#cs hist fic

[thejollyroger-writer]

where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles (part 3 of 4)

Summary: British soldier Killian Jones is nursing his sick brother back to health in the middle of the coldest winter the Pennsylvania countryside has ever seen, and in the middle of a war he never wanted to be a part of. Emma Swan has found herself surrounded by American soldiers who have taken over the family farm in Valley Forge, but the biggest change in her life comes from a young British soldier she meets delivering extra rations. Will they give into the temptations of their hearts, or decide that the chance of unrequited love is not worth the dare of being branded a traitor?

Title from Robert Browning’s “Love Among the Ruins,” 1855. Written for @cshistfic and my forever cheerleader @shireness-says, who made her dream event a reality. Thanks to @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @profdanglaisstuff and @kmomof4 for being excited enough about this to make it happen. 💕

part one on AO3 / on tumblr

part two on AO3

"And I know, while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace, And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey Melt away— That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair Waits me there" - Robert Browning

It’s not unusual for Ruby to show up at the door of their cabin; she is the only one who knows where they are, has been supplying them with food every once in a while. She has a feeling that David also knows where they are — the secluded cabin was his father’s, though he swore never to return to it. For weeks, their only connection to life outside their cabin is Ruby, with letters from Mary Margaret tucked into the bottom of her basket.

So, when there’s a soft knock at the door on unseasonably warm early March morning, the very last thing Emma expects to see is Mary Margaret, her swollen belly due any day now, and her eyes red from crying, clutching tightly to Ruby’s arm. 

“Mary,” she whispers, pulling her sister-in-law — her best friend — in for a hug after the moment it takes her brain to catch up. “What are you doing here?” 

“You know I wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t an emergency,” Ruby replies, ushering them into the cabin. 

It’s small, just enough for her and Killian to survive comfortably, a whole house crammed into a single room, but their two guests suddenly make it obvious just how small the cabin is. 

Ruby’s words make Emma think the worst, her heart sinking in her chest as she watches them sit at the table, Mary Margaret’s eyes finding Killian, standing wordlessly at the stove. 

“So you’re the reason my best friend disappeared,” she says. It’s not a question. 

He nods. This isn’t his place to speak, and he knows it. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Emma says, her throat already dry. There is only one thing that would send Mary Margaret all the way out here in her state, and Emma can sense the words before they leave Ruby’s lips, a nod from Mary Margaret telling her to speak. 

“David’s been killed.” 

Her whole world seems to crumble from beneath her, head spinning as she tries to keep her feet on the ground. She has no words, and is unsure that she could speak even if she wanted to. 

“How?” Killian asks, his voice sounding much further away than she knows him to be. 

“I need your help, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, avoiding Killian’s question. “Please. I can’t do this alone. I need you to come home” 

There’s no argument in her, nothing can be said that will change her mind. She has to go back. 

And he can not go back with her. She knows it. 

He knows it. 

The air in the room is thick with the knowledge. 

Home . Where is home anymore? She would have sworn that it became this very cabin, that it became any place she could be with Killian, but when the word leaves Mary Margaret’s lips, she knows that the farm will always be her home, no matter what. 

“Of course,” she whispers, turning to meet Killian’s eyes. “Can we… have a few minutes?” 

She fully anticipates the No , hearing it in David’s voice — which only makes Ruby’s “Of course, Em,” hurt all the more. 

Neither of them move, frozen in their spots as Ruby and Mary Margaret move back through their door. The clock on the mantle over the fireplace ticks in the silent air, much slower than Emma’s pounding heart. 

“You have to go,” he says, still leaning against the kitchen workspace. 

She swallows, fingers gripping the edge of their dining room table. “Yes.” 

“I can’t… I don’t want to stay here without you.” 

“I cannot tell you what to do.” 

“I love you.” 

She sighs, her whole body shaking on the exhale. It is not the first time the words have been spoken under this roof, their feelings for each other quite obvious after giving up the rest of their lives to be together. In all definitions save the religious, they are married, have been together physically multiple times; perhaps in other situations, he would be able to return to the homestead with her as her husband, or at least her betrothed.

But that is not the situation they find themselves in, a fact they are both aware of. 

Finally, she finds the strength to stand, closing the space between them just enough to touch him, though she does not. She holds her hands at her side, fingers squeezed into fists. “What are you going to do?” 

He laughs out a single breath, shaking his head. In the ten weeks they have been together, his dark beard has grown thicker, stubble covering his chin, somehow making the sparkle in his blue eyes all the brighter. He has grown into the habit of running his fingers through the hair on his face, scratching along his jawline, and that is what he does now. 

“All I can do is go back to camp and hope that my brother keeps me from scandal. From death.” After all she has heard about the elder Jones brother, plus the few moments she knew him once he regained consciousness, she has no doubt that Liam will do anything to save his brother’s life, even if he has been missing from their camp for ten weeks.

“I will write to you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, Killian!” she yells, throwing her hands in the air. All at once, she feels all the emotion that she has been holding in — fear, anger, despair, grief — and she crumbles against his chest, searching for solace in the one place she has been able to find it recently. She chokes out a sob, finally allowing her tears to fall. “All I know is I cannot lose you.” 

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, losing himself in the scent of her tresses, lovingly washed by his hands just the night before. “They are waiting for you,” he says finally, his hands gently pushing her hips away from him.  

It is not goodbye, but feels just as final, and they share one last kiss before she closes the door of the small cabin that has become their home, not knowing the next time she will see the man she has loved since the first time they met. 

But she is needed elsewhere, and for now, that is more important.

 She expected a bit of a mess. A few piles of papers on the desk, maybe an old tea mug or two. 

She did not expect the whirlwind of papers strewn about the small study, looking as if a tornado ran right through the middle of the house. 

“What the hell happened here?” she asks aloud, though she is alone in the room. 

“Sorry my organization strategy doesn’t fit your standards,” a voice from the darkened corner of the room says, making her jump. For a moment, she contemplates crying out, as she recognizes the figure in the corner as none other than her recently-deceased brother — but when she steps out of the shadows, revealing his pristinely-tied cravat, embroidered waistcoat, and knee-length jacket, she knows it is not David; it is his twin brother, their only other sibling. Sure, she hadn’t seen James for almost ten years, but she recognized the differences between him and David immediately. 

“Hello, brother.” 

He bows slightly, barely noticeable in the low light of the study. “Emma.” 

“You’re here for the funeral, no doubt?” she asks, trying to keep her contempt towards her brother out of her voice. Along with the other differences in their personalities, James was always much colder to her than David, separating himself from his other siblings as often as possible. 

And moving far from their farm as soon as he could, attending a prestigious college in New York City on the hard-earned dime of their parents. He left the day after he turned eighteen, almost ten years ago. 

“And to take over my duties as the head of household.” 

Had she not just placed the pile of papers in her hands on the desk, they would have fallen to the floor. She feels her stomach flip, but tries to calm it with a swallow. “Yes, of course,” she replies, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. 

But she can tell that he recognizes the sheer shock written on her face. It’s a look that he became familiar with during their childhood, always going out of his way to scare her, to upset her. Just as he has done now. 

“Let me know if I can assist you as I did with David.” And with a small curtsey, she leaves the room. 

 It’s not very often anymore that Emma finds herself lucky. Over the past three days, her entire life has crumbled around her, losing her brother and having to leave behind the man who still holds her heart. 

But James has gone to town to call on the casket makers, leaving Emma to cover the duties as head of the estate. Which, today, includes responding to a small pile of correspondence left ignored by James, some delivered that morning.

Today, she is lucky to be covering James’ duties; otherwise, she would have missed a letter she knows is for her, written in a script that she would now recognize anywhere. 

Swan Household

Head of Staff 

What a clever man. He had no way of knowing who would be placed as their head of household; even she did not expect James to return home. But he remembered her technical title, given to her to be able to receive funds from David — the very same funds that covered them while they were at the cabin. 

Her hands are shaking as she pulls at the seal, hoping that it bears good news, even with how short it is. 

  E: 

I once again thank you for the generosity of bringing me into your home to recover from the effects of getting lost in the storm before Christmas. If not for your assistance, I surely would have met my death on the snowy hillside. I wanted to assure you and the rest of the staff that I was safely able to return to my camp and to my duties as a soldier. 

Though I cannot be thankful for the war that brought me to this continent, I am thankful for the time I was able to spend in your care. Perhaps if more households were as caring and understanding as yours, we would no longer need to fight senseless wars. 

I wish you peace and prosperity for your upcoming harvest months, and am eternally grateful. 

-Killian Jones

 Setting the parchment back down on the desk, she smiles, even as tears begin to form in her eyes. She misses him with every piece of her being, misses the way he smiles at her over his tea cup, his warmth in the middle of the night, his fingers as he washed her hair. That they were only able to spend a few short weeks in blissful happiness was immensely unfair, though she would never have left him for anything less important. She is thankful for his letter nonetheless, ensuring her that he returned to camp safely, even deceptively. She blinks, a tear falling down her cheek, and when she opens her eyes, she focuses on his name for a moment. Killian Jones , the man she loves. The man who, in any other life, any other circumstance, she would surely already be married to. 

But life is unfair, a fact that she is reminded of as her eyes move from his name on the parchment to the piles of other unopened correspondence on the desk. This life is unfair, but she has other responsibilities beyond sitting in David’s office and grieving for her broken heart. Grieving for what her life could have been. 

She has a life here, and right now, that life needs her more than ever. 

The morning of the funeral delivers a cold and dreary late winter day. A handful of guests arrive throughout the morning, all acquaintances of David’s, many of them merchants and farmers themselves. Each of them introduces themselves to James, knowing that he will be taking over the farm operations. 

The only reply James gives any of them is a small bow of the head. 

The dreary weather only matches the dreary feeling of being inside the house, the windows and mirrors covered with mourning fabric. Unprompted, many of their guests begin sharing lighthearted stories about David — how he spared a few coins when they were needed, how he would help deliver groceries when he went into town and was always available to anyone who needed his help. 

With each new story, Mary Margaret falls deeper into despair, flanked by Emma and Ruby the entire day. She is, understandably, inconsolable, tears only falling harder as the evening passes. She pauses only to take a few small bites of the biscuit and jam Emma shares with her. Not long after, she excuses herself, waving both her companions away as she leaves the room. 

Complete silence falls upon the room for the first time that day. Though a few of their guests have left for the evening, many still remain, faces Emma recognizes from the few times she was able to accompany David into the town, or was sent with Ruby. She smiles briefly at the baker, a greying man seated on their sofa, his young son asleep in his arms; beside him sits the owner of the closest dairy farm, the only animal their farm has not gained over the last few years. The seamstress that made Mary Margaret’s wedding dress; the journalist who wrote David’s death notice, seemingly taking notes for another article. 

Emma cannot help but wonder what the papers will say about the future of their farm, about the lost brother returning home — and sharing his unhappiness about it with anyone that will listen. 

Her fears only grow when the journalist — Isaac, she thinks his name is — fills the silence with a question she’s been avoiding for the last few days: “So, Mister Swan, what are your plans for the future of your family’s homestead?”

His eyes flick momentarily to Emma’s, holding a look that she remembers well from their childhood, one that sends a frozen chill down her spine. It’s the same look he used to give her before tattling on her, before getting her in trouble with their parents. “I’m so glad you asked, Mister Heller,” he replies. “I do not intend to pack up my life in New York and move back here, if that is your question. In fact, if neither my sister or sister-in-law can secure a new head of household in the next six months through marriage, I intend to put the whole estate up for auction.” 

Not for the first time of late, Emma finds herself nauseated, her stomach turning at her brother’s words. If she was not already sitting, she may have fainted, or at least lost her footing. 

Through marriage… the whole estate. He expects one of them to marry in the next two months — surely he must be joking. He cannot expect Mary Margaret to marry so soon after the death of her husband; she knows that he expects it only of her.

“A very sensible plan,” the journalist responds, marking down notes with his charcoal pencil.

Emma can’t help but disagree.

 Killian cannot believe she really wrote him back — but, at the same time, of course she did, has learned that she is nothing if not stubborn. The swooping letters on the page make his heart pound, remembering the delicate hands that wrote them, the way her fingers fit perfectly into his, how they would card through his hair as she sat staring at him, as if in awe of his very existence. He swallows, avoiding any deeper thoughts that would give him away, and turns his eyes down to the parchment in his hands. 

  Mr. Jones, 

The rest of the staff and I were happy to hear that you have successfully returned to your camp, and that you remain in good health. With the tragic death of our head of household, his twin brother has begun the search for a replacement, hoping that one of the ladies of the household will be willing to marry in order to keep the farm. Needless to say, things are a little chaotic, not to mention up in the air, here. The sooner this war ends and gives us one less thing to worry about, the better. 

Best of luck in your future endeavors.

E. Swan

 He reads it once, twice, again, trying to figure out exactly what her words mean. Surely this twin brother — which Killian did not even know existed — was not really expecting one of the ladies to marry, especially not his mourning sister-in-law. 

Oh, Emma, he thinks, his heart sinking into his stomach. In another life, he would have happily taken that offer, spending the rest of his days with the woman he holds most dear in order for her family to keep their farmland. 

In another life. A life that he does not find himself in, he is cruelly reminded when Liam enters their shared tent. 

“Pack your things, brother,” he says, beginning to do just that. 

“Why?” he asks, dropping the letter on his lap. “What is happening?” 

“We’ve been ordered to move west, and to do it quickly. There’s rumor of a storm moving this way and the captain wants to be clear of it before the rain hits. Orders are to pack up as quickly as possible and be ready to move before nightfall.” 

Jumping to his feet, he tucks Emma’s letter into the breast pocket inside his jacket and begins to organize his few belongings back into his pack.

Emma already thought she knew heartbreak, having to leave behind her sweetheart to take over the responsibilities of her brother. She thought she knew heartbreak when she watched them lower his casket into the ground, right beside where she watched them lower first their father, then their mother, years before. She even thought she knew heartbreak when James declared in front of the entire village that the only way they will keep the farm is if she marries in the next six months. 

But writing to Killian, replying to the letter he sent, and failing to receive a response after three weeks, hurts more than everything else combined. 

Especially as her symptoms grow worse, the same symptoms she recognized in her sister-in-law less than nine months before, and she can no longer avoid them. She is thankful to have Granny on their homestead (more thankful than usual), knowing the woman also includes being a midwife in her history. She measures Emma’s stomach, asks her when the earliest she could have gotten pregnant could have been. 

“New Years’ Eve,” she tells her, trying to keep herself from blushing remembering the evening — the excitement, the nervousness, the promises whispered in the darkness of their shared bed, the flickering of a single candle still lit to allow her to see his face. 

Granny hums, looking down at the measuring tape in her hands before turning back to Emma and nodding. “You’re barely showing yet, but I would say it wasn’t long after that. Eight or nine weeks.” 

