Nine
In the morning, Emma wakes to an unusual smell. Well, for her time on the island, unusual.
She bites her lip as her eyes squint open, gazing over at the window that allows a soft white light through the curtains and into the bedroom. She sighs as she stretches, thoughts of the night prior fresh in her mind.
Part of her wants to hole up in the bed for the rest of the day, to hide from Killian and any awkwardness that might exist now. But she decides to be stronger than that. Their kiss, while it certainly hadn't had the ending she'd hoped for, wasn't a mistake.
Emma sits up, wrapping a blanket over her shoulders to go into the checks on Henry before she goes. He's still sound asleep, his little fingers twitching while he dreams.
When she enters the kitchen, Killian's standing by the stove with a pan and a spatula, looking every bit the scuffled morning mess he usually is.
His hair looks even worse now that it's cut, standing on end every which way. He's wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and she swears her breath doesn't catch at the sight of the muscles she finds herself wanting to run her fingers over.
He turns when he hears her feet against the floor and smiles a little. "Morning, love."
Emma smiles just a little in return. "Morning."
Everything about what's happening right now feels weird. He's usually out doing chores right about now and he never spends this much time cooking.
For breakfast, it's always usually something fast and easy, if anything at all, but instead, he has a single plate with two round pancakes sitting on top of it.
Killian tips his head toward the table. "Made you breakfast. Hope you like pancakes."
Emma goes to sit at the table. He brings a plate of two slightly undersized, lopsided pancakes to her. Nothing for him. He sits beside her, seemingly content with a glass of water that he doesn't touch.
"You're not eating? Again?"
Killian manages to smile. "Those are every last ounce of pancake mix from the back of the pantry, so… enjoy."
Her stomach gives a prompt grumble, making her helpless but to give into Killian's random act of kindness.
"Why aren't you out doing your chores?"
His gaze shifts to her and she feels as if she's caught him in the act, of what she isn't sure, because his expression is caught between deer in headlights and guilt.
He sits back in his chair. "We need to talk."
Emma narrows her eyes at him. "And are you bribing me with pancakes?"
He shakes his head. "No."
She presses her lips into a line and sets her fork down, wrapping up tighter in her blanket. She stares at him, letting him have the floor.
"There are a lot of things about this situation that aren't ideal," he says on a sigh, clearly having thought what he's saying through, "Food, Henry… the weather. The thing is, Emma, I have spent a long time on this island grieving and I haven't spent hardly any of it living."
Her heart jumps.
Killian sits forward again. "I'm sorry I..." He hesitates, then straightens out, meeting her eyes with purpose. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you this last night, but I want to be on the same page as you now."
Emma's heart begins to race again. Her eyes widen on their own accord. "What page is that?"
He takes a shaky breath. "I can't let anything happen between us. I'd rather forget it did and move on, actually."
Regret precedes embarrassment in her mind. She feels every ounce of hope draining from her in just a heartbeat.
He's staying here and she's leaving. It would never have worked. What was she thinking?
"I… it's okay," she insists on a false smile. She looks down at her plate. "It was a one time thing."
She would like to set fire to these Bribe Pancakes and to her memory, because now she has the distinct memories of what transpired in the middle of his living room flashing in her mind as she contemplates what this means for her and him.
His hair had been soft between her fingers, and his lips were gentle as he reciprocated the affection of her kiss. His hand on her hip, squeezing with each desperate gasp and sigh.
Emma hadn't been kissed like that in such a long time. Part of her knows he hadn't either.
"Yeah. Of course."
She tries not to seem rushed when she picks at her food to try and eat again, but she knows she's coming off like it. Frustrated, she sets her fork down and gets up from the table.
Killian catches her by the arm, looking her in the eye, demanding an answer but not asking any questions.
"Nothing can make the fact that we kissed disappear."
He furrows his brow. "Of course not,"
Emma's jaw tightens and she yanks her arm out of his hold. Unexpected tears fill her eyes and she groans a little, upset for getting so emotional over something so trivial.
"I'm sorry I'm not good enough."
She walks out of the house and straight into the cold morning as fast as she can, ignoring the pain that comes from her knee.
It's still fairly early in the morning, so the sun hasn't quite risen beyond the horizon yet. Her breath is a soft white cloud when she exhales and she folds her arms to her chest as she starts to walk toward the beach.
Maybe she is just an idiot. She shouldn't have kissed him in the first place.
No one ever thought she was good enough until David and Mary Margaret. Not even Neal really did.
She's never had a good relationship with a guy until this thing with Killian got to the point of smiles and teasing and comfortable a few days ago.
And now she's panicking, because she threw it all away when they kissed. It broke their relationship in half, sending them in a completely new direction.
And it's not like she'll ever be able to just forget about it. Especially if they're living together.
Emma stands at the shoreline where the water washes up in slow, rolling waves. The salt fills her lungs and the cold, crisp air stings, but it reminds her that she is still alive and that means she has less than three weeks to prove that very same fact to Killian.
The front door clatters shut after squeaking open behind her, but she doesn't turn around.
She stands there waiting for something- anything- before she hears his boots behind her and then she feels something warm being draped around her shoulders.
She reaches up instinctively and smiles a little in thanks at him over her shoulder while she slips her arms into the coat. He moves so he stands beside her, both of them looking away from each other.
Silence sits heavy between them for so long that she wonders if there's any point to him having joined her at all.
"I think you're good enough, Emma."
She turns her face to see him. He is looking out at the horizon, his eyes and jaw set.
"I don't know why I said that."
Killian turns to her, a perfect mixture of sorrow and grief in his eyes. "The reason I wanted to put it behind us was because I feared you would be the one to pull away."
She scoffs. "So you were being chivalrous, then?"
