Beta/Edited by PeaceHeather
Chapter 13
"Emma!"
At first, she can't move. Her whole body feels stiff all over, as if she's been stuck in one position for too long.
Then, a wind seems to move through her, and she's aware that she's kind of cold, really wet, and her lips are still on Killian's. Somehow, the first two sensations aren't nearly as important as the third. If she's going to be perfectly honest, she's been fantasizing about kissing Captain Hook pretty much from the moment she first saw him, and dammit, she really wants to enjoy this experience.
And he's kissing her back; Killian's right hand has come up to wrap around the nape of her neck, and he's holding her to him tightly. Her wet hair lays plastered to her shoulders and neck, long strands of it falling around them and dripping cold water everywhere, but his mouth is warm and he's plundering her mouth like ... well, like a pirate. Emma can't really find it in herself to object.
"Emma! Are you okay?"
Distantly she's aware that someone is trying to get her attention. She wants to care, really. But … kissing. Kissing is an amazing invention. Whoever thought up kissing should get an award or something. Even though the position they're in is really awkward, and her neck is stiff, and her arm kind of hurts, and his beard is scratching her face, and he tastes a bit like orange juice and rum, this is still the best kiss of her entire life.
"Emma Swan!" That one is Mary Margaret, and her voice is loud enough that it starts to break through the pleasant haze that's settled over Emma's senses.
"Ignore them," Killian whispers against her lips. Somehow he manages to catch her belt with his hook and haul her half on top of him. He tilts his head to get a better angle and then dives back in for more, and Emma lets him because she's greedy, too. Seriously, she hasn't been kissed this thoroughly in a long, long damn time.
"Uh, why are they all wet?" says a voice Emma dimly recalls is her father's. With Killian's tongue sweeping along her bottom lip, however, that doesn't seem like crucial information. Of far more importance is the fact that, with his curse broken, they've apparently returned to her room, her bed, and their previous state of dress. Or undress, as the case may be, which is excellent as far as Emma's concerned. Her hands rest on the bunched muscles of his bare chest, and she can feel the heat of him warming her palms.
"Emma, I'm not sure Mother Superior should be watching this," Mary Margaret says.
That gets her attention. "What?" Emma's eyes pop open and she jerks her head up; Killian groans in protest.
Mary Margaret and David are standing next to the bed, looking panicked, embarrassed, and awkward in varying degrees; meanwhile Mother Superior herself stands a few feet away, pretending great interest in a framed painting of an island hanging on the wall.
"Welcome back," Blue says, when she sees that Emma's no longer glued to the pirate. Her lips twitch with faint amusement.
Emma blinks and reality settles back into place. Right. Hook. Injury. Stitches. Curse. Gold. Netherworld. Kiss. Home. Where everyone is watching her make out with Hook.
"Oh my God, someone shoot me," Emma mutters. She rolls off Killian and lands beside him on the bed. The pillow is convenient, so she attempts to smother herself.
"Are you blushing, Swan?" Killian asks. "Your chest is all red."
"You shouldn't be looking at her chest," David says.
Emma rearranges the pillow to cover the low neckline of her t-shirt and her face at the same time. If she's going to die of embarrassment, she would like to do so with some dignity. Maybe if she closes her eyes they'll all go away, or it'll turn out to have all been a dream—
"You're bleeding." Killian's voice no longer sounds teasing.
"What?" Mary Margaret's voice is suddenly closer, though still muffled by the pillow.
Killian lets loose a stream of profanity that causes even Emma, who is fairly proficient in it herself, to lift her pillow and look at him in impressed astonishment. It's even more impressive because his accent and delivery make it sound almost like poetry. Emma hadn't even known you coulddo that with profanity.
His expression is almost more pained than she's feeling. "Your arm, darling."
Emma twists her neck to peer at her shoulder, which, now that he's mentioned it, hurts like hell. Before her jaunt into the netherworld, she'd been wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which are now soaked through and clinging to her skin. The sleeves are short enough that she can see the hole in her right shoulder, the one that's approximately the size and shape that a large metal hook might make. There are bruises around it in shades that Emma's never even seen before, and blood has started to trickle down her arm again, thanks to the makeshift bandage vanishing.