That night, she does not even try to stop the flow of tears, curled up under the blankets in the coldness of her own room. She misses him immensely, wishes that he would just write back to her, even just to confirm that he is still alive. She knows there is no way to tell him that she is carrying their child, a being made by their love — and exactly the worst case scenario that David was trying to avoid when she introduced her to Neal. Tears come, puddling on her cheeks, dampening her pillow case. 

James gave her six months, but if she is going to marry without their knowledge of her current state, it’s going to have to be much sooner than that.

Other interested parties: @thisonesatellite @a-faekindagirl​ @lfh1226-linda​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @gingerchangeling​ @kmomof4​ @onceratheart18​ @pirateherokillian​ @ultraluckycatnd​ 

#cshistfic #captain swan #cs ff #my writing #cs hist fic #cs fic #historical au #heartbreaking chapter #sorry yall #but like #not really

[caught-in-the-filter]

CS 1983 AU - for @cshistfic

— Inspired by the song “1983″ by Neon Trees

Me and you, you and me Let's go back, let's go back Nineteen-eighty-three is calling I've been on my knees and crawlin' Back to you It's coming all back to me Nineteen-eighty-three

Tag list ❤️: @anothersworld @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @karlyfr13s @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @laschatzi @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @zaharadessert

#captain swan #cshistfic #cs au #cs aesthetics #cs aesthetic #cs 1980s au #1983 #neon trees #cs art #art #cs hist fic #kayla's art #Kayla's CS aesthetics #Kayla's aesthetics #kayla's pic edits #i can never remember my tag so i use all the ones i think i've used lol #queueby dooby doo

[searchingwardrobes]

She Dreams in Color: 6/6

Here we are at the end of this fic, and it's a little bittersweet! I hope you all have enjoyed the journey. Much thanks to @shireness-says​ for organizing the @cshistfic​ event and to my beta @aerica13​.

Summary: Emma’s life is drab and colorless, and not just because of the Dust Bowl that has stripped the land bare. Married to a man she does not love and never has, Emma lives for Tuesdays. That’s when the iceman brings cool relief from the unrelenting heat and fire to her unsatisfied longings. Perhaps they won’t go unsatisfied for long …

*Yes, this fic depicts infidelity. I am in no way making light of people who cheat on their spouses - it’s just a story, ya’ll.*

Rating: M

Length: 6 chapters, complete

Updated each Thursday

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thestateofardadreaming @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling​

Chapter Six: It’s Four o’clock, It’s Got to Stop

The years rolled by, and Emma sometimes marveled at how normal life could seem even in the midst of a bizarre, often heartbreaking situation. Neal never commented on the fact that Henry was the spitting image of the iceman.  Outwardly, they pretended that they were a normal, average American family. 

In private, however, there was no true family. In some ways, Emma was relieved by this. Neal never attempted affection anymore and expected nothing from her sexually. When he wasn’t on the road, they had a nightly routine. He would thank her blandly for dinner, then inform her he was heading to the Rabbit Hole for drinks. Emma knew he would spend the night above the bar with Tamara. She was fairly certain Neal knew that she knew. Neither of them cared.

What broke Emma’s heart, however, was Henry. The man he called father barely tolerated him, and yet the little boy kept trying to earn his attention. As a toddler, he would try to climb onto Neal’s lap or shout “Looka me, Dada! Looka bwocks!” When Neal ignored him, his nose in the newspaper, or shushed him because he was listening to the radio, Henry would burst into tears, angrily destroy his block tower, and throw himself into Emma’s arms. 

“Such a Mama’s boy,” Neal would mutter.

Now that he was four, Henry no longer burst into tears or knocked over blocks. Instead he would cry, “Look at me, Daddy, I can throw a baseball!” When Neal inevitably ignored him, Henry’s face would fall and he would quietly hide himself away until Emma found him. Watching it broke her heart.

Would Henry ever know that the man he called “daddy” wasn't his father at all? Would he ever know that the man who adored him, the man who let him “help” get the ice into the ice chest, the man who got down on the floor with him to play blocks, the man who taught him to throw that baseball, was actually his father? 

Would she ever get to hear Henry call Killian daddy?

She knew the heartbreak was intense for Killian, too. He came by as often as he could, and when Neal was out of town, he stayed over. Their times of passion were still intense, but they were fewer and farther between because of Henry. Killian was there to see his son, too, and Emma wanted that for him. 

Henry loved to go to “their tree” for picnics, and before long, the little boy was clambering up into its branches. The branches were green again, the grass lush and carpeted with wildflowers, and the tiny pond was full again after two years of heavy rain. 

In this way, four years rolled by. Four years of both agony and ecstasy, and Emma wondered if she’d ever know the contentment that was supposed to settle in between. 

***********************************************

Emma finished milking Pascale and stood to arch her back before taking the bucket inside. Buttercup hadn’t lasted through the worst of the dust storm years, but three years ago, Neal had enough money in the bank to purchase Pascale. He was a sweet cow, but as silly as it was, she missed scrawny old Buttercup.

Emma bypassed the large crates crowding the rest of the barn. She misjudged the distance around one of them and stubbed her toe. She swore, cursing the stupid things. She had no idea what was in them, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe they were innocuous. Neal’s job, which was connected in some way to his father, was to transport the crates to . . . well, somewhere. He told Emma nothing, and she didn’t ask. It was a shady business of some sort, of that she was certain, and she figured the less she knew, the better. 

“Come on, Henry,” she called out towards the chicken coop. 

Her son, his thick black hair already damp in the July humidity, came out of the coop with a basket full of brown eggs. She’d taught him how to collect them just a few weeks ago, and she had been surprised and proud at how gentle he was with the hens. When he drew near, she tousled his hair, then wrinkled her nose. 

“How can you be sweaty so early in the day?”

“I dunno,” he told her with a shrug. 

Emma wiped her own hand across her sweaty forehead. “I think it’s a day for a swim in our pond, what do you say?”

Henry’s eyes lit up. “Will Killian take us in his truck?”

“I’m sorry, kid, but he’s got tons of ice deliveries now that it’s so hot. We’ll have to walk.”

Henry pouted. “But it’s so far!”

She poked him with her toe. “It’s not that far. Besides, think how good that water will feel after our long walk.”

“Okay,” he told her. 

“Let’s put all of this in the ice chest, and then we’ll get ready to go.”

Emma’s gaze scanned the farm as she took the back steps to the kitchen door. The soil was lush again, and could easily be plowed for crops. Emma longed for a horse so she could gallop across the prairie once again. Neal, however, had no interest in the farm. His father’s business was booming, he said. It had been enough of a challenge to get him to agree to the chickens and Pascale. Emma still had no automobile, either. Sometimes she wondered if Neal was purposefully keeping her trapped on the farm. If he knew about Killian’s visits or her outings with Anna and Elsa, he never let on. 

After putting away the milk and eggs, she and Henry went upstairs. Emma helped Henry with his swimsuit first. It was a pair of navy blue briefs with a light blue tank which had a faux naval badge that said “Ahoy, Captain!” Then Emma got into her swimsuit: a red one piece that was solid colored on the bottom and checkered on the top. A strip of white fabric cut down the middle with a red anchor embroidered into it. They were both gifts from Killian, and Emma kept hers shoved into the back of her bottom dresser drawer. She didn’t bother hiding Henry’s. Neal never stepped foot in his room. Emma pulled aside the quilt to reveal the dresses hanging there. She remembered when she only had three threadbare garments hanging here. Now she had five dresses, one of them the red corset-waisted dress she had made before Henry was born. A part of her worried when Neal lavished her with money to go shopping. What exactly was this business of his father’s? She pushed the thought away and reached for her light, simple cream dress with the green flowers. She smiled as she remembered Killian saying that it brought out the color of her eyes. 

She had just slipped it over her head when she heard a truck rumble up to the farm house. Despite her knowledge of Killian’s schedule, a thrill shot through her hoping it might be him. But when she glanced out the window, she saw Neal’s truck parking beside the house. Panic seized her as she raced to Henry’s room. Despite his protests, she buttoned up a cotton shirt over his bathing top and got him into a pair of breeches. 

“You’re father’s home,” she explained hurriedly, “so don’t mention going swimming.”

She hated that she was teaching her son to lie, but he’d learned long ago that they didn’t mention “their tree” or the pond to Neal. 

“Hey, Emma!” Neal shouted as he entered the house, his boots pounding loudly on the wood floors and the door slamming shut behind him. “Where are you?”

It was extremely odd for Neal to show up in the middle of the day. It was even more strange that he was asking for her. Emma headed down the stairs, Henry’s hand in hers. 

“We’re right here.”

Neal barely glanced at Henry. “You look nice. Heading to town?”

Wow, he was in an extremely good mood. He hadn’t complimented her in five years. 

Henry glanced up at her, his brow furrowed. Emma shrugged. 

“Maybe. We were just thinking -”

“Well, forget whatever you were doing. I’ve got exciting news, Emma! I told you my dad’s business was booming, right?”

Emma nodded weakly, a foreboding creeping up her spine. 

“He wants us in New York! Next week! We’re moving, doll, packing up this dusty farm and heading to NYC.”

He beamed, rocked on his heels, his hands shoved in his pockets. Just like that. No discussion, no consideration of her life, her feelings. A pronouncement: we’re moving. That was it. Never in her life had she hated Neal Gold as much as she did in that moment. 

And that was saying something. 

*******************************************

“Watch me, Mommy!”

Emma lifted her gaze to watch Henry as he moved from a lower branch to a higher branch on the tree by the pond. Emma cooled her feet by the pond’s edge. 

“Great job, my brave boy!” she praised, and Henry grinned. 

As soon as he broke her gaze to concentrate on the next branch, Emma’s thoughts spun right back to the same topic: New York, Neal, selling the farm. Neal was selling the farm. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Going to New York was out of the question. She wouldn’t take Killian’s son that far away from him. No way. Not going to happen. 

So what was she supposed to do? Her thoughts circled right back around to the same conclusion: she had to tell Neal the truth. She had to leave him. 

It wasn’t that she cared about Neal at all. It was fear. Fear of what he would do - of what his father would do. When Neal found out the truth of what he probably already suspected - that Henry was Killian Jones’ son and not his - Emma knew he would be livid. Not because he cared about Emma, but because his pride would be wounded. He would find a way to ruin Killian, of that she was certain. 

She remembered all those years ago when her mother and father had finally made it back to Oklahoma to visit with her and baby Henry. They had also met Killian, albeit unintentionally. The minute her mother saw him, her gaze had bounced from him, to Emma, then back again, and then down to the baby in her arms. When Henry squealed and reached out for the iceman, of all people, to hold him, her mother had given her a loaded look which Emma had quickly avoided. Before her parents had boarded the train, her mother had pulled her aside. 

“Emma, now that I’ve seen your marriage, part of me wants to drag you back with me to Canada.” She’d tilted her head and gazed at Emma knowingly, rubbing her daughter’s arms tenderly. “But you wouldn’t want to leave, would you? Not when that handsome iceman is here.”

Emma’s mouth gaped open and her cheeks had flamed red. She’d been absolutely speechless.

“After all, he’s the real father, isn’t he?”

Emma had hung her head in shame. Her mother had gently lifted her head with a white-gloved finger to her chin. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t know how you found yourself in this mess, but one thing I do know. The truth will set you free.”

“Killian already knows, Mom,” she’d whispered. 

“Does Neal?”

Her mother had arched a brow knowingly before kissing her cheek. Then she’d winked before boarding the train. 

“And don’t worry. I won’t explain things to your father until we’re safely in Canada. I’d hate any harm to come to that nice iceman.” 

Over the years, her parents had visited occasionally, though not often enough. Each time, they saw far more of Killian than they did of Neal. And while her father at first seemed to want to throttle the man who “got his baby girl into a pretty mess,” Killian eventually won him over. Yet every single visit, her mother would part from her the same way, whispering the same words into Emma’s ear. 

“The truth will set you free.”

She’d ignored her mother’s advice all these years. After all, Neal knew, she was sure he did. If he was content to pretend, then why not just play along? 

Emma’s swirling thoughts were interrupted by a loud crack and a terrifying scream. She saw Henry hit the ground beneath the tree with a thud that was much too loud. She raced to his side, her heart in her throat. She was relieved at first that he was moving and she saw no blood, but his cries of pain tore at her heart. When she touched his left arm, he screamed even louder. 

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” she murmured. 

With shaking hands, Emma slipped her dress over her bathing suit, then slipped into her walking shoes. She picked Henry up in her arms like she used to when he was a baby. She tried to be gentle, but he cried out once again. 

She murmured comforting words against his brow as she raced as fast as she could to the dirt road and began heading towards town. She tried not to think about how long a walk was ahead of her. She tried to be gentle, but every step she took jostled the boy in her arms, and his screams of pain caused frantic tears to track down her cheeks. 

Two trucks rumbled up beside her, loaded down with produce to sell in town. Both were driven by farmers with their wives in the passenger seat. The ladies were obviously excited about their trip to town, judging by their nice dresses and hats. Emma vaguely recognized them from the few times she, Neal, and Henry attended the First Baptist Church. 

“What’s wrong with your boy?” the first farmer called through the car window as he rolled to a stop.

“He fell from a tree,” Emma explained, a sob cutting off her words. 

“Climb on in, sweetie,” the woman told her as she slid across the bench seat to make room. “Herb and I will take you to the doctor.”

Emma nodded frantically, then gingerly passed Henry to the woman. “Just one minute,” she told her, then brushed a kiss to Henry’s sweaty forehead. 

Emma raced to the other truck and quickly explained the situation. “Could you go get his father for me?”

The man in the second truck nodded. “Neal Gold, right?”

“No,” Emma told him, “his real father. Killian Jones - the iceman.”

***********************************************************

They’d given Henry something strong enough to dull the pain and knock him out. He slept almost peacefully, his arm in a white sling atop the stark white sheet. Killian sat on one side of him, Emma on the other. Killian ran his fingers through his son’s hair. Killian’s face was ashen. Hers was too, probably. 

“Thank God it wasn’t worse,” Killian told her in a shaky voice. 

Emma nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks once again as the scene replayed once again in her mind. “I should never have let him climb that tree. What kind of mother am I?”

Killian reached across the bed to take her hand. “Hey, you’re a bloody brilliant mother, Emma, fantastic. Boys climb trees, it’s just what they do, and you were right there.”

Emma nodded, squeezing his hand even tighter. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered.

“I’m glad you sent for me.”

“What the hell is he doing here?” a loud voice shouted from the doorway. 

Emma’s head dropped, and she had to stifle a groan, but she wasn’t going to leap away from Killian like some shameful woman. After all, it wasn’t as if Neal didn’t spend every night with Tamara. The thing was, the entire town knew it. She heard the whispers everywhere she went. The whispers everyone assumed she couldn’t hear. 

