If it were not for all this shoddy business with Spencer, Killian would consider this to be a good day, since he can spend so much time with Emma.
The sight of David's anxious, taut face takes all that budding happiness away. Waving at them from his post in the field, he is forking hay into low piles, most likely planning to tie the loose strands into tight stacks so he can sell them.
Pursing his lips, Killian shakes his head. The man is always working, either tending to the sheep or the land. He dislikes pity and avoids anyone guilty of the emotion, never asking for help and only relying on himself to get the job done. He accepts Killian's aid but always returns the favor.
It is bloody hard not to try to assist the one person who has been such a good friend to him.
When they are but ten feet away, Emma whispers to Killian, "David looks upset."
He clears his throat and swallows down a bevy of answers. The lass is friends with Mary Margaret, and at this point, he is unsure if Dave has confided in his beloved. He wants to explain to her the reasons behind his friend's scowl, but David's desire to keep the news under the table was implicit in his reveal. Killian does not doubt that Emma is trustworthy, but she might question why David is keeping his conflict with Spencer a secret.
In the end, David alone must decide whom he wants to share his troubles with. Knowing how it feels to have your past exposed to the public, Killian cannot take away such a personal choice.
When they are in earshot, David glances at them again, mutters a low "good day," and hurries toward the old stables. Emma is bemused and moves as if to follow him, so Killian quickly steers her in the direction of the house.
Ruth is standing in the open doorway, troubled and sorrowful. She musters a smile as they draw near, but her gaze is pained. If she wants to share the truth with Emma, she will. Dave and his short temper are to be avoided, as he is not the sort of man who can be beleaguered with questions. When he is angry, he is easily provoked, and Emma has done nothing to deserve an outburst. Better for him to take out his frustration on the pitchfork than a worried friend.
Ruth's calm invitation to come inside puts Killian at ease. However frazzled her son might be, she is rational even amid a crisis. While she fusses with the seat covers and runs to soothe the hissing tea kettle, he focuses on the crackling fire consuming thick sticks and sending smoke up their chimney. An image comes to the forefront of his mind, of Ruth and David trying to comfort him one cold winter night after he went to the pub and swam his way to oblivion through a sea of rum.
They were the only people there for him when he needed someone to care, offering compassion and understanding and some damn hope. There was no humiliation or pity in the woman's affection or Dave's good-natured humor.
Emma's grip on his arm brings him back to life. Killian meets her eyes, questioning his relapse, and reassures her by patting her hand with his and guiding her to the best chair. All the window curtains are open wide to let in as much light as possible, their hostess's attempt to dispel the shadows George has brought today. However, despite the sunny weather outside, the interior of the cottage is still sombre.
Ruth ushers a tray of tea and biscuits to them, settling into her rocking chair after she is sure they are comfortable. There is no hint of conversation when she takes up her knitting needles and continues her task of transforming dyed yarn into a colorful scarf.
When he subtly turns his head, he notices a trail of tears falling silently into the half-finished garment. Catching his gaze, Ruth purses her lips, leaning forward to seemingly pluck at a thread that has unraveled from her creation. Though she is staring hard at her teacup, Emma seems to have sensed the dark mood that has fallen over this house.
What can he say, when he can do nothing to help?
"This season is always bad for my eyes ― the wind makes them water, then turns my nose into a beet," she croaks out with a half-hearted chuckle.
With downcast eyes and a tight frown, Emma's expression saddens even more. She is truly a perceptive lass.
Killian takes careful, slow sips of tea and tries to not grimace every other second. "The wind is much worse up the cliffs. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, the old timbers creak so that I think the entire lighthouse will come tumbling down about my ears."
Sniffling, Ruth gives him a caring smile. "I worry for you, up there all alone." He groans inwardly when she adds, "You shouldn't be ― perhaps it is time you found a nice girl to settle down with, like David has."
Emma's lips have curled into a small smile.
He scratches behind his ear, unsure how to reply. "Good mother Ruth, I have no need for a wife, and no lady needs someone like me."
"Nonsense, Killian." She waves off his protests. His embarrassment increases when he feels his face flush. "You can offer any woman in this town a good home. You're a good boy ― you would make a fine husband and father. Don't you want that, someday?"
