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Stone Hearts

Summary:

Emma should have known. She should have known that they couldn’t just go to the underworld and not suffer any consequences. She should have known they’d bring something back with them.

Cannon Divergent after 5x21 Last Rites. No Hyde. No serum. No Evil Queen split. No prophecy. No season 6.

Chapter Text

Fuck the underworld. Seriously, fuck Hades and his unfinished business and his lost souls and his monsters. Fuck it all. And while you’re at it fuck magic, and fairy tales and promises of happy endings. And most of all, fuck hope. Hope was the worst of it.

When Emma was a little girl she’d grown up on stories of hope, let herself believe that one day she would find happiness, that her family would find her and they would love her and she would finally have a home. As she grew older she’d hardened to the reality of the world, come to realize that hope was nothing but a cruel lie put in place to set you up for heartbreak and disappointment. So she’d given up on hope. She’d accepted that this was her life at it was as good as it was going to get. Nobody was coming for her and for a long time she was okay with that. Maybe not happy, but she’d found a level of satisfaction that she could live with. She had a good job, a nice apartment and the occasional one night stand to fill the dull ache inside of her for a night when it became too much to bear.

But then one day, a ten year old boy in a pea coat with hope spilling out of his ears showed up at her door and turned her world upside down. She’d fought it for a long time but eventually his tenacity had wormed its way into her heart and left just enough room for hope to be smuggled in. And just like that she’d begun to believe again. She’d found her family and a home and the hope had grown and she’d truly believed that just maybe, maybe, she could have her happy ending.

And then she’d met Killian. Loyal, passionate, understanding, steadfast, beautiful, frustrating, Killian. He had never been short on belief – not when it came to her. While Henry may have wormed his way into her heart, Killian fought his way in, scaling walls a mile high and breaking down the door until she finally, truly believed that she could have a happy ending, and love. And not only that she could have it, but that she deserved it. And she’d gotten it. With him and Henry – and their whole weird family tree – she’d gotten her happy ending. Despite all the monsters and villains and deaths that they faced, Emma never gave up hope that they would defeat them. Together.

And they’d been happy. For six months. Six months after she had gone to literal hell to get her true love back. Six months of peace, of no villains or monsters or catastrophes. Of no Grumpy running and shouting, interrupting intimate moments. Just love and happiness and normality and hope.

And then it had all come crashing down.

Emma should have known. She should have known that things could never have been so calm in a place like Storybrooke. She should have known that during those six months the latest bad guy of the week had been lying in wait, plotting. She should have known that they couldn’t just go to the underworld and not suffer any consequences. She should have known they’d bring something back with them. She should have known because she wasn’t from some mystical land like her parents were. She was from the real world where life always screws you over right when you’re at your happiest. It had done it her whole life and she should have known it would do it again. People like her didn’t get happy endings and if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in fucking hope she would have seen it coming.

So yeah. Fuck hope. Hope is how she ended up here, in a hastily made camp in the ruins of what used to be the library with the only three people she cared about still left. Maybe camp was an overstatement. Really all it was was a rucksack each, filled with a change of clothes, some food and a memento or two they couldn’t bear leaving behind, a camping stove and the odd pot, and as many weapons as they could find or fashion. It was just a place to sleep really. To hide for a few days until it got too risky and they had to move again.

Emma sat, watching Henry eat some kind of cold seafood out of a can with his fingers, her hand on the knife at her hip. Her eyes kept darting between him and the broken table-top they had used to block off the little shelter they’d built between some bookcases and the stairs to the clock tower should they need to stand their ground and fight. Guilt washed over her as she took in his ripped up shirt and jeans. His coat was getting too small for him at the rate he’s was growing and he was forced to wear it draped over his shoulders against the chill of the night. She should have taken him out of here when this had all started. But she’d let him convince her with his speeches about heroism and doing the right thing and being the savior and she’d kept them in Storybrooke until it was too late and the town line once again became a prison. He was too young to be living like this, facing these hardships, watching the people he loved be picked off one by one. She couldn’t save any of them now. She should have saved him.

She jumped when she heard footsteps on the other side of the entrance, knife out in a second. Henry was on his feet with the gun she’d had to teach him how to shoot at fourteen years old held at the ready, canned food forgotten at his feet. He shouldn’t have to live like this.

“It’s just us,” came David’s voice from the other side. Neither of them dropped their weapons as the makeshift door slid open and David and Ruby walked in.

“Shut the door and drop your weapons,” Henry commanded once they were in view. His hand was steady on the gun and Emma’s heart lurched at the sight.

Ruby and David did as they were told, replacing the wood slate then dropping the sacks they had been carrying on the ground before  getting to work divesting themselves of their weapons. David had his sword and two guns – one in his holster and one in the back of his pants. Ruby had a bow, and a quiver of arrows, a small dagger and, well, the wolf thing. Once the weapons had clattered to the ground Henry spoke again.

“Okay, Mom, go ahead, I’ve got them,” he said, gun still fixed on his family.

“Right.” Emma put her knife back in her belt and made her way over to them, arms outstretched. Both winced in anticipation as she took a deep breath before plunging a hand into each of their chests. Ruby let out a gasp and David grunted in pain as she ripped their hearts out of their bodies.

