Chapter 10

…Shall Set You Free

You'd think being the personal assistant to a man that traveled globally would have been plenty enough work, but Belle was beginning to suspect that he only regulated her to the most human of responsibilities in that particular regard. The majority of his business was Fae related and just as things would escalate in a meeting, suddenly there was an urgent task to run. If those occasions could even be called meetings. Her duties were to observe and report his movements, but she was positive the less she knew about any of those encounters the better. The sounds she would hear from the offices they visited, or the massive halls he made a house call to…

She was a woman and a werewolf, blood and bodies stopped making her squeamish quite some time ago. With Mr. Gold, there was plenty of moments that led to blood getting splattered on his expensive three-piece suits; the screams and fear in the air marking the presence of a bigger predator. But her heart chipped a little more after each one, for the victim and for Mr. Gold. Most occasions, the people just needed more time to see through the end of the deal. She always itched to run in and set them free. As for Mr. Gold, every encounter left him a colder monster afterwards, as if he lost another chunk of his soul to something else. Another reason to rush in and stop it all; another reason to stay out of his way. Mr. Gold wasn't human, was never human, and wouldn't understand the pity and mercy she held in her heart for les pauvres imbéciles.

Those appointments were ultimately brief moments of her time overall –something she reminded herself of often. Belle found herself with plenty of time to burn between the rest of her work, and mounting reasons to decompress when the echoes of screams hit her ears.

It was the third room Belle had been tasked to "freshen up".

Complete overhaul if you asked me, but no one seems to do that…

Another silly task he placed before her to remind her of "her place" –his words. His servant, his assistant; beneath him and lucky to have such a position. She was certain he wasn't aware that setting these rooms to order had become cathartic for Belle and looked forward to a "dismissal", so that she might return to them. She could clean away the mess as if she could clear away the foul memories. And on the rare occasions he saw fit to share the space as she cleared things away, Belle would take up the chance to have small conversations with him.

It should be odd that the man who caused her need to escape, was someone she looked forward to knowing.

Archie would get another thesis and publication on my possible psychosis.

When he wasn't lording himself over her, she found Mr. Gold to be quite intelligent; given his countless centuries alive, she supposed intelligence should be a given fact. However, Belle had met many an ancient creature that knew nothing beyond the era they were born into, unable or unwilling to move with history and time. Mr. Gold's awareness of the advanced world he worked in was far more pragmatic than she had first given him credit for. But he was also borderline compassionate with insights to stories she told, applying what he'd learned in interesting ways, to concepts Belle thought she'd analyzed to death. So she learned to ignore the insults as he flung them; they were mostly flung during cordial –if not friendly– moments. She was quite used to guarded people combating a budding connection with others by suddenly becoming mean. And she couldn't be blamed for occasionally goading him into a flustered state. She had to have entertainment somewhere. It was fair to assume that being an intelligent man, he likely understood his and her behaviors as they happened, which made repeated similar moments all the more validating to her idea that there was something less evil to him and more civilized.

For her third room, she was undertaking another hall –of the dozens of varied sizes in this castle– one he used it to showcase some of the oddest items he'd collected over his years. Some very ugly puppets she would swear followed her about the room with their eyes, a cheap fur –matted and unkempt– displayed like a prize, an old knife that was no bigger and no more lethal than a letter opener; all in glass cases for preservation. And yet, a cabinet so cleverly hidden to look like the surrounding wall, was stuffed full of obvious magical items, thrown haphazardly on the shelves with little or no care. Dust clung to everything as if the room hadn't held a living creature in it for decades, and Mr. Gold had sat himself in a corner to work over some paperwork as if he ventured into the room every day.

He was shuffling and grumbling and pretending he wasn't watching her as much as she was pretending to ignore him.

As high up on a ladder as she was, she should have been ignoring him. The drapes were filthy as if they were the first and original hung in this room without ever being tended to. Her father –long may he rest– would have fired half the house staff for such negligence and docked the pay for the other half as a reminder. Belle was using a scrub brush just to dispatch the bulk of dust collected along the fabric, when the fifth carcass of lord knows what kind of insect, fell onto her hands before it fumbled into the pockets of her apron. Belle huffed and threw the brush to the floor twelve feet below her.

