A/N: I was writing the next chapter of Strangeness & Charm when it just got...too angsty. Like, crying and generally being a mess angsty. I needed a pick me up and was watching cute cat videos and ~this happened. It's just 3.5k of fluff. You have been warned. Also - the pirate cat trivia/superstitions are apparently pretty real? I looked some information up about pirate crews and cats and, as it turns out, they really love their black cats.
I hope you guys like this!
-/-
Emma and Killian are putting dishes up - a habit they've established over months of living together - when they hear a scratching at the back door. They both immediately stiffen, used to being hyper aware of things that go bump in the night. The cost of living in a town that has a new crisis every week, Emma guesses.
They very carefully set the plates in their hands back down, mindful not to make a sound.
"The lad is at your parents', correct?" Killian asks, meeting her eyes and keeping his voice low.
"Yup," Emma nods, eyeing the door with suspicion. She carefully edges towards it with Killian right behind her. His hand settles at the small of her back encouragingly. "And if he lost his key, he'd knock. What kind of idiot tries to break into the house of the sheriff?"
Killian shrugs. "Beats me, love."
Her gun is safely stored away, retired for the night, but Emma still has her magic. She prepares herself to use it,as she edges closer and closer. When her hand hovers over the door handle, something doesn't feel right. Emma doesn't see a shadow at the curtain or any evidence of anyone trying to break in. The fact that the noise is coming from the door is unmistakable, though, so she opens it and holds her hands up quickly to combat whatever is on the other side.
Emma just comes face to face with just the cool night air. She frowns.
"What the hell?"
She hears mewling at her feet. When Emma looks down, she finds a small black kitten just feet from her boots. Emma scrunches her face in confusion, unused to possible threats turning out to be benign. Killian laughs as soon as he catches sight of the attempted intruder, crouching down to greet it. Emma mirrors him, holding her hand out to the cat in an effort to appease it. When it doesn't do much in the way of responding besides just staring blankly at it, she tries petting its head.
And Emma ends up with a hand severely scratched by tiny claws. It hisses as she snatches it right back.
"Seriously?" Emma frowns, looking at the cat with a slight sense of betrayal. "What, we're nice to you and you try clawing us?"
Killian takes her hand in his, gently blowing air over the red marks to soothe her skin. "Just stings for a bit - cats are territorial creatures. Best not to try to get friendly with them unless invited."
"I think scratching at my back door is plenty invitation," she mutters, pulling her right hand back from his and waving her other hand over it to heal the skin.
"It just looks like a little kitten, Swan," Killian observes. His hook is still lying on the table - after an episode of accidentally scratching dishware Killian never had it on while doing dishes again, not that Emma cared about the condition of plates as much as he did - but his brace is still in place. He scratches at the back of his head with it, his hand hanging loosely between his knees. "I used to have cats on my ship, before Neverland. They were useful for catching rats, see, and didn't put up much of a fuss. Fed them and they kept to themselves."
"Never been one for pets," Emma grumbles, eyeing the cat with scorn. "This is probably why."
"Please, love, the creature is little more than a runt," he grins at her. The cat still has its back arched and its ears pinned back - the universal cat sign for 'fuck off'. Emma isn't keen on pissing it off further. "It won't hurt you too badly."
Emma holds up her recently healed hand. Killian takes it without delay and presses a kiss to the back of it, completely missing the message. Or ignoring it, rather.
"I'm not a big feline friend. When I was a kid, I used to live in a foster home with an old lady with a bunch of cats," Emma grimaces, remembering the scent of stale lotion and all of the glass tables that wouldn't have been out of place in a china shop. It wasn't the worst home, not by a long shot, but it hardly was friendly for a kid. "She had five of them. They clawed the living hell out of me when I tried to play with them."
He nods in understanding, effortlessly accepting the small revelation. She's told him enough about her childhood - from the Swans to Lily and Neal and everything in between. He's told her enough in turn and, for as rough as her childhood was, she's almost certain Killian had it worse. She'd take shitty foster parents who sent her back into the system over fathers who sold their kids into slavery, anytime.
But she spent so long without someone who could understand it, not in the way that she did for so long. Killian, in spite of the whole fairytale aspect and being about two centuries older than her, always has.
It's probably why they work so well together. That made sense. What doesn't make sense is Killian clicking his tongue towards a cat that may as well have the spirit of Cerebus and wiggling his fingers towards it in an invitation. "Here, pet. C'mere."
