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ineffablecolors · 5 years

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The Wife [16/?]

The Wife || Ch 16 ~ 8.7k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10Ch11 C12 Ch13 Ch14 Ch15 || FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

A/N: Longest chapter yet but I wanted to leave things on a good note. ;) Hope you enjoy! :*

They stand stark naked with their backs to the blazing fireplace – drops of water still rolling down their bodies and joining the wet marks left by their feet, the wood crackling, the clock ticking, the wind outside gentle and serene in comparison with the night before. For a couple of minutes neither of them says anything.

Emma keeps stealing glances at her husband, trying and failing to keep her eyes from wandering over all the parts of him she’d never seen before tonight. Maybe, if this is to be something they share all the time – and she doesn’t even pretend that she hasn’t crossed her fingers and made a dozen childish wishes for it – there might come a time when she is not constantly drawn to and infinitely curious about Killian Jones. But, in all honesty? She very much doubts it.

When her eyes are averted, she wonders if he is looking at her out of the corner of his eye as well, if he wants to know every curve and every freckle on her. She supposes she should feel rather narcissistic and self-indulgent about those thoughts but it’s not like that. It’s just that Emma has wanted to be wanted so many times but never like quite like this and never with so much hope that it might actually come true.

So they keep standing there like children who’ve been caught in their mischief until her eyes dart to the side again and his do as well and their gazes meet – wide-eyed and undeniably interested. And then Killian barks out a laugh so loud and boisterous that Emma jumps in place, watching him with surprise for a few seconds before she joins in.

She turns around to face him, trying to will away the nervous sparks that shoot all along her limbs, trying not to wonder what he sees now that he is looking at her – if he likes what he sees.

It takes her by surprise again when he moves first, his hand reaching out to brush her hair over her shoulder, but it also gives her the encouragement to step closer. Killian follows suit, slipping his hand more firmly in her hair, working his fingers between the strands, and Emma wonders if she should tell him how much she likes it when he does that. She has never been one for complicated hairstyles but she is willing to learn just to have him undoing them like this each night.

“Are you cold, love?”

She shakes her head and takes the last step that brings her chest flush with his – the sensation of skin on skin is unlike anything she has ever experienced and she isn’t quite sure if it’s because she has never been so close to someone, so intimate with someone, or simply because it’s him.

His arms lock around her and Emma lifts up on her toes so she can capture his lips, unashamed of how greedy and possessive her kiss turns as she bites lightly on his lower lip and wraps her hands around his neck, pulling him further into her. The sparks along her skin have multiplied and lost all their bashfulness, spreading only heat and pleasure and the desire for more. She lets one of her hands wander down his chest, relishing the feeling of the damp hair that guides her until she trails the back of her fingers over his cock in a feather light touch. It’s hard again it’s smoother than all the rest of him, except for some of the scars along his arm, and Emma feels both eager and even more out of her depth without the water to ease her movements.

She dips her head to watch what she is doing and gets a little distracted – fascinated, by the sight. She thinks Killian won’t mind if she asks him how to proceed but before she can formulate her question, he encircles her wrist with two fingers and pulls her hand up. He presses an openmouthed kiss to the inside of her wrist and flicks his tongue lightly over the spot where her pulse is throbbing so hard she can feel her whole body vibrating to the rhythm.

“Now, now, Mrs Jones. I believe we established a “quid pro quo” policy.”

She swallows and runs his words through her mind two times in an attempt to divide their meaning but in the end the best she can manage is focusing on his eyes.

“What?”

Killian just grins at her and it looks like a promising combination of indulgent and predatory. He moves with slow determination – bending his knees slightly and slipping his arms from her waist right under her ass, keeping his eyes on hers as he starts to lift her up. The hand she has on his neck grips harder and Emma swings her free arm around his shoulder but doesn’t gasp or squeal, instead she leans into him, crosses her ankles and tries to keep her legs out of his way as he turns them towards the bed and crosses the distance in a few heavy steps.

As she sinks into the blankets, she thinks there is just something better about Killian’s bed – it’s not that it’s more comfortable than hers, though it is somewhat bigger – it’s that it doesn’t feel like a bed at all. Try as she might, she can’t chase away the thought that now it feels like somewhere she can hide from any storm.

Killian crawls up after her until Emma can feel the heat of his body shimmering above her and she unconsciously arches her back, seeking contact. If he notices, he chooses to ignore her silent plea in favour of brushing his nose over her damp hair, kissing her forehead and then tentatively, maddeningly patiently caressing her nose with his mouth. When he passes over her lips, she tries to sneak her tongue past his lips but he quickly continues down to her chin and when she reaches to grab his face and drag it where she wants it, he intertwines their fingers and presses their hands beside her head and the best she can do is burying her free hand in his hair. She means to tug but it really ends up being more of a caress that encourages him to keep mapping her body with his lips.

