A/N: There's literally no excuse for why it's taken me so long to update. I just wasn't in a writing mood. But I promise I will never leave this story in limbo for so long again! Reviews and messages are always motivating! As well, I'm interested to know if people would prefer me to keep doing long chapters (like I have been doing so far) or like double the chapters with half the length. Let me know! And sorry again for the terrible delay!
"The usual, Captain?" Granny called over her retreating shoulder, her hands full of a baffling number of plates, which were in turn overflowing with breakfast for the hungry patrons of the diner.
"Aye, milady. To go, if you'd be so kind," Killian replied, a broad smiling coming easily to his lips. The idea that he'd settled into such a domestic routine, with Emma-tough-lass-Swan no less, never failed to fill his chest with an almost bursting sense of euphoria. The noise of the bustling restaurant washed over him as he leaned against the counter, the smile freely given to the Widow Lucas lingering. The sun shone brightly through the large windows, its warmth seeping into his bones. The cold snap that had taken hold of the town finally seemed to be breaking, and not a moment too soon. He'd nearly broken down and traded in his leather jacket for one of those infernal parkas Swan was always going on about.
He eyed the coffee carat longingly, the smell of the freshly brewed liquid assaulting his senses. Well he was still getting accustomed to a startling number of changes in the realm without magic, he'd taken to coffee, and caffeine, with a ferocity. Particularly so following nights where sleep alluded him. Nights plagued by vivid nightmares. Fortunately, since the return of his heart he'd slept like a babe. Save for last night. He'd awaken sweaty and panting, images of Emma, torn and bloody darting behind his eyelids. He'd tossed and turned for the rest of the night. Unable to fall back asleep; unwilling to revisit the visions that had haunted him.
With a long, exaggerated sigh, Jorinde plopped down on the stool beside him. Her presence interrupting Killian's internal debate on whether it was worth Granny's wrath to simply help himself to the coffee. Though Jorinde had yet to so much as acknowledge him, he felt a tightness in his jaw. Her very presence seemed to chip away at his good mood. He tried to hold on to that feeling of contentment, of happiness, that had enveloped his entire being just moments ago, but it felt as if he were trying to cup water in his hand. The more tightly he clung to it, the faster it seemed to slip away.
"Enlighten me, Jones. What of this," Jorinde said, gesturing vaguely to the menu without meeting his eye. "If anything, passes for edible?"
"For a lass such as yourself?" Killian said, pretending to consider the menu for a moment. "I imagine you would fancy the bologna. It's quite the delicacy in this land."
"Is it now?" Jorinde replied breezily. She rotated slightly on her stool and contemplated him for a moment. Her gaze ran the length of his body slowly before she continued. "You know Jones, you don't look so good."
"I always look good, lass," He retorted with a halfhearted wink. He had of course surveyed himself in the mirror before coming downstairs and was well aware of the truth behind her words. Of the dark circles under his eyes, of the lingering weariness which clung to his limbs. But he would be damned if he so much as breathed a word of his bloody nightmares to her of all people.
"Having trouble sleeping, Captain?" Jorinde said, her voice saccharine and far too grating to stomach before he'd had a cup of coffee. "Don't tell me that little blonde you were so friendly with last night left you high and dry?"
He craned his neck, seemingly seeking out the Widow Lucas, with a deliberate nonchalance. Though in reality, he sought to hide the tight clench of his jaw from Jorinde's prying eyes. He did not like where this conversation was headed. Had he a modicum of common sense he would simply walk away while he still could. Hell, he might have already if it were not for that inciting aroma of coffee, just out of his reach.
"There's really no fight left in you then?" Jorinde continued, feigned surprise dripping from her words. "Where's the tortured soul and vengeance?"
"That's not who I am anymore," He said, still refusing to meet her eye as his fingers tapped on the counter impatiently. Granny was lucky she was essentially the only proprietor of coffee in this town or she might have very well lost his future business. A solid business model, indeed.
"Pity. Though I suppose Milah had a way of softening you out as well. Perhaps once your new wench dies, you'll be back to your old self," She said, the trace of humour gone from her words. Against his will, Killian's felt his neck twist to finally met her eye. He fought back a shudder when he saw something deep within their depths that made his blood run cold. Try as he might to remain impassive, his face must have given his thoughts away. His stomach dropped as Jorinde's lips curved into a sneer, satisfied that she'd finally rattled him.
