Notes: I honestly meant for this fic to have short chapters, but it seems to be getting longer and longer with each update, so I hope you enjoy this nearly 10k chapter. Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, I die of happiness every time I read them
"Hello, Killian," Regina greets.
Finally, Emma can take a quick moment to shudder out a breath. The lazily dressed man in leather, who Regina tried to bite a hole out of, stares at her with a bored expression. When Emma catches his eye, he lifts a brow and quirks an even lazier smile.
Emma's not seen enough of him to think of him as a potential ally, but as just another person she'll have to pretend for - and yet, the smile is nice, if anything. It isn't evil at least.
(She's pretty sure Regina's smile is the number of the beast.)
Killian's hand is still on her back, and he steps closer as he says, "Didn't think you'd come all the way down here just to see us."
Regina's eyes swivel back towards Emma and she says, "I was very eager to meet Emma."
Of course she was. This, at least, isn't a lie. Being happy to meet her, now that was a lie if a carefully told one. Eager to meet her, however, that's the truth.
Regina stares at Emma, and she's still trying to feel her out, the way she did when Emma's hand was clasped in hers and she scraped her perfectly manicured nails against Emma's palm to see whether Emma would wince or pull back. Emma smiles at her and Regina's expression wrinkles again.
Yeah, her royal highness hates her.
(Who's surprised? Is that crickets Emma hears, or just the absolute silence playing tricks on her?)
"Well, we're all met," the man announces. "Can we get out of here?"
Regina practically growls as she turns towards him. "You insisted on coming with me. So, you'll wait until we're done."
"Will can drive back with us, if that's better for you," Killian suggests with a calming gesture.
Regina stares at his hand and says, "You're too kind, Killian," like she'd rather have bed bugs than his kindness.
"Ruby's supposed to meet us here," Mary Margaret announces from behind Emma.
Regina's eyes shoot overhead to her - and well, Regina must not like very many people, because her sneer deepens as she looks over Emma's head.
What Mary Margaret, who Emma can already tell doesn't have a bone to hate in her body, must've done to warrant such loathing is beyond her. If Emma were feeling pettier, she'd say Mary Margaret probably caused her to break a nail. But she's feeling rather more discerning, and she can see that there's something in the way Regina snaps her fingers and says, "Ruby, you can come out of hiding."
"I wasn't hiding," a voice calls out from beyond Emma's view.
Emma looks back first, just to catch Mary Margaret's expression as she stares at Regina, and to confirm her suspicions. There's something there, in the teeny frown between Mary Margaret's brow and the slight tremble of her bottom lip.
Navigating these relationships is going to be tricky as hell, and the only way she's going to be able to do it is by finding out as much as she can, starting with the glare Regina sets on the newcomer as her heels click on the hangar floor.
"So, you were merely chilling on the other side of the hangar?" Emma calls out before she sees her.
She sees the dark hair first, and then the stripe of red, and then Ruby brushes it back and smiles brightly, and Emma feels a slight swelling in her chest. At least she's made someone comfortable instead of just being a nuisance.
Someone with a Taser holstered on their waist and one of those funky corded radios hanging over her ear. She made the guard comfortable. So far, at least, Emma's in no danger of being tased.
Thank god for small blessings.
"Actually, yes. I was talking to the pilot over the radio. We had to verify some things," Ruby explains.
She crosses over to Emma and says, "I'm Ruby, and I'll be your personal guardswoman for the duration of your stay."
Guardswoman makes Emma think of bail bonds person, and her chest seizes up just a little at the memory.
"Emma," she introduces. She's already getting tired of that. Emma waves a hand. "And I really don't need a personal guardswoman."
Ruby laughs. "Actually, I'm Killian's personal guardswoman so you just get me by default. Sorry about that."
"Oi!" Killian calls out.
"That was no insult to you, Killian," Ruby says at him.
"I know," he says. He smiles, raking a hand through his hair and instructs, "Don't apologize for your presence, love."
Emma smiles slightly at that. Killian obviously likes Ruby, and if she's going to trust him to get her through this - to be her partner in this - then she's going to trust his judgement.
Besides, his is mirroring her own. Ruby's smile is bright like sunshine, and Emma feels a little blinded by it, but in a good way, especially when Ruby announces, "I'll be driving all of you home."
"Not I. I have previous arrangements," Regina says.
Emma stops just short of saying, "Well, that's good."
Will, however, does not, and Emma fights back a small shake of her head as Regina scoffs, "Killian, the company you surround yourself with does you no credit."
"Company?" Emma asks.
Will groans. "She means the lot of us, you know."
"I do not," Regina says.
Liar, liar, expensive pantsuit on fire because the only credit they're doing Killian is the kind Regina likes enough to smile through the lie, the same smile she gave when she was trying to feel Emma out with the fiancée nonsense. Emma would really like to know what paper published that and whether she can legally blast that reporter off the face of the planet.
Maybe she could borrow Ruby's Taser.
"I shall see you all at Calden, then," Regina says smoothly moving past the fact that she'd just insulted the lot of them with an easy smile, and a toss of her head as she turns on her heel.
"Do try not to be too late, but I understand it'll be hard given the crowd waiting for you."
Will groans loudly so no one hears Emma's groan over it except Killian who steps into her again and says, "You don't have to say a word. Just smile and push past them."
"What is with you guys and smiling?" Emma teases, relaxing against him. It's the comfortable thing to do, at least for the moment.
"Your smile is a revelation. Forgive us for wanting to share that with the rest of the world," Killian says. He steps in close enough that his mouth is almost to her ear when he says, "And as that's the only thing I feel quite willing to share, they should indulge in it as best they can."