"Well that was dramatic. Mind telling me why you see fit to dent my floor with my things?"

Belle glared over her shoulder. Mr. Gold was still staring at the papers in front of him, as if he hadn't been watching her struggle for the better part of the last hour on the one drape alone. "I saw fit to dispose of a tool that wasn't working against the mess in front of me."

Mr. Gold let loose his quirky giggle, "Well now that's a thought I can stand behind. Care to guess which tool I'm thinking of?"

"Given that you're still on the same three sheets of paper as when I started, I'll guess your own brain." Belle shifted on her perch, a hand on her hip, all focus on the blasted fabric nailed to the wall.

"Careful." Belle looked over at the odd tone in his voice, but all she saw was his usual manic expression. "I'd hate to reprimand you for poor behavior in the workplace."

"Right." She inspected the rod; with the drape nailed to the wall, she wouldn't be able to shift any of the bunched parts to scrub the dust off. "Did you nail these down?"

"Yes." She looked over again to see him blinking confusedly at her. As if nailing down fabric to cover the windows was normal behavior.

She huffed a laugh at him, as she tried to pull again. She was sure the nail was fused with the stone with as little give as it had. Even pulling the fabric to help with leverage wasn't working, and the damned curtain desperately needed to be cleaned. Or burned. "I don't suppose you'd be amiable to replacing these old things?"

"I would not. Can you not manage to dust a few curtains?"

Belle began tugging harder. Old iron driven into the stone, and not the first of such she'd seen. How does a Fae live with this much iron around him? "They need a thorough washing, so they have to come down. Besides, this room could do with some natural light."

"Maybe I prefer the darkness? You certainly become more fetching in it."

Belle ignored the barb for the nail. "They need to come down. I'll nail them back in place–" She tugged and the ladder wiggled. "–as soon as they've been properly washed free of all the dead things collected up here." She pulled again and the nail came free, but the shifting of weight had caused the ladder to tilt too far to the side. Belle yelped as she began the fall. It wouldn't injure her, nothing more than a few temporary bruises, but she was still falling twelve feet or so.

About four feet down, she missed home. There would have been a wolf or three around to catch her.

About five feet from the floor, eyes already screwed up against impact, someone caught her.

Light poured in while dust fairies danced in the shafts, the drape falling with her and exposing the clouded window. Mr. Gold's eyes looked reptilian with his iridescent skin shimmering, making obvious the reason her friend had given him the moniker "crocodile". He must have dropped his glamour to move fast enough to catch her. Worry etched his brow, his mouth slightly agape, his hands holding tight to her body. He was stronger than he looked, but Fae rarely were what they seemed. She didn't expect him to feel cool against her warmth. Not cold, more like he was just out of a swimming pool and his body had yet to regulate itself. A third eyelid drew across his new eyes in alternating succession. Belle normally would have found it interesting to know he had haws, if Belle herself wasn't a predator and knew that animals with haws blinked that set when trying to maintain visual contact on prey. Knowing it was being hunted, her wolf to became restless; Mr. Gold was a threat yes, but he'd never shown himself to be a direct threat to her. He wasn't now if she thought rationally, but he was close. And holding her tightly.

Her hands were around his neck.

"Thank you." She breathed out.

Now it was awkward.

Mr. Gold cleared his throat, dropping her legs abruptly to step back. Belle wrung her hands, he wiped his on his trousers.

Belle gestured to the pile of fabric polled on the ground. "I'll uh… I'll get the drapes cleaned and put back up as quickly as possible."

Mr. Gold nodded, looking half dazed. He took a step, but turned back to her with a hand raised. "There's no rush, I suppose I could get used to this. For a while at least."

Belle nodded.

He hadn't replaced his glamour. She counted this as progress.

Reality hit Killian just outside the doors of the dining hall. Emma, who was on his arm, stumbled to a halt. Without thinking, Killian countered his balance backwards, swinging her around and bringing her back into him. Her hands braced on his hip and chest respectively as they swayed together from the dramatic course change. His own held her waist, rigidly maintaining the distance of just inches between them; refusing to let her close the space too soon, or step away and take away his chance of touching her.