“Fuck!”

“You’d think it would hurt less each time but nope,” Ruby said. “Each time’s as bad as the last.”

Emma took a look at the hearts, both bright red and semi-translucent, not a spec of stone to be seen. “They’re clear,” she told her son over her shoulder and he finally lowered his weapon. Then, with little ceremony she shoved both hearts back into their respective chests.

“Hurts just as bad going back in,” David said with a smirk at Ruby.

“Yeah, must be nice to have non-removable hearts,” she joked, looking at Emma and Henry.

“Grandpa!” Henry practically threw himself at David, knocking the wind out of him but David didn’t falter, wrapping his grandson in his arms and squeezing tight. “Sorry about the gun.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, taking Henry’s face in his hands. “I’d have my heart ripped out a million times and have a gun pointed at me just as often if it means keeping you and your mom safe. So don’t you ever be sorry, you hear me?” Henry nodded.

“Feels like it’s coming up on a million times,” Ruby said mirthfully, rubbing her chest before getting her own hug from Henry.

Emma just watched them, picking up the bags her father and her friend had dropped.

“We didn’t get much,” David said, bending down to help her. “The store’s on a constant watch now and we didn’t want to risk going more than a few blocks with the patrol as heavy as it is.”

Emma shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We need to move again. Tonight.”

“What? Why?” Ruby demanded.

“Henry noticed them hovering.”

All eyes turned to Henry. “It’s true. There was a group of them… Archie, Jefferson and Ashley. They were straying from the usual patrol, coming closer and closer to the library and sticking around a little too long,” he explained.

“Point is they’re on to us so we need to pack up our stuff and get out of here. I’ve been saying for weeks that we need to get to the woods,” Emma grumbled, dividing the newly procured food equally between the rucksacks (Maybe she gave a little extra to Henry but nobody was going to say anything about that).

“They have the border to the woods surrounded,” Ruby reminded them.

“Yeah. So we just need to get in and then as long as we keep moving they’ll have a harder time finding us,” Emma retorted.

“Emma,” David started gently, “getting in and out for food and supplies will be more dangerous if –”

“Then we hunt!” Emma snapped. “Get your stuff together. We need to go now while we have darkness on our side and –”

“Well, well, well, isn’t this sweet.”

Four heads snapped to the entrance of the shelter where Snow White stood, leaning against the bookcase, her voice taunting. In her hands was the sheriff’s riffle. It looked out of place where a bow usually belonged.

Four sets of hands reached for their weapons but Snow was quicker, her rifle raised and pointed at David before he could get his off the floor.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Snow chastised, nodding at Emma’s raised hands. “You reign in your magic or I’ll blow Daddy’s brains right out of his charming little head. Think you can get me before I pull the trigger?” Emma narrowed her eyes, hatred for this thing that had become her mother seething out of her. Snow smiled and it made her stomach turn. “Want to try?” Emma waited a beat. She glanced at David, who looked at her over his shoulder, the gun an inch away from his nose. He nodded his head, a silent conversation passing between them quick enough for nobody else to notices it and she held her hands up in surrender.

“Ruby, Henry, drop your weapons.”

“Good girl,” Snow said. “Now –” In a flash David had knocked the riffle out of Snow’s hands, catching it and whipping it around to smash the side of her head with the butt. Snow crumpled to the floor.

David knelt beside his unconscious wife, brushing the hair off her forehead, wincing a bit at the blood that matted it. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

“Grandma,” Henry started taking a step towards them but Emma stopped him, throwing a hand out.

“Stay away from her, Henry!” she warned, her tone leaving no room for argument. She took a deep breath, steading herself for what she knew they had to do, what she knew no one else had the guts to say. Fuck hope. “We need to kill her.”

“Emma!” Ruby shouted at the same time as Henry shouted “Mom!”

“She’s your mother!” David insisted, subtlety shifting so that he was blocking Snow from Emma’s view and reach. 

“No she’s not! We know she’s not! None of them are anymore!”

“Mom –”

“No, Henry. We tried. We spent months trying to get them back. How many spell books did we pour through? How many of them did we try to get through to? We have to face it. None of them are coming back. Not Snow.” She looked at David, who squared his shoulders. “Not Granny.” Ruby looked at the floor, avoiding her gaze. “Not –” She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring herself to say his name.

Henry’s hand came around her shoulders. “Mom… we don’t know that he –”

“They’re gone okay. All of them. We have to accept that.” She forced David to meet her gaze, eyes imploring. “Whoever that is, it’s not Mom. We have to get rid of it so that it doesn’t tell him where we are.”

David stood, his face sympathetic but there was a resolve in the set of his shoulders. He came over to his daughter and took hold of her shoulders. “Emma, I know you’re hurting. We’re all hurting. And if you think for one second that I don’t hate that thing they turned the woman I loved into then you don’t know me at all. But if there’s one thing this family has, it’s hope.” Emma scoffed. “Your mother would never give up on us and we can’t give up on her. I know she’s in there somewhere and I have to find her. That’s what this family does. We find each other. We just have to have hope.”

