Author's Notes: Well, holy fuck knuckles, guys, I'm sorry. I can only throw out excuses like "finals" and "working in retail for Black Friday/Christmas" and "Jesus Christ I need a break" and "Punisher came out on Netflix". Now, that that's done . . .
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 33
After her pregnancy scare, Emma couldn't get the idea of having a kid out of her mind. She didn't know if she was ready for one and she didn't know if she wanted to try for one now, but she did know that she wanted one. Eventually. That realization in itself was enough to terrify her.
She hadn't brought it up since that night. Months ago, now. Killian hadn't mentioned it either, but she caught him watching her sometimes, a longing look in his eye that gently faded whenever she met his eyes. He loved her. She knew that. And even though there was a stubborn part of her that was afraid he'd leave her if she didn't give him a child, Emma knew that those feelings were a result of her own fear.
She'd once told him that he was enough for her, and after all this time, she realized it would be idiotic if she tried to tell herself that Killian didn't feel the same about her.
She didn't do that anymore. She didn't find reasons to push people away. Her walls were down, and despite how much that still occasionally scared her, Emma was determined to keep them down. It was worth it. She was happy.
She really, really was happy. And Killian was happy.
Emma just thought that there was one way to make them happier.
If only she could muster up the courage to do it.
Well, actually doing it wasn't a problem, per se.
Emma woke up with a sleepy giggle, glancing down through barely open eyes to see a lump over her middle. Lifting up the blankets, she was met with teasing blue eyes and a small cheeky grin. Killian blew another raspberry on her stomach, perilously close to her bellybutton, and she laughed again. "This isn't something I expected to wake up to," she admitted.
"Well, love, I tried the sexy way," he nipped at her skin and she sighed as he slowly made his way out from under the covers to kiss her lips, "but you just grumbled a bit and swatted at me. Should I be worried?"
Emma sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. He groaned. "Never," she promised. He settled between her thighs, and though she could feel him pressed against her, Killian seemed to be in no rush. He placed a few slow, wet kisses on her neck while she played with his hair, fingers tangling in the strands and massaging his scalp. Feeling devious, she slowly let her hand trail down his side as if she was going to stroke the scar there, only to abruptly pinch the skin right under his ribs.
She laughed when he jerked away from her, a choked sound leaving his lips. "Why you little—" he began but she did it again, fingers digging teasingly into his side, and he gasped a tiny laugh.
It had taken her over a year to discover that Killian Jones was ticklish, and Emma had spent the months since making up for wasted opportunities.
"Swan—" Killian tried to sound threatening but she pinched his side again, closer to his armpit, and he folded in on himself with a laugh. "Minx," he said, grabbing her wrists and pinning them on either side of her head. He tried to look stern and failed miserably as he smiled and said, "You shouldn't tease your Captain."
Emma's eyes brightened. "Is the Captain going to punish me?" she asked, grinning when he growled.
"You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you, love?"
She hummed and then impulsively lifted her head to kiss the end of his nose, shattering their mutual tension completely, and making Killian wryly shake his head as he chuckled. "Someone is in a good mood this morning," he said as he rested his forehead against hers.
Emma ran her hands up and down his back. "So are you."
"We're in port. You know what that means."
"I have an idea."
"It means," Killian said, let his lips graze her cheek, "that I get to have you to myself." He kissed behind her ear. "All night."
Emma sighed. "No night watches."
"No storms."
"No snapped lines."
"No Smee."
Emma snorted. "He does have the worst timing." She couldn't count the times the poor man had interrupted them. "So," she said. "What are you waiting for, pirate?"
"Well, that depends, Swan." Killian bent toward her. "Are you going to keep your pinching fingers to yourself?"
She pinched his ass and he groaned. Gods, this woman. "What?" she teased. "Afraid I'll throw off your rhythm?"
"My rhythm is fine."
"Hmm."
"You've never complained."
"I didn't say I had."
"Good."
