HELLO ALL!
JUST WANTED TO GIVE A QUICK NOD TO AN ARTIST THAT DOES UNBELIEVABLY COOL CS FAN ART, AND WHO INSPIRED A PART OF THIS CHAPTER. YOU CAN FIND HER WORK AT HER TUMBLR, SHE GOES BY THE NAME OF WINTER-BY-THE-SEA, AND SIGNS HER NAME AS SVENJALIV. UNBELIEVABLY COOL PIECES! HOPE YOU ENJUOY THE NEW CHAPTER AND IF THIS PARTICULAR SHIPPER / ARTIST HAPPENS BY HERE, HONEY, ALL THE MORE POWER TO YOU, YOU ARE UNBELIEVABLY GOOD!
AS ALWAYS, ALSO A THANKS TO ALL THAT COMMENT, REVIEW, FAV AND FOLLOW! I HOPE THIS CHAPTER MEETS YOUR MERRY, FLUFFY AND TENDER EXPECTATIONS. (MORE CRAZY!TINK HERE!)
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The phone rang incessantly.
Margaret Wyler had been Liam Jones's loyal assistant since London and had not hesitated to offer to follow him and his wife Greta to Boston, when he was offered a considerably important position. Liam was probably the most incredibly fair boss she'd ever worked for, and god knew that a fifty-plus year old secretary would have had a lot of problems finding a new job when he left, so she simply followed.
She was thankful for her 'Old Maid' status now.
Not to mention those Jones boys were always a delight to look at, handsome devils.
She ran from the bathroom to grab the phone.
"Mass General Head of Psychopediatrics, good morning?"
"H… hello?" A hesitant little voice replied.
"Yes, may I help you?"
"Hello, hi… is this the… office of Dr. Liam Jones?"
Margaret nodded as she walked around her desk, pulling the phone cord along as she found her way to her ergonomic chair. "Yes, mam."
"Oh great!" She could hear the young voice smile. "My name is Tanya, Tanya Bell. I worked for Dr. Jones's brother, Killian, and his late wife, before… you know…"
"Oh, hello dear!" Margaret smiled kindly. "How can I help you, love?"
Tink licked her lips, her hand anxiously twirling the curly cord of her own home phone as she spoke. "Well, I was also Killian's apprentice and I have done a lot of work these past years he's been gone, but I can't seem to find him, so I thought I'd… google the name of his brother, perhaps he can tell me of Killian's whereabouts? Or maybe just give me a mailing address, so I can send him some prints of my work." She sighed. "Dr. Jones will remember me, I was a nanny for the little Megan girl and the baby boy."
"Oh, Dear…" Maggie sighed. "Dr. Jones is on holiday right now, Miss Bell, and I'm afraid I can't just let out his personal information; however, if you give me a number where I can contact you, I will give him a call and ask him and then I will get back to you, how does that sound?"
Tink smiled shakily, her left hand holding on to the receiver. "Great!"
Her right hand scribbled harshly on a notebook, black twirls, blotches and incessant patterns that almost ripped through the paper. The tip of the pencil broke.
Maggie took the number and was slightly startled to find that the girl was actually calling from Boston, but Tink quickly explained that while she had a general idea where Killian was, she did know that his brother was Boston based, so that the young artist probably wouldn't be far, and that as soon as she managed to book a meeting with the younger Jones, she'd go back home to London.
Tink hung up the phone. She looked around her near sterile hote4l room, almost feeling like she was closer to home than she had ever been before. It would be no time before she was reunited with Killian, HER Killian, the man she loved over all things godly and mundane; she missed her old room, though… She missed waking up to the sight of his art, his face, his every creation, wallpapering every visible nook and cranny of her old abode; it was her very own shrine of adoration.
Killian had probably remained single after the tragic accident; he would see her, smile, greet her, sweep her off her feet, send Megan away to the same boarding school he'd attended and dedicate his every breathing minute to Tink, to loving her, owning her, making love to her and painting her. She was destined to be his muse, his goddess, his one true love.
She had done the right thing… and fate, she knew, was closing in. She smiled as she closed her eyes, leaning back on her pillow. She reached into her bag for that photograph she had taken of him, shirtless, in all his beautiful glory, early one morning. The massive canvass behind him, the brush and pallet in his hands, his cheek covered in reds and blues, hair messy and disheveled… and a smile in her direction.