Grinding his teeth together in a manner that bordered on painful, Killian grabbed Jorinde's arm. He directed her, none too gently, through the door separating the restaurant from the inn, paying no mind to the prying glances thrown his way. Roughly, he pushed her against the wall with enough force to rattle the bathroom door in its frame. His fingers curled tightly around her forearm, a fury burning in his chest.
"You'll want to listen to me very careful now, lass. Because I shall only tell you once," Killian said, his voice low. His face inches from hers. "Should you be foolish enough to even consider threatening myself or my family—"
"Your family?" Jorinde jeered. Killian grimaced as she threw back her head and laughed. Her peels of laughter reverberated in the small hall. Each shrill note chipped away at his patience, already hanging by no more than a thread. "Do you honestly think that's how they see you?" She asked, incredulously and slightly breathless from her fit of laughter. "Do you actually believe that anyone in this sorry excuse for a town thinks you're anything besides a worthless pirate? That you'll ever be more than that?"
"Well then, far be it for me to disappoint," Killian hissed, his jaw tightly clenched. Jorinde flinched as he roughly brought his hook to rest over her heart. The sharp point pressed against her skin just hard enough to sting without drawing blood. "Perhaps I save myself the agony of your presence and just do away with you now."
"Tsk tsk, Jones," She said as she gently ran her fingertips along his hook. She batted her eyelashes and Killian fought the urge to make good on his empty threat. "Have you forgotten? You need me. If I die, so does any hope of ever seeing your previous Jolly Roger."
"That's where you're mistaken, love." Killian said, a smirk on his face. Jorinde's grin faltered slightly at his confidence and she swallowed thickly. "The way I see it," Killian continued. "If any old pirate would suffice for whatever little scheme you've concocted, you never would have crossed realms. No, love, you need me. And as for the Jolly," He shrugged. "Her return is inconsequential to the life I have here."
"Is that so?" Jorinde said, cocking her head. She slid her hand along his arm and into his pocket. Killian flinched and moved to pull away, but his exhaustion slowed his reflexes and she was faster. She twirled the small piece of wood in her fingers, a mocking smile on her lips. "Then why are you still carrying this? Sentimental are we, Jones?"
"Everything all right here?" Emma asked, her voice cutting through the thick tension that had settled over the space. Her Sheriff's badge was on full display at her hip and the door leading back to the dinner was still swinging in the wake of her appearance. Recovering from his monetary shock at her startling entrance, Killian quickly released his hold on Jorinde and took a step back. He cursed inwardly, knowing his behaviour could do nothing but cast a pall over, well everything.
"Sorry to keep the Captain occupied, Swan," Jorinde began, leaning against the wall. She crossed her arms casually against her chest and curved her lips into a smile. The small piece of wood still spinning aimlessly between her fingers.
"Don't call her that," Killian interrupted, his voice gruff and laced with more than a little shame. Shame not at being found in a what could be perceived as a compromising position with Jorinde, but for falling back into his old ways. He was better than that. He wanted to be better than that. He took another step back, but not before snatching the piece of his ship from Jorinde's hand and returning it to his coat pocket.
"Unless I am mistaken, it's her name," Jorinde said, her eyes wide in feigned innocence. "She's Swan, you're Jones."
"And you are?" Emma asked. She tried not to fixate on the fact that this was the second time in twelve hours Killian and this perky blonde had been locked in a heated argument. Two times that you know about, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind. She pursed her lips and made a conscious effort to keep her hands from balling into fists. "You seem to know an awful lot about me, and we've never even been introduced."
"Bad form, Jones. Where are your manners?" Jorinde admonished Killian with a playful swat to his chest. Emma hadn't thought it was possible for Killian to wear a stormier expression. Apparently she was mistaken. "The name's Jorinde."
"No last name?" Emma asked with a cocked brow.
"Just Jorinde."
"Like Cher, got it," Emma replied in what she hoped passed for breezy. "Madonna? Bono? Drake?" She amended when she was met with nothing but blank, confused stares from both Killian and Jorinde. Her voice growing more incredulous with each unrecognized example.
"What in the blazes are you talking about, love?" Killian asked, his eyebrows knit in confusion. Emma bit her lip to fight back a smirk at his adorably perplexed expression.