Her eyes were startled and dancing all over, looking at him with confusion and concern. "Killian? What?"

He watched her face. Her beautiful face.

"Weird… different… but I didn't hate it."

"I can't lose you too."

"I wanted it just as much as you."

"I have you."

"I made my choice a while ago and I'm not looking to change my mind on it."

Her words sounded like cathedral bells in his head. Overlapping and ringing out what he had missed in his worry for her.

"Babe? Killian are you ok?"

And he felt it. Oh he felt it. Her concern was sharp as a blade trying to cut through to the meat of it, of him. Lancing at him in search of a problem to fix. She would be able to read his face, ever so easy for her to read him it was. So he forced his face to freeze the consideration in place, forced his body to do nothing under the slight twitches her fingers did to his flesh beneath his clothes; he couldn't give her any indicator to his test. Then he touched the bond, with what sincerity he could muster. With a dappling of the love he held in check.

He watched as her pupils dilated fractionally before shrinking smaller than the light required, heard her breath catch. Her stomach fluttered under his thumbs.

"Ok… what was that for?" Her voice a breathless whisper.

It still wasn't what it should be –could be, but the bond was its own essence and being the git he was, hadn't thought that even with restricting its feed on his end, it would bolster on hers. She had submitted to it from the beginning, fed it without knowing. How weak might it have been without her steadfast faith in him?

"Regina was showing me how to find our bond thing like it was something tangible. What I found was very bright, and now my eyes hurt like I stared too long at a lightbulb."

It was half-formed at best, more than he wanted it to be honestly. But he was stupid and hadn't been listening over his fear. It wouldn't take much for the bond to fully settle in place, for either of them. He could have this. All he had to do was open it up, let it do as their brand of magic would have it do.

"I wanted it just as much as you."

Her hand moved from his chest to his cheek, comforting when she knew nothing. "Killian? You're kinda scaring me now."

Well he couldn't have that.

He growled. Or perhaps it was Zuul coming up to join in. But the sounds reverberated almost as deep as his stomach. And still she didn't flinch from him, just wide eyes asking him what he was doing.

Words are too difficult.

Sod the words.

His growl erupted into a snarl, and he pushed her hard and fast to the wood paneling wall behind her; remembering to cradle her head at the last moment to soften the impact. The air had barely left her lungs before his mouth laid claim to hers. A desperate slide against her as he nipped her bottom lip, begging or demanding entry he wasn't sure which. Her jaw moved, just enough, and he worked his kiss again. He slid his hand from her head to her neck, letting his fingers graze her skin. He bit her top lip to make her gasp, then teased her tongue with his own. When she was hungry for more play, he sucked her bottom lip again until it was swollen and partially numb. Over and over he switched until he'd convinced her to open fully.

His flushed his body to her, damning the occasion for blocking him and blessing it for bringing him the moment at all.

Emma began to shiver, and he could tasted the sour bite of fear now.

It was still the longest they had gone, and he hadn't done anything yet to assert his will. Maybe his Emma was onto something after all. He pulled back but didn't remove himself entirely, resting his head in the crook of her neck.

"Easy love. Its just us, just you and me. No one else here." She shuddered under him, her nightmares not so easily chased away. So he put a little more into his voice and tried again. "Breathe Swan… again… good girl. Again… there's a lass. It's just us here love. No one else."

"And everyone with supercharged hearing and sense of smell on the other side of this wall."

He laughed because while true, she said it in jest. And if she could sass him, she wasn't lost in her head. "Aye, well… if they aren't happy about it, its pure jealously on their part."

One of her hands came up to comb through his hair. "Yeah sure, cause they all want you to ravish them against a wall."

He laughed openly as he straightened up, leaning in a chaste peck to the tip of her nose –which scrunched adorably in response. "Battle plans later Swan. I promise."

She beamed and he swore he could feel the warmth of it in his belly.