She shivers slightly, and is willing to admit that it's more than just the cool air that blows in from the open hangar. That's as far as she's willing to go however, stepping away from him to say, "Can we get this over with?"
"Thank god someone's speaking sense," Will says.
Emma parts from Killian and somehow, as they fall into step, she ends up pressed against Mary Margaret's side, who again reminds her, "Don't answer any questions. Just keep moving and it'll be over in a flash."
"In many flashes, I'm sure," she replies.
Mary Margaret laughs. "Those bulbs can be quite blinding."
They march forward, Ruby at the head and Will at the back, Mary Margaret, Killian and Emma at the center, and it occurs to her with dawning horror that Will might actually be a bodyguard as well, albeit an incompetent one to be at their six. She shrugs off the thought after a moment - Mary Margaret is the more likely choice.
The airport is even smaller than it looked from overhead so it doesn't take them long to exit the hangar and make their way through to the commercial flight area. Just long enough that Emma can get a good look around the tarmac and see out to the ocean beyond, smell the sea breeze and take in the cold wind.
Her heart starts to race as they enter the actual airport and then more so as they move through their own private security check - she's checked for weapons which is laughable considering her dress leaves no room for it and all she could take off the plane was her black leather jacket and a small handbag only large enough to hold her phone, her passport, and some cash.
Do American dollars even work here?
It's a question she forgot to ask, whether she'll be paid in currency that she can use when this is over - which is a laughable thought to have when it's only just begun.
Killian hangs by Will through security so it's Emma, Ruby, and Mary Margaret at the front. Ruby turns to her and says, "If any of them get handsy, tug my back and I'll tase them."
"You can't tase reporters," Mary Margaret argues.
"I can if it's warranted."
Emma argues, "Please, no tasing. If they get handsy, I'll handle it."
"You can't break their hands," Mary Margaret says.
Emma turns to her with wide eyes, another argument on her slightly parted lips and Mary Margaret just lifts a brow significantly and says, "I know how well you did in your self-defense classes, how you handled yourself during your bail bonds career, and Killian told me for a fact that you're overly capable."
"Overly capable? Is that a nice way of saying violent?"
"It's a nice way of saying that he's impressed with how well you let him injure himself and then proceeded to carry him up the three flights of stairs to your apartment," Mary Margaret says.
Ruby turns, nodding thoughtfully, and says, "It's a less embarrassing way of saying that he's turned on by your strength."
"Ruby!" Mary Margaret cries, scandalized.
"Well, it's true innit?" Will asks, coming up behind Emma. He taps her on the shoulder and she turns into him. With a smile he finally introduces, "Will Scarlet, at your service."
"At whose service?" Killian asks. "Not Emma's certainly, she doesn't need -"
Before they can dissolve into an argument, Emma raises her hands and says, "She needs to get through this crowd, so shall we do that?"
Will's hand slides away from her shoulder and Ruby takes the lead again. Taking a deep breath, Emma pushes out through the doors, following behind Ruby.
It's, as Mary Margaret said, all over in a flash. No one gets handsy; in the strangest turn of events, even their questions are polite inquiries about "the state of your health following your injury, Prince Killian?" and "how did you meet?" and "can we have a comment?" - It going so far as to have her suspicious that they've already had their lives threatened before Ruby turned her looks on them.
Emma doesn't ask, not until they get into the black SUV limousine - because of course, they have to roll up to the royal manor looking like the secret service escorting the president.
(Why is she surprised? Why is she surprised?)
"Are your reporters usually this polite?" Emma asks.
"Yes and no. I'm honestly surprised at their good behavior, considering the circumstances of your arrival have been less than, erm, dignified?" Mary Margaret says.
She winces as she says it, and Emma nods because it's not a jab and she isn't taking it personally. Killian grunts like he does, however, which makes sense because they didn't call Emma drugged out of her mind on the front page of People magazine.
"Oh, yeah, right. Regina threatened the lot of them before you came out," Will says.
"Really?" Killian asks.
Will sneers slightly and recites, "This has been a trying time for my brother and it will only be made more so if he and our dear Emma are treated with any less than the respect that you would give me." He turns down the sneer and says, "With Graham and Claude at her side, why wouldn't they take her threat seriously?"
Graham. Claude. Mary Margaret looks at her and Emma knows that she's making a note, too, no doubt to tell Emma all about them as soon as she gets a free moment.
It's a lot of people to know in such a short time, and she doesn't even know the people beside her. Even though she knows the weight of Killian's hand on the small of her back, she doesn't know how he wakes up in the morning, and this is something she should know like his favorite meal, the best place they've visited together, whether he likes sports or Nascar or –
"I'm sure they'd take it seriously even without them by her side," Emma comments just to shut off that steadily speeding train of thoughts from heading for a deadly collision with the reality that these are things she never would've known had this not turned out so wrong.
Had this gone right, she'd never be able to consider the things he liked. It wouldn't matter. He'd be gone and she'd be right where she always was.
Emma frowns.
"Oh, no doubt, my sister has that way with people. She's a charmer," Killian says.
Will snorts. "Charmer? More -"
"Mate," Killian cuts in with a warning look. Emma watches him curiously as he looks across to Will and then says, "Why did you come out with her?"
"I'm a sight for sore eyes, and I was sure yours would be given the nights you two have had. And I wanted to meet Emma." Will turns to her, curiosity in the look. "So you two have been together for six months?"
Emma nods. "Sounds about right."
"I knew his fascination with New York couldn't possibly be about the city. Killian's not a city boy."
"No, he isn't," Emma agrees. This she knows. "And the Hudson isn't any body of water he'd want to be sailing on."
"So, he hasn't taken ya? Sailing that is."
"Not as of yet."
"We could stop by the bay," Will encourages.
