A/N: I was so optimistic thinking that I would be able to finish this before the one-year anniversary (which was over a month ago) University is indeed very demanding. Sorry. I am quite happy with this chapter because the words flowed and it simply felt right (story wise and on a personal level) Hope you enjoy!
It feels like his head is splitting in two, as if an earthquake trembled and tore until a fissure appeared in the middle of his brain. Eyes still closed, Killian flinches with the pain and groans. What time is it? How much did he drink yesterday? He isn't sure but he is sure of the fact that he needs an aspirin.
In the search of that alleviation, he slowly opens his eyes, alert of the bright light that might overwhelm and attack his hungover self. The blue irises return to the world of the living but it isn't his world he's seeing.
The floor stays steady, there's no floating motion or lapping of water in the background. The room is far brighter and wider than the cramped and dim Jolly Roger. Killian is lying in an actual comfortable bed, not in a hard and squeaking bunk. He startles upright, disoriented and confused and with no recognition of the place he was reposing.
As Killian breathes, his inhales and exhales following each other quickly due to the distress, he distinguishes a smell. The fragrance fills his nostrils and he closes his eyes. It is familiar, a calming smell. Vanilla with a tinge of cinnamon. Emma.
He lifts the black blanket covering him and sets his bare feet on the soft carpet surrounding the bed.
"Morning," a voice behind him says right before Killian gets up.
He turns his head in the direction of the source and sees Emma walking towards him, a glass of water and two white pills in hand. She offers them by stretching her arms and Killian accepts, immediately gulping the pills down and hopefully by doing that also quieting the pounding.
She's dressed in a simple T-shirt bearing the logo of some band and in black joggings. It's the embodiment of comfort and yet, Emma has never looked more beautiful. How he's missed her. There were no sparkling green eyes in England, not that he saw anyway. No flowing blonde hair, not resembling hers in the slightest. Not her smile or her freckles. No Emma.
Killian has to restrict himself from standing up and embracing her, breathing in that perfume he woke up with, taking in everything he desired, searching the comfort only she could give. He can't, because he has no idea where they stand, where their relationship stands. Everything was going great and then he left. Even though it wasn't his decision and the circumstances did not leave him another choice, Killian still left Emma without any notice.
"How did I get here?" he asks her, sheepishly looking through his eyelashes.
Emma settles next to him on the bed, her right leg inches from his left. There is heat coming from her, a force of attraction that makes Killian want to reduce the space separating them.
"I drove you," she answers. "I wasn't going to let you freeze to death on your ship and there was no chance I was going to leave you alone, so I took you here." Her shoulders rise.
"How come I don't remember any of that?"
He remembers his flight back, the cab ride to his empty apartment; he remembers finding the envelope in his bulging mailbox. He still recollects the cab ride to the Jolly jr, hasn't forgotten about the bottle of rum that was stored in one of the wooden cabinets or about how he conjured up his courage to open the letter one sip at a time. Killian remembers his breakdown, vividly even. The last memory, last detail of yesterday his mind can think of is Emma's soothing voice and soft hands caressing his hair.
"You were pretty far gone when I found you."
Like he said: he hasn't forgotten about the rum. It must be hereditary thing flowing through his veins and ingrained into his body. A family trait connecting his father and him.
Speaking of family.
"What about Henry?" Killian inquires, looking behind his shoulder to see if the boy in question isn't present, quietly eavesdropping by the door perhaps. What kind of bad form would that show him? How could he be an example for Henry if he's a hungover mess waking up in Emma's bed? He wants to be a better man for them.
Emma smiles. "Henry understood that you needed someone right now and kindly suggested that he went to Mary Margaret's for the night. He'll be home after school."
It's a small relief because that means Killian doesn't need to put on an act, pretending that he's perfectly fine to not unsettle Henry. And it means there's no rush. To talk, to make amends, to leave. They have time.
Emma rises and takes a few steps towards the dark bedside table. She grabs something off of it but her back shields the item from Killian. As she faces him again, the white rectangle becomes visible and Killian sighs.
"You should read it, Killian," Emma says, her voice gentle and tender and warm.
He knows he should; it is long overdue and his brother deserves more. Liam deserves to have his final letter read by his sober brother.
While transferring Liam's letter, Emma's hand lingers on his. Her thumb brushes over Killian's skin in support; the small movement supplies some courage. She leaves the bedroom and closes the door to grant him his privacy.
The envelope is opened already, presumably by Emma somewhere yesterday. Though the paper is ripped, the letters on it remain unharmed. His chest expands as he takes in a deep, fortifying breath and unfolds the sheet.
Dear little brother,
I am truly sorry I haven't responded to your letter earlier. Hazel and I went to take Senior out for a sail and only returned yesterday. We needed some time to simply be together before I left her alone again for a month.
I need to come clean, Killian. I only told you about Hazel a couple of months ago but in reality, Hazel and I have been together for about three years. I met her right after I came for the opening of the café.
