Once Upon a Time 1. 3 Words, 1 Kiss, & a Dash of Cinnamon

(Three Words, One Kiss, and a Dash of Cinnamon)

Just a little fic about how Emma's love for hot chocolate with cinnamon has evolved over the years.

* * *

><p>It's 4 AM In 2001 when she tries hot chocolate with cinnamon for the first time.<p>

It began as an accidental love affair. Neal was always one to chide her for her sweet tooth. He didn't understand her affection for the tiny chocolates and candied delicacies that she stole instead of vying for something more filling. He would always yell at her when she complained of hunger. She was always yearning for more sweets to simmer the beast inside her stomach that demanded more sugar (and she was more than happy to oblige).

She had grown up deprived of M&Ms and Hershey bars, peanut butter cups, and three musketeers (all of which she now loves.) She was deprived of Halloweens, a day that was _made_ for her, because her foster parents and various orphanages were too overpopulated to even _think_ about guiding a bunch of rowdy kids around. She was forced to watch the happy children roam the busy streets in search of the best treats from her window.

With her new independence, it had become such a luxury for her to be able to consume such tasty things. She couldn't resist the hunger she possessed for anything containing more than the reasonable amount of calories.

It was normal for her to order hot chocolate the rare times her and Neal actually went out to eat. Neal would idly watch her as he munched happily on a burger, smothering his fries in ketchup. Emma was quite content with her choice and would never not feel satisfied by it's consuming warmth and filling nature.

"Must you drink so slowly?" He whines, as he finishes off the last of his fries.

"Yes." She replies, smiling over the rim, basking in the aroma of the sweet whipped cream.

"Have you ever had that with cinnamon?" He asks, as he picks at something that is stuck in his tooth.

"No?" She crinkles her brow, her nose twitches as the idea of a foreign spice tainting her precious drink.

"Tastes good."

"Sweet?" She asks, peering at the array of spices that are lined at the end of the table.

"I wouldn't suggest anything not sweet to you, babe." He says with a laugh.

She smiles slyly at him, as she lifts the cinnamon shaker. She eyes it warily, before shaking a tad into her cup. She stares for a moment, watching the cinnamon be absorbed by the heat of the steaming drink. She brings the cup to her mouth, enjoying the tickling scent that the cinnamon adds. She sips slowly, closing her eyes as she revels in the sweet mixture of ingredients that have all come together to give her this amazing drink.

"Oh my god." She whispers, still feeling the tang of it dance on her tongue. She looks up at Neal, his brown eyes jump across her features, a smug grin planted on his face.

"Told ya." He says, as he leans towards her. She too leans forward meeting him halfway, catching his lips in a quick kiss.

(His breathe is stale, lingering with the bitterness of coffee and cigarettes.)

(She takes another sip to drown _him_ out.)

Kissing Neal was never _pleasant. _She never felt sparks tingle on her lips, or her heart leap in her chest. She never felt weak in the knees at the sight of him_. _She hated the way he tasted, and she thinks that is perhaps why she could not fathom the thought of ever drinking coffee, for she feared the sweetness that resided on her tongue would turn as bitter as he tasted.

There was a coldness that seemed to emanate from him and it was starting to become contagious. She began to feel a hollowness creep into her chest that not even chocolate could fill. The long nights curled up in the back of the bug during the East Coast winters gave her no hope that she would ever feel warmth again.

For even when her body was flush against his, she felt nothing but ice. Her love for hot chocolate and cinnamon faded with her love for Neal, and the warmness that once satisfied her soul left her feeling empty and bland.

_(She never loved him, she is sure of that now._)

***  
>It's 8 AM in 2011 when she falls in love with sweets again.<p>

He's there, a rugged mess of facial hair and bed head, holding a box of pastries above her. He's smiling at her, tempting her with the sweets as he gracefully plants a hand on his hip.

"Bear claw?" He asks, with a knowing smirk. She hums, staring at the monstrous thing with eager eyes. She picks it up and quickly brings it to her mouth, before she could have a chance to doubt consuming it. The familiar texture of sugar coating her teeth sends a shiver down her spine.

Her eyes flutter closed as she slowly chews the delicacy, feeling her toes curl and a moan forming at the back of her throat. She forgot how _amazing_ these damned things are, she forgot how _good_ and _whole_ sweets make her feel. And she watches him, his blue eyes are more enticing than the sugar that is sticking to her fingers. And for a moment, she feels like she has a chance to rekindle the flame of a past love affair.

It was a hell of a night, and getting decked by Regina didn't help the ache that had settled into her pounding head. She watches him tentatively dab at the wound on her forehead, feels his breath warm her cheeks and the lingering scent of honey captures her nose. She closes her eyes, enjoying the warmth that is billowing from him. She wants to taste for herself the sweetness of his mouth, wants to be wrapped in the warmth of his embrace…

When she kisses kisses him, he tastes just as she imagined. An enticing mixture of honey and gin. She basks in the tingle that erupts across her lips, and she feels her heart leap into her throat and her knees grow weak as his fingers tangle their way into her ponytail. She feels him slip, watches as he collapses. Her heart drops violently, her knees stiffen, her lips feel sour and stinging. She watches him die, she watches the man she thought she could love leave her.

_(She never had the chance to fall in love Graham.)_

(The phrase sweet as honey hasn't sat well with her since.)

***  
>It's 6:17 AM in 2014 when she falls in love with Killian Jones.<p>

She is sure she can hold onto sleep for a little longer, despite the blaring of her alarm clock alerting her that she should not. She urges her mind to return the relaxed slumber that had encompassed her all evening, begging her body for just _five more minutes _of bliss before she had to deal with the chaos that was her life.

She grunts at the insistent beeping, willing it to stop with her mind. She feels something heavy lean over her, pushing her further into the mattress. The extra weight is uncomfortable, she fidgets to release herself from the lump that has attached itself to her side.

"Emma." She hears him whisper tangled with a laugh.

"Two more," she murmurs in reply, burying herself further into her pillows.

"Emma." He says again, as his hand finds her waist amidst the blankets that she has buried herself in. She feels his cold fingertips gently squeeze her, and she gasps. Her eyes fly open at the sudden fleeting feeling that erupts in her stomach. Must he _always_ tickle her to get her out of bed?

"Don't you dare Killian Jones." She says firmly, rising from the sanctuary of her blankets into the cold of the morning air, distancing herself from his skilled fingers. He smiles at her, wide and toothy and she feels the pirate in him take form as he bites his lip. He moves swiftly, grabbing her before she can comprehend an escape route.

He has her pinned to the bed, his hands dance wildly across her bare torso_. _He playfully nibbles at her ear as his hands work down to her thighs, and _god she should have known to wear pants to bed._ Her hands flail in a miserable attempt to rid him from her, she is gasping for air, her legs are uselessly anchored beneath his.

"Killian!" She gasps, as she cranes her neck back, her fingers digging into his toned back. He stops abruptly, and she feels her whole body prickling in the wake of his tickle attack.

_(Sometimes she is more than sure that her 300 year old Killian Jones is nothing more than a little boy trapped in a very good looking older man's body.)_ Her chest is pounding when her body finally settles, a few lingering tingles travel up her arms from where he is still gripping her. He lowers himself, his blue eyes navigating over the details of her face.

He presses his lips to hers, and she feels the heat radiate from his chest as their breath melds together. She freezes when she recognizes the flavor lingering on his tongue. She pulls back from the kiss, his gaze looks to her's for the fault in his actions.

"Cinnamon?" She asks delicately.

"Well love, it seems your adoration for that spice has rubbed off on me."

She moves towards him again, hovering her mouth over his.  
><em><br>"I love you." _She whispers, sealing the declaration with a kiss.

She pulls back again, and watches his breath catch in his throat. Watches as his eyes search hers for any regret in the revelation that had just spilled from her lips. She sees him catch up to what has happened, and watches his face return to the sickeningly sweet, flirty innuendo bearing pirate that she very much loves.

"If I knew that winning your heart simply required a fondness for that strange spice I would have had you _years_ ago."

"It's not only that." She says with a slight slap to his chest, as she attempts to hide her blush. "It's…everything." She finishes lamely.

"I'm sure my dashing good looks are apart of the 'everything' that you speak of?" He says, as he buries his face into her neck.

"Yes, you idiot." She says with a laugh as she rubs his back affectionately. He heaves and she can feel the smile on his lips against her skin.

"You wound me with such words, Swan. I'm no idiot." He replies with a pout. She rolls her eyes and shoves him off her.

"I have to go to work." Time has fled from her, (it always moved so swiftly when she was around Killian), and she has to rush to get ready.

She slips out of their _(yes, their) _bedroom when she hears him yell,

_"Love you too!"_

(She knew all along that he did.)

(Her love affair with sweets was once again revitalized.)

* * *

><p>Send me prompts on tumblr if you want me to write something for ya! Links in the bio xoxox<p> 


	2. Post 4x04

_So I'm a little late but I wanted to write a little ficlet about how I imagined 4x04 ending if this show was on HBO / throw in some angst. Not really smut, but definitely M rated. Ehhh, this may suck. apologies. xo_

* * *

><p>There are times when Killian Jones can only assume what is going through Emma Swan's head. Other times he knows exactly what is tampering with her spirit, and engulfing her mind. It is now, as she is standing in his doorway, ( lips pursued and hair a mess, wearing nothing more than an over-sized sweater and knickers) that he is wondering<em> what the hell is she thinking?<em>

Their date ended promptly three hours ago. A heated kiss, a breathless goodbye, and a gentle snap of a closing door sealed the night's end, or so he thought. It's now well past a sane hour to be roaming Storybrooke in such attire, and it is well past the hour in which most normal people are awake.

( But he knows Emma Swan is far from _normal_, and all the abnormal chaos that seems to surround her and this bloody town should lead him believe that normalcy is not the norm here.)

"Swan?" He asks, as he musses his hair. It's not that he hadn't hoped she would wind up at his door, it's just that he has a certain deal to uphold in mere hours.

"Hey," she replies cheekily, as she slips past him quietly. He closes the door and peers at her with curiosity as she makes herself at home. "I was thinking we could pick up where we left off." She hums, and she is all long legs and blonde hair and _gods he has never seen a woman look so ravishing in all his three hundred years of living_.

"Is that so?" She doesn't answer. Instead she decides to slip off her sweater, leaving her in nothing but a black corset to cover her bosom and those bloody knickers that had him sweating from the moment his door first creaked open to reveal such a sight. . _  
><em>  
>"Oh." He stutters out, as he attempts to avoid looking at her, at <em>all<em> of her. He feels his left hand burn and he is suddenly reminded of why he had not insinuated this. "Emma I-" She cuts him off by standing abruptly. She moves quickly to his hesitant form and presses her lips relentlessly onto his.

He has no choice to oblige, he follows her lead and opens his mouth against her lips, gasping at her ferocity and he _needs _this. Their tongues battle for dominance of the others, he feels her hands slip under his shirt, her cold fingers working their magic along his torso, igniting a fire in their wake."Emma." He asserts again, breathless and wanting this, but knowing that he can't. But she is stubborn, and he can see her eyes have glazed over with the same lust he saw in Neverland. (What she wants, she gets.) He ignores the thoughts in the back of his head screaming at him to stop her, but he can't help but bring his hands to cup her breasts. This could be the only time in his life when he can feel her, _really_ feel her. She moans, her eyes fluttering shut as he gently squeezes her, teasing her nipples with gently flicks. She guides him back to the bed, and he pushes her down.

