Chapter 11 - "to catch a chill"
The loud and ruthless sound of her alarm on her phone wrenches her away from her dreams. It only blares for a few moments, and even though she otherwise wakes up quite easily at the noise, she doesn't want to open her eyes just yet. Her dream was so beautiful and peaceful, and she terribly wants to stay a little longer in its effect. But no matter how much she longs for the dream to linger a little longer, the images fly away, the soft, whispering colors of the rainbow vanish.
It was so comforting to get lost in them.
"Swan, wake up! Emma." Killian calls softly, and Emma feels a warm and gentle touch on her cheek.
She smiles lazily and glances up at him, finally opening her eyes. She blinks a few times, the memory of her dream making her vision hazy.
"Good morning." Her voice is dull and thick, and she tries to clear her throat. "How long have you been up?" Her voice sounds better now, but she feels tired even though she slept very well.
It's amazing how well she sleeps when Killian is here with her.
"Since the first time that blasted noise started on your phone," he grumbles, but there's a smile on his face. She examines him for a minute and finds he looks somewhat tired and languid, as if he slept only a couple of hours instead of the eight glorious ones she had.
She narrows her eyes in suspicion. "When did you fall asleep? You look tired."
He gives her a faint smile and scratches a spot behind his ear, a telltale sign that he's somehow nervous. He's adorable when he's like that. "Not that long ago," he confesses reluctantly.
"Were you watching me sleep or something?" she asks jokingly.
"Pfft, no," he scoffs, trying his hardest to avoid her gaze, while his cheeks and ears turn crimson. "That's creepy."
Her eyes widen slightly - he's totally busted. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out at first. Then a slow smile creeps onto her lips that she tries, and fails, to hide. "I think that's cute."
He only hums in response and closes his eyes.
It's not the first time they've woken up next to each other, but it's certainly the first time she hasn't felt the weight of the world on her shoulders for being happy.
She should have run for the hills at this revelation - hell, she certainly would have a couple of months ago - but she doesn't feel that usual urge to hide away from the feelings. Instead, she feels warmth spreading through her chest.
Emma can't deny what she feels any longer, she can't act like it isn't true. She cares about Killian. In fact, it's probably more than a simple attachment or adoration. It shocks her how different these feelings are than anything she has ever felt before - stronger and deeper. She wouldn't dare call this love just yet, but only because she's still afraid to admit it, even to herself. It seems so fast that she already feels this way about him.
Which is kind of weird because at this point she had long gone and slept with her previous boyfriend. True, at that time it wouldn't have crossed her mind that she was in love, she merely had fun and Neal was very good at seducing women, at using pretty words to get what he wanted. And Emma, like an idiot, let him take advantage of her because she wanted to feel like she belonged to someone.
And look at how that turned out.
But they never really belonged to each other, and Emma realized that she never really loved him. She had never truly been in love with someone, up until now. What she feels for Killian is so much deeper and stronger than what she felt for Neal.
How is that possible?
She looks over at Killian, his eyes still closed and fingers playing with the hem of her faded shirt. He lets out a sound of protest when she sits up and swings her legs over the bed, ready to get up.
"Stay here," she commands playfully. "I'm gonna get some breakfast."
"Aye, aye," he lazily lifts his hand to his forehead, saluting her.
She walks into the kitchen with a smile on her face and hopes that she finds the place empty, not in the mood to explain the situation upstairs. But Ruth is already cooking something on the stove.
How is she always up so early?
"Good morning, dear," Ruth greets her with a warm smile as she catches sight of her. "Coffee?"
"God yes,"
"Sit down, I'll make one for you."
Emma plops down on one of the stools by the kitchen island and rests her elbows on top.
She's still amazed from time to time that she is here, in this family home, that this wonderful woman adopted her into her family and accepted her as if she were her own flesh and blood, and not just some jailbird who almost aged out of foster care. Emma is not sure anyone else would have taken a chance on her the way Ruth did, and she will be forever grateful for that.
A warm and fuzzy feeling sneaks its way into her belly at her train of thoughts, And maybe that is to blame for her next words.
"Killian slept here last night," she blurts out after subtly clearing her throat.
She assumes Ruth would have found out anyway, and it's not like she meant to keep it - him - a secret. She glances up at her adoptive mother a little nervously, but her admission only gets her a nod and a secretive smile.