Why didn't I tell you, you ask. Well, I guess I felt guilty in some way. You're all alone and I'm back here with all of our friends and the house and the memories of Mum. It felt like I was being unfair to boast about my happiness while you were miserable. Before you start growling that you aren't miserable, I know business is going well and that you have a roof over your head but honestly Killian, what is all that without someone to share that with? Someone to come home to?
That is why I'm telling you now. Because it seems you're not miserable at all, brother. I can't say how delighted I am to hear about you finally finding a lass. You make me so very proud of you. Emma sounds wonderful and you'd better not be a big git and ruin it. I want to meet her as soon as possible and make sure you meet Hazel too.
It will have to wait though because I have to work first. National Geographic, brother. National Geographic. I'm sure you are done hearing about it but I just can't hide my contentment. This is a dream come true. Yours was a coffeehouse and mine is this. You of all people know how I used to devour those magazines as small lad.
When you buy the issue -and you will because you're proud of your big brother and also because I'm ordering you- know that they're for you, Killian. A testimony of all we have conquered and a promise for lots of adventures still to come.
Your brother.
A warm tear falls down, crossing the curve of his cheek to eventually disappear in the long hairs of his beard. Respecting the lines the paper was bent, it is carefully closed again, the letters hidden again and stuffed back into the envelope.
There's grief and loss, a void in his heart but he supposes that emptiness will always exist, that it will never be filled. He doesn't feel like drinking himself into oblivion, however, nor does he want to disappear and never be found again. And that's a good sign. Killian is healing, slowly make no mistake, but at least he's getting better instead of lingering in anguish.
The teardrops continue to stream for some time and when he has calmed, when it feels like his mind is tranquil enough, Killian finally gets off the soft mattress and walks towards the closed door. One hand curls around the door handle and the other covers his eyes, getting rid of any residual wetness.
By opening the door, a delicious smell surprises Killian. A smell that evokes a growl inside of him. It has been hours and hours since he last ate and he wouldn't call a packet of M&M's bought in an airport vending machine very substantial.
Hesitantly, he walks out of the bedroom. Emma's apartment had been unknown territory before, it still is. So his eyes explore and take in the drawings stuck to the light walls which clearly show Henry's aging. The room is full of pictures of the two of them, of Mary Margaret and a man Killian assumes is her husband, of other family members and friends. There are trinkets set upon cabinets, books stored on shelves and DVDs strewn in front of the TV. What a contrast with his empty and dead flat.
Killian's discovering walk leads him to Emma standing in the kitchen and welcoming him with pancakes, fruit and other delicious things. Their eyes meet and Killian sees her gaze turn empathic; he feels that she notices the anomaly in his face.
Without any words, Emma makes her way over to him and wraps her arms around his chest, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. The embrace possesses vulnerary qualities, or Emma does. It's like magic fluttering in the air and lodging inside his heart. It may sound incredibly cheesy and romantic but Killian never claimed he wasn't either of those.
"Have you read it? Killian mumbles against her locks.
Her head lightly moves in response.
"You asked me to."
It confirms Killian's suspect. His memories include Emma talking but the words are hazy in his mind.
They release each other gradually, the food on the table too seducing to resist.
"It looks amazing," Killian comments on the feast before him. "Thank you, Swan."
"Don't mention it," she shrugs, a small downplaying smile formed by her lips.
"I really am grateful, love. And I apologize too. For everything."
"You've already said sorry," she remarks.
"But not properly-" He shakes his head. "-and not with a sober mind. You've been there for me so many times."
"And so have you. It was only logical because we're- because of… the thing between us," Emma falters.
It's very understandable Emma is hesitating to pinpoint what they are exactly. Firstly, because it's Emma and a small part of her will always be scared of commitment. The second reason is because they haven't discussed it yet. They went on one date (and a half if you count the day with Henry in the park) and kissed a couple of times; could that be enough to base a relationship on? On the couple of times they've been around each other?
To Killian it is. Or the things that happened around those things are. After all they have been through, together and apart, Killian's initial, subdued feeling he identified as love has been overshadowed by ardent infatuation, by complete devotion to this woman. She simply doesn't know yet.
As Killian is thinking and fails to answer, the room becomes silent. Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Emma grabs a fork and selects a cut strawberry with it. The fruit disappears into her mouth while her eyes focus on the table instead of him.
"Emma," Killian begins, beckoning the green eyes back towards his blue ones. "Will you go out with me again?"
When her eyes widen, surprise defeats any other emotion in Emma's features. She clearly wasn't expecting him to say this. The look of shock makes way; the edges of her lips start to curl, the smile coy but lambent nonetheless.
"I would love to." Emma nods.
"That's splendid. Because I want this-" Reaching over the table, he intertwines their fingers. "I want us."
"Me too," Let's not rush things. We could go on a couple of dates and see how those go."
"Your heart's desire, Swan. I promise that's all I want you to have." His thumb rubs a reassuring circle on the back of her hand. "We did already sleep together, however."
He waggles his eyebrows and smirks which conjures a roll of Emma's emerald eyes. Something that widens his lips even more.
