Seven
"I… uh… might be in need of a haircut." Killian says with the tiniest blush blooming in his cheeks.
Emma holds onto his arm as they make their way slowly toward the bathroom. She peeks up at the man, studying the lengthy strands of hair that fall past and over his ears. He has bangs that he always has to sweep away because he can't see otherwise, too.
"I'm not very good at it. Usually hold out too long, too. It's why it's... like this."
She hums in agreement, stopping as they stand in the bathroom. She has another look at the curls at the base of his neck under the light from the bulb in the ceiling.
"Have any scissors? I'm not a professional, but I can do my best."
In a flash, he digs through a drawer in the cabinet nearby and pulls a pair out with a triumphant smile.
She chuckles. "Okay." Emma reaches up to tug at his hair playfully, only making him blush all the more. It's adorable, that a man who had once been so cold could be so adolescent at the same time. "I'll cut those long, luscious Fabio locks for you."
Killian offers her a smile in thanks, then steps out of the tiny space so she can use the toilet.
A few minutes later, when she hobbles out into the kitchen again, she finds him sitting at the kitchen table with the scissors in front of him. He's not paying any attention to her, instead seeming more interested in the cracked crown molding on the wall in front of him.
She's never cut anyone's hair before, but she supposes it can't be terribly difficult. She's seen her mother cut her father's hair plenty of times. Albeit, she had a razor and his unfailing love and devotion were anything to go wrong.
Emma takes the scissors from the table and pulls her lip into her mouth. She weighs the cool object in her palm and nervous butterflies cause her to stall.
Looking at him from behind, he seems so much younger than he is. His hair could probably be pulled into a small ponytail if he wanted to.
"Do you usually do this yourself?"
"Aye."
Of course he does. There's no one else here.
Emma sucks in a deep breath as she makes her decision. She grips the scissors firmly and lifts her eyebrows at Killian, who now stares at her thoughtfully. "How short do you want it?"
He shrugs. "Just don't make me bald, love. It's cold and I quite like having a head of hair."
Emma rolls her eyes. "I think you can trust that I won't shave it all off, Killian."
He smiles, filling his cheeks, and it makes her grin as she aligns herself with the back of him.
He's wearing a dark sweater today and jeans, items she thinks she washed a few days ago, and they make him seem somewhat softer than usual.
Emma combs through his hair with her fingers, trying to get a feel and a vision for what she's going to do, and then she straightens out his head as she starts cutting.
It's an oddly intimate thing. He's trusting her to not make a mess of his head and she's so close to him that she can feel how warm he is without having to touch.
His hair is soft and smooth between her fingers and she wonders how on Earth it could ever possibly be this way. He doesn't bathe daily and his diet consists of coffee and soup or something of that equivalent.
Sometimes, he skips meals, something that really frustrates her to no end.
She probably spends too long dwelling on the fact that his hair is soft, because he clears his throat and shifts in his chair, causing her to jolt back into reality.
Emma takes her time. She keeps her eyes focused and her tongue between her teeth as she makes each decision of where his hair needs to be trimmed.
By the time she comes around to get his bangs back to where they should be, she's fairly proud of her work.
His hair is cut in a way she's seen her mother give her father, with the exception of the leeway she's given him to style with on the top and at the front. It's close enough to his head that it won't be in the way, but gives some freedom to mess with it.
Emma smiles, feeling accomplished, as she steps back from him. She clasps her hands together. "Okay. All done. Looking handsome."
He smiles at her, a little pink flush of embarrassment in his ears and cheeks. He stands, runs his hand through his hair, and then nods once.
"I might have to keep you around. Cut my hair every few months."
He's obviously teasing, and she laughs because seeing him feel comfortable around her makes things just a little bit easier.
Emma watches him as he goes to look at her work in the nearby bathroom mirror. His eyes are bright and he appears to have lost some of the weight he typically carries around in his shoulders.
"I feel like a new man!"
She chuckles. "You had a lot of shag going on."
He plays with the moldable hair atop his head and then drops his hand. "Well, I should say thanks are in order, then."
He smiles at her, all teeth and bright eyes, and her heart squeezes tight within her chest, because God he looks so much better with his hair cut. It's not fair, really, that one man could look this good. And she was the one that did it to him.