He watches her come undone as his hands move down to her thighs. He kisses her stomach and lightly brushes his fingers over her entrance. He watches her back arch and her breath hitch, (he has never seen something so beautiful in his life).

Like a tempered sea, Emma Swan is a woman who needs a skilled sailor to navigate her waters. He easily finds what pleases her most _(the tickle of his stubble on her inner thigh, his teeth biting at her neck leaving small marks that scream 'she's mine', the bite in his tone that makes her gasp as he whispers demands of what he is going to do to her…Yes Emma Swan is a woman who likes to be dominated, and he is a man who loves being in control.)_

Their mouths find each other again. She is mewling below him, eager, willing, and ready. He is distracted, though, and he never wanted his first time with Emma to be like _this_. She deserves his full attention, she deserves to have every inch of her body satisfied.

_He can't help but watch his left hand grip her shoulder a little too tightly, or the way it ripped her corset a little too violently, or the way it grabbed at her throat as he made his way inside of her._

(She didn't seem to notice.)  
>(He hated the looming thoughts of how he <em>used<em> to devour woman after woman.)  
>(Emma didn't deserve to be devoured, she deserved to be savored.)<br>(But he wanted her.)  
>(So he takes her. Inch by inch he consumes her.<br>(He is overwhelmed with regret, but is overpowered by the passion that can only be Captain Hook making his way back to the surface….)

He wakes before she does. He watches her for a stolen moment; her golden hair is a knotted mess, her neck is covered in an array of love bites, her chest is rising slowly, and her face looks serene accompanied by the morning light that is shining through the curtains. He feels guilty, _terribly_ guilty for what he has done.

He slips from the bed as quietly as he can, but even in her slumber she is aware of his absence. She groans softly, eyebrows knitting together at the sudden lack of warmth. He hushes her, gently bringing his hand to smooth away the wrinkle in her brow. She signs in contentment, and returns to her slumber. He dresses slowly, back aching, stomach fluttering, hand still burning. He scribbles a note, warning her of why he has departed.

And he leaves.

_(He still isn't quite sure who made love to Emma that night, Hook or Killian, and that is what scares him the most.)_

He finishes his business with Gold, and he hadn't imagined he could feel worse than he already did _but he does_. His chest feels hallow, and his hook feels heavier than it ever has. He can hear that damned crocodile in his head clearer than Emma's enticing moans:

_"I helped you remember the darkness that lies underneath." _

How could he have been so bloody stupid? The hand _had_ to have been be cursed, didn't it? How else could he explain punching that git outside the library, or feeling the waves of _pleasure_ he got from when he had stabbed Gold with his hook? How else could it explain the driving desire he had to _savage _Emma's body without appreciating her every curve_?_

"I helped you remember the darkness underneath."

He could have sworn his darkness disappeared from his life (for good) the moment Emma, his _sun,_ began shining on him. But he should have known that it never left, it would _always _be inside of him. He is too much of a fool to have not realized this all along.

***  
>He sees her at Granny's hunched over a cup of cocoa, blowing on it gently. He approaches her, ready to reveal the blackness that is slowly consuming his soul. He is more than willing to tell her about Gold, and their deal, and he wants to be enough for her but <em>he never will be. <em>  
>But she deserves the truth. At least he can giver her that.<p>

She spots him quickly, her green eyes send sparks up his spine and _god he can't believe he has ruined this. _He had spent so long waiting for _her_ to be ready for _him _that he never imagined actually getting to this point. He had spent so long fighting for her, and being there for her, and living for her he has forgotten how _damaged_ and _worthless _he is.

He watches her gather her things in a rush, and he can _feel_ the walls surrounding her again. He can feel the barrier between them so vividly he swears it's really there.

"Swan-" He begins, but she cuts him off.

"You left." She whispers through gritted teeth as she slips on her red jacket .

"I can explain." He begs, reaching for her with his right hand. He watches her eyes find his hook.

"Not now." She says meekly, as she pushes past him.

"Swan." He affirms, grabbing her arm before she has a chance to take another step.

"What did you have to do that was so important that you couldn't wake me? We're supposed to be a _team_ Killian."

"Let me explain, love. Please?" He catches her cheek in a chaste kiss, as he leads her out the door. He leads her to the alleyway, away from the bustle of the town where it is quiet and he feels like he can breathe. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

The words pour from him faster than he intends. He is a blubbering _mess_ of tears and _apologies_ and _secrets_ that were never meant to be _secrets_ at all quickly reveal themselves.

When he is done, he can't help but feel like a cannonball has been released from his stomach. His hook, the damned thing he had grown to hate, feels at home on his arm. He hears her sigh, a long heaving sigh.

"It's okay." Is all she utters to him before she is nuzzling herself against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, anchoring him to her. He presses his face to her hair, reveling in her scent and he _finally_ feels like Killian again.

"I'm mad at you." She whispers against his heart. "But it'll be okay, _we'll _be okay. I promise."

He squeezes her tighter against his chest, wondering how he got so _lucky. T_he impending thoughts of darkness that plagued his mind all evening and day suddenly vanish. Everyday with Emma is an opportunity for him to be a better man. She understands that it's not always going to be _easy_ for him to separate himself from the man he once was. She acknowledges his darkness and she _wants_ to be there for him to always illuminate the path to _goodness.._

_(He should have known all along that Emma Swan has been, and will forever be the light that guides him home. )_


	3. Help Me, Help You

Just a little post 4x05 ficlet. And a little future speculation (:

* * *

><p><em>"And all I've seen since eighteen hours ago is green eyes and freckles and your smile in the back of my mind making me feel like I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now..."<em>

There are pieces of ourselves we tuck away for safekeeping. There is _fear_ in the memories of these broken fragments of our past. There is remorse and there is _happiness_ that has somehow tangled itself within these bundled collections. But the happiness is bitter and _fleeting, _for remembering happier times always leads one to thinking, _"why didn't it last?"_

He sees the picture, feels the tension in the room suddenly elevate because she _knows_ how much Bea meant to him as much as how much he meant to _her._

It's strange that this world is able to capture such candid moments with nothing more than a _flash_. It's strange to him to be able to physically see a portion of her life that he wasn't apart of because he feels as if Emma Swan has always just been _his_.

He knows that it is not jealously that is brewing inside of him. It's _grief_. A part of him wishes that Emma and Bae reached that happy ending . She _deserved_ more than what she was given, she _deserved_ this moment with Bae and a million more just like it. A part of him breaks at the sight of her smile, a smile he had yet to see replicated, because he _knows_ this was the last time Emma Swan felt truly happy.

_And he hopes that someday, perhaps he can make her just as happy as the woman that lays frozen in that portrait._

He watches her watch him. He knows that his fingers are tainting the objects she prized most and he sees her walls hesitantly rise for a brief moment. He sees her contemplating all of this and he sees that this is _beyond_ just a shared moment of history.

This is him discovering Emma in the most intimate way imaginable. She has allowed him a part of herself that she has closed off for _years_. She has allowed him to see the little lost girl that she was (and _is_) looking to him for comfort in knowing that it is _okay _to be scared and it is _okay_ to have someone there for you when you feel alone.

She doesn't need fancy words, or _stolen kisses_, or roses to illuminate how much she means to him. She needs _compassion_ and fingers interlacing and a shoulder to lean on. She needs _support_ and a man who will be there in her darkest hours. She needs him to be what she never had; _a family to come home to after a long day. _

They both are broken, they both have demons that claw at their minds in the night that keep them awake. They both make (and have made) mistakes and somehow they fit together perfectly. Jagged, rough edges the other doesn't mind cutting themselves on. A perfect balance that makes each of them feel something within their chest that they had both forgotten existed.

And he is sure, in the dimly lit Sheriff Station on a night he least expected, that he is completely in love with Emma Swan.

He has admitted it before to himself, heard him saying it to her in his head over and over again. But here, in this strange world with her head so casually resting on him and her fingers squeezing his he knows that he is truly without a doubt in love. Before this moment he barely knew her. He saw her beauty and strength and her ability to _best _him and fell in love with _that_ part of her. It is now that he can say that he has fallen in love with her _soul_ and her _past_ and the small smiles that grace her lips as he wipes her tears away. It's her tentativeness and her carefully chosen touches, it's her guiding his arms around her signaling to him that she is _fine_ and _okay _and she _wants this. _

He never thought he would get to this point with her. He never imagined how it would make his heart swell to see how small and delicate and _perfect_ she can look when she opens up to him. He never thought Emma Swan would be so _amazing. _

All of the things that have happened between them, all the _strange _adventures and breathless kisses and _finding her_ and the fun he has had and the pain he has felt does not compare to this moment. He can finally feel her, _all of her,_ accept him. And it is the most intimate moment he has ever shared with a woman. And he knows now that Emma Swan is worth more than a thousand stars or a boat or hell even the _sun. _Emma Swan is _everything _to him.

And he can't help but feel that he is starting to be _everything _to her.

* * *

><p>Months pass after this shared moment before Emma Swan realizes that falling in love with Killian Jones was like falling in love with her favorite song.<p>

The first time she heard it, she wasn't sure what to think.

_(She won't admit the trip up the beanstalk ignited a fire in her chest that couldn't be simmered.)_

But she found herself craving just _one _more listen:

_(Their heated exchange in Neverland was enough to cause electricity to replace the blood in her veins.)_

And soon she _couldn't _stop listening to it:

_ (His declaration of giving up his home for her made her heart come alive in her chest.) _

He has become the melody that keeps her up at night yearning to be heard.

_(His gentle grip on her waist despite his deep slumber urging her to move closer.)_

He is the chorus that she can't get out of her head:

_(His lulling movements as he holds her in the snow.  
>His insistence to wear fuzzy socks with anchors on them.<br>His need for her hand in his whenever possible.  
>His love for cooking spaghetti and mashed potatoes.<br>His guiding tone whenever he spoke to Henry in hushed whispers of 'man things' as he so gently put it.  
>The way he leaves her notes of why he loves her under her pillow if she arrives home late and he is already asleep.<br>The way he grumbles at Peter Pain and hisses at the mocking nature of that 'blasted moving picture.'  
>The way he idly reaches for her hair whenever they stand face to face. The way his hand finds the small of her back whenever they are around her parents.<br>The intimacy in the way he makes love to her and the ferocity he can summon if she so desires a night with Captain Hook) _

He is the notes that dance wildly on her skin causing her flesh to rise with anticipation for that _one_ lyric that strikes you the most.

_(His breathless I love you's after they have made love have become that one lyric that singes her and makes her want to play it over and over again.) _

Killian Jones is _everything _to her. It just took a little while longer for her to realize that _he _was _always_ her favorite song.


	4. Admit It

A little one-shot based on what I think will happen to our lovebirds by the end of season four. Enjoy (:

* * *

><p><em>"Like any great love it keeps you guessing. Like any real love it's ever changing. Like any true love it drives you crazy. But you know you wouldn't change anything, anything, anything…"<em>

A day in Emma's Swan's life is never _ordinary_.

