A/N: A short little ficlet to accompany some captain swan manips I made over on tumblr. *whispers* Go check it out...

He's worked for her family for years: since she was just barely ten and they found him alone and hungry, wandering the road on the way back from town. Just a boy, barefoot and broken-hearted. An orphan.

Her parents had brought him home that rainy grey afternoon, the rumble of thunder drowning out the rattle of the carriage's wooden wheels upon the bumpy road. Brought him home and offered him shelter in the stables with the horses; clothed him and fed him and somehow, he never left.

Eight long years later he still sleeps amongst the hay in the dusty loft. Still rises with dawn and feeds the horses, cares for the chickens and the goats and the small herd of cattle. Constant and unfailingly loyal.

She remembers the early years. He didn't talk much then. Beyond his name and the odd "aye" of affirmation, he was, for the most part, functionally mute.

She can't pinpoint the exact moment in time when she first heard him speak more than a lone word, but she remembers the location well enough. She was standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, storm clouds crowding in, waves crashing violently upon the shore below.

Maybe she was thirteen, could have been fourteen; that age where you think you know everything there is to know, but really, you know nothing. She remembers standing barefoot in the tall grass, skirts billowing around her legs, angry at her parents over what was likely a petty argument. She can't remember the specifics.

He had given her a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders. "You should head inside. You'll catch your death out here." And she can remember the scent of him, warm and earthy, like fresh cut hay and overturned soil.

She's fifteen when she finally learns the truth of what led him down the road that fateful day. His mother died giving birth to him. He had an older brother, lost him to the sea, and afterwards his father took to the bottle. Then one morning he woke up alone. She doesn't know what to say to that, so she takes his hand in silence and they ride through the shifting surf, late summer sun fighting its way through stubborn clouds.

When she's sixteen, she meets a boy and falls head over heels. Hard and fast, blinding like the sun on a rare summer's day. It doesn't last. He breaks her heart and she's sent spiraling, earth tilting on its axis beneath her feet. She's left thinking that maybe she doesn't want a love like the summer sun, brilliant while it lasts, but gone too soon. No. She wants a love that spans all seasons; like the gentle rain and gloomy skies that forever cling to this place, the passionate tumult of a late night thunderstorm.

She sits on the rocks by the water, steady rain plastering her hair to her face, a cool breeze chilling her to the bone. Killian sits with her. Hours pass and when the sky grows dark and night falls, he walks her home.

Seventeen arrives in a late autumn snow storm, howling winds and bitter cold, and she brings extra blankets out to the stables for Killian. He kisses her on the cheek and she spends the remainder of the night awake in her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

In the morning it rains and the snow melts, runoff trickling down the cliffs to be swallowed by the sea.

A week later, as he's carrying water from the well to the barn, she kisses him. He drops the bucket and wetness seeps into her slippers, but she doesn't stop until they're both breathless with wonder.

After that she retreats, fear warring with anticipation and want in her very bones. From the tip of her nose, right down to her toes, she wants him, wants him like the sea wants the shore, constantly advancing and receding, a steady ebb and flow. But he's just the stable boy and she's supposed to be destined for bigger and better.

She worries this might be a love story.

She's not supposed to want this. She's not supposed to want him.

But the heart wants what the heart wants, and inevitably she collapses into him, into herself, walls crumbling, world shattering in the best way possible.

But it's still a secret; furtive glances and stolen kisses behind a winter of closed doors.

When she finally tells her parents, they both act as if they've known all along, and she's surprised because she was expecting a battle, disappointment and hardship. But there's nothing of the sort, just calm acceptance and happiness and a sense of blissful finality.

And when eighteen arrives on the waves of stormy shores, she knows what they have is a love story, and that not all great loves are filled with impossible odds and insurmountable obstacles.

Sometimes love is just the comforting embrace of steel-grey clouds, the patter of gentle rain upon the earth, and another soul to call your home.