Emma straightens out, her eyes wide and head shaking as she tries to stop thinking of what he might look like under those jeans and that damn attractive tight sweater.
"Someone had to do it. Otherwise you'd be pulling a Robin Williams in Jumanji, and we can't have that, now, can we?"
He chuckles. "I suppose you're right."
Emma finds herself breathless all of a sudden and she realizes that they're standing awkwardly close to each other. She holds her breath for a second and releases it when Henry starts crying in the other room.
She glances over her shoulder at the sudden disturbance and sighs- relieved that at least in the midst of all of the tension there is a constantly needy baby to anchor her down.
"I'll prepare the bottle. Can you manage to walk?"
She nods in the affirmative and starts for the living room where they left the kid. She picks him up as soon as she can and he stares up at her with tears in his sad eyes.
"You're okay, Henry," Emma soothes, smoothing over his fingers. "I've got you."
Killian comes to her side a few minutes later and his breath is basically in her ear as he leans in to hand her the bottle.
She forces a smile, tries to ignore the amount of body heat he's burning into her. It's impossible to breathe like this and it is the worst feeling ever. She hasn't had eyes for anyone in a long time and-
God damn it. She has three weeks left with him.
He walks away from her and she releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Emma sits on the couch with Henry as she feeds him, steadying herself with the thought of going home and seeing her parents again. It isn't like she would stay here with him anyway.
She has a life in Maine. She has a job. She has family, friends. She has an apartment and bills and responsibilities. She can't stay here and he has an unhealthy desire to. So even the bold half-thought of maybe getting to try a relationship with Killian is stupid because it would never work.
"Emma, I'm going to go check on the leak above the bathroom. Shouldn't be long."
He comes into the room and she nods, though she's barely keeping it together, because the man is wearing his coat and a scarf and it's nearly too much for her to handle.
"Okay," she chirps, wincing immediately at the unnatural noise she'd made.
He quirks a little curious brow, but then nods and turns around, a smile on his lips.
She sighs and looks down at Henry after the front door clatters shut.
"Don't tell anyone I told you this, Henry, but I think I've created a monster." Henry suckles at the milk and kicks his feet in her lap, making her smile. "You're too good, kid."
Once Henry is fed and changed, she rocks him to sleep and tucks him into the cradle.
As she stares protectively after the sleeping boy, she finds initials on the wood, on the back, hidden from sight. They've since been crossed out with a harsh chisel, but she can make out part of the last letter, definitely a 'J'.
Emma frowns and runs her fingers along the letters. She wants to know who this belonged to more than anything, but maybe it would be best if she didn't find out.
She finds herself lingering by the bookshelf as she listens to Killian hammering something on the other side of the house. She runs her fingers over the bindings of the books, reading titles and smiling to herself as she plucks some off.
He's a meticulous reader, it appears, because as she goes through his bookshelf, she finds that most of the books have been dog-eared and highlighted, words scribbled in the margins.
Killian is apparently a lit-freak and she can't help but love it.
There's nothing on these bookshelves that seems to come from anywhere in his painful past, however. No clues about who the cradle belonged to. No photographs of Killian as a small boy.
She wonders if he keeps the memories locked up somewhere. Surely he wouldn't strand himself to this place and not keep at least one memento from his younger years.
She hums, fascinated, when she finds herself stumbling upon his romance novels. Emma bites on her lip as she opens the pages to find them very clean and probably never read.
She has to laugh, because obviously the person giving him entertainment had taken the time and money into getting it to him and he never touched it, but kept it.
Maybe one day he would read it.
Or, she might.
She gnaws on her lip in the middle of making her decision, thinking that maybe it would put an end to these insane urges she has toward Killian and instead thrust them upon this half-naked cover model's character.
She's interrupted before she can take the book with her to the couch and start reading.
The door opens and closes with a loud clatter and she hears him noisily re-adjusting to the warmth of the little home. He comes into the room with everything but his boots on and smiles wide at her.
"Great news, love. Fixed the roof."
Emma widens her eyes and smiles in appreciation, hiding the book behind her back. "Thanks. That leak has been getting on my nerves."
He tilts his head, stepping closer to her with a curious look on his face, edging on teasing. "What's that you've got there?"
Emma shakes her head, trying to maintain innocence with a cool composure. "Nothing."
She steps back, toward the bookshelf, and he grins, clicking his tongue in his cheek at her, pointing his index finger at her.