Their lips met in a slow kiss, and Killian had to fight a smile as Emma sighed beneath him, already so pliant. There was little fanfare. No teasing beyond gently stroking hands and coaxing wet tongues. Killian sighed happily when they came together, content to kiss her and enjoy the feel of her surrounding him before Emma whined adorably and ground her hips into his. They settled into an easy rhythm that was just as sweet as it was tortuous. Killian loved making love to Emma, but there was something about lazy morning sex that truly did him in.
Maybe it was the way he got to watch her. Hair on the pillow. Eyes meeting his. Smile teasing her lips. There was no need to rush, no burning desire to slake. There was just them, Killian Jones and Emma Swan, and it was just so damn easy.
Emma fluttered sweetly around him, and he followed after her. He rolled them onto their sides and pulled her closer, burying his nose in her hair while she sighed into his neck. "We're really too good at that," she said.
He hummed. "Practice, love."
"I love practicing."
"Aye, so do I."
Emma bit her lip. This was her chance. Maybe they could stop practicing. Maybe they could . . . maybe she could be ready . . . she had nine months to get ready . . .
"Killian—"
"Captain!" Vincent knocked on the hatch. "You're needed on deck, sir."
Killian groaned and held her tighter. "Bloody hell, why."
Emma smiled. "Looks like you're needed."
"You need me."
"I already had you."
"Since when are you satisfied with just one round?" he grinned, kissing her lips before slipping from the bed and rummaging for clothes.
Emma watched him with a smile, her tentative resolution fading once more. They'd agreed on five years. She still had roughly two years and some change to go. There was no rush. They had time.
They had time.
"How's your son?"
Milah looked up from the cards in her hands. Emma sat next to her, carefully arranging her own cards even as she glanced at her with a slight smile. Months of knowing her, and Milah still couldn't rightly determine whether or not Emma genuinely liked her or merely tolerated her. But this, inquiring after Bae, she knew Emma truly meant.
"He's well," she said with a small smile. "He's such a curious boy, always running off. I can barely keep track of him."
Emma smiled. "Fully recovered, then?"
Milah barely reacted. Just a slight tightening around her eyes that Emma attributed to stress, not anger. Even thinking of Bae's sickness, of her idiot husband's devil's bargain, made Milah wish for something solid to hit with all her strength, broken knuckles be damned. She was happy her son was still alive. She loved her Baelfire. But her husband? Her husband could rot.
It wasn't as though she had wanted another child. Not really. Baelfire was enough for her, and truthfully, she didn't want to bring a child into the world with his father's cursed, cowardly name. But to know that the choice had been stolen from her rankled. Milah didn't have much, but she was proud, and she treasured her freedom—to choose, to live, to love—above all else.
If she'd ever harbored any semblance of love for Rumple, it had vanished the second she'd learned he had bartered for Bae's life by sacrificing their second-born.
"Milah?"
She blinked. "Forgive me," she apologized. "It's difficult for me to remember that time."
"I'm sorry for asking."
"No, no. It's quite alright. Bae is doing very well. Like it never happened."
Emma smiled softly. "Good."
Milah glanced at the bar where Killian leaned as he talked with the barkeep. The Jolly Roger docked frequently enough in their small port that the infamous pirate Captain Jones had earned himself a bit of celebrity status. The barkeep, Flint, owned a small fishing vessel that he quite liked to brag about whenever Killian was in port. He also had a penchant for concocting fanciful fishing endeavors as if he was a Captain in his own right. When she had told Emma, the blonde had snickered and made some comment about a Captain Ahab.
Milah was well-aware that Killian only listened for the free drinks Flint inevitably gave at the end of one of his spiels.
Seeing Milah's attention drawn, Emma followed the woman's dark eyes to Killian's broad shoulders. She knew with one look that he was annoyed. "Flint must be droning on again," she said, pointedly turning back to her cards and waiting for Milah to do the same. If the older woman sensed the subtle chastisement, she didn't show it.
Emma wasn't an idiot. She knew exactly why Milah always met them at the tavern whenever they were in port, and it had nothing to do with the surprisingly good ale, decent food, and rowdy atmosphere. No, it had everything to do with a roughly six-foot, dark-haired, blue-eyed pirate captain that looked like sin itself.