Emma raised her eyes to his, holding his gaze and glowering. “Fuck hope,” she said, breaking away from his grasp, but not before she saw his eyes close in dismay as he hung his head.

“We’re not killing her,” he said firmly.

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Emma shouted, anger and frustration and exasperation wearing her down. She was so tired of living like this.

“We could question her,” Henry piped up beside her. All heads turned towards him. “Tie her up, keep her prisoner. Maybe she has information that can help us.”

“Henry,” Emma sighed, softer but still exhausted. “We’ve tried that, they don’t give up anything.”

“What about true love’s kiss? It’s the most powerful magic in the world!” he said his voice full of hope and Emma hated to crush it but she had to.

“It won’t work, kid. They don’t feel anything, they don’t care about anything. All they are is puppets, loyal to him.

“It’s worth a try,” David said. “We haven’t had a true love come back to any of us… that we know of.”

“I’m telling you it won’t work!” Emma insisted. “They have to love you back!” David bit his lip, fist clenching at the harsh words.

“Well it’s better than killing her!” Henry barked at before turning and stomping off up to the tower.

“Henry…” Emma called after him.

“Let him go,” David said.

“He has a point,” Ruby spoke. “Look I know we’ve tried before but what else can we do with her? We can try the kiss and if it doesn’t work we might as well see if we can get some information.” Emma still hesitated. “Do you really think killing Henry’s grandmother in front of him is a good idea?” Ruby argued.

Emma sank down on a step, her head heavy between her hands. She was silent for a long time. “Fine. It’s your funeral.”

David and Ruby set to work, the latter tearing strips out of an old shirt with too many holes in it to use as bindings as David gingerly lifted Snow and placed her still unresponsive body into the chair Henry had been occupying earlier. Once she was securely tied and relieved of all the weapons they could find on her, all they could do was wait.

It was nearly an hour before they heard a soft groan coming from the corner of the room. A look was passed between the three of them, David finally making the first move and walking cautiously over to the petite brunette.

“Snow?” her only answer was another groan but after a minute she raised her eyes to the group. In her gaze was exactly what Emma knew they would find: nothing. Cold, emptiness staring back at them through the shell that was her mother. “Do you know who I am?” David asked.

“Sure I do. You’re Prince Charming,” she spat sarcastically. “They told me all about you and the savior,” she sneered.

“You don’t know who we are to you, do you?” David said and Emma could hear the heartbreak in his voice. This is why this was a bad idea. This woman may look like Snow but she wasn’t the woman her father fell in love with and she didn’t have any shred of love for them or memory of them. Snow just looked at him blankly, uncaring. David let out a shaky breath and looked at his wife. Despite everything, Emma could still see the love he held for her pouring out of him as he spoke. “We’ve been here before you know,” he chuckled soflty. “I know you don’t remember me, but I can make you.”

Emma stumbled back as though she’d been hit. The words, a perfect echo of the ones that had been spoken to her so long ago, like a knife to her heart as a sea of memories flooded her. An apartment in New York. A knock at the door. A familiar stranger. A kiss. Emma had to turn away, tears welling up in her eyes as she watched her father lean in and kiss a woman who didn’t know who he was anymore.

She heard David cry out and whirled around to see him holding a hand to his bleeding lip. Snow sat glaring daggers at him. When his shock wore off David stood, chuckling. “I know you’re still in there.”

“Enough of this!” Emma stalked over, bracing her hands on the arms of the chair and looming over Snow. “Why is he doing this? How is he doing this?” Snow just glared at her, mouth shut. “ANSWER ME!” Emma shouted. She was done with this. Done with pretending things weren’t as bad as they were to appease everyone else, sick of playing along with their vain belief that things would get better. This was their life now. There were four of them left in the whole damn town. It was going to be like this until they found him and killed him and even then it might not get better. She was done believing they would beat this new baddie and get everyone back. They were gone. All of them were gone.

Killian was gone.

It was the first time she’d let herself admit it. She’d gone to hell for him and it had only bought them six fucking months before he was taken away again. And she was done. She wanted this guy stopped. She wanted him dead and then she wanted to get her kid and get the hell out of Storybrooke and she wanted to leave it and all the monsters still inside of it burning in her rear-view mirror.

Snow didn’t answer. But she smirked. She fucking smirked and Emma lost it. Pushing herself back she let all the anger and the hate rush through her. She remembered her time as the dark one, remembered the feeling of dark magic singing in her veins. Magic is feeling. And right now she was feeling a hell of a lot more than she’d let herself feel in the last few months. Focusing on Snow she watched as the woman started to gasp for air and it only fueled her rage.

“Emma!” She could hear Ruby and David but it sounded far away, muted by the dull throbbing of blood and power rushing in her ears.

Where is he?”

She could see the life draining out of the woman, her mouth moving, trying to form sentences, and she concentrated harder. She felt David’s hand on her arm but she ignored it, consumed by her own magic, by the darkness.

“Mom!” The sound cut through the thick fog, snapping her out of her daze as she looked up to see Henry looking panicked as he ran down the stairs.

