Author's Note: Hello readers! I really appreciate all of your reviews. I am horrible about responding to them because I hate this website's message system but I read them all and they mean so much to me.
Much love as always to my beta, artielu.
9.
Robin pulls into the parking garage just after midnight after getting clearance from the attendant (apparently Regina has called down and told them to expect another car in her family's guest parking). He parks and turns off the engine, glancing over at Killian.
Killian turns to face his roommate, trying to read the expression on his face. Sad? Wary? Tired? Probably the latter, because he knows Robin had class at 10am today – yesterday? – and he did volunteer to drive. Granted, he volunteered because he knew Killian had been drinking, but still, driving all that way was nice of him (Killian will have to find some way to pay him back).
"You didn't have to do this," Killian says, but Robin shakes his head.
"I know you think I'm doing this so I can get laid," he tells Killian, "but you're only half right."
"Oh?" Killian raises an eyebrow. "You're only going to get half laid?"
"However laid I get, it'll be more than you, my friend." Robin takes off his seatbelt, turns fully to face Killian. "Look, if this turns into a shit show, just say the word and we'll bounce. Bros before hos, man."
"Don't let Regina hear you say that," Killian warns him as he takes off his own seatbelt, and he can hear Robin reply, "shit, shouldn't have said that," under his breath. He laughs.
Killian has no idea what to expect. Emma's Good was the end of their communication, and he's been nervous and fidgeting the entire drive, which resulted in Robin doing everything he could to distract him, from making him sing along to the Game of Thrones theme song (Robin's sense of humor is….special) to Bohemian Rhapsody to I Will Wait, complete with choreography (the last one was particularly impressive and could have gotten them killed, especially when Robin took his hands off the wheel). It was a valiant effort, and it worked for some time, but his thoughts always returned to Emma, and her summons, and the way that she had looked at him when he told her the truth.
They pass through security relatively easily since Regina had told the front desk that they were coming, and the attendant lets them into the elevator and presses the button for the top floor.
The elevator ride up to the penthouse is quiet save for background music heavy on the synths and Robin's off-key humming of the Game of Thrones theme (again). Killian's heart thuds in his chest and his palms grow sweaty as the elevator climbs higher and higher. Finally, when they do reach the top floor and the bell sounds, he feels like he's going to throw up.
"Don't throw up," Robin remarks as he steps off the elevator into what is quite possibly the most beautiful home Killian has ever seen.
"Honey, I'm home," Robin calls out, throwing himself onto a white couch, and almost immediately there is the click of high heels and Regina storms out of somewhere, frowning. She's dressed in leather pants and a black shirt that hangs off one shoulder and it looks like she's dressed to go out. Killian frowns.
"Get your dirty boots off my parent's couch or so help me, Robin Locksley," Regina says as she approaches. She sniffs. "Oh my god, did you have class in the woods this week? You smell like forest."
"We were learning how to use authentic activities in the classroom," Robin says as he stands up, pulling her into an embrace and Killian looks away to give them some privacy. As he does, he notices Graham entering the room, looking apologetic.
"Hey," he says, holding out a hand, which Killian takes. He doesn't blame Graham for any of his, and he hopes that the other man knows it.
"Look at you, all unkempt," Regina says, coming up beside him and running her finger along his cheek (he has not exactly been shaving these days, not entirely taking care of himself). "I like it."
Her look becomes serious, and he notices for the first time that her earrings look like bullets. "We're all going to get a drink, so you have the apartment to yourself, but…" Regina trails off, struggling to find the right words, and Killian just nods.
"Noted." With a tight smile, she brushes past him, calling for Graham and Robin to join them, and as they approach the elevator behind him, he sighs.
"Killian?"
His eyes find her immediately as she stands in the hallway, silhouetted by the light, and she is every bit as glorious as he remembers – an angel, outside of his reach. He is just not entirely sure if she is an angel of mercy (or maybe, as he hears the Game of Thrones theme on repeat in his head, she is a dragon, here to burn him alive).
"Emma," he says, her name sounding like a prayer on his lips, and she smiles shyly.
"I'm glad you came." She slowly (hesitantly) approaches him, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, and he nods, because what else can he say? She called for him, and in his desperate state, of course he would answer.
"I'm surprised you even wanted to see me," he admits, because all of this has been a shock to his system and he is waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rug to be pulled out from under him now that he's regaining his footing.
He is a man in love, and he is a fool.
"We should talk," she tells him, glancing behind him but the elevator has already left while he's been staring at her and so they are alone in Regina's parent's place. She crosses the open sitting area, takes a seat on one of the large couches, and looks at him. For a moment, Killian gets a glimpse of what she will look like when the throne is hers, and it gives him goosebumps.
Killian feels apprehensive (he has been tried and convicted and is now awaiting his sentence) as he sits down on the other couch across from her, elbows resting on his thighs, his eyes only on Emma.
…
She likes the stubble.
That's the first thing that Emma thinks when she gets a good look at Killian, freshly arrived. She likes the way that he looks – rougher, if possible, and that fits their current status because they're both a little rough right now (her fingers itch to run across his stubble and she has to remind herself that she can't).