Frankly, it’s far from a terrible fate, but Emma can already feel an impatient itch crawling up her sides and down her legs, a need to have more of him, all of him. So she hooks her ankles around his and slips her foot up his calf in a move that she hopes is seductive rather than awkward. She feels Killian’s lips tick up against the hollow of her throat and she feels him breathe the words “devil woman” between her breasts. But, before she can scoff at that, he finally opens his mouth and closes it firmly around her nipple and the sound she makes is anything but a scoff.

He spends such a long time lavishing attention on her breasts that a distant part of Emma’s mind tells her she should probably protest. Fortunately, that part seems to have little sway over the majority of her thoughts which make her clutch him close to her skin, wrap her legs tighter around him and moan little that isn’t her encouragement and his name. And when he does finally pull away and returns to scattering maddening little kisses along her ribcage, she barely aborts the growl that rises in her throat.

“I was enjoying that,” she says gruffly instead, surprising herself with even that small amount of eloquence.

Killian slides further down, so she has no choice but to let her legs release him and fall to the sides, and then he looks up, his eyes meeting hers across the expanse of her naked body. Any thought of modesty is obliterated by the elated sparkle in his dark blue gaze and the way he nips lightly at her belly.

“I’m hoping you’ll enjoy this as well.”

Emma’s eyebrows pull together before he lowers his gaze and noses at the light curls between her legs. Her gasp is so sharp that she hears his neck pop as he sharply pulls away, a confused fear in his eyes that he hurt or frightened her. Emma swallows heavily and tries to alleviate his fears the way she alleviates her own – by asking him about it.

“Is this… is it— is it done?”

She squeezes his hand, their fingers still linked beside her hip, and curses herself in her head.

Emma doesn’t care if it is done or not. It seems unlikely that she could care less about what anyone else does in their bed in this moment. She can feel the warmth of his shoulders where they press at her inner thighs, she remembers how it felt when he touched her there, she knows how it feels every time he kisses her and – why, it seems a bit odd and unconventional and it gives a whole new meaning to the word “intimate” in her mind, but then she just had a bath and she feels soft and clean and, when she thinks about it, she doesn’t mind him kissing her all over at all.

When she thinks about it, she feels like an idiot for stopping him.

Thankfully, her husband is not an easily swayable man. He just props his chin on her hip bone and looks up at her calmly – as if they have all the time in the world to talk about this, if she’d like.

Emma would really like him to continue doing whatever he intended to do to her.

“It can be. Technically there are no rules about… these sort of things. But we do not have to, if you don’t like the idea.”

“No,” she replies quickly. “I mean, no, umm… I don’t mind.”

She goes to roll her eyes at her own lukewarm response but Killian’s eyes twinkle with amusement and some sort of knowledge that he looks eager to share. And then he dips his head down again and Emma gasps again, only this time he doesn’t pull back, he leans into her, his left forearm urging her legs further apart and his hand squeezing her own.

Emma tries to watch for awhile – the sight is even better than that of her hand wrapped around him, but in a few seconds her other senses are much too overwhelmed and she finds herself squeezing her eyes shut and tipping her head back, her nails digging into his palm as her other hand reaches blindly for him, unwilling to interrupt but desperate for contact – her fingertips barely brushing his hair.

She feels a puff of warm air and the sound that reaches her ears must be the definition of improper, and then there is Killian’s voice.

“Remember how this works, love? You tell what you like and what do you don’t.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Emma nods frantically, her hand reaching to push him back and her fingers bumping his nose. She feels his laughter spread from his heaving shoulders to her trembling thighs and her entire lower body seems to be aflutter and she doesn’t know if she could control it, even if she wanted to.

“You like this?”

He turns his head to the side and nips at her thigh and she clamps her legs a bit tighter around him.

“Yes.”

“And this?”

Suddenly his lips settle on that spot his fingers had quested for last time, wrapping around it and sucking it in, and she gulps in way more air than she needs for just the one word that leaves her lips in a hiss.

“Yesss.”

Killian hums in agreement and she chokes on the damned air and doesn’t care – not right now, not when all she cares around is the feel and sound and – she opens her eyes, suddenly needing to look again – the sight of him between her legs. Her thighs are trembling on either side of him and Killian finally releases her hand to take one of her ankles and put it on his shoulder like he did earlier, his stump running up and down her other side in a soothing rhythm.

She doesn’t think anything can soothe her right now. What is more, she doesn’t want to be soothed. She wants that incredible rush again, the euphoria of the world disappearing and leaving just her and him and everything her body is apparently capable of feeling.

He pulls away and she doesn’t even try to stop the whine that comes out of her, slipping the leg on his shoulder further down his back so she can use it as leverage to get him back where she wants him. Killian allows her to pull him half-way before his eyes meet hers.

