A/N: This story would not be possible without the love, advice, and kickass betaing skills of Jrob64. I love you! Thank you for all the encouragement, edits, ideas (and flails!)
Readers: every comment, view, favorite, note on tumblr warms my heart and makes me all fluffy. I love every bit of it! Thank you!
I hope this quick update doesn't, idk, make y'all hate me or anything. I'm just trying to get FFN caught up to ao3 (which is up to ch6) and hey look, I have a free moment, so.. why not? Anywhoo. This ch jumped from just over 7000 words to almost 9k when I went to give it its 'final' edit - I thought I was deleting things and making paragraphs smaller.. Sorry?
Handfasting! Ready? Set! ...
Handfasting
Christina 'Tink' McAdams heard through the grapevine that Killian Jones, resident bachelor, had agreed to be betrothed. And the grapevine knew who to, too. He didn't know who the American was, but Tink did. She'd noticed when the pretty blond had arrived, looking tired, grumpy, and a little awestruck by the sights the town was offering.
But her accent was the giveaway. Tink wasn't sure they'd ever had an American amongst them in their small corner of the world, let alone during Féile an Ghrá - Tink was a curious woman. As soon as she saw the taxi, she wanted to know. She felt it had been pure serendipity that she had been on the roof of the inn, fixing the antenna for the satellite connection when the taxi arrived. Anywhere else, and she could have easily missed it because of the craziness going on.
And the taxi appeared to be from Dublin no less, information that caused her curiosity levels to snoop levels - which was more than her normal - though it led Tink to a big fat nothing.
Smee, the Innkeeper, and his assistant had both been tight-lipped, but Amelie and Murphy were the only other two who had any kind of conversation with the stranger.. Tink only knew, aside from the woman's country of origin, that she kept to herself, but not in an unfriendly way.
Tink hated to admit it, but the other woman might actually be a decent match for Killian Jones.. if one could tell by a single detail.
She'd been jealous at first. It was only natural. But, really, she'd only ever been invited into his bed. And Tink had been the one to suggest their dalliances, telling him that's all it ever would be, secretly hoping he'd fall for her after a while.
When was the last time he called? Not in a long while.
It didn't take Tink long to push past her jealousy, though, fully understanding where she stood with him and deciding to accept it instead of following a darker path that she knew would hurt her more in the long run. Especially if he was actually moving to the colonies as the whispers said. She wanted his last memories of her to be positive ones.
Once her personal emotions were sorted, she knew she had to come up with some way to show her support. He would need that. Appreciate it, maybe. (She was only human, and though her emotions were sorted in her head, she couldn't help the diminishing hope that still rested in her chest.)
It took a lot of brain power, but eventually, she had the perfect thing to show her support, the reason she was standing across the street from the Inn twenty minutes before his ceremony - and she was growing anxious. Neither had left yet, she knew - primarily because the main gossips (herself included) were in a text group, chatting about Killian and his American, reporting on their movements, sharing what they [hadn't] learned from talking to those who had talked to Killian or the American.. The lady in question had scurried into the inn around thirty minutes before he had shown up there, and neither one had left yet.
Tink really wished Smee or his assistant would lighten up and divulge something. A first name wasn't so much to ask, was it? Even Amelie didn't know it. In her shock that an American would choose this tradition, she'd forgotten to ask, but figured it didn't matter since the very next day, Killian had asked Amelie about said American, effectively scooping her up.
There was only one American.
Fifteen minutes to the wedding, her anxiety growing, she breathed a sigh of relief when Killian appeared at the door of the inn, holding onto something green and knitted, keeping his head down as he moved toward the docks.
Dear Lord, the man looked good . Her heart broke a little more at the sight of his black jeans and light blue wool sweater - that would keep him warm, she knew, but damn did that also make his eyes pop.
He wasn't going to see Tink standing there, barely looking up to watch where he was going. She knew why. He'd been doing it since he realized the festival was this week. She'd been there last year when he was almost challenged to a duel. If she hadn't been there, she'd have heard about it.
Running to catch up to him, she called his name, causing him to turn in surprise, his eyes widening even further when he saw who called after him, and what she was holding.
"Tink? What the devil are you up to, lass?"
Grinning past her heartache, Tink gave him a wink, holding up the crown of flowers. "These are for your bride." She explained, noticing his blush at the title, while she reached out to attach the matching feirdhris bud onto his sweater with a pin. "And this is for you."
He looked at her with appreciation. "Tink-"
"Your mother was good to me when I knew her. She always gave me one of these when she saw me. I just wanted you to know how happy I am you're here, doing this." She motioned around generally, then shrugged. "Even if it does sadden me that this is the end of our dalliances."
Shaking his head, he pulled her into a hug with a shaky smile she'd never seen on him before. He was clearly nervous. And now, he wanted to look back at the inn, she could tell. He figured it out - she was still in there.
"Go before you're late!" Tink pushed him backwards, keeping one eye on him, and the other on the door.
When he moved far enough to be safely away from the inn without seeing his bride, Tink checked her watch. Lass was cutting it close -
Then she saw her. The light of the sunset was making her glow a brilliant orange and pink tone. Though clearly nervous, Tink knew Killian wouldn't know what hit him.
