The car ride home is pleasant. They joke around, and laugh, and Killian deludes himself into thinking that maybe this whole venture was not such a bad idea after all, that maybe for once things are working out in his favour.
His hope evaporates the second they find themselves alone in their bedroom together, the awkwardness slamming back full force. He can almost feel the moment Emma's walls come back up, her stance becoming defensive, the tension returning to her body.
He sighs and sits down on his side of the bed, facing away from her. He slowly removes his fake hand and brace, then lies down under the duvet, still facing away from Emma, afraid of what he might see if he turned around. It was nice, having been allowed a glance at the real Emma, the warm, friendly, happy woman underneath the mask. He cannot bare seeing the old defences back in place just yet.
"Goodnight, Killian."
His eyes widen in shock and he almost turns around. Her voice is soft, hesitant, belying her earlier body language. From the closeness of her voice, he can tell that she is lying on the bed facing towards him. Was he mistaken when he thought he saw her walls come up again? He cannot remember her ever using his given name before.
He hears a rustle of bed sheets and turns to lie on his back, looking over at her. Emma has turned away from him, his chance to study her face gone.
"Goodnight, Emma", he murmurs, following her example and using her first name for a change. It makes the moment strangely intimate, which is weird, seeing as they are already lying in bed together. He turns to face the wall again and closes his eyes, hoping that sleep will claim him sooner this night than the last.
Killian wakes up to something tickling his nose. He thinks groggily that he will never get used again to waking on land. The world should be moving. He inhales and his nostrils are filled with a sweet flowery scent. He opens his eyes and sees a mop of unruly blond hair. Bloody hell. Their positions are reversed this time, he is spooning Emma, his right arm thrown over her.
He is instantly aware of every point of contact through the thin layers of clothing they are wearing. He suddenly feels very hot, his skin tingling everywhere where Emma is pressed against him. His body is reacting to her closeness and he shudders to think what will happen when she wakes up to this. He buries his head on her shoulder to stifle the moan about to escape his lips.
He curses himself inwardly. He cannot go through this every morning. Tonight he's sleeping on the couch. He'll figure out some way to explain it to the lad.
He knows he has to let her go. The sooner the better. He inhales deeply and commits her scent to memory, then he slowly untangles his arm and starts to draw back from her.
Emma mumbles in her sleep and moves closer to him, shifting back against him. This time he is not quick enough to stop the groan from spilling out. He bites his lip to at least prevent any further unwanted sounds.
Killian lays his head back down carefully, considering his options. Waking up Emma is out of the question. Staying like this is out of the question. He'll have to try a fast retreat and hope he doesn't wake her up in the process.
Just when he is about to make his move, Emma shifts again, and yawns. Killian freezes in place, hoping fervently that she will go back to sleep.
As usual, he is out of luck. He notices the exact moment Emma comes out of her slumber, the tension returning to her body. She doesn't jump out of bed immediately, which a more optimistic man than him would probably have mistaken for an improvement.
She remains completely still and he wonders what is going on inside her head at this moment. Is she trying to pretend to be asleep still? For his part, he tries to keep his breathing as steady as possible, but he knows he's not fooling anybody, she's probably well aware that he's wide awake.
She surprises him by turning around and meeting his stare. He is certain he sees a flash of something that looks very much like desire in her eyes, stopping his breathing, and his heart, for all he knows. Emma looks at him with that inscrutable expression for another second, then she turns around again and hops off the bed, striding out of the bedroom at a measured pace, very evidently keeping herself from actually running out of the room.
Killian lies back down on the bed with a groan. He rubs his hand over his eyes tiredly. He isn't sure how much more of this he can take and it's only their second morning.
When he comes down into the kitchen, Emma and Henry are already sitting at the table, talking animatedly. Once Emma notices him, something shifts in the atmosphere, a tension which is almost familiar by now settling in.
He bites back a sigh and sits down, giving Henry a broad smile as he does so. Henry returns the smile, then digs back into his cereal.
Between bites, his mouth still full, he says, "Can you come to class next week? We're doing the whole 'parents talk about what they do' thing." He makes little air quotes with his fingers as he talks.
Killian looks at him with a blank expression.
"Most of the kids in my class have read your book." Something in his tone surprises Killian and he realizes it's pride. Henry is talking about his work with pride in his voice.
"Even Wendy", Henry adds, meaningfully, and his smile widens.
"I wrote more than one book, you know", Killian corrects, surprising himself.
Henry rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Your famous book."
There is a pause while Killian struggles to make up an excuse.
"So, can you do it?" He's so eager, so happy and Killian cannot find it in himself to disappoint him.
