Eleven
Henry is happy when she finds him in the bright of the new morning, cooing and kicking his little feet.
She laughs softly, then lifts him up to hold him while she pads into the kitchen. The house is relatively cold, thanks to the winter weather, and Killian hasn't gotten up yet to put a fire on.
"Maybe when Killian smells breakfast he'll get up."
In response, Henry just grins happily, little creases by his eyes. He holds a fist in his mouth and sucks on it as if it's a lifeline.
Emma settles Henry down on the floor with his blanket and his repurposed shirt of a toy while she works, humming a little to herself.
Last night, things had changed. For the better.
She's glad that dancing around Killian day after day is seemingly an activity of the past, but she can't help but wonder just how things will be different.
To be perfectly honest, she still isn't sure what he wants. She isn't sure if he's going to stay with her no matter what his head says, or if he'll stay out of fear.
There's still plenty of time for things to change, but she's okay breathing in the new day with hope for the future for now.
As if hearing her thoughts, Killian comes into the room at that very moment.
His bare feet click against the flooring to alert her to his presence and she looks over at him with a soft smile that he mirrors. He's wearing sweats that hang low on his hips and his hair is jutting upward. He winces a little at the light.
Killian wraps his arm around her from behind and spins her around, pulling her into his arms with ease. Butterflies swirl in her belly at his touch, both possessive and kind.
She stares up at him, biting at her lip while he smiles at her, and for a short, delirious second, she dreams of a future where this is a natural part of the day.
Emma laughs. "What are you doing?"
Killian continues to grin at her sleepily. "Good morning, love."
Breathless, she replies, "Good morning."
He smirks at her, then glances at the oven as she slides her hands down his arms.
"I see you found the last of the pre-packaged scramble." He wriggles his brows at her.
Emma hums.
"A personal favorite."
She gives him an annoyed look for the sarcastic drip in his voice. "I know, it's gross, we're tired of it… but I figure it's better than day seven in a row with oatmeal."
Smirking, Killian presses a kiss to her cheek that burns from his beard scruff pleasantly afterwards.
He slips away and she watches him crouch down on the floor with Henry, her heart squeezing as he pokes him in the belly and makes him giggle.
Killian sits down at the table with Henry in his lap, talking to him about something in a sweet, low tone, and she swears it's more like home than anything has ever felt in her entire life.
When Emma dishes up two plates of pre-packaged scrambled eggs, she takes them to the table and has a seat by Killian while he tickles and teases Henry.
Killian stares at her after a few moments, his smile still happy and warm. "Would you like a tour?"
Emma gives Killian a confused look. "I'm pretty sure I know this place better than you do."
Killian laughs. "No, no." He tilts his head back just a little. "The lighthouse."
Emma's heart skips a beat at the prospect. She hasn't ever been out to the lighthouse. She just knows he spends full days out there, doing who knows what. Killing time, she suspects.
"Oh," she says. She manages a smile. "Yeah. If you want to. I know you like to do things out there."
"What do you think I do?"
Emma shrugs. "I don't know. You just… disappear."
Killian shakes his head. "Well, we'll head out after breakfast and put your mind at ease."
/
Emma holds Henry in her arms while Killian guides them out to the lighthouse. He keeps an eye on them, eager to see their expressions when they enter.
Emma's dressed in one of his coats, his hat snug on her head. She's adorable like this, cold but bundled up warm.
Meanwhile, Henry's been secured in everything they could manage to wrap around him.
"When we go back, I think he'll be really happy to know clothes aren't all oversized men's shirts." Emma had muttered to Killian's responding laughter.
As they approach the lighthouse, Killian turns to Emma, finding himself feeling more nervous than he had been when he'd first offered the tour.
"Now, I want to apologize ahead of time for the look of it," Killian says. "It could be better."
Emma hums playfully. "I'll be reporting you to the proper authorities as soon as I'm out of here."
Killian laughs. He's glad they're able to engage one another like this. Glad they're able to be friends as much as partners in this situation they've found themselves bound to.
He shakes his head and sets his hand on the door handle. "Just give me grace."
Emma's smile is soft. She nods her head. "Of course."
Nerves pinch at his belly as he opens the door. They step inside and Killian clears his throat, the sound echoing against the walls slightly.
"Alright. Emma, Henry," he smiles. "Welcome to the lighthouse."
Emma looks around, awe in her expression, and she scans the room he uses as his office and workshop. "Wow. So this is where you hide out all day."
Killian rolls his eyes. "It's just an extension of the house. Not really that big of a deal."
"Hm," Emma keeps a neutral expression. She goes to the desk he has set up on the ground level and leans against it, craning her head back so she can look upwards. "Can we go up?"