Before the strange American could protest, Tink ran up to her, grinning, placing the crown of flowers on her head with a wink, but without a word. The bride might even think people did this all the time.
With a wave of farewell, Tink hurried toward the docks to watch, taking the 'alley' behind the buildings so she wouldn't be seen by either party. She shouldn't have bothered trying to hide.
Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ
Emma kept checking her phone as she walked toward the spot. She knew she shouldn't, the battery wasn't going to last much longer as it was, and her constant double check of the time or weather or no new messages wasn't helping matters. More than that, she still hadn't bothered even attempting to figure out how to plug it in here.
She had been entirely unsure if she should even bring the phone, mentally kicking herself for not thinking about buying an appropriate purse or clutch or something while at the bridal store earlier, finally deciding to bring her phone just because its case doubled as a wallet and was basically her entire life - which was depressing - and she'd never been married before, so how was she to know if she would need something?
Halfway there, a chill in the air hit her, making her shiver. She glanced behind her wistfully, knowing if she turned around now, she'd end up being late - what kind of impression would that make? (Other than an accurate one..) She knew she should have left earlier, but she was too nervous, too panicky.. it had taken all the extra time she had just to will herself out the door.
She was already feeling so overwhelmed that she had to focus on walking forward, moving her leg, shifting her weight, and repeating with the other leg. The terror in the unknown was clawing at her to stop, and run back to the safety of the inn where no one was waiting to break her heart - but there was still a tiny sliver of fucking hope - that she tried to ignore by adjusting her newly acquired floral crown.
The fragrance of the pink roses - were they roses? - overcame her senses, and mixed well with the spritz of perfume she'd chosen for the occasion. Rather, the only perfume she had with her, at the bottom of the bag, nearly forgotten entirely. It was a decent metaphor for her life, actually. Forgotten until found at the bottom of the barrel. She didn't even remember buying that bottle until she had stumbled upon it while unpacking.
Step, shift, lean forward, step, shift, lean forward -
Hyper focused, one step at a time, eyes on the horizon, she momentarily wondered if she'd ever be able to find and thank the random woman who had given the flower crown to her, despite her shock at receiving the strange gift. It was completely normal for a stranger to shove flowers on another person's head.. Flower Friday, or something. It should have been weird, but Emma wasn't given much chance to do anything but accept the gesture, finally figuring it was all a part of the festival. They did this for the tourists.. Right? Something about the 'experience', hoping for Google reviews, and five stars..
Emma's mind had wandered enough, her focus taken so entirely by the act of moving forward, that she hadn't been paying attention to her location until the sounds of her footsteps shifted from softly padding down concrete, to a sharp snap of her tiny heels on wood, signaling her arrival at the boardwalk - the docks - a realization that made Emma freeze in place.
She had arrived - and she had to use every ounce of strength she had to hide the chills and insecurities she felt as she stared off toward the ocean, gathering her wits to face the spot and him - whoever he was.
It wasn't long before she felt eyes pierce her, hindering the small progress she had made in gathering herself. This was all so.. unreal. Her future husband - a laughable concept - was standing somewhere (she knew exactly where) but her eyes were focused on the calming sway of the sea instead.
What was she doing here? Getting married? To a stranger? When exactly did this become her life? It had been a whim. She never actually thought -
But she was here, now, and so was he, and she was growing angry with herself, cowering over the idea of looking a man in the eye.
Strength appeared out of thin air, filling her to the brim. She squared her jaw in determination, finally turning her head - and all she could see were a pair of blue eyes staring right back at her, calming her like the ocean had.
She felt her body shift to face him as she thought, trying to process, finally deciding she wasn't still staring at the ocean.
Breathe.
She was positive this day would kill her by suffocation, until she finally managed to breath in through her nose, trying valiantly to slow her heart rate down before forcing her eyes to break the contact so she could examine the rest of him. She shouldn't have done that.
Emma Swan was in Trouble - with a capital T.
No way in hell was she lucky enough to be betrothed to a man who looked like that, like he could single handedly sell a calendar, with eyes so blue they looked photoshopped - except this was the live, unedited version of her life. He had an unfairly perfect mop of dark wispy hair, ginger stubble that could not have been more perfect, and a nervous smile that might just make her melt if she looked at him long enough.
This man simply couldn't be.. him. No, Emma's luck included obese serial-killers. Or something. However.. the man in question was exactly where the map had told Emma to go. Just off the boardwalk, next to a tree, in full view of the town and the marina - marina? Was it big enough to be called that? Or were they just 'docks'?
Focus.
She couldn't focus on much, too busy staring - but in all fairness, so was he.. at her.
Somehow, her feet shuffled forward without her consent, her eyes only moving to the boardwalk beneath her feet to keep herself from tripping and really embarrassing herself, stopping just within reach of the man who was - absolutely not - her groom.
The way he was looking at her though.. almost.. like he was in awe. He seemed just as shocked as she was, though he wasn't questioning this - he knew. He somehow knew she was his bri- that he was her groo-
And because he did, so did she. This was really actually happening, with him.