Killian's face is contrite. "Emma, I'm sorry," he says softly. There's nothing but sincerity in his blue eyes. He glances over at Snow. "Might I trouble you for some bandages, m'lady?"
"Isn't anybody going to tell me what happened? Why are you bleeding? And why are you wet?" David sounds like he's about to burst a blood vessel himself.
Emma rolls her eyes. "It was an accident," she says, before David can put two and two together and come up with murder Hook. "And the wet thing? Long, long story."
Snow hurries around to her side of the bed with the first aid kit, so Emma puts the pillow back and sits up. Her hands, she notes, are fine. There aren't any scratches or cuts or even frostbite—which she'd half been expecting. The only injury that seems to have returned to this world with her is the spankin' new stab wound to her shoulder. She pokes at it experimentally; fresh blood wells up and she hisses at the pain.
"Stop that," Killian says, his voice fond but exasperated. "Trust me, love, never prod an open wound if you want it to heal." He puts his hand on her arm and uses his hook to lift the sleeve of her t-shirt so he can see the injury better.
"Says the guy sitting up with a stomach wound, if you open those stitches—"
"Emma, are you okay?" Mary Margaret sets the kit down beside her and perches on the edge of the bed. She clearly wants to hug her, but since Killian's still examining her arm Snow settles for grabbing Emma's hand; there are tears in her eyes. "I was so worried …"
"What? Why worried? How long were we gone?" Emma asks, feeling a little hemmed-in with her mother stroking her wet hair away from her face, and Killian holding her arm still with his hook while he rummages in the first aid kit. David and Blue are standing at the foot of the bed, and Emma has to fight the urge to push all of them away and go hide somewhere to lick her wounds in peace.
"Five seconds," David says, looking somber. "I counted."
"Five seconds?" Emma's eyes widen and she shares a glance with Hook, who just arches a tired eyebrow. "Why are you all acting like I almostdied?"
"You turned to gold, too," Mary Margaret says, her hands cupping Emma's face; her lower lip trembles. "And they were the longest five seconds of my entire life. Don't you dare do that to me again, Emma Swan."
"Wait, I turned to—"
"This is going to sting," Killian warns. He dumps disinfectant into the wound and Emma nearly leaps off the bed.
"Fu—OW! Jeees—" Don't swear in front of the nun, she reminds herself, gritting her teeth against the burn of disinfectant in the wound. On the heels of that, she wonders inanely if, now that the curse is broken, the nuns are still nuns.
She attempts to wrench her arm out of Killian's grasp, but he locks his hook around her elbow and starts packing the wound with gauze. Which, for the record, hurts like a bitch. Emma settles for glaring at him; he just smiles crookedly up at her, his eyes twinkling through his lashes, completely unrepentant.
For some reason that makes her heart start fluttering again, so to distract herself she turns back to Mary Margaret. "I turned to gold? Why would I turn to gold? I wasn't cursed."
Snow keeps petting Emma as if to reassure herself that her daughter isn't made of metal. "I don't know. Just, one second you were fine and then you kissed him and …" Her eyes well with tears and she makes a high-pitched sound like a puppy whimper.
Blue coughs delicately, but it somehow manages to draw everyone's attention. She smiles gently. "If I may? I think I might be able to explain."
"I wish someone would," Emma says. She arches an eyebrow at her mother. "And could you maybe stop the petting thing? I'm starting to feel like Pongo. Also, towels might be nice."
"Towels!" Mary Margaret says, as if Emma has discovered some brilliant new invention. "Of course! You're soaking wet—wait, why are you soaking wet?"
"Like I said, long story," Emma says, with a tired sigh. "Towels?"
"Right. Then explanations. You are not off the hook, young lady." Snow suddenly glances at Killian, who regards her with blatant amusement. "Well, you are off... You know what? Never mind. I'm getting towels."