Definitely weird and not what she would have expected, but Emma is not really in the mood to ponder about it - her mind is too focused on Killian right now. What he did for her a couple of nights ago - chasing away her nightmares not caring about sleeping a wink himself...nobody did anything like that for her.
"You got really lost in your thoughts there." Ruth's voice interrupts as a cup of coffee materializes before, and it's not lost on Emma that she never commented on her earlier word vomit.
Emma looks up gratefully, but cautiously asks before taking a sip from the caffeinated brew, "I thought you would be more… I don't know… upset about it?"
She doesn't really know why she would want that. She doesn't. And she's an adult anyway. But something about her adoptive mother's cool demeanor on the subject of Killian is nagging at strings she doesn't really want to explore right now.
"Why? Did something happen that would require my motherly concern?" Ruth's amused expression tells her she's only teasing her, but still, Emma is not sure if she's supposed to answer that.
She really doesn't want to and hopes that the glint in Ruth's eyes isn't because the walls in the house are actually thinner than she'd deemed.
That would be mortifying.
"All I'm saying is," Ruth continues before Emma could open her mouth to utter some semblance of an answer. "You look happy and Killian is the first man you ever brought here and stayed the night. " Ruth reminds her and a frown appears on Emma's forehead.
Surely this fact is not true. It can't be, because it would mean…
What would it mean, actually?
"You will understand when you are a mother," Ruth continues, breaking Emma out of her speculation on the turn her relationship with Killian is apparently taking.
She wants to become a mother someday, she wants to have children, but it's only a secret desire, one that she could barely admit to herself. It was after Neal that she swore to herself that she would only have children with a man she truly loves and trusts, only if she was absolutely certain that he would never abandon them. She doesn't want her future children to grow up like she did, without a loving family. She wants her children to experience love from their parents and to know that they will never be alone.
The truth is, she buried this dream deep within her long ago. She didn't really feel like anyone would ever love her.
But now…
Now Killian is here with his contagious cheerfulness and a stupid big heart. She knows he would make a great father someday, and she's absolutely certain he would do anything for his children. And her treacherous thoughts are drifting toward the notion that maybe, she would like to be the mother to those children.
She's quick to shut out these voices because it scares her that something like this could ever occur to her. These thoughts hint at much deeper and stronger feelings than Emma could admit.
Because even after all this time, she still hasn't even scratched the surface of who Killian Jones really is. So why does she feel like they might belong to each other? Can this be declared with such certainty after such a short time together? But what if…?
No, she doesn't want to deal with what-ifs, doesn't want to go through those possibilities. She tried so hard to avoid it, but now her concerns seep through her consciousness like poison.
What if it's all just a passing fancy for him? What if after they sleep together he loses interest? What if it's just about the chase and he doesn't want to stay after he catches her?
What if he abandons her too?
Emma shakes her head. She can't - won't - torture herself with these ideas. She always does this, sabotaging something good because of her past experiences. She can't do that to herself - or to Killian - this time.
She's with Killian now, that's what matters. Sooner or later they are inevitably going to have sex. And what comes after… they will deal with that when it happens. Because there's a very fat chance that her fears are just that.
They are fears.
She quickly chugs her coffee and glances out the kitchen window as she stands from her seat. The weather outside is a bit depressing - the sun is hiding behind a shield of clouds, the wayward fog and drizzle of rain turns the air gray, and the melting snow leaves the streets wet and slushy.
She doesn't really feel like going outside for a cigarette, so she quickly turns down a second cup of coffee in favor of a hot shower.
When she's done soaking the last remaining tiredness out of her bones, she silently sneaks back into her room to put on her outfit for the day.
Just as she's about to open the bedroom door it occurs to her that she promised Killian some breakfast, but when her eyes land on him, she's glad of her apparently flawed short-term memory.
Killian is sound asleep in the middle of her bed, his heavier breaths making her smile.
She keeps her eyes on him as she dresses - not because she's afraid he will wake up and start ogling her, but simply because it feels good to just watch him. When she's ready to go and puts yesterday's clothes away, she steps closer to the bed - and him. It's not nice, what she's doing, but he kind of did the same the night before, even if he denied it. If she tells him he would certainly laugh and one or two salacious comments would surely leave his lips.
She watches him, his chest lifting and falling with each breath, his scarred hand under the blanket as it was the night before. She lifts her eyes to his face. His expression is peaceful and calm, and it's weird not to see a smile playing on his lips. She always imagines him with a smile, one which shows off his dimples and crinkles his eyes, as if he was really himself when he's wearing that happy expression.