"That's not... are you reading a romance novel, Emma?"
She scoffs, trying to deny him, ending up dancing away from him when he gets too close.
"No! I was just looking at your bookshelf."
He hums, narrowing his eyes at her before he makes his move, lunging for her, causing her to yelp as she holds the book above her head. He laughs triumphantly and she squeezes her eyes shut, horror filling the pit of her stomach.
"It's not like that! I didn't even open it."
He plucks the book from her and she watches him examine the cover before raising an eyebrow at her, a hum escaping his throat. Those damn eyebrows have a life of their own, don't they?
"I didn't read any of it." Emma tilts her head defiantly and he sways closer to her.
His eyes are bright blue, shining and happy, something she hasn't really seen before. She's seen glimpses of it, maybe, but never in a full dose like this.
"I never said you did."
"Just wanted to make it clear that I wasn't going to." Emma shrugs, making a clear note in her mind of how close he is to her.
He is close enough to touch, but not close enough to smell, and the way he's moving, he'll be that way very soon.
He nods. "Ah. But you weren't… you weren't even curious to read it, were you?"
Emma senses a tone of teasing and flirting and she's suddenly aware of the fact that they're both finding each other equally as interesting and attractive.
Is that something she even wants?
Kind of.
Probably.
Maybe.
"No." Emma gives him an annoyed look. "Of course not."
Killian searches her eyes, that smirk still ever-present on his lips.
"Searching for a little relief, love?" He's still teasing, though his voice is gruff and quieter as his eyes become just a hue darker. "Perhaps an itch needs scratching?"
She swallows and breathes him in. He's all ocean and that stupid soap they use in the bathroom with a hint of coffee. She isn't sure if it's from his breath or his sweater where he'd spilt some, or maybe he just naturally smells that way- but she's smelling it. She's smelling it all. It's overwhelming.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Aye," he mutters, laughing quietly as he tilts his head down a little. He sets the book down and straightens up, eyes trailing over her face.
They just stare at one another, desire burning between them like a bonfire in the winter, a trend that's happened more and more lately.
He seems to realize what's happening faster than he usually does. He steps away and closes his eyes on a sharp intake of breath. "I…"
Emma lowers her gaze to the floor for a moment before she meets his eyes. He reaches up to rub the back of his head and pivots on his heel toward the doorway leading into the kitchen.
"I should, um, go check on things outside." Killian finishes. He lowers his hand to his side and starts to go. He turns back toward her when he reaches the doorway. "Thank you again for the haircut."
Emma nods her head and manages a smile. "Yeah, no problem."
/
Killian enters the house well past suppertime, fully expecting Emma and Henry to be asleep.
However, to his surprise, there's music playing in the living room, and when he steps into the space after discarding his coat and boots, he discovers Emma sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, lit by flickering candlelight as she flips through the pages of an old, thick leather bound book.
His eyes go wider than hers do when she looks up at him.
"Bloody hell," he curses under his breath. "Where did you find that?"
Emma shakes her head. "It was in your bedroom." She leans away from the book and her fingers draw it closed. "Sorry. I should've asked first if it was okay."
Killian sighs and takes his hand through his hair. It's a weird feeling, now that it's short. He drops to his knees on the floor beside her and shakes his head.
"No, it's not… it's fine," he tells her. "I just thought I lost it."
Emma frowns at that. "Really? It wasn't hard to find. It was just in a box under your bed."
Killian looks at the book. Emma slides it toward him and he lifts the cover, pushing it to the side.
On the first page, there's a photo of him and Liam as children, Liam holding a baby Killian in his lap while their father sat beside them on the green and white striped sofa.
He traces his fingers over the photo and looks beneath it, at the one photograph he still has of his mother.
She's not lying in bed, as he remembers she mostly did as a small child, instead she's sitting on his father's lap in the living room by the fireplace. She's smiling and gazing at her husband, her fingers pressed to his cheek as she spoke to him.
"She's beautiful." Emma says.
Killian clears his throat and turns his gaze up to her. "Aye." He flips the page. "She passed when I was very young. I hardly remember her."
Emma smiles softly. "I know how that feels."
He takes a breath and finds a pair of photos of Killian going into kindergarten. He wore hand-me-downs from Liam while his older brother snapped the photos.