Honestly, Emma understood. Her Captain was, as he was so fond of saying, devilishly handsome, and a good man on top of it. She truly did understand how Milah's eyes would linger. But after months of those lingering eyes, Emma found herself toying with a very familiar emotion.
Jealousy.
She hated the feeling. It reminded her of foster care and watching other children being adopted while she was left behind. It always left her with an echo of that pain, of that sort of expectation—to be abandoned, forgotten, tossed away—that especially frustrated her nowadays since she knew she'd come so far from that place. She had Killian, the Jolly, the crew. She had a home. She was loved.
But she still felt that awful twinge in her stomach whenever she caught Milah looking at Killian.
"How's your husband?" she asked.
Milah sighed. "Really, Emma? Are we not beyond such idle chitchat?" It was a neat dodge of the question that Emma silently acknowledged but didn't pursue. Milah paused to examine her hand before adding a coin to the pot. Emma countered with two coins and the hand continued to the other players. "I know you don't particularly like me—"
"It's not that," Emma said truthfully.
Despite her jealousy, Emma did like Milah. The older woman was confident and clever and could tell a good joke at the drop of a hat. Her wit was as sharp as Killian's, and Emma admitted that hearing the two of them quip back and forth never ceased to be entertaining. Her own conversations with the woman were typically equally as light and fun and most of the time, she forgot any feelings of jealousy.
But then Milah would catch Killian's eye and smile. It wasn't a flirty smile, and it wasn't friendly either. It was warm. Soft. And though Emma knew in her bones that Killian loved her, she still felt uneasy every time he flashed Milah his most charming grin. You'd have to be blind not to see their connection. They, well . . . they understood each other.
You and I, we understand each other.
That was only supposed to be them. It was supposed to be a unique Killian and Emma thing.
"It's my feelings for Killian, then," Milah said quietly, jolting Emma from her thoughts. She blinked, stunned. "I have no plans to act on them," Milah continued, her voice measured and calm. Honest. "Though it's not because I'm opposed to an affair." And blunt. "It's simply, well," she smiled ruefully, her eyes drifting over to Killian yet again, "I'm afraid his heart thoroughly belongs to you." She met Emma's gaze openly. "I've never seen a man more in love."
Emma tried not to react. Giving a reaction felt like conceding that she was relieved, as if she'd somehow doubted Killian, which was just ridiculous. There was no one she trusted more. But she felt relieved nonetheless. Her shoulders relaxed, her lips twitched in the slightest of smiles, and she ducked her head shyly. "I've lived a very hard life," she said. "I was always alone. People . . . they just left. I guess there's a part of me that will always expect it."
Milah laid a hand on her arm. "There's nothing wrong with that, Emma," she said, dark eyes burning, "so long as you fight back."
"You and Killian really are a lot alike."
"Perhaps it would have been enough, in another life."
"Ah, my two favorite women," Killian's happy, if tipsy, voice snapped the quiet tension as he squeezed onto the bench between them, an arm going around Milah's shoulders while his other hand settled on Emma's thigh beneath the table. "How are we doing tonight?" he asked as he looked at both of their hands.
Emma and Milah reacted at the same time. Milah elbowed him in the side while Emma smacked his chest with her free hand. "Get your own," they said at the same time.
"Honestly, Killian," Milah huffed as she shoved some cards toward him.
Emma hummed in agreement. "You should actually be glad you don't deal with him every day," she said.
"Oi, hang on," Killian protested half-heartedly. "It's not fair when the two of you turn against me."
"Quit whining and play, Captain," Emma said before throwing in three coins. "You're up."
They played for hours, drinking and singing and dancing and causing a general ruckus that was stupidly fun. Killian seemed happy to lead the festivities, using every considerable bit of his charm and charisma to get the whole tavern involved. Emma would never understand just how he'd convinced her to dance what she swore was an Irish jig on top of the table. She at least had the comfort of knowing that he'd been up there with her, bottle of rum in hand.
And she had gotten quite the kiss for her efforts.