She felt a hand, his hand, slide down beneath her pajama bottom… under her laced underwear…
He was there. He was touching her. She pressed the photograph to her lips, feeling her (his) fingers, encouraging, exciting and hot, playing with her core, blood rushing fast to meet that delightful little spot, her soft, excited moans of pleasure rising in unison with the visions behind her closed eyelids. In her mind, he was there, kissing her neck, taking her, making her his own, his hands (hand) hovering over her breasts, one at a time… like it had always been meant to be before he met Milah, before she took him from her… Before he had had that stupid, stupid little family that had broken and shattered all her dreams.
Yeah. Yeah, he was there. He was fucking her like she deserved to be fucked by him all along. She knew he loved her. He had to. There was nothing in the way of them now.
Three hours later, Maggie returned the call; Liam had denied giving her any information… and of course, it was Margaret's fault.
She probably wanted Killian for herself, sordid, disgusting old woman!
No one would take him from her.
She visited the next morning found the address of Killian J. Jones from Margaret's planner.
The cool thing about a man that works at a hospital is that entering medical offices is practically like walking through your doorstep, especially when you have the keys of his assistant. All she had to do was say at the front desk was that she was there to make an appointment with Dr. Liam Jones.
They found Margaret Wyler later that afternoon in an alleyway, barely alive. Looked like a hit and run, except that her personal belongings were missing.
She remembered nothing.
By then, Tink was long gone, riding a bus to a small town in the middle of nowhere. Perfect. That way no one would ever bother them again.
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"What a turnout!" Killian smiled. "These essays, lads and ladies, will keep me busy because mind you, I am an avid reader and I am rather fuzzy with spelling and grammar, so you will likely get your essays back with a lot of little red marks…" He giggled before the collective groan the class emitted. "Oh, come now! You're here to learn! I will not knock down your marks for this, that's Miss Blanchard's job down the hall. But won't it be a gas if you lot suddenly show her how much your spelling has improved? Hmm?" He sighed. "Literature is also art, my dear bilge rats. Don't you forget it."
There was a happy bounce in Killian's steps; Henry and Megan exchanged a knowing glance and a couple of raised eyebrows.
"Captain?" A hand came up.
"Aye, sailor…ette?" He grinned, turning around.
"What will we be doing today, sir?"
Killian chuckled. "Swabbing decks!" That got a collective giggle from the class. "Just pulling your leg, lass. What's your name?"
"Paige Jefferson."
"Ah, miss Jefferson!" He smiled fully. "My first voluntary decorator for the ball in two weeks!" He nodded. "Well, my dear mangy lot, today we will be doing a mural." He walked around. "But we have to be on the same page. The mural has to have a theme; what do you lot fancy for the theme, Hmm?" Henry raised his arm. "Aye, Mr. Cassidy!"
"Since we're into this whole… pirate thing…" He shrugged. "I think that would be cool."
Killian laughed heartily. "Well, well, I hadn't thought of it! Anyone have any different ideas?"
All the kids simply smiled.
"Very well, then, pirates it shall be! What can we draw and paint that would look good, related to pirates?"
"Treasure!" Nikki shouted.
"Naturally! What else?"
"Ships!" Came a little voice from the back.
"Completely indispensable!" Killian was rejoicing. "And we shall have one of those for ourselves, too! Any more ideas?"
Another kid raised his arm. "And mermaids!" She shouted eagerly.
"What would a pirate be without stories of the mere-folk? Aye, of course lass! What else?"
As all the kids sprung new ideas, Killian paced to the side of the room and opened a cabinet to produce a tall roll of blank paper; he called for three volunteers to help him unroll it along the side of the class and soon enough, a dozen children were on their feet, sketching, drawing, painting… and in the case of Henry and Paige, exchanging "eyes". Killian was amused at the obvious and yet not-wanting-to-be-obvious preteens' attempts at flirting, and he stood then, finding a small corner of the large canvas, for him to share his own imput.
He drew himself as Captain Hook; in his self-depiction of his pirate alter-ego, he wore a long leather trench coat that he knew he'd probably give up wearing after ten minutes if it were real. Bastard thing looked damn heavy. He looked very much like a pirate, an earring on his right ear, his scruff longer and a little bit more unkept than normal, and the rims of black kohl visible underneath his bottom eyelashes. He was virtually peeking over the edge of a boat, holding an oil lamp in his hook, as if he were gazing into the water.
