Like Whiskey (This Double Life) - Part C
Pairing: Emma Swan/Killian Jones | Captain Hook
Genre: AU
Word Count: 2,654
Summary AU - Hook came along with the curse and has been living in Storybrooke all this time.
---
She hadn’t expected it to be that easy.
Just a brief, deceptively saccharine conversation in Regina’s kitchen and an exchange of apple turnovers for her promise to never come back, and Emma was standing on the front porch again, Tupperware in hand, uncrossing her fingers.
August had tried to dissuade her of course - there was no way of knowing what her leaving would cause, or if she’d even be able to. But Emma had been adamant. She wasn’t truly leaving-not really. She’d only needed to see if Regina would let her. August would still be here, watching to see what she’d do, but Emma had read that diary over and over again, and she knew Regina.
No matter how securely she’d hidden it, no matter how certain she was of her victory over Emma...paranoia would force her to check. To make sure her ace in the hole was safe and secure.
And then Emma would come back and set them all free.
The only problem was explaining that to Killian.
She walked slowly back to her apartment, organizing her thoughts to the cadence of her steps-putting together the strongest argument for something that, in her heart of hearts, she didn’t even want herself.
She’d only just let herself in, tossing the turnover onto the island counter, when a sudden knock at the door startled her. She didn’t even get the words out, before Killian was pushing the door open and sticking his head inside.
“What are you--?”
“Mary Margaret’s not here, is she?”
Emma blinked, still trying to catch up. “Uhh, no?”
“Brilliant!”
She knew she ought to do it now-before she forgot the speech she’d so carefully prepared, but it was hard to unstick her tongue.
“Killian, there’s something I need to tell you…”
“Wait, wait,” he insisted, and his face was lit with such an excitement that her heart ached with the weight of it. “First-come with me.”
“What?”
“It’s a surprise.”
The words were falling away-Emma could already feel them slipping, dissolving into the tumultuous place she’d tried to draw them from. It was impossible to think about curses and potions and leaving when Killian was with her, looking so attractively pleased with himself and offering surprises.
“A good surprise?” she heard herself ask, “or a bad surprise?”
“Whiskey, love,” he chastised, and took her by the hand. “Do I need to explain what a ‘surprise’ is?”
---
Emma didn’t know what she’d been expecting to find when she climbed over the rail of the Jolly Roger, but it certainly wasn’t this.
Rum barrels had been rolled to the middle of the decking and turned on their ends to serve as tables. Great heaping plates of food sat atop them; two bottles of wine; glasses; a white candle. While Emma stood gaping, Killian followed her up the ladder, nudging her stunned frame a little out of the way and trying not to look too pleased with himself.
“How-“ Emma drifted towards the tables, almost unconsciously-running her hands along the barrels, the smooth necks of the wine bottles. “Why-?”
He couldn’t say why he’d done it. The thought had occurred to him the night before; he’d been watching Emma in the Nest, trying foolishly for the hundredth time to beat Ruby at darts, caught by the sound of her laugh, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners- and was suddenly overcome with the need to do something.
“Always with the disbelief,” he teased, moving just close enough to touch. “I’m crushed.”
Her mouth curved into a smile -“Idiot” - and she reached for him, like he’d hoped she would, her fingers curving around his wrist. But when she did, his next quip stuck in his throat, and he found himself reaching for different words entirely, scrapping them from the hard lines of his heart and lining them in the space behind his teeth.
Her touch bridged them together, and there was something real in his body that he couldn’t get out, a feeling that spilled from his skin into hers without any words. And like a fool, he let them stick to his tongue and the moment slipped away.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
He grinned, recovering his surety. Spreading his arms wide he took a little bow-and even the roll of her eyes was wonderfully perfect. “There’s more.”
Emma immediately looked back over her shoulder, as though expecting something to appear-then she turned back to Killian, ready to demand what is was, only to find he’d moved across the deck.
“What’s lunch...without a little music?”
She hadn’t seen him do it, but somehow a soft strain of music began to play; it sounded like it was coming from all around the ship. She spun trying to find the source.
“Killian...” she started, but she was so overwhelmed that her only recourse was to sit down and try to find the words.
“This is just...” she looked up at him. “This is ridiculous, you know that right?”
Of course, he didn’t take her words to heart-she always got a bit rude when she was out of her depth; it was one of the things he liked best about her. So, rather than answer, Killian extended a hand and gave her a very pointed look.