They helped each other another minute, straightening out clothes and bringing their hair to less tousled messes. Just because everyone knew that he pounced her in the hall, didn't have to mean they needed to look like they rolled on the floor as well. Unable to end the physical contact, Killian looped Emma's arm through his own. Her cheeks were tinted and he wondered if it was the audience that caused the blush or if she was getting impressions of the several fantasies playing out in his hindbrain. Abruptly, he decided it didn't matter. He'd always enjoyed watching a flush stain her skin, and the coquettish turn of her mouth was a sight he could stand more often.

They passed through the door just in time to see Robin and Mary Margaret get handed cash.

She granted him a soft, breathy laugh when he waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Emma!" cried a decidedly male voice from across the room, souring Killian's mood just a fraction. Normally, Killian didn't mind other males near her; he wasn't the type of wolf to piss over everything he saw as his. He just wasn't in the mood to share at the moment, least of all when their fragile bond was a seemingly an open secret. When the human named August appeared in front of them, Zuul reared up in protest and Killian would later blame the guttural noise from his throat on his wolf as well.

"August! I didn't know you were back from Charlottesville, don't tell me you've finished your book already?" Emma hadn't let go of his arm –a blessing of continued contact that let him remain just at a low growl, but her free hand still went to the shoulder of the human; a damnation that kept Killian from any of his manners.

The man-child was smart enough to keep his hands in his pockets, and eyes away from Killian altogether while he traded conversation with Emma. Killian wasn't unaware of the friendship that had bloomed between them, and when he wasn't confronted with it, he mildly even thanked its existence. There were undeniable similarities between Emma's situation and the human; both bound to a life that restricted so much of what they could do otherwise, both suffering physically for it. Killian might not ever forgive him for scaring Emma off into the woods, but he could rationalize that the boy was trying to look out for someone he saw as trapped.

If only the blasted man could remember that his interest in Emma was easily scented by nearly everyone but her.

It was a miracle Zuul hadn't resorted to lifting their shared leg and proceeded to mark up the place.

Neither of us want to challenge Alpha for this pack.

You know damn well what I meant.

A throat cleared itself from the far left and all heads turned. David stood behind a smiling Mary Margaret; tradition would have the Alpha calling all to the table, but the Nolan's haven't ever held to tradition when it didn't suit. "Thank you all for being patient. Since my Change, scents have become a particular sensitivity, as I'm sure you all know by now. Even eating has become a new thing to learn, with certain smells –even favored ones– proving to be… overwhelming. Our dinners have been a bit on the side of an old folk's home because of it. However, I'm tired of bland while I sort out my new pallet. So instead of very little flavoring, I decided we should have many flavors. Maybe if I overload my taste buds, they'll calm down."

The room chuckled as David placed his hand on her shoulder. "Sit. Eat."

Mary Margaret huffed, "I was getting to that."

"And I was getting hungry waiting for you to get there."

Everyone shuffled to the chairs, other tables set up for the rest of the Pack filled quickly with a chorus of happy sounds and hungry stomachs. There wasn't any assigned seating for their table, which was about as informal as Mary Margaret got for any gathering involving people outside Pack. David and Mary Margaret took the ends of the table respectively, Ariel took Mary Margaret's right with August next to her and Robin closing out that side of the table. Much to Killian's consternation, as it put the siren directly in front of him. Emma sat next to him –though having August across from her wasn't helping Killian's mood, leaving Tink with the last chair.

The lady of the house shifted a napkin to her lap, "There can be as much joy taken from the anticipation of the meal as the actual eating of it."

David grinned at his Mate and wife, "Of course dear."

Tink perked up, "How about you whet our appetites and tell us what's on the table?"

Mary Margaret waved a fork through the air, "Well I was going to, but 'Mr. I-Can't-Wait' rushed me."

Killian chortled and slanted a look sideways to David. "Didn't anyone teach you to never skimp on the foreplay mate?"

Emma's hand slid up his thigh and all the teasing in his head shifted to a different variety. She lifted a brow slightly, quirked her mouth, and he knew the word in her head as well as if she said it out loud.

Robin was laughing behind his hand, and David clapped him on the shoulder and muttered some passing comment about mated life that he was sure was at his expense and he should probably make a snide comment or innuendo again… but Emma's hand was almost inappropriately high on his leg. Killian could have sworn that when it lifted to arrange her napkin, there was a pop in his ears that let the room flood back in.