She stands up abruptly and heads for the bathroom.
"Hold this?" Killian nudges Emma to get her attention, and she absently accepts the roll of gauze he proffers. He's wrapped the end of it around her upper arm, tight enough to staunch the bleeding. David hands him a pair of scissors. "Thanks, mate," Killian says and snips the gauze from the roll. He gently tucks the end in so it doesn't unravel.
Emma's mildly disappointed he didn't use his teeth.
"Mind telling me how she ended up with a hole in her arm in the first place, mate?" David crosses his arms over his chest.
"A misunderstanding," Killian says, meeting David's measuring gaze. "I can assure you, it will never happen again."
"I've got towels!" Mary Margaret says cheerfully, breaking the tension. She dumps a small mountain of terrycloth at the foot of the bed. Emma snags one and tosses it to Killian, then uses another to attempt to dry her drenched hair, one-handed.
"You said you thought you could explain?" David turns to Blue, who nods.
"Emma is the product of true love," she says. "She carries powerful magic inside of her. But while true love's kiss can break any curse, it only works if both hearts are willing." She arches a delicate eyebrow at Killian.
His mouth tightens into a thin line. "It has been a long time since …" He pauses and glances at Emma. She wonders whether anyone else in the room can see the shadows that haunt his eyes, or the grief that dwells behind them. He tries on a tentative smile that Emma can tell is all front. "I may have required some convincing," he says, finally.
"Magic is tied to emotion; I believe that Emma's feelings were strong enough to allow her to follow him into the curse," Blue says, redirecting their attention. Emma feels Killian start slightly beside her. He's looking at her now, she can tell, but she ignores him and focuses entirely on Mother Superior.
"Yeah," she says. "I remember feeling like I was getting sucked down a rabbit hole or something. And then I was someplace else. It was some kind of ... netherworld, I think."
Mary Margaret drapes a towel around her shoulders. "You mean like the Sleeping Curse? But I'm guessing this one wasn't exactly on fire …?"
"I wish," Emma says with feeling.
"So, what, she followed him in and convinced him to come back?" David asks, frowning.
"I imagine it was slightly more complicated than that," Blue says, gently. "However, once their hearts were aligned, then true love's kiss was able to break the curse."
Emma feels herself blushing again, and wishes she could go back to smothering herself. Instead she stares at her damp jeans, and wonders how long she has to sit here and die of embarrassment before she can go put on some dry clothes. Then, Killian reaches over and takes her hand in his, and when she meets his gaze, it's as if everyone and everything else in the world falls away.
"You found me," he says.
"Oh, please. I find bad guys for a living," Emma says. "Did you really think you'd get away from me that easily?"
His face lights up with a grin, as if she's done something she ought to be proud of, and Emma wonders if maybe she has. After all, she did find Killian Jones, buried deep beneath the surface of Captain Hook. She's unaware that she's smiling back at him until a laugh bubbles out of her; it seems to echo through the room, spreading like sunlight.
Mary Margaret turns to David. "What did I tell you? Pay up."
At this the spell is broken; Emma and Killian both turn their heads to stare at Snow. There's a smug smile on her face and she's aiming it squarely at Charming. "I told you they were in love," she says to her husband. "Pay up, honey."
Killian smirks. "Oh, I like you, m'lady."
Blue, who has been standing off to the side, watching all of this with a coy, cat-like smile on her lips, actually gives a little snort of laughter.
"But he's a pirate!" Charming looks like someone's hit him with an umbrella stand.
"Oh, like that story never happens." Snow shrugs. "I don't care if he's a blacksmith. I just want my daughter to be happy. And apparently hemakes her happy." She turns and narrows her gaze at Killian. "You will make her happy, won't you?"
"He'd better," David says darkly.
Killian looks up at Emma through impossibly dark lashes, his eyes sparkling and a smile on his lips. "So happy she can fly."
Emma's not sure which of them groan at that, but Mary Margaret seems to decide that's her cue to get up. "I'm going to go see about some dry clothes," she says. "David, can you help me?"