It was her decision to invite him here and the minute she lays eyes on him she knows it was the right one. She missed him, deep inside, and seeing him soothes her soul, because it confirms something she had been wondering all the hours since she sent that text: how much does she care about Killian?
The answer is very, very much, because seeing him in front of her, looking so vulnerable and nothing like the confident man she first met makes her want to comfort him, protect him, make sure nothing can happen to him under her watch. She's never felt this way about anyone before save her parents (the lingering thought that Cassidy might harm them makes her shiver in fear but she pushes it away. Now is not the time for that.).
And so they are here right now, and Emma finds herself teetering on the dizzy edge of something new and exciting and terrifying and real at the same time, because if she feels this way about him – if she wants to forgive him like she's planning to, if she misses him as intensely as she does and wants to never be parted from him again – then she's not sure she's ready for it, but it's there anyway and she's going to have to accept it, especially in light of what's happened and what can happen.
She doesn't want to think about losing him.
Killian sits across the room, a large ottoman separating them. His hands are folded in front of him, and she's never seen someone look this broken before. Emma wonders if it is only her that did this, and then decides it can't be. She is just one piece of him, and she doesn't even know how large of a piece she is.
The silence stretches between them.
"I wish you had told me from the very beginning," she says softly, and the minute that the words are out of her mouth, she regrets them. Maybe she should have made more small talk – her mother would have. Maybe she should have said something else.
He sighs, deeply, buries his head in his hands, and when he looks up at her, he just looks sad.
"I wish I had as well," he agrees, "but I was selfish. I knew you would run away if you knew who truly am, and I didn't want to take that chance." His voice is harsh, and she can practically feel the self-loathing from him coming off in waves, and she wants to shout at him because he is better than his mistakes – she knows he is.
But she doesn't.
"Maybe," Emma says, because she's starting to wonder if that is the case. The part of her that is the proper princess knows that she would have run hard and fast, but the part of her that is coming to know Killian, and coming to love him thinks she would have tempted fate. "Maybe not."
"Emma!" Killian is offended at her ambivalence. "I am no fit companion for a princess - I consorted with known anarchists! I am a fugitive from justice!"
"Whose justice? Cassidy's?" Emma shakes her head angrily. "Not my mother's justice, and she is still head of state." The thought that someone could be so frightened of the Prime Minister, who could be voted out at any time (not that it was likely, with what she knows now), still rankles her, as does the thought that Cassidy is trying to destroy her family and Eira, and she cannot – will not – let that destroy her or Killian too.
"Still, Emma," Killian presses, "I was a risk to your safety and wellbeing. I kept my secret for my own selfish reasons." His jaw clenches, and she wants to reach out and run her fingers along his face, to tell him that it will be okay.
She doesn't.
In fact, she's a little annoyed that he's telling her how to feel because this is her life, but she takes a deep breath and tries to channel everything that her mother has ever taught her about kindness and compassion and hope. She smiles. "Sometimes it's okay to be selfish. I wish you had told me, but I understand why you didn't – why you couldn't, at first, until you came to know me better." She pauses, and then repeats, "I understand, Killian, I really do."
Killian looks up at her, and his entire face has transformed from a lost soul to someone who has found what they've been looking for: he seems in awe of her at that moment, and it makes her uncomfortable but she can't look away because it's him, here, and she forgives him. Being here, away from the rest of the world, has given her time and space to think and she now knows that Regina was right: how can you tell someone something like that? Especially someone you just met? She didn't tell her roommates about her real identity for months.
She now realizes that there are secrets that are kept for selfish reasons and there are secrets that are kept because the truth can hurt you. What matters is knowing the difference.
"Regina said something about how I needed to listen to you when you told me, instead of just hearing what I wanted to hear, and I think she's right." Emma twists the loose thread on her red flannel shirt, pulls it off and wraps it around her finger. "My mother would have listened, because that's the right thing to do, but instead I just – I let my fears get the better of me. I didn't stop to consider the bigger picture of your confession."
"And that is?" Killian asks, and she can hear the anticipation in his voice.
"That you didn't tell me because you had already lost so much at the hands of someone who is still out to destroy my family," Emma tells him. "That we're the same, you and I, and that I could lose as much as you did, if not more. Why you didn't tell me are your own reasons, but I'm glad you finally did, because I needed to know." The thought causes her insides to twist into knots but it is the truth that her mother might be overthrown, and she needs to accept that. It's the sort of thing her mother would do as she planned her next move.
And if she wants to save her parents – if she wants to take down Cassidy – she's going to need Killian to do it.
Emma has been trying to process the Cassidy situation since Killian first told her, since Graham confirmed it, since Regina stressed it that night at her apartment. It's been too unbelievable to think about, but finally, in the hours waiting for Killian, she sat down to Google it. Graham helped her put the pieces together, assemble a coherent picture of how deep Cassidy's treachery really was.
And it makes her sick.
And she is not about to let one twisted little imp ruin her life, or the lives of her parents, and she certainly isn't going to let him drive a wedge between her and Killian.
She cares about him too much to lose him.
