A Little Thing Called Fate: Chapter 2
A Once Upon a Time Fanfic
She doesn’t mean for it to become something.
When she met Killian during what she considered the grand finale to a really crappy day, she accepted his invitation in hopes of salvaging some little bit of fun for the night. It was supposed to just be a one-time thing. He wasn’t supposed to listen so eagerly to her stories about Henry, or be so ridiculously charming.
(He wasn’t supposed to hold her during their kiss like he had searched the world for her and now never planned to let her go.)
Giving him her phone number was an impulse, and no matter how much he seemed to enjoy their date, she hadn’t really expected him to call. And call. And call.
And maybe it should have been annoying to have him so constantly there, but Emma had never had that from anyone before, never had someone to chase after her and stick around, just for her. And so when he asked her out on a second date (and then a third and a fourth), she said yes.
But like usual, as soon as it started to feel too serious, she ran.
It took Henry sitting her down and telling her she was being stupid for her to reach back out. (And really, she loved that kid, but when did he get so old and wise? She was pretty certain that hadn’t come from her.)
He reminded her of how she’d freaked out after date three and ghosted Killian, only to call back weeks later because she missed him, and how he’d dropped everything to come see her as soon as she asked. Of the time she was stuck at the police station with a skip right as Henry’s school was supposed to get out, and Killian had offered to pick him up and wait with him until she got home. Of how Killian was the only date she’d ever let meet Henry, and the way the two of them just clicked, arguing over video games and fighting with lightsabers in the park.
“Don’t you think it’s time to get out of your comfort zone and let him in?” Henry had asked.
He was right, of course, but as Emma stands in her open door after being woken up with a knock on the door, she thinks this probably wasn’t what Henry meant.
Killian smirks, reminding her simultaneously how annoyed she is to be woken up, and how much she missed him the past week. “Not that I’m complaining about the clothing choice, but I take it you forgot about our plans?”
She tries to remember what he’s talking about, but it’s very hard over the rather loud embarrassment of standing in front of him in her pajamas with, no doubt, a very bad case of bedhead. She wishes she at least had the forethought to throw a jacket over her tank top.
Her eyes catch on the paper bag hanging from his hook, and suddenly it hits her. She groans. “Oh, sh–” She breaks off suddenly, glancing behind her before she remember’s Henry is either still at school or already at Josh’s house for their sleepover–hence Killian being invited over. “It’s Friday, isn’t it?”
His smirk broadens. “It is, indeed. I take it work ran late last night?”
She runs a hand through her tangled hair, hoping she’s making it better not worse. “Yeah, I don’t think I went to bed until four in the morning, and then I had to get right back up to get Henry to school.” For some reason, that information makes his eyes light up with mischief, and she narrows her own. She doesn’t want to deal with his jokes right now.
“Is that right?” he asks. “How interesting that our mornings overlapped, since four is about the time I woke up.”
She scowls. “You know what? I can’t do this today. I’m going back to bed.”
She starts to shut the door, but he catches it and holds it open, the teasing smirk gone and replaced by a gentle smile. “Swan, it’s almost time for dinner. If you go back to bed now, you’ll never sleep tonight.”
He’s right, which just makes her more frustrated. “Well I’m not up for a date tonight, so I think we should just reschedule.”
“Except,” he begins, far too patiently considering he really should have run far away from her a long time ago, since she has not been making this easy for him. “That if you don’t feel up for a date, you probably don’t feel up to cooking dinner either. So why don’t you let me in to cook dinner as we planned?” He lets his gaze trail slowly down her tank top and pajama pants, and that smirk comes back. “You don’t even have to change if you don’t want to.”
This isn’t like her at all, but she remember’s Henry’s words and slowly opens the door to let him in. After she locks the door behind him, she goes back to her room to get a jacket. If he doesn’t mind her pajamas, she’s certainly not changing.
When she gets back, she finds him pulling a large pan out of the bag and digging through her cabinets for some oil. “I wasn’t sure if you had something as big as I needed,” he explains when he catches her looking.
She feels stupid just sitting and watching him cook her supper in her apartment, so she moves the paper bag to the dining table and starts to pull out the ingredients he brought with him. “I think this is more vegetables than I’ve ever had here at one time.”