Ever the considerate host, Killian had made sure to sweep Milah up in an energetic dance around the entire tavern that had the older woman giggling like she was a teenager. He laughed when they finally stopped and she took a large gulp of air with a smile. "Gods," she breathed, flushed. "I haven't danced like that since I was a girl."
"You didn't miss a step, love."
She blushed and Killian grinned. "Tell me you're having fun," he said.
"I'm having fun."
"Very good."
He kissed the back of her hand, and though she knew he meant it playfully, she couldn't help the way her heartbeat skipped. Killian Jones was unlike any man she'd ever known. Men like him weren't supposed to be real. Chivalrous and good and brave. Brave to the point of recklessness and so tenacious. Killian Jones would always fight for what he believed.
But what she admired most about him was the way he loved. It was so strange to be in love with a man who loved another so completely, but Milah couldn't help herself. She imagined she was often as jealous of Emma as Emma was jealous of her. For very much the same reasons.
She let him lead her back to their table where Emma sat laughing with Vincent as she poured them both shots of rum. Emma's eyes brightened when Killian came over, and Milah took her time pouring herself a drink while Killian snuck a kiss against Emma's laughing lips. "Where are we going next?" Emma asked.
Killian smirked. "Do you have a suggestion?"
"Somewhere warm."
He chuckled. "You still haven't forgiven me for that, have you?"
"I was scraping ice off the rails," Emma deadpanned. "For a month."
"Arendelle is a lovely kingdom."
"Not in winter."
"Perhaps not," he said with amusement as Emma scowled. "But you can't deny the trip was worth it, no?"
Emma rolled her eyes, but Milah leaned forward. "What was in Arendelle?" she asked.
Killian grinned. "It was something a stroke of luck," he admitted. "I didn't have much to go on," he began, spinning a tale about a mythical black ice diamond in the heart of Arendelle's glaciers. "Took us weeks of searching," he said. "Found it by accident, really." He tossed his head toward Vincent. "Turner there fell through the ice and landed in a cave."
"And a right bloody pain it was," Vincent muttered.
Emma nodded. "We almost didn't pull you out."
"Oi!"
Killian shook his head at the both of them, though Milah noted the fond look in his eye. "There was a whole bloody network carved right out of the ice," he explained. "Must've been centuries old. It was so elegantly carved that it looked like spun glass. The torchlight against the ice was like a sunrise on a clear morning."
Milah's eyes were wide as she imagined it. "Did you find the diamond?"
"Aye." Killian grinned. "Big as me fist."
"What he's leaving out," Emma piped up, "is the part when he took the diamond from the pedestal even when I told him not to and set off a booby trap that collapsed all the tunnels. We barely made it out."
Vincent shuddered. "I'm not meant to run that fast."
"You aren't meant to run in general," Emma retorted.
"If that weren't so terribly true, I'd be offended."
"Where is it?" Milah asked. "Did you keep it?"
Killian smirked. "Aye," he said. "Might need it for a bargain one day."
"This is one of those moments when I envy you horribly," she admitted. "You're free to do whatever you want."
"Aye, but it cost me more than you know." His voice grew softer, his eyes haunted, and Milah wondered why. "Hardly matters now, though," he said lightly, relaxed and happy once again. Milah noticed Emma's hand on his thigh beneath the table. "And, you know, lass," he leaned closer to her, "one of these days, if you wish, I could take you on a trip."
Milah's eyes brightened. "You would?"
"Aye. We could go to Port Royal. It's warm this time of the year," he said, directing his words toward Emma who scoffed. "Just a quick trip."
"What would I tell my husband?"
"Visiting family?"
"They're dead."
"Visiting a friend?"
"I don't have any friends."
"Nonsense. You have me."
"Aye," she teased. "I suppose you're right."
Killian grinned. "Don't fret, love. We'll think of something."
The night went on well into the morning until Emma finally declared that she was going to bed and if Killian planned on joining her, he should take care of their tab and follow her. The few members of the crew that had not fallen into a drunken stupor or found a wench for the night laughed loudly, and Milah snickered under her breath as she watched Killian immediately do as he was told. "He's not the only one who gives orders around here," Emma said with a smirk.