The impressed and delighted look on his face sends a thrill over her body that also culminates where he is breathing against her. He kisses her gently, lightly, barely making contact at all, and she digs her heel into his shoulder blade. And then she feels his tongue over and inside her.

“Oh, fuck! Killi—!”

*****

After a time that she has yet again lost sense of how to measure, she feels his fingers run gently over her stomach, her muscles fluttering in their wake, and his lips press a wet kiss against her shoulder.

“Did I curse?”

His laughter reverberates around them.

“Like some of the oldest sailors I know.”

“No.”

It’s half a question and half mortification that she feels too good and mellow to summon right now. He laughs again – and her lips pull up, her heart cataloguing the frequency of the sound and delighting every time it rises – and tugs her closer, her warm and relaxed body all too willingly molding itself to his.

“No. You were rather tame. I can teach you a thing or two.”

“A fine thing to teach a lady.”

“Well, I—“

The knock on the door is unexpected and unwelcome and the only thing on Emma’s mind is that Ruby can keep her towels to herself.

“What is it?” Killian’s voice is calm but there is an unmistakable dismissiveness in it that says the desired answer is most certainly – nothing.

“Captain Jones, there is a letter for you. It’s… it’s urgent.”

Emma has never heard Ruby sound so uncertain before. Killian looks at her with a confused frown and kisses her quickly before he gets out of bed and tugs on the first shirt and pair of trousers he can get his hand on. He doesn’t put on his brace and Emma clings to that fact and imagines that in a minute he’s going to slip back between the sheets, all the while feeling in her bones that it’s a naïve hope.

Killian opens the door slightly, standing in front of it to keep her own of sight but Emma is already looking around for her nightgown. She gets out of bed and quickly shrugs it on as soon as Killian shuts the door and tears the corner of the letter with his teeth.

Emma is sure she would have had thoughts about this, if it wasn’t for the ball of anxiety gathering in her belly and drowning out everything else. She watches his face go slack and lose colour and his fingers crush the edge of the paper they are holding and before she can get to him he is already shrugging his shirt off and now the brace is going on and Emma doesn’t understand why the world wouldn’t just let them laugh in bed for a bit longer.

“Killian, what is it?”

He doesn’t reply and she flinches at the way he pulls hard on the buckles at his shoulder.

“Don’t—“

Her hands reach to stop him and for a second she is sure he is going to flinch back or push her away. But then her eyes meet his and his arms drop to his sides and as much as the wretchedness on his face tears her heart in two, she takes advantage of the moment and loosens the leather biting into his skin and does the buckles as calmly as she can.

“It’s Alice.”

She is glad to have completed her task for now her hands are most certainly not steady enough for it. She watches in amazement as he tugs his shirt back on and does his buttons with one hand faster than she can follow with her scrambled and terrified thoughts.

“Wha— What’s happened? Is she coming home? Is she alright?”

But Killian’s moment of stillness seems to have passed and he is going around the room, collecting his jacket and tugging on his boots with jerky but efficient movements.

“Killian!”

He mutters under his breath about needing something and rushes out of the room. She follows him.

The sound of her bare feet against the floor echo after him and the cold spreads up from her toes. Emma only remembers she is wearing nothing but a cotton nightgown when she feels the chill in the hallway leading to his study but she doesn’t turn back.

Killian comes out of the room before she can enter, almost barreling into her. His hand grabs her arm to steady her and it feels like the beginning of a caress that doesn’t have time to be.

When he tries to run on, she seizes both of his hands and pulls him back.

“Tell me if Alice is alright!”

She doesn’t mean to yell but she can’t regret it when she sees his eyes snap to hers and clear just enough to read and answer the fear in hers.

“She is safe. I just have to go,” he steps closer and pulls her into him, his chin settling on top of her still damp hair for a second. “I’ll make it alright. I promise.”

“Let me come with—“

“No. I’ll make it alright.”

He presses his lips hard against the top of her head and heads for the door. It’s wide open, Peter is waiting outside with Roger’s reins in hand. Ruby and Mrs Lucas are already there and the old woman hands Killian his coat without a word.

“Killian, please—”

He turns to her but Emma can’t bring herself to ask. If she asks, that makes it a question, that means there is an alternative.

So when he presses his forehead to hers and tells her he will come back without her having to ask, she knows she has never loved him more.

*****

Old Mrs Lucas looks like she wants to murder and skin something, Ruby is eating her nails till she tastes blood and the new mistress – well, Peter tries not to look too much at the new mistress. She is wearing naught but a thin white shift and Captain Jones is already looking like thunder come to life. He’d rather have the storm last night twice over than that look on the master’s face.