"I'm sorry it took so long to sit down, I made sure cook knew to make enough for any Pack that come through looking for dinner and that any staff were to be fed as well. David? Jacinda was kind enough to point out to me that a few of the staff have been stealing supplies like toiletries or small food stuffs from the kitchen. We'll need to sit down with them later this week and discuss their financials to see if there's anything we can do to help."

August sipped from his water before adding, "That was my fault I think. If it's who I think it is anyway. They didn't believe that you'd be willing to work with them with this, so I told them that nicking an item here and there to get by wouldn't be noticed."

Mary Margaret frowned. "You should have told us right away August; before it went from an item or two to a small bag of things. We're happy to help, but just taking things can become a dependency."

Killian felt something stir within. "Quite the storyteller aren't you Mr. Booth?"

The man was smart enough to keep his eyes down and his head tilted. "It pays the bills. I'm sorry Mary Margaret, maybe we can sit down before I leave again to work some of it out? I know a few details they might be reluctant to share with you. Fear of employment and all."

Mary Margaret nodded. "Your help will be appreciated August. Now. As I'm sure everyone can smell from the spices, that we're having Indian food tonight is no secret. And as this is informal, everything is laid out for you all to take as you please. There's Murgh Methi as our lead dish. There's Dal Makhni and raw onions with lemons as a dressing. Keep the lemons away from Emma, if you please." Emma tilted her head at the easy aggression Mary Margaret held in her voice; Killian might have as well if he wasn't in agreement with Mary Margaret on the matter. "There's Kadhai Paneer and Cucumber Raita. About four different kinds of flatbread so no one has to be picky. Yes Robin, we have that Papad you enjoy so much. There's also some steamed white rice just in case one of you decides to be picky anyway. Of course our kitchen is open to you if you have something else to drink in mind, but on the table is the wine we make here at the house."

Tink sniffed at the goblet already filled in front of her. "It doesn't smell like fermented fruit of the vine."

David laughed. "And we don't have the right soil to maintain a vineyard. No this is a recipe Mary Margaret's ancestors stole at some point and decided to keep around. There's wine in it, but its been spiced and sugared and all those other million steps to make it."

It was Robin who braved the first sip. "Like a mulled wine or a sangria perhaps?"

Mary Margret nodded. "Similar yes. We usually start serving it when summer comes to a close."

Killian noticed Tink frown before looking to her siren companion and mouthing a word. "Hippo" if Killian rushed a guess, but he couldn't be positive. He opted to not be obvious about his surveillance, and avoided to turn and see Ariel's response. But Tink's surprised and raised eyebrows were certainly an interesting follow.

Robin frowned. "You've never shared this with me before. It'd be lovely served warm on a cold night out in the woods."

Mary Margaret shrugged, "You've usually moved on to your other grounds by now."

Many heads turned towards Emma, likely expecting a poor reaction to the news. She simply waved them of. "He's already told me. Are we waiting on something to dish up?"

Mary Margret blinked. "No… no by all means everybody, help yourselves! I'm sorry, I don't know where my head is at." The table erupted in movement as they all dove for the food. "That doesn't mean fight over it!"

Tink giggled as she passed a bowl to Emma. "They waited patiently for you to give the go. After David said he was hungry. I think you're lucky anyone is using the serving utensils instead of their bare hands."

Emma hadn't been a picky eater prior to her ordeal, living with Granny any length of time would cure anyone of that, but she still became irritated and irrational when food was picked out for her. After her ordeal, well, it was a problem. It wasn't as prominent now as it was in her first tentative months, but by the end of a proper dinner party these days, Emma could be in a full temper. Killian suspected she was the reason he hadn't heard of a dinner party at Brookside Manor all summer. Every dinner that they attended was a most, a step up from a pot luck. Not that it stopped Emma from serving portions on Killian's plate however, he could be enjoying a teasing row with one of the wolves and turn back to find items on his plate he'd turned down previously. Emma would have an earnest face and mumble around the food in her mouth that he "had to try it". As the case was now, stretching his arm and torso to hand a plate of Naan to David just turn to see the Raita he'd already passed along.