"Is that you, captain?" Came the voice of Quartermaster Allistair Peterson.
Killian smiled. "Hook and all, sailor." He nodded with a grin.
"Are you looking for the crocodile?"
Killian turned his face thoughtfully at the paper. "To be honest, lad, I hadn't quite thought why I'd be peering into the water like that. It does look as if I were looking for something, doesn't it?" He took his hand to his jaw, scratching his scruff thoughtfully and staining his cheek with the blackness of the stick of charcoal in his hand. "What do you suppose he'd be looking at, lad? I don't reckon it'd be the crocodile or he'd be fleeing in panic!" Allistair chuckled as Killian continued perusing the image. "What else might he be so keen about?"
Both the captain and Quartermaster stared at the sketch. Allistair's face brightened suddenly. "Captain! Mermaids ahoy, ninety degrees off the left bow!"
That brought an honest to god laugh from Killian, who smiled wholeheartedly at the boy. "Aye, mate, I see them! Friend or foe? Shall we call the gun master Nikki?"
"Nay sir, they're friendly and pretty as well!"
Killian nodded. "Aren't they always, sir? Bloody sirens, one can't be too careful. Alas, I may just fall overboard!" He nodded at the young boy. "And just what might you be tending to just now, dear lad?"
"We're in charge of the vessel, sir. What shall we name it?"
"Her, m'boy. A ship is always a fine lady. What is the name of Captain Hook's ship?" when Allistair returned a quizzical look at the Captain, Killian raised his face up. "Ahoy, scurvy lads and lasses! Does anyone know the name of the ship we sail?"
After a few hesitant seconds, Megan raised her hand. "Aye, sailor Jones!"
The girl swallowed. "The… Jolly Roger?"
Killian nodded.
And smiled.
And surprised even himself to hear the words "Ship" and "Jolly" together in the space of a few seconds without feeling the pang of angst strike his heart.
"Indeed, the Jolly Roger!" He turned back to Allistair. "Make sure you Christian her adequately, lad!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" Allistair saluted keenly and ran back to his post.
The teacher chuckled and turned back to his corner drawing. The mermaid was emerging from the water, her hands resting on the edge of the vessel, her face a few inches away from the captain's face, a shrewd little smile, tempting, beautiful, bright-eyed…
"That… kind of looks like my mom." Henry twisted his lip.
Killian turned sharply, wide-eyed and completely taken by surprise. He did a double take from Henry to the drawing. "Well… I… Hadn't quite noticed but…. She does in fact look like your mother, aye…" He scratched the back of his ear with a frown and Henry smirked when he saw the bold and funny art teacher blush.
He nodded confidently at the captain. "Don't worry, sir. I won't tell a soul." He winked and went back to work with the treasure.
Killian frowned.
Yes, the mermaid had Emma's face… and he hadn't even intended to… How…. His head reeled back to a special day, that day when realization hit him on the face like a shovel.
"You're in over your head, love!" Liam shook his head as he walked from one painting to the other, studying his younger brother's recent creations. "I could swear they all have the same face…"
"Don't be daft. Look…" Killian pointed at the face of the godlike creature flying in the air. "This one's a bit of an elf. The one in the other painting is a goddess and the third one is…" He frowned and turned his head sideways. "Come to think of it, I truly don't know what the fuck that one's about."
Liam laughed heartily. "Father would smack your head for this…"
"Father would smack my head for the sheer delight of it, Liam." Killian shrugged. "That's why I never show him my work. Now, how about an unbiased opinion? Shall I put these in the gallery or should I go private and sell them to…?"
"The parents of your muse?"
"Oh, lay off!"
"You have it bad, Killian…"
"Final warning. One more and you're off."
"Just… ask the woman out already! Stop plastering her bloody face on every portrait you make, you pathetic little beatnik!"
"And what makes you think I put Milah in these pictures? How would you even know I drew HER here?"
Liam smirked wilily. "The muse has a name! I don't recall ever mentioning her name, little brother…"
The younger Jones stared at his brother, blushed and huffed as he pushed the older sibling out of his studio loft. "Right, that's enough of that. Fuck off, you're no help…"
As he slammed the door shut, he heard Liam's irritating laugher outside. "You can fool me, but you can't fool yourself, Jones!"