All the same, Peter is not worried.

Captain Jones is a dark shadow of iron will and determination as he mounts his stallion and rides off at a breakneck speed and Peter has known since he was a little lad – already marked for the gallows by everyone who’d met him, constantly beaten and punished by Mrs Blue for making up games that were too loud and made all the other orphans jump on their hard beds – that there is nothing to be worried about when Captain Jones comes to your rescue.

*****

Ruby goes to close the door when Roger’s dark shape has long since disappeared into the night but Emma’s fingers grip the wood until her knuckles turn white.

“You’ll catch your death out here like that.”

The other woman looks at her blankly before she blinks a few times and lets her hands fall to her sides. She hasn’t looked so much like a ghost since her wedding day – the whiteness of her clothing almost matching the colour of her cheeks, her eyes wide and confused and just a little afraid. She looks smaller, colder.

Ruby tries to shake off her own worry, still her restless hands and swallow the lump in her throat so she can reach for her and tell her that everything will work itself out. But Emma just waves her off and starts for the stairs.

When she reaches to follow her, Ruby feels her grandmother’s strong and firm grip on her arm.

“Let her go.”

“She is—“

“Aye, let her go and try to get some sleep. We’ll bring her a good breakfast in the morning and set her straight.”

Ruby watches Emma’s bare feet disappear over the last visible step and sends a silent prayer that she does manage to sleep and not dream.

*****

She looks at the unmade bed – one pillow is on the ground, the sheets are horribly wrinkled and damp in places where they tumbled onto them only half dry. She doesn’t understand how she could have been in this bed less than half an hour ago – blissfully happy.

Then she sees the letter dropped at the foot of it. The paper is already clutched in her hand before she stops to consider if Killian would want her to read this. For a moment, her eyes water with the effort of not looking at it, then she decides that secrets are not something that has ever stood between them for long.

It’s not a letter. It is barely a note.

Mother knows.

She feels the word blur at the edges and she sits heavily on the edge of the bed without having decided to do so. Reality seems to waver and contort horribly, incomprehensibly, twisting itself tightly around her throat.

“How…”

Emma doesn’t understand. She is gone. She can’t possibly—

She remembers the ashen look on Killian’s face and crumples the note further into her hand, her nails puncturing the paper.

Emma has never had reason to explore certain dark places inside her, has never even known if they exist at all. But in this moment she knows with perfect clarity that if Eloise Gardner – she isn’t Mrs Jones anymore, that isn’t hers anymore, they aren’t hers anymore – is still somehow in the flesh, Emma will wrap her own two hands around her and drag her as far away from Killian and Alice as her legs can go.

The image doesn’t scare her and doesn’t make her feel guilty. When she opens her eyes and looks down, her hand is steady. That’s when she sees the envelope on the floor and the name written on it.

Miss Robyn Hood

Her breath rushes out and the vines around her lungs loosens as she falls back into a world she understands and the knowledge that nobody is going to try to take her life from her. She takes a few minutes to get her heart and her breathing under control, to clear the dark images from her mind, to smooth out the sheet of paper and leave it on the desk in the corner.

It is only when she buries her face in Killian’s pillow and pulls the blankets over her head that Emma knows for certain that this bed feels no better or safer than any other without her husband in it.

*****

“This is all my fault.”

“It’s definitely not—“

“It is not your fault.”

His voice brooks no argument but the look in his eyes is what makes them settle down.

“How far?”

“I don’t—“

“Robyn. Calm down, give me the names and get in the carriage.”

She does. He has already kissed his daughter’s forehead and promised to make it right, buttoning his coat and preparing to leave with them, when she barrels into him. She is taller than Alice, almost as tall as him, but she buries her head in his shoulder in the exact same way – like she trusts him to keep her safe from the world.

And he will be damned, if he doesn’t.

*****

Granny Lucas wakes up before dawn and lets the household sleep. She brings Ruby and Peter a cup of tea and tells them to stay in bed awhile longer, then she starts preparing the mistress’s breakfast.

In the period that she has now marked off as “after Alice and before Emma” Killian Jones spent the vast majority of his time in his office or at the docks and yet, his unexpected and indefinite absences have always upset the balance in the house.

She goes through all the rooms, airing them, letting the breaking sunlight in and watching the specks of dust dancing around like they do every morning – no more, no less. She stokes the fire in the kitchen, dries the last of the cutlery and fills the whole space with the strong smell of coffee that still seems foreign to her nostrils. All the rooms are still here, furnished and heated, there is food in the pantry and flowers in the vases and yet, she can feel the tipped balance as well as if the floor had shifted overnight. Everything feels exposed somehow.

As if the house is there but it no longer has a roof over it.