She had to remind herself that anything that looked too good to be true usually was, something she knew from years of experience. And he looked.. way too good to be true. Too.. attractive. The kind of attractive that could only be made in a computer with makeup and editing, or drawn on the cover of romance novels because this level of symmetry just wasn't possible under normal circumstances -
He had to be a jerk. Or maybe he was a slob. Or maybe he was a serial cheater who chain smoked. Or he was broke, living on the street, just getting married for a place to sleep. She was still betting on the serial-killer angle, though.
Whatever his defect, those mythical sapphire eyes demanded her attention once more, making the voices in her head begin to hush, until all she could feel was the slight breeze that prickled her skin, all she heard were the waves hitting the boats docked - his eyes shined with.. no.. genuine concern?
Confused, she tightened her mask, but it was far too late. He was turning away from her, walking off, and she knew he wasn't her groom. Or if he was, he was leaving her just like everyone else had, like everyone always would.
All she could do was gape a little as she followed him with her eyes.. as he took the few steps to reach a man holding something green and knitted in his hands, which her non-groom took with a grin that somehow softened when he turned back to her.
She felt like she had been run over by a downed airliner when he began to return, retaking his previous position just a foot or so away, offering what she decided could only be a knit shawl - because, naturally, despite her mask and determination not to be seen… this man saw her.
He raised his offering slightly, her eyes following his movements.
"May I?"
Yes. She was freezing. Where had her voice gone? Perhaps it left when he opened his mouth and more perfection came spewing out, because that was fair. She had to be going into shock.
Uncertain of any other action, Emma nodded her agreement, causing him to step close enough to drape the knit offering around her shoulders - dear God, he even smelled good. She was doomed. This was all - he was too - too fucking perfect, too fucking much. Could this be over before it even started? Like he was probably already married, or -
There was sincerity in his eyes as his fingers lingered on the shawl, barely brushing her skin, igniting an electric shock that passed through her, something he seemed to feel, too, if his surprised expression was anything to go by. He let his fingers drop from her skin, stepping back to his previous position.
She had to force the want away - she wanted him closer, and she hated herself for it.
Luckily, a polite cough brought her out of her head, causing Emma to look for the presence she had yet to notice. The man had small glasses, unruly red hair, and a smile that screamed understanding. She figured he must be the officiant. Because this was a wedding. Weddings were legally binding and serious, even though her eyes found their way back to the eyes of Mr. Photoshopped, gazes locking -
Before she could even think, her voice decided to start working again.
"Hi." Clever. However would he respond?
With a lopsided grin that was completely unfair to the female population, while one thumb hooked into his belt loop and another pointed to himself.
"Killian Jones."
Four words, four fucking words he had spoken, and now she was positive he had more in that accent than just Ireland. He almost sounded British. She wasn't sure which was more devastating to her psyche. But both? She might not survive this.
"Emma Swan." Whose breathy voice had said that? She groaned inwardly. She hadn't been anticipating her treacherous voice being that soft - and this seemed like it needed to be a much more private conversation, but the officiant was in their way.
The officiant who was speaking. Shit, she was missing her own wedding - what the hell was she going to do with her phone? She was clutching it to the shawl with both hands, she realized, as she decided to finally tune back into her life.
"...Handfasting is an ancient tradition here in Ireland, where two people bind their lives together, and form a union of their hopes and dreams."
Emma couldn't help but turn to the red-haired man upon hearing his non-Irish accent, then doing a double take when he said that. Hopes and dreams? She'd hoped for a man, a companion really, and dreamed one day he'd love her.
Could this.. Killian Jones provide that? Taking a risk, she looked at Killian at the same time he turned to her, neither of them noticing the gathering of people slowly surrounding them, or the photos nearly every member of town was taking from nearly every angle.
The officiant cleared his throat, getting their attention once more. "Emma, might I hold onto that for you?"
His voice was soft as he nodded to her phone. She took in a deep breath as she held out her hand to relinquish the little black case to the man who would marry her to a stranger.
"Thank you. Now, if you would, please, join your right hands together, then your left hands."
Killian raised a brow at her, which brought on a genuine smile - when was the last time she'd smiled so freely? - before he brought up his right hand, waiting for her. Biting her lip, Emma followed his lead, and soon, both their hands entwined.
He was warm. How unfairly delicious. She knew her fingers were clutching his a little tightly, but he only squeezed back, covering her fingers with his, effectively shielding them from the chill in the air.
"This motion symbolizes your free will to enter into this marriage." The red haired man began wrapping ribbons around their hands, speaking of vows Emma couldn't hear. She knew she was asked to repeat a 'we will' - or was it a dozen?
She felt the motions, her intake of air to speak, her lips moving to form words, but Emma was far too focused on the warm strength emanating from Killian's hands, and the gentle look on his face as he uttered the 'we will' at the same time she did, every time - except for the few verbal stumbles she nearly face planted, with the random 'it is' and 'we do' instead.