Emma gave Killian a look, and he gave her a brief nod. He had always let her take the lead, always believed she was capable. She never fully knew how special that was until now. 

She rose and approached Neal, placing both palms on her husband’s chest as he tried to surge further into the room. He was going to pretend to be concerned for Henry now? The thought riled her even more. 

“Let’s take this outside, Neal.”

“Hell no,” he protested, “we’ll have this out right here, in front of that wife-stealing bastard over there.”

Killian’s brows shot up, but he stayed right where he was, at Henry’s side. 

“How did you even know we were here?”

“Whale called me, of course, like any doctor would!”

Emma bit back another groan. Whale, of course. He and Neal were drinking buddies, and Whale liked to sow his wild oats just as much as her ass of a husband did. 

“Oh good, Neal, you’re here.”

Speak of the devil . . . Emma couldn’t suppress her eye roll. Victor Whale was the only doctor in town, unfortunately. He was so full of himself and so inappropriate with his female patients, Emma was relieved she had given birth at home. 

“Dr. Whale, whatever news about Henry, you can just give it to me. Neal doesn't need to know.”

“What do you mean, I don’t need to know!”

“Well,” Emma said, taking a deep breath, “you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“What!” Neal screamed, his face turning red.

Out of the corner of Emma’s eyes, she saw Killian stand. “Yes,” she said calmly, “you’re going to New York, and Henry and I are staying here.”

Neal’s nostrils flared. “This has nothing to do with me or New York, does it?” He turned towards Killian with hatred in his eyes. “He’s the kid’s father, not me . . . isn't he?”

“Like you haven’t known that all these years.”

“You dirty little whore!” Neal screamed at her, then he slapped her in the face. 

Emma was so taken by surprise that she stumbled. Killian was by her side immediately. 

“Do something!” he shouted at Whale. 

The doctor shrugged. “She’s his wife.”

Before Emma knew what was happening, Killian had felled Whale with a left hook to the jaw. He spun on Neal, but the other man grabbed Emma and used her as a shield. Emma couldn’t help but cry out as Neal’s fingers bit into her arms. In the background she vaguely heard nurses shouting for help. 

“Take the little bitch,” Neal yelled, “she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”

Neal shoved Emma towards Killian, who caught her easily in his arms. Emma clung to him, trembling all over. Killian held her tightly, brushing kisses across her temple.

“Well, love,” he told her dryly, “it’s been quite an eventful day, hasn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” she mumbled into his shirt front. She grasped his suspenders in her fists. “You're stuck with me Jones.”

“Good. It’s about time.”

********************************************************

Henry bounced back surprisingly well after breaking his arm. 

“Kids are resilient,” Whale had told them.

“So are doctors,” Killian had quipped back. 

Emma had winced, but Victor Whale was apparently not without a sense of humor. Thank God. Thank God too that he’d shrugged off being punched as if it had happened at The Rabbit Hole and not the hospital. He hadn’t pressed charges, citing “extreme parental stress” when questioned by police. 

Henry took the news of Neal’s departure for New York far harder than breaking his arm, unfortunately. Emma watched him now, sitting atop a crate amidst all the packed up belongings in their farmhouse. His head was hung dejectedly, his arm still in a sling. He held the baseball he had always begged Neal to toss to him. Anger welled up within Emma’s heart. So Neal had known all along Henry wasn’t his. So what? Would it have killed him to play catch one damn time?

Emma went to Henry and knelt down in front of him. She glanced over his shoulder at Killian and tilted her head for him to join them. She was tired of Killian staying in the shadows of her life. From now on, they would face things together. 

Killian knelt in front of Henry too, but the boy still didn’t look up. 

“I know you’re sad about Neal moving to New York,” Emma started hesitantly. 

Henry looked up, his little brow furrowed. “You mean Daddy?”

Emma glanced at Killian, then bit her bottom lip nervously. “Um, Henry, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The man you called Daddy? Well, he wasn’t actually your dad.”

Henry’s face looked even more confused. “He wasn’t?”

Emma shook her head. “No.” Then she waited, wanting that to sink in a bit before she got to the next part. 

“Is that why he didn’t like me?”

Tears welled in Emma’s eyes. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why anyone would treat you that way, no matter who they were. You’re the most wonderful little boy ever.”

“I don’t think so,” he muttered, and it broke Emma’s heart. “Where will we live now?”

Emma nodded at Killian, and he took over. He clasped Henry on the shoulder. 

“I was hoping you would come live with me,” he said. “Me and Uncle Liam and Aunt Elsa and Aunt Anna.” Killian paused and chuckled. “And sometimes Uncle Kristoff.”

“When he’s not chopping ice?”

“Aye, when he’s not chopping ice.”

Killian gave Emma a nervous glance, and she shrugged. Neither were sure how to explain the next part. In the end, Henry broke the ice for them. 

So to speak.

“So if my daddy wasn’t really my daddy, do I not have one at all?

“Actually, little man,” Killian began, then he paused, took a deep breath, then released it before finishing, “I’m your daddy.”

“You are?” Henry breathed in wonder, staring in awe at Killian.

“Yes,” Killian whispered. 

There was a long, quiet moment in which neither adult knew what to say. Then Henry launched himself into Killian’s arms. Killian’s eyes widened for a moment in shock, then Emma saw him visibly melt. He wrapped his arms around his little boy the way he had longed to do for years, and told him in a choked voice how much he’d always loved him. Emma could scarcely see her two men embracing for all the tears streaming from her eyes. 

********************************************************

Emma stood on the porch of her home; her loud, crowded, wacky home. Her huge family was sometimes nosy, often obnoxious and annoying, but always full of love. 

She was never, ever lonely. 

She watched Henry, now six, and his cousin Rolf take turns pushing each other on the swing that hung from a large oak in the front yard. The sun was setting behind the barn where they stored the ice. The iceman himself came up behind her, wrapping her up in his arms. Funny how a man who spent so much time around ice could be so warm. She leaned back into his embrace, and his hand came to rest on her swollen abdomen. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Jones,” he said huskily into her ear. 

“Good evening Mr. Jones,” she replied. 

“What’s on your mind, my Swan?”

Emma smiled. Many things were on her mind: the fact that she had a gut feeling the child in her womb was a girl, the idea of naming her Hope and praying Killian liked the idea as much as she did, even the always nagging concern when Henry was playing around a tree. She didn’t tell her husband any of that, however. Instead, she settled on the most bright and glorious thought. 

“I’m thinking of the moments between agony and ecstasy. The moments where contentment just settles into the cracks.”

“Hmm,” was all Killian said as he rested his chin on her shoulder, but within the sound was understanding. 

“I never thought I would have those kinds of moments, and now I do. It just still surprises me sometimes.”

“Me too, love,” he told her.

She turned in his arms and they kissed as the sunset exploded into a dozen colors around them. 

#cs hist fic #cshistfic #cs hist fic 2021 #cs ff #cs historical au #cs depression au #sexy iceman fic

[thejollyroger-writer]

where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles (Part 2 of 3)

Summary: British soldier Killian Jones is nursing his sick brother back to health in the middle of the coldest winter the Pennsylvania countryside has ever seen, and in the middle of a war he never wanted to be a part of. Emma Swan has found herself surrounded by American soldiers who have taken over the family farm in Valley Forge, but the biggest change in her life comes from a young British soldier she meets delivering extra rations. Will they give into the temptations of their hearts, or decide that the chance of unrequited love is not worth the dare of being branded a traitor?

Title from Robert Browning’s “Love Among the Ruins,” 1855. Written for @cshistfic​ and my forever cheerleader @shireness-says​, who made her dream event a reality. Thanks to @welllpthisishappening​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @profdanglaisstuff​​ and @kmomof4​​ for being excited enough about this to make it happen. 💕

part one on AO3 / on tumblr

part two on AO3

Part Two: Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight, stray or stop

Miss Swan, 

I would be lying to say that I have not been incredibly thankful for the warmth of your smile and your companionship over these cold winter weeks. The very last thing I expected following my dear brother across the Atlantic Ocean to fight in a war was to find someone whose heart spoke so strongly to my own, and I will be forever grateful for the connection that has formed between us. 

But I am afraid that it can carry on no longer. We both know that there never could have been a positive outcome for us, that we were doomed from the start, and my brother — always the more level-headed of us — has made me see the light in ending sooner than later. No part of this is easy for me; you have affected me more than I think I can ever allow anyone to know. Hene why we must end this before we move into actions that we would come to regret. I already regret this, knowing that I will no longer feel the softness of your fingers against my own, will no longer experience the way your smile warms the deepest parts of me, long shut away from the world. 

Please forgive me, Miss Swan, for allowing this to go on for as long as it has. But as much as it hurts me to know our companionship must come to an end, I will forever be thankful for the small time we have spent together during this harsh, violent time. I shall always look back to the light part of these days, the time spent with you. I hope you understand where I am coming from, in that this is truly the best for our situation, even if I am sure that part of my heart shall be left in the Pennsylvania countryside. 

Killian Jones

Though it has only been two days since he slipped the letter into her empty basket, the creases feel centuries old beneath her fingers after folding and unfolding the parchment dozens of times. Each time, her heart hurts just as much as it did the first time, knowing that every word of his letter is true, as much as it pains both of them. This must be for the best. 

Right? 

Because if that were true, why does it hurt her so much? 

She is thankful that today is a quiet day on the farm, even if that means there is fighting going on somewhere in the countryside. Even Granny and Ruby have run to town to gather supplies, and with Mary Margaret under the weather, David is relishing the opportunity to care for her. 

Which leaves Emma alone in her room, folding and unfolding the parchment with nothing to distract her from the heartbreak she feels every time she thinks about it. 

What other choices did they have, really? Continue only meeting each other in the middle of an enemy camp, passing secret letters and secret glances, hoping that no one overhears their conversations and calls them out for being traitors? It was a relationship doomed from the start, separate sides of a war. There was no way for them to win. 

She falls back on her bed, her head hitting the feather pillow with a thud. Does she even allow herself to think of other options? Even if it were possible for Killian to leave his station, he would be a deserter — is that worse than a traitor? Where would they go? Her home is overrun with American soldiers. Every moment of the rest of their lives would be lived in fear of someone finding them out, sending Killian back to England and sending Emma to the gallows. 

A knock on her door startles her mind back to the present. She clears her throat, then says, “Yes?” 

“Emma, it’s me,” David calls. 

How odd. “Come in,” she replies, but her confusion has seeped into her voice more than she expected, her response sounding almost like a question. 

He pushes her door open with a creak, trying his hardest to paint a smile on his face, though she can tell that whatever he has come to discuss is serious. Sitting beside her on the bed, he opens with, “Hi.” 

She cannot help the way her eyebrow raises in question, but she still replies. “Hello.” 

“How… how are you doing?” 

“Uh, fine?” She really does not know how else to respond. David never was one for small talk, always moving right to the point of a conversation. 

He attempts another smile. “Well, good. That’s — that’s good.” He clears his throat, obviously as uncomfortable by this as she is. “And you’re feeling okay? Not suffering from any of the same symptoms as Mary?” He mumbles another “Good, good,” when she shakes her head. “And you’re doing alright with all of the soldiers taking over the farm?” 

At this, she laughs. “Certainly not an opportune situation, but I shall do what I have to.” 

“I very much appreciate your taking the trek to the other side of the farm where the enemy is camped out, though I am worried that these walks are what has made Mary ill.” 

She nods, hoping that this conversation is not moving in the direction that she fears it is. 

“Mary told me that there is a soldier there that you are particularly fond of, no?” 

She’s fairly certain that his question makes her blood stop flowing, pasues the beat of her heart. She swallows the lump in her throat. “Pardon?” 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Em. Sometimes we can’t help our little… crushes.” 

Suddenly, she has discovered something worse than the letter from Killian.

“It’s nothing, really,” she lies. It makes her mouth taste of metal; and then she despises how much she wishes the words were true. 

“Good,” he says, reaching across her quilt to lay his hand atop hers. “I knew you were too smart to do something so rash.” 

Like fall in love with the enemy, she thinks, finishing his sentence in her head. She knows that is exactly why he has come to check on her, most likely moments after Mary accidentally divulged something. This is why she was trying not to tell her friend: not because she did not trust her, but because she feared she would accidentally say something to David. 

She feared this conversation more than anything else, apparently. Her eyes unwittingly fall to the parchment in her free hand — and she immediately senses her mistake, feeling the way David sucks a hard breath in when he sees the letter. 

“What is that?” 

She wants nothing more than to disappear, or at least make the paper in her hand disappear. She has no right to hide things from David: he is her caretaker, her guardian. He asks so little of her anymore, now that they can afford the staff, and though he knows he would never kick her out of the house, he has every right to do so. 

“It’s… nothing,” she lies again, bringing her hands together on her lap. “Even if I wanted it to be something, he has denied me that.” The tear that falls down her cheek surprises her, as she did not even feel it form in her eye. 

“Tell me you have not done something regrettable.” The caring tone in his voice, no matter how forced it may have been before, is gone. When she looks up at him, his steel blue eyes have returned to their normal hardness, his features flushed with anger. 

She feels the same anger rise through her body. “I already told you it was nothing, David.” 

“It became more than nothing when he wrote you a letter, Emma. If that landed in the wrong hands, or was seen by the officer staying here, there could be consequences for that.” 

“Well, it wasn’t!” Yelling, she jumps to her feet. “Why are you still treating me like a child? I am twenty years old, David, older than you were when you married Mary Margaret. What’s to say this isn’t something, more than just a crush .” 

His eyes narrow, their grey-blue muddled with clouds. “I will not allow it. No more taking rations to the enemy camp, no matter how much surplus we have. You’re not leaving the homestead until the battle has moved on from Valley Forge.” 

“Good!” Her response catches him off guard, expecting some sort of argument. When he turns to face her, her cheeks have gone flush, eyes brimming with tears, and her fall back down onto her mattress is far from graceful. “Good,” she repeats, barely a whisper now. “Don't send me back, because he does not want to see me anymore. He has ended things, before we even had a chance to begin.” Eyes turned to the floor, she holds the parchment out towards David, her hand shaking. 

He does not take the parchment from her fingers, staring at it as if even touching it would condemn him. “Simmer in your heartbreak for as long as you need, Em. But burn that letter.” 

He has never felt such pain. Four days have passed since the last time he saw her, when he led her out of camp after hiding his letter in the bottom of her basket. It was the biggest risk he had ever taken: what if someone other than Emma emptied the basket and found the parchment there? What if she somehow dropped it on her way out of camp and one of his companions found it? He has no way of knowing whether she received it — and that perhaps scares him the most. 