"I kept my hands to myself for the record," she vows, defending her integrity.
Despite her previous reaction to his dashing-ness (something she would probably refer to as idiocy), Emma does seem amused and appears to be struggling to keep her own smile from adorning her face.
"If you say so Swan," he challenges her and raises his eyebrow even further.
"Oh shush. I wasn't going to sleep on the couch and you-" Her fingers points at him. "-definitely weren't in any state to do that."
The joking and bantering atmosphere transforms into a more serious one in the split of a second when Killian is reminded that she did take care of him when he wasn't able to do it himself.
"Thank you," he repeats yet again. Killian is aware that he's starting to sound like an echo in some desolate cave but there's so much to express gratitude for. "I can truly never repay you."
Emma, who has just taken a sip from her orange juice, gestures her head, indicating exactly what her following words say.
"There's no need for any repayment. Now eat," she insists and orders. "It's probably been ages since you've had a meal."
Killian raises one corner of his mouth in a smile and removes two pancakes from the stack between them. After drenching them with syrup, he takes a bite and enjoys the fluffiness and deliciousness of Emma's cooking skills. During the next bite, a gooey drop of syrup spills and ends up somewhere in his beard. Killian takes a napkin and attempts to wipe the sticky sugar away.
"On second thought," Emma says out of the blue. "Maybe you can repay me."
The dark brows on Killian's face furrow with the sudden change of heart. What does she want? Will he be able to give her what she desires?
"The beard has to go." she enlightens him. "I prefer the scruff."
An amused chuckle comes out of Killian. Emma says it in straightforward way, something he now can identify as so typical of her, but Killian senses the compliment behind the candid words. If shaving will do Emma a pleasure, then there's no doubt that he will. Besides, it's time for the beard to go, time to take care of himself again.
"I'll go to my apartment after breakfast and clean up." Killian continues to chuckle. "I frankly haven't showered since England, so that can't be a good sign."
The comment earns him another laugh from her and they continue to eat until the food is completely devoured and their stomachs feel like bursting. Walking towards the door with Emma trailing closely behind, Killian turns around.
"After I'm done, could I come back?" The question is laced with hope.
"Maybe." Emma shrugs and normally Killian would take the ambivalence of that answer as a no, but the touch of their lips that follows does exclude any negative answer.
"I can drive you if you want," she proposes after the end of their kiss.
"No, the walk and fresh air will do me good. I'll see you in a couple of hours. Alright?"
Killian strides out of Emma's apartment and looks over his shoulder. She lingers by the door, her head resting against the wooden surface.
"See you then."
Her eyes shine with joy and promise and it makes it more difficult for Killian to tear his own gaze away, to leave the hallway and go outside, to part from her, even for a little while.
Once his phone aids him with directions as to where exactly he is and what direction he is supposed to go to reach his apartment, Killian's feet follow each other faster than they ever have before. They make quick taps on the ground as he rushes over to his flat. The faster he gets there, the faster he can leave.
"Watch out," is yelled. It's not in an unfriendly way, more in a cautionary tone. A warning.
Killian bumps into Graham, his upstairs neighbor. It is quite funny how every single interaction the two of them have had lately involves some sort of collision.
"Apologies, mate."
"No worries. I'm getting used to it," the Irishman jokes. "Only one more time, Jones, and I'm expecting a drink."
Killian laughs. "I suppose that's fair, seeing that I'm never the one actually paying attention. Come by anytime, Humbert. Even if that third one never happens."
"I'll hold you to that." the curly brown haired man nods. Now, I believe you were hurrying somewhere." Graham steps aside granting him passage to the rest of the building.
"I was," Killian replies, accelerating again and rapidly taking the stairs to his abode.
The key enters the lock, the door opens, shuts and Killian removes his clothes, hurrying towards the bathroom to shower.
Perhaps shaving off his beard could have been a great symbolical gesture, a moment to reflect and think, but it simply isn't. The hairs fall down with the electrical buzzing and Killian sees himself reappear from the mask of grief. Or perhaps there is a meaning to it.
It takes him two hours and thirty-four minutes (he checked on his watch) to stand before that familiar door again, before the silver 105 is in front of him again. There's a surge of nerves racing through his veins, even though he was here only two hours and thirty-four minutes. His palms are sweaty, so he wipes them on his dark jeans. After taking a breath, there's a knock made by his knuckles.
"Ah." is Emma's approving reaction when she sees him. "Much better." She smiles, her glasses lightly rising with the movement of her cheeks.
"Only for you, Swan."
"Come on in." She opens the door even further, letting him in her apartment.
"I forgot to tell you before but I like your apartment," Killian compliments.
"Thanks. I haven't even seen yours yet."
"There isn't much to see honestly," he admits honestly, sitting down on her couch. "It's bland."
Emma removes a book that is lying on her spot and settles next to him.
"I don't know anything about you," she states, "I mean, I know things but not a lot of things."
"Maybe it's time to change that."
And so they talk.
There's only one chapter left after this one and that will be anepilogof sorts. Title courtesy of Frances.