Not every person can say they battled and defeated a crazed Peter Pan (who kidnapped her child, the movie was _so_ wrong about him). Nor can they say that they managed to beat a very tempered Snow Queen who was running rampant through _her_ town threatening to destroy the family she had finally obtained after _years _of solitude.

_(Let's not even get into how normal it is for her to see casual acts of magic being performed by various residents, and let's not even begin to talk about how weird it is that she herself is one of those people. And her parents are Snow White and Prince Charming, that one is still a doozy though.)_

It is not to be expected that her life will ever be defined as typical ever again, and this day was no exception.

She has always hated the cold. She had anticipated with the Dairy Queen's departure the weather would return to normal (she has to remember to _not_ expect normal, even regarding the weather) but the months have slipped past her, (has it already been _three months since then? Damn) _and it is March and snow is still to be expected, especially in Maine.

She hates the way the cold makes her crave warmth. She hates relying on things to give her what her body couldn't. (Although she is starting to warm up (pun intended) to the idea of using Killian's absurdly warm body as a personal heater.)

She has left work early, nobody had bothered to commit any acts of felony in this weather and she thanks her lucky stars for that. She trudges through the thick blanket of snow, biting her lip in an attempt to cease the string of curses that are lined at the back of her throat urging to be released. She will not scorn how far she has moved away from the hub of town, for her quaint little home rests near the docks and is _far_ away from the drama, and her parents.

She _really_ needs a shower, a very long _hot_ shower. She can never say she has ever been as cold as she felt when she was trapped in that ice cave, and she is sure she is being dramatic but hell it feels like her bones will never recover from this awful trek.

She also _really_ needs potato chips and a large helping of wine. And her mother's hand sewn blankets to cover her shaking knees…and _God did she remember to record The Walking Dead?_

Her thoughts were a distraction enough to make the rest of the walk much quicker. She hurries up the stairs, _(Killian has already shoveled a bit to ensure her safety up them. She snorts at his incapability to never not be a gentleman)_ and enters, the warmth is like a shock wave that immediately makes her sigh in contentment. She shakes off the snow from her body, and begins to remove the ridiculous amount of layers that are now a soggy, dripping mess.

She hears an array of noises once she has completed her clamorous entrance. A clattering of objects and a mumbled _'Shit _echos through the hall and reverberates in her ears.

She pauses, a momentary silence fills the space before she hears,

"Swan?"

His voice is thick with anxiety, he usually is sauntering over to her by this point, voice _light_ and _flirty. _To say she is worried would be an understatement.

"You okay?" She shouts back, as she quickly makes her way to her _their_ bedroom. He had accidentally, (she won't admit it was purposefully) moved in two months ago. She had realized that this _was_ working, whatever this was that was happening between them. One night turned into two and two turned into _two months._ Nothing was said, it was a natural occurrence that she didn't bother making a fuss out of it.

_(She won't admit her heart did not swell the first time she saw his hook resting on the coat rack next to her wild assortment of leather jackets.)_

_(She won't say that a smile always appears on her face when she opens the fridge and sees an array of prepared meals he had attempted to cook while she was at work. Most were burnt, or bland, or just too strange to eat…peas mixed with homemade pizza was his most recent cooking endeavor…)_

(She wont reveal that a laugh always escapes her lips when she opens the liquor cabinet and sees his Rum and her White Wine perfectly arranged like they were always supposed to be paired together.)

_(She refuses to let slip that she loves how cluttered their bedroom has become with nautical things:  
>"Swan! This anchor will go lovely above the bed, won't it darling?" "Swan, this boat in a bottle would look dashing on the fireplace."<br>"Oi, look at these seashells! Imagine them on the windowsill, love."_

_(And her heart most certainly does not skip a beat when she stares at their full sized bed. Killian had insisted on a smaller size when she was vying for a King. She remembers staring at him, perplexed by his preference.  
>"Why?" She asked. <em>  
><em>"I want to be close to you when you sleep, love."<br>"Oh."  
>She bought the full faster than she could comprehend his words.)<em>

(_She wants to say she hates how messy their bathroom has become. But it smells like the sea, and it is littered with woman's products that have become a mass of pinks and oranges that line the shower wall._  
><em>"But Swan, why can't I purchase the Pomegranate shampoo too?"<em>  
><em>"Because, it's not for guys."<em>  
><em>"But I like it."<em>  
><em>"Killian."<em>  
><em>"It smells so good."<em>  
><em>"Killian."<em>  
><em>"Please?"<em>  
><em>"You're a child."<em>  
><em>"You love me."<em>  
><em>"Put it in the cart."<em>  
><em>She will never get over the Venus razor he uses to shave his face, or the way his eyes light up when he leans down to kiss her head after she has showered and he whispers,<br>"You've used my shampoo."  
>And he squeezes her close, and he smells like roses and aftershave and home. And nothing feels as good as when her head rests on his chest and she catches sight of them in the mirror. Cradled by his embrace, skin tingling from the warm shower, heart racing as he rubs her back soothingly, his fingers dancing along her towels edge teasing it to come down. And man does it look as perfect as it feels.)<em>

_(She won't entertain the idea of how much she realized this man meant to her the day he spent painting Henry's room while she was at work. She had come home to a very green pirate, and a very smug looking teenaged son who refused to blame himself for the mess they created of his walls. They never painted over the botched paint job though, Killian and Henry's hand prints were too valuable to all of them. Although Killian nearly collapsed at the sight of Henry's choice of decoration. Scandalous posters were to be expected in a fifteen year old boy's room, Killian thought otherwise._  
><em>"They're indecent" He hissed to her after Henry departed for school. His blue eyes wildly searched her's for an explanation of this strange<em> _phenomenon that he had yet to learn about of this world. _  
><em>"It's just a picture Killian."<br>"But Swan…No woman should be displayed in such a manner."  
>"It's fine. Trust me, please?"<br>"Don't tell me you hung on your walls portraits of men in compromising positions."  
>"No, Killian." She says with a laugh, ushering him to come closer.<br>"Thank the gods.")_

_(He is her idiot pirate and she very much enjoys watching him discover this world. And he is doing it all for her. Her heart aches slightly at the thought of how overwhelming this all was and is for him. He has so much to learn, so much to adjust to that she often forgets to say thank you But those two words will never do her justice in explaining just how much Killian Jones has done for likes to think that her 'thank yous' are in the form of the kisses she gives him when he is frustrated with the toaster. Or the hugs she gives him when he scowls at his hook for ripping more of her clothes as he attempts to do laundry for her. Or the soothing back rubs she gives him when he returns from camping with Dave. These small actions are worth more than words.)_

_(And of course Emma Swan without a doubt refuses to say she loves coming home to his lilted accent and warm hands and strong arms and messy hair. Chatting idly to her about the most recent outing he and Henry took on his new boat, or asking her if she likes the new shirt he bought…he knows flannel is her weakness and he wears it so well so of course his wardrobe has become almost entirely flannel…)_

She is standing in the doorway of their bedroom, peering down at him. He looks disheveled, and she can't say she has ever seen him, _her 300 year-old-feared-in-all-the-realms_-_pirate_, look this nervous.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

"I dropped something." He replies, as his eyes quickly dart across the carpeted floor.

"Oh?" She says with a slight laugh, as she approaches him and kneels down in front of him.

"Why don't you fetch us some hot chocolate, love?" He says, swallowing thickly as his fingers grip the carpet in frustration.

"After I help you look." She says, offering him a smile. He eyes her warily, his blue eyes are a stormy, clouded mess. His shoulders stiffen and she sees him try to smile but something is holding him back.

She sighs, plopping herself into a seated position as she crosses her legs. She tries to lighten the mood by talking about the weather, and the way Granny had sent over Leroy to make sure she had something to eat at work. But he isn't listening, and she wishes she knew what he was looking for and why he doesn't want her help and…

She sees something sparkle out of the corner of her eye** i**n the far left of the room under their dresser. She rises, approaching it with cautious steps.

"Love-" He calls, darting over to where she has spotted the object. He grabs it quickly, a flash of a diamond catches her glance.  
>She feels her heart stop when she realizes what it is.<p>

She sees _his_ heart stop when he realizes that she _knows_ what it is. She sees his mouth move but she can't heart a thing, she sees the beautiful ring dangle from his fingertips as he diligently attempts to mend this very awkward situation.

"Ask me. " She interrupts.

He freezes. His mouth slams shut.

"Ask me." She repeats, after a fleeting moment of silence.

"Emma Swan." He stutters, voice cracking, eyes wide and chest heaving.

"Killian Jones." She replies, barely above a hush. She moves closer to him, raising her hand to stroke his cheek. She smiles at him, a _real_ genuine smile. She sees him exhale, sees that damn half smile of his that just sends her heart into overdrive.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes." She says as she lets her left hand fall from it's place on his cheek. He shakily offers her the ring, slipping it onto her finger with careful precision.

"You came home early." He mutters, as he scratches behind his ear, looking down at the ground. "Although I can't say I didn't expect for this to go smoothly."

"Nothing ever does." She hums, as she slips her arms around his waist. She buries her head in his neck, placing small kisses along his jaw. "I love you," she murmurs.

"I think I just proved that I love you as well."He says with an airy laugh.

She scoffs, biting his throat playfully. "Show off."

He laughs again, scooping her up into a bundle before throwing her onto the bed.

"I do like the sound of Emma Jones." He muses, as he watches her slowly lift off her shirt. "Oi, now who's the show off?"  
><em><br>(She will admit that she too likes the sound of that._)

Yes, a day in the life of Emma Swan is far from _ordinary.  
><em>  
><em>Despite the chaos, and looming threats, and constant danger, she has fallen in love with her crazy life, and a certain infamous pirate. She would never trade her extraordinary life for an ounce of normalcy.<br>_


	5. Bondage and Hooks and Vibrators (Oh My)

This isn't really smut, but it kinda is…my friend Mia insisted I write a fic about Captain Charming attempting (and failing) to remain good friends after Killian and Emma get ( like really _get _) together. Who else does Killian have to talk to about Emma Swan's rather kinky sexual behavior with? Very very short.

* * *

><p>The Rabbit Hole has become Killian Jones' sanctuary on the rare nights when he finds himself without Emma. She is spending the night with her mother, and it has allowed him time to sit down for a brief moment and rest his rather <em>aching <em>body. To say he is exhausted would be a severe understatement. He downs the first glass of rum in one swig, he enjoys the numbing quality of the liquor and he starts to feel himself relax. He reflects on the past few weeks that he has spent getting to know Emma. They had just begun to explore the more _intimate _side of their relationship and it was proving to be more overwhelming than he had anticipated.

(_The first night he shared with Emma Swan was ideal; he took his time with her. He took care of her, making sure that every inch of her porcelain skin was touched with his skilled fingers. He appreciated her every dip and curve, and he kissed her mouth every chance he could. He savored her gasps and the way her body responded to his every thrust. It was slow and passionate and he had never seen something as beautiful as when she released. She came undone in front of him, her long standing walls finally crumbled. But he should have known that there was a fire inside of that woman, a blazing heat that she was holding in her __soul__ that had yet be fully exposed to him. She wasn't a quiet lover; the sounds of her moans and her demanding hisses for him to move faster should have been the hints he needed to uncover that Emma had a dark side when it came to bedroom activities. _

He isn't sure whether to be stunned or amazed at Emma Swan's overly erotic sexual nature.