He looked back at the portraits and furrowed his brow; while the three images depicted completely different scenarios (one was a woodland fantasy theme, the second was something that he had thought of while listening to Wagner and the third looked like an epic battle with a maiden dressed sort of like Boadicea.
And they all indeed, had the exact same features, albeit the changing constitutions, hairstyles and clothing.
And they were all Milah.
"Oh, bloody hell, the bugger's right…" He whispered to himself in realization.
And he grinned.
He ran to the window and opened it violently, shouting for his brother just as he had turned off the alarm of his car. "LIAM!"
The older Jones brother turned around with a smile. "I thought you'd call me! Just a matter of seconds, really!"
"Stop being a smug little shit and come back up here!"
Liam grinned a Cheshire Cat grin. "Oh, I got you where I want you now, my lad…" he spoke under his breath as he placed his hands behind his back. "Not until you apologize for shoving me out like I were some mangy alley cat that snuck into your pantry!"
Killian rolled his eyes. "Fiiiiine, I am sorry."
"I'm sorry, mighty big brother."
"Don't be daft…"
"No problem, I have to be at the university in an hour, anyway, so…" he turned back to his car.
"UGH! I'm sorry, mighty big brother!" Killian barked back.
Liam huffed and nodded. "Open the door." He paced towards the front gate, waiting for Little Brother to buzz him open.
Killian rolled his eyes as he closed the window. "Wanker…"
He passed by the paintings once more and smiled.
Maybe he did like her a little more than he would want to admit.
Perhaps he really should ask the woman out on a date before his commission with her family ended and he never got a chance to be near her again.
Killian grinned widely.
The class finished on a high note; Killian dismissed them all, to finish the task later that week, Thursday morning.
He kept his gaze fixed on the drawing of mermaid Swan and pondered if, perhaps, his creative hand was once again betraying his thoughts. He liked her, that was pretty much for certain; he certainly would not mind giving it a go.
He was immersed in this thought when a knock on the door drew his gaze. "Paul…" He grinned, standing up. "I'm sorry, I never heard you come this way…"
Principal McIntyre smiled and looked at the semi-completed mural on the other side of the classroom.
"I have to say, Mr. Jones…" He sighed. "In two weeks you've pocketed the little ones." He looked at the drawing with a smile. "One mother even called asking if you were single; her daughter told her you were devilishly handsome, I believe were her words?"
"Children…" Killian shrugged, collecting the essays into a folder.
"And I have to admit, that whole Captain Hook approach? Pretty original."
Killian nodded. "I'm glad they approve of me."
"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." He paced to the desk and sat on the edge. "You are a famous artist in hiding, and like I said I have no intention of disclosing your secret, at all. However, I can't help wondering whether or not you might at some point feel like you miss your life as an artist and that all that might claim you back." He looked at Killian. "I honest to god never expected you to turn out to be the best damn art teacher this school's ever had. And I got to be honest, we're a small town, the pay isn't too good…" He shrugged. "I would completely understand it you decided to leave one day, but I would hate it. The kids would hate it…." He chuckled. "And apparently some of the moms might hate it too."
There was one particular mom Killian had a specially peeked interest in.
"I have a rather peaceful life here, Paul." Killian sighed. "I've no interest in leaving any time soon. Although, it will gladden you to learn that I've started sketching once more."
"That is indeed good news."
"I'd like to do it again…. Maybe just as a pastime." Killian shrugged. "It's time."
Paul nodded with a grin. "So can we expect you to remain with us?"
Killian chuckled softly with a nod. "Aye. I'm starting to like the job. The children are rather amazing."
Paul looked at him and then his eyes darted up to his depiction of Captain Hook on a lifeboat, holding up an oil lamp and staring into the eyes of a beautiful, smiling siren. He then looked back into the eyes of the young artist.
"And… some of the moms aren't too bad, right?"
Once again, he blushed. Paul laughed softly as he stood up and walked out.
"Fuck…" He hissed under his breath… and smiled.
Liam would have a blast if he saw him right now. Silly bleeder…
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"And you think… your mother might be interested in him as well?" Liam grinned at Henry.