"Do you like it?" Emma frowned, and Milah glanced at the tavern, the crew still having a good time. "This life you've chosen," she continued. "You hardly could have expected it."
Emma snorted. "You've got that right," she agreed before her face softened. "But yeah, I like it. I never thought I'd have anything like this, and I definitely didn't think I'd be the mistress of a pirate ship," she looked across at the tavern at Killian with a growing smirk, "but it has its perks."
"If you could go back to your old life, would you?"
"I used to think I would, but . . . I got attached."
"I imagine it must have been terrifying."
"Scariest thing I've ever done."
"But worth it?"
Emma smiled. "A hundred times over." She looked past Milah and her smile grew brighter. "Hey, you."
Killian grinned. "Ready to go, love?" he asked, offering his hand. Emma rolled her eyes put let him pull her up, keeping hold of his hand once she was standing. He offered his free hand to Milah. "My lady?"
She smirked. "So kind for a pirate."
Once she was on her feet, she let go of his hand, only to feel the searing heat of his fingertips at the small of her back as he led them outside. The night was cool. Spring was slow to bloom this year, and Milah wished she had brought her shawl. She hovered to the side, arms folded tightly to her chest, as Killian bid goodbye to Emma and saw that she was escorted back to the Jolly.
This was somewhat of a routine for them, and she was particularly fond of what came next. Killian grinned and strode toward her once Emma was out of sight. "Shall we, lass?" he asked, offering her his arm.
"We shall," she smiled, looping her arm through his and using the cold air as an excuse to lean into him.
"Cold?" He didn't wait for an answer, shrugging out of his coat and placing it around her shoulders. She laughed under the heavy weight of the leather, even as she pulled it closed. "There," he said. "Much better."
"You don't have to do this, you know," she said as they walked toward her house. "I'm perfectly capable of walking alone."
"A gentlemen always sees a lady home. Especially after she's been kind enough to grace him with her company."
Milah shook her head. "Where will you go next?" she asked. "Surely you have some idea."
"I wasn't joking when I said it'd be somewhere warm," he grinned. "Got to keep Swan happy."
"You always call her that. Swan."
"Aye. I suppose it fits her best." His smile suddenly came close to bashful as he shrugged. "To me, anyway."
"You love her very much."
"With all my heart."
"She's lucky. Do you think you'll marry?"
"I certainly hope so. One day."
"You don't think she'd deny you?"
"She very well might," Killian said with a slight frown. "Swan . . . she's a tough lass. So many people in her life have left her, made promises they didn't keep. Marriage scares her."
"At least she would be marrying someone she loves."
Killian's eyes narrowed. "You don't love your husband?"
Though he phrased it as a question, Milah knew that he did not mean it as one. She sighed. "I was . . . I was rather stubborn in my youth. My mother said I had a free spirit. My father said that same spirit would get me nothing but trouble. He was right."
"I never met a man who drew my eye," she said. "I wanted True Love." She rolled her eyes. "I was young and naïve."
"I don't believe that," Killian said. "At least the naïve bit."
Milah smiled ruefully. "I knew exactly what I wanted and refused to settle for less," she said. "Of course, this left me unwed for a long while. Too long. People in the village were beginning to talk. I didn't help myself. Just because I was unwed didn't mean I hadn't gone to bed with a man. I was an old, spoiled woman with a worthless dowry."
"Rumple was my father's last chance at making me somewhat respectable," she said. "He wasn't everything that I wanted in a man, but he was kind. Sweet, I suppose. I thought I could grow to love him, and just as I believed I might truly care for him, he got called to serve in the Ogre Wars and chose to hurt himself so he would be sent home. That was the day I became nothing more than the wife of the village coward."
Killian couldn't imagine being bound to such a man. Milah was a fiery, fearless woman with a fair amount of pride. They were much alike, in that way. He could abide many insults but to call him a coward? Whoever dared would meet a swift death.
"I'm sorry, love," he said. "You don't deserve that."
"If he wasn't a good father to Bae, I would have left him long ago." Milah bit her lip. "But Bae is getting older now . . ."