_(The second time they shared a night together it was much faster, much more frantic, much more breathless. She hadn't allowed him a moment to think. She was quick in her movements from the moment she entered his room. She pounced on him like he was her prey, she straddled him and gripped his arms roughly as her nails dug into his flesh. She kissed him relentlessly, sucking the air from his lungs. She was being rough and fast and he had never known that she possessed such fervor.  
>"I'm kind of kinky" she had whispered to him, once she allowed them some air. She reached for something in her back pocket, and produced a set of handcuffs that she was now dangling in front of his face.<br>"What?" He stuttered, eying the strange contraption that had restrained his hands from proper movement when he was in New York.  
>"Kinky." She said again, as she grabbed his arm and bound his good wrist to the bed frame. "Let's keep the hook on tonight, Captain," she murmured, as she began kissing down his chest until she was right there and gods he couldn't even comprehend what her mouth did to him that night. His wrist still burns, his mind still remembers how her eyes clouded with a lust he hadn't seen in a woman's eyes in the hundreds of years he has lived.)<em>

(The third time they made love was pure chaos. She had called him to the station, and told him that she needed assistance in organizing some files. He arrived in a heartbeat, as always. He saw her laying across a cot in a cell, completely bare. The wind was knocked out of him, his mouth went dry and he knew from that moment forward that this woman was going to be the death of him.  
>"Lock the door, Jones." Was all she had to whisper, in her silky smooth voice, to make his groin ache with anticipation. She had him wrapped around her finger, or 'whipped' as she put it.<br>Not a single surface in that Sheriff's Station was left pure after that night, and he still isn't quite sure he understands what role playing is. Her insistence for him to say that she was a naughty girl that needed to be punished was enough to make him and her have a gratifying evening.)

He hadn't ever expected Emma to be a timid lover _(the kiss they shared in Neverland proved that. The passion that spilled from her lips onto his was enough to keep his heart beating faster than it should, even months after that heated moment.) _But he hadn't expected her to be as beastly as she is when she takes him to bed. He had spent many nights dominating woman, owning their bodies, making _them_ satisfied as much as himself. But with Emma…he almost feels like he doesn't know what the bloody hell he is doing. She has led him into a new world, an _insane_ world of sexual pleasure he didn't know existed. _(And to say he is bloody terrified of what the woman has planned for them every night he comes home would be yet another understatement.)_

He is torn from his thoughts when he feels a firm pat on his back. He turns and see Dave seat himself next to him.

"Ahoy, _mate." _He says with a smug smile, as he signals the bartender.

"What brings you to the Rabbit Hole?" Killian asks, as he downs another glass of rum.

"Needed to get away from the girls."

"Ah, I see." Killian says with a nod. He feels his pocket buzz and he reaches for his phone.

**_E: Hey, don't drink too much tonight. I'm coming home later I decided. I want to try out a toy I bought that just came in (; _**

**He furrows his brow in confusion, wondering what _toy_ Emma would want to play with at her age.**

**_K: Aren't you too old for such things, Swan?_**

**_E: It's a vibrator. I'll explain when I get home…Hook._**

He inwardly groaned at her use of his moniker, knowing full well that tonight was going to be another night of 'piracy' in which he would be 'searching for treasures.' She expected him to be a 'ruthless pirate' that 'pillages and plunders a (_not so_) innocent princess.' This whole _role playing_ thing was so foreign to him. He usually found himself more wrapped up and confused by the plot Emma had set up rather than enjoying the actual experience.

But what the bloody hell is a _vibrator?_

"Dave, can I ask you something?" He inquires, as he continues to stare at the strange word.

"What is it?"

"What in gods name is a _vibrator?"_

Dave spits out the bit of beer that was in his mouth, coughing violently as he reaches for Killian's lapel. He pulls Killian off his stool, his face red with rage.

"Did my _daughter_ say something about a vibrator?" He growls, his eyes aglow with anger.

The night ends with Killian receiving a black eye along with the very bitter taste of rum lingering on his swollen lips.

He didn't see, or rather wasn't _allowed _to see, Emma for _two days_. He was locked in a brig and Dave refused to take his eyes off of him. Emma's consistent banging on the locked door of the station, accompanied by her slew of apologies directed towards her father, was ineffective in calming Dave and proved to be fruitless.

After Dave finally managed to calm down,_ (thanks to Mary Margret's bitter words at her husbands lack of respect for their daughter's sex life), _Emma hauled him off to a Granny's.

_(She doesn't utter a single word to him on the way to the Inn. The firm grip of her hand on his is enough to reveal that she is beyond enraged. He knows he is going to feel just how pissed off she is at him….  
>She roughly shoves him into his room. She rips off his coat and tears off his shirt. She hastily pulls his pants down and pushes him onto the bed. He gulps, staring up at her eyes that possess a fiery spark that is making him (Captain Hook for gods sake) shake slightly. He feels strangely thrilled by her vigor (or is it fear he is feeling?)<br>"This," she begins to say, as she strips .  
>"Is," she continues as she slips off her underwear.<br>"Hate sex," she finishes through gritted teeth as she swiftly places herself on top of him. She sits, forcing his erection inside of her. She tore his body apart, bit his neck, clawed at his back. He was equally as ferocious, working off her energy he summoned a beast within himself.  
>By the time they were finished, Emma's magic had blown out the glass of the windows, and he is sure he dislocated his shoulder. All her pent up anger towards him about revealing her toy to her father made for a hell of a night in bed.<em>)

It's days later when he finally learns of this 'vibrators' use and purpose. And _shit_ he may actually _like_ that blasted toy….for it gave him the control he needed to dominate _her _for once.

_(Yes, he could get used to this. He just isn't sure his body will remain intact. But Emma Swan is worth a few bruises, and cuts, and burns…Although he refuses to let her bring fire to bed with them again. He was left with one eyebrow, and a large burn on his cheek. Emma was left with noticeably uneven and shorter hair. It was nearly impossible to explain for all he could see when people asked what had happened was her standing above him with a blow torch….)_


	6. Pocket Sized Love

(Pocket Sized Love)

Very short Pregnant!Emma fic_. _Enjoy (:_  
><em>

* * *

><p>Emma Swan is not a woman who is used to sticking out.<p>

She had spent her entire life blending in, feeling invisible, and isolating herself for the sake of preserving her fragile heart. She had spent too long piecing that damned thing back together and had no intention of letting it shatter again.

Closing herself off from love was easy.

_(But so was falling in love with Killian Jones.) _

As a little girl she dreamed of her knight in shining armor. She imagined him rescuing her from her awful life and carrying her away to a better place.

_ (If only she knew her prince was actually a pirate in disguise who would do more than sweep her off her feet…if only she knew he would steal her heart and cherish it as if it were his most prized treasure.) _

She would like to think she made the task difficult for him, but hell from the moment they met she knew her heart was his (it always has been.)

In the beginning, she stashed away the love she possessed for him in her pockets. Displaying her feelings was not her style, but over time her heart had managed to display itself on her sleeve.

He somehow has the ability to make the world around them disappear whenever their eyes lock. She loses herself in the sea of blue that are his eyes. She melts into his gentle touches. She feels breathless whenever his soft lips land on her cheeks. It is getting harder and harder for her to hide her affection for this man, especially now, for it is nearly impossible to hide how much you love someone when you are carrying their child.

_(It's also very hard to not want to reach for his hand over tables, or kiss his lips after he eats chocolate chip pancakes. It's hard not to lean on him for support because of aching feet and sore muscles. It's hard not to steal his french fries from his fingers and laugh at his disapproval for her piracy. It's hard to not say 'I love you' whenever he gets up in the middle of the night to retrieve her next craving.)_

This is all so _new_ though, and she has never been more vulnerable in her entire life. She has never felt more awkward and embarrassed. From being a woman who spent her whole life blending in she was so unaccustomed to sticking out.

She would like to say that this new attention has made her feel _small_ and _out of place_ but due to her condition, she is feeling quite the opposite. Her large stomach takes up most (_if_ _not_ _all_) of the space around her, not allowing her any room to feel out of place because she is _filling_ the places she enters.

Killian has spent these last eight months in a blissful state. He hasn't stopped smiling since she told him…_(her head half in a toilet, mumbling that she was sure that there was a little terror growing inside of her because god if this kid inherits her stubbornness and his vigor they are going to be so done for.) _

She has insisted that in the last two months of her pregnancy that she remain indoors, to avoid the ogling eyes of the public. He had other plans, though, for everyday he drags her back to the supermarket, and the clothes store, and the toy store to look at all the baby things.

_(She groans inwardly as she tries to maneuver through the tight aisles. (Were they always this narrow?)  
>Killian is ahead of her, his hand gripping her's tightly as he leads her to the baby aisle. He turns to look at her every moment he can, sending her a toothy grin each time as his eyes trail down to her swollen belly. She can't help but feel jealous at how much attention their little one is getting from their dad.<em>)

_(She secretly misses being the center of his world, but a part of her heart swells when she thinks about the little nugget that is growing inside of her.)_

_(Weird.)_

_(She hopes he has his eyes.)_  
><em><br>(And god if he inherits Killian's charm…he is going to get away with way too much growing up.)_

(She still can't believe this was happening.)

Once home, he sits her down in the nursery while he sorts through and admires all their purchases.

_"Swan, can you believe he will be adorning this cap in two months time?" He says to her, as he holds up a sailors hat that he begged her to buy._

_"Do you think he will like the water? Or will he be more of a land lover?"_

_"Killian, with you as his dad I am sure that this kid will have trouble loving anything but the sea."_

_"We still haven't decided on a name, love."_

_"I know." She whispers, as she rubs her stomach. But she already knows what his name is going to be._

She isn't used to any of this. Her doting parents throwing gifts at them, Killian's constant need to caress her stomach, the towns hushed whispers whenever she passes…

_(The Pirate and the Princess hm? What an unconventional love story!)_

She _hates_ being the center of attention, she _hates_ being the topic of the towns gossip.

_(But she secretly loves that they are known as the Pirate and the Princess.)_

_(Sometimes she feels that she is nothing more than a savior. And she knows sometimes he feels he is nothing more than Captain Hook. The change is welcomed, and she can't say she misses their old monikers.)_

This pregnancy is so much different from her first. She feels _larger_, is much _older, _and is _forced _to go out in public. (And worst of all, she had to find _pregnancy clothes_.) When she was pregnant with Henry, her body was more accepting of the task. She barely showed until seven months, and even then her stomach was barely noticeable under the unattractive prison jumpers. She sat around, ate on a schedule, and the days breezed by. She hated to admit it, but she didn't feel attached to the thing growing inside of her. She had decided from the moment she discovered she was pregnant that she would give the child up. The life inside of her deserved a home and a mother who was ready to love.

She loves Henry unconditionally now, of course. But knowing that _this_ pregnancy is going to end with her and Killian actually _raising_ the child terrifies her.

