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Emma Swan finally found her fairytale (lostfairytale) wrote in wariscoming,

"I'm pretty sure our kisses counted as epic before," she teased right back, and she curled up at his knees, one hand resting lightly on his legs. Anything to be close to him, to know that he was there and safe and better yet, no longer cursed. "You did send me into labor after all," she reminded him. And then he was asking about Aislinn and god, that's why she loved him. Among other reasons, but come on. She was a single mom with two kids, neither one with men she'd be all that proud to tell them about as their fathers. And yet he wanted to be with her anyway.

No, it was more than that. He didn't just want to be with her despite her kids, which may have been enough for some women. No, the reason she loved him was because he loved her and her kids. From the first moment she'd put Aislinn in his arms, she'd see his face change. The way he'd melted and fallen in love with her tiny baby. And he was so good with Henry. Talking to him like an equal and not looking down at him. Defending him whatever the cost.

If that wasn't enough to make a mom fall in love, what else would? "They're fine," she reassured, her other hand drifting to his cheek and running over the soft scruff of it. "Ruby Winchester set her place up a safe house long ago thanks to one of the bauble wish things. She invited anyone with kids to take refuge and Lois offered to take Aish and Henry so I can be here with you." Which might have sounded more like an excuse to get the place to themselves had it not been for how worried she and Lois had both been when she'd handed over her daughter and explained the situation to the best of her knowledge.

He was so good. So different from Neal and Jim, and yet in some ways, very similar. Fiercely loyal and protective to the few he let in his heart. Tall, dark, a bit broody but certainly optimistic enough to balance her when she wasn't. And vice versa. They balanced each other, in a way she'd had with Neal, but the much more legal sort. And she liked it.

"Good question," she replied, eyeing him. "The thought of keeping you like that has occurred to me. I can be pretty kinky when I want to be?" Her words were teasing and her eyes flashed with mischief, but she reached in her pocket for the small army knife she carried. This man had lived too long as a slave in bondage for her to joke about it too much. She'd never give him reason to fear her. She'd meant that, after all. And as she released his bonds, she reached for his hands, lifting them to place feather light kisses along his wrists. "Not too bad," she said, examining them. "You weren't out for too long and you didn't get much time to fight me. You should be okay."