"Never mind," Emma said shaking her head. "Sorry to interrupt, but Killian we're going to be late, unless you're not coming—"
"No, Swan, my apologizes, of course," He said as he walked towards her, shooting one last dark glare in Jorinde's general direction. He held the door from the hall open and gestured with his hook back towards the restaurant. "Shall we?"
"Let me guess, you're not joining us?" Emma asked Jorinde, as she paused in the doorway. She ignored Killian when he rested his hook on the small of her back, silently urging her back into the diner.
"Never been much for planning," Jorinde replied, with a shrug. "I'm headed back to the Enchanted Forest in a days time and I don't care terribly who else jumps in the portal before it closes."
"Until then," Killian said with a curt nod. Emma raised her hand in a silent farewell before she allowed him to guide her gently towards the counter. Where, much to his delight, two steaming travel cups of coffee awaited them.
"Sorry about the wait. It's on the house," Granny said with a nod to their beverages. Killian nodded in return to show his thanks, before Granny darted out from behind the counter again. He handed the paper cup marked with her name to Emma before taking a long drag from his own. The drink was far too hot, and he scowled at his own impatience as he burnt his tongue.
Wordlessly, Killian and Emma made their way out of Granny's. Emma watched him carefully; a fact that did not go unnoticed by Killian. He swore he could feel the gears of thought whirling in her head. Killian held the door for Emma again, the quaint bell ringing overhead, as they left. Their silence continued as they strode down the sidewalk towards the town hall, a vague sense of awkwardness lingering between them. Something neither of them was familiar with, not with each other.
"So, are you gonna tell me what that was about?" Emma finally asked, taking a sip from her cup. Her tone was casual, but he didn't miss the furtive glance she shot him out of the corner of her eye.
"It was nothing," Killian replied quickly. Internally, fury and regret waged powerfully for dominance in his chest. Embarrassment a close second. Each emotion equally vivid and clawing to consume him the most fully.
"It didn't look like nothing…"
"Bloody hell. Can't you just leave it, Swan? The situation is in hand, I assure you," He snapped, far more harshly than he'd intended. Emma visibly bristled at his tone, her step faltering slightly. Like a tidal wave, regret immediately washed over him, drowning his anger.
"Emma, love, I'm—"
"No, it's fine," Emma said, a hint of hurt lacing her voice.
"Emma—"
"Come on," She said, walking briskly ahead of him. "Or they'll start without us."
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a moment, before he quickened his pace to catch up her; a blur of blonde curls and red leather. A cold feeling of dread settled over him and he couldn't help but feel that he'd really buggered things this time.
Emma shifted in her chair as she tried to find a more comfortable position. There was already a dull ache settling at the base of her neck. She understood that the Stroybrooke-ians had every right to be offered the chance to return to the Enchanted Forest; the decision to make the trip a simple vacation or more permanent between them and their loved ones. But why there had even been the need to host a town meeting was beyond her. She had been all for a mass text message and a sign up sheet at the library, but apparently she had been overruled.
It seemed every participant at the city forum had an opinion on if returning to the Enchanted Forest was the right or wrong course of action. Loud opinions. Emma watched her parents, placating concerns from the raised podium in front of the crowd. Ever the patient rulers of their kingdom, in any realm. Indistinct yelling washed over her as she slouched in the vaguely uncomfortable plastic chair. Beside her, Killian's leg was bouncing, clearly as unimpressed with the proceedings as she was. She stole a glance at him and couldn't help but wonder if the tension he carried in his shoulders had to do with her. Emma sighed and bit the inside of her cheek as a ripple of irritation coursed through her; their earlier, heated words still painfully fresh in her mind.
"Explain to me again how we're getting there?" Leroy asked, his voice suddenly cutting above the others. The topic of a return home doing nothing to alter his ever present prickly demeanour. "And more importantly, how we're getting back?"
"Magic beans, mate," Killian said from his seated position, barely rotating his head in the direction of the dwarf. His voice surprisingly level, despite having explained this half a dozen times already. "The Lady Jorinde procured three. She used one to journey to this realm and using basic arithmetic, two remain. One to travel to the Enchanted Forest and for those who wish it, one to return to this realm."
