Chapter Text
Killian Jones has used his inability to sleep past 5 a.m., and the comforting silence of dawn which follows, as his time to sketch for as long as he can remember. He meticulously fills in the distinct emerald of her eyes, and realizes he’s been drawing her for just as long, her figure feeling familiar as it flows from his pencil effortlessly. He’s not sure who she is, but he’s determined to meet her beyond the confines of pencil, paper and his most intimate dreams. Hope is not in his nature, but the light that radiates from her smile is infectious. He hates how ridiculous he sounds, his brother would kick him for falling for a literal drawing, but he’s always had this gut feeling he’d find her someday.
Killian hazards a glance at his watch and sighs at the time. He loves his job at the docks, tending to The Maritime Museum everyday. It’s actually exhibited on an old tall ship that feels more like home to him than his flat, but he’s been doing it for so long that he feels— stuck. He shakes it off, laughing at himself as he thumbs through the last few pages of his notebook. He places it on the shelf next to the others. Countless sketchbooks full of lifetimes with her are the only clear marker of time passing. He’s never really noticed the fog that day to day monotony has created over his life until today. He grabs one of the older sketchbooks, and opens to a random page. He finds a drawing of her in a soft white cloak dated four years ago. Shaking his head at his own obsession, Killian steals one more look at the mysterious blonde that haunts him each day, places the notebook back on the shelf, and turns to get ready for the day.
Wandering into his room, Killian throws on his mock naval uniform which serves as the required garments for the museum. He looks in the mirror and flashes of what feels like a previous life begin to flood his memory— an exciting adventure, extreme loss, years of pain... He brushes them off, chalking them up to some forgotten dream and walks to the kitchen. Grabbing his morning coffee, he walks out the door, his gaze lingering on door of the the vacant flat across the hall.
Once outside, he looks towards the old broken clock in the center of town out of habit. He double takes when he sees the minute hand has moved from its usual concrete position of 8:15, marking the true time of 8:20am. He’s not sure why Mayor Mills decided to fix the clock now when it’s been broken for— well for forever, but the change stirs something in his gut that makes his steps lighter and his smile a bit brighter. He tries to tell himself that it is not the same feeling he gets while drawing his golden lass, but as he passes an unfamiliar yellow bug in front of Archie’s office, he’s unable to suppress the feeling of hope brewing deep inside.
. . .
It was a long day at work. An electrical spark from the night previous had burnt a hole in one of the sails and it took Killian much longer to repair than usual. As he opens the front door to Granny’s Diner, the smell of fried food and maple syrup welcomes him. He walks to his usual seat at the counter and notices Ruby has already set a shot of rum and a hot chocolate there. He smiles at the lass and pulls out The Mirror , quietly working through that day’s news.
He’s reading something about the school teacher, Mary Margaret Blanchard, and her work with patients at the local hospital when his tired trance is broken by the sound of a bell signaling a new customer. He looks towards the door instinctively, expecting Leroy or Archie, but drops the mug he’s drinking from straight to the floor when he sees her. The woman… the woman … looks back at him with a puzzled look but then continues her walk up to Granny. Ruby comes over to help him pick up his mess and inevitably tries to explain who she is (Storybrooke isn’t a town for newcomers) but Killian doesn’t hear a word she says besides “showed up last night”. His eyes are transfixed on the lass as she speaks animatedly with Granny. It quickly feels like all the air has been taken from his lungs.
He throws down what is probably way too much of a tip for a $4 drink and rushes out of the diner. The chilly air feels good as it washes over him. He runs his hands over his face, telling himself what he saw in the diner couldn’t possibly have been the same woman.
He hears the bell ring again and turns around to see her exiting the diner. She holds the door open long enough for Henry Mills to follow her through it. Killian doesn’t have time to contemplate before the young lad is bounding down the steps, “Killian! Have you met my mom?!”
Perplexed, Killian responds, “The Mayor? Yes, Henry I think everyone—“
Henry’s eyes roll, “Not that mom, Killian. My real mom. This is Emma!” Henry motions back to her as she cautiously comes up behind him.
Killian speaks before he can stop himself, “Emma…”
“Uh, hi, yeah… Emma— Emma Swan. Henry came and found me in Boston… somehow and I brought him back. Killian, right?”
She makes eye contact as she speaks and Killian is overwhelmed by the likeness between her and the woman in the sketchbooks. With every syllable, her voice makes the scenarios in his books come to life. He realizes he needs to get ahold of himself when she begins to turn away rather awkwardly, “Uh, yes, love. Killian— Killian Jones. I run the maritime museum down by the water and Henry is a frequent customer of mine.” He finds his footing by focusing on the docks and Henry. He ruffles Henry’s hair and the kid laughs. He’s always seen a lot of himself in Henry, and being that neither of them have many friends, they spend a fair amount of time together.
“Ah, well, it was nice to meet you, Killian.”
Emma begins to turn away once again and a courage shoots out of Killian that he didn’t know he had, “Will I see you again— I mean, will you be staying awhile.” Smooth. He scratches behind his ear, nervous and embarrassed.
Emma replies shortly, “I’m not sure, yet. We’ll see.” She’s not angry with him, not at all, but he can tell she has her guard up. He wonders to himself if drawing her all these years makes him able to read her like a book. She wraps her arm over Henry’s shoulder, “Let’s go, kid. Have a good one, Killian.”
He waves to her and Henry, who seems to be already talking a mile a minute, and then just lingers there. He had never thought— although he hoped— that she’d be real. He looks up, still not positive she’s not a hallucination, but finds her walking away and talking enthusiastically with her son — clear as the night sky.
The next day Killian wakes and his morning proceeds much like the one before— he sketches, gets ready, grabs his breakfast and heads to work. As he walks down the street, he’s reminded of the welcome force which seems to have turned their little town upside down when he quite literally runs into her.
“Shit, I’m so sorr— oh, Killian! Hi!”
Killian is startled by her touch, a brief flash of events that feel like memories flying through his brain in fast forward— a ship, mermaids, a young boy— before he grabs her shoulders in an attempt to keep them both upright. “Quite alright, love. Lucky to have started my day bumping into a fair lass such as yourself.” He chuckles lightly, releasing her shoulders and quickly stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.
He swears he sees a touch of blush creep up her cheeks before she responds, “Ha, yeah, I suppose it’s nice running into a familiar and friendly face.”
“Someone giving you trouble, love?” He notices she flinches at his inadvertent pet name but doesn’t correct him.
“Just the Mayor. Nothing I can’t handle.” She scoffs and seems confident, he thinks it’s his new favorite thing about her.
“I have no doubts about that, Swan.” She smiles at him, the first real one she’s granted him, and he feels as though it will fuel his happiness for the next week. Before he can sour the mood, he decides to let her on her way, “Well, I’m sure you have somewhere to be, lass. I’ll catch you later, aye?”
“Aye? What are you, some three hundred year old sea captain?” She laughs and nudges his shoulder, another round of visions flooding his brain— a beanstalk, someone named Cora, a sword fight over a compass. He smiles back at her and begins to turn away, needing a relief from the stories which accompany her touch.
“In another life maybe. Have a good day, love. See you at Granny’s tonight.” He knows it was risky, solidifying a meeting for that evening, but he feels so drawn to her that Killian can’t find it in him to care. His worry dissipates as her soft smile in response gives him enough hope to last the rest of the day.