Emma had never met a person quite like him.
But then she suddenly hears it. She's not sure of it at first, it's so quiet and hushed, but then he says it again.
"Emma."
She thinks she accidentally woke him with her closeness, but his eyes are still closed, and he hasn't moved a muscle except his lips.
He says her name again, this time more breathlessly and his lips stays slightly parted, his expression changing into something dangerously close to what she saw yesterday evening during their rather enjoyable activity before going to sleep.
And then she finally realizes.
He's dreaming about her. More importantly, she's 99% sure he's having an erotic dream about her. She can only guess this because it reminds her of her own sexual dreams of him.
It should make her run out of the house, at the very least the room, but she finds herself rooted to the spot, unable to look away.
He utters her name again, but this time a half moan, half sigh follows and Emma knows she needs to get out of here. It's rude and inappropriate to stay and watch him, even if it turned her on a little bit. Even if she knows he wouldn't mind her having a front-row seat to his fantasies.
She knows he would share them with her anyway.
She silently grabs her bag from the armchair by the window and heads to the bedroom door. She glances back at him before she steps out and sees her favorite thing appeare on his face.
A smile.
˘. . . ° . . . ˘
Killian called David to find out where he might locate Mary Margaret's gallery. He wants to surprise Emma with an unexpected visit. He has to admit, he is a bit nervous - he has no idea what Emma thinks about their night together, or the fact that he definitely got caught watching her sleep this morning.
Was it too much for her? Did he scare her off and make her raise her walls again?
The gallery opens from a narrow square with decorative stones. Killian believes that there used to be a toy store here before, though it may have been two shops away. The windows of the shop and the glass on the entrance door are covered with newsprint, so he can't see inside, although some thin gaps between papers let the lamplight filter out, implying that something is going on inside.
Killian is glad to find the girls here, and even though it's lunchtime. He was afraid that Emma and Mary Margaret might have taken off to procure some food, then he would have no choice but to call her to find them or wait for them here in the cold. In either case, his appearance would have been less of a surprise.
He tries to be very quiet as he opens the door, but his carefulness seems to be in vain because as soon as he presses down the doorknob and opens the entrance just a crack, a cheerful song hits his ears. The ladies don't notice him entering, so Killian leans against the wall and watches them with a grin on his lips as they dance and bounce gleefully.
Emma always seems to find a way to amaze him on a daily basis. The way she moves, the natural energy that flows from her, attracts him like a moth to a flame. He had no idea she could move like that.
Though he really should have known.
Killian is surprised to see Belle here - her husband, Mr. Gold doesn't get out much, or at least Killian has never seen him outside the bookstore. The man doesn't seem to like Belle's friends very much, and Killian is positive he has some sort of grudge against him, but for what, he has no idea - he always receives daggers from the man when he visits the shop.
Sometimes he can feel the tension between the married couple, and he knows their relationship is far from perfect, which is quite sad because Belle is delightful company. She has a knack for the arts - she likes to read, but she's also a great writer, though only as a hobby for now. They get along really well, the atmosphere between them is always amiable and fraternal until Mr. Gold shows up and manages to destroy the mood with one glance, making poor Belle retreat into herself.
When the song comes to an end, he applauds enthusiastically. The three graces turn to him in unison and stare at him a bit stupefied, then Mary Margaret and Belle welcome him with a laugh. Killian barely registers their greeting, because he is too occupied with watching Emma.
Long, golden waves cascade down her back. Killian likes that despite its length, she usually wears her hair down and lets the silky tresses be wild and free. Her cheeks are delightfully flushed from dancing and her eyes glint with joy. As she glances at him, a mysterious smile finds its way onto her full lips - an expression that whispers to him they have a secret together and that fills him with pride.
Killian pushes off the wall and strides to Emma with determined steps, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
"Do I have permission to kiss you at your workplace, Swan?" he inquires quietly.
"My boss is a ruthless dictator, but I think she would allow it," Emma peeks over her shoulder, her eyes falling on the short-haired brunette in question.
Mary Margaret's lips pull into a grin and she nods at the pair, so Killian lifts his right hand to brush Emma's cheek lightly before leaning closer and laying an infinitely gentle, affectionate kiss on her lips. Their mouths barely touch, yet the need in him to have more of her rises under his skin like a sudden tide - perhaps that is why he pulls away quickly.
