This fic is gonna play out a little differently in that I'm only setting things up with Part One. After this, I am opening the fic up to you, my readers, to help decide what happens next! Y'all can send me Asks on Tumblr with a Pan Says, including a reward/punishment if you'd like, and I'll use those to write the subsequent parts. Nothing is off limits, as I don't really have triggers and very few things squick me out, however, I cannot guarantee every Ask will make it into an update. I have no end game for this fic, and no updating schedule, so if that's a deterrent you might not want to proceed. Also, I will do my best to tag for content, but cannot at this juncture supply sufficient warning of what the fic might entail in upcoming chapters. Please begin reading at your own risk!
Part One
There was a warm, soft body wrapped in his arms and a strange mattress beneath him. Those were the first half coherent thoughts Killian Jones had before the smooth, bare, feminine form began screaming and wrestled out of his grasp.
"Who the fuck are you?!"
Killian's eyes flew open, the harsh beams of fluorescence overhead causing him to squint against their garish light. The thin material covering him was yanked away and it took him a minute to realize he was completely naked. Instinctively, he clamped both his hands over his groin in an attempt to shield himself as the woman continued demanding answers he didn't have.
"Where am I? What did you do with my clothes? Did… did we… did you… What the fuck is going on? Answer me!"
Killian's vision finally adjusted. He was in a room he did not recognize with a woman he was certain he had never seen before. She wasn't the sort of lass one could easily forget and not because she was staring at him murderously with a thin sheet draped around her body.
"Lass, I-"
When she advanced, Killian sprang out of bed, using it as a barrier. He held his hands out, then remembered his current state. Plucking a pillow from where it lay crumpled, he held it over himself and began again.
"I have no idea who you are or how we ended up here," he told her earnestly. "I am as much a victim in this mystery as you are."
Her eyes, a vivid green made more brilliant by the violent inclinations radiating from their depths, flicked between his. It took but a moment for her to determine he was telling her the truth, and as grateful as he was for that, he wasn't sure he would have been as trusting. Although… it certainly hadn't occurred to him that she had anything to do with his current confounding situation, and now that it had, he was quick to dismiss the idea out of hand.
Marching towards the door, the lass searched in vain for some sort of handle upon its metal surface, then pounded her first against it when none could be found.
"Hey! Open the door!" she shouted. "Let us out of here!"
While his companion focused her ire on a new target, Killian took the opportunity to study their surroundings a bit more closely. They were in an all metal room with what appeared to be steel panels grommeted together. In one corner was the door the woman - blonde hair hanging down to her trim waist, her frame slight but strong, gorgeous if not a little bloody terrifying - continued to hammer her fist against, and in the adjacent corner was an opening that led to a toilet and sink. The only furniture was the large bed, fitted with pristine white sheets, but no additional blankets. Above were the fluorescents, buzzing obnoxiously, and a vent Killian could feel a modest amount of heat blowing from. His toes curled against the cold concrete floor, and his eyes snapped up to take in the small window high up on the wall over the bed, letting in a soft beam of light that was warming the tops of his feet.
"Are you just going to stand there, or are you gonna help me find a way out of here?" the woman shouted at him. Before he could answer, a monitor in the corner that Killian had failed to notice came to life with crackles of static blasting through its speakers and ones installed in the ceiling. A still, silhouetted image, the outline of which seemed vaguely familiar in a cartoonish sort of way, filled the screen as a voice greeted them.
"Ah, you're both finally awake!" the voice remarked in a jovial, almost playful male tone. "I'm so glad. I've been looking forward to meeting you both properly." Though his tone remained light, Killian could detect a note of something that made the hairs along the back of his neck stand on edge. "My name is Pan, and I'd like for us all to play a little game."
"Sorry," the lass clipped out with a fair amount of sass, "I'm not really in a fun and games kind of mood."
"Oh, that's too bad," the voice, Pan, pouted. "Because playing the game is the only way to earn rewards - like food, entertainment… clothes. Wouldn't you both like to have something to wear? I'm only too happy to provide you with garments so long as you play along."
"Play along? Play along how, exactly?" she asked warily.
"I'm so glad you asked," Pan crowed. "We're going to play a lovely game called… Pan Says!" Dread continued to flood Killian as Pan dictated his first command, which also scrolled across the screen in a scripted font. "Pan Says, in order to earn some clothes, introduce yourselves and shake hands."
The woman turned to him and opened her mouth, but Killian cut off her words with a curt, "No." Her brows shot up, whether out of astonishment that he'd finally spoken up or the emphatic tone he used, he couldn't say. "We shouldn't give in to any of his demands," he asserted. "Exchanging names might seem a small matter, but what happens when his requests become more personal?"
"I agree," she replied, surprising Killian before turning her attention back to the screen. "We aren't going to play your sick little game, so let us out!"
"And deprive you of the opportunity of getting to know Captain Killian Jones?" the voice taunted, sending more nettles of dread down Killian's spine. "Son of Alice Jones, deceased, and Brennan Jones, whereabouts unknown, and younger brother of Captain Liam Jones of Her Majesty's Royal Navy." Pan paused and chortled, "Or is it little brother? I never can remember which one you prefer."
Killian clenched his fists and swallowed past the anxiety building in the back of his throat. How could he have known about that?
"Recently found not guilty in the implication of his Admiral's wife's death at his recent court martial, Captain Jones received a dishonorable discharge for failure to follow a direct order from a superior officer. Tell us, Captain. Did that order come from the Admiral whose wife you were fucking?"
"Those are confidential records," Killian seethed, as prickles of humiliation erupted along the back of his neck. "How in the bloody hell did you-"
"And then we have Miss Emma Swan," Pan continued, completely unfazed by Killian's ire. "Left abandoned by the side of the road at birth, she spent years bouncing from one foster home to another after her original adoptive family put her back into the system." The sound of him clucking his tongue clicked over the speakers. "Such a pity."
The woman, Emma, crossed her arms over her sheet covered chest and spat, "You can shove your pity right up your a-"
"Ran away from her last group home at age fifteen," he prattled on. "But was arrested at seventeen, caught attempting to fence stolen watches, earning her an eleven month jail sentence, during which time she… oh, dear me," he drawled out dramatically, "gave birth and subsequently put her child up for adoption."
Killian avoided looking at her, knowing all too well how exposed and raw she must be feeling after having the details of such painful and personal events revealed in front of a perfect stranger.
"Those records are sealed," she said, her voice catching slightly. "I don't know how the hell you got a hold of them, but you have no right to-"
"I wouldn't have had to, if the two of you had simply followed the rules," Pan stated. "So, let this be a lesson to you. Either do as I say and earn your rewards, or refuse and be punished. The choice is yours."