"Emma," Killian says, looking at her with gentleness and care, looking at her like he's seeing her for the first time, and she stands up, moves to sit in front of him on the ottoman. The desire to touch him, to comfort him, is too great for her to ignore. She sits close to him but not too close, her hands uncertain of what to do until she finally reaches out and places her fingers on his left arm.
"I forgive you for not telling me," she says, staring at her fingers against his hoodie. She forgives him because she cares about him deeply, because his pain is her pain, because sometimes good people are selfish. He hurt her, but it helped her learn about herself in the end, so the hurt was worth it. "You mean too much to me."
Killian closes his eyes and buries his head in his hands, and Emma watches his shoulders heave. Her hand slides down towards his wrist, fingers resting against the watch he always wears. She says nothing, but she does move forward and rest her other hand on his other wrist, because she needs to touch him right now.
He lifts his head to look at her, so close that she can feel his ragged breath on her lips, and she sees the tears glimmering in his eyes, the indentations on his lips from where he bit down to keep whatever was inside from tumbling out. Emma gives him a wary smile, and finally – finally – reaches out to brush her fingers against his jaw, like she has wanted to since he walked in the apartment. Touching him like this makes her whole body vibrate – with feelings, with need, with something she doesn't quite understand.
"You're just like your mother," he tells her, and the comparison makes Emma smile. She has always aspired to be just like Mary-Margaret, and yet –
"Did you meet her?" she asks, and Killian nods.
"When Liam died," he says, looking away. "There was a memorial. She came, with your father. She spoke with me for some time." He sighs, eyes meeting hers again. "Everything I did was against Gold, not her."
"I know." She leans her forehead against his, strokes his cheek with her thumb. "I know."
They sit there for a moment, and Emma feels happy and content, their breathing in sync. But soon something grows inside of her, and she is distracted by the warmth of his body, the smell of him, the feeling of him right here with her after so many days of being without him. She missed this. She missed them.
Emma leans back slightly so that she can see him, see the question in his eyes. She runs her thumb over his bottom lip, following the movement with her eyes, and then, she leans forward to kiss him.
She hears his gasp, feels his hesitation and then his careful acceptance of her action, the way that he leans in to the kiss as well. She can feel his hand come up to stroke her jaw, the dent of her chin, the apple of her cheek, and she pulls back, wanting to see him (the minute they part, the loss of him is too much).
"I don't know if that was a good idea," Killian warns her, and Emma shakes her head.
"I wanted to," she tells him.
He raises an eyebrow, and chuckles, and then she leans in again.
This time, neither of them is gentle.
Killian's hand is in her hair, her hand on his thigh as she leans forward, kissing him hungrily, thinking I want him I need him I trust him. Her other hand, the one that was on his cheek, finds its way into his hair, fingers twisting the dark strands, marveling at their softness. He makes a noise in the back of his throat which she swallows up in her passion, and then his arms are around her, pulling her towards him so that she's straddling his hips. She can't help it – she whimpers, claws at his shoulders, tries to get closer to him. After so long without him, she can't get enough, doesn't want to stop because she has been thinking about this, the touch of him, the feel of him, the taste of him, for the entire week, in the darkest moments of her mind when she knew she shouldn't think about him but she couldn't help it. No one has made her feel this way, like she is on fire, burning up from the inside out, ready to burst into flame with every movement of his hand across her back, every brush of his fingers through her hair.
A thought occurs to her – having him granted clemency by her mother and taking him to state dinners and not having to hide and being able to kiss him when she wants to and –
"Bedroom," she whispers as his lips find her neck and pepper it with soft kisses.
Killian sits back, runs a hand through his hair, clearly dazed.
"Are you sure?" he asks. Emma nods shakily. She stands up, her legs feeling weak (she has become a cliché), her breathing erratic.
"Am I sure that Regina's parents probably have this room on surveillance? Yeah. Come on," she says, and even though she expects it to dampen the mood, it doesn't. He just pulls her towards him and kisses her like he never wants to stop, but when he does – reluctantly – pull away, he just brushes the hair out of her face with a smile (the stubble makes him look roguish and dashing at once and she loves it).
"Let me grab my bag," he tells her.
Emma waits for him, leading him to the bedroom, closing the door behind them. She hears the bag drop on the floor, and then his hands are on her hips, pulling her back against him. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close, and she can't help it – she's never felt this way, like everything is wrapped up with him, like everything she wants is in him.
She slips out of his embrace, grabbing his hands in her own and threading her fingers through his. She smiles and then laughter bubbles out of her because he is here and he is with her and nothing has ever felt this amazing, ever, than this moment.
"What?" he asks, "are you laughing at me?" His voice is light, and he is a completely different person than earlier, no longer broken but like her, light as air. She wonders if they're both going mad, if this isn't some sort of sleep-deprived haze that she's operating in, making her act in questionable ways. There is a part of her that knows that she might be rushing into this renewed intimacy with him, but the rest of her feels as if it is the logical culmination of everything that has happened.
"No," Emma tells him. "I'm just…I'm happy. You make me happy."
"That's all I want," he tells her, pulling her close and wrapping her arms around her again. "All I want is for you to be happy." He presses a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her chin, and finally, softly against her lips. Emma gives up everything to the feeling of his strong body against hers, the gentle movement of his lips, the careful way that his cradles her head in his hands. Every single fiber of her being feels alive in ways that it hasn't before, every single inch of her focused solely on Killian.
