Bad Feather Days part two - a winged!Killian fic
Apologies for the delay on this. I’ve been having technical difficulties, and sadly, this part isn’t worth the wait…
As Killian trailed behind Emma, only half-listening to her spiel about the duties of a deputy, he mentally cursed himself. He should have recognized the signs: the itchy wings, the dulled feathers, the way his wings listlessly conveyed his emotions…it was painfully obvious he’d been ready to start a molt, but he’d been so busy, he’d ignored his body’s signals.
Between the Black Fairy, his fears about Emma and the Final Battle, the wedding and the honeymoon, he’d completely lost track of time. He’d thought he had at least a month to ease Emma in to what she’d have to deal with.
He huffed a sigh as a particularly annoying itch in the arch of his right wing seemed to increase in intensity. Emma, who’d been giving him a run-down of the paperwork he needed to fill out, immediately stopped and gave him a concerned look. “Are you sure you’re okay? We can put this off until after.”
Killian sighed, as he curled his wing around in front and tugged at the offending feather. It pulled free, offering temporary relief. “Aye, Swan. It’s merely a spot of discomfort.” The real pain would begin when the larger feathers began to pull loose, and the pin feathers began to grow. He had almost a week until he hit that phase of molt. Emma had explained that his first few days on the job would be filling out paperwork and learning the to use the computer system; he could manage that while in early molt.
He stuffed the feather in the plastic bag he’d attached to his belt for that purpose. Emma eyed him worriedly, then went back to her speech.
He had his own desk and computer. Killian still didn’t like the ‘magic boxes’, but he had to admit they were useful. He spun the chair and took a seat on it backwards, his chin resting on the headrest, wings draped behind him. Emma pulled up another chair and helped him set up a username and password. Once in the system, she clicked on the various tiny pictures, the ‘icons’, and showed him what each one did. Absently, Killian pulled his left wing forward and dragged his hook through the feathers, dislodging several more.
Killian managed a full day at the station, though he and the computer had declared war on each other. He and the infernal device had eventually reached an uneasy truce, after Killian had gone through his full repertoire of sailor’s curses. Emma had looked impressed, and Killian wouldn’t be surprised if he caught her using one or two of them later.
They walked home. When in molt, Killian’s wings were sensitive, and he didn’t want to squeeze them into the tight confines of Emma’s Bug. He couldn’t even wear his false wingtip because of the ache, and Killian felt like everyone was staring at the scarred nub of his left wing.
The plastic bag was nearly full. He’d had to assure Emma that this was normal, but he could see the concern in her eyes whenever she glanced his way.
The coming weeks were going to be hard on her.
“Do you want to stop at Granny’s?” Emma asked as they passed the diner.
“Not like this. It would be very unsanitary of me to shed feathers all over her clean floors.” He gave her a weak smile. “Which is what is going to happen to our house. And our bed. It would be easier on us both if I stayed aboard the Jolly -”
He’d explained to her, that morning, about how his molt progressed. How losing every feather nearly drove him mad with itching, how the growth of new feathers was a slow, painful process that left him weak and feverish, how it could be life-threatening if one of the pinfeathers broke and bled out.
Emma had paled at that, and he was sorry he’d frightened her. He’d wanted her to understand why he isolated himself, but it had only made her more determined to help.
Emma took his hand, which he’d been about to twist around to pull another feather. “We can do this, Killian. After facing the Black Fairy, this will be easy. Please, let me help you.”
“Ah, Love…if you really want to help, could you, perhaps…scratch the base of my right wing?” he asked plaintively.
Emma’s lips twitched as she tried not to laugh at his petulant tone, then she released his hand and dug her fingers into the impossible-to-reach feathers where his wing met his back.
His pleased moan made her laugh, and he smiled in response. Maybe this would be better with Emma…