Feedback screamed through the speaker system, causing both of them to wince before silence descended once more. With a huff, Emma sat down on the edge of the bed, drawing the sheet tightly around her as she stewed over her next move. Wishing to give her space, Killian leaned against the far wall, keeping the pillow securely pressed against his groin while his backside was hidden from view as he tried to recall the last thing he could remember before waking up in this cell.
"So, what do we do?" Emma asked in a clipped tone, clearly frustrated that she had to reach out to him for help.
Releasing a heavy breath, Killian replied, "What's the last thing you remember?"
"What difference does that-"
"I'm trying to establish a timeline of events," he told her. "The last thing I remember is being at a local bar, The Rabbit Hole, Friday night, having a drink." Fragments of the evening were like drops of water slipping through his fingers, but he pressed harder in search of that final moment that might explain how he had ended up here. "I paid my tab, intending to call for a cab after visiting the head."
He could visualize the corner he'd turned, making his way down the dimly lit hallway towards the bathrooms. The squeak of a door opening behind him, the sensation of a presence, a blinding pain at the back of his…
Reaching up, Killian felt along the back of his neck until his fingertips brushed two tender welts at the base of his skull. He jerked away from the wall and towards Emma, who reared back when he sat next to her and tried to lift her hair.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she shouted, pushing against his chest.
"Look, here," he replied, turning so she could see the back of his neck. "I think I was tasered. I was trying to see if you had matching wounds."
Hesitantly, she reached up and her hand disappeared behind the curtain of hair falling down her back. When her eyes widened and shot up to his, he knew she'd found evidence that the same fate had befallen her as well.
"I was working a honey trap," she said in a sort of faraway voice. "I'm a bail bondsperson and it's a tactic I use to draw certain types of skips out into the open. I'd just left the precinct after dropping the guy off and collecting my money. I… I'm pretty sure I got into my car, and then…"
Her brows pinched together as her eyes clamped shut in concentration even as she shook her head in defeat.
"He may have been lying in wait by your car, or was perhaps even hiding in your backseat," Killian suggested. "Either way, I think it's obvious, given the information he has on us, that neither of us were a crime of opportunity. He planned to take us, specifically."
"Why?" Emma snapped, her green eyes flashing with anger.
"I've no clue," Killian responded. "All I know is it would have taken a hell of a lot more than a quick internet search to get my military file, and nothing less than a court order could have unsealed your juvenile record. Unless he hacked his way in, which still would have taken more time than I suspect has passed since he kidnapped us."
"You're right," Emma agreed with a relenting nod. "But what good does it do us, knowing he took us on purpose?"
"Perhaps, if we can figure out what the two of us have in common, we can figure out who he is. Use that information as leverage to get us out of here, or buy us time as we wait for a rescue."
Chewing her lips, Emma considered his words for a moment until something prompted her to ask, "When will you be missed?"
"What?"
"You were alone at the bar, right?" He nodded that he was. "And I was alone when he took me, which means-"
"No one knows we're missing," he finished. A cold, heavy lump fell into his stomach and he rubbed his hand over his face as he tried to think how long it would be before someone realized things were amiss. Unfortunately, he'd been ducking his brother's and mates' calls, refusing to speak to or see any of them as he wallowed in the shame of his circumstances and various bottles of liquor.
"I usually have Saturday night dinner with friends," she said on a note of elation. "Never would have thought I'd be glad about Mary Margaret's insistence on family time," she muttered before assuring, "When I don't show up, my brother will raise hell with every law enforcement agency he can get a hold of."
"Brother?" Killian questioned. "I thought you were an..." He let his words trail off when her discomfort over the subject became palpable.
Swallowing uncomfortably, she explained, "David's like a brother to me. He and his wife, Mary Margaret, are the closest thing I have to family. They won't stop searching for me. They'll find us."
"Aye," Killian replied. "My brother won't relent either, though it may take longer for him to realize I'm missing." Though he could see the curiosity over his statement twitch in her brows, she thankfully did not ask him to expand on why that was. "So, it seems we may only have another twelve or so hours before the search is underway."
"We just have to hold out until they find us." Looking down at their current condition, both trying to cover themselves as best they could in some semblance of modesty, she quipped, "What's a little nakedness between perfect strangers trapped together by some perverted psychopath, right?"
Killian chuckled and pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. "Too right, lass. I think I can manage a bit of indignity if it means not giving that sick fuck what he wants."
"Then we're agreed," she said, holding out her hand towards him. "We wait it out together."
"Aye, love," he said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle shake. "Together."
Both of them pulled their hands away and stood, spinning towards the sound of something sliding along the metal wall. A panel had opened, revealing a rack of generic looking clothes. Bewildered, Killian and Emma looked at one another, then slowly turned their eyes towards the tv monitor which still displayed Pan's command.
Pan says, in order to earn some clothes, introduce yourself and shake hands.
"Fuck."
"Bloody hell."
~/~
"Would it have killed him to give me my bra?" Emma groused, pulling the basic t-shirt over her head, her back facing the handsome stranger who was currently slipping sweatpants over his hips.
"I imagine undergarments are a luxury we'll have to earn," Killian grit out between clenched teeth.
"Well, jokes on him," Emma quipped, applying a measure of sass to her words, like an armour to disguise the anxiety churning away in her gut. "This won't be the first time I've gone commando."
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Killian's brow creep up his forehead as the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. Once they were both dressed, his expression reset to the hard, determined one he'd worn earlier when they'd talked through their plan.
"So… now what?"
"I don't know," Killian sighed, running his hand through his hair. "There isn't much we can do at the moment. Other than make ourselves comfortable and wait."
Emma nodded, then gathered up the sheet she had balled up and tossed back onto the bed, flattening it back out over the top of the mattress now that it was no longer needed to cover herself. Killian followed suit, replacing his pillow to the head of the bed and tucking the sheet into the corners on his side.
His side?
Emma shook off that thought. She wasn't going to get that comfortable with their prison cell, assigning them sides of the bed she only just now realized they'd have to keep sharing.
"See? That wasn't so hard," Pan's voice oiled from the speakers, his silhouetted image displayed once more on the tv monitor. "I imagine you both must be hungry," he carried on. "It's already well past noon and neither of you have had anything of substance since… what? Yesterday morning?"
Emma balked, her head snapping towards Killian where she could see a similar unnerved expression upon his face. Had he been watching them before kidnapping them?
"Pan Says, in order to earn yourself a meal, tell each other more about your beginnings."
