Eight
Emma wakes with a start to the sharp and abrupt sound of Henry's crying.
The next thing she hears is thunder, booming as soon as she opens her eyes. Rain pounds against the roof and slaps the windows while the wind howls and moans like a wailing woman.
The room is dark and warm, and she immediately runs her fingers through her hair, feeling just a little bit disoriented.
She'd fallen asleep feeling dejected and upset by Killian's declaration, wondering why she'd even felt that way when in her mind she knew it made not one lick of sense.
Now, with a storm raging just beyond the four walls of the tiny house on an island, she feels small and alone.
"Bloody hell," Killian's voice carries from the other room.
He bolts into the bedroom with his clothes thrown on, his scarf and coat hanging unfastened, and he calls out, "Lights aren't on. I'll be back- just-"
She furrows her brow, listening as the man hurries back out of the room and closes the front door with a crash.
Emma lifts Henry into her arms as a roll of thunder washes them over. It's so weird that it can storm in the middle of a week filled with cold weather and snow.
"Hey, shh," Emma bounces him a little. "Henry, it's okay. I'm here."
She carries him into the kitchen as best as she can and starts to prepare him a bottle, not wanting to wait an eternity for Killian to come back.
She continues to try and quiet the sobbing child while she waits for the milk to warm up on the stove and finds herself aggravated, because honestly, she could be anywhere but here right now.
She has a fussing baby in her arms, in the middle of a thunderstorm.
Tears find her eyes as she's reminded of the very impressive fact that she isn't at home.
She isn't a phone call away from her mother's soothing voice.
She isn't a car drive away from her comfy bed or from Granny's grilled cheese and onion rings.
She isn't anywhere close to people she cares about at all.
She is on an island, with a man with whom she has quite possibly the most complicated relationship with, and she has to take care of someone else's crying kid, just because it's what fate wanted for her.
Her heart races and her stomach churns as she blinks hot tears free, streams gliding down her cheeks as quickly as they start to fall.
All she wants is a warm hug from her father and a mug of hot cocoa from her mother. Maybe even one of those ancient black and white movies they always end up putting new words to just for fun.
Emma takes a shaky breath, trying to steady herself again as she pours the warm milk into the bottle and she turns the stove off before taking Henry to the table to feed him. She bites down on the inside of her lower lip and sniffs, wiping her eyes and cheeks on her shoulder.
She isn't sure how long after she burps him she sits there, watching his little face as he falls asleep to the sound of the tossing world around them.
She's still so overwhelmed and she swallows at the lump in her throat to no avail, blinking out more tears.
The door squeals when it opens and she shuts her eyes, because Killian can't see her like this. The air is cold when it blows in from the outside and she only gets relief a moment later when the door closes again with a gentleness as if he'd closed it himself.
Emma opens her eyes away from him, wiping at her eyes with her hand with haste, pulling on a weak smile when she faces him again.
He shucks off his coat and scarf, everything about him soaking wet, and kicks off his boots.
"Is he okay?" he asks softly.
Emma looks down at the boy and nods, pushing back the chair a little as she stands.
She avoids Killian when she goes back into the bedroom. She puts Henry down into his bed and sits beside him on the floor, clasping her hands in between her thighs to warm them.
She doesn't want anything but home right now and home is three weeks away.
Killian enters the room a few minutes later, as if sensing that something has changed in her all of a sudden.
She keeps her gaze fixed on the sleeping little boy, envisioning her mother's smile and her father's warmth wrapped around her in a hug. It doesn't help as much as she wants it to.
"What's wrong, love?" Killian drops beside her, his face filled with worry.
Emma shakes her head. Nervously, she pulls at her sleeves and keeps her focus on Henry. "I just… I want to go home and I can't."
Tears come sliding out of her eyes and down her cheeks and Emma sniffs, closing her eyes to let more tears out.
"Time will go by much faster than you think."
Lower lip trembling, she takes a shaky breath, unable to speak.
Finally, she manages, "My parents probably think I'm dead."
Through blurry vision, she feels him reach out for her. His touch is hesitant and she flinches a little at first, but then relents, sliding into him as his arm goes around her shoulders.
He holds her while she cries and she feels no closer to better than she did a few minutes ago. The only solace she has is that the tears are done and her breathing has evened out again.
When Emma pulls away, she stares at Killian and breathes a laugh as she wipes at her eyes. "I don't usually cry like this. Sorry."