*****

The knock on the door comes later than she expects it. She has been lying in bed, wrapped around a pillow, staring at the tub that they forgot to have taken out, and wondering if she should sleep in her own bed while he is away. The very thought makes her clutch the pillow tighter.

The second knock is louder, almost commanding in its sharp, compact taps.

“Come in.”

Emma barely glances over her shoulder but, when her eyes land on Granny instead of Ruby, she instinctively pulls the blankets higher around her, before recalling that she was running around the entire house in her nightclothes just a few hours ago. For her part, the old woman seems too busy glaring at the tub and empty bottle of wine and the general mess left around and clicking her tongue disapprovingly.

When she turns her gaze on her, Emma feels the need to sit up in bed and comb her hair behind her ears. Granny watches her for a few moments before she sets the tray down. It’s toast and cold meats and there is coffee in her cup instead of tea but what startles Emma is that the old woman takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s not that she minds. It’s just that Granny’s presence is pulling on thoughts that have been festering in her mind since she woke up and Emma feels them unfurling like a dropped ball of wool between them now.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.”

*****

Granny frowns at the woman before her. Truth be told, she’s never liked weak creatures – ones that couldn’t even take care of themselves, let alone anyone else – they pulled at her pity alright, but never at her heart. Truth be told, she was convinced for quite some time that Emma Jones was one of those creatures.

She knows better now. She is too old and has seen too much to refuse to accept and admit that she too is mistaken sometimes. She still doesn’t know everything about the young woman sitting across from her but she knows enough to say that Emma takes care of those she loves and she is anything but weak. Granny is certain that she has been made to feel so, that many a person has tried to make her so, but she is equally certain that they have not succeeded.

Emma might have been bent but she was never broken and Granny has been watching her straighten her back from the moment she set foot in this house. It’s why her slumped shoulders irritate her so damn much right now.

“I couldn’t— I told you I wasn’t going to let his heart be broken again but I can’t… I don’t have that power, do I?”

Granny ignores the tug on her own heart and scowls at her.

“Now, you straighten up and listen to me, missus,” she waits until Emma rises her tearful eyes to hers. “You intending to pack your bags and go back to your wicked old witch of a grandmother?”

“What? No! Of course not,” Emma’s eyes narrow and she sits up straighter with indignation. “Why would—“

“You planning on taking your jewels and nicking some of the silver and running off with someone?”

The green eyes boring into her skull darken and flash dangerously and for the first time Granny thinks that this woman can run much more than a household.

“How dare you—“

“No, you don’t,” Mrs Lucas replies for her, giving Emma a look that she hopes will tamper down the flames without completely extinguishing her fire and let her know that the idea is equally unimaginable for both of them before posing another that she truly wants an answer to. “Do you plan to berate him for leaving in the middle of the night and—“

“No,” Emma grits out, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a combination of affront and petulance. “I wish I— I want to help, I—“

“That’s all you can do to help,” Granny says matter-of-fact. “World we live in? That’s the most a woman can do. Be faithful, resilient, support and love.”

Emma opens her mouth to protest but the old woman just smiles at her – wan and a little bitter but genuine none the less.

“I know. A woman like you wants to do more, can do more, if she were allowed. And, Lord, it’s a good thing you’re married to who you are. He never minds a woman who doesn’t know her place. Will probably let you captain one of his ships, if you asked, and trust you to do a damn fine job of it too.”

For the first time since Granny walked in, some of the tension seems to leave Emma and she softens – not with exhaustion and worry but with bashfulness and affection.

“But that’s not quite how the world works. It ain’t that fair yet, if it ever will be.”

Mrs Lucas never hesitates, it’s not in her nature – she does or does not, she learnt long ago to trust her instincts and her gut. But she hesitates now. And then she goes with her gut anyway and reaches over to take Emma’s thin, white hand into her rough, wrinkled one.

“But it ain’t completely heartless either,” she says with equal measures of hope and conviction – each trying to fill the gaps where the other runs out. “And, in my experience, good people do get what they deserve.”

“When?” Emma asks with some doubt, with a childlike innocence and a lack of self-consciousness that tells Granny she is not asking for herself and makes her squeeze her soft hand.

“Eventually,” she says with a touch of levity

Emma scoffs a little but doesn’t pull away, her lips curling up half-heartedly.

“One thing I can tell you – I’ve lived a good while and I’ve never met anyone as strong as that man. He has been knocked down and risen every single time and, God knows I didn’t think I’ll live to see it, but he has even found it in himself to be happy again,” she gives Emma a pointed look over the rim of her glasses and is secretly satisfied with the light blush it earns her. “And he has come back every single time, even when he didn’t have anything to come back to. Ain’t no way he won’t come back now that he does.”

They sit there in silence until Emma nods and Granny sees that the hope in her eyes is more belief than dream now so she nods as well, pats her hand and gets up, clearing her throat and straightening her apron.