Before either of them could mutter for him to go to hell, Pan was gone, but his command remained upon the screen. Pushing aside the gnawing feeling now overtaking her stomach, Emma climbed onto the bed and sat against the headboard. Great. She hadn't even noticed how hungry she was until their demented host had made mention of it, but she wasn't about to cave. She'd gone hungry before, and if what he said about the time was true, they didn't have much longer before Davd and Mary Margaret discovered she was missing.
Still. It was hard to just sit there and not talk.
Hours later, Emma was curled up in a ball, fighting off hunger pangs while silently fuming at the sound of Killian's stomach growling. "Ugh!" she exasperated. "This is stupid!"
"What?"
"This! Us! Your damn stomach! My damn stomach! Just…" Flopping onto her damn stomach, Emma screamed into her pillow.
"Swan," Killian murmured in a soothing tone. "I know we both agreed not to give him what he wants, but even once it becomes known we're missing it'll take time for them to put together a proper investigation."
"Are you saying we should let him win?"
"I'm saying, we should keep up our strength. We have to keep our wits about us and that'll be difficult to do if all we can think about is our stomachs." Swiping a hand down his face, he ran his palm over the stubble littering his jaw and let out a deep sigh. "I'll take your lead on this, love, but just know I'm okay with making this concession if you are."
Emma sat up and considered his words. Loath as she was to give their insane host any amount of satisfaction, she couldn't deny Killian's reasoning. They didn't know how long it would take for them to be rescued, or what they might have to endure in the waiting. Staying strong and coherent would surely benefit them more than any juicy tidbit, or measure of discomfort the commands might manage to extract from them, would satiate Pan's cruel curiosity.
Reaching behind her, Emma grabbed her pillow and brought it around front, squeezing it in her arms and using it as a shield as she cleared her throat. "What Pan said was true," she began, noting the way Killian stiffened while remaining still and attentive, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above from where he lay next to her. "I was abandoned on the side of the road only hours after I was born. No note, no explanation. Just a baby blanket with the name Emma embroidered on it."
She took in a shaky breath, hating the way her insides churned and chafed, the story still affecting her all these years later, leaving her feeling as cold and vulnerable as she imagined she had as an infant during those first few hours of life when she'd been left alone on an October night in Maine.
"I was placed with a family almost immediately and adopted, but…" The words stuck to tongue and burned in the back of her throat, but she'd be damned if she let Pan get the better of her. "When they found out they were pregnant, after years of believing they could never have a child of their own, they sent me back. I was three. After that, I spent years in and out of foster and group homes until I couldn't take it any more and ran off."
She could practically hear Killian swallow and glanced over to see his jaw ticking away, but he continued to lay there silently, giving her space to tell the tale without interruption so she could get through it as quickly as possible.
"I ended up on the streets for a couple of years until I… I ended up serving eleven months for a crime I did not commit and… well, you heard what Pan said." She didn't want to talk about that, never wanted to talk about it. Talking about it - him - made it too real, and the ache she currently felt in her belly was nothing compared to the longing she'd have to bear in her arms and deep within the center of herself at remembering the loss. Tightening her grip on the pillow, Emma blinked back the sting pricking her eyes and pressed on. "After my release, I met a woman named Cleo who taught me her trade. She was a bounty hunter and bail bonds person, and thought I had a natural talent for finding people. I met David and Mary Margaret during one of my first cases and we all sort of adopted one another."
"Are they orphans as well?" Killian asked quietly, his head turning so he could look up at her with those too blue eyes of his.
"Technically, yes," she answered, keeping her gaze fixed on the far wall. "David lost his father when he was just a boy, and Mary Margaret experienced the same with her mother. They didn't lose their remaining parents until after they were grown-up. Still too soon, but…"
"But they never had that look in their eyes," Killian murmured. "The look one gets when they've been left alone too long."
Nettles of unease prickled along her skin as she turned her head and met Killian's gaze; a gaze swirling with an all too familiar look.
"You… Are you an…"
"Orphan?" Killian exhaled, his Adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably before he confessed, "Aye."
The bed creaked, the springs rolling beneath them as he shifted onto his side and propped his head up in hand. "My mother passed on when I was very young, and my father fell to pieces soon after. One morning, my older brother and I awoke to find him gone."
"He left you?
"He did. Disappeared completely. To this day I have no idea whether he's alive or dead… nor do I really care."
Emma nodded, though she knew that wasn't true, no matter how much he might wish it to be. He had probably never stopped wondering about him. Wondering and hoping he might come back, just as she always had regarding her parents, no matter how angry and hurt she might have been over their abandonment.
"My brother, Liam, and I were separated," he went on to explain. "No family willing to take us both in, you see." Rolling over onto his back, he crossed his hands over his chest and resumed staring up at the ceiling. "We saw one another infrequently over the years, but once my brother aged out of the system, he petitioned to become my guardian." His tongue poked out, languidly moistening his lips while he collected his thoughts. "It took some years for us to rebuild our relationship, but eventually we became quite close again." His chest rose then stalled, his mouth half-formed to say something more, but he quickly closed it and shut his eyes, as though whatever it was he'd been about to say brought him great sadness and pain.
Emma didn't want to pry, but she also couldn't deny her desire to hear more from him, to keep him talking. Before she could ask anything further of him, or commiserate their similar circumstances alongside him, the grating sound of another panel opening screeched. Killian bolted upright then flicked his gaze to her when she looked back over at him, both of them wary as to what might be revealed behind the panel.
Sitting on a ledge was a tray laden with sandwiches, fruit, chips, and two cans of soda. The bed shifted once more when Killian stood, hesitantly making his way over to the nook and retrieving the tray. Once he'd deposited it on the bed, they stared at one another, an expression of understanding and camaraderie filtering between them before silently tucking in to the meal they'd earned.
~/~
Over the next two days, similar requests were made as a prerequisite of receiving a meal. They quickly learned that prompt compliance was a factor in the quantity and quality of the food they received. Though they weren't always keen to share some of the details of their time spent in foster care that Pan requested of them, they were less thrilled by the prospect of spoiled and rotten food delivered through the nook that had to be consumed before another meal would be offered.
The morning of their fourth day of incarceration, Killian awoke much like he had every other morning - with Emma wrapped in his arms. Neither of them had made mention of it, preferring instead to ignore the tight quarters and simmering attraction. It was becoming more difficult to do so, however, with nothing much else to help distract them during the long hours between sleep.
"I thought you might wish to have something to occupy yourselves with," Pan's voice crackled through the speakers. "And perhaps a new topic of conversation, as well."
Dread started to spread throughout Killian's stomach, his defenses rising at the prospect of what they'd be forced to reveal to one another this time.