Suddenly, all of the conflicting thoughts in her head reduce themselves to one thought: the reminder that even though his past and her future loom over them, difficult and daunting, what exists between them - what exists between Killian and Emma – is relatively uncomplicated.
"You're all I want," she whispers, the feeling of need overwhelming her. She closes her eyes, feeling his hands hesitate on her body, feeling his silent concern become a question.
They haven't gone this far, not yet, and there are moments when she nervously thinks of what might happen if they were to, well, do it. Her experience with Walsh was one matter, and the thought that mere minutes after forgiving Killian for concealing his past from her, she's got him in her bedroom. But she's forgiven him, and they've moved on, and maybe this is part of it. Regardless, she wants him and she needs him to show her just how much he wants her.
Emma steps back and pushes him onto the bed. He falls with a bounce before sitting up. He pulls her towards him and rests his head against her chest, below her breastbone
.
"I'm surprised you still want me," he tells her, words vibrating against her skin, through her shirt, and she runs her fingers through his hair.
She doesn't know what to say to ease his soul, so she gently pushes him back onto the bed, and chooses to show him instead (her father has always said that actions speak louder than words). Killian falls back with a quiet "oof" and Emma smiles. She crawls over him slowly, stopping when her hands are pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, her hair falling down around them like a curtain. He smiles up at her, raw and beautiful, and her heart surges inside of her chest.
"You are the most glorious thing I have ever seen," Killian tells her, reaching his hand up to twist a lock of her hair around his finger, and she smiles at him, overwhelmed by his words.
She angles her head down, claims his lips with her own, enjoying the way that their tongues brush against each other. The kiss starts easy but grows in intensity; soon, his hands are on her hips, pulling her towards him, and she rolls her hips against his growing hardness.
They have done things in the past with their hands, because Emma has been apprehensive and uncertain, but she has let Killian touch her and coax sighs from her lips, and now, feeling his arousal pressed against her, she wants more. He may not have been upfront about his past, but he has never betrayed her when it has come to this, to what happens between them in this private space, and it occurs to Emma that she trusts him in a way that she has never trusted anyone else.
She leans back, fingers reaching for the fly of his jeans, enjoying the way that his eyes are heavy-lidded and yet bright, the small twist of a smile on his mouth. But when she reaches for him, slipping her fingers inside of his pants, he puts a hand on hers to stop her.
"You've given me too much – let me give you something," he insists, and Emma can't find it in her to argue.
Killian rolls her over without a second thought and his mouth finds her neck, leaving open-mouth kisses from jaw to collarbone, a trail of sensation in its wake. His fingers trace gentle patterns on her ribcage, on the undersides of her breasts, feather-light so that she's arching into him, wanting more.
"You look amazing in red," Killian says, awe clear in his voice, as his fingers work the buttons of her shirt, "pity that it needs to come off," helping her remove the garment before touching and tasting her shoulders, the swell of her breasts above her bra. He removes it carefully, slowly, and then his mouth is on her and she threads her fingers into his hair, pulls him towards her, appreciating the rasp of his stubble on her sensitive skin.
"Do you trust me?" he whispers, and Emma can't help but nod. She trusts him with her in a way that she's never trusted anyone before, and he needs to know that.
"Yes," she says, her voice rough and raspy to her own ears, but Killian looks relieved. He nods.
He eases her out of her jeans, pulling them off of her legs and then her underwear follows.
Every sensation causes her hips to move – the brush of his lips against her knee, the way that he caresses her thigh with his hand, and then finally, he settles his head between her legs.
Emma looks down at him, hesitant for only a moment. He looks at her for permission, which she gives with a nod of her head, before he leans forward. She feels his breath on her skin and then...
No one has ever done this to her before, so she's not sure what it should feel like (Walsh was quick and dirty and painful and horrible but this is none of those things). At first it is strange, to have someone touch her – taste her (how does she even taste?) – in such an intimate way, but then his tongue brushes against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs and she lets out a sharp gasp.
"Are you all right?" he asks, his question vibrating through her, and Emma nods, then realizes he probably can't see her.
"I liked that," she tells him, surprised at how breathless she sounds.
"Good," Killian responds, and then his mouth is back on her and it's better than before. She can't help it – she cards her fingers through his hair, pulls when he hits that spot again, making him groan against her (he likes that, she's learning, he likes her hands in his hair) and his pace increases. Emma tries to process all that she feels, this strange new feeling that is so very good, and that's before he adds his fingers.
She already knew she liked that, but in tandem – her breath catches in her throat, and she may just pull his hair a little harder (he seems to like that even more than just hands in his hair). Soon she is shattering, her legs trembling, her heels digging into the comforter, and she's never felt this before, so boneless, so relaxed, so comfortable with someone doing these things to her (she never thought it would be possible to feel this way, not after Walsh). But it's easy between them, the way that they are with each other, the amount of trust that she has for him to be careful with her.
She comes back to her senses through Killian pressing kisses against the inside of her thighs before making his way back up the bed, wiping his face against the comforter, and she smiles as she wraps her arms around him and draws him towards her. She kisses the corner of his mouth, hands moving slowly across his shoulders.