“Now, you eat your breakfast. I’ll send Ruby to clean up here and do your hair and then you two go shopping like you planned—“

“No,” Emma says firmly. “I’m not going out.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, Granny’s eyes narrowed while Emma’s are firm – not aggressive but completely unrelenting. The old woman sighs.

“Suit yourself. Just don’t go digging a trench around the whole damn house again.”

*****

It takes him almost a week to take care of everything. He sent Emma a letter once he knew this will take more than a couple of days – telling her that Alice was alright and not to write back, that he will be back as soon as he can.

He already knew what else he’ll have to tell her but he wanted to be man enough to do so in person.

So once he has dealt with everyone, he checks on the girls one more time and starts the long ride back with a heavy heart. Even Roger is exhausted from the week they’ve had and Killian can’t lose himself in the adrenalin of a fast and dirty ride. No, instead he gets to make his way home steadily, with the full knowledge that, after just starting to earn his wife’s affections, he has already failed her.

*****

Emma throws her book on the cushion beside her and drops her head back with a groan of frustration.

She should put out the fire and retire but she has made herself get out of Killian’s bed every morning by promising herself that she won’t have to go back to it alone and she has already broken that promise half a dozen times.

Since yesterday she has been tempted to invite Mary Margaret over for tea, company, distraction – but, despite the fact that her friend was significantly more benevolent and accepting of her husband and her new life the last time she visited, Emma cannot put up with the possibility of having to prove herself and defend Killian right now.

Admiral and Mrs Jones are abroad and, if she had to wager a guess, she’d say that Killian hasn’t told them anything’s the matter. And it’s not that Ruby and Granny are not pleasant enough company, it’s just that she can see they are just as anxious to know what on earth is happening as she is.

She is more than a little annoyed with the shortness and vagueness of the only letter she has received from Killian and has envisioned more than a couple of conversations on the merits of communication in her head in the last few days. She is envisioning one right now and it is not going well for him at all.

The very real sound of hooves outside makes it disappear like morning mist but Emma doesn’t move. She closes her eyes and listens carefully and doesn’t breathe until she is certain that the sound is moving closer. Then she jumps up and runs.

*****

The night is dark and the house looks asleep when he finally draws near. Roger snorts and slows down and Killian leans closer and pats him on the side.

“Well done, boy. We’re home now.”

He didn’t send word that he was coming back because he didn’t want everyone waiting into the small hours of the night and now he plans how to take Roger to the stables without waking Peter and then, whether he will have to watch himself when entering his own chambers. He tells himself he doesn’t know if he wants to find his wife in his bed or not, but then, just as he is getting off his horse, the door is flung open and Killian knows himself to be a despicable liar at the very sight of her.

This time, when she barrels into him and flings her arms around his neck, the strength of it almost knocks him over and he does not hesitate to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her tresses. For a moment, everything that needs to be said and done disappears and the only thing that matters is that he has her. He has her in his embrace and, no matter how much longer he will be able to keep her there, Killian allows himself this – her hand cradling the back of his head, his lips pressing against her soft hair, her light form pulling him into her with startling force.

When she pulls back, her eyes are swimming with tears and he is not sure he has a tongue to speak with at all. For the first time, her hands feel burning hot as they press against his wind-rough cheeks and all he can smell is the cocoa on her breath.

“Killian.”

His grip on her waist tightens instinctively at the sound of her voice.

“Are you alright? Is Alice alright? Is she coming?”

He swallows once, twice, while her eyes desperately search his own and her thumbs keep running little semi-circles under his eyes. When he finally opens his mouth to reply, she surges forward. She doesn’t waste her time with soft presses of lips either, her tongue slips into his mouth as if retaking possession and he can barely meet her halfway, stumbling slightly into her and trying to remember that he can’t just throw her to the ground and have her in the garden for the first time, even if he had the strength for it.

It’s only when she shivers lightly against him that they break apart, breathing heavily in each other’s space, clutching at fabric separating them from skin.

“Everyone’s alright. Go inside, love. I have to take care of Roger, then I’ll be right along and I’ll tell you all.”

She looks at him for a long moment and then drops her forehead heavily against his chest. He runs his hand up and down her back but before he can urge her to go in again, she pulls away and takes his horse’s reins.

“Emma.”

She starts for the stables and he just curses under his breath and sheds his coat, running after her to drape it over her shoulders.

*****

She can tell Killian is nervous. Emma wanted to get him inside and into bed the moment she touched his cold cheeks and felt him swaying with exhaustion. But they took care of Roger first and now she is pouring a dash of rum into the tea she hopes will warm him up a little, but instead of heading up the stairs he asks her to join him in the library.

“Killian, we can talk tomorrow. If Alice is alright, I can wait to hear everything else. Let’s get you to bed.”