"If you'd like to earn yourselves some reading material, then Pan Says to tell one another about your first love."
Killian's chest constricted, his heart twisting in a vice of guilt and regret as his eyes fell to the tattoo inked into the skin of his forearm. Flicking his gaze towards Emma, he noted how her attention was also focused on his tattoo, her eyes slowly rising to meet his with hesitation.
Wetting her lips, she straightened her posture then declared, "I've never really been much of a reader."
Killian offered her a grateful twitch of his lips and curt nod before she climbed off the bed, positioning herself on the limited space the floor offered so she could stretch and go through the series of strength exercises they'd both started doing in order to pass the time and stay fit.
No sooner had she gotten into her first pose when a cacophony of alarms blared through the room. Covering their ears, both of their heads darted up, wincing against the noise blasting through the speakers. Out of the corner of Killian's eye he saw the wording on the monitor change slightly.
To make the noise stop, Pan Says to tell each other about your first love.
Swan scrambled onto the bed and buried her head beneath her pillow, moulding it around the back of her head in an effort to muffle the commotion. Alarms bled into sirens then squealed into high-pitched ringing that felt as though it might burst their eardrums with increasing frequencies and volume. Killian had no idea how long they suffered through the assault, but when he caught a glimpse of the tears streaking down Swan's face, he knew neither of them could endure any more.
"Her name was Milah, and she was my Commanding Officer's wife!" Killian bellowed over the current dissonance, which blessedly stopped in response to his admission. An exhausted exhale whooshed from his lungs, his chest heaving with an overwhelming release of pressure as he ran a hand down his face, fortifying himself for the coming declarations.
"Killian," Swan said softly, laying her hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to-"
"Yes, I do," he asserted, reaching up and placing his hand over the top of hers, begging her to not pull the comfort of her touch from him in this moment. Swallowing hard, he focused his gaze on a cluster of rusted spots on the ceiling. They reminded him of constellations and had acted as an anchoring point to him numerous times since their incarceration.
"There have been a few women I've cared for in my past," he began in a quiet breath. "Some of them I even thought I loved at the time, but after meeting Milah…" He closed his eyes and fought against the tears pooling in his eyes. "I realized I'd never really loved anyone before her."
It was difficult getting the story out at first, but eventually the tale rolled off his tongue in a way he never thought possible. Of course, he'd never allowed himself to talk about it before. Not really. Their courtship had been a secret at first, given she was married and who she was married to. Once their indiscretion became public, he'd been warned not to make trouble, to deny his feelings, and follow orders like a good officer.
"She'd been trying to leave him for years," he told Swan, bolstered by her open, nonjudgmental countenance. "But the bastard always found a way to block the divorce."
The soft caress of her fingertips, catching on the collar of his shirt and teasing the exposed skin of his neck, help keep him calm and relaxed as he spoke of Milah's husband, Admiral Gold. The way he'd threatened the career of not just him, but his brother and the mates who served alongside him still made his blood boil every bit as much as the harsh treatment and neglect he'd inflicted upon the wife he did not deserve.
"Against orders, I continued seeing her," he told her with a hint of defiant bravado. "We'd steal quiet moments in tucked away locations on base or occasionally run off during weekends when her husband was away overseeing an exercise."
"What happened?" Swan asked, finally speaking after he'd fallen silent for long moments of sorrow.
"She died," he whispered in a pained breath. Of course, she already knew that. Pan had said as much on their first day when he'd divulged their identities to one another. "We were escaping for one of those weekends when I noticed a car tailing us." Squeezing his eyes shut, he could see the scene play out within his mind's eye. As though he'd been a casual observer that day and not a direct player in the cause of the tragedy that ensued.
"I was going too fast. I didn't want them to get close enough to snap a picture of us and I lost control of the car."
Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes and Swan slipped her hand out from beneath his to gently brush them away. He wasn't sure he had any energy left in order to keep going, and was therefore relieved when she took over the duty of fulfilling the edict.
"I met Neal Cassidy when I was sixteen. I was stealing a car he'd already stolen and we sort of fell in together, both of us kids on the street." She went quiet for a moment before muttering, "Although, I was technically the only kid between the two of us."
"How much older was he?"
"He was twenty-three."
Killian's eyes flew open and his head wrenched to the side. "Twenty-three!"
A soft, sad smile lifted the corner of her mouth as she nodded, a sigh falling from her lips as he took her hand and rolled onto his side, mirroring her while giving her hand a light squeeze of encouragement to continue.
"I thought it was all pretty romantic," she confessed. "Our whirlwind, Bonnie and Clyde life of petty crime. Us against the world."
Killian continued to hold her hand, and his tongue, as bricks began to fall from the walls she had constructed around herself, some easier than others. It wasn't difficult, based on Swan's account of her partner in crime, to understand how an impressionable young girl could be drawn to a man like Neal Cassidy. Older, charming, an equally tragic past of abandonment and pain, and by all accounts, a master manipulator who could spot a desperate soul and easy mark from a mile away.
"I'm usually really good at knowing when someone is lying to me. That's how I knew right off that you had nothing to do with us being trapped here when I confronted you about it that first day," Swan told him, her grip on his hand tightening as she told him how Neal had set her up for a crime he had committed before they'd even met. "I think that's what made his betrayal that much worse. I totally didn't see it coming." Her eyes lifted from where they'd been trained onto the bed and the anguish he saw her fighting back within their gaze made his heart ache. "It… or the baby."
Killian's jaw tightened at the reminder of the child she'd been forced to give up whilst serving her sentence, learning now she hadn't even known of its existence until after Cassidy had left her to rot in prison. He had a number of choice words he wanted to say about the man, but the pleasure of such an admonishment was taken from him with the sound of Pan's voice grating over the speakers.
"Seems you've both learned your lesson where love is concerned." His sneer was practically audible while his tone set Killian's teeth on edge. "Love is weakness that will bring you nothing but endless regret." A hum crackled over the speaker, as though he'd only just thought of something. "Which gives me an idea… Pan Says, in order to keep the noise off and earn those books, tell the other your biggest regret."
Killian chuckled humorlessly, a bitter edge tainting any mirth the sound might have carried as he sat up and muttered, "I'm currently living my biggest regret."
He cast a sideways glance towards Emma, his jaw clenching at the prospect of having to paint himself in an even worse light than he already had.
"Tell me," Emma insisted, sitting up next to him and dangling her legs over the edge of the bed, her hand resting lightly on his thigh. "Not him. Tell me."