"We could not do that," Emma says.
Killian agrees, "She's right. We don't have the time today."
"Yes, you have that interview scheduled with Sidney tomorrow," Mary Margaret
Emma startles.
"Him?"
She sighs then as Mary Margaret winces. Reasoning it out, Emma says, "That makes sense. Of course it does. Go to the guy who broke the story to begin with and tell him just how badly he got it wrong, while looking like the bigger person by allowing him to fix his mistake. Show him up on national TV."
"International," Killian corrects.
"Right. I forgot." She shrugs. "I'm not in Kansas anymore."
She looks over at Killian and says, "You've seen this one, right?"
"Of course, whom do you take me for?"
"A man who doesn't know what Wikipedia is?"
He wags his finger at her, exclaiming, "You've won this one, Swan."
She beams at him teasingly, knows exactly what it looks like when he beams back. Will snorts in the background and Mary Margaret is smiling when Emma turns to face her. Emma breathes out, great job, she's doing great, but she has to keep it up for however long this drive will be -
It was easier when it was just her, Mary Margaret, and Killian, but the circle's only going to keep growing, so she plays her role.
"Why don't we wind down the windows and you tell me what I'm looking at," she proposes. "I've only seen pictures."
Killian replies, "You might still be in Kansas, considering. It's all fields out here. We're driving away from the city area."
"Lucky us," Will mutters.
Emma raises an eyebrow. "The life out here isn't to your speed?"
"Molasses is more to my speed than cows and daisy fields," Will groans.
"So you're not a guardsman," Emma ventures.
"I'm just Killian's best mate," Will says proudly.
"You're going to scare her off with that," Killian says.
His hand fumbles the button on the door and Emma's blasted with cold air as it rolls down. Her hair fans out behind her and Killian says, "The weather here is a bit colder than New York at the moment."
She nods but she's more focused on staring out the window. Without a thought, she unbuckles her seat belt and says, "Move over?"
He does, unbuckling his, and they switch places so she's staring out the window, into the green fields of cows chewing grass - "Are those potatoes?" - potatoes, corn, and daisies.
It's idyllic, in a way, and it makes her shudder, in another.
She needs her car.
There's a whirring noise and Emma draws back to the front as the back of Ruby's head comes into view. "We're coming up to the manor soon."
"Perfect," Killian says.
Emma agrees with the sentiment. She's starting to feel very claustrophobic in this car and Emma faced that phobia and won when she was eight and her foster brother at the time locked her in a closet just to see if she would break and cry.
This feels like that, a bit.
Killian presses up beside her and the tightness closing up her throat grows that much more suffocating as he brushes his fingers over her arm, goosebumps following his path.
"Does it look better than the pictures?" he asks.
She keeps her eyes glued to the view outside, not daring to look at him lest he gets one the many wrong impressions - and as the manor comes into view, she nods, because it does, it looks tall and imposing, surrounded by more idyllic greenery and a floral arrangement that would put the local collective garden to shame.
It looks just as well loved.
Emma blinks around a sudden wetness in her eyes and she swipes at it - "The wind's strong," she offers before anyone can volunteer any other explanations.
Killian presses a little closer, arm sliding behind her back to wrap around her. The suffocating feeling, however, it eases with his casual embrace. Funny how those things happen.
"That's not a manor," she points out. "That's a castle."
"You noticed the turrets?" Mary Margaret laughs.
"Mary Margaret's a fan," Killian teases.
"I can see."
"It's both a manor and a castle. It's been going through renovations since the 18th century," Mary Margaret explains. "They've changed so much, but they've always kept the foundation. And the turrets."
"That's a remarkable amount of them," Emma says.
"She never said the renovations were good," Killian says.
He leans into say this, so the words are practically pressed to her skin. Emma draws away only to roll up the window. It's cold.
"It's certainly something," Emma settles on, which makes Ruby snort from her seat in the front.
They pull up to the long driveway and it's only then that Emma notices the car before them. They must've been joined by more guards somewhere along the drive because the car at the back of them certainly wasn't there before either.
She should've noticed these things, but she was too busy paying attention to the tension in her shoulders and the heat of Killian at her side.
Too busy watching Will and Mary Margaret - and it's a bit overwhelming, pretty much, but she punches through it, starts by throwing open the door the moment she can and slipping into her leather jacket as soon as she's out. It's cold and the leather is a familiar barrier against it.
She walks away from the car, her heels sinking into the light stones of the driveway. She should've worn boots, outfit be damned. She should've listened to her gut and not Mary Margaret's gentle suggestions.
Emma turns to Mary Margaret with accusing eyes but her gaze can only soften when the other woman smiles at her and says, "They're going to bring your bags up to your room. If you want to go there now…" Mary Margaret trails off and Emma senses that this is the option she least approves of. Nodding slightly, Mary Margaret says, "Or you could walk with me and we could discuss some things."
"Mary Margaret will take care of you," Killian says, agreeing with Mary Margaret's suggestion.
As she turns to face him, he pulls her in, forehead pressing against hers, noses nuzzling each other's and on a whisper, he adds, "Stick with her. There's no telling what some might ask of you should you wander off."
"Trying to keep me safe?" she whispers back.
"Always," he says.
Drawing back, he presses a kiss to her temple before stepping out of her space and nodding at Mary Margaret. He looks almost truly regal as he walks away, standing tall and straight, eyes forward, no looking back.
Emma turns to Mary Margaret and does the same.
He means to take the trek through the manor to his rooms, but Will catches up to him before he's even stepped foot on the path and says, "Ruby's ticked that you didn't take her with you."
"She's not the first," Killian says.
Will nods, says, "Yea, I'm ticked, too. You have your girl here and all over the papers to boot, and you didn't bother to tell us about her? What bloody gives?"