"Those aren't easy to come by," Emma said quietly, more to Killian than to anyone else. She hadn't forgotten how Killian had obtained the last magic bean they'd needed. He'd traded his ship for her. To bring her home.
"Aye," He said with a pointed scratch behind his ear. "But have them she does. I've seen them myself."
Killian smiled at her bashfully and Emma felt her resolve to remain irritated slipping. It was almost frustrating, how difficult it was to stay mad at this man. Especially when he looked at her with that apologetic, puppy dog expression on his face. Though not exactly over being cross, she couldn't help but feel childish for her part in their disagreement. She moved to clasp his hand in her own, knowing whatever their issues were, they could sort out later. And more importantly, she wanted to sort them out. A feeling which was new to her.
"Emma," Regina stage whispered, suddenly at crouched at Emma's side. Her abrupt appearance making Emma jump. "Someone broke into my vault."
"What, just now?" Emma hissed back, as she dropped her arm back onto her own lap. Instinctively, she craned her neck and scanned the room, noting those absent from the town meeting. Will Scarlet. Granny. Robin Hood. A handful of merry men. Mother Superior. Half the dwarves. Jorinde No Last Name. "How do you know?"
"Protection spell, like a magical security alarm," Regina huffed. Clearly growing impatient with Emma's lack of magical knowledge, yet again. "Someone is attempting to break in, but they haven't quite managed it yet."
"Why are you telling me? Can't you just," Emma gestured vaguely with her hand. "Poof yourself there?"
"I just wanted to give you the chance to arrest Jorinde," Regina said with a powerful sigh. "But if you'd prefer I took matters into my own hands—"
"Hold on there. A lot of people are missing from this meeting," Emma said quickly. The irksome notion of justice and innocent until proven guilty overpowering her prickle of distrust deep in her gut for Storybrooke's newest resident. "This spell of yours, it lets you see who's breaking in?"
"Well, no. But historically she's been anything but innocent," Regina huffed.
"Aye, and it's a might convenient that an attempted robbery occurs a mere day following her return," Killian interjected.
"Well, by that logic," Emma said with an exaggerated eye roll. "My dad and I are going to be pulling overtime to round up ever former villain, thief, and pirate in Storybrooke. Present company not excluded," She said with a pointed look at the Evil Queen and Captain Hook.
"Whoever it is," Regina said. "They're breaking and entering. So are you going to deal with it or not?"
"Yeah, let's go," Emma said with a quick nod. She tired to catch the eyes of one of her parents, but they were both still deeply enthralled in the extensive discussions, more like indistinct yelling, unfolding around them. "Killian, can you fill my parents in?" Emma asked, already pulling her jacket on. She did her best to ignore the confused glances being thrown her way by nearly everyone around her. Oh the joys of being Sheriff in a small town.
"Perhaps I should accompany you," Killian said, reaching for his own jacket. "If it is Jorinde—"
"We can manage," Emma said tersely. "For all we know it's a squirrel—"
"It's not a squirrel," Regina quickly interjected, crossing her arms impatiently.
"Either way, we'll be back before the forum is over," Emma continued, with a sigh. "This won't take more than a couple hours—"
"A couple hours?" Hook said, now the one interrupting. "Swan, you can't be serious. You mean to tell me you expect this farce to continue for hours?"
"You've really never been to one of these meetings before, have you?" Regina asked, with a chuckle.
"Swan," Killian said, ignoring Regina. He rested his hand on her arm, his eyes darting between her own. He doubted that Jorinde's words in the diner had been anything but idle threats meant to rattle him. But he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had encompassed him when he saw that glint in her eye. Nor could he clear his mind of the visions which had left him sleepless. "I really think I ought to accompany—"
"Last time I checked, you weren't a deputy," Emma replied, her voice low, yet firm. Killian's sudden, uncharacteristic bout of smothering overprotectiveness acting like gasoline to the fire of her fading frustration. It also didn't help the feeling of unease that twisted in her stomach. Killian had always believed in her, trusted in her, in her strength. What had changed?
"Love—"
"The situation is in hand, Hook," Emma said. Her exasperated tone taking him aback.
Before he had to chance to explain, let alone form any sort of retort, she and Regina were gone in a cloud of purple smoke. Regina was evidentially tired of waiting. At the abrupt departure of two very prominent members of the town, a hush settled over the room. Killian felt the weight of the of the town folk's questioning stares on his shoulders.