Killian ran his hand down his face, a deep sigh heaving from his chest as he gathered his thoughts. "I could never regret loving Milah," he told her. "But I… I regret where that love has led me. Losing her, ruining my career, casting shame and suspicion upon my brother and mates. Pushing them all away this past year when all they wanted to do was help. I regret…" His words trailed away, caught behind a sob choking the back of his throat. He tore his eyes from hers and trained them at his feet. "I regret that the last words I may well have spoken to my brother were full of anger and bitterness. That I… that I may not get the chance to tell him how much his support meant to me and that I'm s-sorry for the things I said and the way I tr-treated him."
Emma reached up and coaxed his face towards hers, cupping his cheeks as she vehemently protested, "No, that won't be the last thing you say to him. We are going to get out of here, do you hear me? We are going to get out of here and you'll be able to tell him all of that."
"I hope so."
"You don't have to hope because I know so."
An amused huff preceded his lop-sided smile as he quipped, "Far be it from me to argue with you, Swan. I know how futile that is."
Returning his smile, her eyes danced between his, momentarily gladdened by the fact she'd been able to infuse some hope into him. It was short lived, however, the reality that it was now her turn to reciprocate caused her to drop her hands, but he instinctively caught one in his grasp before she could tuck them both between her knees.
"I suppose I ought to regret ever meeting Neal Cassidy, but…"
"But what?"
"I don't regret having my son," she said in quiet reflection, surprising him with her certainty. "I don't regret doing what I had to in order to give him his best chance."
Tears crested her lashes, the dam of her will in trying to hold them back failing and allowing them to slip down her cheeks as she took in a shuddering breath. "But I do regret that his best chance wasn't with me. I regret that he'll inevitably question why he wasn't good enough for me to keep, just like I did growing up. I regret that I… that I don't even know his name and I never will."
"You might one day, Swan," he murmured softly.
Emma shook her head, another round of tears falling from her lashes. "I agreed to a closed adoption," she informed him. "Which states I can never go looking for him."
It was his turn to cup her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the streaks of sorrow as he offered her own potential glimmer of hope to the otherwise bleak moment they were sharing. "He may well come looking for you one day though, love."
Her eyes fell shut, a reticent expression that might have bloomed into something verging on hopeful resting upon her features as another panel slid open, revealing a small bookcase. Exchanging raw and uncomfortable looks, Killian knew she had to be feeling the toil of the past few hours as he was. He knew the trauma fatigue weighed heavily on both their bones and neither faulted the other for simply selecting a book to hide behind as they settled once more upon the bed. Although Killian had to wonder if she was only pretending to read the words upon the pages she was forgetting to turn; her mind, like his, too preoccupied with the words they'd shared and the shift that seemed to have occurred between them as a result.
~/~
Emma jolted when Killian slammed his book shut, the heavy thud of it hitting the concrete floor echoing off the walls of their cell. The bed lurched beneath her from the force of his agitated motion, pushing himself off the bed by practically punching the mattress as he stood. She watched him pace the length of the room a number of times, knowing he'd need time before forming coherent thoughts that would explain his sudden mood.
The past few days hadn't been easy for either of them. Pan's requests had somehow become even more invasive and cruel as he forced them to relive and relate the most painful and shame-inducing parts of themselves to each other.
Pan Says tell the other about the worst thing you've ever done.
...your biggest fear.
...the angriest you've ever been.
...the last time you cried.
...the last time you made someone else cry.
...the thing you've always been too ashamed to admit to anyone.
Three days of opening up old wounds in a salt mine of emotional turmoil just so they could eat or have music to listen to or at the very least not have to endure the punishments - noise torture, extreme bouts of heat or cold from the vents pumping air into the room, having to share food that wouldn't be enough to constitute a meal for just one of them - that invariably followed if they weren't quick enough in their compliance. She knew they both hated how accommodating they'd become, but they also knew an investigation had to be underway by now and it was only a matter of time before they'd be rescued. Plus, though neither was willing to admit it, they'd created something of a bond with one another, recognizing a kindred spirit and establishing themselves as a team against their common sadistic foe.
Which was how Emma knew to give Killian time before she set her own book aside and prompted, "Talk to me."
"My mother loved to sing," he blurted out, a hard edge snapping each syllable that sounded odd against the context of his words.
"What?"
His hair, unruly and in desperate need of washing, stuck up at odd angles from the way he scrubbed his hands through it, a frustrated growl rumbling through his chest.
"My mother," he snapped again. "She sang all of the time. Washing dishes, sweeping the floors, tending the garden, even when she tucked us in at night."
"Killian," Emma sighed, climbing out of bed and making her way over to him. "You aren't making any sense."
"I'm tired of only sharing the worst of myself with you!" he shouted, a powder keg of pent up frustration and vulnerability sitting on his chest as he continued to pace and pull at the strands of his hair along the nape of his neck. "I'm sick of everything being on his terms, of only talking about things that were horrible about my upbringing. Not everything was bad, you know?"
"I know," she commiserated, reaching out and stalling his erratic steps. "I feel the same way."
He balked, as though it hadn't occurred to him that she would. "You do?"
"Of course, I do. You and I both know that despite foster care being miserable, there were some good memories to be had. And I'd love to tell you about David and Mary Margaret and how I found something even better than family with them."
"Aye, love," he exhaled, looking calmer and more himself as a devilish smirk twitched at his lips. "And I'd love to tell you more about Liam, or my mates, Rob and Will." A chuckle erupted from the back of his throat. "The stories I could tell you… you'd never believe them."
Emma tucked her lip between her teeth and stifled her own giggle, her imagination running away with exploits of a more carefree and untroubled Killian leading his friends into acts of mischief. She'd love nothing more than to ask him to keep going, to tell her all the funny stories and sweet memories he held, but she also knew it would only give Pan more ammunition to use against them. And so did he.
"I'm sorry, Swan," he lamented. "I'm just… so bloody tired of being cooped up in here." He swept his hand once more through his hair and cringed. "What I wouldn't give for a proper bath."
Emma felt the same way. A week had passed since they'd woken up to find themselves held captive in this tiny room with nothing more than a sink, bar of soap, and washcloth to help keep them clean. The tight confines, absence of fresh air, and severe lack of hygiene were slowly driving them both mad, and Emma was about to acknowledge as much when…
"Funny you should say that," Pan crowed, causing Killian's eyes to slip shut in mortification, clearly chastising himself for summoning the evil voice by expressing a wish for something.
"You've both been so wonderfully cooperative playing our game. I've decided to reward you!"
Emma steeled herself for the impending offer Pan was about to present, and the price he would demand in exchange.
"Pan Says, get undressed and I'll let you have a shower."