It's absurd how much she affects him and he is certain Emma has no idea about it.
He watches as she subtly bites her lower lip and Killian can barely keep his hands off her when she glances up at him, her eyes filled with raw desire.
He would really like to kiss her again, not so gentle and restrained this time, but seeing as they have an audience, he bottles up his need for later.
He takes a step away from the blonde who's going to be the death of him someday and takes off his coat, placing the dark woolen garment next to the others on the marble counter. He looks around the area for the first time since stepping foot in here and notes all the decorative objects and ribbons the ladies have hung all over the place, making the atmosphere in the store more welcoming and inviting. Most of the white-painted walls are left free of decorations, clearly for Mary Margaret's paintings to be displayed later. On the tiled floor, additional ribbons, materials and other things - Killian really can't name them - peek out of various bags and boxes.
"Where the bloody hell did you get all of these?" he questions, turning to the girls with a raised eyebrow.
"You know, Killian," Emma starts in a half-mocking tone, "there are these places called shops."
"Swan, I believe you just changed my life," Killian plays along. "Although, I have a hard time imagining how it works. Perhaps you could let me in on the details while hunting for a couch?" he asks, tone taunting.
Emma lets out a soft, tinkling laugh. He is relieved she's so relaxed, none of her usual tension present when they have company for their teasing.
"I think it's going to be a fun afternoon," Belle notes quietly and Killian only gives her a grin in response.
The afternoon is indeed quite amusing. They are all constantly teasing each other - sometimes sharper, more astringent remarks fly by, all coming from Emma of course, although Mary Margaret is a close second in that regard. They laugh a lot and when a specific song comes on the girls launch into dancing with a high-pitched 'I love this song!' and Killian does not shy away from moving and jumping with them to the rhythm. During their silly dancing sessions, his favorite moments are undeniably when he gathers Emma into his arms or spins her around.
And Emma does not pull away from him for even a second - which makes Killian incredibly happy, happier than he would have ever imagined.
When the mood quiets down a bit, Mary Margaret explains that her store will also sell all sorts of unique souvenirs and trinkets beside her paintings. Ruth was happy to offer her help in that regard, she has a very talented and creative side when it comes to making decorative things from scratch. Mary Margaret was afraid that people wouldn't come to her shop only for the paintings, thinking they were too expensive. So now, especially if they manage to make the store and display window as magical as the brunette has planned, it won't just be a simple ornament shop but a real fairy tale place.
Especially since Belle had the idea to write a few lines to each item - like where they came from - and it will be a bit fabled.
Killian is amazed at how adroit Mary Margaret is, although she confesses it's not her merit alone - David has helped a lot with permits and paperwork - but Killian still thinks what she made out of her dream is impressive and the fact that she never gave up on it is something he respects a lot.
After a while, the ladies' excitement spreads to Killian and though he feels he's more hindering them than actually helping, he feels elated. But when it is time to put up the shelves, he can be of some assistance. He doesn't even notice how fast time flies, he can no longer see the grayish, dim light through the gaps on the window, only a slowly descending darkness.
The door unexpectedly opens, the cold and rainy smell of air seeps into the store. An elegantly dressed man, unknown to Killian, enters through the door. He is perhaps around his forties, his features are unreadable but somewhat tense.
"Good afternoon! I'm looking for Emma Swan," he announces without ceremony.
Who is this man? And why is he looking for Emma?
Killian's stomach flutters and his heart twitches, and it feels it's shrinking as small as possible in his chest.
He hopes the man is not an ex-boyfriend of hers. Why would anyone show up from her past?
Emma is standing at the top of the ladder, she is about to hang a turquoise ribbon - looking at it from the right angle, the ornament is like the shallow water of the sea. Killian searches her face, but this time he can't read her like the open book she usually is. It is possible he has never seen her so expressionless, so cold, so...distant. It cuts through his soul.
"I know who you are," Emma starts, stepping down the ladder. "You're her brother, right? Harold. What are you doing here?" She can't hide the edge, the coldness in her questions and tone.
Her voice feels like winter - her words as sharp and brittle as ice crystals. The hairs on Killian's arm stand up and he suddenly feels cold, but not because of Emma, but from the ruthless distance that separates him from her at this moment.