"I don't think it, I know it!" Henry giggled. "She gets all happy and stupid when she talks about this or that, and…. Well, she was actually wearing curlers the other night when he came for dinner with Megan. She hasn't done that in ages." He huffed and shrugged. "It's… kind of weird that I should be telling you this, I mean the guy's your brother right?"
"That he is Henry, but I'm fairly professional. What you tell me during our sessions is private and I have an oath not to tell anyone about it."
"Even your brother?"
"Even my brother." He affirmed calmly.
Truth was, Liam was giddier than a school boy internally.
"And how do you feel about that, Henry?" Liam leaned back into the couch.
The boy frowned. "Wh… how do you mean?"
Liam nodded. "A few sessions ago, you told me about how you felt regarding your dad's absence. Now your mom is showing some particular interest in another fellow. How are you coping with that? Or are you coping at all?"
Henry thought about it for a second.
"It's… weird." He finally shrugged, his gaze fixed on the coffee table. "I mean I can see it coming and everything, but I'm not really freaking out. The thing is…" He looked up at Liam. "I had a talk with her the other day and we decided to be friends. I mean, she was also really sad when dad left. She DID kick him out and life would have been easier if he had been around, but I also appreciate that she was thinking of me."
"How so?"
"My dad, it seemed, was kind of a crook." Henry shrugged. "Or not really a crook, just got involved with the wrong people. He also liked gambling. Apparently he gambled a suspicious stash of god-knows-what and the mod was after us, so mom told him to leave. I knew that she had me while she was alone in jail and then she put up with my dad's antics for years before she finally decided it was enough." He sighed. "Sad as it is, she was thinking about me and my well-being."
"True."
"But she's pretty, my mom."
"Aye, she's a beautiful woman."
"And she's still young, right?"
"Certainly."
"And the captain is nice to her…"
"The 'Captain'?" Liam frowned.
Henry grinned. "We call him Captain Hook." He held his hand up. "It's ok, he actually likes it. He's pretty cool about it. We are the 'bilge rats'. I am Boatswain Henry." He smiled.
"Killian…" Liam smiled as he shook his head. He looked back at Henry. "So if your mother dated another fellow regularly, you'd be ok with it?"
Henry blinked a few times and looked at his hands. "I realized that if I want to be happy living under her roof, she has to be happy too. She's still young and she's good looking…"
"That has been established, you're going around in circles, lad." Liam spoke softly. "My question was fairly direct. Are you ok with her moving on with someone other than your father, yes or no?"
Henry shrugged. "I guess I could get used to it. As long as she's happy…"
Liam grinned. Coming to Storybrooke had proven a complete success.
He helped a boy.
He helped the boy's mother.
He helped his little brother get his life back in order.
His phone rang.
"Excuse me Henry, I have to take this..:" The boy nodded as Liam took the call. "Hello, Maggie, my love! What news have you for me?... Aye?... Who?..." His face went suddenly blank. "I certainly remember her, and no, Maggie, the answer is a rotund no….. Yes, this lass took care of his children, and he never bloody noticed but she presented every symptom of an obsessive conduct; she snaked herself into his and Milah's life just to be close to him…. No, my love, don't give her any addresses whatsoever…. Aye, she's completely manic, I'd even dare say pathologically obsessed. Yes. Yes… Aye, listen, if she at all gives you any grief, I do beg you to call the police, Maggie, I never trusted the girl… All right. Anything else? Oh, move those for next week, my dear, I will be leaving this Saturday next…. Very well. And how are you?... Good! Fine then, Maggie, love, I'll see you soon! Take care. Goodbye." He hung up his phone and turned back to Henry. "Apologies, lad, it's my assistant back in Boston."
Henry nodded and shrugged in acceptance.
"So… how have you felt at school?"
The boy grinned. "Haven't fought at all."
"Good lad."
"And I am in love."
"Oh?" Liam smiled, his eyebrows raised way over his eyes. "And how do you know?"
"Because she's the most beautiful girl in the world, AND, she has already accepted me taking her to a ball in two weeks."
"A ball..:"
"Yeah. It's a dance they do every spring break at school. The theme this year is "Pirates, Mermaids and Treasure". We have to dress up. And we dance and eat and… you know, do the kind of things people do at balls."