Snow gasped, heaving large gulps of air, coughing and laughing at the same time. The laugh brought Emma’s attention back to her. “You’ll find out soon enough,” Snow promised. Emma frowned.

“Mom! David! Ruby! They’re coming! They found us!”

Panic rushed through Emma. Heart racing and adrenaline replacing the magic that had been running through her veins. It was a trap. Of course it was a trap! They wouldn’t have sent her alone. She wouldn’t have gone in alone! They didn’t think like that! Stupid, stupid, Emma!

“Ruby!” The brunette faced her, serious and ready for orders. “Take Henry. Go wolf and get the hell out of here. Get as far as you can and keep him safe.”

Ruby nodded solemnly and took off her red cape.

“No, Mom! I want to stay with you!” Henry cried, sounding younger than he had in a long time.

“Henry, go!” Emma ordered, picking up a gun and tossing it to David. “We’ll hold them off as long as we can. Go with Ruby. Now!”

“But, Mom,” Henry was near tears.

“I’ll find you, Henry,” she promised. She made herself believe it so that he would. “Go.”

Henry backed away, not breaking her gaze as he picked up his and Ruby’s packs and climbed on the giant wolf’s back. They disappeared into the night.

Emma wasn’t sure what happened next. There was a sound, an explosion, louder than anything she’d ever heard before and a blinding light. One minute she was standing, hands raised ready to fight and the next she was on the ground, ears ringing. She lifted her head, a sharp pain shooting through it. “David?” she asked. Her voice sounded muffled and distant to her own ears. She finally saw him, lying unconscious under a bookshelf. His face was cut, his eye turning a purplish-red. Slowly, painfully she started to drag herself over to him through the debris and smoke and dust that filled the room. Every muscle in her body protested as she moved and she could feel a wet pain in her leg that was both cold and burning.

The click of heels echoed across the library floor as a pair of black boots emerged from the fog. They stopped beside her arm and one lifted to kick her over onto her back. Emma groaned in pain as she rolled, coming face to face with Regina standing over her. The woman turned to address someone behind her.

“Tell him we found her.”

And Emma could swear she saw a flash of leather and metal before the darkness overtook her.

Chapter Text

I’m so sorry about how long it took for this chapter to happen. I’d like to say that the next update will be faster but I’ve learned not to make promises I can’t keep :P

 

A huge thank you to my lovely beta @lenfaz for all her advice and comments and for putting up with my constant questions and overuse of exclamation points!

 

Trigger warning: this chapter contains a brief passing reference to past self harm.

 

So without further ado…

 

 

 

 

They’ve barely made it back from the cemetery before she has him pressed up against her bedroom door, her mouth on his and her hands roaming – touching him everywhere, anywhere she can reach. He’s alive. He’s actually alive and he’s here. Emma is frantic, barely registering Killian’s soft ‘umf’ as his back collides with the door behind him. Her fingers fumble with the zipper of his jacket. He’s still wearing the outfit he donned when he became the Dark One – when he died as the Dark One – and she needs to get it off of him. She needs to erase the memory of it ever happening, of seeing him like that.

 

“Emma, w-” he starts to say as her lips trail down his jaw to his neck, practically shoving the jacket off his shoulders, but she cuts him off with another kiss, this one no less frantic than the last, all teeth and tongue and desperation. She knows they should slow down, that they should wait. He must be exhausted – she’s exhausted – but she can’t. She lost him. God, she lost him twice in the span of a few days. Finding him in the Underworld only to have him ripped away from her again in that damn elevator… she needs to know he’s really back this time. She needs to feel him – feel his skin under her hands, feel him around her, inside of her – needs him to fill the void left by his death. The one that won’t go away even as she holds him and presses against him now.

 

“Emma,” he says again, tearing his mouth away from hers. His hand comes up to cradle her face, his thumb stroking soothing lines across her cheekbone. For the first time since they got home Emma stops moving. Her hand frozen where it rests over his heart. She can feel it beating and while it should be reassuring, all she can feel is a growing dread that it could stop at any moment.

 

“I just –” she can’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t know how – how to explain the overwhelming grief she’s been feeling since that night by the lake, the grief she can’t shake no matter how many times she reminds herself that it’s over – he’s here. He’s right here. “I need you,” she finishes, fingers bunching the material of his shirt and holding tight. She’s never been good with words but when she raises her eyes to his she knows that he understands. She sees his expression soften, empathy and kindness replacing confusion and concern. He nods.

 

“Okay, love.” Emma nearly sobs as he wraps his hooked arm around her waist, steadying her. “Okay.” He brings his mouth down over hers, softer than her kisses, slower and filled with a different kind of desperation. He ducks down slightly to lift her and her hand finally leaves its place over his heart as she wraps herself around him and allows herself to be carried over to the bed, the panic slowly subsiding under his reverent touches.

 

He seats himself on the bed, settling her in his lap as she forces her breathing to slow, mimicking his touches, their pace and their gentleness, until she no longer feels that her heart is going to burst out of her chest from the pain of everything she’s lost. Her fingers go to the buttons of his shirt, opening them one by one until she can push it off his shoulders and look at him – here, alive, with all his scars and his strengths. She lets her hands trace the scars that cover so much of his body – the ones she’s gotten to know so well since she met him. The thick, crescent shaped one that follows the curve of his shoulder, the thin white line that slashes down across his collarbone, the particularly painful jagged one that follows his rib.