His gaze lands on the intruder and he wishes the man would just disappear. He doesn't care who this man is, doesn't care how he knows Emma, whether he touched her body, whether he had kissed her before. He doesn't care about any of that, only that he goes away and evaporates into the distance which now weighs on his chest so heavily that he feels he can hardly breathe.
The man smiles faintly. "Ah, you know me. Then it makes it easier," he shifts from one foot to the other, like he is nervous. "It's about Ingrid, your mother…"
"She is not my mother. She made it very clear," Emma interrupts him brusquely. Killian wonders if her voice would be able to plant frost on the windows.
"She passed away," the man declares quietly. There is no emotion in his voice, maybe just a hint of pain, but it's dull and lost.
Killian watches Emma, but her face doesn't even flinch. He does not feel any relief (well, maybe just a bit) that the man isn't one of her exes but the fact that his presence is so upsetting to Emma affects him negatively too.
He remembers Emma talking about her birth parents. When she started working as a bail bondsperson, she gained access to different kinds of databases and eventually, she managed to find her biological mother who left her on the side of some road in Maine.
She tracked her down in Massachusetts, wanting answers, but all she got was a rejection and a door slammed in her face.
She never gave him more details on the subject, and he didn't want to push for more.
He is not surprised at her reaction to all of this now, but he is still afraid it will open up old wounds and slam her walls back up.
"She had cancer," the man, Harold, continues in a more confident tone after Emma stays silent. "Before she died, she made me promise to liquidate everything she owns and divide it among her relatives, including you, Emma. She asked me to tell you that she knows it won't fix anything, that what she had done wasn't right. She didn't intend this as an apology, she simply felt she owed it to you."
Emma remains mute and still, only moving to cross her arms and narrow her emerald eyes at the man.
Harold goes on. "She didn't have much wealth, so you probably won't be able to buy a house from your share, but it's still good for at least to start a fund. If you require it, I could provide you with every available document, so you can see how much I got for each of her possessions, that way you can check…"
"I don't need her money," Emma cuts him off suddenly, her voice defiant and stubborn.
"I understand you, but just think it over. Here's my card, you can call me anytime if you change your mind. And...if you don't mind, maybe we could have coffee or lunch sometime, to get to know each other. After all, I'm your uncle." He nods somewhat abashedly at them and turns to leave.
"Was she a good person?" Emma calls after him abruptly.
Harold turns back and gives her a faint smile. "Yes, Emma. She wasn't perfect, but she tried."
Emma nods curtly and Harold gives her one last smile before exiting the store as quickly as he came in.
She walks to the counter and stops in front of it - still with an unflinching expression - and spins the business card between her fingers. Neither Mary Margaret nor Belle utter a word, similarly to Killian, they probably have no idea what to say.
Emma never hid how she felt about her biological mother after she sent her away, but no matter how hard she tries not to show it, Killian knows this news has shaken her. He wants to take her in his arms, but he doesn't quite know if he should take that risk. Even though they are only a few steps apart, he still feels the cold sting of distance in his chest - Emma feels like a stranger now but he knows she's deliberately like that, that she wants to be like that.
Should he try to get closer? Or would it be better if he left her be? What should he do?
Emma puts the card down on the marble, pulls her coat out from the pile, and turns around without glancing at any of them.
"I want to be alone," she throws the words over her shoulder and hurries out of the store.
The door slams after her with a fatal, heavy thud. For Killian, this sound tells him that Emma hasn't just simply left the store, that something more is going on now. And he can't let that happen. He just can't.
"Do you think she would resent me if I went after her?" he asks Mary Margaret.
"Probably, but… Emma doesn't always want what she needs. She's used to dealing with things alone," she replies in a sad tone.
"So you think…"
"Yes," she smiles.
"I'm going, then."
"Good."
Killian grabs his coat, his body still tense, and steps outside into the cold. He looks around but can't spot Emma anywhere.
Where did she disappear to?
He hesitantly takes a step then stops, his breath swirls in white ruffles in front of him. Not much time has passed since her fleeing, he knows Emma couldn't have gotten far away from the square, but he still can't see her in the vicinity.
Where the bloody hell is she?
To his left an evergreen hedge is stretching out - if Killian remembers well, there are benches behind it. Maybe that's where Emma is hiding.
He takes off in a hurry, and as he goes around the shrubbery he spies her right away. Her gaze is fixated on her wrung hands as she sits on one of the benches.