"Yes, I know of them." Liam replied, a bemused grin on his face. He turned to look at his watch. "Oh, dear, our session's finished, boy."
"Aww…" Henry sneered.
"Apologies. Time periods have to be strictly followed."
"I know…" He stood up and held his hand out for Liam to shake. "Are you really… leaving on Saturday?"
Liam nodded. "Sorry, Henry, I do have to. I already extended my stay an additional week. I have other children to attend…"
Henry looked down. "And… what am I going to do?"
Liam nodded. "I have updated your previous therapist, Mr. Archie Hopper, about your process. He's a fine therapist, he'll know what to do now."
Henry sighed. "I'll miss you, Dr. Jones."
Liam sighed. "Go on… off with you. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, all right?"
"Ok.." henry grabbed his backpack and rushed out of the lobby.
Liam sighed and sat back; a lot of things were in his mind, one of them, Tanya Bell. Killian had always seen some sort of raw talent in that girl, but from the moment he introduced her to him, Liam had immediately noticed an odd streak of manic obsession in her. And if she was calling him at his office, it probably meant she was hunting after his brother, his very naïve, nice little brother, who had always trusted her with not just the intimacy of his home, but with the care of his children.
If she dared show up at all, he'd be sure to stay a few extra days. Not so much for the sake of his brother; She would never hurt Killian himself.
It was Megan he feared for… and henry…. And definitely, Emma Swan.
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Megan struggled with art. She always had.
It made Killian wonder if, perhaps, his late little boy might have been the one that could have inherited his skill.
But then again, Megan was almost 100% Milah: Her hair, her eyes, even the prominent cheekbones. It was of no surprise that she had also inherited her mother's uncanny skill at math and science.
He looked at her as she eagerly zoomed through her Math homework. "Darling, are you quite sure you're doing them fractions right?" He sneered. "You're going a hundred miles an hour."
"I'm positive." She said as she went from fraction number six, to fraction number seven.
He sighed. "I'm rather jealous." He grinned as he sat before her. "I was always rather clumsy with numbers."
She chuckled, her gaze fixed on the paper. "Most artists are."
"What a load of rubbish."
"Daddy, you couldn't do arithmetic right if your life depended on it." She raised a sassy grin at him.
"And you can't draw your way out of a paper bag if you had directions!" He replied with equal, playful sass.
She gasped in mock horror. "What? And you said I was an impresisonist!"
"Yes, indeed. I was impressed and stunned!"
She laughed aloud. "You are so mean!"
He stood up laughing and walked around the table. "I won't distract you, darling. Finish your homework." He kissed her head.
"Daddy?"
Killian spun around. "Aye, sweetheart?"
She grinned. "Thank you."
"What for, Meg love?"
She sighed. "Not drinking anymore."
Killian stared at her blankly and both were suddenly drawn into a fierce hug. She stood and hung her arms around his mid-section. "I'0m so sorry, my pet. So sorry for all the time I did." He swallowed.
"You were never mean to me, at least…" She spoke, her voice muffled by his clothes. "But I hated seeing you so sad."
"I'm trying, Megan, I really am."
She raised a smiling face to his. "And remind me to thank Henry's mom."
Was he so damn transparent that everyone, including his ten year old daughter, were on to his crush? Was he THAT frigging obvious?
"What for, love?"
"Hmm, hmmm…" She smirked and returned to the table. "You would know, daddy…"
He gasped. "You are a serious little smart-arse, Megan Jones!"
"No… I'm just not blind." She sat down and grabbed her pencil, as she once again dove into her fractions. "And if you want to ask her over for a slumber party, I'd be cool."
"MEGAN!" her dad exclaimed, wide-eyed.
"What!" She shrugged. "Daddy, this isn't the middle ages! Adult boys and girls have slumber parties, I know THAT much." She sighed. "And according to Paula Hughes, sometimes they have really, really loud pillow fights. Her parents always do."
Killian gulped. Her child's innocence was a mere inch away from oblivion no thanks to Paula Hughes.
Later that night, he told Megan he was off for his nightly constitutional by the docks.
He saw a siren.
He smiled. "I will file a restraining order now for sure, Swan!"
When she turned to see him, something in her face looked… off. He frowned as he approached. "You seem vexed…"
Emma sighed and looked back into the ocean. "Kind of. Yeah."