Oddly enough, he remembers that day quite vividly- how when he returned from his first day of class, excited to share with his father how things had gone, his father was nowhere to be found.
Taking another steadying breath, he runs a finger against the edge of the page. "My mum kept a journal during her last year. She wrote in it everyday and left it to us to remember her with. Took pictures everyday, too. 'S why this book is so big."
He and Liam hated it. She'd force them to pose against the plain white wall near her bed, snap the picture, and then send them off. On occasion, she let him choose something to take a picture of instead.
Her locket, sitting on her nightstand. A pair of worn socks kicked aside on the floor beside the door. Liam's face, zoomed in close so it filled the blurry frame.
Killian flips the pages toward the end and his heart skips a beat at the sight of the woman staring back at him. He'd forgotten that he'd put her picture in this book.
He must stare at it for too long, because it prompts Emma to say, "Who was she?"
Killian looks up at Emma and sighs. "She was… my whole world."
She's waiting for an explanation, he knows she is, and he shakes his head because of it.
"Why do you want to know, Emma? Why did you go looking for this?"
She stares back at him and seems to withdraw. "I just… I don't know. You're secretive and I have to live with you and I don't know if you're going to hurt me or-"
The assertion makes him angry. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Emma's eyes grow wide. "Well, how was I supposed to know that? I mean, you helped us, but… it's a month on an island with two people you never wanted here. I guess we kind of owe an explanation to each other, don't we?"
He considers her for a moment. She does have a point, as loathe as he is to admit it.
"I suppose." Killian drops his gaze to the book and clears his throat. "Her name was Milah. She and I were seeing each other just before I joined the navy and she stuck with me after Liam passed. Could've been a hell of a lot worse if she hadn't been there."
He feels sick to his stomach, but he soldiers on.
"I guess it was about five years ago now. We were living in London and she wanted to come out to see the lighthouse and I agreed to take her." He smiles slightly. "She was pregnant. Only about two months along, but we were both excited anyway. Being on a boat didn't help in the slightest, though. She was bedridden for almost the whole trip." Killian bites on his lip. He shakes his head. "We fought. We fought a lot, actually. We were both incredibly hot headed."
Killian sucks in a breath. "I got an offer from the coastguard to operate the lighthouse as a job, because ships were crashing here and-" Killian pauses. "I agreed. Milah didn't think she could stay. I took her back home and it was the biggest mistake of my life. There was a huge storm that night and I couldn't see-"
It flashes in his mind, the moment he lost her, and he can't bring himself to explain it.
"I tried to save her, but-" Killian stops himself short, tears burning in his eyes. He draws his left arm up, glaring at the monstrosity hanging from his limb. "This bloody-"
Emma reaches over and touches his arm. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to..."
They stare at one another for a few lingering moments while he calms himself down with deep breaths through his nose.
"Well, you wanted to know who I am. That's who I am," he says. "I've lost more than my fair share, so I'm here on this island to protect myself from hurting myself and anyone who knows me."
Emma shakes her head. She stares down at the photograph for a few moments before a slow, soft smile spreads on her face.
"One day, when my dad was really young, he found a dying blue bird outside on their porch and he brought it inside to try to heal it, but hours passed and the bird didn't get any better. It died. He said his mom told him that dying is the easy part. It takes a will to live."
Emma pauses. "I guess what I'm saying is you're still here. Living. That counts for something."
Perhaps it's foolish to think that maybe he could start new, but as he stares at Emma he can practically see himself happy again.
"Help me to bed?" she asks softly.
"Aye."
Killian and Emma move in silence as he helps her hobble into the bedroom. He hoists her up into the bed and she pulls the covers over her, still sitting up.
He stares at her, suddenly feeling as if he has one more thing to say.
"I was bitter when you first arrived. I didn't want you interrupting my little world," he tells her. "I realized my fault when I got to thinking about all that you'd done on that busted leg when you didn't have to." He tosses his hand, a smile filling his lips at the memory. "It's been a long time since I've had to live with anyone, much less a headstrong lass as yourself."
Emma smiles at the complement. She picks at the blanket over her lap, averting her gaze briefly. "When we leave, are you going to stay here?"
He frowns, upset that she'd think he could do such a thing. "It's my life here, Emma. It's my work and my home. I built this place with my brother. I'm not about to leave it."