discovers an intricate globe, the details exquisite. Then he's raising the lid to peer inside and finds a golden compass nestled in midnight blue velvet.
"It's so you can always find me," Emma says softly. He glances up, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. "You know, in case you ever lose your way and need a little help finding home again."
Tears blur his vision and he blinks hard, breaking their gaze to look back at the compass. It's ornate, obviously an antique. He wonders at its value, hoping she hadn't spent too much of her hard-earned money. Lifting it from the velvet, he marvels at its heft. There are intricate markings carved onto the compass's face along with the expected arrow, currently pointing at Emma in an amazing coincidence. A thick chain hangs down from a mooring at the top and when Killian flips it over, he finds words etched into the tarnished gold.
You and me, Jones
"Emma," he chokes out, looking up once again, not bothering to blink back his tears this time. Then he's kissing her, thanking her with each press of mouth to mouth, the compass gripped tight in his hand.
"Do you...do you like it?" The words come out muffled since he's still kissing her, but he stops long enough to press their foreheads together and reassure her that he absolutely loves it. She grins wide, her uncertainty falling away and then she's returning kiss for kiss. She manages to explain - once he's finally had his fill of her mouth - that she'd found it in a local antique shop, the owner telling her it was a rare find and that it had no doubt led its owners to great adventure in its lifetime.
"He sounds like quite the salesman," Killian comments, carefully pressing the compass back into the velvet confines of its box and snapping the lid shut. He hands it back to Emma and she places it under their tree, turning to him with a smile.
"He was an interesting guy. I'll have to take you in there sometime."
"We'll make an afternoon of it. Treasure hunting?" She laughs and then he's pointing under their tree. "Looks like you forgot one, love."
Turning back around, she spots the box he'd hidden under the tree the night before, partially concealed by a few low hanging tree limbs. She shoots him a confused look over her shoulder then extricates the box and pulls it into her lap. It's small, wrapped in white with a silver bow on top.
His heart is racing; she has no way of knowing how significant this gift is. Swallowing over the sudden emotion lodged like a rock in his throat, he watches as she slowly opens it, lifting the tape carefully from the paper and not allowing anything to tear, exactly as he had done. It doesn't take her long to remove the wrappings and then she's staring down at a small box of her own, the black velvet making her skin appear to glow in contrast. Shooting him a wary look, she lifts the lid with shaking fingers.
"Oh, Killian, it's beautiful," she whispers, reaching inside to lift out the ring. It has a slim silver band, the metal twisted like tendrils of ivy growing around each other. Nestled in a square setting is a ruby that catches the light as Emma shifts it in her fingers, the gem's surface a deep, unblemished red.
"It was my mother's. I've had it since she passed. She meant...she meant the world to me and whenever I see that ring, I remember how much she loved me and...I want you to remember when you look at it - to know without a doubt - how much I love you."
A single tear slips down her cheek and then she's leaning into him, kissing him sweetly and muttering one thank you after the other, much as he had done only minutes before. When she finally pulls away to slip the ring on her right hand, Killian's heart feels like its going to burst out of his chest. He smiles then presses a kiss to her knuckle, right above where his mother's ring now sits on her hand.
Most of what they'd possessed before this holiday had burned in a terrible fire, but that's really okay because he wishes for nothing more than what they have now, between them. He realizes, perhaps for the first time, that happiness is not objects like rings or compasses, but the intent and the emotion behind the giving of them. It's the morning spent drinking coffee in bed with a woman he loves more than life. It's a holiday spent together, enjoying the peace and quiet of an uneventful day.
It's this, with Emma, sharing gentle touches and passionate kisses and whispered words of love. It's sharing every day with her, working toward redemption and peace with her encouraging hand in his.
This is what he wants, a life with Emma, and he's determined to fight for it, as Mary Margaret had encouraged him to do. It might be hard and somedays, it's not pretty, but if all that work means waking up to her beside him, it's worth it all.
He makes three trips during the week between Christmas and New Year's. The first is to meet with Dr. Hopper. It's a two hour session, but at the end of it, his mind is made up about what needs to happen next. If he'll ever be worthy of Emma, he needs to atone for the sins he's committed. And maybe during that journey, he'll learn how to forgive himself.
He feels as if his feet are already on that road to redemption and now, it's time to take the first step.