In truth, he does. He has always wanted someone to cherish and to stand by him. And he will not deny that the thought of wee ones hasn't crossed his mind over the years. But Milah's death is a constant reminder of what happens when he follows his own desires. It is better to sacrifice it all and cause no one pain, rather than subject another to hardship and anguish.
After all, it was partly his fault that Bae lost his mother.
"Aye," he finally says, nearly choking on a wave of remorse. "Every man wants that."
Emma is refusing to look at him now. He said something wrong again, damn it.
Luckily, Ruth turns her attention to her next. "How about you, my dear? Has any fellow in our quaint town caught your fancy yet?"
Her shoulders are bowed, and if it were not for the cup and saucer she's clutching to her lap, he is certain her arms would be wrapped around her chest, holding herself together. In that moment, Emma seems so small and fragile, as if she wants to disappear completely.
He peers up at her from under his eyelashes, wishing with all his might that she would give him one glance.
Suddenly, she does, and the pain there wounds him.
He knows the reasons behind Ruth's hurt. He knows their family history. He knows why David is currently chopping firewood with a vengeance, although there is a full pile of tinder in the shed.
But Emma is still a mystery. He has learned a little about her past, but the depths of her heart are fathomless waters he has not yet traversed.
One day, he intends to.
His sailing days are gone, but he still loves art and the freedom it brings him. Lieutenant Killian Jones may have been buried away in a corner of his soul long ago, but parts of him remain. The man he has become is more than willing to give her as much of himself as she will accept.
Her gaze softens, and he hears her whisper, "It is a little too early to tell."
Ruth clucks her disapproval. "The two of you are quite a pair, neither willing to take a chance on anyone."
"I wouldn't say that," Emma counters, offering him a tentative half-smile.
He wants to put the bloody tea aside and take her hands in his, but that would be untoward. Ruth would scold him mercilessly if she knew of their shared moments. That kiss still resonates in his dreams, by God.
"Aye, you're being too harsh," he teases, suddenly feeling better than he has all day.
After a quick knock, David himself pokes his head through the door. Ruth crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at him. He blushes. "Hullo, Jones and Miss Swan."
Killian jumps at the opening. "'Morning Dave! I was telling Miss Swan here on the way over that Bessie is expecting."
The change from surprise to understanding in his expression is instantaneous. Before he can reply, Ruth says, "That she is, poor girl. She can barely move." She gives her son a pointed look. "I think she would love some company. Why don't you take Emma here and show her Bessie and the flock? Unless you would prefer not to," she adds, glancing at the lass. "I understand if―"
"No, I'd like that ― I would like that very much." Like the sun coming from behind a cloud, Emma's entire face brightens.
He is curious about this. As a governess, the families she worked for must have had enough space to maintain real stables and perhaps room for a cow. But David only has a flock of sheep and one dog. For someone as educated and sophisticated as she, there couldn't possibly be anything exciting about seeing that.
He must be wrong. Emma did ask Ruth if it was truly alright that they leave, but she is now running toward the makeshift stable, with poor David trying to keep up the pace.
Her enthusiasm makes him grin despite himself. He is about to join them when Ruth's voice holds him back at the doorway.
"Are you going to tell her, Killian?"
He turns to her. "About George?"
"Yes. And about yourself?" Her gaze is still kind, but more insistent than usual.
"She does not need to know about either." He shrugs, sticking his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "It is best that she is not involved."
Ruth shakes her head at him. "Oh, my dear. She is involved. The only way she can cast off her connection to us is to renounce friendship with all of us ― including you."
The thought of Emma doing that upsets his stomach. To hear her say that she wants nothing to do with him would hurt beyond imagining.
"You care for her already, don't you?" When he glances at her in surprise, her smile is encouraging but sad. "I noticed the way you looked at her. It is good she has brought you hope again."
His nails dig into his palms. "I do not believe that Emma ― Miss Swan ― would abandon her friends because of a man like George."
"Perhaps she has never encountered a man like him. If so, it is our duty to keep her safe. If he tries to drag us all down, at least she can be spared. She is a good girl, sweet and thoughtful."
She walks over to him and squeezes his hand. "Killian, I only want the best for both of you. You are the brother David never had, and I am grateful that you've given him that. No matter what happens, remember that love is always worth fighting for."
The stable is really a dilapidated, weather-worn building that has three stalls and a bit of room for storing feed. It has been mended many times, judging by the number of new wooden boards creating a chessboard pattern with the old.