Her instincts traitorously told her she could trust him. What was worse, was she wanted to trust him. She was tired - exhausted - of being alone and untrusting of everyone and everything and- should she - no, could she trust him? Could she open her heart to this stranger, get to know him, lean on him, count on him?
Could he count on her?
Where would they live? She assumed together, eventually, but where? Here? America? Had he caught her American accent? Did he know she wanted to move back? Did he want kids? If he did, would he bolt when he found out about her past? There were millions of questions and so much uncertainty replacing the strength she's had only moments ago - then, she felt that hope again, and began to wonder about her possible future with this man by her side, how many different ways their lives could look together - when she saw Killian look away abruptly, towards the officiant, then heard the return of the polite cough.
She realized how far she'd zoned out, but apparently she wasn't the only one judging by the way Killian chucked, embarrassed.
"Apologies, Arch."
"Quite alright, Killian." Arch - apparently the officiant - nodded to them both, asking Killian to repeat him.
Emma didn't dare miss hearing this. Not with Killian looking directly into her eyes.
"I, Killian, promise you, Emma, that I will be your husband from this day forward, to respect you, to support and to hold you, to make you laugh and to be there when you cry, to softly kiss you when you are hurting, and to be your companion and your best friend on this journey that we will now make together as one."
Emma was melting while she looked for the lies. Again, his eyes were sincere, and his voice held honesty - no lies.
It was Emma's turn to be startled by Arch's nasty habit of clearing his throat. He should have that looked at.
Emma repeated after Arch, almost word for word what Killian had said, as Arch somehow managed to braid the ribbons around their hands, without breaking them apart, twisting it this way and that until, somehow, he reached the end. Emma was surprised to see it had been braided into an infinity loop.
"As your hands are now bound together, so shall your lives be bound as one. Keep this cord as a reminder of your promises to one another, and let no one unbind it as long as you both shall live."
Killian's eyes found hers, bowing his head just enough to look at her through his lashes.
"Alright, lass?" he mouthed at her, the apparent perfection of him obviously including his caring nature, and being able to read her.
Maybe.. was her luck changing? She couldn't help the smile if she tried, and she found she didn't want to try. He must have taken that as a response, which she was glad for, because he turned to the officiant again.
"Oi, Arch, could've asked before you tied us up. Left pocket."
Asked what -
The man who had held the green shawl stepped up, offering to reach into Killian's left pocket, producing a small box - it had to be rings. She hadn't even considered rings, and he had. Was this normal for a handfasting? She hadn't been paying close attention to the other ceremonies around town to know -
She wondered if any other ceremonies were going on now, causing her to look around - a mistake if ever there was one. There were so many people surrounding her that she almost couldn't see the water anymore.
Walls closing in on her, her breathing stopped, and she frantically looked around for an escape -
"Breathe." Killian's voice washed over her, slowly, before the panic attack could even set in. "Just us, aye?"
How did he know? Shaking her head to clear it, she focused solely on the man standing before her, letting the crowd fade as she searched his face, slowly nodding, biting her lower lip painfully to keep from looking again - pain was good. Pain meant she was alive.
She took a deep breath as he cocked his head at her, his piercing eyes searching her soul, before nodding in return.
She wasn't entirely sure what just happened, but she knew she was okay - for now. She just had to keep focused on him - something she would dissect at a later - much later - date.
Averting her eyes from his photoshop blue gaze, she noticed their hands were no longer tied, the braided ribbon held tightly in Arch's left, while his right was holding the black box given by the other man. Just how long had she zoned out?
"And now, the rings. Thank you Will." Her eyes flickered to Will, then back to Arch as he spoke to them. "You may be here by chance, or you may be here by fate." He said softly. "Either way, you're here today because you've made a choice. And you will continue to make it, every day of your lives. You are choosing each other." He smiled then. "Every day, you'll see these rings. Be it a flash of light, or a sparkle, and it will remind you of your promises here today. Of the choice you are making, and will continue to make as the days grow."
Emma's eyes snapped back to Killian, who was looking at her with an intensity she'd never known before.
They really were making a choice. Not at this moment, not really, the choices would come later. According to Amelie, they only had a few hours to talk, and.. do the thing she wasn't thinking about, before someone would approach them with the legal papers to make it all official -
"Killian, please take Emma's left hand, place the ring on her finger, and repeat after me as you look at her-"
"I give you this ring in token, and pledge of my abiding honor and respect." The ring slipped on easily. She was surprised it fit, but for whatever reason, she couldn't look down. She couldn't look anywhere. His eyes had captured hers yet again.
"Emma, please take Killian's hand, place the ring on his finger, and repeat after me as you look at him-"
"I give you this ring in token and pledge of my abiding honor and respect." She looked away long enough for her shaking fingers to slip the ring onto his left hand, before he moved his hands to shield hers from the cold once more.
"May you enjoy a lifetime of love, happiness, and prosperity. Go in peace. Live in joy. By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Husband and Wife. Those words seemed to echo in her mind, as she watched the shy smile forming on Killian, lighting up his eyes, and Emma was certain she was gaping stupidly while his eyes just fucking sparkled and she chewed her lower lip savagely.
"Killian, you may now kiss your bride!"