The next trip he makes is to meet with the Nolans. They've decided, now that their second child is on the way and their lives are no longer in danger, that a change of scenery is in order. Killian meets up with them as they tour a farmhouse on the outskirts of town, a beautiful home with acres of land and a large barn. He meets them out front, all three Nolans bundled up, cheeks pink from the cold. Their happiness is easy to spot, their small family beaming at him as he parks the jeep and joins them.
I helped do that, he thinks, watching with pride as David hands Leo over to Mary Margaret. She waves to Killian and takes the toddler over to inspect the horses, Leo's soft cries of excitement filling the air as they meander toward the paddock together.
"He'll have a grand time growing up on a farm like this."
"I hope so. We put in an offer this morning." David watches his wife and child for a moment then turns to Killian, frowning. "I'd say you were looking well, but you look like you're recovering from a gunshot wound."
"Thanks, mate."
"How you're feeling?"
"Surprisingly well, given everything."
"And Emma?" At this question, Killian beams, thinking of the lovely woman he's left at home, burning pancakes and promising him that by the time he's back, there'll be a perfect stack waiting for him. She has sketchy cooking skills on the best of days, but he knows no one else is as determined as Emma Swan to accomplish a goal when she sets her mind to it. He has faith she'll accomplish it and maybe even add some eggs and bacon to the meal as well.
"Emma is perfection and I'd very much like to return to her, so let's make this quick." David nods, curious about Killian's intentions. He leads him to the porch steps and they sit, which Killian appreciates. His slowly recovering body is aching today from the chill in the air.
"I've come to ask a favor," he starts. David waits patiently for him to continue, employing those keen listening skills he'd learned as a cop. It allows Killian to lay out his plan without worry that David will interrupt, which makes it easier.
There's a pause when he finishes and then David asks, "Will Emma understand?"
Killian shakes his head, staring at his clasped hands and contemplating the seams of his leather gloves before looking up toward the horizon and replying, "I have to make amends for what I've done. She deserves a man who can come to her with a clear conscience, mate, and right now, that's not me."
"And what if this all goes terribly wrong?"
"Well, she'll need her friends then, won't she?" Killian turns back to David and looks directly into his eyes. It only takes a moment before David gives him a simple, brief nod of assent.
"Then she'll have them," he says, adding, "You both will."
The last trip he makes is to the hospital for a checkup. He receives a glowing bill of a health and a reminder to take each day carefully, to listen to his body and not push himself unnecessarily. Physical activity is still limited, but he's given the go ahead to engage in a few more illicit activities, within reason. He thinks mildly as he shakes the doctor's hand that reason has nothing to do with his plans for Emma Swan.
Despite the fact that he now knows what happens next for him, he waits a few days to tell Emma, wanting more time with her - simple, happy time, just the two of them. They spend nearly every waking hour together during that week. David had given Emma the week off to relax, which she does, taking frequent naps curled into Killian's side. He knows she hasn't slept much lately. Between worrying about him and waking with each of his nightmares, she's barely slept a full night in the past month. So, he lets her sleep as often and as deeply as she wants, reading at her side when she drifts off each afternoon.
He lets her sleep in then brings her breakfast in bed. They cook together, go grocery shopping, poke around their rented home like two kids on an expedition. They go on evening walks around their neighborhood, bundled up and giggling as they have snowball fights then kiss each other warm by the fire afterwards.
His body is ready for hers, but he holds back, wanting the moment when they finally cross back into that world of intimacy they'd enjoyed so fleetingly before Graham to be a special one.
They still haven't spoken about their future, haven't decided what to actually call their relationship, but he doesn't mind. She seems content without a label and he knows he's devoted to her regardless. It's enough to be included in the sphere for her influence on a daily basis and he would gladly orbit her for the rest of his days like this.
It's enough to be in her life. It's enough.
He finally calls Liam on New Year's Eve, taking his phone into the bedroom as it rings and rings. It's late on New Year's Day in London and when his brother finally answers the phone, he can hear exhaustion in his gruff hello.
"Brother," he says by way of greeting. His stomach is in knots, but he knows he needs to do this, that it's the start of his atonement. It's well past time for him to come clean to his older brother, to finally share the dark turn his life had taken after Milah.
Liam hears him out, uncharacteristically silent as Killian shares the truth of the past five years, revealing himself to be Captain Hook, the pirate at the head of Jolly Roger Enterprises, a name Liam is familiar with as head of a large shipping company. There's an almost deafening silence when Killian finishes telling him about Storybrooke and Emma.
His Emma...
When Liam speaks, his question takes Killian off guard. "You love her, don't you?"