Killian's jaw is already jumping at that scathing remark when Will leans in and says, "Cora's here, by the way. She came specifically to see you. She's in the apple orchard."
Will groans, scraping his hand down his face. "That whole family is a menace."
Killian grins at that. "It seems my apple doesn't fall very far from that tree."
"Please," Will murmurs towards the heavens.
The heavens don't answer, only Killian's chuckle, sounding as dark as the clouding sky.
"I'll meet her. Go on, thanks."
"Good luck," Will says, and his tone is more serious this time.
Killian peers at him and, recognizing the look, he nods sharply. He looks up at the manor before him and turns away from its stone walls, leaving Will muttering something behind him. Killian's sure of the subject, if not the words. Will warned him off this path, but what's one disaster trying to divert another?
As bitter as it tasted in his mouth when he made his promise to Cora, at least he trusted her enough to know that she would keep hers. After all, what's the knowledge of his father's motives to allowing her dearest daughter to get everything she's ever deserved?
Killian would give up his crown again just to know.
It's chillier than usual as he approaches the pavilion in Regina's apple orchard and there are already honey crisp apples rotting on the ground beneath the whipped trees, a quaint microcosm of the smile on Cora's lips as she turns to greet him.
"Killian," she says.
"Lady Cora."
He bows slightly as he always does when he greets her. It amuses her a bit, he knows, but it's also exactly what she's looking for. It's the respect that she craves, and even these little things help when dealing with her former majesty.
The Duchess of the Heartland Cays smiles.
"You've been up to a lot lately. I'm surprised you have the time to entertain me when you're being so entertaining yourself."
Killian returns the smile. "Really? I always have time for you, milady."
"Oh?" She nods thoughtfully, but her smile goes cold when she says, "Just how have your trips been?"
"The details are a bit of a bore," Killian explains with a tilt of his head and a wave of his hand. "Surely you don't want to hear about that minutiae."
"Really? Stealing away at every city to meet up with your girlfriend might seem like a bore to you, but to me? It's worse than any betrayal."
"I was going to tell you," Killian explains. "But it was too soon for us to make any grand announcements."
"Grand announcements? It's only me, Killian." She shakes her head minutely and says, "I don't have time for your games. I've done too much for this family to have it brought to its knees by your gallivanting alongside…" - she waves her hand - "this Emma."
"Brought to its knees?" Killian scoffs.
Cora goes on as if he hadn't spoke at all, and says, "You chose her, and the consequences of that decision."
Killian could argue that choice is a two way street, and Emma didn't choose him at all, but that's a thought for a less charged moment, for one in which he isn't trying not to let his control fall to pieces.
"Our agreement still stands, Cora."
"Does it? You've hurt me deeply, Killian. Hurt my daughter very deeply."
"So you're going to return the hurt in kind?" Killian posits, sharp, sharper than he intends but the anger is raking its way through and he's already agreed to step down when she wants him to - what more could she possibly ask for and yet -
Cora doesn't flinch.
"Yes, I am. I'm going to leave you here with your thirst for answers unquenched."
Killian steps forward. "There's no need to be rash. We can discuss this."
"The circumstances of your pitiful existence buy you a lot, but not my time," Cora says.
With that, she steps down the stairs of the pavilion, but stops at the bottom step, holding a stance that at once makes her look like a monument to the cruel kings and queens of old and just like her daughter, the smile just as devious, "It's cruel to get a lady's hopes up. You should think on that, Killian, before you go making any rash decisions."
He does think on that as she leaves, not on her or Regina, but he thinks on Emma and how she proposed that he pay her for dragging her into this mess, something that no money could make up for, and that she claimed lack of sentimentality when she abandoned her life to be here with him.
He thinks on his mother deciding that it was better to pretend his father was the man that abandoned them when he was five years old to gamble himself to death rather than live with them any longer.
What were her hopes?
What are Emma's?
Not this, certainly. Not this.
Emma pays attention to what Mary Margaret's saying but it gets to the point where paying attention becomes too much. The wind is bitter, her thoughts are cold, and Emma would much rather be meeting these people than hearing about them.
Mary Margaret taps her on the elbow, and then pulls gently, turning Emma towards her. Her smile is soft and despite the cold whipping the short strands of her dark hair in her face, she looks bright. Even when Emma knows that her presence is dimming, Mary Margaret is bright.
But she can afford to be, can't she? It's only Emma's life riding on this. If Emma falls to the wayside, then Mary Margaret's life goes on the same as it did before, with even fewer complications.
Emma feels even grumpier at that thought.
"Would you like to walk around the gardens?" Mary Margaret inquires.
"No."
Emma crosses her arms over her chest, her lips thinning in consternation.
Mary Margaret sighs, and says, "This is difficult."
Emma looks away because yeah, she's being difficult, but she just doesn't care. Doesn't care about the gardens or the aviary or the stables. Doesn't care that there's this beautiful manor-castle hybrid with 23 separate turrets before her. She just -
"For what it's worth, I understand," Mary Margaret offers.
Emma lifts an eyebrow. "Understand why this is difficult or just in general?"
Emma expects another sigh, but Mary Margaret surprises her with her earnest response of, "You're trying, Emma, that's all we can ask of you given the circumstances, and we shouldn't even ask that of you...given the circumstances."
"So, what, you're apologizing?" Emma asks.
Mary Margaret shakes her head. "Apologies won't help, will they? The only thing I think that can would be making this as easy for you as possible."
"Yeah. Thanks."
Mary Margaret brushes some wayward hairs out of her face and says, "And I can do that by taking you on a tour of the gardens. The scent of orchids will make you feel better."