She tugs on his arm and he stops with his hand on the door but he doesn’t look at her and the set of his shoulders screams of more than just a long journey.

“I need to tell you tonight.”

“You’re tired, let’s—“

“I am! And I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve told you what I must.”

The harshness in his voice threatens to tear at her own nerves but she doesn’t pull back, instead, she brushes past him and walks into the library. Killian sighs heavily behind her and follows but, when she takes a seat on the settee, he keeps pacing.

Emma watches him silently – if he thinks he should be talking instead of resting, he can do all the talking himself. Instead he puts a few logs on the fire and goes to the window to pull the curtains slightly open though there is nothing to see outside but blackness. She grits her teeth and wills herself not to push.

Finally, he sits down. He shudders slightly and Emma doesn’t know if it’s the cold still clinging to him or the late hour and the lack of sleep and the exhaustion in the dark circles under his eyes – it’s also probably the fact that he takes a seat in the armchair in the corner rather than on the settee beside her – she doesn’t know what pushes her that last inch but, when she speaks, it sounds like an order from the school mistress.

“Drink your tea.”

Killian blinks at her in shock and she doesn’t know what she expects but the slight quirk of his lips is definitely not it. He gets up and takes the tea she left on the table but then he returns to his side of the room and Emma hasn’t actually cried while he’s been gone – she has been close but she has maintained the belief that there was nothing for her to cry over – but she thinks she might do so now, looking at the distance between them that shouldn’t be there anymore.

To his credit, Killian takes two large gulps of his tea before he sets the cup on the floor. His hand starts fiddling with his wooden one. He looks older – the lines around his eyes deeper, with a tension born of more than just years, his hair and beard are longer and more unkempt, for the first time, she thinks he looks pale and almost irreparably tired.

When it comes, his voice is rough but strong and clear and it sounds like he is reading a letter instead of talking to her.

“My daughter and Miss Hood were spotted together while at target practice. Apparently, they believed to be alone and had… allowed themselves to be more affectionate with each other. The man who spotted them knew little about Alice but enough about Miss Hood to go directly to her mother. To put it lightly, she and I have different understandings about how one should treat and instruct one’s children.”

Emma admires how Robyn managed to communicate more or less all of that in two words but she appreciates Killian telling her the whole story. What she doesn’t appreciate is that he has chosen to do so from a safe distance and without making eye contact with her. She thinks he must be aware that she is in complete agreement with him on the matter and still she is about to say so when he continues steadily on.

“I apologize for the manner in which I left but—“

“You don’t have to—“

“As you might imagine, time was of the essence. By the time I got there, the informant and a friend he apparently brought along for moral support, Mrs Hood and her lady’s maid were all aware of the situation and searching for the girls.”

“Did they…” she doesn’t even know how far people might go in persecuting two young girls for the grievous offence of being in love.

“They never went back to their lodgings but stayed at an inn instead. Their maid told no one but me where to find them. And I… I have now installed them in a small house out of town that should do just fine for now.”

Emma can’t help but shake her head in amazement, she can’t imagine that procuring a house at such short notice is an easy feat. Or ensuring that the girls will be safe there, for that matter.

“Won’t they look for them?”

“No,” Killian says with finality before he chances a quick look at her – the certainty in his voice completely at odds with the thick anxiety in his eyes. “As I said, I knew the extent to which the information had spread. From then on it was merely a matter of buying off the informed. I remained in town a few more days to make sure that nothing else would be said or heard about it.”

“Alright,” she says slowly and waits for him to look at her again but Killian just takes his cup and finishes the rest of his tea and rum. “So you fixed everything just like you said you would. So why do you look like a man who is about to hang?”

He chuckles darkly and this time, when he raises his eyes to hers, she jumps up – the pain in his eyes tugging her sharply forward.

“Don’t.”

“Killian…” she hovers a few steps away from him and doesn’t understand why he won’t let her soothe him, doesn’t understand what is eating at him to begin with.

“I did this with the full knowledge that it will make me break my promises to you, Emma.”

She frowns in confusion.

“City people are not easy to buy. And the reputations of two beautiful young girls are not cheap. I—“

“This is about money?” her voice goes hysterically high and she might wake up the whole household but she doesn’t care, not when this is beyond ridiculous and she feels the anger and hurt rising up inside her.

How could he possibly think that she—

“It’s not just money. It’s… bloody hell,” his voice finally loses its strength and Killian runs a shaky hand through his hair. “You didn’t know me, when you married me, Emma. The only thing I could promise then – the only thing I did promise – was to protect you and to provide for you.”

“Killian—“

“And the only thing you’ve asked me for since is my time and now I can’t fulfill that promise either. I’ll have to balance some affairs, go into town, sell some stocks. I… there is no way we can afford to go anywhere anytime soon—“

“God, shut up, shut up!”