"I'm proud of you, brother," Liam says, clapping his hand on his shoulder. The change in his countenance was immediately apparent, especially to those who know him as well as Liam and Robin do, but even those he is not close with notice the change in him. His movements are slower, lagging, even. His smiles appear less frequently — which is especially noticeable given how much he has been smiling, especially to himself, over the previous weeks. The light in his eyes is gone. 

“You’re proud of him for breaking his own heart?” This is the first Robin has spoken up about it, and Killian’s eyes widen as he turns to his friend. “In this time when we all have so little to live for?” 

Liam scoffs. “Are you saying he should not have broken it off?” 

“I’m saying where is the harm in letting him have something to look forward to? It was simply a crush on a beautiful girl, something to bring a smile to his face every once in a while in a place where smiles do not happen often, where we are surrounded by death and disease and the bloody cold.” 

“And what if they had acted on it? What if they—” 

“Where? We are living in the middle of a military camp. Her homestead is filled to the brim with American soldiers. Even if they wanted to act on their desires, it would simply have been impossible.”

Killian coughs out a laugh. “And you couldn’t have said something about this before I handed her a letter saying I could never see her again?” 

He just shrugs. 

"Emma?" It's the second time in seven days that David has knocked on the door to her chambers. She knows he is upset about Killian, but it is all over now. He has broken her heart and left the pieces scattered across the Pennsylvania countryside, but she cannot even go out and gather them. Even if she wanted to walk to see him, it has become far too cold. The winter is just as relentless as her broken heart: an inconsolable, frozen tundra, nothing more than a wasteland. All she has left of him is his letter, hidden beneath her pillow. 

"What?" 

"Are you decent?" It seems that he is just going to ignore the harshness in her voice. 

"Um," she mutters, looking down at herself. It's definitely a strange question coming from her brother, especially given that she has kept herself decent since the American soldiers began living on their homestead. “Yes?” 

“Good,” he replies, pushing the door open. “I brought someone for you to meet.” He steps through her doorway to reveal a stranger standing behind him in the hallway; well, not a stranger , per se, because something about his sand-colored hair and the dimples in his cheeks strikes her as familiar. “This is Neal.” 

He bows, and a chill runs down Emma’s spine. David would never — would he?

She stands, offering him a slight curtsey, but feels her blood go cold when he winks at her. She knows she should be more proper, perhaps give her brother the benefit of the doubt, but she cannot stop the anger that she feels quickly moving through her. "Why did you bring him here?" 

The soft smile painted across David's face quickly melts into anger. "Emma," he scolds. 

“You’re trying to marry me off, aren’t you?” She snaps her attention from her brother to the man in her doorway — Neal — who tries to offer her a soft smile. 

“I’m really in no hurry, if you’d just be willing to get to know me—” 

She barely hears his words over the roaring of the anger in her head. “I cannot fucking believe you.” 

“Emma, watch your mouth!” He turns to the man beside him. “Neal, why don’t you go back down to the kitchen and ask Granny for a warm drink? I’m sure we’ll be down in no time.” 

Without another word, he nods his head and rushes back down the hallway. 

“I could have been spending all of this time anywhere other than working on this farm, helping you keep your head above water, and this is the gratitude I get? One toe stepped out of place and you try to marry me off, just like that?” 

“Come on, Em—” 

“Is that all I am to you, David? A sheep or a goat or a piece of cattle? Because this is how you treat them, not your damned sister!” 

“Now, that’s just not fair.” 

“What did your wife have to say about all of this? Does she know that you’re trying to marry me off, send me away after one simple mistake—” 

“ One mistake , Emma, you were spending time with a British soldier—” 

“And spending time is all it was, David! It was stopped, no thanks to you, my heart torn into a million pieces, and you cannot even give me time to heal before you bring him in here, trying to marry me off as if I did something wrong!” 

“You did do something wrong, Emma. Perhaps your not understanding that is the reason that I am simply trying to save your name before it is too late to do so. Announcing your engagement to a businessman from the city is far from the worst outcome for this situation.” 

“No.” She is helpless against the tears that begin to well in her eyes. “No, David, I won’t.” 

“I have always given you freedom. Given you space to do what you want, even before ma died. I figured that was what she would have wanted, and was the most fair to you. I know you didn’t ask for this life, but it’s all I have to offer you. We don’t have to announce the engagement right away—” 

“ No, David.”

“— but all I’m asking is that you agree to let Mr. Cassidy court you.” 

She shakes her head, her tears finally beginning to fall. When she speaks, it is obvious that she has lost all of the fire that ignited during her argument with her brother, the sobs shaking her voice and her body simultaneously. “What if I won’t?” 

“Then I’ll marry you to him anyway. It’s the only way I see to save us from scandal.” 

“Fine,” she whispers, sitting back down on her bed — but her mind is already running through ways to get out of it. 

If he thought he was in too deep before, then the last ten days have proven that he is well beyond saving. He is the one who called it off, so why is he so heartbroken? Over a girl he only spoke to a handful of times? 

He confides in Robin, knowing that Liam would never understand. They sit together, shivering by the fire that does nothing to warm their bones, hands wrapped around steaming cups of tea. They have never felt a cold like this — and people say that England’s cold is relentless, an unyielding bastard. But even cold winters back home, some spent on the streets before Liam found them a place to live, are nothing compared to the unforgiving chill of Pennsylvania, a chill that seeps into his bones, that makes even his soul shiver. 

Even his heart has gone cold. 

“She was your first real love, Killian. Of course you’re heartbroken.” 

“Was she, though? We were barely given the chance to see how we felt about each other.” 

“And how would you picture that happening? The war just taking a short break, letting you work through your feelings? This is the real world. You are the enemy, fighting a war literally in this girl’s back yard. The world does not revolve around you.” 

Killian just shrugs, unsure of what to say. Robin is right, of course. The world is so much bigger than them, no matter how much he wishes it wasn’t. Hell, his world stretches all the way back across an ocean. But here, shivering in the middle of the Pennsylvania countryside, he wishes his world could be much smaller, just him and Emma. A break from the hell that he has spent the last twenty-three years in, the hell that took his mother and made his father leave them, the hellish years they spent on the streets of Dublin before fate took them to England. 

The least he deserves is the ability to spend the winter with her, even if he has to leave afterwards. That is better than nothing, isn’t it? 

For the briefest moment, he wants to let Robin in on his thoughts. Can he even run away? What are the consequences of being seen as a deserter? What if he tried to come back only to find the entire regiment gone from their campsite? 

Does he even care? 

He is terrified by the fact that he doesn’t believe he does care, as long as it means he is able to spend time with her, even if only briefly. Lowering his eyes to the ground, he begins to turn the cogs of his brain, trying to put together exactly how he will escape from camp, hopefully without being seen — or, at least without drawing suspicion to himself. 

It all comes together quickly, really. Liam has a scheduled check-in with the infirmary, searching for signs of long-term damage, on the same morning that Robin is on kitchen duty, serving and cleaning up breakfast. He owns very few items, so stuffing his few items into his satchel and hiding it beneath his coat is easy enough. 

At quarter after eleven on Wednesday, December 23, Killian Jones turns over his shoulder as the English camp disappears over the hillside, already barely visible through the snow. He only knows that this is the direction Emma came from, but beyond sight of the camp, he can only hope that his heart leads him in the right direction. 

“Emma, no ,” Ruby breathes, her eyes wide in the dim light of the candle lit between them. Even in the middle of the night, neither of them dare to speak any louder than necessary in fear that someone will overhear them. 

Because Emma’s secret is one that could get both of them into deep trouble. 

“There really has to be another way.” 

“I’ve been thinking of nothing except this since David brought him here. He really is going to marry me off because of one minor indiscretion, and the only way to save myself from it is to leave in the morning.” 

“You know how much the holiday means to Mary Margaret. This is going to break her heart.” 

“My heart has already been broken, and for once in my life I am going to choose to focus on myself. I know it is going to hurt her, but you can assure her that I will not be gone forever.” 

“ I can assure her?” 

“She’s going to need someone to turn to. David will only be angry, and she will need a soft, caring friend. That is all you have ever been to me, Rube, and I know that you can step up and be there for her, too.” 

Ruby does not know what to say, and responds with only a nod, briefly closing her eyes. But her silence does not last long. 

“How are you going to do it? Just wrap yourself up and walk off the farm?” 

“I told David that I would be going into town tomorrow to meet Mr. Cassidy, but I intend to go in the opposite direction.”

“And what about when you get to the enemy camp? Are you just going to walk in and ask him to run away with you?” 

Emma’s eyes fall to the table. 

“Tell me you have at least thought that far ahead.” 

“No, Ruby, okay?” she snaps. “Maybe I haven’t planned out every single detail, because my brother, the only family I have, has decided to marry me off against my wishes, something he promised never to do. So maybe I’m being a bit rash, but I truly cannot see another way out of this.” 

When Ruby speaks again a few moments later, her voice is soft, and Emma can swear that she is choking back tears, though she cannot be sure in the dim light. “Just, be safe, alright? I’m sure you have your revolver—” Emma nods. “—and I’ll give you some bread and fruit, but that’s all I can do, really.” 

Emma reaches across the table to cover Ruby’s hand with her own. “Thank you,” she whispers. 

The sun is peeking through the trees when Emma sets out the next morning — Wednesday, December 23 — with as much in her bag that she can carry. It is the biggest decision she has ever made, and something that she cannot go back from. 

She only hopes that Killian feels the same way. 

At first, he thinks it must be a mirage, that he is losing his mind in the cold. He has no idea how long he has been walking — barely a few hours, if he had to guess — but the snow in his face and the cold that seeps down into the deepest parts of himself make it feel like days. He must be insane, because there is no way that what he is seeing is real. 

But he blinks once, twice, wipes the snow away from his face, and prays that the silhouette moving across the hillside towards him is Emma. The tips of her golden curls peek out from under the hood of her coat, the rest of her protected from the weather. His heart pounds, the heat returning to his arms just with the hope that it is her, that they have somehow decided on the same day, at the same time, to set out to find each other. He wants to call out to her, but he knows his voice would be lost in the gusts, if it even managed to leave his chest. 

All he can do is move towards her. He can feel the flow of his blood, intense against the chill. 

She begins to do the same, her pace quickening as much as the ankle-high snow will allow. It is not long before they have covered enough of the space that was once between them to fully recognize each other. 

It has happened. A miracle of their own — only their own. Against all odds, fighting against a bone-chilling cold and running from the only lives they have ever known, they managed to find each other. 

Anything is possible.

#my writing #cs hist fic #cshistfic #captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #historical au #revolutionary war au

[searchingwardrobes]

She Dreams in Color: 5/6

Are you ready to meet Emma and Killian's baby? Will it be obvious who the father really is? I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! There's a scene with Liam that I wrote when I first started this fic and shared it on the discord chat. It got a chuckle on there, and I hope you enjoy it too. Let's just say it will become more difficult for our lovers to keep their affair a secret.

 Much thanks to all of those following this fic, to @shireness-says​ for organizing the @cshistfic​ event, and to my beta @aerica13​.

Summary: Emma’s life is drab and colorless, and not just because of the Dust Bowl that has stripped the land bare. Married to a man she does not love and never has, Emma lives for Tuesdays. That’s when the iceman brings cool relief from the unrelenting heat and fire to her unsatisfied longings. Perhaps they won’t go unsatisfied for long …

*Yes, this fic depicts infidelity. I am in no way making light of people who cheat on their spouses - it’s just a story, ya’ll.*

Rating: M

Length: 6 chapters, complete

Updated each Thursday

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @xhookswenchx​ @let-it-raines​ @bethacaciakay​ @tiganasummertree​ @shireness-says​ @stahlop​ @scientificapricot​ @spartanguard​ @welllpthisishappening​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @carpedzem​ @branlovestowrite​ @superchocovian​ @hollyethecurious​ @vvbooklady1256​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @jennjenn615​ @snidgetsafan​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @lassluna​ @distant-rose​ @courtorderedcake​ @winterbythesea​ @thestateofardadreaming​ @killian-whump​ @thisonesatellite​ @batana54​ @it-meant-something​ @xsajx​ @therooksshiningknight​ @gingerchangeling​​

Chapter Five: No One Else Who Needs to Know

It wasn’t Tuesday, it was Sunday, and Killian had no coal in the back of his truck. There were no deliveries on Sunday, after all. However, he felt an overwhelming, intense desire to see Emma. It wasn’t just that he longed for her every moment of every day. It wasn’t that their relationship had deepened even more since Emma’s heartfelt confession. She loved him; the baby was his. The tenderness they shared was the deepest intimacy Killian had ever known, both physically and emotionally. 

Still, it had nothing to do with any of that. No, this was something more, something that defied explanation. It felt almost supernatural in its intensity. 

Relief surged through him as his truck came closer; he saw no basket of red flowers hanging on the porch. He parked, and a sense of foreboding filled him at the quiet surrounding him. Ominous gray clouds filled the air, and if Killian wasn’t mistaken, they portended snow. 

Killian opened the back screen door tentatively. The inside of the house was even more eerie than the outside. 

 “Emma?” he called hesitantly. 

No answer. Emma wasn’t in the kitchen, and the stove was cold. She clearly hadn’t made breakfast today. He continued to call her name as he went into the parlor. Then a faint voice caught his ear, and he followed it to the stairs. He called her name again, and he could finally hear her answer in a strangled voice. 

“I’m up here!”

It came from her bedroom, and he rushed towards it, flinging open the door. He found Emma still in bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair was wild, her face was contorted in pain, and sweat drenched her. Killian blanched and felt his knees wobble. 

“I’ll get the midwife.”

Emma shook her head, whimpering. “I can’t afford the midwife.”

If he thought his knees wobbled before, they turned to jelly now. He cursed himself for his weakness in a moment when Emma clearly needed him. 

“I’ll get Anna, then. She’s done this before.”

Emma reached a hand out towards him, her eyes wide with terror. “No, don’t leave me!”

How could he refuse such a request? Despite the fact that he didn’t have a clue how to deliver a baby, he would never leave Emma’s side if she wanted him there. He thought he was supposed to boil water, though what for, he had no clue. There was no time to boil water, however. There wasn’t even time to fully prepare himself. Emma pulled her knees closer, and Killian could see that the baby was coming, whether they were ready or not. 

“I can’t hold back,” Emma wept, “I need to push.”

“Just do what your body is telling you,” he encouraged her, though he knew he wasn’t the best source of childbirth knowledge. But women had been doing this since the dawn of time, right? He figured it should be some sort of instinctual thing. He hoped so, anyway. 

Emma screamed as she took his suggestion and bore down. What he saw coming out of her would have been terrifying if he hadn’t also seen what was clearly a baby’s head with wet, dark hair plastered to its tiny head. 

“The baby’s coming, Emma!” 

She let out a whimpering sob, and he looked into her terrified green eyes. 

“You can do this, Swan, keep pushing.”