Inhale. Exhale.
He raised a brow in question. He was actually asking - and she gave him a small nod before he stepped closer, their bodies barely touching, his eyes never leaving hers as he lowered his lips to hers for a simple peck - her eyes remained open for a moment, watching his lids close, until she had melted enough, closing her own was mandatory.
Then, he was gone, shuffling back by half steps. It was entirely too chaste. She couldn't ever remember enjoying a kiss, not really, but this one in its simplicity was actually.. pleasant.
"I now present Mr. and Mrs. Jones!" The abrupt noise of cheerful hooting and hollering erupted around them.
Emma squeezed her eyes tight, trying not to pay the crowd any attention. Her hands left his, clasping together, the feel of the new ring surprising her enough that she looked down at it for the first time. Only, she found two rings. A simple silver-colored band, and one with a ruby and a triad of diamonds on either side of it. It was anything but traditional, and Emma found she actually loved that.
Arch spoke again, softly. She was careful with her gaze as she looked up at him to avoid looking anywhere else.
"This cord represents the marital bond. It is strong enough to hold you together during times of struggle, yet flexible enough to allow for individuality and personal growth." Arch then gave the braided ribbon to them, to take together.
Killian, rolling his eyes, looked to the people gathered, who were still celebrating.
"Imeacht gan teacht ort!" He shouted, causing them to laugh.
Emma leaned toward him, whispering "What was that?"
He grinned at her, whispering in turn. "Bugger off. Figured you'd appreciate that."
"This - it's a lot."
He looked around at all the people, a small smile gracing his lips, and she couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. Was he from here? Did he know all these people? If he did, she couldn't imagine what that felt like. She wasn't even sure she knew this many people - she wasn't sure she knew half.
Then his eyes were back on hers, roaming her as if he was checking for something, before turning to the officiant.
"Her phone, Arch?"
"Oh, of course."
The phone was handed back to her, and she tightened her fingers around it and the shawl simultaneously. She couldn't help but feel grateful one of them had the foresight to bring something for her. How had he known to bring the shawl? Was this a preview into how it would always be with him?
Would there even be an always?
Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ
Whatever someone might say about Killian Jones' wedding, they could not say his was one lacking in witnesses. The entire bloody town was there - local farmers, town elders, even a few peers from Primary and Secondary school he hadn't seen in ages - as well as a few peers from Uni. Not to mention the throngs of curious tourists he had never seen before. He was quite positive every shop and kiosk had closed for this.
It was overwhelming.
The thought hit him like a rogue wave. If it was overwhelming for him, how was his new wife handling this spectacle? A quick glance at her verified that her mask was tighter than ever, causing it to crack. He dared a guess that she was not handling this well. To him, it seemed obvious that she was inundated with the attention given her at this moment. Whatever reason she had for arriving here and signing up for this event, he was positive she hadn't signed on to be the town's newest exhibition.
He had to get her away from here. How best to accomplish such a task? He couldn't do it himself, these folks were ignoring him, and would likely continue to do so. Looking around, he noticed Tink standing nearby, happy tears streaming down her face. She was far too emotional to be of any assistance. A few bodies over was Will, looking just as engulfed by the situation as Killian felt.
Then he spotted Old Man Murphy. The elderly man was glowing in mischief, his eyes sparkling like a lad on Christmas morning.
Killian gave the man a pointed look, indicating to the crowd with his head. Murphy grinned, taking the hint, shouting "Bollix, you lot!" as he waved his arms dismissively at the crowd in general, earning the jolly chorus of half-hearted boos, cheers, and laughter he was likely aiming for.
"Imigh leat!" The majority of the crowd dispersed, shaking their heads, some still laughing. Thank the Gods for that old man.
He looked down at Emma - his wife - who was looking up at him in confusion. He almost couldn't form words at the sight of her, her skin and hair shimmering in the last light of day. What really caught in his throat was the green shawl his mother had knit specifically for his future bride, which appeared to be the same shade as her eyes.
She broke him out of his thoughts, whispering "Do I even want to know?"
"He merely told them to go away." He spoke just above a whisper, not entirely sure he could trust his voice to work at this moment.
"To the inn with them!" Killian groaned, glaring daggers at his eejit friend, Will, who couldn't catch a clue if it bit him in the armpit.
The new attention caused the remaining townies to push he and his bride up the hill, toward the establishment in question.
"At least they can't follow us inside-" He shook his head, before realizing just what he might be implying. Killian looked at her sharply, trying to gauge her reaction, though she was walking next to him with that carefully placed mask.
Bloody mask.
Per tradition, they'd be ushered into a room, probably his, and left alone until Archie arrived sometime the next day to finalize the documents. If there was anything to finalize - something he knew would be on her mind, possibly not in a good way.
She looked to be dreading this, under that mask of hers. A new wave of curiosity piqued his interest, asking himself again why had this woman agreed to all of.. this?
He leaned in close to whisper, "I figure we have much to discuss."
She gave him a wry laugh, her eyes facing forward. "We have everything to discuss."
"Everything is a lot." he murmured quietly, side-eyeing a random tourist walking with them to the inn. "I have all night if you're up for a chat."