"Its creamy and spicy and you need to try some." His love whispered to him.

He leaned over to place a kiss on her temple.

Tink groaned while her partner tittered. "Making a play for sweetest couple? I don't think your hosts will take kindly to being dethroned."

David raised an eyebrow. "De-what now?"

Mary Margaret hummed and wiped her mouth. "She means that we're overly affectionate and make everyone sick with it."

David set down his fork. "I'm overly affectionate?"

Robin grinned. "Just the most cuddly bear of all the werewolves."

A napkin was tossed sideways with more accuracy a folded cloth should have.

"Boys!"

Emma laughed next to Killian, and it was all he could do not to join in to make her laugh again. So he took a hearty gulp of the house drink, cinnamon and a variety of other spices coated his tongue. It was familiar in a way a memory from childhood always sparked the mind but never cleared passed the fog of time. "Hmmm. This is wonderful Mary Margaret, what did you say you called it?"

The lady beamed. "Thank you! Actually I don't know? My family has only ever called it the House Wine."

Killian considered a moment. "I don't suppose you have a few portable bottles perchance? Robin's right, this would be lovely warmed up on a chilly night. I'll pay for them of course."

She waved off the offer. "I'm sure we've bottled about a dozen or so by now. Would you like me to send one home with you?"

"Thank you milady."

Robin leaned over, still looking at the glass as if he had the same foggy memory Killian did. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to partake of this arrangement as well."

Mary Margaret nearly preened in her seat. "Of course." Then she turned her attention to the Fae. "Bottles all around?"

Tink shrugged. "I won't say no to free drink."

It was Ariel who seemed hesitant. "Um… sure. I'm sure I've got something that'll keep me from getting–" Tink cleared her throat. "Drunk! I get horrible hangovers and this is so tasty that I might forget how much I've already had."

Killian eyed them both, positive they were up to something now. He couldn't risk offending the entire table with an outright interrogation, so he settled in for the start of a hunt, the kind he hadn't partaken in since he left the employ of the Council. He expected the possibility of it to entice his wolf, who always enjoyed the chase, but felt his attention on every infinitesimal movement Emma made next to him. Every groan to the flavorful food touched his ears and made his skin feel too tight across… well across everywhere. He felt like the skin of a bodhrán with his blood strumming like the tipper against it.

He sipped his wine again. Drink couldn't affect wolves beyond the brief buzz, they metabolized things too quickly. There had been days when he drank barrels of rum to the point he was sure it had finally taken its former place in his blood, and right now, getting giddy alongside Emma would be entertaining to say the least. Dangerous, but entertaining. However, right now he simply hoped for the calming sensation that the alcoholic warmth would provide. Perhaps if he felt more settled, he'd be able to sniff out what the Fae he dined with were up to.

"Pass the paneer would you Emma?"

Killian's attention reasserted itself to the present just in time to see the cottage cheese dish pass from Swan's hands to that of the human male. He truly didn't see the man as a threat to Emma's affections, just that he'd already proven himself untrustworthy by his sheer lack of impulse control. Killian respected Emma's choice to forgive the man, even build a friendship based on… whatever it was based on. Didn't bloody well mean he had to like the guy. And he certainly didn't have to tolerate the soft tone of Emma's name in that man's mouth. He should be excused the immediate frown that turned his mouth anytime the man-child spoke. But that also meant he had to take the kick under the table from unknown source to stop the glaring; though he suspected it was Mary Margaret this particular time.

Robin took a hearty swallow of his wine before clearing his throat. "I suppose its proper to declare it now that we've eaten a bit. As Alpha of the Nomads, I inform you of our departure from our shared lands. We head west in two weeks' time. Without offence to Alpha Nolan or the Brookside Pack, there has been a request made of my pack to leave one of mine behind to keep Miss Swan company. They've grown quite fond of her you see, and won't shift locations… safely… without knowing one of our own is here for her. Will Scarlet is the prime choice as he already has a steady friendship with Miss Swan, has spent the most time away from the pack structure without issue, and bloody well sneaks out against my orders to check on her anyway."