She pushed again with another accompanying scream, and the baby’s shoulders were out. Killian cradled the tiny one’s head and felt tears of his own leak from his eyes. He didn’t have to instruct Emma further, and her next few pushes didn’t seem to require as much agony, though she did cry out in obvious pain. Then there he was, a slippery, bloody, squalling baby boy.

“It’s a boy, Emma!” he cried, the tears falling freely now. 

“You have to cut the cord,” Emma told him, her voice thready with exhaustion. “Anna told me that much. You can use the ones in my sewing kit over there.”

In the meantime, Killian snatched a stray blanket from the floor and wrapped the baby up in it. He would clean him up later, but right now he needed his mother. He handed the boy to an exhausted Emma, then went about following her instructions. When he finished, he cleaned up at the wash basin, then knelt at Emma’s side. He was a bit concerned about the look on Emma’s face. She was pale and seemed overwhelmed.

“Swan? Are you okay, love?”

His words caused the damn to break, and without warning Emma was sobbing as she held the baby tight against her breast. The child seemed content and even happy in his mother’s arms and did not protest her embrace. Slightly alarmed, Killian squeezed into the bed next to her and put his arms around her. After a few moments, her tears subsided, and she spoke.

“He has your eyes.”

It wasn’t what he had expected her to say. Was that the reason for her tears? Did she fear her husband’s reaction when he saw the tufts of dark hair and the bright blue eyes? He brushed a kiss to her temple, wishing to ease her pain in what should have been a moment of pure joy. 

“All babies are born with blue eyes,” he told her, “that’s what Anna said when Rolf was born. Her mother was a midwife.”

  Emma turned her face to look at him, and for the first time, her face was clear and her cheeks were rosy. She smiled at him in a wistful way that was tinged with joy. “Well, I still say he looks like you.”

Killian grinned back at her before capturing her lips with a quick kiss. They needed to clean the tiny boy up, but for now Killian and Emma just wanted to look down at their son in awe. In that bubble of happiness, they refused to consider the trouble that could lay ahead.  

*************************************************

Neal Gold came home the day after Emma gave birth, which meant that Killian went a week without seeing his son. It brought a cold dose of reality; another man would be raising his son. 

Henry. That was the lad’s name. They cleaned the tiny babe up, then had snuggled in bed, counting his fingers and toes. When Killian had asked her what they should name him, she said that Henry sounded nice. Killian agreed. Henry David. A fine name. Henry David Gold, actually. That was another hard, cold truth. His name wouldn’t be Jones. It couldn’t be. 

The Gold farm hadn’t needed coal every week in this mild winter, so Killian headed there in his delivery truck the second Tuesday after the birth of his son. He cheered inwardly when he saw that there was no basket of flowers hanging on the porch. 

“Got your coal!” he called as he entered the back door with his large iron bucket. He discovered Emma at the kitchen table, sobbing into her hands. He set the bucket down with a thud, caring little about the black circle of soot it would leave on the floor, and rushed to Emma’s side. 

“What is it, my love? Are you okay? Is Henry sick?”

She shook her head, lifting her tear stained face to his. “No, he’s fine, he’s upstairs. As for me, I’m . . . I don’t know!”

In addition to her crying, her face turned the deepest shade of crimson he’d ever seen. She looked beyond embarrassed; she was mortified. He’d seen this woman in glorious throes of passion, was intimately acquainted with the most private parts of her anatomy, and had even seen her give birth. What could possibly make her so uncomfortable? 

He had to tread carefully, so he spoke gently. “Are you running a fever perhaps?”

He remembered Anna running a fever after Rolf’s birth, and he and his brother had been frantic with worry while Elsa had laughed hysterically. When she explained that her sister’s milk had simply come in, the two of them wanted the floor to open up beneath them. 

Emma shook her head. “My mother is in Canada, and I don’t have a woman to ask about . . . about this.”

Emma’s eyes were wide and pleading as they looked into his. He could clearly understand what she wasn’t saying. Whatever her ailment, she wasn’t about to breathe a word of it to him. He nodded. 

“Okay, why don’t I get Anna for you? I’m sure Elsa would come too, but both of them could be overwhelming and since Anna is a mother -”

“Just Anna,” Emma interrupted him. “I know their mother was a midwife, but I seriously doubt anyone talks about this unless they’ve been through it.”

There went her blush again. He frowned. 

“This isn’t about . . . um,” he hesitated, scratching behind his ear. “That is to say, Neal isn’t demanding anything, is he? Because I know that you can’t . . . you know, for a while.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “God, no. Neal found me revolting pregnant, and he finds me just as revolting now. I mean, he loved my . . . um, new bosoms - at first. Until he saw me feed the baby. He told me, and I quote, that’s disgusting, cover up.”

Killian’s jaw clenched. The man was an absolute caveman. He wanted to put Emma and Henry in his truck, drive away from here, and never look back. However, he knew that had to be Emma’s choice. So he let out a long, calming breath, and swallowed down the biting remarks he wanted to make.

“He wouldn’t hurt me or the baby,” Emma insisted. 

Killian wasn’t so sure. Nevertheless, he promised to get Anna and return as swiftly as possible. 

***************************************************************

Emma sat on the settee in the parlor as Anna paced the floor, cooing over Henry. Emma wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable. It was a useless cause. She hadn’t been able to sit comfortably since Henry was born. 

“So,” Anna said, still gazing down at the baby in her arms, “what’s going on?”

“Well,” Emma answered, and was surprised when no words would come. She grew up on a farm, for God’s sake! She’d seen the miracle of life - and the disgusting parts. Why was this so hard? Emma blew out a breath as realization washed over her. She wanted her mother, that’s why this was so hard. 

“It must be hard with your mom so far away,” Anna said, as if she could read her mind. She sat on the other side of the settee, giving Emma an understanding smile. “I missed my mom like crazy through my entire pregnancy. I mean, Elsa was great and all, but it hurt, you know? I don’t think I’ll ever stop grieving her in some ways, and it's even worse now that Rolf is here. There are so many times I wish she were here to ask questions: What the hell is that in his diaper? What the hell is that in my underwear? Why can’t I stop crying?”

Anna’s completely un-ladylike burst of words had Emma laughing, and it was the first time she had done that in over a week. Anna laughed too, and reached out to take Emma’s hand while her other arm still cradled Henry. 

“At least my Mom is still here,” Emma told her, “or will be here eventually. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose both of your parents like you did.”

“It hasn’t been easy,” and for the first time Emma had ever seen, the redhead went silent. After a moment or two, however, she looked back up at Emma with a small smile. “So when is your mom coming?”

“That’s part of it,” Emma sighed, “they’re snowed in. They won’t be able to get out until spring.”

“I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“That’s life, especially these days.”

“So, what’s your question then? I mean, I’m no expert like my mom was, and I’ve only done this once, but I’ll try to help if I can.”

Emma bit her lower lip, then finally just blurted it out. “How long does the bleeding last?”

“Oh, God,” Anna groaned, “I thought it would never stop!”

“I know!” Emma exclaimed, relieved that she had someone who understood to commiserate with. “And was it a lot of blood for you? I’m scared I’m hemorrhaging to death!”

“No, you’re not,” Anna encouraged her, squeezing Emma’s hand. “It does seem like a lot, and it’s just awful, but it does start to taper off. You’re only less than two weeks from delivery, right?”

Emma nodded her head. 

“Just give it time. I bled for about six weeks.”

Emma wrinkled nose. That sounded terrible! She licked her lips again, nervously. “And can it sometimes look -”

“Like parts of the slaughter house ended up in your panties? Yes.”

Emma was shocked at Anna’s blunt words at first, then she burst out laughing. She laughed so long and so loud that tears ran down her cheeks and Henry woke up. 

“That’s my cue, I think,” Anna laughed. She kissed the baby boy on the top of his head, then handed him back to Emma. As Emma got situated to nurse, Anna got to her feet, but before she turned to go, she said, “Emma?”

“Yes?”

“You’re like a sister to me and Elsa. Please let Killian know if you need us, even if it’s just to talk.”

Emma blinked back sudden tears. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and that’s normal too,” Anna laughed, “the constant crying. The baby cries, you cry, it’s this whole wacky cycle.”

Anna left Emma then, the room still filled with her laughter and encouragement. 

*******************************************************

Anna came down the porch steps of the Gold farmhouse and slid into the passenger seat of the ice truck. For once in her life, she was absolutely silent, and it made Killian extremely irritated. 

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“How did it go?”

Anna just stared at him - and what was that smug smile on her face? 

“Come on, Anna, is Emma okay?”

Anna waved her hand. “Oh yeah, she’ll be fine.”

Killian let out a relieved sigh as he put the truck in drive and started towards home. When Anna spoke again, he almost drove right off the road. 

“And I was so excited to hold my sister’s nephew.”

He managed to get the truck back under control, then tossed Anna a shocked look. She arched a brow at him - ah, so that was the reason for the smug smile. 

“So,” she asked him, “are you going to tell Liam? Or should I?”

**********************************************

“I can’t believe this!” Liam shouted, his face mottled red with anger. 

He paced back and forth, his hands occasionally going to his hair. Killian had known his brother wouldn’t take the news well, but at this rate, Liam would pull all his hair out. He stopped pacing and railed on Killian once again. 

“You had to make the iceman stereotype true! I knew you were far too charming.”

“So which is it, Liam? You can’t believe what I did, or I’m so charming it doesn’t surprise you? Cause it can’t be both.”

Liam glared at him. “I should have made the deliveries and had you keep the books.” 

Killian flashed a roguish grin. “I like to use my hands and get out and see people.”

“Poor choice of words, little brother.”

“Younger,” Killian muttered automatically, “and she was lonely and sad.”

  “There’s a depression going on! Are you going to sleep with every sad and lonely woman?”

Killian grinned cheekily. “Just seeing me usually does the trick. Emma just needed my full and prompt attention.”

The parlor door opened, and Elsa breezed in, leveling them both with a look colder than the ice they delivered. Killian almost chuckled at the way Liam straightened his spine like he was on a naval ship again.

“Would you two stop going at it like children?” she snapped. “Killian, at least have the decency to apologize for your behavior.”

Liam arched a brow at his little brother, but before he got too smug, Elsa turned and lit into him as well. 

“And you. Liam, did you seriously not see this coming? Anna and I knew Killian had fallen for her the first time he brought her up.”

“That’s beside the point!” Liam protested. “Do you know how much it could hurt our business if word of this gets out?”

Elsa rolled her eyes. “I’m far more concerned about the worldwide depression when it comes to the business. Whose knickers Killian is getting into is neither here nor there.”

“Elsa!” Liam, ever the Puritan, admonished his wife. Killian did laugh then. Until Elsa leveled him with a glacial stare.

“I hope you know what you’ve done. The Golds aren’t a family you want to mess with. I hope for your sake, and Emma’s, that they never find out you’re that baby’s father.”

Killian’s face drained of its color and his heart lurched in his chest. He knew Elsa was right. 

God help them all: he, Emma, and Henry. 

Especially Henry. 

#cs ff #cshistfic #cs hist fic #cshistfic2021 #cs historical au #cs depression au #sexy iceman fic

[searchingwardrobes]

She Dreams in Color: 4/6

 For those of you who hoped after the last chapter that you had seen the last of Neal, well . . . sorry? The angst has only just begun. Thanks again to @shireness-says​ for organizing the @cshistfic​ event and to @aerica13​ for being my beta!

Trigger warning: this chapter discusses a wife feeling forced to have sex. It’s not rape technically, but more like dubious consent.  Just wanted everyone to be aware.

Summary: Emma’s life is drab and colorless, and not just because of the Dust Bowl that has stripped the land bare. Married to a man she does not love and never has, Emma lives for Tuesdays. That’s when the iceman brings cool relief from the unrelenting heat and fire to her unsatisfied longings. Perhaps they won’t go unsatisfied for long …

*Yes, this fic depicts infidelity. I am in no way making light of people who cheat on their spouses - it’s just a story, ya’ll.*

Rating: M

Length: 6 chapters, complete

Updated each Thursday 

Chapter One | Two | Three

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thestateofardadreaming @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling​

Chapter Four: Pretends to Sleep as He Looks Her Over

After the high from making love with Killian, reality sank down upon Emma. Why hadn’t she stopped to clarify her situation? First of all, there was Neal. When he’d said he’d just find some other woman, what had he meant? Was he leaving her? Just defiantly proclaiming that he would cheat if he wanted to? If their marriage was over, what would Emma do? Where would she go?

Then there was Killian. He hadn’t said anything about having feelings for her. He’d simply offered to pleasure her in ways her husband never had. After months and months of flirting and sexual tension, they had given into it. That didn’t necessarily make Emma anything special to him, however. For all she knew, he offered such “extra services” to many other lonely housewives. 

Emma went through her chores on the farm in a sort of daze. Half the time, she was paralyzed with an odd mixture of confusion and panic about her future. The other half, she remembered the ecstasy of Killian’s touch and she completely forgot what the hell she was supposed to be doing. 

She ate lunch alone, and then dinner too. She got ready for bed, and Neal still wasn’t home. She didn’t even know how to feel about his absence. He was gone so much anyway, Even the ambiguity of his return was familiar. 

Yet return he did. Emma didn’t hear the door open and close because of the fan whirring beside the bed. She heard creaking on the stairs, and then there he was, standing sheepishly in the bedroom doorway. Emma didn’t even put down the book she was reading as she looked at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. It even sounded genuine.

Emma gnawed at the inside of her cheek. Relief warred with disappointment. Relief that she still had a roof over her head. Disappointment that she would still be sharing a bed with this man. 

“I forgive you,” she finally said. She hoped he didn’t expect her to apologize, too. That, she would never do.

Neal’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he gave her that boyish smile that she had begun to find more and more ridiculous. He fairly jumped into bed beside her, not even removing his shoes. She tried not to shudder as he ran a hand over her shoulder. 

“I didn’t go find some other woman, just so you know.”

Emma pretended to concentrate on her book. He wriggled closer. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She knew that look. 

“Want to make up?”

She stared at her book again. “I thought we just did.” 

He chuckled, and dread sank into the pit of her stomach. She could brace herself, wait for it to be over, like she always had before. Somehow, though, it felt different now. Now that she knew what it should be.

“Alright then, I’ll let you read.”

She hoped he didn’t notice her breath of relief as he stood and began discarding his clothes. He slid between the sheets, and she gripped her book tighter. 

“Goodnight,” he told her. 

“Goodnight.”

************************************************************

Maybe Killian Jones was a foolish man. A fool who had bared his soul in life-shattering intimacy with a woman who wasn’t even free for him to claim. Or, then again, maybe she was free. That matter had not been clearly discussed. 

Their lack of conversation the previous day was precisely why Killian was making his way to the Gold farm after his last delivery was complete. He couldn’t let Emma think she was nothing more than a conquest. 