Even though it is a tiny corner in comparison to Locksley's stables, Emma loves the warmth of this one, the way the sheep huddle together and stand at ease in their makeshift home. Bessie turns out to be a blue-eyed collie, resting her muzzle on her paws with a mournful expression. David explained that her litter is due to be born very soon, so the size of her swollen belly is preventing her from running after the flock. Apologizing for the muck on the floor, he rushes off to grab her a stool.
She decides to settle on the soft pile of straw instead, holding out her hand to Bessie's nose. The dog eagerly sniffs it before licking her fingertips. By the time David is back with the stool, she is scratching behind Bessie's ears and trying not to make a fool of herself as she grins widely at the collie's reaction, which is to close her eyes and pant toothily.
When he gives her some rock salt for the sheep, the moment escalates. Ewes are scrambling onto her lap to reach for the treat. Surrounded by wool, Emma is laughing as David tries and fails to pull the nearest sheep away, realizing an instant too late that he has just laid hands on the ram. With lowered head and stomping hooves, it is preparing to attack.
His timely hero happens to be Killian, who opens the stable door just as the ram charges forward and runs at David. With their leadership gone, the sheep bleat before following as a group in the ram's steps, stumbling out the door.
"Seems your lovely flock has found themselves a new shepherd." Killian slips his hands into his trouser pockets, seemingly at ease as he leans against the doorway. However, though he schools his expression into one of indifference, she sees a flicker of deep sadness in his eyes. She thought their conversation with Ruth inspired some cheer to chase away any melancholy.
David does not laugh at his friend's attempt at a jest. Frustrated, he flings the bag of salt into the nearest stall. "As if I needed that to happen." He stomps past Killian, the volume of his voice rising. "Now I have to waste a whole damn hour gathering those stupid animals again."
"I can sit and watch them," she hears herself say.
Both men give her looks of surprise.
"What?" She shrugs. "How hard can it really be? Sheep are not that adventurous."
David sighs, and his shoulders slump. The tension in his face dissipates. "I appreciate the offer, Miss Swan, but I do not want to be a bother." After gazing at each corner of the stable, he hangs his head. "I'm sure you have better things to do than watch my silly flock graze in circles."
Noticing his shepherd's crook propped against the wall, she gets up and takes it in hand. It is carved from fine willow bark ― she knows the texture of that wood by heart now. Strong and sturdy. "See," she motions to her new stance, straight posture and firm grip on the crook. "I'm half-prepared. The rest simply requires patience."
One eyebrow raised, Killian is smirking. "Ah, Dave, how can you refuse an offer like that? The lass clearly wants to help." David tries to protest, but his friend cuts him off. "Of course, you can't let her leave empty-handed. Perhaps a promised favor will satisfy Miss Swan as payment."
Eyebrows raised, David gives her a questioning glance and the barest hint of a smile.
"Favors," she grins, "are gladly accepted."
"You don't know George the way my family does. You don't know what he is capable of," David mumbles. He winds twine around the stack of hay Killian is holding in place with his arms and legs. "If you did, you would barricade yourself in that lighthouse and not come out until he's gone, back to his hideout of a mansion."
Tightening his grip on the stack, he replies through gritted teeth, "You're forgetting that that demon of a man already knows my history. He could destroy me with a careless whisper. So no, Dave, I am not going to skulk in my wretched house while you withstand his bloody siege on your own."
"Some would say I'm being foolish." He sighs as he ties the final knot. "George is offering me everything any man could want ― power, money, a title, connections ― and I'm throwing it all away."
"But you said yourself that it would be all a lie. You love the farm and your family ― your true family, David. You cannot leave them."
"It doesn't matter. He will hurt them." David's voice breaks. "He'll hurt my mother and Mary Margaret to hurt me, if I don't do what he wants. I cannot let that happen, Killian." He lets the hay fall to the ground with a thud, reaching for the pitchfork.
When his friend starts stabbing at the ground with the damn tool, Killian lays a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Hey. We will fight this. I promise you, we will find a way."
"Glad you're so confident," he snaps back. "I am not."
Realization hits Killian like a breaking wave against the shore. "You are not actually considering his offer, are you?"
David glares at him. "I am thinking about what is best for all of us. It's my sacrifice to make."
