I vowed never to write a multichip again…but here we are. This will only be about five chapters long, but I hope you enjoy the ride!
Disclaimer: I own the DVDs…that's something, right?
It's become a sort of tradition for them. She never has to ask for it, never has to give any indication, he somehow just always knows when she needs his specific brand of comfort. Some nights when the darkness around island is somehow darker than usual and the cries of the orphans just like her consume her thoughts and get under every inch of her skin, she feels guilty for having a nip of the spiced rum the pirate offers her. But she comes to realise before long that it's never his intention to get her drunk, never his intention to make her forget. It's only a segue into conversation, into her letting down her walls enough to vent and let out her frustrations.
He's helping her survive this and it nearly passes right by her.
It's one night when they're close (she can feel it) to finding Henry that she brings it up with him.
"How do you know?" she asks, tucking her legs up closer to her body, holding the flask in both hands, unconsciously keeping it from him until he answers her.
His body slips down next to hers, seeking warmth from her on an unusually cool Neverland night, "Know what, love?"
"When I need this?" she tips the flask against her lips, sipping at the alcohol and leaning slightly towards him, letting their arms bump against each other and relishing in the simple touch.
He smiles, "Because Emma," he pries the flask from her hands, "I often need it too."
They sit in silence for a moment, the sounds of the liquid tipping down their throats the only thing between them. Then she becomes curious, "Do you hear them as well?"
There's no hesitation, no question as to what she's talking about. He just knows. The screams and cries plague so many who enter this island, but none more than the similarly orphaned children.
His answer is laden with so much meaning and she wants to know more, wants to understand him the way he understands her, but Regina interrupts them not too long later asking about their route for the next day.
Killian stands, placing the flask in his pocket and yielding once more to the pirate façade he presents the world with. But not before turning once more to Emma and winking, "Until the next time, lass."
As it turns out, there need be no next time. He had always known there would come a time when their nightly ritual would become obsolete, but he wasn't prepared for how much he would miss it.
With Henry safely tucked in the cabins beneath the deck of his ship they had enlisted the help of the pixies to get them back through a portal and into the world Emma had grown up in.
The magic of a pixie is less predictable than that of a magic bean, however and certainly less precise than Jefferson's hat which had them landing some hours from Storybrooke, out in the ocean.
Killian had told them all to rest below deck and be with the boy, hold him close and cherish these moments. He would guide them home. What he didn't expect was seeing familiar blonde hair coming up the stairs after a few hours. He'd figured he'd have a solitary sail until they docked, "We still have some time, love."
She smiles and he notices the red rims around her eyes, "I haven't seen the sun in weeks. This is nice up here."
He sets the wheel on course and joins her down on the main deck, "Did you sleep?"
She shakes her head, "No."
The tears well in her eyes again, but he doesn't make a big deal out of it. He knows these past few weeks have taken a toll on her and that this may be the first time she's had a chance to process anything without the potential danger her son could be in looming over her head. His arm reaches out to pull her into his side. "Come on, love," he says quietly, tucking her head under his chin and holding her tightly, "Almost home."
And as he says it, the Storybrooke docks loom on the horizon, looking ever the same though so much has changed between them all on this ship.
She chuckles dryly, "What, no rum?"
And it only strikes him then that rum wasn't his first port of call for her this time, "Perhaps you don't need it anymore."
"You just don't want to share," she scoffs.
His hook catches her under the chin, drawing her eyes up to his level, "Such a preposterous notion that I would ever not want to share with you."
She can feel her eyelids fluttering, the natural instinct to look at his lips finally overcoming her. She only allows a second to get her bearings before making sure her eyes are trained on his once more, "What are we doing, Killian?"
He smiles, "We're evolving. As those walls come down, we're moving on, love."
He makes a pointed show about looking down at her lips with a quirk of his eyebrow, and then he is kissing her.
It doesn't take her long to respond, brushing a hand up his chest and around his neck, pulling him further into her, his hook sliding easily down her back and into a belt loop, returning the favour. She moans when his lips leave hers in favour of her jawline, eventually leading to her neck, but he is quick to return to her with vigour and purpose, his lips curling in a smile as he kisses her again and again. Sunshine and Killian Jones, two things she needs more of in her life.
Unfortunately, pulling back immediately ceases their new found comfort strategy when Emma's eyes open and her line of sight takes her directly over the pirate's shoulder, a shocked gasp escaping her.
He turns around to see what has her distracted and nearly gasps himself.
Because ahead of them, waiting on the docks is someone he hasn't seen in a very long while. Despite the aging, a small boy is still lurking behind his eyes and as Killian Jones recognises Baelfire, Emma whispers, "Neal?"
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