"You have too many clothes on." Her fingers reach for the hem of his shirt, splaying across the warmth skin of his belly, brushing against the hair of his chest.
"Emma, you don't have – " he protests, and of course he would, of course he would give her such pleasure and refuse himself (she can feel him, still insistent, pressed against her thigh).
"I want to," she insists, because she does. She has never wanted to be closer to someone than she does, right now, with him, wants to lose herself in him and forget where he ends and she begins, wants to feel everything with him in this moment, right now.
"You may regret it in the morning," Killian warns, but Emma knows she will not. This is not an idle indulgence, this is something more than that.
"Do you trust me?" she asks, and his blue eyes fix on her warily as he studies her face. And then he nods, and she arches up, ready to capture his lips once more, but he shifts, slides off the bed, and Emma frowns. He rifles around in his bag for something before returning and placing a foil packet on the bedside table.
"I'm not saying that –" he says, scratching behind his ear, and she smiles at his nervous tic. "Robin made me pack them."
"Oh really?" Emma asks, shifting against the bed. There is a moment where she panics, worries that Killian has been talking about them to his roommate, but Regina's words about Robin's loyalty to Killian come to mind. If Killian told anyone, maybe Robin was the best person to tell. She doubts that he'll sell her out to the tabloids.
Killian shrugs awkwardly, and she's never been more attracted to him right now.
"He thought we would have make-up sex and no pressure, Emma, I didn't imply anything and I packed it to humor him - you know I would wait for you as long – "
She grabs his hand and pulls him back down towards her, and they do not talk for some time. Instead, she explores his body as she removes his clothes, memorizing the way that he groans when she reaches for him, the way that he looks at her with eager anticipation that must be reflected in her own eyes. When she reaches for the condom, and opens the foil packet, he watches her with a guarded gaze which disappears as she fumbles to put it on (she rolls it on the wrong way first, then remembers the lecture her RA gave them last month about safe sex and she's only done this once before and feels her face flush because she has no idea what she is doing, but his hand strokes her cheek and the understanding on his face makes her kiss him) but then she is sinking down onto him, appreciating the feeling of fullness, of being with him.
There is awkwardness in their movements – she has only does this once, and thinking about how many times Killian might have done this makes her bite her lip and look away, comparing herself against those more experienced women, but his hand on her hip guides her and his other hand angles her head back to his face, fingers brushing against her jaw.
"Absolutely glorious," he whispers, and she begins to see how amazing this can be if the person you do this with is someone you care deeply about.
They find a rhythm, and Emma loses herself in it, in the feeling of him and the sound of their breathing, harsh and ragged in her ears, the sound of her heartbeat, the thrum of his pulse underneath her palm. As she falls, and he follows, she thinks once again of how easy it is to be this – to be them.
…
Killian brushes the hair back from Emma's face and pulls her close, focusing on her heavy breathing, the racing of her heart underneath his fingertips, the brush of her hair on his oversensitive skin, the weight of her in his arms. He has never been more aware than he is right now, senses on overdrive as she shifts closer, burrows deeper into his embrace.
He feels like he has been tossed around like a boat in a story, his emotions overtaking him one wave after another: relief, that she has forgiven him; joy, at the events of the past evening; regret, for creating this whole mess to begin with; dread, at what might happen in the future (there is a part of him that worries that he is passing through the eye of the storm, and that he will soon be thrown overboard).
"Hi," Emma says, her warm breath blowing across collarbone, making him shiver.
"Hi yourself," he responds, shifting. There is still the condom to take care of, and he is thirsty. "Give me a minute."
He slips out of the warmth of her arms into the cool of the bathroom. Regina's parent's penthouse is massive – the guest bathroom alone is the size of his bedroom at home – and he manages to find clean towels in a linen closet. He cleans himself up, washes his face, and looks at his reflection in the mirror. There is a smile lingering on his lips because of Emma, and he is eager to get back to her and her embrace.
There is a small part of Killian that is surprised that she forgave him (the rest is just relieved). He knows that there is nothing that can be kept secret between them anymore, and he does not intend to hurt her again. Emma's heart is a precious thing, and he hopes that he still has the opportunity to win it completely, and that will require trust between them. He is grateful that she has forgiven him, because he's never felt this way before about someone. He has never felt more comfortable around another person – not since Liam, and he appreciates the way that, when Emma lets him in, things are better.
As Killian hangs the towel up to dry, he thinks about how this will not be easy. Emma is to be the queen, and he is not exactly welcome in Eira as long as Cassidy has some modicum of power. But he knows, despite all of it, that he would do anything for her. He still feels like that little boy watching the royal family on the parade route, like the young soldier swearing his oath to his queen. He loves her with the devotion that a man shows a woman, and he will protect her with the devotion that a man promises his queen.
When he returns, Emma slips out of the bed and brushes past him, hand trailing against his arm, closing the bathroom door before he can fully appreciate her beauty (she is a marvel, and he is incredibly lucky that she trusted him enough with her body, with her pleasure, because he doesn't think he will get tired of being with her, hearing her sighs and moans and knowing that he has made her feel that way). He goes to his bag and pulls out a pair of pajama pants and a worn WOUT t-shirt, and then heads over to the large TV mounted against the opposite wall. He grabs the nearby remote and starts flicking through the channels, stopping when the door reopens and Emma exits, wearing a pajama pants and a tank top.