"By all means carry on," Killian said with a wave of his hand. His voice dripping with the thinly veiled irritation he was no longer able to keep at bay. "The Saviour and the Queen will be back once their business is concluded."
There was a beat of silence before the room exploded into raucous noise yet again. From the low stage, David shot Killian a questioning glance, to which Killian replied with a shrug of his shoulders. Killian curled his hand into a fist and slumped back into his chair. He sighed as his eyes came to rest on Swan's discarded coffee cup. He ran his hand over his face, the sight filling him with an surprising sense of melancholy.
Emma sighed and rubbed the tight muscles at the base of her neck with her free hand. She kicked the door to the loft closed, wincing slightly when she saw a muddy boot print she'd left against the pale, green paint. She would deal with it. Later, she thought as dropped her keys on a low table near the door. Like after she'd had a stiff drink. Or two. She shucked her jacket and hung it on the hook by the door, as she toed her boots off and left them in a muddy heap on the mat.
By the time she and Regina had arrived at the vault, there was no one to be found. At Regina's instance that the alarm had most certainly not been triggered by a squirrel, the pair had combed the forrest surrounding the vault for the majority of the day. The cold, damp, muddy forrest. Emma had complied with Regina's request begrudgingly and only as a means to escape the monotonous town meeting. Which, according to a text from Mary Margret, appeared to finally be wrapping up. Emma dropped her phone next to her keys without replying to her mother and continued into the kitchen.
All in all, the day had left Emma more than a little frustrated. A dull ache had settled in her back, probably from sitting on that grey plastic chair for too long. Her favourite boots were muddy and soaking wet. A lingering chill, most likely from her wet feet, clung to her bones and simply refused to be shaken. She was famished, having had nothing more than half a cup of coffee all day. It didn't help that their search had been fruitless; turning up nothing but a scrap of fabric Emma wasn't even totally convinced belonged to the thief. Plus, she kept finding her suddenly somehow both overprotective and aloof boyfriend tangled up with a strange, alluring blonde. Did she mention she was frustrated?
She reached into the pocket of her jeans in search of a hair tie and grimaced when she came into contact with plastic. With a sigh she brandished the clear evidence baggie containing a scrap of black fabric. Caught on a tree branch near the vault, it was the only indication anyone had even been in the general vicinity of the break in. Shaky circumstantial evidence or not, Regina had insisted they bag it. Emma pursed her lips as she contemplated the fabric. A fragment of some sort of design or emblem danced along its edge in gold thread. Despite being fraying and torn, Emma could tell it had once belonged to a rich, luxurious garment. With a sigh she dropped it on the counter. She had meant to drop it off at the Sheriff's Station and felt a pang of regret that she had opted to come straight home instead. This meant she would have to go out again tonight. Although there was no reason that couldn't wait until after she'd had a bite to eat.
Emma opened the fridge and groaned loudly when she found it mostly empty. Shutting the door with another sigh she remembered too late that it was her week to do groceries. She rested her hand over her stomach as it grumbled. The idea of drinking on an empty stomach was not particularly appealing, but after the day she'd had, it wasn't necessarily out of the question. Mulling over her options, Emma rummaged through the liquor cabinet. She tried not to dwell on the fact that it had always been so much better stocked before Neal was born. Before she could settle on her poison of choice, a clear knock at the door cut through the silence of the loft.
She hesitated and for one blissful moment considered pretending no one was home. Shaking her head and remembering she was closer to thirty than fifteen, she instead walked to the door, albeit reluctantly. Her socked feet were quiet in the airy space. Without looking through the peephole, she opened the door, praying to the deities of any religion that nothing was wrong. She was not in the mood to play the Saviour, or the Sheriff, not tonight.
"Killian," Emma said, slightly surprised to see him on her doorstep. It wasn't as if she'd expected to never see him again, but she'd assumed he would need a slightly longer cooling off period after their harsh words that morning. She certainly wouldn't have minded.
"You're vexed with me, rightfully so," He began. All leather and scruff and guyliner, he leaned against the doorframe causally. To anyone else, he would have looked the very picture of nonchalance. Only the hurried cadence of his voice betrayed his nerves.
"Hook—"
"But," He continued doggedly. "Are you so vexed you would turn away a man bearing gifts?" He shot her a small, uncharacteristically sheepish smile and gestured to a Granny's to-go bag dangling from his hook.