Emma realized his intentions almost immediately. Her eyes widened.
“You’re not serious.”
“No, I’m ridiculous-remember?”
She hesitated only a moment before her mouth softened into a smile and she placed her hand in his. Killian pulled her to her feet. He walked them into the center of the deck, the music growing louder; a breath of laughter escaped her and she covered her mouth with her hand, eyes shining. She didn’t know why she was laughing - only that her smile had suddenly felt not enough - and only when Killian pulled her into his arms, did she realize what it was.
She was happy.
Here on this impossible ship, dancing with Killian, she was happier than she’d ever known. Her hand curved lazily over his shoulder and he followed it with his eyes, turning his head to burnish a kiss along the swell of her palm. They caught on the music like the tide, and together they spun slow circles across the deck, stepping through the melody into each other.
“I don’t mean to upset you,” Emma murmured. “But for a pirate, you’re kind of a romantic.”
Killian’s chuckle was a soft rumble beneath her cheek; Emma could feel his fingers in her hair. “Sorry to dash your illusions of piracy,” he answered. “But only lovers take to the sea.”
Emma’s fingers curled around the material of his shirt, and when they swayed beyond the mast, Killian’s arm tightened around her. She closed her eyes and breathed deep - the smell of him, warm and familiar; that had never changed. Even when every other constant had fallen away, when in the dark haunting of her room at night she had doubted...but those fears seemed so distant now.
More than anything, this proved he could be both-the pirate, rough and tumble; and the man, wry and constant-and Emma didn’t know what to do with that. All she knew was that if she let go of him now he might split apart. So, she slid her other arm around the back of his neck and held fast.
Killian didn’t mind; it let him keep her closer still. He’d missed this - missed her breath softening against his neck, missed the feel of her body changing shape to fit with his - he missed it when it had only been hours since she’d slipped from his bed, the imprint of her body still warming the sheets, when it had been days and he caught her at the station, bringing her lunch just to see her grateful sigh, the fondness in her kissing mouth.
As the days turned to weeks with no change, Killian found himself thinking less of revenge and more of her. Of Emma. The promise he’d made her chased his nights, and he dreamed of turquoise seas and clear skies, Emma’s skin turning golden in the sun. He woke to the sound of gulls in the middle of the forest.
The song ended, but they continued to sway.
“I have something for you.”
Before Emma could think to ask what it was, Killian reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden necklace. The chain was delicate and finely wrought - stunning in its simplicity - and at its base hung a jewel only slightly larger than an acorn. It was the color of the Neverland sea: a rich, pale green that sparkled with emerald in the sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“Well I should hope so - I stole it off a queen.”
He said it so offhand, so casually unrepentant, that she should have been upset, should have remembered that he would always be a pirate at heart and that this life could only end badly-but all Emma could do was stare; not at the trinket dangling between them, but at Killian.
Because she was in love with him.
“Darling?”
“I-it’s…it’s perfect,” she stammered, running her fingers along the delicate chain. “Thank you.”
She was in love with Killian. Had been - maybe for weeks now. Only now she knew it.
“May I?” he lifted it a little, the chain parted by his splayed fingers. Emma couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.
I love you.
“Okay.”
I love you.
She wondered if he could see it in her face-if in her shock, she’d given the game away. But Killian’s expression never wavered; he was still looking at her with that same ardent focus he’d shown when they danced, whenever she kissed him over the bar, when she thought he’d brought her flowers...
“Wait!”
Killian froze, one eyebrow arching as Emma swallowed tightly. She fingered the necklace that already hung against her chest; the memories it brought back as worn and passed-over as the faded edges of the swan embossed against it. It had been her talisman, her good luck charm for nearly ten years-and it had brought her here. That meant something.
But maybe, it was time for a different kind of luck.
With clumsy fingers, Emma undid the small clasp - forcing it open after years of never being used - and let the necklace pool into her cupped hand. “Okay,” she breathed, not looking up.
Her thumb skated over the swan one last time before she closed her fist around it.
Killian stepped behind her and drew the long chain over her head. He gently lifted her hair free from beneath it and Emma’s hand came up to the jewel as it settled low between her breasts. It was warm to the touch.