She moves forward and drops on his lap and she doesn’t know if she is going to slap him or kiss him until her lips slam into his. His cheeks are warmer now, his nose still cold and she whimpers at the feel of it, at the taste of him, at the reality and solidity of Killian all around her. When he seems to gather himself and starts to return her kiss, she pulls away and pushes him back into his chair, her hands pressing hard on his shoulders.

“You might be the kindest and strongest man I’ve ever known, Killian Jones, but I swear, you are also the dumbest,” his eyes widen comically and she would be proud of herself except that her voice wavers over her next words and her hands slip away from his shoulders, resting so lightly over his chest that she can only feel the brush of the fabric and not his body underneath. “Do you really believe that I care about all that?”

“Emma,” he says her name like it pains him. “Love, that’s not— It’s not an unreasonable… No woman would be content to have circumstances altered like this and not—“

“But you did the right thing!”

“I—“ Killian frowns and seems to consider her words for a second before his shoulders drop slightly in what Emma prays is some relief and she feels the light brush of his thumb over her waist. “I know. I could never consider an alternative but I’m glad you think so. I’d— I hoped that might…”

Emma shakes her head and moves forward, pressing her lips against his forehead and then leaning against him.

“Are you listening to me?” she asks and waits until she feels him nod against her. “I do not care about honeymoons and trips abroad and holiday homes and whatever other nonsense you seem to think you’re depriving me off.”

“I—“

She presses her mouth to his – hard and admonishing, before she continues.

“I do not care about what house we live in and how many rooms it has and how many people the dining room can sit. I… Yes, I wish to have you and your time but I understand, I understand that you have obligations and responsibilities with which I cannot help and I don’t— Killian, it doesn’t matter. As long as you come home to me at the end of the day. I do not care how big or comfortable the bed I sleep in is. I just care, if you are in it.”

She takes a deep breath and looks him in the eyes, imploring him to see the truth in hers and believe it. Killian takes his time, his gaze running over her features – frantically at first, then slower, calmer, until the tightness around his eyes starts to disappear for the first time tonight.

“Because you love me.”

Emma blinks in surprise and feels something inside her settle with a sigh of relief, realizes that, in the back of her mind, this entire conversation felt like him questioning her love – something she thought he believed in, even if he didn’t fully reciprocate it.

But he doesn’t say it like a question, he says it softly, like all the implications of it are only now sinking in.

“Yes. Because I love you. Very much.”

Killian swallows, nods and sits up slightly, and she can feel his chest under her palm and his heart beating steady and true. He cups her cheek and runs his thumb tenderly over her skin and now there is another tightness around his eyes – one that comes with the smile inside them.

“I love you too, Emma.”

Oh.

The world seems to tilt slightly towards him, the blue of his eyes becoming the only stable thing in it as everything else – past, present and future, seems to swirl around her, changing and rearranging and becoming bigger and brighter and better than Emma has ever thought the world could be.

There was a time in her life when she thought if she could only hear the words once, it will change everything – her, her life, all the dreams and possibilities that were meant to be there but somehow never were and she was too scared to call them forward. At some point, she stopped believing that the words held the power to change anything – perhaps, very likely, because she knew she’ll never hear them.

Killian Jones has been changing her world since they met – slowly, beautifully, making her believe again – but, she’s learnt not to think too much about the words, not to long for them.

And now here they are and, for the first time, Emma sees that with the right person they change everything and nothing.

“Emma?”

She blinks rapidly and feels the tears roll down both her cheeks. Killian wraps his left arm around her and brushes them away, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes full of worry and the only love she has ever known.

The sound that comes out of her is half a whimper and half a sob and in the next moment she clutches him almost violently in her arms, pressing her face against his neck before she thinks better of it and pulls back to kiss him, her lips escaping the confines of his without any finesse.

“Emma.”

He sounds happy and confused and there is part laughter in the sound she makes this time.

“Could you—“ she swallows, clears the raspiness out of her throat and feels the warmth in her heart bloom all over. “Could you say it again?”

He seems confused for a split second before his face clears and he captures her lips in the softest kiss they’ve shared tonight.

“I love you, Emma. With all my heart.”

He must find the disbelief in her eyes because he kisses her again and looks at her imploringly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it when—“

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head and pushes the hair off his forehead and tries to pull him closer still even when it seems impossible. “I just… No one’s ever…”

She sees the realization in his eyes and she is content that the shock and sadness give way quickly, give way to that tenderness and awe that she has only ever found to exist in Killian’s eyes.

“Well, it would seem that I’m the most privileged fool.”

Her soft laugh is lost in the kisses and vows of love he scatters all over her face.

***********

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