It's a quiet question, one that holds no judgement, only simple curiosity and Killian finds it easy to answer in the affirmative.
"Aye, brother, I do."
"She's the one, then? The one to show you the error of your ways and help set you on the road to redemption?" Killian sighs, lifting his hand to rub over his face. It's uncanny, how close to the truth Liam has stumbled onto so easily.
"Aye." There's a pause and he can hear Liam take a deep breath, letting it out with a resigned sigh. "She sounds a lot like my Elsa. Strong and loving and absolute bloody perfection." Killian grins at that, nodding before he remembers that Liam can't see him.
"Aye. More than you know." He sighs, staring at the small Christmas tree beside their bed, the compass Emma had given him visible beneath the lights. "I know I've a lot to answer for, Liam, but I'm not running from it. I'm doing what I need to do to make things right and I...I needed to start with you. I never meant...I never meant to let you down, brother. I'm sorry."
His apology goes a long way toward smoothing the troubled waters between them. They spend a few more minutes chatting, Killian relaying the last of his plans to Liam, explaining what he's hoping to accomplish. Liam seems to understand why he feels the need to make this choice and when they finally finish their conversation, it's with a promise from his older brother to send the family lawyer to Killian on the next available flight from England.
Killian is not daft enough to turn away the help.
He rejoins Emma in the living room, his heart having found a measure of peace during his conversation with Liam. Turning his thoughts solely to Emma and their night together, he smiles as he joins her before the fireplace. They stay up late, drinking sparkling grape juice and eating Chinese food. They spread it all out over the coffee table, sitting on pillows on the floor, the television on as they watch the original Poseidon Adventure.
Emma's hair is up in a messy bun, her face free of makeup. She wears a pair of boy shorts and an oversized sweatshirt that says "Storybrooke High" in red and black letters with a fierce looking pirate beneath them. Her favorite pair of ratty slippers had burned in the cottage fire, so she wears a pair of thick woolen socks stolen from his clean laundry pile. He doesn't mind; they look cute on her, pulled up to her knees. He lounges in a pair of jeans and a black cashmere sweater, enjoying the feel of something other than flannel against his skin.
They turn the channel at midnight to watch the ball drop in Time's Square. They count down from ten, leaning into one another for a sweet kiss at midnight. The kiss evolves into something more and it's not long before he pulls her slight weight into his lap, nipping at her bottom lip as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He enjoys the warmth of her, the sound of her breath in his ears, the happy sigh she gives when she rests her forehead against his.
"Why'd you stop?" he whispers, smoothing a hand over her shoulder and tracing the line of her collarbone through the too large collar of her sweatshirt.
"No sex. Doctor's orders."
"Didn't I tell you, love? Clean bill of health. You can have your wicked way with me," he says with a smile and a waggle of his eyebrows. She pulls back, staring at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I wanted the moment to be right."
"And this is the moment?" He smiles at her, reaching up to trace the curve of her cheek before cupping her jaw. Eyes locked with hers, he gives her a slow and meaningful nod.
"I think it's a glorious way to start the new year, love. Don't you?"
January
He'd gladly have taken her there on the floor, but she's insistent they relocate to the bed. Once in their bedroom, they slowly undress each other, her fingers skirting the scars on his flesh. He pulls her attention away from them, prompting her to keep her eyes on his; he doesn't want either of them focusing on his wounds during this time together. They kiss languidly, mouths fitting together like an intricate puzzle. He could kiss her for hours, loves the way she puts such passion into each caress of tongue on tongue. She's a bloody marvel, his Swan, and there are many moments when he's simply trying to keep up with her passion.
She lays him down on the bed, giving him a look and telling him that while she appreciates his enthusiasm, she'll be doing most of the work tonight. Who is he to argue, he thinks, stretching out and watching as she takes her time worshiping his wrecked body. Soon enough, he's forgotten his scars and can only see the way she reacts to him, the moans she gives and the way she continually touches him, working him up until there's nothing left but his passion for her.
When she dips her head, hand around his base and teases the tip of him with her tongue, he curses and reaches for her. He'll never last if she takes him into her mouth, his tolerance for such an activity at an all time low. Whispering to her that she can save that pleasure for another time, he pulls her into his arms and helps her settle in his lap, mirroring the position that had led them here. He's suddenly clumsy, his need for her stealing his coordination. Their hands bump each other and she finally rests hers on his shoulders to let him do the work, giving him a flirty smile as he strokes his hand over himself in preparation.