"Oh, how bloody noble of you." Images of Liam cross his mind. His brother gave him the same excuses and then got himself killed in the line of duty ― a sacrifice that benefited no one. "So what will you tell your sweetheart, eh? That her beloved fiancé is spineless in the face of danger? That you cannot defy that arse because you're afraid of him? That it's hopeless―"
He snaps and grabs Killian by the collar, shaking him. "Don't you get it? I do not see another way out of this! I have a father I barely remember, and a brother I never met, to thank for these goddamn chains."
"Chains can be broken."
With a frustrated groan, David lets go of him. "Not if you don't have the means to do it."
"That's bloody nonsense. You have people who will help you, if you ask. Go to the town council ― tell them what happened―"
"And shame my mother? Expose family secrets that are better left buried?"
"What is your life worth to you?" The man must be mad, refusing to resist the hold George has on him. "Unless you stand up to him now, he will blackmail you for as long as you both live."
"There are consequences!"
"Either way, there are consequences." Killian's voice drops to a whisper. "You need to gain trust, not push people away. Tell Mary Margaret the truth. Tell Emma. Tell even bloody Pastor Hopper, if need be. Find the folk in this town who will support you, and rally them to your side. Spencer cannot fight half of Storybrooke if they defend you. He is but one man. Strength is in numbers."
"You and your fine words." David rolls his eyes. "You're forgetting that George can ruin everything."
Liam's smiling face and his kindness blind his vision, provoking him to say, "Mate, death ruins everything. You are alive and you are strong. No matter the sins of your father and brother, you are not them. You are David Nolan. Don't let anyone take away what is yours." He swallows hard. "At least you have something ― a future ― to fight for."
Taking a deep breath, his friend finally nods his consent.
The grass is unusually dry for this time of year. It is soft and fragrant, filling her nose and her lungs with the deepest sense of calm she has experienced in a long time.
Looking up at the sky, Emma smiles to herself at the thought of Killian's smile, admiring and proud, as she herded the sheep around her, bag of salt in hand. How he glanced back at her, before following David to help him bind stacks of hay for feed.
She had perched upon a flat rock before swimming into the alluring green and yellow waves, spread out for miles until they seem to brush the sun on the distant horizon. Here is an ocean of a different kind, grounded and sure but still mysterious. Like the sea, the earth has its own secrets.
These fields remind her of the many picnics she spent with Graham on his estate, the way she always liked exploring Robin's vast acres of land.
Worry suddenly pops into her head, the contents of a sincere letter from her dear former student. She should have replied to him by now, but she has had no time to consider his proposal. She still cannot bring herself to write back, although she knows her delayed response is hurting him. While she may not harbor the same feelings for Graham as he does for her ― another subject she has not let herself really dwell on, lest the answer reveal itself ― she cares for him deeply. She needs to reply, and soon. She has to stop pushing away the inevitable.
What bothers her is that no matter which choice she makes, it will be the wrong one. She gave up on marriage and dreams of romance years ago. Allowing Graham to give her a fairytale ending will simultaneously take away her purpose for living, the drive and determination that gives her strength to wake up each morning and make her way. She has formed a life for herself, by herself. And she alone can maintain it. As her husband, he would be in control, adjoining her future to his.
Would she have a better future alone, or with him?
Her independence is all she has left. She needs to keep fighting for it. Marriage is a fantasy she cannot afford. If he was offering her a place in his home, as his adopted sister... That would be a different scenario. Her yearning for family and home would be fulfilled.
As it is, she finds herself in the midst of a dilemma: she wants to keep his friendship, but she does not want to break his heart.
Just as quickly, her thoughts drift to the Nolans, Ruth's devotion to David and his attachment to Mary Margaret. Their combined strength of character seems unbreakable, a stronghold of love. They support their friends and value them with the utmost sincerity; the few months she has been here testifies to that. What would they think of her choices and the possibility of her leaving Storybrooke so soon? Would any of them care? Does she want them to, when it might mean they would try to convince her to stay?
Then there is Killian himself, offering her hope.
Her mind is in such turmoil that it is tiring to think at all. It is simpler to succumb to laziness. Slowly, measuring every breath, she allows her eyes to close and her body to sink into the swaying grass, drowning in earth and light.
Favors will not do her any good now. If David were a genie from one of those fairy tales, able to grant her a wish, she knows exactly what would erase all the worry and uncertainty, relax her troubled heart.