He can't help but smile, and she shyly returns it, coming to wrap her arms around him, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
"Hey – stop," she says, glancing at the TV behind him. He looks over to see that The Princess Bride has just started to run. "Do you remember when we watched that together?"
Killian nods. "I should have told you then. I'm sorry I didn't." He should have been honest when he had the chance. Emma shrugs, letting go of him to walk back towards the bed. She sits down at the foot of it and looks at him.
"That doesn't matter anymore," she says. "I know now what Cassidy will do to those who oppose him." There is a glint of steel in Emma's eyes, and Killian wonders just what the girl he loves is capable of (just what can Emma do when her parents' lives are on the line?).
"Cassidy is not a man to be trifled with, Emma," Killian warns her, walking back to join her on the bed. "He is ruthless."
"He's just a man like any other," Emma says flippantly. "He's a politician. I am the future queen. I won't let him destroy my family and my country." There is anger in her voice, and Killian reaches out, threads his fingers through hers on the comforter.
"Whatever need you have of me, I will be there for you," he tells her. He has contacts still in Eira – people who knew Milah, who still work against Gold and who could give him information if he requested it. Whatever Emma wants, he will find for her.
She glances down at their joined hands, and then back up at him. Her expression softens from hateful to mournful, and she squeezes his hand.
"Will you tell me about your brother?" she asks, her voice quiet, and Killian takes a deep breath.
Talking about Liam has gotten easier over time, but there is now a fresh new sadness, now that Emma has asked (Liam would have loved her as a person, not just as his future Queen, and the fact that they will never met weighs heavy on his soul).
"He was the best man I ever knew," Killian starts, smiling as he remembers his brother's smile and his stubbornness, his commitment to Killian and to the Crown. "He raised me as a boy – my father abandoned our family, and my mother was always ill. She died shortly before I started my service. Liam was career military. He thought that there was nothing more important than serving his country and he was fiercely loyal to the Crown. He thought that honor was the highest form of all." Killian takes a deep breath. "And that's why Gold had him killed – because he wouldn't be bought. Because he believed it would be bad form to give up his principles for some material comfort."
The amount of money that Gold paid the ranking officers was enough that Liam could have bought a lovely house near the lake, like he always planned, but Killian knows that no monetary lapse of judgment would have sat easy with his brother. Honor was important to him (and Killian has done little to keep his memory alive, with his cowardice and his single-minded focus on revenge - )
"Hey." Emma's hand is on his arm, freeing him from his thoughts. "He sounds like a great guy. I'm sorry I never got to meet him." The look on her face is kind and understanding, and once again he is lucky that he has found her. Her presence next to him does much to chase away the demons that possess him, that linger in his mind when he thinks about Eira, and all that he lost.
Killian nods. "He was. He really was. He would have given his life to protect you."
"In some ways, he already did," Emma points out. "If he hadn't died, would you have found out about Cassidy?"
"I don't know," Killian admits. "By the time he reached lower-ranked men like me, most of the military would have been in his pocket." It's a thought he doesn't like to consider, but Emma is right. Maybe Liam's death was like the canary in the coal mine, warning them of trouble.
Emma scoots closer, rests her head on his shoulder. She doesn't say anything, but her very action speaks for her intention, and Killian wraps his arm around her and holds her, resting his nose in her hair, breathing her in. Talking about Liam is harder than talking about Milah (he wonders if she will ever ask, and if he will ever tell her) because Liam was his whole life, and Milah…she came afterwards, and she became his life, but his brother was his world for so long that the loss of him was like Killian had died as well.
Emma shifts in his arms, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "Thank you for telling me," she says, thumbs caressing his cheek, soothing him.
"Of course." He would tell her anything about him if she only asked; he will not hide his past from her again.
Emma turns to the screen, and Killian watches a smile play across her lips as the Dread Pirate Roberts battles wits with Vizzini. He likes seeing her happy.
"I'm thirsty," she says, glancing over at him with a smirk. "Fetch me some water?"
He leans forward to kiss her first, distracted by her lips, and before he can let her pull him under (her hands are already in his hair – she is learning what he likes quickly) he sighs and leans back.
Standing up, he gives her a mock bow. "As you wish," he tells her with a wink, and is rewarded with a peal of laughter as Emma flops back onto the bed. She kicks her leg out towards him but he grabs her foot instead, running his thumb along her ankle. Emma blinks, smile settling on her face, and he knows there must be one on his as well.
"You're such a dork," she tells him, and he lets go of her foot, shaking his head. "Takes one to know one, princess," he teases as he leaves the room (he hears the sound of something – a pillow – hitting the wall behind him, but he doesn't turn around, just closes the door behind him, feeling better than he has all week.
He's not entirely sure he wants to explore Regina's home at night, but there is a light from the kitchen so he approaches it cautiously (he's stumbled onto Robin and Regina in flagrante more times than he can count, and he wants to avoid that if at all possible).