"Mmm...I've missed you," she whispers and he groans when he looks up to find her gazing hungrily at his cock. The minx even licks her lips and he loses whatever self-control he has left. One hand on her hip, the other around his base, he doesn't bother to prep her, entering her on an awkward upward thrust.
The sudden heat and the tight press of her walls has him gasping, his head falling to rest against hers. She lets him breathe and then, she forces his head up to kiss her. It's all tongue and lips and lust and he moans into her, feeling every one of his nerve endings fire. It's too much and not enough; he wants to linger inside her for as long as she'll have him.
"This what you missed?" he asks, trying for suave and failing miserably. His words are breathed out on a wobbly gasp (he sounds completely wrecked), but she doesn't seem to mind how shaky he is. She simply hums, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders and holding him close. He remembers to ask if she's okay and she nods eagerly enough, rocking her hips experimentally, pulling back to watch the expression on his face as she does it.
She's gorgeous, he thinks, the lights from their small Christmas tree coloring her skin in purples, greens, blues, and pinks. Her hair has fallen out of its bun, the tangled and oddly twisted strands laying across her shoulders and covering her breasts. She continues to move, rising slightly in his lap then rolling back down. The slickness of her body eases his way and she envelopes him over and over to which he can do nothing but enjoy the ride.
It's when he feels her press butterfly kisses to his eyelids and along his cheekbones that he sobs out her name and finds her mouth again. The motion of his tongue matches that of their lower bodies. It becomes an all-consuming kiss that he puts his entire being into, wanting her to remember this sweetness long after he's gone.
Home, he thinks desperately as they make love to each other, this feels like home.
Tilting his hips up in time with her downward thrusts, he moans loudly, eyes opening to see her grimace in pleasure. She's bloody gorgeous, her body gathering sweat, her lips kiss swollen. There's the most amazing hitch in her breath every time he goes deep and he endeavors to hear it over and over, wanting more of her, of this intense pleasure. His head swims dizzily as he holds back his own climax with the barest control. It's been a while for him and his body is weakened from his injuries; he's finding it harder than usual to hold back. Sliding his hand from her hip to the apex of her body, he dips his thumb to her bundle of nerves, moving gently over her as she continues to ride him.
"Yeah," she encourages him, head falling forward to rest against his. "Like that. I want to come together." He continues to touch her as she's bid, feeling her movements slow as she concentrates on each swipe of his thumb over her clit. Her walls clench around him and feeling that first flutter, he gasps her name in question and she moans out, "I'm coming, Killian, fuck me."
Who is he to deny a request like that? He pumps into her, one had tight on her waist, the other playing between her thighs as she shudders in his arms. Her gripping heat brings forth a mighty groan of satisfaction from deep in his chest and it's not long before he falls, his own release triggered by hers. Ripping his mouth from hers to gulp in much needed air, his head drops to her neck. Hips stuttering, he presses his mouth to her pulse with the insane thought of trying to swallow her heartbeat and keep it with him forever. Everything tenses, his orgasm blinding him as it all surges forth into her lush body, his essence bathing her womb in a timeless, primal dance.
It's over faster than he'd hoped, his soul sated while his heart races in his ears. He lingers inside her, panting against her sweaty neck with his arms wrapped around her. He doesn't want this to end, never wants to let go of her. It's only when she begins to pull away that he finally lets his softening member slip from her warmth. He hisses as she pulls away, watching as she settles on her knees next to him, a blush on her cheeks when she looks into his lap and sees the mess they've made. He wonders if his seed is even now slipping from her body and the thought makes him immeasurably proud.
Instead of thumping his chest like a Neanderthal, he reaches out to cup the back of her head, his fingers slipping into the thick mass of her hair. He tugs her gently forward and brushes the sweetest of kisses to her swollen lips. It only lasts a second and when he pulls away, he smiles at her wistfully and whispers, "Just you and me, eh, Swan?"
She smiles then, tears caught in the corners of her eyes. She leans in, returning his sweet kiss with one of her own before replying on a sigh, "Yeah, just you and me, Jones."
It's only afterwards, when they lie in a naked tangle of limbs, his hand tracing the curve of her spine while hers dances over his heart that he asks if she'll take him to the cottage the next day. Her hand pauses and he feels her shift to look up at him, her head nestled on his shoulder. He lets the silence linger, his fingertips continuing to trip over her skin as she contemplates him.
"Sure. Any particular reason you want to see it?"
