A Little Thing Called Fate: Chapter 1
A Once Upon a Time Fanfic
It’s a coincidence, he tells himself. Anything stronger than that would feel too much like hope, and he’s not sure how much of a heart he has left to break.
When he left her family in the Enchanted Forest to be the heroes and leaders they were, his only expectations were to fall into the same numbing habits that consumed him for decades after Milah’s death, only this time with nothing to work toward. After all, both the crocodile and Pan were dead.
He managed it for a couple months, until a little mermaid attacked him outside a pub and proposed a deal: her bracelet in exchange for helping her find her prince.
The fastest deal he’d ever made.
He arrived in New York with nothing but the gold he managed to stuff in his pockets and the memory of where Baelfire had lived. Emma may have lost her memories, but that was the only place outside of Storybrooke she spent time with her son, and he suspects (hopes?) she would be drawn back.
Months later, and he has to admit it’s a hopeless endeavor. He’s never lived in a city so full of people, and finding the two he’s looking for seems about as likely as tracking a single fish through the ocean. It’s just not possible to track them down, at least, not with the little knowledge of this world he has. And yet–he can’t give up, not when he knows how close she is.
And then he sees her.
His mouth opens, and her name nearly spills out before he catches himself. Releasing a shaky breath, he leans back against the corner of the building behind him and watches her climb out of a car as yellow as hers. It drives off as soon as she gets out, but he doesn’t take time to try to puzzle that out because he’s too distracted by the rather short black dress she’s wearing–and its implications.
She walks past him, and he knows, he knows, he shouldn’t follow her, but while he’s changed and tried to be a better man for her, he never claimed to be a good man. He straightens, stuffs his hook into the pocket of the leather jacket he bought a week after he arrived in this city, and trails behind her.
She meets her date outside a fancy building with lights strung up around it, and Killian only gets a quick glance at the man before he keeps walking, turning the corner and stopping in the alley beside it. He needs to leave now and he knows it. She’s safe and happy (and Henry must be too, or she wouldn’t be going out), and now that he knows how close she is, he’ll find her again.
He just–needs a minute.
He covers his face with his hand and is surprised to find it wet. He tips his head back and sucks in a long, slow breath. Until this moment, he couldn’t admit to himself just how afraid he was of never finding her, of truly never seeing her again.
He waits in the alley until his hand finally stops shaking, then pushes off the wall and heads back to the street. Just before he reaches it, another person turns the corner and he nearly falls over trying to dodge them.
“Sorry, mate, didn’t see you–” he cuts off when he realizes the man standing in front of him is Emma’s date.
“I’m afraid ‘sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” the other man says. “Not when you were following my date.” Killian bites back a curse. He’d been so careful not to get caught, and he has no excuse ready. The other man takes a step forward, backing Killian toward the wall.
It wouldn’t get hard to get away–he’s certainly escaped worse–but that would be throwing away any chance he has of Emma ever trusting him, and he isn’t willing to do that. “Your date? I have no idea what you–”
The other man grabs the collar of his shirt. “I don’t know how you found her, but stay away from Emma, you filthy pirate.”
He freezes, losing all the air in his lungs. The other man takes the split-second advantage, pinning his left arm to the wall so he can’t use his hook. In another second, he fells the cold prick of metal against his throat.
“Who are you?” Killian bites out. Something warm trickles down his thoat at the movement.
The other man smiles. “I’m just the distraction. But don’t worry, as long as you stay away from her, Emma and her kid will be fine.” He leans closer. “But if you keep hanging around, I’ll–”
The other man jerks, and Killian chokes as the knife presses harder into his throat. The knife falls and Killian shoves him and stumbles away. He looks over when he hears a thud, and finds the man unconscious on the ground. There’s someone else standing over him, and he–he can’t look up.
“Hey, you okay?” asks a voice he started to think he’d never hear again. She catches his arm, jerking his gaze up to her, and–wow. He really doesn’t need to be focused on her dress right now–on the glittering, dark fabric that hangs from her neck and leaves her shoulders completely bare, or the flash of pale skin he catches through her open jacket that convinces him the back of her dress doesn’t start until almost her hips–but he’s been hopelessly attracted to her since day one, and there was no way he wasn’t going to get distracted.
“I am now.” He drags his gaze up to her face, and–no, that’s worse. He swallows. Hard. “Thanks for the rescue, love.”
“Least I could do,” Emma says, “considering he was my date. Luckily, I never go on a date without a taser.” Whatever strange weapon a “taser” is, he needs one.
She slips a small black box into her tiny bag and pulls out a talking phone. “What was–” she gestures vaguely to the guy on the ground, “all that?”
He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to decide what he can say. He doesn’t know how this man knows who they both are, but he definitely doesn’t want her anywhere near him again. “No idea. He said something about me being a pirate, then threatened . . . well, you, I suppose. His date.”