Something in her voice made Killian stop. They were on a beaten cart path that led into her village. He could just see the outline of her house in the darkness. Light glowed within. Yet the thought that someone could see them didn't cross his mind. His head was too full with the implications of her tone. "Milah," he began, but she interrupted.
"You said you would take me on a trip," she said. "What if it wasn't merely a trip? What if I didn't want to come back?"
Killian didn't outright deny her. He couldn't. Not when he understood her so well, how trapped she felt, how she felt as if she was living a lie, untrue to herself. Killian could never be someone he was not. Milah was the same.
"What about your son?" he asked. "You'd leave him as well?"
Milah winced. "I love my son, Killian. I do."
"I know. That's why I'm asking."
"He'll be fine," she said eventually. "Rumple will take care of him."
"Milah—"
"I know it's horrible of me," she said. "I know it's selfish, but I . . . I need to be free, Killian. Please, help me."
Killian wanted to help her. He had half a mind to just take her back to the Jolly and have that be the end of it. But he couldn't. Because there was one person who would not at all agree with that decision, and that person just so happened to share his bed.
"Emma wouldn't—"
"Agree, I know," she said. "But honestly, Killian, you treat the woman as if she's a saint when we both bloody well know she isn't."
"Careful, Milah."
"No," she snapped. "So what if Emma doesn't agree? It's your ship."
"It's our home," Killian corrected, his voice hard. "And I'm not stupid enough to invite trouble into it."
"I'd take Bae with me, but he's too young for life on a ship," Milah cajoled. "I'd come back for him once he was older."
"He may not want to go with you if you leave him now."
"It's a risk I'm willing to take."
Silence fell as Killian studied her. "You've been thinking of this for a long time," he said.
"Long before we met."
"Only now you have an opportunity," he shook his head begrudgingly. "You'd make a hell of a pirate." Milah smirked, and Killian was hopeless not to smirk back. "I'm talking to Emma," he said after a moment. "I can't promise anything."
Milah quelled her annoyance. Honestly, she loved the man because he was so devoted, but by the gods, it was certainly proving inconvenient. Despite that, there was a fond look in her eye as she studied his own troubled, wary blues. What she wouldn't give to have a man care for her like that. To worry so completely about her feelings, to hold them in such high regard that every decision made considered her first.
Their eyes met then, and Milah thoughtlessly took a small step closer to him. She stood there looking up at him, wrapped in his coat, surrounded by him, and she still wanted to be closer. Killian stared down at her, eyes clear—not confused, no that was a trite cliché, he knew exactly how she felt, she was certain—but he still didn't move away. Instead, he moved even closer. His hand settled on her waist and she felt its heat all the way through the leather of his coat and the linen of her dress. Then he bent toward her, and Milah hoped.
Such a silly hope.
Killian kissed her cheek, lips warm and scruff rough against her skin, an intoxicating difference that had her closing her eyes as if he'd kissed her lips. "Goodnight, Milah," he said softly, apologetic yet firm.
She smiled through her disappointment. She'd hadn't truly expected anything different. "Goodnight, Killian," she said, handing him back his jacket.
She felt his eyes on her all the way to her house, entirely unaware that another pair of eyes had seen the entire exchange.
Dun, dun, da dun . . .
Thank you to everyone who has been so patient waiting for an update. I know it's frustrating, especially since I'm typically so consistent with the weekly updates. That said, I have a confession: I've lost the inspiration for this story. The show took a downhill turn for me at Season 5 despite the Captain Swan moments, and I just couldn't get back into it. It's been a struggle to dive in and write. I have three more chapters that are pre-written, and to give myself time to get back on the horse and write the shit out of this story (I refuse to abandon it, goddammit, you guys don't deserve that), I'm not going to guarantee another update this month. I will say that the "Storybrooke" part of this story I originally planned might turn into an Epilogue, which might be best considering that whole section could probably be a sequel, and I want this story to stand on it's own.
So please bear with me on the update front. Just rest assured that they will come in their own time.
Next time . . . "She wants to run away with me, Swan." - Killian