A war erupted within her, and glancing over at Killian, she could see the same struggle swirling in his eyes. The same struggle they both wrestled with every time Pan's image came up on screen and his voice commanded them anew. They had both agreed a couple of days ago that they wouldn't pressure the other to do or reveal anything they weren't willing to, and Emma had found it easier to open up to Killian, complying with Pan's rules, as he shared his own vulnerabilities and points of discomfort.
However, Pan wasn't asking them to reveal themselves emotionally to one another this time. This command would require a different sort of exposure, but when Emma thought back to how she'd woken up in Killian's strong arms without a stitch of clothing between them, she was reminded of her own words when they had both agreed to not play Pan's game.
What's a little nakedness between perfect strangers trapped together by some perverted psychopath, right?
Killian wasn't a stranger to her any longer. She knew him to be a gentleman, a man of honor, a man who had averted his eyes when they had hastily put on the clothes Pan had provided after that first test, and did all he could to make sure she felt safe and comfortable in his presence. She could trust him while being naked, and… if she were being entirely honest with herself, wouldn't actually have a problem with him appreciating her nudity if he did take a sneaky peek. Gods knew she would be struggling to not do the same.
His forget-me-not gaze was still trained on her, waiting for her to take the lead in whether or not they'd comply. When she gripped the hem of her shirt and began raising it up over her head, he turned his back to her to do the same. Once they'd both shed their clothes - hers in a pile on the floor, his carefully laid out on the bed - the cell door creaked open, the shriek of metal grating in Emma's ears, and new instructions were given.
"Pan Says, follow the blue line to the shower room and enjoy your reward."
Killian stepped forward, his arm stretched out, keeping her tucked behind him as he peeked out of the cell and surveyed what lay beyond. Turning his palm up, he silently requested she take it while his eyes remained focused on the hallway. Slipping her hand into his, she followed as he led them down the path the bold, blue line painted on the floor took them until they reached another heavy metal door. Once again, Emma grit her teeth as the scraping sound of metal grinding against itself rattled in her ears as the door slid open, revealing a cavernous, tiled room with a row of showerheads lining each wall.
To the left of the doorway was a small bench with two caddies sitting upon it; one for her and one for Killian. By the way he tensed up beside her, Emma knew his was filled with toiletry items he regularly used as well, reminding them both of how thoroughly Pan had researched and familiarized himself with them and their preferences before kidnapping and imprisoning them together.
"I'll go shower over here, love," Killian said, gathering his caddy and making his way to the opposite side of the room.
The squeak of turning knobs echoed against the hard surfaces of the chilled space, and she soon found herself hunting for a working showerhead just as Killian was. She was beginning to think this was a cruel trick, like some fruitless Underworld punishment where she and Killian would be surrounded by the potential of a shower without actually being able to take one, when the rush of water alerted her to the fact Killian had succeeded in finding an operational fixture.
The only one within the room, it seemed.
"None of these work," she called out over the roar of water he was already standing under, allowing the cascade to pour over his back as he braced his hands against the tiled wall. "I think that's the only one functioning."
"Then you should have it first," he answered back over his shoulder, about to turn and relinquish it to her.
"No," she countered, turning her back to him. "You're already wet. I don't mind waiting."
Clutching the caddy close to her, Emma tried to focus her attention on anything other than the sound of Killian showering, distracting her imagination from the visions it was attempting to conjure. Rivulets of water sluicing down his lean body, catching in the thickets of hair matted from the weight of the spray. His hair plastered to his forehead, his hands running the suds filled sponge over his tattooed limbs, the steam and heat of the shower turning his skin pink. Emma shook her head hard and muttered a curse under her breath. Yeah… those visions.
Blessedly, he was quick to get clean.
"Do you see any towels, Swan?"
Emma's brows pinched together and she scanned the room. "Uh… no. I don't."
Crackles popped from a speaker mounted in the corner of the room and Emma groaned at the expected voice coming through the system.
"I knew I had forgotten to add something to your caddies," Pan said in a tone that left no doubt the oversight had been intentional. If either of them even still doubted his words at this point.
Killian sighed behind her, the exasperated and short-tempered sound carrying over the patter of the shower. "And what, pray tell, must we do in order to earn a towel?"
"Pan Says…" he began, pausing for dramatic effect, "One of you must wash the other, and since Killian is already clean…"
All the breath rushed from Emma's lungs and her skin broke out in a current of ripples at the prospect of having Killian's hands on her. She'd only managed to draw it back into her lungs when Killian's gruff voice growled from behind her.
"How do you feel about drip drying, Swan?"
She hoped he couldn't hear her irrational disappointment when she replied, "Works for me."
Averting her eyes, Emma made her way to the still running shower after Killian came to stand beside her, but there was no way to avoid the sight of him standing bare assed and soaking wet in front of her when she entered the hot spray of the shower. Her previous visions came to life as she tracked several droplets dripping from the tips of his hair as they beaded together and ran in a thin line down the contours of his body. The muscles of his back flexed as he shifted the caddy in his hands, his buttocks tightening when a shiver rolled over him, raising his inked skin in a cascade of goosebumps that brought Emma back to her senses.
"I'll hurry," she called out to him, arching back into the spray so she could wet her hair.
"No, love. Take your time," he responded over his shoulder. "We've no idea when we'll get the luxury again, so take advantage while you can."
The splendor of the shower wasn't the only thing Emma was taking advantage of as she washed, scrubbed, and shaved away a week's worth of grime and growth. Her blatant appreciation of Killian's nudity might have left her feeling guilty if it weren't for the fact he'd most likely done the same when her back had been turned. She wouldn't fault him for looking his fill, and suspected it was his own guilt at having done so that had him encouraging her to take her time beneath the hot shower currently pouring over her.
Was he imagining her like this? Were images of her all wet and soapy flashing through his mind? Emma bit her bottom lip and her eyes fell back to his ass. If he were to turn around, would his cock be standing at attention, hard and aching from the stimuli of both the reality and fantasy playing out around him?
It wasn't as though she hadn't already caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye a time or twice. It would have been impossible to not notice how sizable he was, even when soft. Wetting her lips, Emma couldn't help but imagine how impressive it must look when fully erect. How hot and rigid it would feel in her grip, the challenge it would present trying to fit its entirety into her mouth or the way it would stretch her in that delicious way that burned away the ache throbbing between her thighs.
"Time's up," Pan's voice screeched over the speakers.
Emma jumped, her breathing shallow and labored, her heart pounding in her chest, and a light-headedness that had little to do with the heat of her shower making her legs feel shaky. Rinsing one last time to ensure there were no lingering suds, Emma turned the knob until the water shut off then took a deep breath before following Killian towards the door they'd entered through.