Emma groans but it's less weary than before.
"Lead the way."
They turn towards the path, walking along the stones until it twists in two separate directions, and they're about to take the left on the path to the gardens when footsteps sound by the right, followed by Killian's appearance. His hands are fisted at his sides, which he releases the moment he looks up and notices them.
"Oh, Killian, hello," Mary Margaret says. "This is great. I was just about to take Emma to the gardens and talk about the interview tomorrow, but it'll be better if you're with us."
"Right," Killian says, but there's nothing right with the tight smile that he gives.
Emma's not the only one struggling, it seems.
Mary Margaret's eyebrows wander up and she says, "Just what were you doing at Regina's apple orchard?"
"Cora was visiting. We had ourselves a nice little chat. She's disappointed that she didn't get to meet Emma, but alas she has some prior engagements to attend, which she's already on her way to."
"Alas," Emma echoes.
She wishes that it would sound like a lie because then it wouldn't be so confusing in her head - why would Cora want to meet Emma? Why would the mother of the half-sister Killian usurped want to meet Killian's girlfriend? It doesn't make any sense, and by the inclination of Killian's head, she doubts it will for a while.
He lifts his head to smile at her, and the look isn't right, but it eases something in her. She isn't the only one struggling.
She doesn't feel so alone.
"So about this interview?" he says, offering his hand to her.
She takes it.
Mary Margaret leaves them at the side entrance to the manor. Ruby's already at the door, waiting for them, but Emma's been tense beside him since their walk to the gardens and Killian himself hasn't been much better.
He greets Ruby with a smile, but says, "We're just going to retire for the night."
"Did you eat? Regina's having dinner in a few minutes if you want to join her -"
"Would we be able to have a private dinner up in…" - Emma looks to Killian - "Our rooms?"
Ruby looks at her, nodding vigorously, "Of course. I'll have something brought up." Both her eyebrows lift as she lies, "I'm sure Regina will understand."
Regina will understand alright, that they're hiding themselves away. It'll be a victory to her, and given the way her mother dismissed him, it's one she's definitely won.
He screws his eyes shut for a moment and sighs and when he opens them, he looks to Emma only to find her staring up at him, a wrinkle in her brow.
Air whistles through his nose as he bites back a curse, hopes that she won't ask but knows that it'll be worse if she doesn't because that'll mean she understands like she did when she didn't press about Gold.
"Show me the way then?" Emma asks.
He leads her through the fastest route to his rooms, bypassing the main hall entirely and taking the dustier back stairs. They meet a few people on the way, but they only nod at Killian and Emma.
She keeps mum the entire time, that is, until he opens the door to his rooms and says, "Welcome to my humble home."
"Humble? You're joking right?"
"I was," he states.
He knows how it looks because he lived in a small house by the bay and it was enough just to have his bedroom and his bathroom and now he has all this.
And now nothing feels like enough.
(Because everything he tries fails and he falls further down, a maelstrom dragging everything down with him.)
He glances around the large, mostly open space as Emma takes apprehensive steps inside, just enough that he's able to close the doors behind them with a quiet click. He turns the key in the lock, grateful at whoever left it for him. Will most likely. He was the one who stole it to begin with.
He stares at the bed, at the clean sheets and the mattress sized for a king. He wants to collapse atop it, and hates himself for it.
(The agreement is off the table; he can still have all this, but answers? Answers? There's still so many questions.)
"Is this supposed to be my room?" Emma says, shocked like the thought is just occurring to her.
Killian can only answer, "Yes, this is where we'll be staying."
"...the hell," Emma murmurs. She turns to him. "Is this even allowed? We're not married."
He chuckles at that. "We're not so archaic in Socaea. Besides, I think they already can guess that we share a bed. Your former apartment isn't nearly big enough to boast two."
"Just this room is big enough to boast at least three," Emma says, tone caught between mocking and actual awe.
"God, I need to -" She catches herself and says, "Which door leads to the bathroom and which leads to the secret escape route out of the castle?"
"You've been reading too many stories, Swan," Killian says.
"Not really, no," she says. She glances away from him and towards the shelves on the wall, "But you?"
He points towards the door on the left. "That's the bathroom."
"Thanks," she says. She shirks her jacket, tossing it across his bed, and Killian gives himself a moment to stare at how the bed seems that much bigger with the jacket on it. It's more than enough space.
Far more than enough.
Still, he steps towards the chaise lounge and peels back the sheets on that. It's been cleaned, too, which is good or else he'd be sneezing all night at the dust collecting on it. He thanks whoever had the foresight for that.
The bathroom door opens just in time for the knock on the door.
"Dinner," a grumpy voice announces and Killian could almost laugh at the parallel to the morning. It's soothing, the small gesture from the fates, that Leroy would be the first person at his door and the last.
"I appreciate this, Leroy," Killian says as he answers the door.
Leroy glares up at him.
"Ruby thought you might like a friendly face."
"And yours is truly the friendliest I know," Killian remarks.
Leroy thrusts the tray into Killian's waiting hands, hard enough to probably earn him a reprimand should Ruby have seen - or a cheering on should Ruby have seen on a different day.
Without so much as a wave, Leroy stomps away and Killian hefts the tray to himself, closing the door with the push of his shoulder.
"Guess he got here right after us," Emma says.
"Mmm," Killian agrees.
He walks past her to set their meal down on the table, two bowls of a thick soup and some bread and cheese on the side that Emma quickly tears into as soon as she sets down.
She moans around the bread and cheese and Killian watches her for a moment, thinking of last night's grilled cheese - and other things, other, sweeter moans, before he digs into his own food. He's not hungry enough that eating feels too much like a necessary activity as it does an enjoyable one.