 

Her hand pauses, throat tightening as she reaches a new one – an angry red mark that slices down along the left side of his abdomen. The one she gave him. Something seizes around her heart as she’s assaulted with memories of that night – of running him through with Excalibur, of ending his life. Something settles in her chest but it doesn’t feel like a weight. It feels hollow – an empty piece of her that’s calling out to him – for a piece of his heart to fill it, a heart she doesn’t deserve. She killed him. She killed her true love and now –

 

“Stop it, love,” he murmurs. She can’t. The grief is crawling its way back, filling that empty space. His hand comes up to cover hers. “I know what you’re doing,” he says. “Stop it. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

A sound somewhere between a scoff and a sob breaks through from her chest. “It kind of was,” she says her voice hoarse and choked.

 

“Emma,” he tries but she won’t look at him. “Emma.” He sighs and takes her hand, bringing it up to a scar on his right side, near his kidney. “This one? I got it on my first mission with the Royal Navy. I went out with all the arrogance and foolishness of a young lad and was knocked down to size within minutes. If Liam hadn’t been there…. Well, either way, it taught me the importance of mastering my craft and made me the swordsman I am today.” He slides their hands until they settle on one on the inside of his forearm. “This one,” he pauses, swallows heavily and she can tell whatever he’s about to say is still painful for him. “It was after Liam died, when I no longer felt that life was worth living without him.” Emma’s eyes snap up to his, his words hitting her like a blow to the chest.

 

“Killian….”

 

“But then I thought of what my brother would think and that he would want me to survive. So instead I decided to continue on and keep his memory alive by living my life the way he always did – as a man of honour.” He gives her a small smirk. “I may have slipped up a few times but I like to think I did him justice.”

 

Killian’s hand tightens over hers at the small watery smile she offers back and he slides their hands across to the large scar that slices down his side from underarm to hip. “This one I received in a raid when I put myself between Milah and a coward who attacked her turned back. And this one,” he continues, bringing her hand to a small white mark on the curve of his jaw, one that looks like what might have once been the imprint of a ring, “Milah gave me this one afterwards for doing something so stupid.” She can tell he’s quoting her and it brings a fond smile to her face, remembering the woman she met in the Underworld, a woman she could easily picture doing just that.

 

“I don’t regret any of them, Swan. In some way each scar made me who I am today. And this one,” he places her hand over his newest mark and covers it with his own, “is no different. That night was the first time in my life I ever truly felt like a hero. The first time in a long time I did something so completely selfless. Of course I did it for you,” he starts and Emma tries to pull her hand away but he holds fast. “But I also did it for your family, for Henry and David and Snow and Robin… hell, even for Regina. I did it for the people I care about, because it was the right thing to do. And this scar,” he looks her in the eye then and she can see how much he believes what he’s saying, knows that he’s not just trying to appease her guilt. “It reminds me of the man I’ve become – one that Liam and Milah and my Swan could be proud of.

 

And it’s all because of you. So please don’t tear yourself up over it. I couldn’t bear it.”

Tears are flowing freely down her face by the time he finishes his speech and Emma can’t think of anything to say to express everything she feels so instead she kisses him, long and deep, pouring everything she feels into the movement of her lips on his and the brush of her tongue against his own.

 

“I love you,” she says when they part, pouring as much raw emotion as she can into those three insignificant sounding words. He looks at her then, with so much awe and adoration written across his face that it makes her heart jump.

 

“I love you,” he tells her. And she knows it’s true. She can see it plainly in the way he gazes at her, like he can’t believe that he’s found her – that they’ve found each other – that they really get this. After all these years, little orphan Emma, a girl that meant nothing to anyone, is loved by a man who loves more fiercely and more unselfishly than anyone she’s ever met. This isn’t the happily ever after she always dreamed of – it’s so much better.

 

She kisses him again, long and lazy. When they finally break apart she rests her forehead against his for a moment, her thumb tracing the scar on his cheek.

 

“How did you get this one?” she asks, genuinely curious. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

 

“That one’s… not important.”

She leans back to look at him and she can tell its embarrassment not guilt or shame or fear that’s making him uncomfortable – always so easy to read – and a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

 

“How did you get it?” she presses.

 

He sighs. “Any chance you’ll let this go if I refuse to tell you?”

 

“No.”

 

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “I was sixteen and watching Liam and all the other men on the ship shave. They could all boast full beards and I couldn’t yet grow a single hair on my chin but I thought I should give it a try… to fit in.”

 

A laugh bubbles out of her chest as she imagines an awkward, teenage Killian, barely older than Henry is now, copying everything his older brother did. As she giggles at his pouting face, it hits her suddenly that this is most carefree she’s felt since before Camelot. So she lets it take over, shaking her frame until she’s doubled over in his lap and there are new, happier tears running down her cheeks. Killian rolls his eyes before flipping them over so that she lands flat on her back, still giggling.