Her eyes flickered up to his as she gave him a tight smile. "I think I can manage that."
It took far longer than it should have to reach the inn, far longer to convince the townsfolk to leave them be, and then Archie locked them in his room.
"Did they seriously just lock us in here?" She asked, standing at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed tightly around the ends of the shawl.
He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets while looking around the room from his position by the door. He noticed an odd duffle bag next to the dresser, a few items on both the dresser and nightstand that, decidedly, did not belong to him, and a lovely quilt laying on top of the bed - but it wasn't a traditional Irish design, and it hadn't been there when he had left little more than half an hour ago.
"I believe your room may have been moved into mine."
"What?!" she spun around, eyeing the same details he had, going so far as to stomp over to open the dresser drawers where her clothes now rested. "Can this town get any weirder?"
"You happened to pick an interesting week for a visit. This is the.. weirdest it ever is."
She sighed, pulling the shawl tighter, shoving the drawer closed before moving away from the dresser, away from him, closer to the window.
"I can - that is - " What was he trying to say, exactly? He breathed out, scratching behind an ear. "If you'd like to change into something more comfortable, I can turn around."
She looked surprised, her head snapping around to look at him, her mask dropping for a fraction of a second.
"Oh. Uhm. Yeah. I think I'd like that."
He turned, feeling a little ridiculous at having his nose practically pressed up against the door of his room, but he felt it was necessary. She was clearly not one to trust easily, making her involvement in this ancient ritual even more curious.
He closed his eyes, trying to think, organize, plan the topics that needed to arise. Should he go after the tough questions - religion, politics, children, jobs, or focus on personality? Then again, did he really want to get into his own background tonight? If not tonight, then when?
He breathed out slowly, calculated, knowing this would be a long, arduous nightfall. They only had until tomorrow around noon to decide -
Which was another thing entirely. They had to consummate the relationship to make it legal. Having seen her now, he certainly wasn't opposed to the idea.. far from opposed to it. However.. if he had any hope of a lasting marriage with this woman, pushing the issue was certainly not the answer. He couldn't decide what to make of it.
"I'm - um - decent."
His thoughts halted as he turned his head and body carefully to ensure she really was covered before looking at her fully. She had changed into a lovely pink sweater and shorts - an amusing combination. She had begun to pace the length of the room between the bed and outside wall, fluffy yellow socks between her and the chilly wood beneath her feet.
"I must admit," he began. "I'm not entirely sure where to go from here."
Her pacing continued, looking at him with her bottom lip between her teeth. Clearly a nervous habit.
"Were you aware I'm American before the, um, ceremony?"
He cocked his head. "Aye."
"Ok. And you'd move back with me?"
He licked his lips before nodding slowly. He had sensed this had been a worry of hers, possibly for the entirety of the day.
"To be blunt, I heard an American had signed up for this, and I signed up because of your home country."
She raised a dubious eyebrow, her lips parting a bit. "Why?"
He sighed at that, letting his head fall before looking up at her through his lashes. Where should he even start? Answer simply, he thought. Details could come later.
"I've lived here my entire life." He admitted quietly. "Lately.. I've known something needed to change. Moving out of the country was on the table. Finding a companion wherever I moved to was.. a nice thought. When I heard an American had signed up for this ridiculous tradition.. I believe I signed up on a whim."
She breathed in sharply. She was looking at her hands, fiddling with his mother's rings. Gods, those looked good on her finger. He turned to his own ring, commissioned earlier in the day.
"Any regrets?" She asked softly.
Bloody hell, had he made her question his desire to be here? He sucked in a lungful of air. "Don't mistake me. It may have been a whim, but I would like to see this, well.. this marriage through. If you'll have me."
"How do we decide something like that? In so little time? I don't even know why I signed up. I was talking to this old guy-"
"Old man Murphy."
"Probably, and I started thinking about how this whole idea couldn't really be that bad, and then I signed up. And I didn't think anyone would.. show up." She half shrugged.
"We can always get this annulled."
"I didn't mean-" her pacing finally stopped as she turned to face him, not really looking at him. "I'm a mess. I want a new job. My apartment is crap. I have no friends because I have trouble trusting people, and it's been a while since I've even dated. I almost died a month ago, and it caused me to take a trip to Ireland on a whim, and the taxi driver brought me here-" She stopped, a huff of air escaping her lips. She was rambling, and he found her adorable - despite the topic.
"Starting small, then? The basics?"
She laughed. It was a small, short laugh, but it was genuine. He took pride in that.
"No man deserves me as his wife."
"Are you saying you don't want this?"
"Are you some kinda ax murderer?"
That threw him a bit. "An ax.. no, I am not. What gave you that idea?"
"My luck, honestly. I figured if you're that good looking, you must have a major defect."
He ignored his growing ego for now. "Jump straight to murderer, then?" She shrugged again, this time her mouth shifting to one side. "Alright, my turn. My mother died, father abandoned me and my elder brother also died, and then my -" he had to clear his throat, "my girlfriend died. I've been pushing people away ever since, and I'm quite positive my mum is - would be displeased with me. So I signed up, hoping I would be matched to the American - you - as an excuse to leave this town, and my past behind."