Still, his enjoyment is cut by -
There are thoughts pressing against him, weighing down his shoulders until they've just about sunken as deep as his fuck up.
He peers at Emma and has to look away.
He doesn't know how much time passes between the first spoonful and his last, but he clears the dishes away, tossing them in the small cleaning sink in the right room, the secret escape route - his mouth twitches up slightly; there's no escape from here - before he returns to face his closet.
He expects Emma to disappear into the bathroom again. She's found her suitcase and her night clothes within it, so he expects her to leave, but she stands there, staring at him instead as he reaches for the tie at his neck.
His fingers fumble over the material, his prosthetic feeling loose and unwieldy despite knowing it's all in his head.
"You're playing the strong, silent type really well," Emma says.
"Am I? That almost sounds like a compliment, Swan." He looks at her from beneath his lashes and says, "Or perhaps you're concerned about me?"
She doesn't look amused. In fact, she leans back, arms crossing over her chest. "Is this another one of those secrets that you're keeping to protect me?"
"What if I said my motives were entirely selfish?" he says.
"I'd call bullshit," Emma says.
He freezes at that with his tie still around his neck and turns to face her. She walks up to him and reaches for his hands. Pushing them aside, she keeps staring at him as she loosens his tie for him, fingers shaking just slightly enough that he can pretend he doesn't feel it.
He lifts a brow in question and she says simply, "You seemed to be struggling."
Her hands trembled as she touched him.
He's not the only one.
"Thank you," he says, truly grateful.
He stares down at her. She's about two inches shorter him than she was before, the perfect height for him to press a kiss to her temple like he's been doing all day.
But he can't now. Kisses in front of others are fine. This, he knows, would be asking too much, for the comfort of her touch.
She doesn't move out of his space for a moment so he continues to stare down at her, contemplating the taste of her lips. It's an easier thought to focus on than anything else he has to consider tonight.
Until it isn't.
Until she's stepping out of his space and commenting, "I like to sleep on the right side, so you're going to have to take the left."
"The left?" She looks towards the bed significantly and he says, "The bed's yours," because the thought of seeking comfort in her touch is too hard.
"It's your bed," she points out.
"It's yours, too, now."
"Too implies two," she says.
He smiles. "I'll take the chair tonight." She starts to protest but he just says, "You're not going to change my mind."
"Stubborn," she remarks.
He simply smiles at her again before he turns away, going for the buttons of his shirt. It's easier now, to slip the buttons out of their holes when she's padding quietly across the floor. He hears a rustle and he doesn't turn around, waits until he hears the bed dip before he looks at her. She has her back turned to him which is definitely a sight he doesn't need - a different kind of need, at least.
Killian swallows and turns away.
"Goodnight," she says, like it's a question.
Simply put, it is.
"Goodnight," he replies, like it's a hope.
Simply put?
It is.
She wakes up to a flurry of a movement that isn't her own groggy form, but Killian bouncing from foot to foot near the bathroom door, shirt half unbuttoned and one sleeve rolled up to his elbow.
"It's early?" she murmurs.
He looks to her and says quietly, "Yes, it is, but I wanted to give you some more time to sleep while I got ready. Sorry to wake you, Swan."
"'S okay," she slurs tiredly, rubbing at her eyes.
"Breakfast should be up in twenty if you want to shower," he says.
"If I want," she huffs, not quite a laugh.
Climbing out of bed, she goes for her one of the boxes only to notice the deep blue dress strewn across what she has dubbed as Killian's side of the bed even though he refused to sleep in it.
She thinks he was going for the gentlemanly route but she can't be sure. The way he looked at it spoke of a different motion entirely.
Killian chuckles, eyes on her, and says, "Interview wear courtesy of Mary Margaret. Said it should be the proper size."
"It will be. While you were out on the plane, Sleeping Beauty, Mary Margaret took my measurements," Emma says.
"And you couldn't say no?" Killian says.
"Not when she pulled out the tape measure - did she seriously go shopping for me? She can't do that."
"There are certainly more outfits where that came from, yes. Mary Margaret has a very heavy hand when it comes to micro-managing the Royal lifestyle," Killian expounds.
"Noted," Emma says.
She digs through her boxes for some underwear - a bra would be useless with this dress, but at least the fabric is thick enough to hide any reactions to the cold already seeping into the room - and grabs the dress off the bed to move past Killian and into the still warm bathroom.
She showers efficiently this time, no lingering except for a moment to consider her change in mood and how she woke up in this big bed to Killian's half-dressed form. It's wasn't a bad sight. All things considered, she could certainly do worse.
She's trying to think so because the alternative is what she spent all yesterday doing afternoon and it wasn't working for her at all. Moping doesn't work for her; she needs to be active about her fucked up situation. Fight or flight or both, she doesn't really leave room for lying around in that big, empty bed, struggling to sleep because he obviously isn't either.
She's dressed and ready for a quick bite only to come out to the small table they shared dinner over yesterday covered in a wealth of food - wealth being the obvious reason behind all this.
"Modesty is in short supply where food is concerned here," Killian says.
"I didn't expect any different."
She shrugs and grabs for an apple, munching on it thoughtfully as she marches over to the bed and slips into her pumps.
"I know I was moody yesterday," Emma admits as she joins him back at the table.
"I was no better," Killian says.
"But this interview needs to go smoothly."
"It will," Killian assures her, and she sort of feels that way, assured when he reaches over and grabs for an apple as well. He avoids the red ones entirely, picking through the bowl for the sole green one in the bunch.
"Not a fan of red apples?" Emma probes.
"Honeycrisp tastes sour in my mouth."
"Says the man eating the granny smith."
"I didn't say why it tastes sour." He points to the honey crisp and says, "It's one of Regina's."