When she looked up, Killian was grinning down at her like it was he who’d been given the gift, and Emma found herself smiling stupidly back. She bit her lip, fingers till toying with the jewel when Killian hooked his fingers in the chain and pulled her close.
“Now this, lass, is no ordinary gem.”
“Oh?” she cocked her head wryly to the side, one eyebrow raised.
“Oh no,” he tsked. “It’s imbued with very old, very serious magic.”
“It sounds serious.”
“Hush.”
Emma’s fingers hooked into the loops of his jeans, and it distracted him just for a second, and he glanced down before he fixed her with a terribly stern look. “It gives its wearer, hm, good dreams…” he pressed his forehead to hers and smiled.
“About what?” she teased. Killian grinned wickedly, and that was explanation enough.
“What else?”
“Luck.”
Her lips ghosted his cheek. “What else?”
“Freedom from doubt.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, and Emma’s eyelids fluttered. She caught his hand in her own and held it there. “Assurance that we’ll sail away from here.”
Together hung unspoken between them.
Emma’s hand slipped to the gem, and she tapped her finger to it thoughtfully, mouth curving. “Like a promise?”
And then Killian, whose eyes were bright and wondrous in the solemn set of his face, took the jewel in his hand and pressed its facets to his lips. “Like a promise,” he swore, and bound it with a kiss.
Emma couldn’t help herself. She tilted her head up and caught his mouth in a proper kiss. One that ended too soon for her liking. The backs of his fingers danced along her collarbone.
“I’ll fetch the wine, shall I? ” he said against her lips. Then-“You look good in gold.”
Emma’s fist squeezed so tightly she thought she’d draw blood. Killian turned away with one last quick kiss, and as she watched him move about the ship, she tried not to breathe; to keep that last lick of his voice safe in her mouth. Because she was in love with him.
Without thinking, she held her fist out over the rail and finally let her fingers uncurl. The necklace lay coiled in the cup of her palm, like a tiny, silver serpent; strange that all those memories should be fixed to so small a thing.
It was easy to spread her fingers and let it fall. And when it hit the waves it didn’t make a sound.
---
When they’d left the ship, the cover of darkness slipping over their little boat like an old friend, Killian had gone to find Henry - another sword-fighting lesson, apparently - and Emma had left him with a kiss and the promise of dinner - spaghetti- the pendant a warm weight between their chests.
It was an anchor, keeping her there; holding her steady.
How could she possibly leave?
She moved slowly through the kitchen preparing, still a little dazed. She’d banished Mary Margaret to the upper level of the loft almost immediately; apparently, she’d been humming as she cooked- the same swaying melody she and Killian had danced to - and Mary Margaret had become insufferably smug about it, trying to needle her about where she’d been and what she’d been doing that afternoon.
After that, she was careful not to hum, but every so often, she caught herself moving to the steps of an unheard song; a curve in her spine that hadn’t been there before. She touched the pendant absently; like a promise.
She was slicing bread when Henry arrived - the brash loudness of his arrival startling her out of her lethargic stupor. He came in like a whirlwind, red-faced and jacket only half on. Dirt was smudged across one cheek and the front of his shirt.
“Is there anything to eat? I’m starving!” He exclaimed dramatically, kicking the door shut behind him.
“There’s definitely a sink,” she remarked; eyeing him with amusement. “You’re filthy.”
Henry loved it - beaming so wide it might well have split his face. “Killian was teaching me how to fight.”
Emma raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Yeah? A lot of sword fights happen in the mud?”
“A pirate has to be prepared for anything.”
“Like dinner?” Emma prodded him away from the cupboard, and then again from the cutting board when he tried to sneak half the bread loaf under his arm. “Go wash up Mud Man.”
“Yeah, yeah…” he sighed, though his stomach rumbled pointedly in protest. He dumped his bag by the counter, wooden sword jutting out from the half-closed zip, and was about to drag himself to the bathroom when he saw something on the counter. Emma’s back was to him, so he crept up behind her and snatched the delicious-looking turnover.
He took a massive bite and was pleased to find it was apple, his favorite. It was flaky and sweet; he hummed in appreciation.
The sound stuck in his throat.
“Henry?” Emma turned when she heard the pastry fall; he was grasping for the chair, white-faced. “Henry!”
He reached vainly for his neck, mouth parting soundlessly-and then collapsed.
---
Like Whiskey will return in...Like Whiskey (If It Kills Me)