Since he wasn’t there to deliver ice, Killian climbed the front porch steps and knocked on the front door like a proper caller. He’d also changed out of his work clothes and into his brown wool suit. He was hot as Hades in it, but it was the only proper suit he had left. His suede fedora was also atop his head, fashionably askew. He straightened his dark paisley tie nervously before giving the door a quick rap.

When Emma opened the door, her expression went through an almost comical array of emotions. He enjoyed the bright look of appreciation that first lit her eyes - he hadn’t been this dapper even on their picnic. She blinked, confusion filled her face, and then was rapidly replaced with a mixture of panic and anger. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed. “It isn’t Tuesday!”

He recoiled slightly, blinking himself in surprise. Suddenly, he realized what was causing that bright red to flood her cheeks. 

“You mean . . . he’s staying?”

Emma grabbed him by the arm and yanked him inside. The brief hope that she would throw her arms around his neck and kiss him was swiftly doused by her next words. 

“Yes. The reasons I had for marrying him in the first place haven’t changed. I need a roof over my head and food on the table.”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “Not like he’s been fulfilling his part of the bargain there, love.”

Emma shook her head. “In a perfect world, I’d toss his stuff in the yard, but life’s far from perfect.”

“Swan,” he told her, drawing closer and grasping her gently by the elbow, “you deserve so much more than this.”

She shook her head. “You make me feel . . . you have no idea how deeply you make me feel, make me come alive, but I have to face reality. Not to mention the fallout if everyone in town knew what we’ve done. Your business would suffer.”

“Can we stop talking about money for five seconds?”

She backed away from him, shielding herself with her arms. He thought, not for the first time, how out of character that blue flowered house dress looked on her. The sleeves were slightly ruffled, and the neckline was high. The fabric wrapped around her torso, large wooden buttons decorating the left side. It was the dress of a farmer’s wife, and it didn’t suit her at all.

“Thank you for comforting me, yesterday,” Emma told him softly. 

“Comforting you? Bloody hell, woman, you think that’s all it was?”

She rubbed at her upper arms and looked away from him. “Well, I was just thinking . . . I’m not the only lonely housewife on your route. Lots of men are off getting work where they can find it. Sending money home. So I understand if -”

He cut her off the only way he knew how - with his lips on hers. He practically pounced on her and backed her up against the nearest wall, cradling her head to soften the contact. Emma melted against him, a soft sigh bubbling from her throat, and he smiled against her lips. He pulled back, thumbing her wet, swollen lips. 

“Only you, Emma. It wasn’t just a one time thing. And, by the way, I’m not comforting you.”

She was genuinely surprised by his words. “You’re not?” He shook his head, and she swallowed thickly. “Then what are you doing?”

“Don’t you know, Emma? I love you.”

She didn’t answer him. She just stood there looking at him with an awed expression, then a single tear tracked down her cheek. Slowly she leaned forward and brushed her lips lightly across his. She pressed herself against him, steadying herself by grasping his biceps, and deepened the kiss, though it remained tender. When they broke apart, Killian stayed close, his breath mingling with hers as he spoke. 

“I can’t stay, can I?”

She shook her head, then dropped her forehead to his chest. “Neal had some deliveries to make, but he said he’d be back by supper.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “Deliveries?”

Emma shrugged. “Some job he got while he was gone. He was really vague about it. It’s probably best I don’t know.”

Killian cupped her face in his hands. “He just better be careful. For your sake.”

She grinned defiantly up at him. “I can take care of myself.”

He knew. Bloody hell, did he know. It frustrated him, but it was also one of the things he loved most about her. If she felt staying married was how to do that, then he’d support her. 

“Emma,” he told her, as he traced her jaw with his fingertips, “I’ll never ask for more than you can give.”

She wrapped her arms around him tightly and pressed her nose into his neck. “I know,” she breathed against his skin.

***************************************************************

The days blurred together for Emma after that in a hazy cloud of ecstasy. Killian came every Tuesday to deliver the ice, as usual, and her “tips” were now far more than dessert. He came by other times as well, unable to stay away for long. They came up with a system for Emma to warn him if Neal was home. She had a hanging basket of red silk flowers; a hideously ugly and pitiful Valentine’s gift from her husband. “Since nothing real will grow,” he’d told her. Emma only hung the ridiculous thing when her husband was home, so it was the perfect signal to warn Killian to stay away.

Not that Neal was home much; that didn’t change. Neither did his halfhearted apology change the way he treated her. The only thing that changed was the frequency of Killian’s visits which brought color and life to her drab world. They made love everywhere: the kitchen table, against the counter top, in the half-empty barn. They even made love right in the parlor on the Gold family’s antique settee. For Emma, it felt a bit like revenge. 

Killian also took her on outings to what she had come to think of as “their tree.” They had picnics and talked, but they also made love under its barren branches. Especially under that tree, Emma could see the hurt in his eyes when she didn’t return his “I love you.” It wasn’t that she didn’t feel deeply for Killian. It was the words themselves. After all, she and Neal said them to each other, and they meant nothing. It wasn’t even that she doubted that Killian meant them with great passion. She knew he did. But was it lasting? The physical attraction between them was intoxicating, but would a day come when he tired of her? Once she was a young and naive girl who saw her parents as proof that true love was real. However, she wasn’t that girl anymore, and she was wary to open herself up. 

Neal still demanded of her “wifely duties” as he called them. Though it was rare, Emma still felt revulsion every time. However, she feared refusing him. Feared his anger, his mercurial emotions, and also feared he would discover her affair. So to keep the peace, she did what she always had: she closed her eyes and tried not to cry until it was over. Afterwards, she felt so ashamed and dirty, but not for being an adultress. No, she felt shame for being unfaithful to Killian. Felt shame for sharing a bed with a man she did not love while withholding her feelings from a man she felt more and more truly cared about her. 

Thankfully, Neal rarely wanted her anymore, and she’d heard about Tamara, the girl who opened her bar the minute prohibition was repealed. (As if everyone didn’t already know about the speakeasy.) As time went on, Neal wanted Emma less and less, to the point she no longer held her breath when he slid beneath the sheets at night. She was probably the first wife in history thankful for her husband’s mistress.

The only problem with how long it had been between her and Neal was when she realized something her body had been trying to tell her for about two months: she was pregnant. She was pregnant, and according to even the most basic math, it couldn’t be Neal’s. Yet, when she told him, he actually celebrated like a real husband would, whooping and hugging her tight. She never told Killian outright. There simply came the day he rested his hand against the swelling that had begun to show under her dress. 

“Have you had any milk today, Swan? The wee one needs milk, you know.”

And that was it. It was all he said, with a lopsided smile and a hint of sadness in his blue eyes. 

Sadness and lust - were those the only emotions Emma was capable of eliciting from those eyes? She prayed not. One day, she wasn’t sure when, but one day, she would fix that.

****************************************************************

Emma lay in bed naked next to Killian, who was also naked. Her red house dress lay in a heap upon the floor. The fabric had been a birthday gift from all of the Joneses, and Anna and Elsa had taken her shopping for the pattern. Emma had tossed away her old blue floral once she’d finished her new dress that had a corseted waistband, a square neckline, and slightly puffed sleeves. The delicate, white, geometric pattern of the cloth suited Emma much more than the blue flowers. The waistband also allowed the dress to expand to accommodate her ever enlarging belly. 

She’d used the leftover fabric to make a burp cloth and bib for Anna’s baby boy when he arrived. It seemed a pitiful gift, especially since the fabric had originally come from the Joneses in the first place. Anna, however, had hugged the items to her breast and teared up as she thanked Emma profusely. Holding little Rolf in her arms, Emma had wondered about her own little one’s arrival. Would he have Killian’s eyes? Her nose? Would it be obvious to the world who his father was?  

An icy rain lashed against the window panes, but Emma was warm in Killian’s embrace. She rubbed her hands along the dark hair on his arms, relishing the feel of him around her. 

“How is the business going?” she asked.

Ice delivery season had ended months ago, though the heat of an Indian summer had far outlasted the ice supply. Kristoff was already in Canada harvesting ice for next summer, and the Jones brothers were now trying to make it through the winter months delivering coal instead. A warm fall and a thus far mild winter wasn’t helping, however. 

“It’s going fine,” he told her. 

Emma rolled over so she could look up into his face. His smile tried to convince her of his words, yet she saw the worry in the lines around his eyes. She frowned and traced his jaw.

“You’re worried.”

He shook his head, then turned to kiss her palm. “We’ve had lean times in the past. Summer always comes again.”

Emma wriggled closer to him, humming in contentment. “This cold rain could help.”

“Perhaps.”

She could tell he didn’t want to talk business, so she fell silent. He ran a hand over her body, lingering on her abdomen which was growing larger by the day. 

“God, you’re so beautiful.” His voice was husky when he said it, sending a shiver down her spine. 

She bit her lip and searched his face hesitantly. “Truly? You’re not just saying that?”

“Of course not.” His brow furrowed with confusion. 

“Neal says I’m disgusting right now. He can’t even look at me naked.” 

Emma dropped her gaze and stared at the pattern of the sheets. She never thought Neal’s rejection could hurt her, but this felt different. This was revulsion. No woman wanted that reaction, regardless of its source. Killian was quiet for a moment, and fear sliced her heart that he would reject her, too. Yet just as the feeling gripped her, he tipped her face up and slanted his mouth over hers. The kiss was filled with passion and desire, and just in case she missed it, he caressed her body eagerly. His lips and tongue then followed the same path as his hands, until he had drifted down between her legs. Emma writhed as he worked her up, an orgasm washing over her with the talents of his tongue. Then he made his way back up her body, whispering words of awe against her skin before entering her for the second time that morning. She shattered around him, her body alive and vibrating. He made her feel beautiful in every way.  

Still joined with her, he looked deeply into her eyes and spoke huskily. “Leave him, Emma. Be with me.”

With their bodies joined together, and that look in his eyes, she was tempted to give in. Then she really looked down the length of their bodies and saw the swell of her child within her. Truth, cold and sobering, washed over her.

“How can I?” She asked him, voice wavering, begging him to understand. “Especially now! Now that I’m -”

“Don’t you dare say that you’re carrying his child.”

Emma startled, her eyes growing wide. Killian sighed, dropping his face to hers, pressing their foreheads together. Neither of them had directly addressed this particular elephant in the room. He rolled away from her, and they both reached for towels near the bed to clean up. Killian stood and began gathering his clothes. He paused, still naked before her, his belongings clutched to his chest.  

“I may be just a delivery man, but I can do basic math, Emma.”

She rolled away from him. “Don’t ask me to say it, Killian. Please.”

He was quiet for far longer than Emma would have liked. She swung her legs around to sit on the edge of the bed, slipping on her underthings. She tried to reach around her pregnant stomach to grab her dress, but then Killian was in her line of sight. He picked up the dress and handed it to her. She took it wordlessly, then allowed Killian to take her hand and help her to her feet. He pulled her close to his chest, the buttons of his shirt brushing against the fabric of her bra. Her desire for him lately had been insatiable, and she suddenly wanted to wrap her legs around him and try for her fifth orgasm of the day - or would it be her sixth? She had lost count. 

“Emma,” he said, softly, gently.

“Yes?” She tipped her head up to look up at him. In his gaze, she saw sadness. Again. She wouldn’t let it continue. He opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him with a hand to his lips. “Yes, the baby is yours. And yes, I love you.”

His answer was a passionate kiss that sent them right back to the bed. Emma never did decide on the exact number of orgasms. 

#cs hist fic #cshistfic #cs hist fic 2021 #cs ff #cs historical au #cs depression era au

[searchingwardrobes]

She Dreams in Color: 2/6

Sorry about the delay in posting. I won't bore you with the details, but life happened. To make it up to you, however, I will be posting chapter three TOMORROW! Just this once you get a double dose for your weekend.

Thanks once more to @shireness-says​ for organizing the @cshistfic​ event and to my beta @aerica13​. Also thanks to everyone in the discord chats for the sprinting and the brainstorming. I would also be remiss if I didn't thank everyone who expressed their love for chapter one of this fic. It was little more than an intro, yet I was overwhelmed by the response. We get more into the meat of the story with this chapter, and especially the next. So let's do this . . .

Summary: Emma’s life is drab and colorless, and not just because of the Dust Bowl that has stripped the land bare. Married to a man she does not love and never has, Emma lives for Tuesdays. That’s when the iceman brings cool relief from the unrelenting heat and fire to her unsatisfied longings. Perhaps they won’t go unsatisfied for long …

*Yes, this fic depicts infidelity. I am in no way making light of people who cheat on their spouses - it’s just a story, ya’ll.*

Rating: M

Length: 6 chapters, complete

Updated each Thursday (or Saturday, or Sunday . . . lol)

Chapter One

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling​

Chapter Two: Back When She was Bold and Strong

Emma cursed her husband, not for the first time, running a weary hand across her damp brow. The heat was unrelenting, yet the cow still had to be milked. The poor girl was as thin and gray as the rest of the farm, and it was the only animal left in the barn. Their last chicken had been Christmas dinner, and they’d slaughtered the pig at Easter. 

Though it was falling to shambles around them, Neal wouldn’t give up the farm. It had been in the family for generations, and Neal was more afraid of his father’s wrath than of The Depression. 

Emma finished milking Buttercup and rose to her feet, giving the poor thing a pat on her bony haunches. Emma struggled with the milk bucket as she exited the barn, her arms trembling. Despite her fatigue, however, she couldn’t afford to lose a single drop of the precious milk. 

As she stepped into the sunlight, she squinted against the haze. In the distance, she saw a telltale billow of dust. For a brief moment, relief filled her. Then she remembered it was Tuesday. 

How had she forgotten? She sighed as she looked down at her faded house dress. Oh well, after last week, she no longer cared if he saw her as she truly was. No more primping for him; not if he saw it as desperation. 

Emma tipped up her chin as he pulled into the yard, continuing her trek to the house with the milk bucket. 

“Morning, Swan,” he called out as he exited the truck. 

Emma ignored him, keeping her gaze on the back porch. Only a few more steps, and she could escape his presence and the humiliation it brought. Killian was having none of it, however. Instead of opening the back of the truck to retrieve the ice, he followed after her. 

“Emma,” he said softly, gently resting a hand upon her shoulder, “I must apologize for the brazen way I acted last week.”

Emma stopped, surprised he had been so forthright. She looked him straight in those unfairly blue eyes, forcing a cool indifference into her own. 

“Emma? I thought it was Swan? Remember? A trapped swan?”

He dropped his head with a sigh. “I should never have said that. I don’t know what came over me.” He lifted his gaze to hers again, searching. “I simply . . . wish for your every happiness, Swan. Truly, that’s all I want for you.”

“Why do you care what I -” 

Suddenly, Emma’s vision swam before her and she swayed. Killian’s arms immediately went around, yet the only thing she could worry about was dropping the milk. She needn’t have, however. Killian took it swiftly from her grip, not spilling a drop. She was unable to do anything but sag against his strong chest. 