He frowned and sat next to her. "Talk to me..:"
She sighed deep and shook her head. "I'm like a teenager out of school…" She gulped. "I just… I didn't want to go there tonight."
"You skipped work?"
"Yeah."
Killian gulped. "He's giving you a really hard time, isn't he? That fat Italian."
Emma's face fell completely. "And then some."
Killian moved closer and placed an arm around her. "May I? Looks like you need a hug."
It was a welcome hug.
He felt warm, comfortable, an embrace that was akin to the feeling of a good night's sleep under a thick feather quilt: Comfortable, intimate and kind.
"What did he do to you, Swan?" He whispered softly.
Emma swallowed. "It's not what he did… It's what he wants me to do."
From her inflexion and the disgusted sneer on her ached face, Killian immediately knew what was going on. One thing that seemed cool about Emma was that she always kind of seemed to be able to read him as much as he could read her. She felt his handless arm tighten around her shoulders.
"Harassment is a crime punishable by jail time, Emma." He spoke defiantly. "You should send this fat fuck to prison, pardon my French."
She huffed and snuggled against him. "It's a bit… more complicated than that."
"What? How?" He suddenly turned and grabbed her, one stump and one hand, by the shoulders. "There are plenty of other jobs, better ones! And even if it takes time, is it really worth it that you stay there?"
"Killian…" She bit her lower lip and thought for a while before she raised her gaze into his. "Do you remember… What I told you? About Henry's father and… how the mod went after us to get to him?"
"Aye…"
Emma shook her head. "Turns out, Tony Dinapoli is one of them." Killian lost all his color as she continued. "Apparently he was paid to keep an eye on me and developed such a nasty crush on me that he's been kind of… protecting me by not telling his boss where I am." She swallowed. "Fucking Neal. Pardon my French, also…" She smirked. Killian did not replicate the gesture at all. "He's just threatened me and my son, big time. If I don't go to his house and let him fuck the life out of me, he's going to talk." Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what to do, Killian, normally I'd have packed my bags and left since yesterday, but…"
"Aye? But?" He looked for her eyes with his own.
"Henry. He's so happy here, he just managed to make friends again… "
"He has a crush." Killian grinned.
Emma's eyes widened suddenly. "What?"
"Paige Jefferson. I have it on good authority… he even asked her to the school ball and she said yes. The lad's walking on bloody sunshine and daises."
"Oh god." Emma's state worsened. "He only just forgave me for what happened, things are going so well, shit… shit, shit, Killian, he's going to hate me! He…"
"Shhh, easy there, Emma…" Killian steadied her with his hand-stump. "Listen, you don't HAVE to leave. You don't have to do a bloody thing other than dial the police in Maine and Boston and tell them that you have a lead on a famous mobster and that you're being stalked. Emma, silence never helped anyone, trust me…" He sighed and turned his face to the ocean. "I should know."
She stared at his vague, distant glare. "Why?"
He grinned, his eyes still sad and his gaze still fixed on a distant point in the sea, or at least as distant as the darkness allowed him to see. "I thought we had agreed on chocolate ice cream as a catalyzer to speak of significantly painful issues..:"
"Cut it out. I just told you that my boss is in the mob and wants to get into my pants or else he'll talk to the gangsters so they can come and hurt me and my son." She grinned, nudging him. "I'm all ears, Jones."
He nodded softly.
"It was a Sunday… or a Saturday, I no longer recall. The day was perfect, the sort of day where not a single, blasted thing could possibly go wrong…"
As he dove into his story, Emma was able to see his face, his demeanor and even the color of his eyes, change and morph as he deepened into the story. She was horrified when he told her of how the propellers of the tourist ship killed his infant son… and even more shocked when, not three months after, his wife had taken a plunge into the River Thames. The gothic moment where he had to take his daughter to a clinic all by himself because she had a nervous breakdown when she was told her mom was also dead. The moment he started drinking, the feeling of failing as a parent, husband and brother, his ache for being an inadequate son and the guilt of not having saved the little boy from death. He was contained, composed… but a single tear did leave his eye, making his already cerulean irises look even bluer than before. "So, Swan… there it is. My dirty secret." He sniffed and then turned to her. "So as you can see, I too know a thing or two about running. I came here, left London and all its painful memories behind me because… I couldn't breathe. I sold it all, my home, my cars, all my art supplies, the gallery…. Everything."