Killian reaches out to run his hand down her arm a few times, as if she needs him to warm her up.
"What happened to you is a tragedy." he says, his voice as gentle as she's heard it, "You're injured, on an island in the middle of the ocean, stranded here until help comes. You're allowed to feel upset. Trauma is painful."
Emma's chest heaves with a gasp of a breath, feeling understood, somehow.
"Would you like a hot cocoa?" his words are practically whispered in the midst of the crashing storm around them. "Might help you sleep."
His suggestion almost makes her cry again, but she manages to hold it together, instead nodding vigorously before Killian rises from the floor and walks out of the room.
Emma has another long look at Henry, wondering for the millionth time just who his parents are and why he was just washed ashore in a basket.
When Emma walks into the kitchen, the storm outside beats loudly against them and rings louder in her ears than it had before. She wraps her arms around her chest and has a seat at the kitchen table while Killian busies himself at a nearby counter.
It takes him all of thirty seconds before he turns around with a mug in his hand. He carries it to the table, sets it down in front of her, and then sits next to her.
It's probably the most comforting thing she'll get here on this island.
Emma smiles thankfully and wraps her hands around the mug. She stares down at the whipped topping and cinnamon. For someone who has tried to show time and again that he doesn't care, Killian definitely has shown her he does.
"Did Henry come with a note or anything that gave any clues about where he's from?" she asks, looking back up at Killian.
He seems surprised by her question, but then furrows his brow in thought. "I don't think he did. I didn't think to look, actually."
Emma shrugs. "Maybe his basket-?"
Killian doesn't need her to finish her statement. He stands up and goes to go find the basket he'd tucked away somewhere with Emma's soiled shoes.
In the meanwhile, she has a sip of her cocoa and thinks about the first thing she'll want to do once she's home again. Probably sleep for as long as she possibly can. She misses the comfort of her own bed, in her own room.
"Well, this is a surprise," Killian pulls her out of her meditation.
He holds a small envelope wrapped in a plastic bag in his hands. He promptly undoes the packaging that's secured with tape as if to keep it waterproof.
"How'd you miss it before?" Emma asks. Curiosity rises within her and she feels nerves in the pit of her belly, as if this is going to change anything about their situation at all.
Killian shakes his head. "The boy was crying. Besides, it was hidden on the bottom of the basket, out of sight."
Emma nods in understanding. She watches on bated breath as Killian scans the front of the envelope.
"To whom it may concern," he reads. He tears open the envelope and folds open a small note written on what looks like notebook paper. "To whom it may concern: I hereby relinquish my son to whomever reads this letter. I can't take care of him. It was never something I wanted. I never even gave him a name. I hope you'll give him a name and a future that I never could. I realize placing his basket in the sea seems like a stupid idea, but I think the sea will bring him home."
Emma watches Killian look up at her after flipping the page over, as if searching for an end to the note. She shakes her head slowly. "So… his mom's a mess."
Killian raises his eyebrows. He sighs heavily and sits down again, settling the note down on the table. "I guess you could say so." He glances up at her as she sips her drink. "Do you want to keep him?"
Her heart jumps once again in her chest.
Of course she's thought about it. She's thought about what she'd do if she got home and had the chance to keep him. They'd probably move into a little house and Emma could paint his bedroom and in a few years they could get a puppy or a kitten that would lick his toes and make him giggle uncontrollably.
"Um…" Emma takes a deep, thoughtful breath. "Yeah." She smiles a little and brushes her hair behind her ears. "I mean, if you don't-"
"No," Killian says, doing that pathetic thing he does, smiling half-heartedly before losing it completely. "Can't very well raise a child out here."
Emma stares at him in silence. Rain crashes against the roof and thunder rumbles nearby. She can hear the chaos in the midst of this night and she knows it'll be impossible to sleep.
"I don't suppose the TV works in the middle of thunderstorms, huh?"
Killian laughs once. "No, most certainly not." He straightens up. "But I do have playing cards if you'd like to play a game."
Emma holds open her mouth thoughtfully. She shrugs, not sure what else they could do with their time. She's not tired anymore and the storm would probably keep her up if she tried sleeping.
"Sure."
/
Killian lets her win, but he doesn't tell her that. He likes the way her eyes light up, and how she laughs every time victory finds her side.
"I win again," Emma grins.
She sets her hands down on the table and Killian groans playfully in defeat. "Damn. I was quite close that time, wasn't I?"