Killian steps closer to her, then stops. "You're going to catch a chill, love."
Emma doesn't spare him a glance, just carelessly shrugs her shoulders a bit. The gesture tells him she doesn't care about that in the slightest.
"Come here." He extends his good hand to her.
Emma hesitates. Only for a moment, but that moment seems infinitely long. His breath catches painfully in his lungs and he can only breathe again when her thin, strong fingers touch his palm and rub it for a moment before they clasp their hands together tightly.
It feels as if this moment means more than just them holding hands. It's something like Emma accepting him by her side. Truly. Not just for better, but also for worse, and that makes his heart dance in his chest.
He pulls her up and sinks down on the spot she just vacated, tugging Emma down gently on his lap.
"Now you're going to be the one who's gonna catch a cold," she notes with a thin, weak voice.
"Better me than you," Killian shoots back with a smile.
Everything will be fine now. After all, they're here for each other, he for Emma, and it seems she wants him to be here - or at the very least she doesn't seem to mind his presence, which is still progress.
Emma's lips pull into a faint smile and she squeezes his hand. Her fingers are cold. He lifts their interlocked hands to his lips and breathes on her fingers, then holds them in both of his, rubbing them gently. Her smile runs a little - just the tiniest bit - wider.
"You know," she mumbles quietly as she traces one ugly scar on his left hand and his heart leaps in his chest. "I feel like a terrible person right now."
"Why?"
"Because... I don't feel anything. She was my mother, after all, I should feel something, shouldn't I?" her voice is veiled in despair.
"Swan, she didn't want you. It's not a sin if you are not troubled by it," he reassures her just as quietly.
"I don't know. She died, and it didn't even affect me."
"You are not a bad person, love," he declares firmly. His heart aches for her.
"How do you know?" she looks at him as if he was able to grant her salvation. As if she trusts him to say something that would make her feel better. But there's also a subtle fear in her eyes, a fear that he wouldn't be able to say anything that could change her mind about herself right now.
"If you were, would you be out here lamenting on your lack of sadness over her demise?"
Her eyes grow slightly bigger in surprise. He is unable to decipher what she thinks. Then, slowly, tears start running down her cold-bitten cheeks.
"I'm angry, Killian. I'm so fucking mad. I don't hate her, but I just can't forgive her for throwing me away. I feel like shit because of it, because she was still my freaking mother who was supposed to love me, and it's not fair that she didn't want her own flesh and blood, that she didn't want me…"
She rests her head on his shoulder, sniffing into his coat as she lets her sobs take over.
Killian has no idea how to ease her mind because he understands her fully. He knows why she is afraid of any kind of relationship or commitment, why she thinks she is not good enough. It is not because of her cretin of an ex-boyfriend (though it certainly reinforced the fear in her), but her mother, who was never her mother. Emma came into this world without anyone caring about her. Maybe she doesn't know it herself, maybe she never drew her conclusions from it, but Killian is sure that it's the root of all her problems. That is why she is so insecure and that is why she puts on the appearance of hardness and determination - she wants to cover it up and maybe the reason she acts prickly sometimes is because she doesn't want to be thrown away again.
Killian lightly tightens his arms around her, hugging her to his chest. He rocks her gently until the last of her tears make their way down her flushed cheeks. When her body is no longer shaking, he tenderly moves her from his embrace and takes her chin in his index finger and thumb, turning her face to him.
"Swan, I want you to listen to me very carefully," he starts in a serious tone, looking deep into her eyes. "You are a brilliant person. Amazing, brilliant, and worthy. Just because your mother didn't want you does not mean others don't either. It doesn't mean that I don't want you, Emma. I do want you. Just the way you are. Every part of you. And it will never change."
"You can't know that."
"I'm sure of it. I refuse to be like your mother, who waited until her death to realize she should have never done what she did."
Emma glances at him sniffing, then her lips pull into a smile. For Killian, her expression is like the first rays of sunshine after a seemingly endless night.
"I don't know what to do with the money," she admits. Killian knows she is deliberately ignoring his words, maybe he has said too much again. But she is still sitting on his lap and that is good. At least she doesn't feel the urge to run away.
"Why?"
"It doesn't feel right to accept it."
"It wouldn't make sense to punish your mother by not accepting it."
"But if I take it, isn't it like forgiving her?"