 

“Are you quite done?” he asks but there’s no bite to his words, a small chuckle escaping him as well. She nods, biting her lip against the laughter bubbling just below the surface. “Good,” he says, both of them smiling through the kiss he leans down to press against her lips. Her arms come around his back and when he moves his lips to her neck, grinding his hips into the cradle of her open thighs she lets out a moan, her nails scraping down his back. He raises his head with a low groan.

 

“Careful, love.” He says with a mischievous smirk. “You’re going to give me new stories to tell” Emma returns his grin, completely and incandescently happy.

 

“Good.”

***

 

Jesus her head hurt. Like really hurt. Like every hangover from every night of bad decisions she’d ever had rolled into one. Emma squeezed her eyes shut against the bright lights that were trying to force their way through her eyelids. She let out a groan, not ready to wake up yet.

 

“She’s awake.” Emma’s eyes snapped open at the voice. She immediately regretted the decision as the florescent lights on the ceiling sent a fresh shot of pain through her forehead. She knew that voice though. It was David. David! Oh thank god! He was alive! Emma thought as memories from the night before came flooding back to her. Had it been the night before? She could remember the explosion, could remember seeing David lying there unmoving, but then… nothing. But he was here. Had they gotten away? She scanned the room for her dad, relief flooding her when she saw him looking no worse for wear. He stood, tall and imposing as ever, looking off at someone on the other side of the room.

 

“Dad!” she urged him. “What happened? Where are Henry and Ruby? Did they –” her words were cut short when David turned to face her and her heart fell into her stomach. His expression was blank, cold, empty – no light behind the usually bright blue eyes she’d come to rely and depend on over the years. She could feel the blood rushing through her veins, cold as ice, heart pounding. She was going to be sick. They got him. They got David.

 

Panic set in. If they had David that meant they had her. Who else did they get? Henry. Where was Henry? Adrenaline raging through her, she tried to leap to her feet, to get the hell out of here, to find Henry but she was thrown back onto the bed, her arms pulling her back.

 

“What the hell?” Emma looked down, finally taking in her surroundings and her situation. She was handcuffed. Both wrists tied to either side of what looked like a hospital bed. She waved a hand in an attempt to free herself but nothing happened. “What the hell.” she repeated, turning her hand over. Why wasn’t her magic working? Then she saw the cuff. One of those anti-magic things that came in real handy when trying to subdue Storybrooke’s latest villain but seeing it on her own wrist sent a fresh wave of dread through her. They had her. She was trapped and she was powerless.

 

“Don’t fret, dearie! The handcuffs are only a precautionary measure!” Emma’s head whipped around to see the figure approaching her. Gold. Only, not Gold – Rumpelstiltskin. Emma had only ever seen him like this twice in her life, once in the Enchanted Forest and for months when he’d been swirling around in her head, tormenting her.

 

Emma sat up on her knees as best she could with her arms trapped at her sides, trying to look brave, intimidating even. “Then take them off,” she demanded. Gold let out a childlike giggle and Emma’s stomach turned.

 

“Not yet, Miss Swan!” He leaned in as though he were sharing a secret. “Though I like your courage!” He turned to the side, posing with his arms up like he was reciting something. “Watch out boys! This one’s got moxie!” he let out another giggle at his performance and then leaned in close again. “You and I have some business to discuss first.”

 

Yeah right. Like she was gonna make another fucking deal with the Dark One. Not in this lifetime.

 

“I don’t want any of your fucking deals, Gold. Now let me out of here.” Emma did her best to keep her voice level, squaring her shoulders, but she knew it was a long shot.

 

“Oh, you’re hardly in a position to make deals, dearie! Shall I catch you up on what you’ve missed so far?” Emma only glared at him and he smiled in that menacingly joyful way of his. “We found you and dear old daddy,” he started, wrapping an arm around David. Her father didn’t move or even acknowledge anything that was happening. He was like a zombie, a corpse. It was appropriate, that’s what he was now. He may as well be dead. “And Prince Charming here has valiantly decided to join our ranks,” Gold continued, bringing a hand to his heart and making a swooning gesture. “But you, well, you’re the real prize dearie! We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

 

Of course. Of fucking course they were. She was the Savior which meant she was always at the top of everyone’s kill-or-curse-first list. But Gold hadn’t mentioned Henry. That meant there was a chance he got away. She didn’t give a shit what they did to her if she was being honest. Not at this point. She’d lost everyone. David was the last and if Henry was with Ruby he’d be safe. Safer than he’d be with her – especially now that she knew they’d been hunting her. This whole time, she’d been putting her son in more danger than he needed to be and that thought felt like a punch in the gut. Henry was better off without her. Maybe he always had been. Being the Savior never brought anything but danger and death to the people around her. It was better that she was alone.

 

“Whatever you’re going to do to me, just get it over with,” she told Gold, not having the heart to keep fighting anymore.

 

“Do to you?” Gold said in disbelief. “We’re not going to do anything to you!” he laughed it off as if it was ridiculous, as if he and his current master hadn’t already wiped out most of the town. “No, this is about what you’re going to do for the King,” he explained.