"Gallery?" Emma frowned.
He chuckled a humorless giggle. "Try to Google Killian J. Jones, love." He sighed. "You're in for a shock."
Emma looked at him. "You're… like a rock star in the world of art?"
He shrugged. "I was. I had it all. And I mean all: A job I enjoyed and a perfect place to do it; three cars, a loft, a country home, a loving wife, a family… all that gone over a stupid… stupid mechanical problem." He shook his head. "Life happens and then, suddenly, boom, that's it, all has changed." He looked at her. "I found a modicum of peace here, stopped painting altogether, fixed boats… But the ache, that… that stupid little itching in my soul, it just refused to go away. So I drank myself into forgetting. And my daughter suffered for it. Just this night, Megan thanked me, for not drinking any more. That hurt, love. You think children get over things, recover quickly, well..." He huffed and tilted his head. "That's a bloody lie. They know. They see things, they feel them." He turned a pleading gaze into Emma's eyes. "Megan, she's all I have left. I love her more than life itself and she deserves a good life; she's been through enough, traumatized by an accident where she won't even go NEAR a ship, losing her brother, her mother… and a drinking father to boot. Enough, I'm sticking this out for her. I swear, I won't be touching another drink again, as long as I live." He reached out and placed a hand on Emma's shoulder. "Don't run, Emma. If you don't deal with them, problems have a way of finding you, no matter where you go." He grinned. "You have a friend."
Emma smiled and bit her lip. "Thank you." She sighed. "Hey, you did an amazing sketch of me. So much for the guy that doesn't paint…"
He smiled. "Two, actually." One was rather in adverted. I drew you as a mermaid."
"Yep. I know. Henry told me. " She smirked. "You drew yourself as Captain Hook and you were looking over the water into the face of a fish woman that happened to look a liiiitle too much like a certain waitress you know…"
Killian smiled, and gasped. "Oh, my Boatswain will be mopping decks for a week for blabbing on his Capt…" He was cut off suddenly by a kiss.
His lips had not felt the true warmth of a woman's kiss since Milah.
And a couple of hookers, but those were moot. It was nothing like this.
Emma's lips were soft, tasted like cherries from her lip gloss and were warm, inviting… simply delicious.
He closed his eyes and succumbed into the kiss as he slowly allowed his floodgates open, letting his feelings spill out on the tip of his prodding, curious tongue. His hand found its way into the knots of her blonde hair, tousled by the wind from the shore, and he could have sworn he could feel her sucking out the pain, the ache and the blackness though his mouth.
Neither of them knew just how long they remained lips-to-lips, hands caressing hairs, cheeks and necks, but when they finally broke it off, they needed at least a minute to catch their breaths. Forehead to forehead, they didn't need to appreciate and thank each other, because some thank-you's are best left unspoken.
"That was…" He whispered.
"Perfect." She grinned, her eyes closed.
He opened his own eyes and pulled an inch away. "You're bloody amazing."
"Ditto…"
He sighed deep and pulled her into his chest. "Don't worry, Swan. We'll find a way to make this bastard stop. He won't lay a hand on you and Henry, I promise."
She simply sighed a soft. "Thank you…" and they both remained seated until he had to walk her to her doorstep.
Another kiss ensued… and the promise of that ice-cream clad dinner date and outing.
She wanted him to stay the night, but Henry…
He wanted to ask her over to his apartment, but Megan…
And when he went home and let himself in with his keys, he stood against a wall and touched his lips, huffing and wowing at the imprint left in them by Emma's amazing kissing skills.
Quite the siren, that Swan.
"You know, my window overlooks the docks..."
Killian turned a startled gaze at the girl, standing in her little nightgown under the frame of her bedroom door, toy elephant in hand, the same sassy eyebrow from earlier risen over her eye and a grin that meant business.
"What?"
"You look sweet together, Daddy, what took you so long?" She chortled. "I can't wait to tell uncle Liam!"
Killian pressed his lips together. "Get… back… to bed, you cheeky cow!"
Megan hissed and ran back into her room, laughing as she went.
And for the first time in five years, Killian Jones slept soundly, warmly and smiling. Life was good once more.
And he meant it: NO ONE would lay a hand on Emma… HIS Emma.