"Are you cooing?"
"A cat approaching a sailor is good luck, love. I'll prove to you that not all cats are nightmares. This one is just afraid."
Of course - it's a pirate thing. Emma just sighs heavily.
"How old do you think she is?" Killian ponders aloud, eyes still fixed on the cat. Its posture has relaxed and it's sitting back on its haunches now, looking at the two of them warily. To be fair, Emma would be suspicious of two people hunched over their back door and trying to win the favor of a goddamn cat, too. "Three months? Four months?"
"I didn't know you had such a soft spot for cats," Emma replies, ignoring the question entirely.
"Like I said, love. They were always useful to have on hand on a ship. As cool and indifferent as they can seem - even a tad violent when threatened - at the end of the day they can be quite affectionate creatures," he looks at her pointedly. "I suppose that's why I like you so much."
Emma shoves him playfully. "I've been compared to a lot of things. A cat isn't one of them."
The cat is waving its tail back and forth slowly, still not looking particularly friendly. It's not like a dog tail wag - dogs were a little too jumpy for her, anyway, but at least they were usually nice enough - it's more like the cat is running on a ticking clock and carefully biding its time.
She hates cat scratches. Hates them.
"It's a stray," Emma says, leaning back on her haunches when her legs start to ache in this position. "Maybe David can wrangle it in the animal shelter - in the meantime, just leave it alone."
"A stray, hm?" Killian hums thoughtfully. He's given up on the cooing, at least. "We wouldn't know anything about that, would we?"
It takes a moment for the words to sink in.
"You're guilt tripping me over a cat?" Emma raises her eyebrows in disbelief. "Seriously?"
"Is it working?"
She groans in resignation. If he's this determined to be Ace Ventura - a reference he's sure not to understand, Emma isn't sure if she's willing to subject Killian to Jim Carrey quite yet - Emma can compromise. "The pet store won't be open, but I'm sure the gas station five minutes away should have some cat food. I'll pick some up. Just fill a spare bowl with water and leave it out here. The cat is still probably going to be an asshole, but we can feed it."
"Have I told you lately that I love you?" Killian turns to her, eyes light.
"Might have mentioned it," Emma mutters with more exasperation than she really feels, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Love you, too. I'll be right back. Keep the demon occupied."
Her mother has a weird thing with birds. Captain Hook - her boyfriend and partner in all things - is apparently is a cat whisperer. Go figure.
-/-
They feed the thing for weeks.
It always turns its tail and runs whenever David comes over, as if sensing that he wants to take it to a kennel and ruin its little independent streak. It's a nightmare to get rid of, even if it doesn't allow any human being near it. Even Henry wasn't able to convince the cat to accept as much as a chin scratch. It just scratches their door, hisses at them when they get too close, and eats their food. Emma adds cat kibble to the grocery list without really thinking about it.
This, this is why Emma hates cats.
Killian tries to get it to warm up to him every time he sees the damn thing - it always comes at night, its black fur almost blending it with the darkness - but it's stubborn as hell. Even soothing, British tones can't serve as a balm for whatever rage that tiny thing clearly has in its heart.
He's taken to call it 'Lucky' - Killian said something about black cats being a symbol of good luck and safe returns for pirates. It ruins the superstition her world has of them, but Emma is hardly ready to argue urban legends with Killian.
For all of their offerings, though, the cat eventually stops coming around. Killian, she can tell, gets a bit peeved by its absence around week two without his nightly visitor. Henry, too, she catches checking the back door more than a few times at their house. Emma just assumes the cat found a family willing to take the cat in and that was that. Even if she still leaves the food and water dish out for it, just in case.
Hopefully, it didn't get run over.
She worries about it, sometimes. And then reasons she's only worrying because for once in this town - things are quiet and there's no villain lurking around the corner. It's doing weird things to her head, the absence of complete and utter destruction is. It's kind of messed up that Emma has gotten so used to it.
Around a month after the last cat sighting, Emma is at home curled up on the couch with her Netflix to-watch list waiting for her after a stressful shift at the station. Henry is at a friend's house - she's relieved he's making friends, after all of the insanity the past...entirety of his life has been - and Killian is babysitting her brother while her parents go out. She gets an entire two minutes into a movie before she hears a familiar scratching at the door.
Damn that cat's timing.