It's only Robin, seated at the kitchen island, eating what appears to be ice cream. When he sees Killian approach, a wide grin spreads across to his face.
"Did my advice pan out?" he asks, and Killian rolls his eyes.
"Don't be a dick," he tells Robin as he heads towards the cabinets. "Any idea where the glasses are?"
"Try the one on your left," Robin instructs him before returning to his ice cream. "So you have kissed and made up?"
Killian finds two glasses and takes them to the fridge, where he slowly fills them with water from the dispenser in the door. There is silence as Robin continues to eat his ice cream, and Killian finishes filling the glasses.
Breaking the silence, he says, "She appears to have forgiven me." He watches the water flow into the glasses, waiting for Robin's response.
"I'm glad, Killian." When he glances over at his roommate, the look on Robin's face is sincere, and that makes Killian feel better.
"I am too," Killian says quietly. Then, he looks up at Robin curiously. "What are you doing out here?"
Robin finishes his ice cream and licks the spoon, a Cheshire Cat-like grin spreading across his face. "Regina's getting ready."
"For what – oh." Killian watches as Robin raises his eyebrows, then shakes his head.
"What can I say? Apparently my lady has some sexy intimate apparel that she hasn't shown me yet in her bedroom, and I am nothing if not a gentleman who follows my lady's wishes."
The thought of lingerie turns Killian's thoughts to Emma, and what she might look like in -
"Robin?" Regina's voice carries down the hallway, and Robin smiles.
"My lady awaits," he tells Killian, standing and opening the dishwasher to put his bowl and spoon inside. He pats Killian on the shoulder as he walks by, and Killian just shakes his head, finding his own way back to Emma's room.
She is asleep when he enters, curled on her side facing away from the door, so he quietly places the water on the bedside table. He turns off the TV and lights, then slips into bed with her. Tentatively, he slides his arms around her, pulling her close to him and curling his body around hers. The feel of her in his arms is overwhelming - earlier today he thought he would never see her again, let alone talk to her, and to be here, now -
She shifts in her sleep. "Killian?" she asks, her voice heavy with sleep, and he presses a kiss to her exposed shoulder.
"I'm here, love," he responds, voice loud in the quiet space.
"Good," she says, sighing contentedly. Her words echo in his mind, and he keeps thinking, Good good good as he falls asleep.
…
When Emma wakes, morning light is already pouring into the bedroom. She shifts, feeling something strong around her, weighing her down, and soft snoring beside her ear. The events of last night come back to her slowly – Killian's arrival, their conversation, their reconciliation – as she stretches her legs, flexing her toes against the ultra-luxe sheets.
"Good morning," Killian's voice is gravely as he stirs, rolling onto his back and taking her with him. She turns in his arms, rests her chin against his chest and looks up at his gloriously ruffled hair and heavy-lidded eyes.
"Good morning," she replies, reaching her hand up to play with his hair. He rolls his eyes and she can't help but grin, because he is adorably gruff when barely awake.
"What time is it?" he asks, and Emma shifts off of him, flops onto her stomach and reaches across the bed for her phone on the bedside table. She turns it on with a slight touch.
"Shit – it's nearly noon," she tells him, shutting off the phone and throwing it back towards the table, ready to crawl back into Killian's arms. It bounces off and lands on the floor with a loud thud, and Killian laughs.
Emma rolls over onto her back, looks at him. She likes waking up next to him, likes how comfortable she feels with him, and an idea pops into her head.
"We should probably get up." Emma says, sliding off the bed and standing up. She grabs the hem of her tank top, watches Killian's eyes widen as she starts to raise it. "I'm going to shower – you're welcome to join me." And then she takes off her tank top, and drops it on the floor.
(Killian joins her in the bathroom before she can finish taking off her pajama pants, and they stumble into the shower together, lost in each other's embrace. She enjoys the feeling of his wet skin beneath her fingertips, the taste of shampoo on his lips as she tugs his hair and kisses him, the ridges of the tiles against her back as he presses her against the shower wall. His hand slides down her stomach and stops between her thighs, fingers working her carefully, thoroughly, and her own hands find him, watching him shudder under her ministrations.
Needless to say, it takes them some time to get clean.)
When they finally get dressed and leave the bedroom to get food (otherwise, she would stay in the room all day but her stomach says otherwise), they find the others in the living room, watching tv.
"Good morning, sleeping beauties," Regina calls from the couch, her legs across Robin's lap. She's playing with her phone while Graham and Robin watch football, and when Killian sees that the game is on, he gravitates towards the tv, running his hand down her spine as he turns, and Emma can't help but react, just a little, to the movement.
"You guys hungry?" Regina asks Emma, who nods, and then the other girl is jumping off the couch, heading to the kitchen. Emma follows her, looking back at Killian who is looking at her with happiness in his eyes, before ducking his head and taking a seat in a nearby chair.
Emma follows Regina into the kitchen. Neither of them say anything as Regina pulls out the fixings for sandwiches and starts to cut up tomatoes.
"Would you mind getting the plates?" she asks, and Emma nods. When she returns to the kitchen island with them, Regina messes with lunchmeat and condiments for a while before speaking.