"You know, Swan, I believe you already have. You are furious with her because deep down she was important to you even though you were never to her. Now...it turns out, maybe you were wrong, maybe deep in her heart she would have wanted you if she had the courage to want you. What you are angry about now is the lost time together that can no longer be yours. I think the moment you asked if she was a good person is the moment you forgave her."
"When did you become so wise?" she asks with the hint of her past tears in her voice.
She doesn't object to his words, so Killian feels what he said wasn't completely foolish.
"A wise fool," he whispers and wipes the wandering tears from her cheek with his thumb.
She gives him a hesitant smile. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For coming after me."
"You are not vexed with me then?"
"Strangely, no," she replies, and he detects a light mocking in her tone.
Driven by a sudden idea, he reaches into his pocket - grateful that he always carries Emma's resolution list with him. He has no idea why he keeps it close to his person - maybe because this way, something of hers is always with him.
He unfolds the crumpled paper and lays it on her thigh, then pulls out a pen - he always has a pen with him because there were many times he needed one (mostly when he wanted to write down a lass's phone number) and there wasn't one in sight.
"What are you doing?" her tone is filled with curiosity. Her voice sounds a little lighter and that was his primary goal - he wants to distract her a little.
"Just making sure."
"Of what?"
"Well, I believe you are fretting over silly things again and at such times I always begin to fear that you will disappear."
"I'm not going to disappear," she declares, but perhaps even she herself hears how the conviction is missing from her voice.
"You say that now, but what if you change your mind? I'm not going to risk it. Not with you, Emma."
"You don't trust me?" she asks, her tone lacking any resentment or hurt.
"I trust you on every account," he looks into her searching eyes and hopes she believes him." … but not on this one."
"Good, I don't trust myself either," she grimaces then lets her eyes fall to the list. "You can cross the first one out, I failed at it miserably."
His lips pull into a grin - he recalls the moment Emma denied that anything had happened between them and how deeply she blushed when Killian whispered in her ear, refuting her claim. He tells her that too, adding how beautiful she was with her flushed cheeks.
Emma rolls her eyes, but that faint, pink tinge involuntarily appears on her cheeks again. "You don't need to remind me," she notes wryly.
"Don't I?"
"Just X it out."
Killian crosses the line "No lying (unless it's necessary)" with a sweeping move of the pen.
"So, we can establish that you are a liar," he declares, glancing up satisfied from the paper, his voice teasing. "I think we can cross this and this one out as well." he pokes at the lines with his pen.
"Why the commenting one?" Emma retorts, voice going an octave higher, eyes flashing up to meet his.
"Swan, ever since I've known you, you've never been one to stay silent if something was bothering you. That was probably the first one you broke, and you know it."
Emma sighs in defeat. "Okay, fair point. I didn't really think that one out."
Killian quickly crosses the "I won't say everything I think or bothers me out loud (except when my bullshit detector goes off)" and "Don't swear (that much)" lines.
"Okay, the rest stays." she bargains.
"That's only two, so I'm still winning," he puts the paper and pen back in his pocket, satisfied.
Emma says nothing, just lowers her head, though she can't hide the smile that stretches over her lips. Killian doesn't know what Emma wants more - to win or to lose. In fact, he himself has no idea what he wants. The last point on the list in particular throws him into a tizzy. He wants to make love to her - he wants it badly - he longs for her every moment, and it scares him somewhere deep. At the same time, he doesn't want them to do it only out of desire but because they mean more to each other. If it happens like that, maybe afterward… it won't be like the other times with other lasses. Then maybe, Emma won't want to leave him… Of course, with that, Killian would lose the bet, but then it wouldn't really matter at all.
"I'd like to ask you something," Emma speaks quietly.
"Anything."
"I don't want you to stay up at night and guard my dreams or whatever."
His chest tightens. Is that too much for her? Is it bothering her? He doesn't want to be a creep and he doesn't want to scare her off either.
"Why?"
"I don't want you to be tired all day because of me."
"It's worth it if in turn, your sleep isn't restless."
"I'd rather sleep anxiously if I can be with you during the day. I mean it's sweet, kind of weird, but still sweet. But you really don't have to do it. And if you are always asleep when I don't we can't… be together that much during the day." her cheeks blush brilliantly again, and she avoids his eyes.
His lips slowly pull into a smile, and he nods.
He is on the verge of uttering what he is thinking right now But perhaps it would be too soon to tell it to her. To tell her that he feels inexorably and irrevocably in love with her...