"Aye. Of course."
And they do. Emma doesn't speak, something that curiously makes him even more anxious. When they stand on the landing with the light, Emma immediately goes to look out at the water.
"Wow." she breathes.
He stares out at the water with her, trying to do it with fresh eyes, as Emma might be seeing it. It's vast and empty. It's lonely.
Killian turns to look at Emma after a few moments of silence. She has tears in her eyes and she swallows, turning away from the view to instead look at the light.
"So is this the light?" she asks, clearly trying to ignore the fact that her emotions had the best of her.
Killian frowns. "Are you alright, love?"
Emma shakes her head. "I'm fine."
Killian gives Emma a look, lifting his eyebrows. "Tell me the truth. No use keeping secrets."
For a moment, she hesitates, worry in her eyes as she turns away from him.
"I just miss home," she tells him finally. "Nothing I can fix right now."
It makes him feel bloody awful, but there isn't anything that can be done. She's here with him until help comes.
The best thing he can do is help make the waiting period a good one so that when she leaves, she's leaving with good memories.
Killian takes a deep breath and glances out at the water. It's terrifying- the prospect of leaving, of having to set sail for the first time in years.
Fear tightens in his throat and he blinks a few times, forcing himself to face Emma and Henry again. Oddly enough, they provide him enough peace to feel as if his world isn't spinning anymore.
/
In the evening, Emma sits on the floor of the living room listening to a record play on low. Her head rests gently against Killian's shoulder and his arm is settled around her waist. He allows her to trace lines against his palm lazily, no words necessary in the intimacy of the quiet of the night.
It's late. Her eyelids have started to droop and she's not sure what's keeping her up, if not the warmth of the comfort of Killian.
Emma drags her teeth over her lower lip as she studies his hand in hers and then settles both of their them over her middle.
"Will you tell me something?" he asks softly.
She looks up at him, eyes gentle and lips quirked slightly. "What is it you'd like to know?"
Killian pauses thoughtfully. "Tell me about your adoption."
She's honestly surprised. Of all of the conversation topics, this is one she never would have guessed he'd bring up.
He chuckles softly, turning his hand upright to tangle their fingers so he's holding her hand.
"Come on, love. I've told you all about my miserable past. I'd love to know about your beginnings."
She smiles, because no one ever really cares this much, and takes a moment to consider what telling him about her past could do. She knows this is new and fresh, and it's completely different, for all that it is.
They are alone on an island in the middle of nowhere, with no other human contact but with each other and a baby. There isn't anyone he could go run off and tell, not that he would, and not that she worries he would.
There is just the constant worry at the back of her mind that when she has to leave, she'll never see him again, that telling him about herself is pointless chatter to fill the time. It's the biggest fear she has about being with him.
But he is a friend and an equal. She feels like she can talk to Killian and he will listen, because that's the kind of man he is. He is patient and kind, when he isn't angry or alone in his wallowing. With her, he's been relatively good.
"I was found on the side of a freeway in Maine," she tells him with a sigh. "My parents had wrapped me in a blanket with my name on it and that was all they apparently wanted from me, because I haven't been able to find them."
She closes her eyes briefly as she continues. "I lived from home to home for a long time, until I was fifteen. I met my adoptive parents after I got out of an abusive home and I've lived with them since." Emma takes a shaky breath. "No one really wanted me before them. I had a family until I was three but they had their own baby and gave me up."
Emma feels her eyes burning hot like they do when she thinks back on the childhood that she had to live through.
When Emma leans back, away from Killian, she finds him sympathetic, his brow dipped and his frown sorrowful. He wipes at the tears that have slipped free from her eyes and she smiles in thanks.
"You deserve so much better than what you've been given."
She hears genuineness in his tone and she nods, because she's heard it before from Mary Margaret and David, a lot from them, and she knows it in her heart that her parents didn't abandon her because they hated her. They wouldn't have made a blanket with her name on it if that were the case.
"Thank you,"
He searches her eyes and leans forward to kiss her forehead, making her close her eyes and breathe him in deep.
When he slides back, Emma moves to curl up in his lap. She presses her cheek to his shoulder and his arm wraps around her, holding her tight against him.
He's warm and comfortable and safe.
"Tell me something."
She suddenly wants to know everything and anything, and she doesn't want to fall asleep in fear of the nightmares returning her to the man who burned his cigarettes into her arm and hit the woman who made her cookies for her birthday.
Or to the place where she was left and betrayed a hundred times over again. People and places shifting with each passing day. People never wanting her the way she deserved to be wanted. People never loving her the way she deserved to be loved.