“Swan!” Killian cried in alarm. 

“I’m . . . I’m,” she was trying to tell him she was okay, but she couldn’t retrieve the words. He set the milk bucket down and scooped her up into his arms. The movement made dots swim before her eyes, but she managed not to pass out. He set her gently on a chair at the kitchen table, then kneeled down so he was in her line of sight. 

“Are you alright, love?”

Emma lifted a shaking hand to her temple. “I’m sure it’s just the heat,” she lied.

“Let’s get you something to drink then,” he told her, pivoting towards the ice chest. 

She lifted a hand and opened her mouth to stop him, but before a sound could come out, he’d already pulled the door open. When he saw what was inside, he turned back to Emma in shock. 

“Swan, there’s nothing in here but a pitcher of water!”

“Why do you think I was milking the cow?” She tried to give her voice an air of humor, but it fell flat.

“How long have you been living on nothing but milk?”

“Only four days.”

“Four days!” His jaw ticked in frustration as he strode back to where she sat. This time, he pulled out a chair and straddled it. “What’s going on, darling?”

Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes. “Neal - my husband - he’s always leaving to find work. He’s never been gone more than five days, though, and we usually have more in the pantry. He knew I needed to get to town for provisions soon, so I thought he’d only be gone a day or two.”

“But that’s not been the case?”

Emma shook her head. “Today is day seven. We have only the one truck, and we had to sell the horse ages ago.”

“You’ve been stuck out here for a week with food running out and no way to get more!”

Emma felt the room spin again. “Can you yell at me after you get me a glass of water?”

Chagrined, Killian poured her some from the cool pitcher. “Apologies, love, I shouldn’t be yelling at you anyway. Your husband on the other hand . . .”

The look in his eyes made that same heat pool in her middle; the heat Neal had never mustered. She pressed the cool glass to her forehead, willing herself not to swoon in his presence. He rose again before she could say or do anything stupid. He went back outside and returned with the milk bucket and a paper lunch sack. He set the milk inside the ice chest, then set the paper bag on the table in front of Emma. 

“Eat that, right now,” he ordered, “but slowly.”

Emma eyed him as she opened the sack. Normally, her hackles were raised when a man ordered her about, yet there was an edge of worry and care in his tone that cooled her temper. She removed a thick roast beef sandwich wrapped in wax paper, then looked up at Killian in surprise. 

“Is this your lunch?”

He shook his head. “It’s food. Eat it.”

“I can’t take your lunch!”

“I never said it was my lunch.”

“But it is, isn’t it?”

“Who cares where I got it, stubborn woman! You were nothing but skin and bones when I carried you in here. Now eat before I toss you over my shoulder and take you home with me where my sister in law will pin you down and force you to eat!”

He stomped back outside before she could reply, and Emma’s lips curled into a smile. She’d rather like to be tossed over his shoulder, actually, but she decided to obey his orders instead. As soon as she took the first small bite of the sandwich, she wanted to devour it, but she knew Killian was right about eating slowly. She didn’t want the food to come right back up again. 

Also in the sack was a hard boiled egg and two molasses cookies. Emma nearly wept at how good it all tasted. She paced herself by laying it all out on the unfolded waxed paper and making herself alternate bites of each. 

When Killian came back in hauling the ice with his hooks, he grinned broadly to see her eating, relief also shining in his eyes. She admired the view Killian gave her as he hoisted the ice into the chest, just as she always did. It was hard to believe that it was only a week ago that he had so audaciously flirted with her.

“I’m afraid your tip will have to be a penny this week,” Emma told him as she brushed cookie crumbs from her lap. She had never eaten a better meal in her life, she was sure. 

Killian waved both arms in the air. “No, Swan, no charge this week.”

“No really,” Emma assured him, getting up and retrieving the coffee can from the top shelf, “it’s not that I don’t have money. I just don’t have a way to town.”

She thrust the dime, nickel, and penny at him, but he refused to take it, his brow furrowing in concern. Emma let out a huff of frustration, grabbed one of his gloved hands, and pressed the money into it. 

“I’m hungry because of lack of transportation,” she clarified further, “and if you haven’t noticed, nothing is able to grow in all this dust. Calling this a farm is honestly ridiculous at this point.”

If there was one thing the depression had done, it was give people an ability to laugh at dark jokes. Killian’s mouth tipped up, and he gave a slight chuckle at her melancholy quip. She returned his laugh, forcing his fingers to curl around the change. 

“I don’t know what I would do without Tuesdays,” she told him softly. His eyes widened at her honesty. She searched his face for a moment before making another confession. “I owe you an apology, too. I’ve flirted with you every week because life is dull here, and I’m lonely. But it’s not your job to brighten my day, is it? You just bring the ice.”

He cupped his other gloved hand around hers, then brought it up to his lips. The feel of them brushing against her knuckles sent a shiver down her spine. 

“You brighten my Tuesdays as well, Swan, and I am happy to brighten your days, if I can.”

“You do,” she managed to say over the lump in her throat. 

“Can I come back tonight?” His eyes widened as hers did, and red crept into his cheeks. “Not like that,” he amended hurriedly. “It’s just you’ve been cooped up here for seven days, and I thought you might like to get out. After my last delivery, I can take you for a drive.”

A smile filled Emma’s face as joy surged in her chest. “I’d like that.”

He returned her smile, his dimples softening his face and giving it a boyish charm. “It’s a date, then.”

His use of the word, sent alarm coursing through Emma. “Just check for my husband’s truck before you stop in the yard?”

He nodded, understanding in his gaze, and she let out a small sigh of relief. He released her hands, then stepped forward and brushed a kiss across her cheek. 

“Until tonight, Swan.”

Once again, the iceman had her knees buckling beneath her as he walked out her kitchen door. 

*****************************************************

“Where do you want to go?”

Killian grinned at her from the driver’s seat, his arm resting lightly on the open window. It was such a broad smile, it filled his face, cutting into his cheeks and crinkling the skin around his eyes. It made Emma’s heart pound like a schoolgirl’s, and all she could manage was a shrug. 

 “Well, within reason,” he amended with a chuckle. “I wish I could tell you we’d run away together and I would show you -”

He cut off his words suddenly, ducking his head and scratching nervously behind his ear. Emma looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. She was wearing her yellow organza and she had washed her hair beneath the water pump by the back porch. She’d brushed it as it dried until it shone, then fastened it behind her right ear with the faux emerald hair clip her mother had given her for her sixteenth birthday. Even though it was paste, she could probably pawn it, yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was her last tie to her parents. 

The care she’d taken in her appearance suddenly made her self conscious. He had breathed out in awe how beautiful she was when she answered the door, and her heart had soared. Now she wondered yet again if he found her desperate. 

“What I meant to say,” he amended, clearing his throat, “is that I’d like to fulfill your every dream, take you anywhere you wished to go. Alas -”

She cut him off. “No one’s dreams are coming true right now.”

“Aye,” he nodded sagely, “that’s so. But where do you want to go?”

“Just drive.”

“As you wish.”

Though the dust billowed up from the dry country road, Killian pushed the truck to go as fast as it was capable. Emma tilted her head back, a genuine grin filling her face as the sultry night air caressed her skin. The stars twinkled above, and a full moon illuminated the flat prairie. They didn’t speak as the truck bounced over the rutted ground, simply reveling in the feeling of freedom. 

Killian turned off the road and across prairie land that was once lush and green. He finally came to a stop in front of a large tree that stood brave and alone amidst the flat landscape. An indentation of cracked earth nearby must have once been a small pond. The gnarled, bare branches spread like a canopy and reached up into the night sky. 

“It was so beautiful once,” Killian told her, “when it was bedecked in green leaves.”

“I’ve never been here before,” she told him as he helped her out of the truck.

“You didn’t grow up here in Misthaven?”

“No,” Emma told him as he spread a faded quilt upon the ground at the base of the tree, “I was born and raised fifteen miles from here in Storybrooke.”

He nodded as he helped her sit. “So you moved here when you wed?”

“Yes. Neal’s farm has been in the family since the territory was first settled.”

Killian began taking items out of a picnic basket: slices of cold roast beef, a loaf of fresh bread, a wedge of cheese, and an entire pound cake. Emma’s mouth began to water. She nearly wept at Killian’s gesture. Obviously, he was still concerned about her going hungry. 

“I apologize that there are no fruits or vegetables,” he told her, “but you know how hard those are to come by these days.”

“Vegetables? Fruit?” she laughed. “What are these strange foods you speak of?”

Killian chuckled as well and spoke as he loaded a plate for Emma. “My sister-in-law’s sister is pregnant, and she heard two weeks ago that a farmer was in town selling watermelons. She sent her husband faster than you can say dust bowl.” 

“Did he get one?” Emma’s eyes widened. To have a watermelon again!

“Yes, though we had no money for the milkman that week.” Killian shook his head humorously at the memory. “None of us minded, though.”

“It was good?”

“It was the tiniest, most pathetic watermelon you’ve ever laid eyes on.” He leaned closer and winked at her. “It was delicious.”

They spent a few moments in silence, polishing off the roast beef, enjoying the bread that was still a bit warm in the middle, and moaning in delight at slices of the tangy cheese. At least, Emma moaned. She hadn’t eaten so well in a very long time. 

“So you all live together?” Emma inquired. “You, your brother and his wife, and her sister and her husband?”

Killian nodded. “My brother Liam and I started the business with Kristoff after we left the Navy. Liam and I handle the business end and the deliveries in the summer. Kristoff heads up to Canada every winter to harvest the ice and transport it. It saves him and Anna a lot of money to live with us in the summer months. Actually, Anna won’t be going with him up to Canada this coming season.”

“Because of the baby?”

Killian nodded. “Plus, with things getting worse everywhere, it will be a lot easier for Kristoff to find a room just for him. Anna and Elsa are extremely close, too, so I think Anna prefers to be here.”

“I wish I had siblings,” Emma said wistfully.

Killian tilted his head and studied her for a moment. “You know, I think Elsa and Anna would adore you. Is it okay if they come by tomorrow and take you with them to town? Elsa said she needs to do some shopping anyway, and she thought you might like to come along.”

Emma felt pink tint her cheeks. She knew things were tough for everyone, but it still hurt her pride to receive the pity of Killian and his family.

“I hope I didn’t overstep.” He reached out and took her hand gently. “I didn’t mean to tell them about you, but Elsa didn’t buy it when I said I lost my lunch.”

Emma was further embarrassed when a snort went through her nose. She tentatively gazed up at him. 

“You told her you lost it? Like a school boy?”

Killian laughed, once again scratching behind that ear. “Aye, it was all I could come up with. I stopped by the house to get more food between deliveries, and she demanded to know why I was raiding the ice chest.”

This sister-in-law sounded like her kind of person, so Emma shrugged and told him it was fine with her if the two women stopped by. Plus, if she were brutally honest, she was desperate for some friends in this town. 

“What about your family?” Killian asked as he sliced some thick wedges of pound cake for each of them. “You said you have no siblings. What about your parents?”

A soft smile graced Emma’s face thinking of her mother and father, and her hand went fondly to her hair clip. In her mind’s eye, she could see the old yellow farmhouse, their dog Wilby bounding in the yard, and her horse Snow White in the barn. 

“David and Mary Margaret Nolan are their names,” she told him. “They were farmers themselves, and they gave me the most idyllic childhood.”

Her hand dropped into her lap and she began to twist the delicate fabric in her fingers. 

“Let me guess,” Killian put in, “everything changed after the crash?”

Emma nodded, her eyes welling up with tears. “They tried to save it. We sold all we could: family antiques, farm equipment, even my horse. It wasn’t enough. The bank took the farm, my childhood.”

“I’m so sorry, Swan.”

“My father found a job with a logging company up in Canada, and we were all planning on going together. That’s what our family does, my father said. But one night, I overheard them talking. The company allowed spouses in worker housing, but no one else. No kids, not even teenaged ones like me. My parents wouldn’t hear of leaving me behind, however, so father was going to turn the job down. I knew he couldn’t afford to do that. We were broke.”

Killian frowned and moved closer to her side. He put a comforting arm around her, and she leaned into him. It was easier to tell the story if she couldn’t see his face.

“Neal Gold came to town often on business for his father. He was wealthy, at least at the time, and set to inherit the farm. He had pursued me for quite some time, telling me how I would be taken care of if I married him.”

Emma fell silent for several moments. Finally, Killian spoke gently against the crown of her head. 

“So that’s why you married him.”

Emma nodded. “My parents had taken care of me my entire life. Now I had a chance to take care of them. I let them believe I had fallen in love, but it was really a marriage of convenience.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen. My mother was the same age when she married, though my father was only nineteen. Neal was twenty-four when we wed.”

It wasn’t an unheard of age difference, Emma knew that. Still, she had thought him incredibly old and shivered with barely concealed disgust every time he made advances towards her. When she sought him out to accept his proposal, he had to have known her feelings hadn’t changed. She would quickly learn, however, that her feelings didn’t matter to him. 

“Ironically,” Emma continued, “Neal’s father, Robert Gold, was already in financial ruin when we wed. He married a much younger woman for her wealth, but there was no money left for Neal. He still got the farm, but that hardly mattered once the dust storms came.”

“What about your parents?”

“They’re thriving in Canada. We write letters.”

“They have no idea how unhappy you are, do they?”

Emma twisted around to look into Killian’s face. “How could I do that to them? If they knew, they might come back, and what good would that do? So we could all starve together?”

Killian said nothing, his gaze intense. He lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Emma’s ear. She swallowed hard, suddenly realizing how close they were and the way his arms encircled her. 

“They wouldn’t want you to be so unhappy.”

His voice was thick and his fingers danced along her jaw. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and suddenly she knew that if she allowed this to continue, she would let him take her right here on this blanket. What kind of woman did that make her? She set her palm against his chest, and her wedding ring caught the light of the moon. An adulteress, that’s what she would be. A loose, immoral woman. What would her mother think of her? With every bit of will power she possessed, Emma shoved Killian away from her and scrambled to her feet. 

“I’m married, Killian,” she told him thickly. “I know I’ve given you mixed signals, and I am so, so sorry for that, but I just . . . I can’t . . .”

“Can’t what?” he asked, rising to his feet as well. “Do something for yourself for once? Think of your own happiness for once?”

Emma shook her head as the tears welling behind her eyes spilled over. She yanked the paste emerald from her hair and held it so tightly in her fist it cut into her skin. 

“Take me home,” she whispered hoarsely. 

He rose and nodded to her like the most impeccable gentleman. “As you wish, Swan.”