 

“I’m not doing anything for him!” Emma snapped. Rumple let out a peel of melodic laughter.

 

“Oh, but you will!” he promised. “You see, Miss Swan, what we need… is your heart,” he jabbed a clawed finger into the center of her chest. He loomed over her, tall and menacing despite his small frame, a dark, unhinged smile curling his lips and exposing his pointed teeth and for the first time Emma saw why he had been able to instil fear in the hearts of so many for so long. He reeked of power and strength, darkness oozing out of every pore and she could feel that darkness creeping into her own soul, snuffing out the light. He was terrifying.

 

“My heart?” she choked.

 

“Oh yes, dearie. The heart that belongs to the product of true love… well, that’s some powerful magic indeed.”

 

“But, it’s –” she started.

 

“Yes I know!” he interrupted, snapping back into his carefree persona so fast it made her head spin. “The Savior’s heart is non-removable. Protected by the power of true love and so on and so forth,” he mocked. “But every spell has a loophole!” he added gleefully. “And you’re going to figure out what yours is!”

 

“Me?” How was she going to figure it out? Gold had centuries of knowledge – hell, even Regina had a few decades on her. She was still getting the hang of controlling her magic.

 

“Yes, you see something as dramatic as breaking a spell of true love demands light magic, something the Dark One doesn’t have access too,” he explained in his rhythmic, sing-song voice. “And Regina,” he paused, shrugging. “Well we cursed her before we realized we needed the light magic and as you know ‘magic is feeling’ – no emotions, no magic!”

 

“You want me to rip my own heart out and hand it over to you?” Was he out of his fucking mind? Like, more so than normal?

 

“It’s your heart, dearie! You have to figure it out! In all of my plentiful research that’s the one clause that keeps reappearing. Each spell is different but only the one it’s cast on can break it!” he continued unfazed. “Now,” he waved a hand and the handcuffs that held her prisoner vanished. “Charming here will escort you to your room.”

 

Right on cue, David stepped forward and grabbed hold of her arm and Emma flinched away. It was her father’s hand, the same callouses and scars earned over years of work on a farm and then of fighting with a sword. The same strong fingers and warm palm she’d felt wrapped around her shoulder or cradling her head when she really just needed her dad, when no one else really seemed to understand what she needed in a moment of uncertainty – but somehow he always did. But his grip was harsh, bruising even, as his fingers wrapped the whole way around her arm like a vice. It was aggressive, painful. She’d been grabbed like this before, by foster parents who wanted nothing to do with her, people who saw her as a paycheck and never looked at her with love or even compassion but rather with distaste, as a problem. Her father had never touched her like that, would never dream of it and Emma felt bile rise in the back of her throat.

 

“No!” she practically shouted, trying to jerk her arm away from this thing – this heartless, empty creature that was posing as her father – but his grip held firm and Emma swung her free hand around to swipe at his face. She landed a solid blow before he caught her other wrist. Emma roared in anger, struggling until she managed to free one hand and started swinging again. Despite the fire raging through her own blood, the imposter remained unfazed, barely flinching as she fought him, only reacting robotically and it only enraged her more! Feel something! She wanted to scream. Anything. Get angry. Even anger was an emotion.

 

He swung his fist around so quickly Emma didn’t see it coming, the force of it knocking her right off the bed and onto the hard tile floor and Emma froze in shock as she landed, tasting blood in her mouth. She looked up into its cold, dead eyes. She was going to kill this thing. She got to her feet with rage-filled scream, lunging towards him, when suddenly her body was frozen.

 

“That’s quite enough of that, dearie,” she heard Rumple’s bored voice behind her. Emma tried to move but it was useless. Whatever spell he’d thrown at her kept her fixed in place. “Charming, why don’t you show our guest what’s behind curtain number one?” he lilted.

 

Again, not-David moved automatically, walking over to the hospital bed next to her own and drawing back the curtain. Emma’s heart sank. Her entire world crashing down around her. No. Anything but that. He was supposed to be safe.

 

“Henry.” Her voice was barely a whisper, broken and whimpering. Henry lay unmoving, tucked under the sheets and the scratchy hospital blanket. For all appearances he could have just been sleeping – face relaxed and unblemished like the countless other times she’d tucked him in and said goodnight when he was younger. But here… if they had him here that could only mean he was in danger. God, was he even breathing? Tears burned her unblinking eyes as she fought with every ounce of her strength to try take the few steps that separated her from her son. But Gold’s magic was stronger.

 

“Now then, will you do as you’re told?” he asked and Emma’s heart sank again. Leverage. They were going to use her son as fucking leverage. The King had better hope she never finds him because she would kill him if she did and she’d do it slowly. “I assure you, he’s quite alive,” Rumple interrupted her thoughts. “And still as much himself as you left him… Only asleep for the time being.” Emma swallowed, a small wave of relief flooding over her at the confirmation that he was alive.

 

“Okay,” she answered under her breath.

 

“What was that, dearie?”

 

“Okay,” she repeated louder, not even having the strength left to snap at him. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt him.”