"To pay my respects," he replies simply. She doesn't press further, for which he's thankful.
They lay there for a while longer, the house settling around them, the wind blowing against the eaves. He knows if he were to get up out of bed, he could go to the window and see the ocean only a short distance away. It's something he loves about this house. He's a man comforted by the sea and while he doesn't need to spend his life on the water, it does soothe him to have it so close.
He'll miss it, but not as much as he'll miss the woman in arms.
He holds her and allows the thought of taking her sailing, of seeing her laugh into the wind with salt on her lips and sunshine on her skin, calm his fretful heart. He loses track of time, lying there, her body warm and supple against him as images of a happy future together fill his heart. He wants nothing more than to give this woman a million smiles, to keep her heart forever safe.
He only hopes that what he is about to do will not shatter it.
He wakes by degrees, the water running in the bathroom the first thing he becomes cognizant of. The thought of one last stolen moment of bliss with Emma is enough to get him out of bed and moving across the room. She'd left the door open slightly and steam billows out around the doorjamb. He knocks, not wanting to presume she'd like company. She answers, her voice husky, the sound causing his cock to harden instantly.
He strips and leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor before stepping into the shower. This stall isn't nearly as large as the one they'd had in the cottage, but there's still enough room for them both. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he presses his chest to her back, growling against the side of her neck. She's slick and wet and smells of candied vanilla.
"Morning, my love," he whispers in her ear, giving her earlobe a gentle nip.
"Hmm, morning." He can't stop touching her, sliding his palms over the flat planes of her stomach then up to cup her breasts. She hisses in pain and he stops caressing, her hands coming up around his to hold him still. "Careful. I'm sore this morning."
"You okay?"
"Yeah, they just get sensitive when I'm about to start my period," she explains. "I've been so stressed lately that everything's all out of whack, but I think I'm finally getting back on track."
"Should I not - "
"No, you can. Be careful, though, kay?"
"I shall endeavor to treat you with the utmost care, love. Like spun glass." He turns her in his arms, glancing down at her breasts, appreciating the way her nipples have hardened for him. "Like strands of gossamer silk." Licking his lips, he dips his head and laves attention on one peak then moves to the other, keeping his kiss gentle. "Like the rarest of treasures."
She sighs, her head falling back as he suckles her. "This okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it's good," she confirms, her fingers carding through his wet hair.
Keeping his mouth latched to one nipple, alternating as the mood takes him, he prompts her to lift her leg up on the ledge then slides his hand between the folds of her sex. She's not ready for him, so he takes his time, touching her deftly until her moans are as thick as the steam that hangs hazy around them. He has her turn forward again, bracing her hands on the shower wall and propping her leg on the ledge before he steps up behind her. With a few pumps of his cock, he enters her from behind, groaning to feel her around him once again, snug and slick.
"You feel amazing, love. I could stay like this forever."
"I forgot how it feels when you stretch me," she says over her shoulder. She chuckles breathlessly. "Fuck, it's good, Killian."
"Yeah? Doesn't hurt?"
"You'd never hurt me." He swallows hard at that, lifting his head to press his lips to her ear, hoping that in a few hours time, she'll still feel that way.
"Can you touch yourself for me, love? I love feeling you come on my cock," he says with a dirty little grin, his nose trailing along her cheek. She needs no further prompting, sliding one of her hands to her clit. Every once in a while she brings her fingertips back to slide over his flesh as he slides in and out of her. Every time she does it, he nearly loses his mind, gasping out her name like a plea for mercy. She hums then goes back to touching herself, using her body's natural lubricant to ease her way. He keeps one hand at her hip, the other gently massaging a plump breast.
"Close?" he asks when he feels her start to shudder in his arms.
"Yeah," she breathes out and he groans, concentrating on keeping his thrusts even for her. "Oh god," she moans as she falls, the word drawn out in the steamy air. He pumps his hips through it, groaning to feel her body's rhythmic grip and release, grip and release.
"God, that's it, love. Come for me," he groans out harshly, biting his lip to hold back the release building at the base of his spine. When she reaches back to touch him, trailing her fingers along his shaft as he slips in and out of her body, he loses all control. With several quick, deep thrusts he comes, crying out her name as his orgasm rips up his spine in a blinding pulse of pleasure.
When it's over, he slips free of her, reaching up to adjust the spray of the water then turning her in his arms to kiss her.