David nodded his head. "As she spends time out at Killian's farmhouse on occasion, help would be welcomed while we attempt to help this changeling."

"Wonderful. As I understand it, Mr. Booth here has requested to transfer temporarily to my Nomads?"

David nodded again. "He's getting old and would like to travel before he's dead."

August dropped his spoon. "I'm only thirty-five!"

Emma chuckled. "Never trust anyone over thirty."

The table laughed along with her.

August gestured to the table before settling a pointed finger at her, "You understand that's literally everyone at this table but you right?"

Emma popped an eyebrow while a deadly smirk curved her mouth. "I didn't hear anyone argue with me did you?"

Killian's hand was on her thigh with a hearty squeeze as the table laughed again. He loved the mouth on his woman. Quick and sharp, and the wicked way it curved when she was getting a particularly good dig on someone almost always had a few heartbeats pumping blood to his cock in appreciation. Much like now; although now seemed to be a grander display than normal.

The world faded out as a veritable assault of lewd and filthy images cascaded behind Killian's eyes. Emma gasping into his kiss, her mouth painted red in a decadent slide over his skin and… a sharp intake of breath brought him back in time. Apparently, he had gripped and dragged her thigh closer to him quite suddenly, to which she had been as equally blunt in reclaiming it. He wasn't clear –even to himself– if he wanted to demand that the leg was indeed his, as she was, or recognize that his Neanderthal behavior was ill placed. Inconveniently undecided, he released his hold, momentarily worried that he had bruised her skin. Before he could fully recede into his chair with shame and overthinking, Emma grabbed his hand and placed it back on her thigh with a soft pat.

He swallowed the rest of his wine for strength, his mind was against him this day. Or the bond was. Could be Zuul eager for their mate now that a window of possibility had been blasted open. Fuck him as it was likely all three.

He noticed the conversation had passed him by again, all official business disposed of once the third helping of the Murgh Methi had been passed about the table. And his wine glass already refilled.

Emma was holding her stomach and waving off Ariel's attempt to place another portion of the chicken on her plate. "No! I beg you. I wouldn't even be able to roll out of here if I eat more."

"David!" Mary Margaret pipped up. "This is Indian food, you don't make burritos with it."

David eyed the food in his hand, tilting his head this way and that, behaving much like a dog who hears an odd sound. "Looks more like a taco."

Beside him, Emma choked on whatever was in her mouth –and that was a brief display of self-control he wouldn't ever see credit for as he forcibly ignored the newest images of that thought. Killian moved his hand from thigh to her shoulders, rubbing her back as she saved herself from needing more intrusive help.

"Honestly David. We're sitting down with friends." Killian looked over and saw that Mary Margaret had developed a deep blush and wouldn't stop staring at her empty plate. Killian heard David chuckle behind his shoulder, before issuing a hearty growl and the sounds of enthusiastic gorging. Mary's Margaret's blush deepened and Emma dropped her head into her hands.

"Am I missing something?" Killian asked to no one in particular. Mary Margaret shrunk further and Emma groaned. Robin was as entertained as could be, grinning and biting his bottom lip. The Fae seemed as clueless as he, but it was the human male who found his food overly interesting. Bingo. "Mr. Booth?"

The man huffed and shook his head, and odd reaction Killian thought. "Let's just say Emma has recently experienced more of what this pack has to offer than she ever thought she would."

Emma groaned again, though it was tinged with laughter. Which was the only thing keeping Killian from interrogating everyone. David was laughing through a full mouth, something Ariel found amusing. Tink caught his eye and shrugged her confusion. His hand was still on Emma's shoulder when her body began to bounce in quiet laughter. Killian was always a curious sort, and this was going to drive him mad.

He leaned over, his hand sliding into the nape of Emma' hair as he whispered, "Tell me later love?"

"Or don't. I can be happy with that story never being told."

Emma lifted her head to respond to Mary Margaret. "I'll skip the details as much as I can, but you know he won't let this go."

Killian took a deep breath of the sunshine that was Emma as he sat up straight. "Not a chance. Nope. A rare occurrence indeed when David causes that lovely blush to tint your skin Snow, and you don't result to assaulting him with the nearest heavy object."