She was gaping at him, before shaking her head. "Wow. Some pair."
"At least we can relate to each other."
"More than you know." She nodded. Seeing his confusion, she elaborated. "I'm an orphan. Since birth, so no siblings or family of any kind."
"Quite a pair indeed."
"I'm already emotionally exhausted." She admitted, running both her hands across her face. "How are we supposed to keep this up?"
"To decide?" She gave a grunt in the affirmative. "Haven't the foggiest, to be honest. First date questions?"
"Okay. This is the weirdest first date I've ever been on, and my favorite color is red. Yours?"
He chuckled. "Black, though this isn't the strangest first date I've had, for the record."
"Maybe now is a good time to admit I really don't go on first dates."
"Aye, neither do I, usually."
She nodded, chewing on her lip again. "I can't cook worth shit."
Surprised, he let out a full laugh at that. "I can cook."
"I do want to learn," she hurried to amend with her index finger pointed at him. "I think it's stupid I can't cook myself a real meal. And I don't mind doing the dishes."
"I could teach you some things, if you'd like. We can take turns doing both."
She gave him a half smile. "You don't know me well enough to realize how bad of an idea my cooking really is."
He shrugged, standing straighter. "If it's truly something you desire to learn, you'll have to make mistakes first."
She took in a shaky breath, turning away. "Jobs. Yours?"
He raised an eyebrow mostly to himself. He really didn't want to get into that tonight, but how could he deny her the simple question?
"Publicly, I'm the harbormaster here. Privately.. this is confidential, mind, though.." His thoughts raced with the question of telling her, finally murmuring more to himself, "You are my wife.." Sighing, he knew he had already made the decision. "I am, essentially, a hacker. I provide security solutions to companies who are vulnerable to attack."
He looked at her in time to see her tilt her head. "What the hell is the cloud?"
Surprised, again, he coughed out a laugh. "To make it simple, the cloud is thousands of computers, all around the world, that are connected to each other. Saving something to the 'cloud' is just saving it to a computer in a building usually referred to as a data center, which may possibly be located in another country altogether."
"So. Anyone with access to that computer can access my shit?"
He felt himself smiling. He could get used to this - to her. "Aye. Though privacy laws prevent unethical use of accessing your shite." She pursed her lips in thought, nodding slowly. "Your turn, lass. Job."
She sighed. "I should have thought of that before asking you yours." She softly smacked her head with the palm of her hand "I am technically a private investigator right now, though I have been thinking about making changes, too. I just don't know what else to do with myself."
He could understand that. "Might I remind you, you're married now, lass. If you're willing, I can provide for you until you decide."
"You'd be willing to provide for me?"
He wondered why that concept seemed so foreign to her, so he merely shrugged. "Stranger or not, you are my wife. This entitles you to a level of care and dedication I have never given anyone before."
She faltered a bit before sighing. "Yeah." She looked down at the rings on her finger again, twisting them. A new nervous habit in the making. Well, now they had to make this relationship work. He simply had to see her twisting those rings decades from now. The thought gave him a small smile, causing his eyes to pan back up to- she had an odd expression on her face, something he wasn't sure how to translate, mostly due to the mask she was still trying to keep in place. He only knew something wasn't okay.
"Talk to me, Emma."
Her breath caught before she let out a half-chuckle.
"I really don't know what to do here. I mean, we have what, until tomorrow to decide if we want to spend our lives together? And then we have to con-" She choked on that half word, but it was enough for him to understand.
It gave him a moment of clarity, knowing exactly the right answer for all involved.
"Nothing has to happen, Emma. Not if neither of us is uncomfortable with it." If he didn't know better, he'd say a flicker of fear crossed her face.
"But isn't the marriage void if we don't-" She halted the rush of words, likely the beginning of another rant. He just shook his head, walking slowly toward her to telegraph his intentions. She didn't pull away as he reached for her hand, his thumb passing over the rings.
"Tell me now, and I will take this to heart. Do you want to try, at the very least, to succeed in this marriage?" He didn't know what to expect. On one hand, he was fully prepared for rejection. Though he was beginning to like this idea of her and him, and their marriage.
Her eyes searched his face for what felt like decades. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found. "I did sign up for it." She mumbled. "I guess I just.. wanted a companion. Or something." She sighed, looking down at his hand holding hers, his mother's ring sparkling. "Yes. I'd like to give this an honest effort."
He couldn't help the grin from taking over his face. "Then that can wait. And they never have to know."
"You'd really do that? Lie to them?"
He cocked his head and gave her an incredulous look. "No, lass, it's a much better start in a marriage to force my new wife to bed me than to offer my discretion, and support."
It was her turn to smile. "Alright, we lie. And when - if - that ever happens.."
"It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me." He gave her a cheeky grin, which she rolled her eyes at, trying to hide the tiny hint of a smile at the corner of her lips, though the tint on her cheeks could not be easily hidden.