"I love you," she whispers. Desperation forces him to kiss her as the words die on her lips, arms wrapped around her tight. He almost tells her then, but selfish bastard that he is, he stays silent.
He wants more time with her, blissful and happy like this. Even if it's only for a few hours more...
They dress and eat breakfast, Emma mentioning them possibly having lunch with the Nolans later that day. He knows that won't be happening, but he doesn't burst her bubble, giving non-committal grunts as he eats his eggs. They bundle up for their trip to the lake; it's another blustery winter day, the ground dusted with snow and the wind blowing in many directions. It'll be worse by the lake, so they grab their thickest coats, gloves, hats, and scarves, boots heavy on their heels as they exit the house.
He lets Emma drive in order to make sure that when they finally exit the jeep, she'll have her keys. She'll need them to get home later. Checking his watch, he notes that he'll have about thirty minutes once they arrive to explain what's happening. His heart is pounding in his ears, making it hard to hear anything but his own anxiety.
She parks fairly close to the burnout wreck of the cottage. They exit the jeep, Emma grimacing as he joins her. "Okay, love?" he asks, wondering if she somehow senses what's about to happen.
"Yeah, just a little heartburn. I guess those eggs didn't agree with me." She smiles, slipping her hand into his. They stand and stare at the ruins of the cottage together before finally wandering down to the dock. He's not sure what lures him there, to the place where he'd almost died. Emma is silent next to him, a frown curving down the corners of her mouth.
They walk all the way down to the chairs and the portable fire pit at the end of the dock. The ropes that had tied him to the chair are gone, no doubt taken by the police. Killian can still feel the chafe of them around his wrists, the red marks they'd left behind now faint strips of pink. He only looks a moment longer before turning his eyes to the black lake, to the gray sky and the mountains beyond, the only witnesses to what he and Emma had endured all those weeks ago.
"Do you remember the day we met?" he asks suddenly, turning away from the bleak winter landscape to glance at her. She's wearing a thick red coat, wool, with large black buttons down the front. A black hat is pulled low over her ears, covering the wrinkles he knows are on her forehead as she watches him.
"Of course I do."
"And the day after that? When you met me on this dock and said you'd marry me?" She smiles faintly, tilting her head as she gazes out over the water.
"God, you were annoying. So full of yourself and doing everything you could to push my buttons. It was irritating. And scary." She looks back at him and he gives her a wistful look, seeing her in his mind's eye as she was back then, guarded, her hands curled up inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt, green eyes shooting sparks at him as she dared him to be trustworthy.
"It was all a facade, you know," he tells her now, shuffling his feet in the snow and facing her fully. "Underneath all my wit and charm was a lonely man who was afraid he was unworthy of love."
"Killian?" She frowns again, reaching out to grasp one of his gloved hands. "What's going on? Why did you bring me out here?" He sighs, knowing he can't hold back any longer. He has to tell her what comes next.
He asks her to sit, gesturing to the chair not stained with his blood, the one she'd sat in all those months ago when they'd agreed to David's crazy plot. He doesn't think she will at first, but when he squeezes her hand and bobs his head in encouragement, she goes, sitting on the very edge, feet planted together, gloved hands resting on her knees. He hunkers down before her, reminded again of the first real conversation they'd shared out here, how guarded she'd been, how jaded he was. He'd known even then that this woman would be the cause of a change in him, a reckoning of sorts that would bring his sinful life crashing down around him. He'd welcomed it then and he welcomes it now, wanting nothing more than this woman always pushing him to be better.
Reaching for her hands, he grips them and peers up at her, noting that the tip of her nose has turned bright red since they'd journeyed down to the water.
"You asked me why I brought you here." She nods, saying nothing, but holding his hands as tightly as he holds hers. He looks behind her, to the burned out remains of the cottage, to the wreck of the home where he'd irrevocably fallen in love with her. Turning back to her, he finds her green eyes damp, her long lashes clumped together. A tear breaks loose from the corner of her eye and she swipes at it impatiently.
"In a few minutes, David and Leroy will be here. I'll be...leaving and while I'm gone, I need you to think about something for me."
"Leaving?" she whispers, confused. He squeezes her hands tighter, suddenly finding tears in his own eyes as he blinks up at her.
"Aye, love, I need to go away and make amends for the life I lived before I met you."
"I don't...I don't understand."