"Me? Why?"
"Because Emma can get her own dry clothes. I was going to loan some of yours to Killian," she says as she heads for the door. "You've got that one t-shirt that's a little too small on you..."
"That is my favorite shirt! You are not giving him …"
"Congratulations," Mother Superior says softly. Then she smiles and trails Mary Margaret and David down the stairs, leaving Emma and Killian alone.
Emma turns to him and arches an eyebrow. "So happy she can fly. Cocky, aren't you?"
He leans closer and murmurs. "I can show you, if you like."
"Seriously?" Emma frowns. Considering recent events, she's no longer entirely sure what he's talking about.
"Well, darling, you were laying on top of me, and I have been celibate for..." He wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer, so he can whisper a number in her ear.
Emma draws back startled. "You have not!"
"And your blouse is very nearly transparent ..."
"That's it, time to get up and dry off," she says. However, Hook's arms firm around her, unwilling to let her go just yet. Emma fights the urge to just nestle into them; but as good as he feels she's cold, and her clothes are wet, and they're soaking the mattress.
"I think I prefer you like this," he says, tongue tucked against his teeth. Emma rolls her eyes, knowing already that he's going to be absolutely incorrigible. Somehow, though, the thought only makes her grin.
She tries to extricate herself without tearing his sutures or dislodging her bandages. "Ugh. How does a guy with only one hand have a grip like an octopus?"
"We wrestle them for practice," he says with aplomb. And Emma laughs in spite of herself, delighted.
xxx
It's not until she's in the bathroom, putting on dry clothes, that her joy begins to fade a little. She'd gone downstairs, so that Killian could use the upstairs bath in peace, and as she gingerly pulls on a clean top, she happens to glance at the towel rack where Killian's vest has finished drying.
It's just a vest; just a black leather vest with lacing along the seams, and brass frogs to hold it closed. The only thing fancy about it at all are the metal disks that are roughly sewn around the shoulder bits. There's no reason why the fact that the vest is entirely hand-stitched should cause her to feel a little dizzy. None at all.
Except it is, and it does. Emma's fingers trace the clean slice that matches the cut across his abdomen, and she realizes her hands are shaking.
She closes her eyes and breathes deep until she's got things under control again. Resolutely, she brushes out her hair and blow-dries it for the second time in, technically, just a few hours. It's tricky with her shoulder injury, but she manages, though the result is a tiny bit lopsided.
When Emma emerges from the bathroom, clean and dry, she's got her heart rate back under control and her poker face in place.
Not well enough, apparently; Mary Margaret takes one look at her, then marches over and grabs her by the hand. She pulls Emma over into the corner by the window furthest from the stairs and peers at her for a moment.
"You're freaking out," she says.
"What?" Emma blinks. "I'm not freaking out. Who's freaking out?"
"You are. I know that face. That's your I've-just-seen-an-ogre-and-I'm-trying-not-to-screa m face."
"I don't have a—" Her mother levels her with a knowing look. "Okay, so I have an ogre face, but only when there are ogres and there are not ogres!"
Mary Margaret crosses her arms.
"Why would I be freaking out? I broke the curse. Go me!"
A smile slowly spreads across Mary Margaret's face. "Because you're in love."
Emma rolls her eyes. "I'm not freaking out because I'm—because of that."
Mary Margaret tilts her head, and Emma's reminded of Pongo when he's trying to understand human speech. "Emma, it's okay to be freaked out! I mean, you should have seen me when I realized I was in love with your father."
"I did see you when you realized you were in love with David. There's a picture in Henry's book," Emma says flatly. "Some people get photo albums with pictures of their parents in them. I get fairy tale books." Her mouth twists. "And then I got to watch you do it all over again as Mary Margaret and David."
"Okay, so, maybe that's not—My point is that this is really new for you. It's been how long since your last long-term relationship?"
"Ten years."
Mary Margaret blinks. "Oh. Well. That's … a while. But don't you see? It's no wonder you're unsure."