The storm still rages on, but he can tell Emma's getting tired. She cracks a yawn and he can't help but mirror the action.
He eyes her afterward, tilting his head back. "Are you ready for bed, then?"
Emma smiles softly. "Hmm. Yeah. What time is it?"
Killian shakes his head. "It's definitely too late for us to be awake. I know that for certain."
She yawns again, shorter this time, and eases herself onto her feet. She's getting better at walking on her own, and he thinks her leg might be healing faster than they anticipated.
Regardless, she waits for him to catch her under his shoulder and he helps her into the other room. The contact makes his stomach flip more than it usually does- probably the result of spending far too much time making eyes at each other and laughing the night away.
"Did you let me win?" Emma wonders.
Killian scoffs. "What kind of a man do you take me for?"
She looks up at him with a wry smile on her lips. "As one who would let me win because I'm feeling homesick."
Emma stops moving, so he has to as well. His arm falls away from her and she turns toward him.
She tilts her head to the side as if she's disappointed in him. "You know I didn't need you to do that."
"I thought it would help you feel better," Killian admits with a sigh. He watches her smile kindly. "Did it?"
Emma shrugs. "A little. I guess."
She searches his eyes and he loses himself in the way her eyes crease at the corners and how gentle the blush colors her cheeks. She's so beautiful. He's never noticed it before, really, how completely radiant she looks even with tiredness weighing her eyelids low.
Emma looks away for a moment and returns her gaze as she speaks, "When I get back home, I have to see someone I don't really want to see."
Killian raises his eyebrow. "Oh?"
Emma nods. "His name's Neal. We used to date but we broke up-" She grimaces, not wanting to get into it. "Anyway, he wants to get back together because he swears he's different."
She pauses, this time examining him with a thoughtful glint in her eyes. "I think I was going to say yes, before I ended up here."
Her admission has his head spinning.
"What changed?"
Emma laughs quietly through her nose and shrugs. "I don't know. Something about being stuck with nothing but my thoughts and Henry…"
She pauses, clearly dealing with something in her heart. She searches his eyes and her jaw tightens just a little.
Killian's heart softens. He smiles. "You love that boy more than you thought you would."
Emma has tears in her eyes as she nods. "Yeah."
He watches her carefully. She doesn't look away from him for a second, as if he's more interesting than her drowsiness.
Killian, feeling as if he should say something, clears his throat and shrugs. "I admit, I've grown more attached to him with time."
She laughs again at that. "That's good." Emma stares at him in silence, their bodies swaying closer together than before. He doesn't think he breathes. "Killian, I-"
Before he knows what's going on, Emma has her fingers gripping his shirt and her lips are on his.
He shuts his eyes and delights in the feeling swelling up inside him. Her fingers slide away from his shirt, instead finding a grip in his hair so they can wreck him in the best way.
Killian hears her sighs mix with his own, starts feeling absolutely drunk on the feeling of Emma, and that's when he pulls away, breathing heavy as he rests his forehead against hers.
"Emma-" he tries, cursing himself for enjoying that as much as he did. He manages to open his eyes and finds her staring back at him timidly.
"Sorry," she murmurs, shaking her head. "I thought... I thought we were on the same page."
She sucks in a breath and steps away from him.
It only takes her a few steps to get into his bedroom and in that time, his heart and brain both absolutely scream at him that it's a mistake if he lets her go to sleep thinking he doesn't want her as much as he does.
Gods above, he wants her. Every part of him physically aches with grief and frustration that he could allow her to walk away from him now.
Killian presses his fingertips to his lips. He can still feel the gentle press of her tongue on his lower lip, can still feel her warm body pressed against his.
"Bloody hell," he grumbles, slumping down on the couch. He rakes his fingers through his hair angrily. "You've ruined it."
He almost gets up to promise Emma that her advances weren't in vain, but then he thinks about where they'll be at the end of this. She's going home, to America, and he's never going to leave this place.
"You don't have to do that, you know," Killian mutters to himself, playing the devil's advocate on behalf of himself. "You could go with them."
He likes the picture he sees in his mind's eye. A family. He, Emma, and Henry.
Killian tosses onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.
He thinks of Liam and of the time they'd put into this place. He thinks of Milah and his unborn child. He thinks of leaving all of those memories behind. It would be wrong to abandon them on the island.
Wouldn't it?