"I know...just hear me out, aye? I've been struggling with some things recently. While my encounter with Graham certainly didn't help matters, the feelings of guilt and self-recrimination were in my head long before he ever was." He sighs, looking down to their clasped hands and trying to find his bearings. "As you know, I've been talking to Archie and working through a lot of that. It's helped, those talks, but at the end of the day, I still have to answer for what I've done. Emma, I've hurt a lot of people and I...I need to make up for that."
"But you're not that person anymore," she says, clinging to his hand, desperation in both her voice and her grip.
"You have no idea how easy it would be to fall back into the darkness, love, how close I came the night I met Milah on that ship." He looks up at her, seeing his anguish reflected in her watery eyes. "I'm not strong like you, Emma. You've always chosen the right path, no matter the consequence to yourself. You're a truly good person, with the purest heart. If I'm sure of nothing else in this life, it's that being loved by you is the greatest treasure I've ever had the good fortune of finding." He lifts one hand and then the other, leaving kisses on her leather clad knuckles before looking back into her face.
"You don't...you don't have to leave," she whispers, her voice scratchy and tear-filled. He sighs, hating that he's putting her through this, but knowing that he can't change his mind. Not if they are ever truly meant to be happy together.
"When Graham held me captive here, there were moments during that time when I saw myself in him. The anger and the jealousy, the desire to conquer everyone and everything. To take revenge against those who had wronged me. I've come to realize, that it hasn't been the specter of Graham Humbert I've been fighting the past few weeks, Emma, it's been me."
"Oh, Killian," Emma mutters, loosening one of her hands to cup his cheek. He smiles, pressing a kiss to her palm.
"I need to turn myself in to the authorities, Emma. I've talked it over with David and told him what I intend to do. Graham's file, the one he'd put together on my alter ego Captain Hook, burned in the fire. It was never turned over to the FBI with the other records we provided to them and I could've faded into the background, left Jolly Roger Enterprises to Smee and returned to my life as Killian Jones, but that...that feels like the coward's way out."
"But if you turn yourself in, you'll be arrested. I mean...won't you?"
"I suppose there's always the chance of that, but I've retained a good lawyer. Liam helped me arrange it, sent me one of the best solicitors in England. My plan is to provide the FBI with whatever evidence they need to secure their case against Gold. It's my way of making amends for the contributions I've made over the years to the criminal world. And, well, to Milah, I suppose. She sacrificed much to keep me safe and I squandered that when I turned to a life of crime. She sacrificed her life to warn me, to keep you safe, and I intend to do right by her. To do right by both of you."
The tears have built up in Emma's eyes and she does nothing to prevent them from falling fast and furious. Her nose is now painfully red and shiny. She sniffles, reaching up to wipe away the moisture on her upper lip. She looks for all the world like a lost little girl and his heart aches to know he's the one to be causing her such pain. When she finally speaks, her words cut him to the quick. If he hadn't already been on his knees, he surely would have fallen to them upon hearing the tremble in her voice, the betrayal.
"You're leaving me. Like everybody else. Running away when things get hard."
"Emma, I'm not. I swear it. I need to take care of this and then I'll come back to you. We can have a future together. I want that, I want you more than anything I've ever wanted. I want to marry you, for real this time, and spend our days building a life. I want children...I mean...if you want them and if not, then we'll travel the world together. Or we can live here in Storybrooke, if you want."
"How can you offer me a future when you don't know what happens once you turn yourself over to the FBI?" she demands, her chin coming up in a defiant slant.
"I have hope that it will all work out okay."
"Hope?" She snorts, rolling her eyes. "God, you sound like Mary Margaret."
"I'll take that as a compliment." He smiles, wiggling his eyebrows and she snorts again, pulling her hands from his to wrap around herself, throwing up a physical barrier between them. Keeping his hands on her knees for balance, he stares up into her face. He becomes aware of movement behind them and glancing around her chair, he spots David walking to the edge of the dock, Leroy a few paces behind him.
He doesn't have much time.
"I know we haven't talked about what we want going forward and I know this is horrible timing, but Emma, you have to know you're all I want. A happy future together, just you and me, if you'll have me." He reaches for her hand, her left, prying it from around her body to hold in his own. Staring into her eyes, he adjusts his position so that he's down on one knee then clears his throat. "I know I asked you to marry me here once before, but this time, I'm doing it for real.
"Emma Swan, will you marry me?"
She finally looks down at him, her eyes wide with shock. She sniffles, shaking her head. "This is the moment you choose to ask me that?"
"I don't want you to think I'm not coming back to you. Because I am. I will always come for you." The tears in his eyes break free and she watches them fall. "God, Emma, I love you."