"My parents and Henry are due back any minute—"
"Which is why I came prepared," Killian said as raised the second, significantly larger bag for her inspection. "I begged off the meeting early and have sustenance for the whole Swan-Nolan-Mills household."
"I'm not sure how things work in the Enchanted Forest," Emma said, crossing her arms, not feeling quite ready to let him completely off the hook, pun intended. Not that he was making it easy on her; he looked so damn adorable playing the role of apologetic boyfriend. And the food did smell amazing. "But the traditional makeup gift in this world is usually flowers."
"Come on now, love. I know it's your week to get provisions," He said, his tone serious. "And I'll wager you haven't had the time." Emma's stomach growled audibly, causing a smug smirk to dart across Killian's face, his tongue resting behind his teeth. She narrowed her eyes, as if he somehow had been the one to illicit the noise from her stomach.
"Did you get me fries?" Emma asked.
"Onion rings," He replied solemnly. He had the good sense to hide his smirk, although the corner of his lip still twitched slightly.
"Good," Emma said, plucking the smaller bag out of his grasp. "I was testing you."
Killian's eyes crinkled under the weight of his smile as he strode into the loft. Emma shut the door behind him and joined him in the kitchen as he set the food down on the counter. She peeked inside the bag in her hands and fought back a low groan at the aroma of Granny's grilled cheese. She wasn't sure why she was surprised he'd known exactly what she felt like. They had always understood each other; long before they were guessing if it was a lasagna or grilled cheese kind of night.
"Emma, I am sorry for snapping at you this morning," Killian said softly as he reached for her. He slid his hand along her arm, the fabric of her sweater soft under the pads of his fingers, as he gently urged her to face him. "Truly. Jorinde just has this way of getting under my skin—"
"It's fine," Emma said, setting the food down on the counter. "You don't have to—"
"No, it's not and I do," Killian interjected. He laced his fingers through hers and moistened his lips nervously. A thousand excuses flitted through his mind; exhaustion from a poor night's rest, past dealings with Jorinde he'd just as soon forget, the suffocating need to protect her, to do right by her. Her eyes found his, clear and bright and questioning and he shook his head, realizing his speech, carefully crafted during the town hall meeting, was all wrong. He sighed before continuing, "There's no excuse for my bad form. You deserve better, Swan."
"It's just," Emma faltered for a moment. Killian gave her hand a gentle, supportive squeeze and she closed her eyes before she continued. "I don't want you to feel like you need keep things from me," She said, her voice faint. Unconsciously, she rested her hand over his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm soothing her more than he could know. Killian swallowed thickly at the words she'd left unspoken. That the last time he'd omitted shameful details of his life, Rumpelstiltskin had ended up with his heart.
"I have no intention of keeping anything from you, love. Having lived a couple centuries just leaves a man with an awful lot of ground to cover," He said sincerely. He raised their still intwined hands and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "And I most certainly don't want to do anything to jeopardize this, jeopardize us—"
"We're allowed to fight, you know that right?" Emma interrupted with a roll of her eyes.
"Your parents never seem to," He said, the nagging worry that always lingered in the back of his mind slipping from his mouth before he could stop it. The disquiet that their relationship paled when held next to the champions, paragons, of True Love. He loved her, of course he loved her, but as his actions in New York had demonstrated, it wasn't True. Or perhaps she simply didn't feel the same way. Neither thought was a comforting one.
"You are clearly not living with them," Emma said as she fought back a bark of laughter. The playful smile she shot him filling him with a dizzying feeling of relief.
"Is that so?" Killian asked, his eyes twinkling with possibility, for more than one reason. He did enjoy ruffling Dave's feathers on occasion, and this little tidbit of information held great potential in that regard.
"Yes, but if questioned, I will deny it to my dying breath," Emma chided, immediately sensing his thoughts.
"Duly noted," He said with a crisp nod. He smile faded as rested his hook on Emma's waist and pulled her carefully towards him. "Are we okay, Emma?"
"Yeah," Emma replied. She twined her arms around his neck as he anchored his own arms firmly around her waist. "We're definitely okay," She added before she raised herself up onto her tiptoes until she could capture his lips in a soft kiss. The taste of his smile and rum pulled a contented sigh from her.