He shakes his head. "I'm just trying to say that neither of us were quite prepared for the repercussions and we need to take some space to figure it out."
Emma sighs. "And just what do you think should be done about that?"
She tugs at her coat and folds her arms.
"I think we should go back to the way things were." Killian says, but for some reason, she isn't sure if he believes what he's saying. "I'll take the couch. You and Henry in the bedroom. Chores in the morning and we don't see each other until lunch."
She stares at him, biting her cheek because she wants to refute that it is impossible to be back to the way things were. She's kissed those lips and she's felt his hair under her fingertips.
Somehow, he's ruined her for anyone else.
"Okay," she sighs, letting a cloud of white fill the space between them. "If that will make it better."
Killian gives her a pleading look. "Emma…"
Emma looks back at the ocean ahead of them. She tugs at her sleeves, trying to find the words she wants to speak.
"Do you think this happened for a reason?" Emma asks, the question not even necessarily for Killian, but for herself as well. "I could've drowned. Henry could've frozen." Turning to Killian, she finds his head tipped down, focused on kicking a rock on the shore. "But the ocean brought us here."
Her companion finally meets her gaze. "I don't know."
Taking a breath of the salty air, Emma shuts her eyes. "I'm sorry that we interrupted you."
She walks back to the house in silence and goes about her daily business after the door comes clattering against the doorframe.
They don't see each other until lunch and she forces herself to smile, forces herself to let go of all of the emotions she's feeling toward him and about him, and casually goes about her day, which mainly consists of reading his books and folding some laundry.
By the time dinner rolls around, she has tidied and re-tidied the entire place twice over and has set the table for grilled cheese she made for herself and for Killian, because dammit, she's not going to let him starve. He's an idiot for thinking she'd let that happen.
He comes back inside and sighs, obviously happy to be out of the cold. She has Henry in her arms at the table, feeding him as she reads over a play by Shakespeare that he's annotated quite liberally.
"Grilled cheese," she tells him, closing the book and setting it on the side of her plate by the wall. He looks at the plate and she can tell he's about to say something, so she speaks instead, "You're an idiot if you think I'm the kind of person who lets another human starve just so I can feel full. There's enough for both of us to have small meals. Just… no more pancake surprises."
They eat in silence and she bites her lip thoughtfully while she watches him finish.
"Did you go to college?"
He looks shocked by her question, a little confused, and then he shakes his head. "Straight into the Navy. Why?"
Emma takes the book and opens it up. "I've been reading a few of your books and I'm kind of blown away by all of these notes on the side. Do you like to read?"
She knows the answer to her own question. She's just digging.
He gives her a crooked smile. "Liam used to read a lot to me growing up." He looks down at the pages and hums. "Shakespeare. Very good taste, darling. Though, you could've picked a comedy. Macbeth is about as dark as they come." She watches with a small smile as he lifts the book and fingers over the pages. "Here we are. One of my favorites. The Taming of the Shrew. Lovely tale."
Emma hums, admiring the way his eyes shine as he reads over his own writing on the side.
"Have you ever written anything?"
Killian looks up at her and nods slowly, tentatively. "I've never shared with anyone, but I have."
She smiles softly. "I'm sure it's good, if what you write on the side of an already existing piece of work is good."
He chuckles in a self-pitying way. Clearly, he doesn't think so.
"Would you care to read some?" he asks, seeing that she won't let it go.
She nods.
Killian pushes back from the table and rises, going straight into the living area. When he returns, he holds a leather bound notebook in his hand, opened to a specific page that he reads from. He holds it to himself nervously as he sits down again.
"Promise you won't tease me."
Emma rolls her eyes. He hands her the notebook then and she smiles as she reads it over.
His writing is beautiful. It rises and falls perfectly in every line. She is drawn in by the vocabulary and the phrasing, taken by the imagery and the sophistication. She swears he could be famous one day because of it.
She grins, looking up at him. "This is amazing, Killian. You have a real talent for this."
He looks a little embarrassed, shaking his head. "I doubt that greatly, love. But thank you for the ego boost of confidence."
She sighs. "As if you need more of that."
That makes him chuckle and a smile crosses her lips as she looks back into the journal, flipping the page to find more of his work.
It's so good that she barely realizes that she's still holding Henry until he stirs and grabs at her hair. She rips her eyes out of a short story involving a lost ship at sea and looks to Henry.
"Chill out, Dude."
She takes his small fist from her hair and makes him hold her fingers instead, flashing him a happy smile that he reciprocates. She looks up at Killian, who has his chin in his hand, staring straight at her.
"Just who are you, Emma?"
She flashes a coy smirk at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
She returns to reading with a teasing smile on her lips. The air between them is comfortable, surprisingly enough. She bites her lip as soon as she finishes a story and looks at him again.
"It's really good, Killian. You could publish this."
He shakes his head, grimacing a little. "It's nothing."
She sighs and closes his book. He's been good at keeping a relative distance from her, but she sees something in the blue of his eyes that's begging to know her.
Emma packages all of the feelings she's felt in the last twenty-four hours into a tight ball, tucking it away in the back of her mind and leaving it to rot. She can't let him wreck her like everyone else has. She's a survivor on her own and she can handle herself. Anyone else just doesn't do the job she can on her own.
She pushes back from the table and takes her dishes to the sink before she carries Henry into the other room.
When she returns, Killian is still at the table, clearly in thought as he follows her to the sink. He comes up next to her and she glances over when their shoulders brush.
There's still a spark between them, the intensity is still just as strong, just as provoking, and it isn't easy to ignore along with everything else, but she does her best, holding her breath as she takes their dishes and scrubs at them.
The next time she sees him, it's lunch the next day.