With this pregnancy, she started showing at three months. _(She cried for an hour the first time her jeans refused to zip.)_ She started to feel the aches and pains right away and the nausea never ceased. She is an eating machine, craving food every moment of the day. _(Kilian couldn't stop smiling when her breasts decided to double in size.)_ Her swollen belly easily displayed itself in the clothes she had, and she had to resort to shopping with her mother to find a more appropriate wardrobe.

She hates the way she looks in the over sized dresses, she hates that she waddles and that there are stretch marks all over her once pristine skin. She hates how chubby her cheeks have become, and she hates to think that Killian will no longer find her attractive. He has assured her that she is still, if not _more_, beautiful. He has assured her that the changes her body is going through are magical. But there is still the fear in the back of her mind that always reminds her that _he could leave too._

(But of course he doesn't.)

_(She can't stop feeling like everything about her is growing, including her heart. And it is so overwhelming when she was so used to pocket sized love.)_

(When the day finally arrives and they welcome Liam David Jones into the world, she can't help but think that she is going to have a hard time trying to keep stashing her love in pockets when it's starting to fill buckets and…well, boats.)

(Where else would a Pirate Princess store her insane amount of love?)


	7. (Please Don't) Catch Me

(Please Don't) Catch Me

So it was my 22nd birthday last week *throws confetti*  
>So… I decided to write a one-shot about Emma getting to know Killian. Because there is not much Emma knows about her Pirate, is there?<br>Set post 4A, after the defeat of the Dairy Queen. Enjoy (:

* * *

><p><em>"Remember those walls I built? Well baby they're tumbling down. And they didn't even put up a fight, they didn't even make a sound. I found a way to let you in, but I never really had a doubt. Standing in the light of your halo, I got my angel now."<em>

* * *

><p>She imagined she would feel relief upon the defeat of the Snow Queen. After weeks of back and forth, catching up and falling behind she had <em>finally<em> managed to catch her off guard and take her out for good. But instead she is _panicking_. Her heart is pumping loudly in her ears, her fingers still burning from the excess of magic that just spilled from them. She had defeated her _alone_. She had conquered this villain _alone _using the one thing she was so afraid she had no control of. She can't think straight, and she is _sure_ that the ache in her chest is nothing more than left over anxiety from the battle…She is _sure_ that her heart _hurts_ because she is just weak…

Not because _he_ is hurt.

A cluster of people have formed around a body, and she _knows_ that it _can't_ be…it _won't _be…

But it is.

She pushes pass the masses of people who are grumbling about what had happened, ignoring their _stupid_ words and _useless _fingers pointing at him as if he were nothing more than just another casualty that _didn't matter_.

But he matters to her, _he matters so damn much.  
><em>  
>She kneels down next to him, his blue eyes have faded into nothing more than a grey color. He is <em>gasping<em> for air, his hand clawing at his chest where the Snow Queen had hit him with her magic. She grabs his hand and smooths his hair back from his forehead. His eyes desperately search hers for some sort of understanding, for some sort of _reasoning _for why this is _happening._

"It's okay." She whispers, tears staining her cheeks. "Hey it's okay." Her fingers tracing his jaw delicately, savoring every detail of his face.

His mouth opens wider, and she can see that he is _fighting _for words to escape him but they never come.

She sees his chest falter first.

"No, no, Killian." She whispers, looking up to find her parents huddled together watching this take place.

"Don't just stand there!" She screams, feeling his grip on her hand tighten, then loosen…

She looks back down at him, his eyes fluttering closed in defeat…

She watches as death consumes his lively being.

Taking him from her.

And all she could think of in that awful moment is that she wished she got the chance to know him.

In the blur that is the seconds after he had died, she manages to press her lips to his once more in a feeble attempt to seal some sort of goodbye that she hadn't managed to give him before he passed.

A pause. A moment, an _eternity _passes.

She waits.

The silence surrounding her is deafening.

He is gone.

Her body lurches forward, forcing herself atop his limp form.

She is crying, _sobbing_, shaking, _begging_ for some sort of reprieve from this.

A minute. Two, _three_ passes.

He lied to her.

She punches at his chest _damning _him for leaving her.

She is sure she is imagining the movement that is occurring beneath her.

A quick, sharp inhale.

She stills her shaking body to focus.

Blue eyes meet green.

Now it _her _turn to stop breathing.

She watches him fumble underneath her with cautious eyes, she watches life return to his colorless eyes.

She hadn't expected the kiss to revive him, but it did.

Panic sets in again.

She lost Killian, she is sure of that.

But…everything after that moment she is not sure of.

_(True love,_ _True Love, True Love taunts her mercifully as she attempts to collect herself.)_

She isn't ready for that. She isn't ready for _any _of this.

She still feels…she was _so _close to losing him…she can't help but think that this is some sort of _sick_ nightmare.

It should have felt good to have the reassurance that the love you feel for someone is real, and powerful enough to break curses.

But it hurt. And it was strange. And so very overwhelming.

"Emma?" he coughs out, reaching for her shaking form that was retreating further from him. "Emma, what happened?"She gives him nothing but silence before she flees.

When she returns, after hours of hiding away in the darkest part of the forest, she had expected him to be waiting for her at her apartment.

But she didn't want him to be.

But he is there, as always, standing in the doorstep…shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets.

He spots her, the rustle of the leaves under her feet gives her presence away.

He steps down a stair, looking into her eyes as his mouth hangs slightly agape. He waits, she sees it in his distressed expression that he hopes she will be the first to break this tension.

But she stands, mouth pressed shut tightly, as she continues to stare at him at him. The slightest hint of fear tainting her expression, she is afraid if she says something or touches him he will die again.

He awkwardly rubs at a spot behind his ear before he manages to utter, "Dave told me what-"

"Okay." She interrupts, holding her hands up signaling him to stop. She didn't know if she could handle hearing it. She didn't want this to be happening. She didn't want this heavy weight to be placed on their relationship after everything had been going to well.

She should have known that something would begin to tarnish what they had established.

She keeps her eyes focused on the ground, unable to bear another moment of drowning in his blue eyes.

"Swan-" His voice scratched and weak, nearly above a whisper beckoning her to just listen. But she isn't ready.

"Not now." She asserts, slipping pass him into her home. She feels the brush of his hand ghosting over her arm, she feels the hesitation of his action, she knows that he knows that the intimacy of such a small touch is not welcomed in this moment.

"If not now, when?" She has her back to him, but she hears it in his tone that he is breaking. She is breaking him.

"I'm not ready." She says, exasperated by his persistence.

"Will you ever be?" He retorts, moving in front of her, filling her vision.

"Please, Killian I-" She closes her eyes in a desperate attempt to avoid this conversation from continuing.

"You're scared, I know. But Emma this-" She feels his fingertips tentatively trail over her cold flesh. It is too much, she pulls away.

"I lost you." She whispers more to herself than him, backing away from him.

"Emma."

She's never heard him sound so _small_.

"I lost you." She says louder, demanding her ears to hear the truth. "I watched your heart stop beating. Three whole goddamned minutes passed and you were dead. Gone. And it felt like an eternity."

"I'm fine now-" He reasons, the soft patter of his feet signaling his _once again_ need for her to be _closer._

"No. You can't just pretend that what happened didn't." She seethes, opening her eyes abruptly to face him, angry stray tears trailing down her cheeks.

"Emma." He says again, extending his hand to wipe away the fallen tears.

"Killian." She grits out, wiping them away herself.

"You saved me." He says firmly, eyes casting down, finally accepting the distance between them can't be filled.

"You told me you were good at surviving." She chokes out, feeling _bad_ for pushing him away again.

"Aye, and me standing here proves that." He offers her small smile, an airy chuckle. His attempt to _aid_ this situation but she can't find herself to return a grin.

"I lost you." She repeats, lips sliding into a frown. She feels her knees quivering,_ her head is spinning_.

"I'm sorry, but Emma, love, I think you're missing my original intent of this conversation-" He tries again to return to _that_, the _kiss_, but no…_no_ she can't process the reality of the day till she stops for a _minute_ and thinks properly.

"I need to think."

"Emma-" He begs, she feels defeated.

"Please just give me time to think." She says, backing herself against the living room wall and sliding down into a seated position, placing her head in her hands.

"Why is this so hard for you to believe?" He demands, keeping his distance _still._ Her walls are shooting up faster than she can comprehend.

"Because I, Because you…Why do you-" She stops herself. _Those damn walls. _

"Why do I what, Swan?" He questions, and she can feel his eyes bore into her, she _can't _look up.

"Love me?" She finishes, digging her nails into her scalp at her stupidity.

"Are you daft?" _Yes_. She silently agrees. She practically _tastes_ the bitterness of his retort.

"How can you love me?" She asks again, because it's too _late_. Her walls are _up_, and all the old _fears_ she thought she had gotten rid of come creeping back.

"Because it's bloody impossible not to." He says with a exasperated exhale. She still can't face his blue eyes.

"That doesn't answer my question, Hook." She curses to herself at the accidental use of his old moniker. _Stupid, stupid. _

"Why do you love me?" He asks sharply.

She cringes. "What?" She whispers into her palm. _She_ _did this to herself. _

"I have proven that I love you. I have traveled to the ends of the earth and time for you. I have endured endless pain in my heart that I would not bestow upon my worst enemy when I thought I had lost you to that infernal simian. I have been with you through this Snow Queen fiasco, and I intend to be there for you through every crisis this town endures. I gave up my ship for you, I gave up the last piece of my past without even knowing if it would be worth it, for I did not know if I could find you. I love you Emma, I loved you from the moment you held a dagger to my throat. It's who you are, it's your damned obsession with that chocolate drink, and your insistence to eat sweets for dinner. It's your leather jackets and blonde hair and broken smile that I love most about you. I can't put into exact words all the reasons why I love you, I just know I do. And I admit it, but can you?"

She looks up to meet his gaze, accepting that she has nowhere to look but at him. She can't run from this, she can't _hide_ from what has happened.

He loves her. _Obviously_. But hearing all _that_…hearing _why_…doesn't make her feel better.

It makes her feel worse.

But she can pretend, for a little while, that it doesn't change anything.

(It changes everything.)

"Killian, I didn't mean-" she begins, pushing herself back to a standing position. She walks towards him, sees the worry that has lined his features slowly diminish as she etches closer.

"I will wait, Swan. I'm a very patient man," he interrupts, urging her to come even closer.

"I don't know what to say." She murmurs, burrowing herself into his chest. And _god_ she can't say she has even been more content at the sound of the thrumming emanating from his chest.

"You don't have to say anything." His words vibrate his chest and reverberate into her, lulling her into a false state of relaxation.

(This isn't good. This isn't right. She doesn't deserve him.)

(Why does she love him? He doesn't deserve to love someone like her.)

"Stay?" Is all she manages to utter, wrapping her hands around his waist.

"Always."

(But _always_ doesn't mean forever.)

She feels burdened by this love.

(She doesn't know him like he knows her.)

She feels a sadness tug at her heart, and it feeds on her doubts, and low self-worth.

She feels weighted by an ache that has settled in her chest. Her mind is plagued with fear; she watches him die over and over again every time she closes her eyes. She almost lost him, she almost lost _Killian_.