"Not that rare." Emma mumbled next to him, only piquing his curiosity further.

"Desert! There's a desert. And I'm going to go get it plated." Mary Margaret all but ran from the dining hall.

"Desert? How am I going to eat a desert when I'm stuffed so full?" Emma whined. Killian ignored those images as well. "I don't suppose these walls are made of gingerbread with gumdrops and licorice as building materials?"

She shuffled her chair closer to his, still listing off various confectionaries and candies as possible parts to the Manor and boldly declaring that the kitchens were another room she wasn't going near for a while. Killian smiled, something wide and probably moronic. He loved her grumpy grumblings when she was nothing of the sort. His arm held her close as she tucked into his side, and she looked up at him. She blinked, a playful glint came to her eyes, "And what big teeth you have."

He pressed a kiss to her head and said softly, "All the better eat you with my dear." He couldn't resist. A crystal clear memory of her laid out like a feast on their table and the honeyed tang of her on his tongue brought its way forward. Her thighs shifting betrayed the same memory taking her mind as well. But she snorted and smacked his chest, fairly hard. "Ow."

"Please, its not like you'll bruise from it."

Robin laughed and shook his head from across the table. "She's picking up Mary Margaret's habits. Careful mate, next thing you know, it'll be dinner parties."

"You crossed stories."

The room stopped and stared at the human male.

"The gingerbread house and fattening you up is Hansel and Gretel. Wolves with big teeth is Little Red Riding Hood."

"Right," Killian said slowly. "And rude humans who aren't keeping up with the flow of conversation are what story again?" Emma hit him harder. "Bloody hell woman, I may not bruise from it, but it still stings."

Mary Margaret saved the room from hostilities by entering with small plates of what was presumably desert. The siren across from him leaned over to August, whispering low enough in the man's ear that even his wolf's hearing couldn't pick it up. But the tension in the man ratcheted down, taking Killian's with it. Robin's shoulder's relaxing in time, and David sitting back in his chair didn't go unnoticed either.

"I don't want to know what I missed." Mary Margret moved around the table placing two small serving bowls in front of everyone. One contained small round balls, sticky in whatever glaze or syrup had been placed on them. The other held plain white ice-cream with brown powder on top. "Gulaab Jamun is a fried dough with a rose syrup. And since its still hot outside, vanilla bean ice-cream with ground cinnamon sprinkled on top. Have one or the other, but they are really tasty together."

Emma whimpered. She'd have a couple bites no matter how full she felt, Killian had yet to witness her saying no to any type of fried dough. She sat up, as he knew she would, spooning a slight strip of the frozen cream and then the still warm gulaab. She gave everyone a rueful look before she ate it, moaning entirely inappropriately a moment later; his body responded in equal fervor. Mary Margaret beamed, pleased that her offerings were so well received. It was an unknown cue, the table –including Killian– took Emma's enjoyment as permission to indulge themselves.

"Mary Margaret could–" Emma moaned around the food in her mouth. Killian would have to speak with Emma regarding her groaning out of words.

"I already have to-go packages set up for you Emma." Mary Margaret looked over to Robin. "And I've made extra desert for Roland. I know how much he loves ice cream."

Robin lowered his head. "My thanks."

Killian was busy watching Emma drag the spoon from her mouth as Tink took over the conversation. He didn't remember leaning in, her chair was still next to his, but she was once again lined up to his body without her seemingly have moved. And like a puppy under the table, Emma snuck him portions of her desert to save eating it all herself. There was spices all around him from the dinner, but he couldn't scent even one over Emma's sunshine.

She fed him another bite, someone cleared their throat and said what he supposed were words.

Emma looked in his eyes, he watched them dilate just a margin.

The smell of gunpowder fired off just as sharply as if someone had shot a gun beside his head. He breathed deep.

It had been so long since that scent had come from his Swan that he fretted that it was lost –stolen by that wanker. Something within him reared at its return, called to attention like a horse at a race.

She broke eye-contact first, looking behind him to David. "I'll be heading home with Killian tonight."

"Probably for the best." David agreed.