"Backstories?" She asked suddenly, clearing her throat as she was moving away to sit on the bed facing the outer wall. He took this to - possibly - mean she needed her space. He did too, if he was going to delve into his life like this, here and now. What he could really use was a pint.
Taking a deep breath, he moved to the other side of the bed, sitting down with his back facing hers. Elbows on his knees, he just decided to jump into it, rip the bandaid and all that, telling her as much of everything as he could, as simply and efficiently as possible.
He began at the beginning, with his parents marrying at this very festival. He told her a bit of his memories - the happy ones before his family began breaking apart. Then, as much as it pained him to relive it in telling her, he knew he couldn't leave out his mother's death.
There wasn't any relief from the bad memories for a while. It went from his mum, to his father's abrupt absence, to him being separated from his brother for years as they were both wards of the crown, living in whatever had space for him, from churches with the nuns, to group homes, or as a special treat, the occasional family.
By the time his brother was able to find him, to claim him as family, their father had died, which left the gaff to Liam. This was the era when Killian spent most of his time taking apart and rebuilding computers, discovering he had a knack for it. He was barely an adult in secondary school when Liam joined Her Majesty's Armed Forces.
In University, Killian heard of his brother's demise. It was also where he met Milah, whose presence in his life was helping him to heal, before an accident took her, too. He took this to segue into his life as a hermit, choosing to limit his human exposure.
He had to stop. He had to take a moment, listening as the woman - his wife - sniffled behind him on the bed. It hadn't been his intention to cause her pain. He needed to get this over with, so they could move past this. Surely her life had better moments to share than he had.
So, with a shuddering breath, he pushed forward, explaining how he realized just a week ago how his mum and brother were likely disappointed in him and his lifestyle, which led him to the festival..
And she knew the rest.
He felt a myriad of things all at once. Numb to his losses, which still tore at him, though reliving it felt like salt on the wound. Relief, oddly, came to him too. He felt lighter than he had since his family was still intact. He felt he could take a deep breath, something he hadn't realized he couldn't do until now.
There was silence for a good long time, while he breathed this strange new freedom, wondering if she was still there, or if she had fallen asleep - but she was sniffling, trying to be quiet so he couldn't hear her distress. He wondered momentarily if she might ever let him comfort her. He had vowed to, though he wasn't one to ignore a hurt soul even if he hadn't made vows. He found he was hopeful that perhaps one day, she would allow him to hold her in times of duress.
"I was left on the side of a highway as a newborn." Her voice was raw, startling him. He had to blink a few times, to fully process the words she had spoken, but she pushed forward faster than he had. "I never knew my parents." Again, he tried to process- "I was almost adopted when I was three, I can barely remember it, but I found out later they got pregnant with a miracle baby and gave me back up."
She took in a breath, and he could feel the word she refused to say, and he refused to believe. Unwanted. "I bounced around between group and foster homes. Tried to run away a few times. Always ended up back in a group home, until I was seventeen. I ran away and met an older guy. He got me pregnant, and framed me for his crimes. I gave birth in prison. I had to give the baby up."
Her voice broke after that, and his heart broke for her. None of his pain could be related to a parent losing a child. "I was a bail bonds person for a while, trying to find that bastard who knocked me up, eventually trying to find my parents or my child. I finally got tired of holding onto the anger and unknown past and became a P.I. instead, trying to get away from the rough guys I chased in bail bonds."
She stopped, causing him to turn, catching a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision, attempting not to disturb her by moving the bed. She was struggling, as he had, clearly evident in the way she had managed to stop rambling.
"A month ago, I -" Her voice was entirely broken, cracking at the end, until she breathed herself back to a place of calm. He could practically hear the mask back in place. "I almost died on a case. It changed a few of my perceptions. My most recent case was a case of infidelity, where I was reminded of another ex who cheated. That, coupled with the existential crisis I still hadn't dealt with, led me to the airport where I chose Ireland at random. The cabbie took advantage of my vague directions and brought me here."
And he knew the rest.
He wanted to move around the bed, he wanted to show her he cared despite the fact they were strangers. He wanted to let her know he understood. But he was also beginning to learn her, which meant he suspected any advancement was not something she could handle.
He suspected she might use it to leave, both him, as well as the country. He wasn't sure if he was being selfish in wanting her to stay, but he knew he couldn't risk losing another person.
He was already beginning to care for her. They had such trauma in their past, how could he not relate? What a pair they made, two broken individuals, reaching out for a lifeline in each other.
"I believe we might just be well suited to understanding each other, lass."
Her breath was jagged as she breathed in. "Yeah. Two train wrecks who were thrust together. What could go wrong?"
"Absolutely everything," he murmured. "I think it's worth the effort."
He felt her shifting on the bed. Turning, he could see her tear streaked eyes facing him in determination, her knee half up onto the bed now.
"Me too."
Thank you for reading!
PS- on ao3, I made an 'extras' fic where I added Killian's POV of the handfasting. It fits perfectly, right after Emma's POV and before we switch to his. I was wondering if anyone here wanted to read that too? I also added a second chapter to the 'extras', 1k words of what I originally wrote. I'm open to adding more chapters as things pop up. Let me know in the comments!