She is sure that it is the darkness that awakes her demons and allows them to roam free and taunt her. She is sure it is the stillness of her new apartment accompanied by his soft breaths that flitter over her skin that make her want to run. She assures herself that she knows him. His wit and dry humor, his illuminating smile and too gentle touches. His charming demeanor and his piracy. But she doesn't know his _soul_. She doesn't know him beyond the surface, and she can't fathom why she never bothered to.

She was too late once, and the kiss revealed that their is an undeniable connection between them. But she has no intention of admitting that she is in…_love_ before she really gets to know Killian Jones.

He deserves that.

She doesn't deserve him.

It took his death for her to realize how much he mattered to her.

And she hates that.

She has depended on him in this relationship, more so than she had anticipated. She has relied on him to get to know her without him prompting her, or pushing her too far into touchy topics. He has destroyed her walls and has now seen the woman that has hidden and guarded herself from love. And he somehow made it easy for her to want to love again.

He helped her feel whole again.

He knew her parents, he knew of her past lovers and her history with thievery. He knew her favorite drink and song and he knew about the scars that lined her heart. He knew her favorite socks were the fuzzy kind, and that she hated daytime television. He knew she had a love hate relationship with caramel.

He knew all these things because she allowed him access to these stupid details.

But she never once bothered to ask him what his favorite color is, or his favorite book, or his favorite food…

He had built her up, _fixed_ her.

He was selfless in his pursuit to win her heart.

She had fallen in love with him for _that_ reason.

But she wanted to be in love with him because of who _he_ _is_.

Not who she _needs_.

* * *

><p>Life falls back into an unsettling routine. Two weeks have passed and it seems the town has adjusted well to the peace and no longer <em>looming<em> endless winter that was seemingly in the forecast.

But for Emma, it feels like she is on autopilot. She does her best to wear the fake smiles and laugh at her dad's jokes. She does her best not to hesitate when Killian's lips fall onto hers. She tries to feel like she belongs in his embrace.

But she can't bring herself to believe anything about her life is _normal _after what had occurred.

Killian doesn't seem to notice her distance, or the way her fingers twitch when his interlace with hers.

He sleeps easy.

She hasn't slept since that _day._

She hasn't slept since he had found a place besides her in this bed.

The sheets that were once cold now burned her from the heat he radiated. She won't sleep until she can put her mind at ease, she _refuses _to sleep until she feels like she really does deserve to have this.

_(She won't admit that the nightmares are the real reason she can't summon sleep.)_

She nudges his limp form, pulling him from his peaceful slumber. He groans, his eyes scrunching further shut in annoyance of the disturbance. He brings his hand to her head, and gently caresses her loose curls.

"Everything okay?" He mumbles to her, as his fingers lazily tangle themselves in her unruly mane.

_Even half conscious he is always worrying about her, always making sure she is okay._

_But what about him?_

"Tell me about her." She whispers, tracing her fingers over his lips.

"Who?" He murmurs, as he gently kisses her palm.

"Milah."

He freezes. His eyes open, and catch hers, searching for any reason in her glance that would aid him in understanding what prompted her to question him about her. "Why?

"Because." She says with an exhale, as she squeezes herself into his embrace, burying her head into his neck. "You loved her. And she is apart of who you are." She feels his heartbeat slightly accelerate, she feels the tension in his muscles.

"Milah," He begins, as he swallows thickly. "Milah was a woman who desired freedom and the world. I gave her that, and she gave me her heart in return." He shifts, pulling Emma further into his chest. "She always said that I gave her what no man ever had before; respect and honesty. She was everything to me, and when I lost her I saw no other way of honoring her death and respecting the life she led than to seek my revenge on her murderer. By killing the man that killed her _long_ before his fingers violated her chest and squeezed her heart to dust." He sighs, shakily releasing the tension that had invaded him from her question.

_(The pang in her chest leaves her for a moment, but she knows it will return.)_

"I know now that honoring her memory and living life is what she would have wanted for me, not more death. I'm a lucky man, for not everyone can say that they were given the chance to fall in love twice in one lifetime."

Her own breath hitches at that.

He presses his lips to her hair. He lifts her head from it's safe place on his chest, tilting her chin up to face him. "Now sleep, love." He urges, she can feel his eyes dance across the bags that have made a home under her eyes. She nods, returning her head to her pillow.

(The center of him was, and always will be, Milah. She knows now, more than before, that this man was (and is) far more than a ruthless pirate. He was always good. It was heartbreak and pain that masked the hero in him. And she knows now that she helped remind him of what it means to want to live life with purpose again. And it helps the ache in her chest to hear him say aloud that he does love her. He loves her for bringing light back into his life.)

(She is still looking for the light in her life.)

(Or maybe she is too scared to open her eyes to see it.)

(Sleep comes easier. But the pain in her chest is a fickle foe. She hates to admit she is starting to feel comforted by the numbing ache.)

_(The nightmares don't_ cease.)

* * *

><p>Time aids her in her quest to discover the pieces of Killian Jones that she is missing.<p>

She has started to notice that he unconsciously toys with his necklaces whenever a silence develops between them. Usually after they had finished family meals at Granny's with Henry and her parents. Or when they were walking home from babysitting Neal. His eyes would stare at a faraway place and a somber expression always stole away the smiles that once graced his face.

"Tell me about them." She says, breaking him from his revere. They had managed to slip away from her parent's annual Sunday dinner, walking side by side towards the beach. His hand was gripping at his necklace, as she swayed into him gently. She knew he was just _there_, in that place somewhere in the distance she couldn't quite reach, and she _knew_ his thoughts were being stolen by the memories the jewels held.

"You're awful curious lately, Swan." He says with a chuckle, as his hand releases the jewel around his neck. She smiles at him, attempting to hide her blush from his view.

"You don't have to tell me."

"I want to."

He smiles at her rosy complexion, admires the way the moonlight reflects across her porcelain skin.

He grabs her hand as he pulls her towards a spot, _their spot, _in the sand.

He sits down, pulling her with him.

The sea has always beckoned them. It is the one _tangible_ connection that links and binds their souls together. She appreciates sharing this love with him, it has always made what they have feel stronger.

He was fond of the calming waves, she of it's depth and endless nature.

They found themselves here more often than not, opting for the rustle of branches and the lull of the waves as opposed to her too quiet apartment.

It had been hard on them both. She knows that now. She knows this is an adjustment for Killian too. The Snow Queen had managed to tear at their fragile connection, and they needed this isolation to stabilize themselves.

_(She wishes she knew him better.)_

"So," she hums, as she reaches for his hand, bringing it up to get a better view of his rings. "What's their story, Captain?"

He laughs, eyes dancing across the jewels.

"Most were my mothers, but this one," He says, pointing his hook at the one on his pinky, "Is not. It serves as more of a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"Liam. Days before he died he asked me to hold onto this ring for him, he was terribly forgetful and didn't want to lose it. He was going to propose to his…as you say in this world…_girlfriend_ with it. I can't bear the idea of parting with it."

She rests her head against his arm, breathing in the salty air as a chill pinches at her skin. He rests his head upon hers, and the warmth that emanates from him is enough to chase the chill away.

"I was always jealous of him," he continues, voice softer now as the memories he is recounting unfold in his mind. "He was _stronger_, and better than me in most things. The only reason I became a Lieutenant was so I could journey with him around the world. I hated being apart from him."

"Still can't picture you with a ponytail."

"It was quite stylish, Swan." He says, gently shoving her with his shoulder.

"He taught me about the stars, too. Do you see that formation, love?" He asks, pointing straight up.

"Wish I bought my glasses." She replies, squinting her eyes up at where he is pointing.

"Another time, then." He says, wrapping his arms around her.

"It's a date."

_(Liam is the strong border of the puzzle that is Killian Jones. A strong foundation that was always there to support him. And even with his death, Emma understands that Liam is the reason this man possesses honor, and passion.)_

Pressed against his chest, she runs her fingers along the ruby jewel, going over any details she missed upon first inspection.

"And the necklace?"

He slips it off his neck and puts it around her own. "Look's good on you Swan."

She smiles, gripping the jagged edges of the skull and dagger.

_(The pain in her chest is absent in these moments.)_

"Just another reminder of Milah…" He whispers, leaning once again against her shoulder.

"I would never have pegged you as the sentimental type."

"I could say the same about you." He says, as he reaches to tug at the shoelace that adorns her wrist. "This Humbert fellow…"

"Graham" She corrects, with an eye roll.

"Tell me, Swan, how did he manage to win your heart?"

"Sweets." The faint memory of bear claws and pastries passes over her and an unsettling wave of of _guilt_ hits her stomach when she realizes that Graham will always be a _what if.  
><em>  
>(The dread of Killian joining Graham in the <em>was <em>and _what could have been_ category makes her skin _burn_ where he is touching her. _Remember how his fingers feel on your skin, remember how he smells, remember his laugh …oh God please remember that laugh….Just in case she loses him again…)_

"Should have known." He says with a light chuckle.

They make their way back to the loft, her body feeling lighter from the conversation that just convened between them. She feels his thumb gently smooth over the scar that she received when they climbed the beanstalk.

_(The day her heart started beating again.)_

"Are you ready to talk about it?" He asks quietly.

She sighs, feeling her skin prickle and her throat close up.

"Not yet." She pulls her hand from his grip and rubs nervously at the scar.

"Okay." He says, smiling down at her.

(It doesn't reach his eyes.)

"Almost." She assures him. (_The lie gnaws at her.)_

He nods.

_(But it returns like clockwork, the pang gnaws at her chest. A heavy reminder that there is still so much she doesn't know.)_

(Will she ever be ready to love him the way he loves her?)

_(Time was something she feared she never had enough of with him.)_

* * *

><p>She is laughing, <em>really <em>laughing_, _at the story Henry just told them.

"And that is _why_ I can't ask her out." He finishes, as Emma's laughter slows.

She wipes the tears that have slipped from her eyes, and focuses on Killian, who is sitting next to Henry across from her at Granny's. His eyes are aglow, staring at her flushed complexion and reveling in the joyous sound that slipped from her lips.

"Never heard you laugh like that, love."

"Mom only laughs when jokes are _really_ good." Henry says, as he steals some of her fries.

"I'll have to brush up on my jokes then." Killian says, eyebrows raised as he takes a sip from his drink.

"What are you drinking?" She asks, as Henry exits the booth to go talk to Regina.

He pushes the mug towards her, she lifts it and an overpowering scent of strawberries fills her nose.

She cocks a brow as she sips.

"Really? A strawberry shake?"

"I'm quite fond of these shakes of milk." He says, taking it back from her grasp.

"Milkshakes." She corrects, with a light laugh. "Is strawberry your favorite flavor?"

"Gods no." He scoffs.

"Besides rum, Jones."

"Impossible to determine, lass." He whines. "My love for rum will never be demoted."

"What flavor were your birthday cakes?"

She sees him grip at his mug tightly, knuckles turning white.

"Now that I think of it, when _is_ your birthday?"

She watches as a wrinkle forms between his brows signaling deep thought. Sees the way his nose crinkles like he has just tasted something bitter, and watches as a certain sadness settles into his storming blue eyes.

"I don't remember."

He doesn't remember. Of course he _wouldn't_.

And that _kills_ her.