He looks up at the ceiling as though begging for patience. “Have you considered you and your boy eat too much trash food?”
“Junk food,” she corrects automatically. He has such a funny way of talking sometimes, and it makes her wonder where he’s from. He doesn’t like talking about his life before coming to New York, though, and she’d be the worst kind of hypocrite if she pushed, so she never asks. “And we take vitamins, so it’s fine.”
She pulls out the last of the food, but there’s still something heavy in the bottom of the bag, and she frowns as she pulls it out. “What’s this?” It looks like a math textbook, but she doesn’t know why he would have it.
He glances over his shoulder, then turns back to the meat he’s browning. “Oh, I brought that in case you had work tonight.”
“This is for middle school.” She looks up and smirks. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to become a teacher now.”
He laughs. “Certainly not, but your lad was telling me he’s struggling in his studies this year. I didn’t understand much when I took a look at his lessons a few days ago, but I used to be rather good at math. I thought perhaps I could jog my memory and help him out a bit.”
She spots a ribbons marking pages, and, trying to cover up the sudden heat in her face, she opens the book to one of the marked spots. She’s not expecting the notes filling the margins, all in the same, neat script. She slams the book shut and sets it on the counter, turning away until the prickling in her eyes fades. “When did you get this?”
“Where’s your pepper?” he asks instead.
“Killian.”
He opens a cabinet above the stove. “Ah, there it is.”
“When did you get the textbook?”
“Last week.” His voice sounds almost casual, but she sees the tension in his shoulders as he sprinkles the spices.
“Last week,” she repeats, and she wishes her voice wouldn’t shake like that. So, unless all these bookmarks and notes and crossed-out answers are from a single day, he’s been studying this entire time she’s been avoiding him.
She walks over to the counter beside him and leans against it so she can see his face. “Why do you put up with me?”
He looks up, startled. Clearly that wasn’t what he expected her to say. For a long moment, he just looks at her, then he reaches over and turns off the stove, sliding the pan off the hot eye. He steps in front of her, pinning her in against the counter.
“Swan, I–” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard as he reaches up to trail a finger along her jaw. “I’m afraid you’ve quite ruined me. I was a very different man before I met you, but you and Henry reminded me what it’s like to be part of a family, and I’m not going to give that up easily.” His fingers slide into her hair, coiling one strand through them. “So run if you feel you need to, but unless you decide you truly don’t want me around, I’m afraid I’m not going anywhere.”
The grin he flashes is positively wicked, and she has to grip the counter tightly to keep from grabbing his jacket and dragging him close enough to taste it, and any other time she’d give in, let the feel of his lips on her drive away her thoughts, but–but she told Henry she wouldn’t run from this and she’s trying.
Trying not to run from too-pretty words that, from anyone else, would sound cheap, but even though it’s only been a few months, Killian’s done his best to prove them over and over. Because while Henry is all she needs, she wants this so badly.
She tips forward into him and just rests her forehead on his shoulder. His arms come up around her, and she hasn’t had this–someone to just lean on–since Neal, and if this past week is any indication, it’ll break her when this is over, because she can’t lose another person she–
No.
No, that’s not what this is.
She likes him, yes. She wouldn’t have dated him so long if she didn’t, but that’s all this is–just a friend she’s latched onto too hard and too fast since it’s been so long since she actually had one, and it’s too soon to call it anything else.
When he eventually pulls away, she catches the collar of his jacket long enough to press a quick kiss to his lips, then slides her hand down his chest and gently pushes him back. “Back to work, you. And tell me how I can help.”
“I don’t think so.” He shakes his head with a smile. “I believe the terms were that I would be allowed to cook the meal without interference.”
“Hey! I was just offering to help chop veggies or something. Since when is that “interference”?” She pushes off the counter and is just about to join him in front of the stove, when suddenly the room spins and she nearly falls against the table.
“Swan?” His hand is wrapped around her arm in an instant, keeping her upright as a barrage of images and emotions crashes over her and tries to drown her.