#cshistfic #cs hist fic #cs hist fic 2021 #cs historical au #cs depression era au

[searchingwardrobes]

She Dreams in Color: 3/6

Here it is - your special bonus post of the weekend! Here is where we earn our M rating, kids. It's not smut, but let's just say, this is where the iceman cometh. Sorry, I had to! That phrase ran through my head the entire time I was working on this fic. :) 

Trigger warning: mild domestic violence is portrayed in this chapter. Not that I think any domestic violence is "mild" or remotely acceptable. I just use that word to mean that it isn't graphic. If you want to skip it, just jump over the part where Neal is there.

Thanks as always to @shireness-says​ for organizing the @cshistfic​ event and to @aerica13​ for being my beta.

Summary: Emma’s life is drab and colorless, and not just because of the Dust Bowl that has stripped the land bare. Married to a man she does not love and never has, Emma lives for Tuesdays. That’s when the iceman brings cool relief from the unrelenting heat and fire to her unsatisfied longings. Perhaps they won’t go unsatisfied for long …

*Yes, this fic depicts infidelity. I am in no way making light of people who cheat on their spouses - it’s just a story, ya’ll.*

Rating: M

Length: 6 chapters, complete

Updated each Thursday (or Saturday, or Sunday … lol)

Chapter One | Two

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thestateofardadreaming @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling​

Chapter Three: Can’t Find a Better Man

Emma woke the next morning still in an empty bed. Every morning since the food ran out, that fact had sent a slice of fear through her chest. However, with leftovers from last night’s picnic in the pantry and the ice chest, she felt relief instead flood her. 

She made her way downstairs, the heat causing her nightgown to stick to her bare legs. Would they never get relief from the unrelenting sun? 

Emma ate a breakfast of cold boiled eggs, cheese, and a thick slice of bread. Then she succumbed to temptation and ate a tiny sliver of pound cake as well. Killian’s sister-in-law was a great baker. Maybe she could get some recipes from her. 

Thinking of Elsa and the food made Emma remember what Killian said about her and her sister taking her to town. Would they still come after she had so awkwardly rejected Killian last night? Her cheeks burned at the memory. Surely Killian wouldn’t share those details with his family. Would he?

Nevertheless, the thought of a trip to town filled Emma with longing. She felt trapped on this farm. She wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, but not even her emotional walls could protect her from the monotony and life-sucking drabness of the farm. Not only that, who knew when Neal would return? The Joneses’ offering would only last for so long. Neither could she rely on their charity when everyone was suffering. 

Resolved, Emma decided to cling to hope that Elsa and Anna would come. She cleaned up her small meal, then went upstairs to dress. Like the night before, she also spent time on her makeup and hair. At least being stuck on the farm meant her cosmetics were lasting longer than they normally would. Emma sighed. Small blessings indeed.

It was mid morning when a horse and buggy pulled up at the front porch of the Gold farm. Emma greeted the two women from the porch before they could even descend from the buggy. Anna scrambled eagerly down from her perch despite her swelling belly and rushed to embrace Emma halfway up the steps. 

“I am so excited to finally meet you! I feel like we’re friends already. Killian has told us so much about you, and my goodness, you’re just as beautiful as he said. I’m so so sorry he didn’t explain sooner how secluded you are out here. We would have at least come for a visit had we known, wouldn’t we, Elsa?”

The stately blonde behind Anna smiled indulgently at her sister, then extended a slender hand to gently take Emma’s. 

“Yes, we definitely should have come sooner. I hope my sister isn’t overwhelming you.”

Emma was a little overwhelmed, but not by Anna’s exuberance. Killian had told them about her? He said she was beautiful? She felt red stain her cheeks.

“Um,” Emma faltered, “Killian’s told me a lot about the two of you, as well.”

It seemed the most innocuous response. Elsa smiled gently, and Emma released a relieved breath. 

“I would ask you in for some refreshments, but, well.” Emma shrugged in a self-deprecating manner. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know.

“And we apologize for the form of transportation,” Anna laughed, “but the truck is for deliveries during the day.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Emma told them, descending the steps to greet the pair of chestnut horses hitched to the buggy. She rubbed them both on their muzzles and wished she had some lumps of sugar or carrots. “I’ve always loved horses. We had to sell ours.”

“I hate that so many people have had to do that,” Anna said, coming up next to Emma to give the horses some additional affection. “Animals can become like family, especially horses.”

The smile Emma shared with Anna felt like one of camaraderie, and as she climbed into the buggy, she no longer felt like the recipient of charity. She felt like a friend. 

**************************************************************

“Eggs and bacon, doll.”

Neal didn’t even add a “good morning” to the command. He simply slouched at the kitchen table and flipped open the newspaper he’d brought home with him last night. Emma ground her teeth as she gripped the edge of the countertop. He’d been home two days, and never once had he asked how the kitchen was fully stocked again. Didn’t he wonder how she got to town? Or had he not even noticed how little food he’d left her with?

“I’m not a waitress, you know.”

Sher turned to him, arms crossed, brows arched. He lowered his paper, his eyebrows jumping to his hairline. 

“Excuse me?”

His tone was one he’d never used before; cold as ice with an edge of warning. He’d been distant and uncaring. He’d ignored her. He belittled her. However, she’d never felt fear in his presence.

Until now. 

Before either of them could make their next move in whatever tense game this was, there was a knock at the screen door and a lilting voice. 

“Ice delivery!”

Neither Emma nor Neal broke their gaze from one another. Killian paused nervously on the threshold for a minute or two, glancing from wife to husband and back again. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered an awkward domestic moment on his deliveries, but it was the first time at the Gold farm. As a matter of fact, this was the first time he’d seen Neal Gold at all. Liam handled the customers when they purchased their delivery service. Killian handled the deliveries themselves. He already had the ice, which was dripping all over Emma’s clean kitchen floor, so he ignored the tense couple and headed for the ice box. 

“You heard me,” Emma said, voice steady, “I’m not a waitress.”

Neal crumpled his paper in his fist and slammed it into the table as he rose quickly to his feet. Emma couldn't stop herself from flinching, but she kept her chin up and her arms folded defiantly. He rounded the table until he was toe to toe with her. 

“You’re my wife, and you’ll make my damn breakfast.”

Killian clenched his jaw so tightly at the man’s condescending and cruel tone that he feared he might chip a tooth. He glanced at Emma out of the corner of his eye and saw that she had not backed down. Color spotted her cheeks, but not an inch of her trembled at the man before her, and she held his gaze. She was bloody amazing, but Killian also held his breath, fearing what this man might do. Treatment like this from husbands wasn’t uncommon, Killian knew, but it was still wrong. Emma had every right to expect to be treated with respect, especially in her own home. 

“I don’t mind making breakfast for my family, Neal, but you’re treating me like a servant.”

Neal’s nostrils flared and his face turned so red, that fear trickled down Emma’s spine. His hand shot out so fast, Emma didn’t know what he was doing until he had grasped her face in his tight grip. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Killian abandon the ice chest and surge forward, but she lifted a hand and shot him a brief, pleading look that stopped him in his tracks. Thankfully, Neal didn’t notice the exchange. 

“You belong to me, woman.” He squeezed her face tighter, and Emma couldn’t help the lone tear that leaked out. “You begged me, remember?”

He laughed sadistically as he let her go, shoving her so that she stumbled and struck her hip on the edge of the kitchen counter. 

Killian almost cried out his pet name for her, Swan, but he swallowed it back. He did, however, go to her in what he hoped was a polite manner. The last thing he wanted was to give this lout more reason to unleash his anger on Emma. 

“Are you okay, Mrs. Gold?”

“I’m fine,” she told him with a shaky laugh. “Just lost my balance a bit.”

“She’s a klutz, is what she is,” Neal scoffed. “Should have known when I married a farm girl.”

Killian thought of about a dozen insults he could toss back at this man, but he knew doing so would only make things worse for Emma. He couldn’t keep the scowl from his face as he looked at Neal, however. The other man stared him down, contempt written all over his face.

“Get your hands off my woman and back to work, iceman.”

It took every ounce of Killian’s willpower to take the insult and return to his work. It was only the pleading in Emma’s eyes that kept him out of it. 

“I only meant,” Emma said placatingly, “that I made biscuits and ham the day before you got back, and I was planning on having those for breakfast. So we wouldn’t waste anything, you know?”

Neal narrowed his eyes. “Are you implying that I can’t provide for you? Are you saying we’re poor?”

“Are you blind!” Emma shouted. “Yes, we’re poor, Neal! The whole goddamn country is poor! Even your father lost everything!”

She should have stopped when Neal shoved the kitchen chair out of his way, but she didn’t. No, she kept yelling as he came closer, and she should have expected the slap across her face. In a way, she did. In some sick, twisted way, she wanted him to hit her, really hit her. Then she could hate him with every fiber of her being. Then she didn’t have to pretend anymore. 

She knew Killian would be at her side in a moment, so before he could even take one step towards them, she advanced on her bully of a husband. She shoved him as hard as she could in the chest. She didn’t move him; she didn’t expect to. He outweighed her, especially since he was apparently eating just fine on the road while she stayed here and almost starved. 

“Don’t you ever touch me again!”

Neal was so shocked by her fighting back, that his mouth gaped open. He didn’t move, so she shoved him again.

“Don’t you ever order me around! I’ll cook whatever I wanna cook, and you’ll like it.”

Neal grabbed her by both wrists and leaned into her face. “You don’t want me to touch you?” He laughed. “Then I’ll go touch whoever the hell I want.”

At that, he dropped her arms and stomped away. He flung open the front door, but before he stepped out onto the porch he threw one last barb her way. 

“And I’ll find a woman who’ll make me bacon and eggs, too!”

There was a long silence after Neal slammed the door after him. Emma could sense Killian behind her, standing awkwardly near the ice chest. It was broken when Emma sagged against the kitchen counter and started laughing hysterically. 

“Swan?” Killian asked her tentatively. He probably thought she’d lost her mind. 

“Bacon and eggs?” Emma gasped out. “That was his last insult?” 

Laughter gripped her again, and she bent over as it shook her frame. She laughed so hard, she slid to the floor, and Killian joined her. Soon they were laughing so hard tears streamed down their faces. 

“A woman who will make him bacon and eggs,” Killian quipped, “how can you compete with that?”

The laughter swept over them both once more, and Emma dropped her face to Killian’s shoulder as her body shook with it. 

“I . . . sort of . . .” Emma sputtered out words between giggles, “feel sorry for whoever she is.”

When the laughter finally subsided, Killian had his arm around her, and she had collapsed against his chest. His fingers toyed with the ends of her hair. 

“I really am sorry, Emma,” he told her. 

“I hope he means it,” she whispered back. 

“Means what?”

“That he’ll never touch me again.”

She lifted her head to gaze into his eyes, and the moment stretched, becoming heavy with an exquisite tension. Killian’s heated gaze flickered to her lips. He leaned forward, and Emma’s eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. Every nerve ending in her body quivered with desire, and she no longer could see a reason not to satisfy it. But instead of his lips brushing with hers, his voice caressed her neck, his lips brushing slightly against her earlobe. 

“Have you ever really been touched, Emma?” He asked her huskily. His voice sounded almost dirty, and she actually shivered. “Touched in a way that makes you tremble? Touched in a way that makes you cry out in ecstasy? Have you ever known a touch like that?”

Her voice cracked when she answered. “No. Show me, Killian. Show me the way a woman should be touched by a man. Please?”

She nuzzled against his collarbone, and he growled. His hands rested at her hips, his touch firm yet without aggression. Fire licked at her skin and traveled down to her core. He lifted one hand to grasp the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He tilted her head back, exposing her neck, and began to trail open mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. His tongue sucked at her pulse point, and she let out a mewling sound. It almost embarrassed her until he chuckled. 

“Eager are we, lass?”

“You’re teasing me,” she gasped. 

He released her so he could cradle her face in his hands. His thumbs caressed the apples of her cheeks. 

“Look at me Emma,” he asked, and she obliged. The words may have seemed like an order, but the tone was completely different from Neal’s, making it an obvious request. One she had no desire to refuse. His blue eyes were darker than normal, and she knew they were flooded with lust, just as her own likely were. 

“Killian, I -”

Her words were swallowed by a hungry kiss. Perhaps he feared she would change her mind, push him away again. Not this time. God, the last thing she would do right now was stop this. His lips were dry and slightly cracked, probably from the temperature swing between the dry heat and the frigid cold of the ice he delivered. They were also full, however, and the feel of them against hers was so different from the rough and flaccid kisses she was used to from her husband. Emma parted her lips, boldly exploring his mouth with her tongue. Now it was Killian’s turn to groan, and he surged against her even more aggressively. He was devouring her. 

Meanwhile his hands were exploring her body over her house dress, but it wasn’t enough for Emma. She wanted to feel him. Everywhere. She shifted, pushing Killian back against the bottom kitchen cupboards, and then she straddled him, her dress hitching up far past her knee highs. Killian moaned, sliding his hands down to explore the bare skin of her hips. Emma could feel his hardened length rubbing against her bunched up dress and underclothes, and she rocked her hips against it. 

“God, Emma,” he gasped, breaking their kiss. He cradled her face again, and when she looked into his eyes, his gaze was completely wrecked. She had done that. She grinned and started to rut against him again, but he stilled her by grasping her hips. 

“Emma,” he groaned again, his head falling back against the cabinets behind him. “I want to give you everything you’ve never had. Show you what it’s supposed to be, but I won’t make it if you keep doing that.”

“Oh,” she said, suddenly feeling shy. 

He gently lifted her chin. “You’re glorious, Emma, don’t doubt that, but a woman as beautiful as you deserves my full attention.”

The grin he gave her then was sinful, and she squealed as he shifted to gather her up in his arms bridal style. All of those heavy blocks of ice he lugged around all day made his arms like corded steel, and he stood smoothly with her in his arms. 

“Where is your bedroom, Swan?”

“Upstairs,” she answered, voice thready, “first door to the right.”

He nodded, his intense blue eyes never leaving her face as he carried her upstairs. When he laid her upon her bed, she let her arms fall above her, letting him know she trusted him completely, and even more, she was eager to be putty in his hands. He lowered himself on top of her and fused his mouth with hers once more. He proceeded to make good on his promise, and then she knew: she had never really been touched before. With Neal, there was no foreplay. He took, that was all. It was all she knew sex could be. Until now. She did all the things Killian had promised she would beneath his touch: she trembled, she cried out, she completely fell apart. 

He couldn’t stay, though he communicated with heated words against her skin how much he wanted to. She understood. She watched him dress, appreciating the view of his glorious body now that the haze of her desire no longer clouded her eyes. She stayed in bed when he kissed her languidly goodbye, his tongue swiping hers one more time, and continued to remain there as he walked out her bedroom door. 

She stayed, not bothering to cover her naked body, letting the fan cool the sweat on her skin.

#cs hist fic #cs ff #cshistfic #cs hist fic 2021 #cs historical au #cs depression era au