Emma glances around to make sure no one is in earshot—in this apartment, you can never be too certain—and lowers her voice to a whisper. "Look, yesterday, everything was normal. Well, as normal as things can be, anyway. And then he comes crawling through my window and I stitch him up, and there's a curse, and I get sucked into a netherworld and somewhere in there I realize that I'm in love with a pirate from Neverland and he's been trying to avenge the death of the woman he's loved for the last three hundred years. And I don't even know how it happened, or when it happened, or why. So, okay, yeah. I guess I'm freaking out. A little. But … I don't know if I can even do this. I'm not good at this love crap. And he's a pirate. He lives on a ship. He doesn't have a driver's license or a social security number or clothes with zippers on them. He's more than three centuries older than me—"
"Emma—"
"—and then there's Henry! What do I tell Henry? Henry just found out about Neal. How do I even bring another guy into the equation? And one that just tried to kill his new grandfather! And … I don't even know if Hook likes kids. Oh, god! What if he doesn't like kids? What if Henry doesn't like him? What if—"
Mary Margaret grabs her by the arms and stares her in the eyes. "Emma, breathe, okay? Just … deep breaths."
Emma nods and tries to wrestle her panic back into place. It's nearly impossible. Snow is right, she's freaking out, but this feels worse than ogres somehow.
Once Emma is no longer in danger of hyperventilating, Mary Margaret pulls her into a hug. Emma lets her; she lays her head on her mother's shoulder, and loves her so damn much that her heart feels like it might just burst. Snow pets her hair and holds her tight while Emma breathes in the scent of her mother's perfume, and thinks that if she'd had this her whole life, then maybe the situation that's waiting upstairs wouldn't be quite so scary.
Finally Mary Margaret pulls away and looks at her with what Emma thinks of as her Sweet-Snow-White face. "It's going to be okay," she tells her. "Just remember that, all the things you're concerned about, he's probably having the same thoughts, only three hundred times worse than you are. You just need to talk about it. Be honest with each other. I know it's scary, but if you're really in love then you will find a way to be together, one that works for both of you. You just have to have faith in each other."
"Uh-huh. 'Cause you and David had it so easy, right?" Emma says.
"No, we didn't," Mary Margaret admits. "But that's how I know it's true. Nothing easy is as worth having as something you have to fight for. And I know you, Emma— you're a fighter, and so is he."
Emma tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling, currently fighting the urge to stomp her foot like a frustrated teenager. "Why now, though? This is so … It's just … He's Hook. And things are … complicated."
Mary Margaret smiles at her gently. "Sometimes your heart just chooses. It knows who you're meant to be with. Don't ignore it just because the timing isn't what you would have liked, or because things are complicated. True love is rare, precious, and worth believing in. I know it's scary, but you are so full of love. Just trust your heart."
She's right. Emma knows she's right; but knowing it and believing it aren't always the same thing. "What about Henry, though?"
"Henry just wants you to be happy. A real pirate captain? Are you kidding? He'll adore him."
"And Neal? What if he thinks I'm doing this just to … I don't know, pretend I don't care about him and his fiancée? He keeps saying things like hethinks that, and I don't, but …"
Snow looks at her carefully. "You don't love Neal," she says. "I wasn't sure until this morning, when I saw the way you looked at Killian. I don't know what happened between you and Neal, exactly, but when you're with him, you're tense, cautious, like … like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. But with Hook… you look at him the way I feel when I look at David. Like there's nothing else in the world but the two of you. So, does it really matter what Neal thinks?"
"No," Emma says. "When you put it that way, I guess not."
"So, you'll talk to him? Figure things out?"
Emma nods, reluctantly. "Could you … maybe make me some hot chocolate first? It was really, really cold where we were."
Mary Margaret laughs. "I will make you all the hot chocolate you want, sweetie."
They both smile, and the tight band that was clamped around Emma's chest loosens enough that she feels like she can breathe again.
Notes: I thought perhaps a chapter of some levity and light might be in order after the trauma of the last few chapters?
We're not quite done yet. One more chapter left, I think, and then an epilogue.