Memories, she realizes. Nearly half a lifetime’s worth of memories–of a life lived alone for far too long, of parents who loved her, a son who is–but isn’t quite–the one she sent to school this morning, of a man who gave up and risked so much to bring that son back to her.
She looks up into blue eyes that are far more familiar than she realized. “Hook?”
His hand spasms on her arm, and he makes a strangled sort of noise in his throat. “Swan?”
“What–what happened?” She pulls her arm out of his grip and takes a step back. He’s not supposed to be here. She’s not supposed to get her memories back. Regina said it was all impossible, so how–
Comprehension and something like awe dawn on his face. Good, she has questions and she needs him to have answers.
But instead of any explanation, all he says is, “you love me.”
“No, no, that’s not–” That can’t be what happened.
There’s that smirk again, familiar in both her lives. “You can hardly deny it now, love. What else could bring your memories back?”
It’s . . . it’s all too much, and she takes another step back, shaking her head. “I can’t–I can’t have this conversation right now.” She turns away before she can see his reaction, and steps out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind her.
She starts crying before the door fully shuts, though she doesn’t know what she’s grieving. The loss of her fake life? Her parents? Her ever-hopeful son who’s been replaced by a boy far more cynical than she ever wanted for him? The love she’s been so desperate for this past year that she’s had all along, just too far away for her to realize?
She cries until she can’t cry anymore, then sits on the patio and stares out at the city, because what does this change really? She’s still in New York, still has her job. She’s still Henry’s mother, regardless of who raised him most of his life. She’s still an orphan, even if her parents didn’t want to give her up. (And they love her. Wherever they are, they love her, and that makes all the difference.) This is still her home, and Henry will be back tomorrow, and life will move on just the same as it has for the past year, because nothing really has changed.
She decides she can’t hide out here forever and stands up, clearing away any leftover trace of tears. She goes back inside and slides the door closed again, then stops at the sight that meets her.
Killian–Hook?–is still there (of course he is. He wouldn’t just leave her, and she needs to remember that), cooking on a stove she’s pretty sure he didn’t know how to use when they left Storybrooke and pulling dishes out of the cabinets like he lives there.
And it hits her then–somehow he found a way back to her, when no one else could, and he came. He came back to an unfamiliar world, learned to navigate it all alone, for her, even knowing she wouldn’t recognize him, even when she ran from him again and again because she couldn’t believe anyone could actually care so much about her. Why?
You love me.
She’s read enough of Henry’s book to know True Love’s Kiss has to go both ways, and yet there was never any doubt in his mind that that was what brought her memories back.
“Hey,” she says softly when she makes her way back to him.
He stiffens slightly, but doesn’t turn around, just keeps stirring the meat in his pan. “Are you alright?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to just suddenly get back, but . . . well, it doesn’t really change anything does it? It’s still just the three of us here, and that’s not going to change.”
He looks over his shoulder at her now, wary. “It is?”
What is she supposed to do with this silly man? Does he really think, after finding out he’s done so much more for her than she ever believed, that now she would decide to break up with him?
“Isn’t it?” she asks, leaning into his side, because words have never come easily to her, and actions speak louder anyway. “I never actually asked you about my family.”
“Safe,” he says quickly. “And as happy as they could be, when I left them. They were planning to return to the queen’s castle.”
“Good.” She takes a deep breath and tries not to start crying again. “But how did you get here?”
He shakes his head. “No hope that way, I’m afraid. There was only a way for one.”
She thought that might be the case, but hearing it still makes her heart clench at the reminder that she will never see her parents again.
Abruptly, she shakes her head. “I’m not watching you cook all afternoon. Tell me how I can help.”
He sighs. “Really, Swan, you should know a princess exists to be served.”
She swats his shoulder. “Shut up.” She pulls the bell peppers out of a produce bag and takes them over to the sink to be washed. “Do these need to be chopped?”
“Sliced.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
He snorts, and she’s surprised by the way they settle back into the normalcy together, cooking, bumping into each other in the narrow kitchen, teasing, and annoying each other. When they finally sit down to eat, she leans over, letting her shoulder brush his.
“Thank you, Killian.” She’s not just talking about the food, and he knows it.
“Always, Swan.”