She had spent so many years of her own life watching her birthday's pass as if they were just another ordinary day. There were no parents to remind her of how memorable that day was for them, no friends waiting at her doorstep bearing gifts, no nagging coworkers that sung to her in break rooms. She had _wished_ she could forget the stupid day, but she never imagined it was possible that someone actually _could_.

"I remember things about it, though." He continues, finally releasing the death grip he has held on that damn mug.

"I remember the bite of frost that nipped at my nose in the early morning before my mother came to wake me. The scent of apples would always be strong, for she had spent the morning baking me treats. The leaves were falling outside of my window, and Liam would always be dusted with a layer of snow when he returned from the market with my present. But that's it."

"Apples?" She asks with a laugh.

"I was never particularly fond of them, don't worry lass. My mother lacked a baker's touch and apples were the easiest for her to cook."

She smiles at him, watches as his face disentangles the choppy memories, and sees something weigh at his shoulders. She feels guilty for prompting him to think of his childhood, for three hundred years have passed since then and she can only imagine how painful it is to not be able to remember something as simple as a birthday.

"Well good, because you know our family's history with apples." She says with a light chuckle.

"What?" He asks, in a slightly disbelieving tone.

"Hmm?" She says, looking up to meet his fierce glare.

"You said 'our' family." He repeats, watching her closely for any change in her expression.

"Oh, I…Well yeah." She stammers as she avoids his sharp eyes, looking instead at Henry who is animatedly talking to Regina.

"We arriving at the point of discussion yet, love?" He muses, reaching for her hand.

"Not quite." She huffs nervously.

(He pulls his hand away.)

(She feels her chest tighten with the absence of his comforting touch.)

(She is too ashamed to reach out and invite his fingers back onto her hand.)

(She is being selfish.)

(She wishes she was ready.)

* * *

><p>She has messed up <em>so <em>bad.

This was a terribly executed idea.

(She was never good at surprises.)

When Dave texted her saying that the guy's boat outing _wasn't_ going to be happening,

She knew she was so screwed.

The apple pie she is cooking, has burnt to a crisp.

The cake she had bought from Granny's fell off the counter and she had spent an hour trying to re-frost it.

But it looks terribly unappetizing.

And now she had _three_ minutes to clean this mess that she had anticipated having _three hours_ to make vanish.

She falls into a heap on the floor, hissing as her hand hits the hot oven, scorching her skin.

She yelps, feeling the tears that had threatened to spill from her eyes finally making their way down her cheeks.

She deserves this.

She just wanted to know him better.

She wanted to be ready.

But she will never _be_ ready.

She hears the door open and she leans her head onto the cabinet door, holding her wounded hand against her chest as she tries to make the tears cease before he finds her.

"Emma?" He calls, as the shuffle of his feet echo closer and closer to her. "Love, is something on fire?" He finishes.

He arrives in the kitchen, eyes scanning over the mess before he spots her huddled on the floor.

"What happened?" He whispers, kneeling down next to her as he gently holds her injured arm. "Are you okay?"

"Stop." She says, as she pulls her hand away from his. "Stop trying to _fix _me." She seethes.

"What?" He is bewildered by her words, she sees that he is _hurt_ by her clipping tone.

She awkwardly pushes herself up, turning her back to him as she wipes as the flour that clings to her clothes.

"You're hurt, let me see it." He continues, reaching back for he arm.

"No!" She yells, turning abruptly and shoving his chest. "Stop _fixing _me I said!"

"Emma-" He's standing tall against her raging form, the punches don't even faze him. Sometimes she _hated _his persistence.

"I don't want to be _fixed_ anymore. I'm broken. You can't change that. I want to _fix_ you for once." The punches weakly turn into gentle shoves. She is exhausted. Suppressing all of her emotions has drained her, and she feels all the built up tension finally collapsing around her_. _

"What are you-" His stance has remained firm, but she can see the his strong shoulders slightly faltering and worry has begun to fog the sharp blue of his eyes.

"You've spent _years_ at my side doing rooting for me. And I've done nothing for you but _whine_ and _cry _and be _help_less. I want to fix you. I want to help you. I want to be there for you." (There's no use stopping her now.)

"Swan-"

"This was supposed to be _special_. This was supposed to be a birthday present. It was supposed to smell like _apples_ and the _fall_. But I can't-I'm incapable of doing such _simple_ things and I feel so _useless _in this relationship and it's not _working."_

"You're not useless-"

"Stop. Trying. To. Make. This. Better." She says through gritted teeth. She pushes past him, as she wipes the stray tears from her face. She stumbles into her bedroom and retrieves the gift she had haphazardly wrapped moments ago. She returns to the kitchen, where Killian is still standing awkwardly amidst the chaos.

"Here." She says lamely, pushing it into his hands. "I need to go."

"Stay?" He asks quietly, looking at her with pleading eyes.

"I can't keep doing this, Killian." _She can't say she has ever see him look as disappointed as he did when she uttered those words. _

"Doing what?" She can see a tear at the edge of his eye threatening to fall down his cheek and she _swears_ if he cries she'll never forgive herself.

"I can't keep…_feeling_ like this." (S_he did this to herself.)_

"What are you saying?" The tear falls down his cheek and _shit_ this is really happening.

"I'm saying that…I don't think you deserve to love a person like me."The relief of her confession briefly warms her chilled skin, but she knows it's a fleeting feeling.

"What does that even mean?" He says, inching closer to her.

"You've done so much for me. And I have done nothing for you. I couldn't, I can't say that I-"

"That you what, Swan." His biting tone is not helping her get any closer to finishing this awkward conversation.

"I can't say that I love you until I feel I deserve to have your love." His eyes widen in confusion, as he mulls over what she has just confessed. And then she sees it click, she sees relief wash over his features like a refreshing wave.

"Emma-" He sighs, but she isn't finished yet.

"Open the present," she demands.

He peers down at the small box, and she sees his eyes glisten under the lights.

"Swan." He says, his voice small and _weak_ and _defeated._

"Open the damn box."

He pulls roughly at the wrapping, carefully opening the gift that was concealed. He reaches into it, and extracts a small pocket watch.

"It…" he says, squinting at it, "It doesn't work."

"I know."

"You bought me a broken watch?"

"Intentionally."

"Why?"

"Because. I-" She starts with a huff. She wipes her forehead and collects herself before grabbing his hand and leading him into the living room. She seats him and plops down next to him.

"Because I don't want this, _us_, to be on a time frame."

"I don't think I understand." He murmurs, as he clutches the golden watch in his hand.

"When you died. I felt like I lost everything. Time stopped and sped up all at once and I _never_ want to feel like that again."

She sighs, he tentatively wraps his hooked arm around her waist. She settles into the embrace.

"I felt that, since you came back…there was all this _pressure_. And I didn't want to be bound to the clock. I wanted to fall in love with you how I originally intended to. Slowly, cautiously, carefully. Not all at once. So I guess what I'm saying is that…I don't want to be on some sort of _time_ constraint. You know I have feelings for you, but I'm just not ready for that _word._"

He opens his mouth to speak, but she silences him with the waving of her hand.

"I wanted to get to know you the way you know me. And I'm still getting to know you. I've been reminded how valuable time is, and I don't want to feel like I have to fall in love with you. I want to _want_ to fall in love with you."

"Okay." He whispers, ghosting his lips over her cheek.

"So Happy Birthday." She finishes lamely, as her head falls against his shoulder.

"November 14th is the date you picked?" A light chuckle escapes him, and she can sense that the disarray of the last few moments was slowly dissipating.

"Yes." She feels a blush creep onto her face as she further buries herself into the sanctuary of his leather.

"I like it." He fingers find the tender spot behind her ear, he gently rubs his fingers over it soothingly as the air around them loses it's heavy feel.

"I like you." She states simply.

"I love you." He is looking at her like there is _nothing_ in the world that matters more than her.

"I know."

"Come make a wish." She says, moving towards the battered cake. She presses a single candle into the center of it and lights it. She sees his eyes focus on hers, a small smile claiming his lips. He lets out a puff of air.

"Want to know what I wished for?" He whispers, as he walks over to her, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

"It won't come true." She rolls her eyes at the sweetness of rum that is stinging her lips. She should have _known _that him and Dave managed to slip in a few drinks before their outing was called off.

"Ah, but it already has." He murmurs, as he wipes a bit of frosting off the cake and licks it seductively, with a slight eyebrow raise that sends her reeling. _He is such an idiot.  
><em>  
>"What did you wish for?" She knows there is no point in <em>not <em>asking him because she is _sure_ he is going to tell her despite her insistence for him not to.

"For you." He states matter-of factly, as his fingers take another huge glob of the frosting and he mumbles about it being good as if his abrupt declaration is _nothing. _

"Killian-" She says, as she backs away again.

"Just you, love. Nothing more." His tongue travels over his lower lip as his eyes glisten over with the same sparkle of confidence she saw when they climbed that damned beanstalk. _The day your heart started beating, remember?_

"Almost." She begins to step forward, the space between them seeming too great all at once.

"I'll be waiting al-"

"Always, I know." She finishes for him.

(The pang in her chest disappears for good when she presses her lips to his and she tastes a hint of strawberry frosting lingering on his tongue. She feels his hand anchor in her hair and his body flush against hers and she suddenly just _knows_._.._)

(They both deserve this true love.)

(The _true_ part of that phrase will have to wait to be acknowledged. It seems unnecessary and rather excessive for the time being…but she's working on it.)

* * *

><p><em>"Everywhere I'm looking now I'm surrounded by your embrace. Baby, I can see your halo you know you're my saving grace. You're everything I need and more, It's written all over your face<em>._Baby, I can feel your halo…pray it won't fade away_…"


	8. Snowflakes Aren't the Only Things

My title wouldn't fit: Snowflakes Aren't the Only Things That are Fallin'

All you CS FF writers are very rude for writing angst and ruining my life and making me cry. I needed fluff. I couldn't find fluff. So here is some fluff.

Set post Snow Queen defeat because I can't deal with all this ~sadness~ anymore. Very short. Unedited, no beta. So sorry if there are some spelling errors. Enjoy xox

* * *

><p>She hugs her with a gentle, but reassuring force.<p>

"This is not goodbye," she whispers into her hair, as she squeezes her just a _little_ tighter to ensure that her words are true.

"I know." She whispers back, as their bodies remain tangled together because _neither_ of them truly want to let go just yet.

"Thank you for everything, Emma." She says, as she pulls away, gripping her shoulders as her icy blue eyes meet hers. She nods, and fights the urge to cry because _damn_ she has become such a sap lately. But she can't deny that all this new love in her life has changed her for the better. And she truly does appreciate that she feels the need to cry as she bids her friend, her _best_ friend goodbye.

Elsa gives her one last smile, one last look of _something_ that is beyond words. An understanding of _finding peace within yourself_ and _falling in love with who you are_ echoes in their gestures. No words are needed to _say_ all that they already _know_. She wishes she could formulate how thankful she is for Elsa, for showing her the way _into_ love. But she _knows _Elsa _knows_ that what they had and what they _will_ always have will be beyond simple words. It is a connection she shares with her that is beyond any friendship she has ever had. And she will miss her dearly, but she has _him. _And she is _sure_ there is some way they can communicate (she isn't _quite_ sure if Arrendale is the type of place that has Skype. But they'll figure it out.)