"That's rather childish of you," Emma points out.
"Suppose it's the rivalry we never got to indulge in as children coming out to play," Killian says.
His smile is dark, his humor bitter.
Emma reaches for his apple and sneaks it right out of his hand. Taking a bite, she says while chewing, "That is good." She hands it back over to him, and he stares at the bite before his eyes raise to hers, and he stares at her intently as he takes one himself, right over her own.
The thought occurs to her, as she's watching him chew, that sharing is a simpler option for them so she tells him, "You can't sleep on the couch tonight."
"Was your sleep lonely?" Killian says, a pout to his lips and a flutter to his eyes that only serves to cement Emma's argument.
She rolls her eyes and says, "No, but it's just being stupid to sleep on that thing when one, you're bigger than me, and two, the bed is bigger than the both of us combined."
Killian opens his mouth, but instead of arguing, he stuffs a spoonful of oatmeal in it instead.
"Your bed is as ridiculous as you are, anyway. There's gold and rubies on the headboard," Emma scoffs.
Killian looks towards the bed and then turns his gaze away as he simply answers, "It's an heirloom, Swan, and I didn't have a choice."
Emma stares at him as he walks past, away from her and the bed and says, "No choice in bed sets? Really?"
"All the future kings of Socaea have slept in the same one since 1622," he replies.
The past two days have been all, "I slept with a prince and it's completely fucked me over," for her, but it never really occurred to her that being said prince might be just as hard on him as it is on her. To not be able to choose your own bed, Emma knows that feeling.
She looks at him carefully and says, "Please, just don't tell me your great-great-great grandfather died in this bed."
Killian chuckles, lifting his eyes from his bowl, a curl to his lips that isn't as humored as it's been but isn't as dark as it was only moments before. "We changed the mattress, so there's no need to worry, love."
The rest of the meal, they spend watching each other, alternatively stealing food from the other's plate and it's childish and stupid but it makes her feel better about facing the day, so much so that not even Leroy's grumpy manner when he knocks on the door to remind them to get their asses down the stairs makes her feel bad.
What does is walking down the long staircase for the first time and actually getting a true measure of the manor. It's every bit as big as Mary Margaret described, wide and open.
Not many places to hide.
"The car's out front. I trust you're feeling up to this?" Mary Margaret says when they've descended.
"I am," Emma says.
"Good," Killian says behind her. "I am too."
They move to the car and Emma half-wonders why Regina isn't up to see them off. It seems like a thing she would do, but then she notices Mary Margaret's stumbling step and sees the problem just as they reach the car.
The guard standing ready to open the door isn't Ruby.
"Claude, good morning," Mary Margaret says.
Killian merely stares at him and Emma smiles as he looks between the three of them, trying for something that isn't distrust and (probably) failing.
Regina doesn't need to leave them with scathing words before their arrival to throw them off their game. This is clever - clever and manipulative, and Emma kind of hates her for it.
Good on herself, she supposes, to return Regina's sentiments.
She clutches at the sleeves of her leather jacket and says, "We're going to be late."
"You're right," Mary Margaret says.
Claude opens the door as they approach and Mary Margaret climbs in first, followed by Emma and Killian at the last. The door slams shut, hard enough to make the limo shake and Emma winces just slightly.
"It's too early to be that hostile," she grits out just before he re-enters the car.
And yet, Claude drives like a maniac, worthy of rivaling some of the worst taxi experiences Emma's had - and one of her bonds was a taxi driver at the time that she was hauling his ass in.
Mary Margaret stays silent the whole time, looking entirely too carsick for Emma to be comfortable enough to push conversation. Not that she really wants to - except to ask about the dress, and even that is a question she can answer herself.
Presenting Emma Swan, not a criminal mastermind but a calm, downright conservative presence. That is, until you pull up her criminal record, the one that was sealed of course because nothing stays quiet forever.
Except -
The car comes to a short stop. Killian doesn't wait for Claude to open the door, opening it himself and offering both her and Mary Margaret a hand out of it.
She touches his shoulder in thanks and he smiles at her, says softly, "You're very welcome, my dear."
Mary Margaret comes up beside her, hand to her mouth, but after a moment, she pulls it back to question, "Is there anything you want to discuss before we enter the building?"
"I don't need last minute jitters, so thanks but I'm good," Emma says.
The interview gets off to an awkward start mainly because of Sidney, while Emma and Killian are in makeup - an act that leaves her distinctly uncomfortable, not because of "Never have I felt so much like a star!" but because the makeup artist insists that her eyebrows are too arched and her hair too yellow, and she wants to throttle him just about as much as she wants to throttle Sidney, who spends the hour before hiding from them. He doesn't appear until a few minutes before broadcast, after Emma and Killian have already settled into their seats. At least they don't have to go through the whole talk show, walk down, and wave at the crowd.
At least there isn't a crowd. Not in this part of the studio.
Killian clutches for her hand as Sidney greets them.
"Emma, you look lovely. Prince Killian, I'm glad you two could make it."
"But are we?" Killian asks.
Sidney doesn't get the chance to answer because the curtain rises, metaphorically, and they're on candid camera. Emma feels a bit wooden in her stance, but Killian's hand in hers is cold, but comforting.
"First of all, thank you for being a part of our broadcast," Sidney says. "We know that this isn't under the best of circumstances that we would've liked to have extended our invitation, but -"
Emma doesn't let him finish, a nervousness driving her to cut in with, "It's fine."
Sidney quirks an eyebrow, his eyes going wide and warning.
Emma's already through with it - but she quiets for the rest of his monologue, allows Killian to introduce her, laughs as he explains how they met and interjects at all the right times until Sidney's voice goes serious and he says, "We wanted to give you the chance to explain what really happened that evening."