She stops pushing buttons on the talking phone and stares at him. Then she closes her eyes and groans. “Of course, of course the first guy I date in . . . I don’t even know how long is some sort of psycho. Honestly, what did I expect?”
He watches her curiously as she hits another button, then holds it up to her ear. “What are you doing?”
“Calling the police to come pick up.”
Right. She’s not sheriff here. He leans against the wall as she makes her call, trying not to be too obvious about staring at her. After a minute, she closes the device and walks over to him. “Sorry you got caught up in . . . whatever this was.”
He smiles. “Nothing for you to apologize for, love.”
The tiniest hint of a smile flashes across her face, then disappears. She turns and sags against the wall beside him as she sighs. “The police are on their way. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay to tell them what happened.”
“Of course.” There’s no way he’s disappearing on her now. “And what happens after?”
She looks up, confused. “What?”
He nods at her outfit. “You clearly had plans. I imagine this puts a bit of a damper on them.”
She laughs, but it’s the defeated sort he’s far too used to from her. “Yeah, just a bit.” She tilts her head back, and he’d think she was looking at the stars, but he can barely see them here. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll just go home and eat some ice cream and play video games.”
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t if he doesn’t want to scare her off–
“Your plans don’t have to change.”
She turns to give him a look he’s all too familiar with and arches an eyebrow. “I think it’s a little hard to go on a date without, you know, the date."
He grins and leans closer, delighting in the way her breath catches and her eyes widen. “Oh, but darling, who said you wouldn’t have a date?”
Her eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t miss how her jaw tightens or her gaze drops to his mouth for an instant. “Seriously?”
He lets his gaze trail slowly down her face. “How else am I supposed to thank my lovely rescuer?” The corners of her lips twitch up, and he doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes linger.
“Alright,” she says slowly, and he leans back, eyes snapping back to hers to make sure he understood right. “I can do dinner.”
He opens his mouth to say yes, to say please, to say he’ll do dinner forever if she’ll just let him stay, but she cuts him off with a finger against his lips.
“Dinner only," she clarifies. “I can’t stay out all night. I have things to take care of.”
Of course she can’t, she has Henry to worry about, and . . . and he’s not supposed to know that.
He pushes her finger back, then twists his hand to catch hers and draw it back. “Dinner sounds lovely.” He presses a kiss to the backs of her fingers without dropping her gaze.
She clears her throat and pulls her hand away. “Right.”
The police get there not long after, and it takes a lot longer than he expected to answer all their questions. Emma was a much more efficient sheriff than they are. Eventually, they let them go, though they ask for Killian’s phone number in case they need any more information later. (It’s a good thing he got one of those, right after he realized how hard it was to find a job here without one.)
As soon as they’re free, Emma hooks a finger in the pocket of his jacket and drags him back around to the restaurant’s front door. She’s worried about a “reservation”, but it’s clearly not a problem, because they’re given a table only a few minutes after coming in, and Killian does his best not to gawk like a peasant in a palace.
This is hardly the first tavern he’s been in, traveling the world and all, and he knows this world is different, but still, he was expecting something more along the lines of the Rabbit Hole, and this is . . . not that.
The lights are dim, but in an intimate, candlelit way, and there’s expensive glassware and too many forks, and it’s exactly the sort of place he’d expect for a princess. He wants to laugh at that, to tease her and listen to her complain about not actually being a princess–
But he can’t.
So instead he hooks a foot around the leg of one chair to pull it out and spreads his hand and hook in a clear request. She lifts an eyebrow, but the corner of her mouth quirks up with it. “Seriously?”
He grins. “I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”
She turns around, and he rests his hook on her shoulder to hold her jacket in place as he slides one sleeve off, then the other, and sure enough, discovers the barely-existent back to her dress. She sits, and he drapes the jacket over the back of her chair, then takes his own seat.
“So, do you have a name?” she asks, “or should I just call you Captain Hook?”
For a second, he can’t breathe. Is it . . . is it possible the queen was wrong? That she still remembers–
She smirks. “I mean, I’ve seen plenty of prosthetics before, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone actually wear a hook. Are you some sort of pirate wannabe or something?”
The breath he was holding leaves his lungs in a too-hard laugh. “Practicality, actually. I have a wooden hand as well, but I find this is more useful.”
“I guess that makes sense, but you didn’t answer my first question.”
“Ah, my apologies. Killian Jones, at your service.” He nods and flourishes with his hand in a sort of mock-bow.
She looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t generally give out fake names, love. I prefer to be recognized by my reputation.”
The amusement on her face shifts into something considering, and her eyes go distant as she nods slightly. “That–I like that.” She shakes herself out of it, then holds out her hand. “Emma Swan.”
He takes her hand and draws it closer. “I really should have expected that,” she laughs as he presses another kiss to her knuckles.