"So I take it thinks are okay?" she asks cautiously, and Emma grabs some bread to make sandwiches for her and Killian.
"I think so," she admits, and Regina just hums. "Thanks, by the way."
Regina stops spreading mayo on a sandwich, looks up at Emma with a frown. "For what?"
"For everything," Emma tells her. "For telling me about Daniel, and all that stuff about secrets and relationships. For bringing me here. For listening." She pauses. "For being my friend."
A look crosses Regina's face, and she studies the ham and turkey carefully before responding. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad you're happy." She pauses. "You are happy, right?"
Emma can't help but beam. She thinks about Killian, their night together and this morning, the way that she feels when he touches her or looks at her, and she nods. "I am. I really am."
They spend the day watching college football (their school wins a close game with their rival, and even Graham is incredibly involved in the match-up). They celebrate with beer on the patio and as Emma watches the sunset in Killian's arms, enjoying the way that his fingers stroke up and down her forearm, she can't help but feel incredibly happy.
They make plans to head back to school the next day – fall break is that coming weekend, and both Robin and Killian have work that's due right before – and Emma grows nervous at the thought of returning to her dorm room.
The entire situation will Belle does not sit easy with her. It's one thing for Killian to not tell her his past; it is another for someone to pose as her friend, give out romantic advice, and conceal an identity. She knows that she should be more understanding – Belle is hardly the first bodyguard that Emma's had – but there's something about the situation that really bothers her and she's not sure she can express it in words, just a feeling.
She asks Killian if she can crash with him for a couple days (she feels safe with him, and they haven't been able to keep their hands to themselves when alone anyway, so the thought of more time with him is intoxicating).
"Of course," he tells her, "but check with Graham first."
Broaching the subject with Graham makes Emma nervous, but she does it anyway. They are waiting for the others, ready to drive home (she will ride with Regina again, because she's not really sure she wants to be in an enclosed space with Killian since the need to touch him is strong) and so they linger outside of the elevator.
"Would it be okay if I crashed with Killian for a while? I don't know if I'm ready to face Belle yet," she tells Graham, hoping he won't be disappointed. Instead, he nods, agreeing almost immediately.
"I trust him to keep you safe," he tells her.
"Thank you," she says, "for everything. I'm sorry I'm such a bratty princess."
Graham laughs. "You're actually not that bad, your highness. I don't think I would have handled these same events the way that you have." There is a softness – an admiration – in his eyes and in his tone, and it makes Emma feel better.
She smiles. "Thank you for looking out for me."
Graham bows slightly. "It is my honor to serve your family."
The ride home in the car with Graham and Regina isn't bad (she blows up Killian's phone with texts and Regina just keeps turning up the volume of the car stereo) but eventually they make it back to campus, and Emma asks that they stop at Robin and Killian's apartment first (she is not sure if she will ever be ready to see Belle).
Belle, however, is waiting for them outside the door. She's been leaning against the wall and she straightens up, bows her head when Emma approaches. She's dressed in dark pants and boots, and a military-like jacket in khaki that makes her look more like a bodyguard and less like Emma's roommate. Emma starts, shocked, her pulse racing her when she sees her.
"Your highness," she says, "please forgive me, but I'm here on urgent business."
"Explain, then," Emma responds, her legs feeling weak. Killian seems to notice, and he wraps an arm around her back – either as a protective measure of one of support, she's not sure.
Belle shifts on her feet, looking nervous. "Your mother has requested that you return home. There is a plane waiting for you on the airfield. I am to take you and Lieutenant Humbert there immediately. Captain Zwerg will stay here to settle accounts then meet us back in Sagobok when he is finished."
Emma is shocked by Belle's words – why would her mother request her presence? Unless there is an emergency…her thoughts starts to spin out of control, fear for her mother surging through her. She turns to Graham, who must be having similar thoughts (he looks concerned, and worried, and just a bit frightened).
There is a silver lining, though, she realizes as Killian's hand rubs her back; he is here, and she can bring him with her. She can get a royal pardon. She can have him tell her mother about all of the things that Cassidy has done and they can bring him down.
She turns to Killian. "You're coming too," she says, "we can talk to my mother about everything."
Killian stares at Emma, open-mouthed, unsure, and she smiles, squeezes his hand.
"My mother can grant you clemency," she says softly. "Please?"
He merely nods and lets go of her hand, brushing by Belle to go into the apartment. Emma turns to Regina and Robin.
"Come with us – it's the least I can do to thank you for all of your help," she tells them both. Regina looks wary, but Robin reacts immediately.
"Free trip to a foreign country? I'm down – let me get my passport," Robin says, darting into the apartment. Emma looks back at Regina.
"Do you have your – ?"
"Of course I do – I carry it with me at all times." When she notices Emma's raised eyebrows, she smiles sheepishly and says, "My mother always raised her girls to be ready in case a wealthy European millionaire wanted to whisk us off to a tropical island." Regina shrugs. "It only happened the one time, but I still keep a packed back in my car just in case."
From behind her, Graham mouths, once? and Emma just stares at Regina, mouth slightly agape.
"Well in that case," she finally responds when she finds her voice, "I guess we're going to Eira."