Emma grunts, hitting pause and cursing the cat that isn't even hers. She opens the back door in exasperation, almost ready to give the cat a lecture it can't understand about timing. It leaves her lips when she sees the cat. It looks like it's been injured, its fur matted and its body almost frail. The weeks without coming to their house for a bite to eat is showing.
It's asking for help, Emma realizes. It meows at her, pleading, and Emma relents. Her hands hover by the cat's body and, for once, it doesn't immediately try to attack her for violating its personal space.
"Is this okay?" she asks the cat, as if the thing can answer her. It doesn't try to claw her up when she carefully picks her up, so Emma decides to take it as a good sign. Emma frowns at the clear injuries - big old slash marks, as if it got stuck under a fence or something - and the blood matted in its fur. It's all shallow, but it looks painful nonetheless.
She has her suspicions about how the cat got this way.
Emma and Killian didn't have a whole lot in the way of neighbors, but they had some. One of their closer neighbors built a wire fence not too long ago, Emma remembers. They did it around a month ago. Maybe the cat got stuck on the other side of the fence and tried getting through after weeks without food. It would explain how skinny it's gotten and why it tried so hard to crawl under to the point of enduring pain.
All the cat - for all its standoffishness - wanted to do was try to get back home. Sure, the cat never stepped foot inside, but Emma wonders if it was close enough to a home to the cat that it didn't matter.
Emma knows enough about not having a home. And hers apparently had food, mostly friendly greeters, and an awning to sleep under in the rain. There's not much more a cat could ask for aside from actually braving the inside. The cat meows in discomfort as Emma moves to walk back inside, but Emma gently shushes it. Her fingers are careful not to touch the tender skin, though it's nearly unavoidable given how tiny the cat is.
Somehow, it seemed bigger when it was hissing.
She sits on the couch, still delicately holding the cat.
It meows again when she tries to set it down on the couch, its claws nearly digging into her skin, so Emma takes the hint to keep holding it.
"You're okay, Lucky," she murmurs - it's not cooing, she tells herself. "You'll be all better in no time - you're...well, you're lucky you came to the right house, huh?"
There's no vet's office open this time of night, but Emma is willing to bet she can do them one better. Healing humans was something she could do, so animals shouldn't be too difficult. With a careful wave of her hand, the cat looks healed, clean, and good as new. Lucky freezes, confused at her sudden transformation. Emma takes the opportunity to set her down on the couch beside her.
Lucky still seems underweight. Magic can cure a lot of things, but borderline-starvation isn't one of them. Emma frowns. The cat, even without its injuries, looks too weak to move much. It's going to need food and the sooner it gets it, the better. She moves to grab the bowl from outside, dumping out the bug-ridden old food and replacing it with a new batch. Emma walks back into the living room to hover the bowl in Lucky's face on the couch, but the cat just flickers its eyes at it in disinterest.
It's ravenous, yet disinterested.
Emma doesn't really get it.
"You drink milk?" Emma asks the cat. She isn't expecting an answer. She swore she read something once about it being bad for cats but she can't even remember.
She grabs her phone with an - "I'll Google it."
Emma has got to stop talking to the cat.
"Causes an upset stomach in adult cats," Emma reads with a frown once she's found the answer to her question. "You're a young cat, right? Killian said like, four months. I trust that. I don't think you're weaning but...upset stomach or starving because you're too weak to eat? I think you'll take upset stomach."
Lucky just blinks back at her wearily. It's almost as if she's asking Emma what the hell she's doing talking to a cat. Much like Emma is asking herself.
"Right, then," Emma mutters. She leaves the cat on the couch, trusting it not to move, "I'll be right back."
Emma winces at herself. Again, with the talking to animals. She's getting almost as bad as Killian. Or her mother, for that matter.
In no time at all, she has a small bowl of milk ready and microwaved for the cat. Emma resumes her earlier spot on the couch and sets the bowl in her lap precariously so it's propped up by her thighs. She doesn't know how willing Lucky would be to move much at all right now. Emma carefully guides the cat to her lap and, thankfully, it starts lapping the milk up in no time.
She lets out a sigh of relief, her hand reaching for her phone on the other end of the couch. The cat is going to need more than milk and water if it's staying inside. Emma taps on her phone a few times and holds it up to her ear.
"Hello, love."
Somehow, she doesn't think Killian is going to mind the news.