"Pan Says to leave the caddies, and make your way back to your room."
Reaching back, Killian once again silently requested her hand which she slipped into his grasp after depositing her caddy next to his. Following right behind him, they made their way back to their cell only to find Pan had made some changes while they were gone.
"Bloody hell," Killian cursed. "He's sealed the closet."
Emma peered around him to take in the room and noted all the compartments they'd previously earned access to had been shut. No clothes, no snacks, no books, no music. The room was as bare as it had been when they'd first arrived… and so were they.
"S-Son of a b-bitch," Emma stuttered from behind him, the chilled air against her wet skin causing her shiver.
"Here," Killian said, making his way over to the bed and snatching the pillow case off his pillow. "Use this to dry off with." He tossed the fabric at her then pulled the case off the other pillow so he could do the same. "Wouldn't do for either of us to catch a chill."
Emma picked up the pillow case from where it had landed at the foot of the bed and did her best to soak up as much as she could. She was attempting to wrap her hair up into it when Killian gathered the sheet and held it out towards her, his eyes cast to the side as the muscle at his jaw jumped and spasmed.
"Thanks," she said, taking the sheet from him and draping it around her as she'd done before, noting how he'd positioned his pillow in front of him, shielding himself as he had when they'd first found themselves naked together. Slumping down on the end of the bed, Emma wondered what fresh hell Pan had in store for them for disobeying his earlier command, knowing the retraction of their comforts was most likely only the tip of his malevolent iceberg.
~/~
Leaning against the headboard with his head tilted back and his eyes clamped shut in a vain attempt to gain control over his libido, Killian did his best to ignore the naked - save for a thin sheet wrapped around her body - woman perched at the foot of the bed. The woman whose form was emblazoned on the inside of his eyelids, fused there by the sheer amount of time he'd spent staring at her whilst he'd showered, his cock growing harder and harder under the hot spray as he imagined an even hotter and wetter experience he'd liked to share with her.
He wondered if, and how much, she'd noticed of his current state before he'd been able to cover himself with his pillow. Did it make her uncomfortable? If she was unaware of how a joint shower had affected him, surely his half-hard condition each morning with their bodies practically wrapped around each other hadn't gone unnoticed.
He doubted it had been missed by their host; a fact that filled Killian with impending dread. Especially given the turn his latest command had taken.
"What do you think Pan would make me do for a hair brush?" Emma questioned, her fingers catching in her long strands as she tried to thread her fingers through their dampness.
"Best not find out," Killian responded with a light chuckle. "Come here, love. Let me help."
Patting the mattress right in front of him, he invited, "Come and sit right here, that's a good girl."
After shooting him a disgruntled and slightly withering look, she rolled her eyes and let out a small huff of laughter before complying. She settled between his legs and turned her head, tossing a mass of wet curls over her shoulder so he could help detangle her hair.
"Let me know if I pull too hard," he said, running his fingers gingerly through each section, suddenly overcome with nostalgia.
He used to do this for Milah. When they were lounging together in the bath, her reclining against his chest. She had more curls than Emma, so they'd often stay in the tub until the water started to cool. Then Killian would trail kisses along her shoulders, smiling into her skin at the way his touch and the cooling water would pebble her flesh.
He wanted to kiss Emma's shoulders. Wanted to brush his lips down the slope of her neck and trace each invisible line connecting the freckled constellations littering her back with his tongue.
"Thanks," she murmured softly when they were finished. He wanted to wrap his arms around her so she'd stay right where she was, but knew he couldn't be that careless.
Smoothing her hair out over her pillow, Swan nestled onto her side, the sheet still draped over the curves of her body, and glanced up at him.
"Will you tell me more about your mother? About her singing?"
Gods she's gorgeous, Killian thought to himself, lost in the gold flecks of her jade gaze, knowing it was folly to discuss personal topics but completely incapable of denying her anything.
"As I said, she sang all the time," he began after clearing his throat and making sure the pillow was still concealing his erection, thankful the topic was at least one that might aid him in that particular area. "She was Irish and had this amazing accent that made her sound as though she'd stepped through time whenever she sang older folk songs or shanties." He paused, trying to remember the timbre of her voice, the way her accent lilted over certain words and how her eyes sparkled with mirth when she sang one of the saucier tunes. "I miss her," he breathed out on a tight exhale. "But I am thankful I have such a vivid memory of her voice and how it… how she held us all together."
His head shifted at the feel of her hand slipping into his and he offered her a sincere smile, lacing their fingers together and throwing caution to the wind.
"What about you, Swan?" he prompted. "I'd love to know more about your beginnings. Especially those that relate to David and Mary Margaret."
A grateful look passed over her features and she hummed lightly, recalling a moment to share with him. Unfortunately, she didn't get the chance to voice it. A sudden blast of icy cold air gusted in through the vents, hitting them both with its arctic chill.
"Fuck!" Emma cursed, pulling her hand back from his and curling herself into a tight ball.
Killian knew she hated being cold, it was probably the reason he found her pressed against him most nights. It had been something she'd shared with him during one of Pan's sadistic requests so they could eat that day; how she hated being cold. How she remembered always being cold whilst in foster care and when she'd been on the streets before meeting Neal. How prison had held no warmth of any kind, and how when she finally had a place of her own, she'd made sure a blanket was always within reach no matter which room she was in.
Tossing his pillow aside, Killian gathered Emma into his arms and pressed their chests together, keeping her snuggled close, tucked up under his chin, so he could share his warmth with her.
"Wh-What are you d-doing?"
"You're trembling, love," he murmured into her damp hair, hating how it would only exacerbate her shivering. "I'm just trying to keep you warm, that's all."
Wet strands caught in the stubble of his beard when she nodded her head, tucking herself further into his embrace as the temperature continued to drop around them.
"You know things have changed, right?" she murmured, her voice so muffled in the planes of his chest he almost didn't understand her.
"Aye," he sighed. A part of him was relieved she seemed to have caught onto that as well while the other part of him wished he could have protected her from the reality they were likely to face come morning.
"What are we going to do if his demands continue to be… physical in nature?"
Swallowing thickly, Killian said, "The same as we've been doing, I suppose."
"But what if he-"
"You have my consent, Emma," he blurted out. Not wanting her to get the wrong idea, he rushed to add, "That is… I won't ask you to do anything you aren't willing to do, but I want you to know that inasmuch as you are willing to comply, then know that so am I. I won't see you suffer any more than you already have, and if all that stands in your way in order to make this ordeal easier on yourself is my consent, then… you have it."