She longs for one last horse ride, to meet the sky and run away from it all.
She is spending too much time in his company. She knows this. And yet, she cannot stop herself from coming to the stables and seeking him out.
Neal seems to be well loved by the horses he tends. Though when he introduced her to Rose's mother, a fine mare named Leela with a strong sense of curiosity, this horse was not so friendly towards him. She nipped at his fingers and pushed his hand away. As a result, Emma was cautious, but to her great surprise, Leela took a liking to her. Now, whenever she visits the stalls, the older mare is the first to neigh in greeting, eager for treats and a brush down. Neal says she is the most headstrong, adventurous horse he has ever encountered. Emma thinks he's trying to make excuses for Leela's obvious dislike of him.
Nonetheless, she likes him, and she is willing to sacrifice all her free time to be around him.
Most of the time, they go riding together and later walk their horses back through the fields. All the while, she is learning so much from him, not only about horses. He is articulate but reserved, never sharing too many details about his past. From what she can gather, he is an only child, and his relationship with his parents must have been unhappy enough to push him far away from home. He rarely speaks of his family, never mentions why they are estranged.
She understands that. Her childhood is a hurt that she does not want to expose. She would have to trust him more than she does now in order to share that part of herself. Discussing their preferences and views on the world is much easier than opening up their souls to each other.
"Just what are you doing here, all alone?"
Emma sits up with a start. Her vision is blurry and her head feels muddled. Coming to focus, she decides that she imagined a voice asking her questions, that it must have been the bleats of the sheep around her that woke her up.
Dear Lord, no. She fell asleep. Reprimanding herself for being a terrible shepherd, Emma rises to her feet, brushing off grass from her skirts and trying to regain her footing.
The sheep seem to be undisturbed, ruminating quietly in small groups. The sky is still a perfectly clear blue, and sunshine is pouring down on her.
The only thing out of place is the stranger sitting astride a horse, looking at her with an unmistakable sneer on his face. His expression goes blank before she can decide what it means.
Am I still dreaming?
"Cat got your tongue, girl?"
Her anger flares, burning her reason. "You will address me with respect, sir. I am no mere girl, and I do not speak to strange men without so much as an introduction."
"Oh, I beg your pardon." His tone is anything but apologetic. "If it will console you, my name is Keith Garrison, Miss...?"
"If you have business to conduct with the Nolans, Mr. Nolan is currently occupied." Her refusal to recognize his name, as well as offer her own, is the best insult she can contrive at the moment.
Mr. Garrison chuckles, tightening his hold on the reins on his burly horse. It snorts its disapproval. "That's alright. You will find I'm a patient man. I'm willing to wait as long as it takes."
His enigmatic statement, and the way his gaze glitters menacingly, cause a twinge of fear to run up her spine. He is lying about his purpose for coming. "Why are you really here?" she demands. "This is private property ― I am quite certain that the owners would not approve of your roaming about without their knowledge or their consent."
Tipping his head back, the man laughs. Then he clucks at her, tongue rolling between bright teeth. "So brave. I must say, this is going to be more enjoyable than I was told."
Without another word, he smirks and turns the chestnut steed around, trotting off until he is out of sight, gone from the Nolans' land.
Damn it all, her hands are shaking. She searches frantically for the shepherd's crook, holding onto it for dear life when she finds it lying next to her feet.
This Keith Garrison said he was told to come here. That means someone asked him to. His calm, arrogant demeanor does not bode well, as if he has a job to complete and he is ready to get to work. Between Ruth's sadness, Killian's unease, and David's anxiety, something is brewing under the surface, sinister and threatening.
Gathering her resolve, Emma makes her decision. She is going to draft her reply to Graham and send it out tomorrow morning, even if she has to run to catch the post. She needs time to figure this all out ― her life, her future and its possibilities. More importantly, she is not going anywhere or marrying anyone until she knows that the Nolans and Killian are safe and in no danger. Loyalty is important to her.
From the look of Garrison and his bold words, a fight is beginning. If any of her new friends are involved, her stance is certain. It does not matter if she is letting her feelings overcome her rational mind, or if she cares more than she should.
She owes it to herself to wait, to bide her time and see what will happen here in Storybrooke. Going back to Graham means running away again from her problems.
Neal ran away from his problems. And she ran away from him. Running away is giving in to fear.
She will not be afraid ― not this time.