It isn't like Killian is ever going to be able to give that to her, but at least he isn't going anywhere right now, and he does care for her enough that he listened and didn't say anything that showed her that he sided with the evil in her past.
"My father abandoned me when I was a young boy," he tells her, and she almost laughs, because they're both pitiful messes. "And you know my mum passed after I was born. I don't remember her. Liam used to tell me stories about her."
"How much older was he?"
"Seven years," Killian says with a smile. "Used to pick on me an awful lot."
Emma laughs when he chuckles. "Sounds like he loved you a lot."
"Aye," he hums. "As much as a brother could."
She wouldn't know what that feels like, but she has an idea that it must feel a lot like friendship, only closer. She can sense it in the way he continues to tell her stories about their time in the Naval Academy, about how he used to pull pranks on him until Killian finally wised up and pulled pranks back.
He has her laughing and forgetting, and for once, she doesn't feel like she's stranded on an island with a stranger.
They continue to talk well through the night, about anything, really.
He tells her what it is that he does in that lighthouse of his. She tells him about what her favorite movie that he hasn't seen in the past four years is.
They speculate and formulate stories about Henry and where he came from, laughing about silly plot lines where aliens sent him to earth from a desolate future to save the human race, but they miscalculated and sent him too far back and attached a letter to his basket to make him sound human.
She knows him now. She knows about who he is and how he is. They've shared, intimately, stories and memories. Hurts and aches.
And yet, she doesn't know if it's enough.
"I think I should go to bed," she whispers, gazing at Killian with her head pressed against the back of the couch so she can look at him. Her legs are draped over his lap and their hands are still entwined over her thighs.
Killian searches her face and smiles, nodding slightly. "Aye. It's late, isn't it?"
"Hm," Emma closes her eyes. With a determined sigh, Emma pulls herself up and cups Killian's cheek, her thumb caressing his scruff. "Good night."
Killian awards her a sleepy smile, his eyelids droopy and his voice scratchy and low, "Good night, love."
For a second, she just admires him, and he admires her, time slowing as she fondly thinks back on the day they'd shared.
Kissing him sends her flying, but she anchors herself, nuzzling his nose in the moments afterwards while she tries to catch her breath. He leans in for one more and she allows it, because she kind of loves the way it feels to have his affection.
She presses her forehead to his, humming contentedly. "Ok. Seriously. Good night."
Killian manages to steal one more kiss, both of them laughing by the time they break apart.
"I'm finished now," he murmurs, his ears pink and his cheeks rosy. "Promise."
Her heart feels absolutely full, desperate to stay with him a little longer, but she determinedly climbs off of him instead. She only turns back once she's standing at the door to the bedroom, biting at her lip to keep from saying something stupid.
She's filled with hope, by the look on his face, that maybe today was enough to prove something to him.
Emma's eagerness fades into something twisted and frustrated as she falls into bed.
Going back to Storybrooke together is something she hasn't spent enough time thinking about.
What's going to happen if she shows up with a baby on her hip and a guy holding her hand? Her parents are going to flip. Neal's probably going to be pissed.
The Emma they knew was not the person she is now.
/
After Emma goes to bed, Killian finds that he's just a little too wound up to fall to sleep, so he goes out to his lighthouse.
He slumps down at the desk, pulls open a drawer, and removes the pieces of the radio that he'd smashed against the wall of the lighthouse.
With a sigh, he examines his handiwork. He's been working, slowly but surely, to piece it together, in the hopes that maybe by some miracle, he'll be able to radio for help and they won't be stuck here until the supplies boat comes.
He slinks back against his chair and scrubs his hand over his mouth, staring blankly at the mechanism on his desk.
The idea of leaving feels all too real now, especially after the day he'd spent with Emma. They'd spent hours talking, laughing, and honest. She'd tasted sweet when she kissed him, so sweet that he couldn't let her get away with just one kiss goodnight.
There's a wild part of him that can already see them leaving the island, getting married, giving Henry a bunch of siblings, and growing old together. In fact, he can imagine it so well that his heart skips a beat at even the imagined life they'll have together.
There isn't a doubt in his mind that choosing Emma over the ghosts of his past was the right decision, but he now stands at the edge of a precipice.
Fix the radio and leave soon, or continue to wait.
Almost automatically, Killian begins to tinker with the wires and screws. It doesn't take long for a light to flicker on, a testament to just how long and hard he'd been working on this for the past week or so.
His heart skips at the sight of life from the machine. He steps away from his desk, staring at it.
Leave soon, or continue to wait.
Taking a deep breath, Killian shuts the radio off.
It would have to wait until the morning.