She'd gone slightly rigid in his arms and he suspected it had nothing to do with the cold afflicting her. Brushing his lips against the top of her head, he told her, "There's no need to discuss it now, Swan. Try and get some rest and we'll face it in the morning, yeah?"
Again, her head bobbed beneath his chin, signaling her agreement, and they both did their best to stay warm enough to fall asleep.
~/~
"Breaking news this morning, as the body pulled from the yellow Volkswagen found in the river overnight has been positively identified…"
Emma bolted upright in bed next to a bedraggled, yet slightly ready for battle, looking Killian. It took them both a beat to realize the monitor had been switched on and the local news was playing, the sound of her name being uttered by the reporter helping to shake the sleep from her exhausted brain.
"That's right, Sydney," the newscaster said from outside what appeared to be the county morgue. "The remains found in that yellow bug are, in fact, the registered owner of that car, Emma Swan, who, as you know, has been missing for more than a week."
"What?"
"What in the bloody hell?"
"As you can imagine, this comes as quite a shock. Her close friends and self-proclaimed family members, David and Mary Margaret Nolan, have worked tirelessly in organizing search parties and keeping us apprised of progress the police were making in the case of her disappearance, and while I know they must be saddened by this… hang on… yes, sorry, Sydney. I'm getting word that the Nolans have some remarks they'd like to share with us, so we'll be heading over to set up so we can bring you their words live in just a few moments."
"I… I don't understand." How could they have found her body when she's been here, is still here, all this time? How could they think she was dead?
"No doubt David will be assuring everyone there's been a mistake and that the search must continue," Killian commented, pulling the sheet up to drape over her shoulders.
With the abrupt wake up and ensuing confusion over this bizarre broadcast, Emma had completely forgotten their nakedness. Wrapping the sheet tightly around her body she braced herself for David's words.
Words no amount of bracing could have prepared her for.
Tears pooled in her eyes while a sob choked the back of her throat as she watched David and Mary Margaret confirm the Medical Examiner's report. Shaking her head in denial, Emma was scarcely aware of Killian's arms enveloping her as David thanked the police and volunteers for their efforts, Mary Margaret softly weeping into her handkerchief behind him. She thought her heart might turn to ash from the way it felt compressed within her ribcage, her stomach rolling with bile as she thought of the agony David and Mary Margaret had to be experiencing, thinking her dead.
"It's alright, Swan," Killian soothed, pulling her into his chest and holding her as she wept.
"No," she wailed. "Don't you see? They think I'm dead! They've stopped looking! No one is coming for-"
"Liam is," he asserted. "Liam is still looking. Of that I'm certain."
"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that," Pan cooed, snapping their attentions back to the screen. "Not after the email you sent."
"Email? What email?"
"Killian, it's me," a voice boomed over the speakers. Killian opened his mouth to reply, but when the voice continued, they realized it was a recording. "I wish you would have called, but I won't complain. It was a relief to hear from you, even if it was through email." A sigh crackled through the speakers and Killian's Adam's apple jumped in his throat from the force of his swallow. "I understand if you still need time, and I won't begrudge you this trip, little brother."
"Trip?" Killian questioned. "What trip?"
"I don't relish being cut off from you for another few months, but I see it as a good sign that you're willing to get out of that flat and try living again."
"A few months?"
"I hope you're wrong about the service and that you'll be able to call periodically, but I'll settle for a postcard to know things are going well with you. I love you, Killian. Please know that. I know we both said some things the last time we spoke that we didn't mean, but I want you to know I forgive you and love you, and I can't wait for you to get back so you can tell me the same."
"Liam. No. Wait."
"Take care, little brother."
With a click the line went dead. Killian crumpled beside Emma, his own tears and gut-wrenching sobs wracking his body as they sat there defeated.
No. She would not let this insane, evil little imp have the last laugh. They hadn't been defeated. Not yet, anyway.
Marching her way over to the door, Emma pounded on its hard, metal service and demanded, "Let us out! Let us out right now! We've done what you've asked, played your sick twisted game, but now you've gone too far! I demand you let us out!"
"If you want out of here," Pan replied through the speakers, his voice sounding impassive and bored, "then you have to finish the round without penalty."
Making her way back over towards the bed, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the monitor. "Let's finish it then."
"Very well," Pan drawled, and Emma felt Killian's presence step up beside her. "Pan Says... tell each other how you feel about one another."
Spinning towards Killian, her mouth was half-formed in a response when he beat her to it.
"I quite fancy you from time to time, when you're not yelling at me," he said softly, a hint of a smile ghosting over his lips as he took her hand in his. "If we had met under different circumstances, I would have asked for your number and courted you properly."
Stepping closer, she felt the plush resistance of the pillow he was once again using to cover himself with and she couldn't help the smile that bloomed across her face at the absurdity this moment held as he poured out his heartfelt words.
"Once we're out of here and this… psycho has been sent away for his crimes," he continued in a low murmur, "I'd quite like to take you to dinner." Tilting his head, his brows arched in serious consideration as he quipped, "Perhaps we could even find a good therapist together."
An amused breath whooshed from her lungs as a chuckle rumbled briefly in his chest, but all humor left her when his eyes turned earnest and released her hand so he could cup her cheek.
"I think you're beautiful and brilliant and I… I never thought I'd find someone I could feel so strongly for after losing my first love, my Milah. To find someone that I could…" His tongue darted out, wetting his lips and staying the words they both knew it was too soon to utter. "...until I met you."
"Killian, I…" Her response stuck in her throat, all the things she wanted to say to him in that moment held firm to her tongue until she managed to clumsily say, "I would love to have dinner with you."
"Good," Pan praised them. "Now kiss."
Letting the sheet fall to the floor, Emma grasped Killian's shoulders and pulled him to her, fusing their lips together as he wound his arms around her waist. It was frantic and sloppy, with clacking teeth and eager tongues, but it also might have been the best kiss Emma had ever experienced, and one she wished could have lasted much longer. Given the way Killian's lips chased hers when she finally pulled away, he seemed to agree.
"That was…"
"Something we'll talk about later. In therapy," Emma murmured against his lips before turning to the tv screen and demanded, "Now let us out of here."
"I'm afraid not," Pan replied with a false tone of lament. "Failure to pass Round One means you're moving on to Round Two, where things can really heat up."
"You said if we told one another how we felt and then kissed, you'd let us go," Killian accused through clenched teeth.
Even before Pan said the words the dreadful truth fell into the pit of Emma's stomach. Oh, God...
"Yeah… about that kiss," Pan taunted. "I didn't say Pan Says."
End Part One