"Hey," Emma greets. "Can you pick up cat litter before you get home? And a box, now that I'm thinking about it."
"Cat litter?" Killian echoes, confused. "Why do we need - oh."
"We had a visitor, I think it got all cut up by our neighbor's fence," Emma frowns, stroking the cat's fur as she speaks. It's actually purring, a rumbling that has to be audible from across the room.
"Bloody hell."
"I healed her, she's all okay," Emma reassures him, as if sensing the worry he has over the cat. The worry she shares. Because he got so attached to the damn thing she did, too. "Just a little underweight, I think. She's still kinda weak, which I think is from...being underweight. We should probably make a vet appointment, but I gave her some milk and she seems to be doing a little better now."
"If I didn't know any better, Swan, I'd say you liked her," Killian's voice is warm on the other end of the line. "Nursing the kitten back to health, are you?"
"Shut up," she grumbles, but the words have no real edge to them. "Again - pick up cat litter and a box so she doesn't pee everywhere. As big of a neat freak you are, I can't see you reacting well to cat pee on our furniture."
"I have experience with it," he tells her gravely. "The bloody smell is impossible to get out, I've had to throw too many things overboard because of it."
Emma laughs, her hand still stroking the cat and legs still balancing the bowl of milk. "Then you better hurry. She's all purr-y and curled up in my lap now. I think she likes me."
"You're an easy woman to like," Killian says, his tone affectionate. "I love you, Swan. I'll be home soon."
"Love you, too. And I'm hogging your cat to myself."
He laughs.
-/-
When Killian gets home, Emma is still sitting on the couch. Lucky is sleeping contentedly on her lap, undisturbed by Emma watching television as she slumbers. Her ears only perk when Killian swings open the door, her head rising to meet the intruder. Once Lucky recognizes who it is, she goes running towards him and slithers around his ankles as if she'd like to be nothing more than a pair of his socks.
Lucky apparently isn't feeling so weak anymore.
"Why, hello there," Killian greets, shaking his head in amusement. "You're feeling quite a bit more friendly, aren't you?"
"You just walked through the door and you've already got the cat wrapped around you," Emma pouts, pretending to be more offended than she is. "I have to heal her, feed her, and pull all the stops. But you walk in and she's your own personal legwarmer."
Hopefully, the name is self explanatory enough that she doesn't have to explain fashion from the eighties.
Killian chuckles, a plastic bag she's assuming contains the cat essentials hanging from his hook. He drops it to the ground and bends down to pick Lucky right up with his hand. The cat is small enough that his hand wraps around it easily. Killian abandons the bag entirely on the floor - they really should set up the box soon - and sits next to Emma on the couch. He sets Lucky down on his lap and turns his head to face her.
"I had to work a big longer on winning her favor, didn't I?" Killian argues, scratching under the cat's chin. Lucky leans into the touch with a loud purr, bringing a smile to his face. "You just need to grovel with cats, see."
"Separation must make the heart grow fonder," Emma says, pausing the movie she was watching. "A month ago, I couldn't get the cat not to glare at me like it wanted to kill me."
"Lucky, here, was just alone and miserable. A stray without her family, it seems, and left alone far too young," Killian points out, still petting the cat. It accepts his affection readily, its eyes shut in pure happiness. "It's bound to make a creature mean."
Emma purses her lips, considering the words. They ring all too familiar. She's guessing that's the point of it.
"Well, she's a lot nicer now," Emma sighs, her head lolling on Killian's shoulder. Her cheek presses against the familiar leather and she melts into the feeling easily. "Hopefully she stays that way."
"Sometimes strays just need a loving home," Killian tells her matter of factly, rubbing between the cat's ears. It moves towards Emma, much to her surprise. Killian's hand slides to the cat's back as Lucky butts her head against Emma's thigh. She caves into the request for attention, resuming Killian's earlier ministrations and rubbing at her head. "Then, they can be quite a bit happier."
Emma lifts her head and moves her eyes to meet Killian's warm ones, a light smile on his lips. She leans in to kiss him, careful not to squish the cat in between them. He reciprocates readily, lips pressing gently against hers. When she leans back, she just rubs her forehead against his and smiles contentedly.
This - this feeling of belonging, a place to come back to, someone who has her back through all of it - is all she needs to be happy. A house, Killian, her son, her parents, even a cat - it's all home to her now.
"You're right," she replies simply. "I guess that's all they need."