"I've missed this," He murmured against her lips when the cursed necessity of air finally made their parting unavoidable. His arms still held her close as his hand drew soft, senseless patterns along her back.
"It's been like twenty hours," Emma said, bumping her nose playfully against his.
"Too long," He retorted as he backed her up until she was pressed firmly between himself and the island. He kissed her again, the intensity and speed of his assault, knocking Emma slightly aback. She recovered from her surprise quickly and arched against him as he nipped at her bottom lip. His hand dropped to her side and began a slow, teasing exploration of the sliver of exposed skin at her waist.
"Killian," Emma said reluctantly, suddenly feeling far too warm in her sweater. She stilled his hand at her waist with her own. "Everyone will be back soon."
"How soon?" He growled, as he nosed at the collar of her shirt and peppered soft kisses along her collar.
"Too soon for that," She said, her voice delightfully breathy to his ears.
With a small sigh, Killian rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in while he took a moment to collect himself. Let no one ever say he was not a patient man. But then again, he would wait a lifetime for Emma Swan. A thousand lifetimes. He pressed one more chaste kiss to her lips before he took a step back. She shot him an apologetic smile and gave his hand a tight squeeze before she let it go.
"So," Emma began, clearing her throat, her pulse still pounding in her ears. "What's the first thing you're going to do once you have your boat back?" She stepped around Killian and turned the oven on to preheat. She was beginning to suspect that her mother's assessment of the meeting's end may have been skewed by her signature optimism and cold Granny's was no one's favourite.
"Ship," Killian corrected automatically. "And we're still off to the Enchanted Forest then?" He asked carefully as he followed her lead and began to unpack their dinner. He positively itched to ask her what had transpired at Regina's vault, but he dared not. Least he look as though he didn't trust her ability to handle the situation.
"My bags are packed," Emma said without hesitation. "But if you don't think you can handle it…" She reached across him, far more of her body brushing against his than was strictly required and stole a fry from the styrofoam container containing his dinner. She brought it to her mouth with a smirk, the deep green of her eyes twinkling with mirth.
"Oh, I can handle it, love," He said, his eyes on her lips. "That I can assure you."
"Come on, I'm curious," Emma prompted again with a sidelong glance as she bumped her shoulder against his. "What are you gonna do once you have your bo- ship back?" Killian smiled at her correction and contemplated her question for a moment.
"Well, a thorough check of the Jolly's condition, bow to stern, will be in order. Blackbeard and his crew of bilge rats likely left her in a state of disrepair," He said with a scowl and a scratch to the back of his neck. His eyes unfocussed slightly as he began to assemble a list in his mind. "The jib's past due for mending and I can't imagine what the rigging—"
"I didn't mean, what's the first thing you have to do," Emma interrupted with a scoff. "I meant, what's the first thing you can't wait to do?"
A lascivious grin crept onto Killian's face before he could think to stop it. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to bite back a crass comment about not being able to wait to have his way with Emma on every single surface of his ship, flat or otherwise. Although he kept his silence, his intentions must have remained clear, as a pretty blush settled onto Emma's face. Despite the flush covering her skin, she didn't back down from his gaze. Instead she raised her brow, almost as if she was daring him to speak his mind.
"When I was a lad," Killian began instead, good form and all that. "Liam and I used to climb the crow's nest and watch the sunset together. On a clear night, the colours against the sea… it's indescribable, Swan, truly. After I lost him, I continued the tradition. It made me feel closer to him," He said with a shrug of his shoulders. Killian cleared his throat, his voice suddenly scratchy. "So, I suppose that's something I look forward to," He hesitated for only a moment, before he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering against her skin. "Something I would like to share with you."
"I'd like that," Emma said with a smile. His favourite smile to be exact. The one she reserved just for him. She opened her mouth as if to say something, and then seemed to change her mind. Instead she kissed his cheek roughly, before she turned and strode into the living room without explanation. Confusion washed over Killian as he watched her pull the couch cushion free and walk towards her room.
"Swan?" Killian asked, slightly perplexed. "Where are you off to, love?"
"Come on. I wanna show you something," Emma called over her shoulder, already half way up the stairs. "And bring the onion rings, I'm starving."
"Aye," He said with a shake of his head, already following her, onion rings in hand. "As you wish."