"Sure."
"Great. And could you maybe not talk about your 'process' so much-" The air quotes are back. "-I know it's important and all, but you sometimes tend to ramble on a bit about it."
"I don't ramble", Killian says, huffily.
Henry shoots him a look and in that moment he can see the similarities with his mother more clearly than ever before.
"Whatever", Henry states and goes back to munching his breakfast.
Long minutes pass in a silence which quickly turns awkward. Killian tries to meet Emma's eyes several times, but she's always looking somewhere else.
Killian realizes that Henry is starting to pick up on the strange tension in the room. The lad is looking back and forth between the two of them, his eyes narrowed as if he's trying to figure out some complicated puzzle.
Emma must have noticed it too, because when she gets up to retrieve something from the fridge, she passes by Killian and casually gives him a quick peck on the forehead while affectionately ruffling up his hair.
It's over before Killian can even react. He tries to keep the surprise of his face for Henry's sake, but he's very doubtful as to his success.
He stares at his plate, without actually seeing anything, and suddenly he is completely and utterly done with this bullshit. He feels his temper getting the better of him, his anger and frustration bubbling to the surface. If this is how Emma wants to do it, fine with him. Two can play this game.
When she walks past him again while returning to her chair, he takes a hold of her waist and pulls her into his lap. Emma is too surprised to react, falling down on him with a little surprised noise. He smiles brightly at her, then moves in for a kiss.
He catalogues Emma's reaction for later analysis, the way she first tenses, then melts against him, then tenses again. The kiss is nothing like the one they shared in Neverland. That kiss will be forever burned into his memory. He's sure he could live another 300 years and never forget it. No, this one is slower, more measured. Careful, restrained.
It is Emma who pulls back first, glaring at him angrily, her back to Henry.
"Daaad", Henry whines, "Gross. Can you please refrain from making out during breakfast."
There is a strange note to his voice, on the surface it's all annoyance, but beneath that he sounds almost relieved. Emma takes his complaint as her cue to get up. She gives Killian a parting glare which promises bad things in his immediate future.
Henry finishes the last of his cereal and jumps up from his chair. He runs up the stairs, presumably to get his backpack. Killian watches him go when a fuming Emma suddenly steps into his line of vision.
"What. The hell. Was that." She enunciates every word carefully and he can almost feel the fury radiating off of her. He is aware that he might have overstepped their boundaries earlier, but he's also frustrated and at the end of his rope.
"Just playing the part, love." He aims for a neutral tone, but he falls short, sounding angry more than anything else.
"Listen, mister. Just because we are pretending to have a relationship doesn't give you free reign to do whatever you want."
Killian's earlier anger flares up again, increased tenfold. Before he can stop himself, he stands up in one swift movement and invades Emma's personal space. She actually takes a step back, reading something of his mood in his face or body language.
"No, of course I don't have free reign to do whatever I want", he almost spits the words, the bitterness evident in his tone, "if I had, we would be talking about this instead of dancing around it like a bunch of bloody cowards. If I had, I would be kissing you senseless right now instead of arguing. If I had what I want this wouldn't be a bloody fake marriage in the first place!
He stops abruptly, shocked at his admission. During his small speech, he's been slowly walking forward, backing Emma against the wall. She's looking at him with wide eyes, clearly as shocked as he is. He swallows and tries to figure out his next move.
Henry comes running down the stairs, interrupting them. They are lucky that he seems to be unable to do anything without making a racket, so at least they get a warning of his approach. When he hears the lad, Killian immediately steps back and tries to school his features into a neutral expression.
"See you later", Henry says, barely sparing them a glance before he's out the door.
Once he's out of earshot, Killian sighs and rubs his hand over his eyes. The anger left him as quickly as it came and now he's just feeling exhausted. He finally looks up to meet Emma's eyes. She's still standing frozen in place. For once, he cannot read her expression, there's a whirlwind of emotions crossing her features.
Neither of them moves and the house is eerily silent.
"Emma", he says, breaking the silence, "What do you want from me, love?" He can hear the weariness in his own voice.
She looks at him and opens her mouth, but then closes it again without making a sound. She shakes her head.
"I can't do this right now", she whispers and grabs her coat and purse, fleeing from the house, from him, the second day in a row.
His first impulse is to run after her, but he knows such an action would not be welcome. He sighs again, wondering how they are ever going to get out of this gridlock they have found themselves in, unable to move forward or back.
He knows that he cannot, will not, give up. Emma is stubborn and proud, traits he himself is quite familiar with. He is sure there is something between them, something worth fighting for. If only he could get Emma to admit that as well, at least to herself.