She takes it upon herself to answer this one, just because Sidney sweats when she opens her mouth.
"It's as Killian said, and I'm sure you've heard. He had a bit too much to drink and tripped over himself." Emma can't fake sweet to save her life - the last time she tried she ended up slamming the guy's head into the wheel of his car - so she says it simply, "You were there, you should know."
"I should, right," Sidney says.
If he could be tugging at the tie around his neck, he probably would, but how would that look on a live broadcast?
Probably no worse than he already looks when she laughs and says, "And you helped me carry him to the car. I'm still unsure what would've given you the impression that I was kidnapping him, but I understand, I guess. He's a prince. I'm a bouncer. We don't really mix, right?"
Killian chuckles and places his hand atop hers, "I think we mix rather well."
It should sound dirty and if he were wearing his usual smile, it would, but this one is softer, less seductive intent than it is genuine.
"I think so, too," Emma admits.
Awkward start be damned, they're doing pretty well so far.
It continues that way - Killian is easy to play off of and it feels almost as if they were alone in her apartment again, the back and forth give and take more than easy, even; it's just natural. She almost forgets Sidney's there until he speaks and she feels a flare of resentment that she has to push down in order to answer.
The second to last question makes it harder than the others.
"Now, we know this may be very personal for you, Emma, and if it makes you uncomfortable, you do not have to answer, but as it's been touched on in so many of the papers, we'd like to know how you reconcile your criminal past with the person that you are now?"
Score for Sidney, he actually makes it sound like he isn't the one who published her "criminal past" in his column.
Killian squeezes her hand and she says, "You're right. I'm not the same girl with that same poor judgement."
Killian jumps in, "No, I'm the one blessed with the poor judgement, given the circumstances."
"No more rum for you, then?" Sidney offers with a brilliant, toothy white grin for the cameras.
Killian offers one in return, and says, "I can make no promises."
Emma knows she's supposed to chuckle here, but she turns to him and says, "Sure you can."
Killian sighs. "To you, of course. I won't touch the drink."
"Good. Let's not have a repeat of my having to carry you. You're not that light."
"Speaking of, how did you manage that? You must be quite strong, Emma?" Sidney asks.
"I work out. I like a good morning jog, some yoga, going to the gym pretty regularly. I like to keep active. Sitting still makes me," she makes a shuddering motion with her shoulders.
Killian supplies, "Antsy. Emma has too much energy to be contained. Lucky for us she puts it towards the best of endeavors, keeping the both of us on our toes."
"And what other endeavors shall you be pursuing while you're in Socaea? Surely you won't simply be hanging around Calden Manor?"
Emma laughs at that because surely she won't swing at him while the cameras are rolling.
"I'll find something. I always do."
"You truly do. We all hope that you enjoy your stay in Socaea, Emma."
Sidney turns to the camera, and says, "When we come back, a talk with the interior designer for Princess Anna's engagement party. Stick around, ladies, gentlemen, and all you out there watching, you won't want to miss this."
Emma smiles into the camera, not sure whether to wave, settles for holding Killian's hand a bit tighter. The prosthetic is warm from her touch.
"Am I pulling too hard," she asks when Sidney announces, "And you're free!"
"Not at all," Killian says to get quietly. To Sidney, he grins and says, "Are we now?
Sidney's look is nervous as he stares between the both of them and says, "Better question: am I?"
Emma can only smile at that.
She's not sure how the day passes so quickly when she spends most of it waiting around - for Killian and Mary Margaret to finish arrangements with the studio. For Ruby to rotate in to replace Claude when Regina calls him back to the manor. For this person and that person - for lunch and dinner and finally, finally sleep.
Killian hovers by the bed again, turned away from her as she changes, and she respects that he's being a gentleman, but also -
He's seen every inch of her already, left marks on most the places she keeps most hidden, her dainty sensibilities are hardly in danger.
Still, he does get into the bed beside her, far too close for the wide swath of space offered by it, so perhaps he isn't too worried about her dainty sensibilities after all.
"I have a question," Emma says after a moment of silence between them.
"Worried about the ghosts of ancestors past?" Killian teases.
"That's not funny," Emma says and kicks at him.
Her toes brush his ankles and the warmth settles in almost too quickly. He's a mass of heat and her cold feet react on their own, touching him just a beat too long.
"Stealing my warmth now, are we?" he asks.
She pulls back, feeling her face warm when it should be going to her toes instead and rolls to face him.
"I'm not stealing anything. I was trying to kick you," Emma says, doesn't know why she's even bothering with the explanation, it's stupid, she's being stupid - and she didn't even get out her question.
Doesn't really remember it.
Killian's smiling, the corners of his mouth twitching up and up until he grins ever wider, and suggests, "Perhaps you'd have better luck with longer contact?"
"I'm not cuddling with you. Go to sleep," Emma says.
"It was merely a suggestion."
Emma harrumphs and turns away again, rolling onto her side. Tiredly, she curls in on herself, only curling tighter when his hand touches her shoulder, flinching away instinctively.
"Sorry," he apologizes when she glares at him. He offers a small smile and says, "We did well today, didn't we?"
Emma nods. "Yeah, I think we did."
She nods off at that, only to awaken slightly, hours later, there's light in the room, just a little and Killian's breathing is less than steady beside her. She snuggles closer.
Her toes are so cold.
She tucks her feet beneath him to a quiet, "There's a good girl," and she'd slide them away only she's so tired and he's so warm, and Emma's drifting already, too far gone to properly disentangle them.
His arm comes up around her and Emma sighs into the embrace, falling out again to another quiet, "Aye, there's a good girl. Sweet dreams, love."