Elsa steps away, and moves towards her own family as they prepare to depart back to Arrendale. Emma sighs to herself, as she brings her arms to her chest as she stares around at the scattered people, _her_ people. Joy is in the air, a heavy wave of happiness hits her but does not weigh on her. For the first time in her life she is _okay_ with the feeling of happiness and does not feel scared by it. She knows that it will _last._ She welcomes it, and basks in the way her heart feels as if it will leap from her chest.

_ (Her breath hitches at that thought, though. For hearts belong lodged deep within chests. So although she truly feels like her heart will burst, she knows it will remain where it is and so shall his.)_

She sees Elsa flick her wrist, and snow begins to fall gently from the sky. She rolls her eyes at the kind gesture, but truly Emma is sick of _snow_ and _ice_ and _being_ _cold_. But she revels in the flakes as they fall into her hair, laughs as Kristoff twirls Anna lovingly and watches with a smiles as her parents hold Neal close as he experiences his first true, non-ominous, snowfall.

She feels fingers sneak onto her waist and she exhales at the feeling of his fingers and hook creeping under her shirt to settle onto her hips. She feels his chin rest against her shoulder and she leans her head knowingly onto his soft cheek.

"Quite a fitting conclusion to our Ice Queen saga." He murmurs, as his hot breath travels perfectly over her chilled neck. She laughs at that, and hums in agreement.

"I suppose it is." She says, as she turns to face him. Her eyes dance across his features. Memorizing the curve of his scar and his _scruff_ that she loves to feel scrape her cheeks (and _thighs…)_and watches with careful eyes as snowflakes get caught in his lashes. His blue eyes seem more effervescent than ever before, and she has to remind herself to _breathe_ because he is really _here_ and he is really _hers_. She carefully brings her hand to his chest, her icy fingers press into his skin as she searches for the thrumming.

"It's there," he assures her, as his eyebrows quirk upwards and a smirk plants itself onto his smug face. "You should know that, love. You're the one who put it there." And there it is; the flirty, cocky, _stupidly_ handsome pirate that she fell in love with. She smiles, closing her eyes as her fingers relax away from his chest.

"Just making sure." She whispers, as she leans her head against him. They remain quiet for awhile. The buzz of the town is still all around them, and she is _certain_ that Elsa has created an ice-rink somewhere in the distance for Leroy seems to enjoy laughing boisterously every time someones falls. They are in tune with each other, their movements are always _so_ in sync and it's hard for her to believe that what they have is real. That she has _found_ a person who is very much in love with every part of her_. (The lost girl, the broken orphan, the stubborn woman she has become..) _She reflects on their adventures, their heated arguments and _Neverland. _She thinks back to that time when she was so _determined_ to_ remain a victim to love_ and how Killian saw past her _walls_ and was determined to destroy them. She remembers, _suddenly_, the words that he said to her in the heat of the Neverland forests. She _remembers_ the way his words clawed at her heart and how they seemingly _yearned_ for her heart to listen to him and _just let him in. _She hears them clear as day, _sees the determination in his eyes as if it were yesterday_.

"You did it," she says, breaking the calm silence that they had been enveloped in. His arms anchor themselves more firmly around her. As he peers down at her.

"I've done many things, Swan, but I am not sure of what you speak of now." He says as he continues to sway her, lulling her into a state of pure relaxation.

"You won my heart. And it wasn't because of trickery. It was because I wanted-I want you." He stills at her statement, and she watches as his eyes widen slightly, and grow soft as he smiles coyly at her blushing cheeks_. _She watches him memorize the way the words sounded coming from her lips and she _knows_ that this is all that she has ever wanted and she _knows_ that this is all he has ever wanted too.

"Told you," is all he manages to utter as he returns to swaying her. The snow begins to pile up at their feet and her toes are _growing numb_ but she feels a his warmth encapsulate her. (The cold never bothered her anyway when _he_ was around.)

"I guess you did." She squeezes him a little tighter, and he flinches as she finds the spot on his back where he is _quite_ ticklish. He pushes her from his chest, so that their eyes can meet. And for the _second_ time today she feels an undeniable connection between herself and another person. It's _strange_ how she once believed that she could never obtain _friendship_ or _love_. And now she has _both_ and she doesn't miss the _loneliness_ or the _solitude _that once was all she had.

He leans forward and kisses her _slowly_, without _haste_ or _worry_ of some _impending doom_ that seems to linger around every corner in this town. He kisses her knowing that all they have now is _time_ and _moments_ and a whole life ahead of them to look forward to _together_. He kisses her knowing how to _move_ and where to _touch_ and when to _turn_. He kisses her like she is the only girl he has ever wanted to kiss and she falls into him, and falls further into his strong hands.

She _falls_ into love.

And it's so _easy_ with him. And it's so _perfect_.

And she _loves_ him.

God does she love him.

And when she _finally_ says it out loud she understands that her life, despite how terrible it once was, was all leading up to _this_ moment. And she can't say she imagined the words to slip from her lips any other time.

In the middle of this _very_ weird town that she now calls _home_ as a bunch of people look at them in the midst of an _unnatural_ snowstorm.

As snowflakes are falling into their hair and their bodies meld together and they are surrounded by _fairytale_ characters and god it's _so weird_ but this is her life. And it's _good_ and she loves it and it is _working_.

And she knows in this moment that she was always meant to love Killian Jones.


	9. Anchor Hooks

Just a little Daddy!Killian One-shot.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Spring <em>**

It happens slowly - almost accidentally.

They had fallen into a routine - but she _hates_ that word - so he deems it as falling into some sort of normalcy that they both craved.

Her clothes were beginning to be too much for his small quarters to hold, her shoes were no longer standing tidy next to his - rather they laid is piles in random corners. Her various artifacts, and devices of this world littered every available crevice - and her books slowly crept onto his tables and toppled over onto the floor more often than not.

It was crowded, and congested - but he loved how at home she had made herself.

But it wasn't _their_ home.

She had found a place by chance - and mentioned it in passing. He saw the small turn of her lips, and the glint of hope settling into her eyes when she suggested that it was time _they_ move to a bigger place - where _they_ could each have a proper place for jackets and beanies, and heels and worn out boots.

He agreed with her - and slowly, _slowly_ they transferred their various belongings into the house by the docks. He missed the feeling of being lulled to sleep by the waves rocking his ship - missed the call of the gulls in the early morning, and even missed how small his quarters were - because he was closer to her.

But here - here there is space - and she fills them. He watches her - watches as she hangs various portraits- or pictures, as she calls them - onto the walls. Watches as she hangs his shirts next to hers - watches as she places the plates in the cabinets and the rum onto the top shelf next to her wine. Watches as she assorts the towels - making sure that the ones he loves - the ones with anchors on them - are always within his reach.

He watches her make their living space more comfortable - more _her_.

And he loves it - loves seeing her finally settle into a place and feel at home with him. For he never thought any of this would be possible.

She takes the left side of the bed - and he the right. She lays her jewelry onto her nightstand - and he his rings. The bed is bigger than what he is used to - but they find themselves tangled together in the middle - pressing against one another as if they are still on the cot back on the Jolly. He doesn't mind that she hogs the blankets or that she snores. He doesn't mind that her hair always ends up more in his face than on her pillow - he loves it, this - being close to her.

He _loves_ her.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Summer<em>**

Her freckles have deepened in color - and her leather jackets are tucked away in the back of their closet along with his. They have been traded for flowing dresses that hang just above her knees - the straps always fall dangerously down her shoulders and he _yearns_ to push them down further.

Her skin has been kissed by the sun and has left a lovely pink hue to her cheeks in its wake. Her hair has lightened - and there is a glow about her he is not used to - she is warm and soft and the season seems to be a much welcomed change after the hellish winter they faced.

She looks _happy_ - and her hands are easy to hold and the stars are easier to see and the water is cool on their bare skin when they go for late night swims. It's late one night - when they're out long after the sun has set- with their toes in the sand and she is wearing his favorite dress that she says it for the first time.

She is tucked against his shoulder - and the tide is rolling in when she whispers that she _loves_ him. He kisses her hair as he rubs her arm she pushes him into the sand and claims his lips as her own - (they made love by the ocean - as they waves crashed around them.)

* * *

><p><strong><em>Autumn<em>**

The sun is setting earlier - the days are getting shorter and the nights a bit colder. She comes home late one evening - her eyes give away that she is up to something. She is holding a bag - and she is biting her lip in that adorable way she does when he knows she is nervous. She hands it to him - and he eyes the peculiar anchor hooks with a questionable glance. She takes it from him - and moves towards their front door and holds it against the wall.

"Would look good here, wouldn't it?" She asks, her eyebrows quirking up. Her eyes are still glowing that dangerous shade of green - and her cheeks are flushed and she is smiling that toothy grin she does when she is particularly proud about one thing or another.

"One for me - one for you, one for Henry…" She begins, ending the sentence as more of a question than an answer to her peculiar purchase - still eying him carefully.

"Who's the last one for?"

She laughs - a small things that reverberates through him and echos around him - that reminds him how much he _loves_ that sound and how much he _loves _her- as she moves back towards him.

"We'll find out in a couple months." She answers - as she reaches for his hand and places it on her stomach. He stares at her - slightly bemused, and more so confused by her statement -and then

_One, two, three -_

"Emma?" It comes out more breathless than he would have liked - but his fingers trace over her clothed stomach with gentle curiously as he looks at her - searching her eyes for any hint of a lie.

"Yup." She says - popping the 'p' - "I'm pregnant."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Winter<em>**

It's all a blur - really.

A blur of _bliss_ and _baby beanies_ and _hearty congratulations_ -

A blur of _machines_ - and _hearing his child's heartbeat for the first time_.

A blur of _blue onesies_ - and Henry _shouting at how excited he is for a brother_.

A son - _a son _-

It's all a blur.

And with the winter - Emma's stomach grows - just as the pile of _unnecessary_ (but really - truly necessary) baby items does too.

She is partial to the boats - and captain puns that are etched into the delicate little clothes -

He is partial to the dinosaurs and _ducks_ - and the little booties that match.

It's a mess - a random assortment of various things all for their little bundle - but it's _perfect_ -

And the anchor hooks - well, those are hung up neatly by the front door and a small, blue baby beanie is already adorning his - _Liam's_ hook.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Spring<strong>_

They welcome Liam into the world late in April - just as the sun has begun to become brighter - _just_ as the days have become warmer and the last remnants of winter drift away.

It's a fitting season for their child to be born - a _perfect_ reminder of how their love has grown just as the seasons had passed.

It happened _slowly_ - and somewhere between a _beanstalk_ and _now_ they had fallen into _something_. Maybe it was all accidental - or perhaps it was _fate_ that the pirate and the princess were to meet -

And perhaps it took _longer_ than he would have hoped for her to fall in love with him_ -_ but it was _natural_ like the passing of time - and _easy_ like the changing of the seasons.

He has loved her for _many_ years - has been with her through _snowstorms_ and _sunburns -_ and he will _love_ her for a thousand more.

(_The anchor hooks aged with them - weathered_ and slightly crooked now - _they held their son's first leather jacket - Henry's first girlfriend's shawl - Emma's various beanies and his various coats - and they may have fallen - and been hastily hammered back into place - but like their love - they stood the test of time.)_


End file.