"Oh, Killian," she whispers. She shakes her head, breathing fast and heavy through her tears. "I don't need a proposal to convince me of that."
Suddenly, she's pushing off her seat, falling to her knees before him, both of them kneeling in the snow. With tears glistening on her cheeks, she holds his face in her hands and stares deep in his eyes. "I don't need you to do this. I know you've changed, that you're not the man you were. I don't need you to make this kind of sacrifice to prove it to me." She sighs, shaking her head. "But I know you feel you have to do this. I know that until you believe in yourself and believe in your good heart, we'll never be able to make a go of this relationship."
She smiles then, a tender sweet smile. Bowing his head, he holds back the tremble in his voice as he attempts to tell her how much he loves her. "I'll do whatever I can to be the man you want, Emma."
"I don't want you to be someone for me, Killian. I've never wanted that from you, from anyone. I know who you are, who you truly are, and all I want is for you to be happy within your own skin. You can't be someone because you think it's what I want. You have to want to be this person. Otherwise, you'll come to resent me and then we truly will be lost to each other."
"Emma," he whispers, lifting his head to look once more into her gorgeous green eyes. She thumbs at his cheeks, catching his tears as they slip down his face.
"When you find what you're looking for, come back to me," she says, green gaze flicking back and forth as she stares into his eyes. "I'll be here. I'll always be here." She kisses him then, a brief one that still manages to warm him from head to toe.
He has one last thing to tell her and he pulls back slightly from her kiss. Wiping her tears away, he tells her that their rented house is hers. A gift. She shakes her head in denial and he smiles, leaning forward to press another kiss to her mouth.
"Maybe someday we'll rebuild the cottage here or maybe we'll find another location, but for now, we have a home of our own making, right in town. The couple who were renting it to us have been wanting to sell for a while and we've been so happy there...you've been so happy there, that I couldn't resist. Don't worry, it was lawfully purchased with my own money. None of my pirate booty to secure the deed."
"Killian...it's too much."
"Hush," he whispers, cutting off any more of her protests. "It will do my heart good to think of you there, safe and sound while I'm away." Her hands curl into the lapels of his coat and she tugs him forward, pressing another kiss to his lips.
"When you come back," she whispers when the kiss has ended, "ask me again." He doesn't need to ask what she means. He gives her a brief nod then helps her to her feet, catching her hand in his own and turning her toward the cottage. David stands at the end of the dock, legs spread and arms crossed over his chest. He looks as solid and heroic as ever, his knee mended enough now that he no longer needs the crutch.
Leroy stands back, glaring at Killian as if he's none too sure how to react to the man. Killian can understand that, although as he walks past the two of them, he gives the burly older man a salacious wink that earns him a cursed mumble of annoyance.
Worth it, he thinks as escorts Emma away from the water.
They say their goodbyes at the jeep, Emma sniffling and holding on to his coat for several heartrending moments. She sobs when they part and he promises once again to return to her, kissing her brow tenderly as he says it.
"I don't...I don't know how to say goodbye," she chokes out when he takes a step back. She shuffles after him, her hands still wrapped around the lapels of his coat. He chuckles, stepping back into her and pressing another kiss to her forehead.
"Then don't, love." They hold each other for a few more seconds then David holds open the door to the police cruiser for him. He gives Emma one more lingering kiss, whispering in her ear that he loves her then he gently removes her grip from his coat, letting her hands drop to her sides.
The last thing he sees when he looks behind them is Emma at the side of the jeep, her hand raised in a final goodbye, the wind catching her hair and making it dance. The lake, a black mirror dotted with ice, is in the background, the sky gray above it and the mountains topped with white in the background. He blinks once and it's all gone, lost as the car drives into the woods, enveloping them in black.
This chapter was such an important one, for several reasons. It mirrors a lot of the Dark Hook moments, extending into Underworld Killian as well. More important than all that, though, is Killian admitting he needs help processing what happened with Graham and also the issues he hadn't dealt with prior to that. I really loved the positive view of counseling that was shown in the most recent season of the show and wanted to incorporate it here as a healthy way to deal with trauma.
The ruby ring is a reference to Liam's ring, of course, and Killian's sacrifice in this story is him giving himself up to the authorities instead of, you know, being stabbed through the heart by his lover. Also, I completely referenced the painful goodbye scene from Firebird because, well, I'll never be the same after watching that moment.
One chapter left. It's Emma's POV as we wrap up this epic love story.