“Yes, you should have.”
The tavern maid (they’re called something else here, he knows, he just can’t remember what it is) comes to ask what they want, and he’s relieved to find that Emma doesn’t know what every dish is either. It makes him feel better about his own questions, though he eventually settles on the same thing she’s having.
She asks about his job, and he tells her about the work he found near the marina (it’s a little too close to the work he did as a slave for his liking, but it’s near the water and it’s work that won’t eventually chase him out of the city, and that’s all he needs). She tells him about working as what sounds to be a bounty hunter, and it suddenly makes so much sense how she shifted so easily from thievery to the town sheriff.
She’s cautious when she brings up Henry, but he tells her she’s not the first woman he’s been with who had a son, and it’s like the floodgates open. He hears about the boy’s top marks in English and struggles in math, the way she beats him at every video game they play, but only the first time, how neither of them are good cooks, but at least she hasn’t nearly burned the apartment down making spaghetti.
And it’s . . . nice, just to talk like this, without frantically trying to get her home or save her son. Without worrying about the crocodile, or Pan, or Cora. He misses his home, his ship, food he actually recognizes, but if the rest of his days look like this, he doesn’t think he’ll regret it.
It’s over all too soon, and he follows her out to the street where she waits for one of the metal carriages to stop. “Let me take you home.”
Her face closes off in an instant. “I told you, I’m not interested–”
“Ah, ah.” He holds up a finger to cut her off. “I did hear you the first time, love. But I meant to drop you off at yours.”
She relaxes a bit, but shakes her head while her eyes scan the many carriages going by. “I can get home on my own.”
Ah yes, there’s that stubbornness he’s used to. “I know you can, but I’d appreciate seeing you safely home with my own eyes.”
She’s responded much more willingly to his flirtation this evening, and he is happy to take advantage of that. He slides his finger under her chin, gently turning her head to look back at him, and steps closer. “That,” he breathes, dropping his gaze to her lips, then back up, “and I’m not quite ready for the night to end.” He waits for her eyes to drop and her breathing to grow shallow, then drops his hand and takes a step back. “So, may I take you home?”
“Sure.” Her breath comes out hoarse, and she swallows. “I mean, why not?”
When they reach her building, she doesn’t invite him up, and he doesn’t ask, but when she hesitates on the sidewalk just outside, he can’t help but smile.
“Better night than you expected, eh, lass?”
He watches the sarcastic comment come, then die on her tongue. “Yeah.” That rare, small smile crosses her face, and that, that, is all he’s wanted all night. “Yeah, I had fun.”
“I always keep my promises.”
She frowns and cocks her head. “I don’t remember you promising that.”
“Didn’t I? Could’ve sworn I did.”
She hums and catches the collar of his jacket in her hands. “It’s not too late.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying you’d be up to more fun some other time?”
She leans closer, her words ghosting over his skin. “Who knows? I guess you’ll just have to ask.” One hand slides off his jacket to slide into the short hairs at the back of his neck.
A one-time thing, she’d said. He hadn’t really believed that, but he’d told himself he’d back off until she was ready, but–
“Bloody hell, Emma,” he groans when her nails slide against his scalp. His fingers tangle in her hair, and he’s not sure which one of them moved, but her lips are on his and she’s kissing him just as desperately as he’s kissing her.
She pulls away for a moment, and–and maybe it was a little much to hope this would bring her memories back. There’s no hint of recognition on her face, though, just swollen lips and dark eyes, and he’s a little disappointed, but also–
His hand slides inside her open jacket, wrapping around her waist and pulling her back, and this time, this time he takes his time. There’s no dangerous jungle ready to kill them in a moment of distraction, no disapproving parents just feet away, no Lost Boys tracking them down. Just his fingers running up the bare skin of her back until they eventually settle at the back of her neck. Just her hands sliding into his coat to tug him closer.
When she jerks back, wide-eyed, something heavy settles in his gut as he waits for those same words as last time. A one-time thing.
But instead, she steps back and says, “Henry.”
He blinks, then it hits him. “Henry.” Who’s upstairs, most likely waiting on her to come home despite the late hour.
“I have to get back.”
“Of course.”
Still she hesitates. Then, as if coming to a decision, she asks, “Where’s your phone?”
He pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to her. Her eyebrows fly up. “Wow, you’re trusting.”
That’s . . . not a word that has ever been used to describe him before, and he fails to see the correlation now, so he stays silent as she opens his phone and types something in. After a minute, she closes it and hands it back.
“Call me tomorrow,” she says.
“As you wish.”
For some reason, this makes her snicker. “Right.” She walks over to the door to the building, then stops. “Have a good night, Killian.”
“Good night, Swan.”
He waits until she disappears to walk away, sliding his thumb along the side of his phone.