 

Gold let out a maniacal chuckle. “Charming, take the young prince to his room,” he ordered and Henry was hoisted up over the other man’s shoulder and carried out into the hall. “Oh, and send in my puppet would you?” Gold called after him.

 

Emma didn’t think her heart could take any more and now she wasn’t even able to talk to Henry, to be sure he was okay, to explain why she was doing what she knew he would be against – what he would try to stop her from doing. He’d want her to fight, not to let them use him against her, to be a hero, to do the right thing – everything he believed in. But right now, in this moment she wasn’t a hero, or the Savior, or anything else that Henry would want her to be. She was a mother. His mother. And she would do anything to keep him safe.

 

“Gold,” she pleaded. “Please, I know you’re being controlled – I know how powerful the pull of the dagger is. But he’s your grandson. This is Henry. Neal’s son.” She saw him flinch the slightest bit at her words. It was a low blow but she needed to get through to him. “Let him go. Please. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll –”

 

“Ah, there he is!” Gold interrupted her. “Hello, puppet.”

 

Everything stopped. For a long moment Emma wasn’t sure she even breathed. She couldn’t remember how. After all this time… months of not knowing what had happened to him, not knowing if he was alive or dead, if he’d managed to escape or if… He was here. He was really here and for one small fleeting second Emma’s heart felt like it could finally beat again.

 

Killian.

 

And then he turned his cold, expressionless eyes on hers and the last bit of hope and light that lived in Emma Swan flickered out. She fell to her knees, unable to hold herself up under the pain any longer. Those eyes, the ones that always looked at her with so much emotion, with so much love, always unable to hide how he was feeling as it painted itself so clearly across his face, looked at her with no recognition and Emma felt more alone now than she ever had in her life. She curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach as she desperately tried to hold herself together – hold on to some piece of herself, some piece of him. Nothing, not losing him to death (twice), not his cruel words as the Dark One, not saying goodbye to him forever in the Underworld had hurt nearly as much as seeing the love of her life look at her as though she meant nothing to him.

 

“Oh, I do love a good twist!” Rumple jeered, twisting the knife in her heart just a little bit more. “Now, take Miss Swan to her room.” Killian took a step towards her and she reared her head up, jerking back.

 

“No!” she shouted. She couldn’t have him touch her. Not this empty version of him. She couldn’t take it. She’d suffered too much pain for one person today. Killian froze and looked at Gold who gave a quick shrug and a nod and Killian dropped his outstretched arm. She tried not to think of how much Killian would hate the idea of being under someone’s control, under Gold’s control. He’d told her once about how it had ripped him apart to be a slave once again when Gold had his heart – told her stories of his time on Silver’s ship and the things the Captain and the crew made him do, curled around her as she stroked his hair and laid kisses on his chest. This would kill him. Maybe it was for the best that he wasn’t here anymore to know what was happening to him.

 

Emma struggled to her feet, worried that Gold would grow impatient and she’d have to suffer the touch of the ghost of the man she loved. Once she was standing, Killian turned and headed out the door and she followed behind him, shoulders heavy, feet shuffling.

 

“Good boy,” she heard Gold trill behind her. “And, Miss Swan, I’ll be seeing you soon!” Emma shot him a glare for Killian’s memory and he erupted into a fit of giggles.

 

The walk through the winding halls of the hospital felt like the longest Emma had ever taken – longer than any walk from a social worker’s van to the front door of her latest foster home, longer than the walk from the courtroom to the bailiff’s office with the words ‘guilty’ ringing in her ears, longer than the walk from the doors of a Boston prison to a little yellow bug that reminded her of everything that had been taken away from her.

 

Walking behind Killian Jones, not being able to touch him or speak to him or hold his hand in this moment when she needed his unwavering support and love and devotion more than ever before was killing her. She’d lost everything. Her parents, her friends – Henry was alive but if they ever got through this… he would hate her for what she’d done, for giving up, for giving in. He’d leave, she’d lose him too. And though it meant everything that he was still alive, having him walk away from her wouldn’t hurt any less.

 

She kept her pace a few steps behind his own. Close enough that he wouldn’t notice and think she was trying to get away but far enough that she wouldn’t find herself surrounded in everything that was Killian – his smell, the heat that always seemed to radiate off of him, the steady clunk of his boots with each stride against the linoleum floor, the shuffle of his jacket against the damn vest he always wore – that he was still wearing. He still smelled the same, like lazy mornings spent in bed, confessions of love and discrete touches whispered in large crowds, curling up in front of the fireplace listening to his stories. Like sun and salt and wind and leather.

 

She wondered if he’d still feel the same, if his skin would still be fiery hot under her touch regardless of snow or sunshine or rain, if his palms would still be rough and calloused with soft and sure fingertips. She wondered if he’d still flinch if she touched that spot on his neck, right below his ear, where she knew he was a bit ticklish but where she also knew she could drive him crazy if she put her mouth on it.

No. He wouldn’t.

 

The man in front of her wasn’t Killian – not anymore. Killian was gone. Killian was dead. He was really dead this time – no Underworld to drag him back from, no true love’s kiss to save him. This curse was unbreakable. She’d lost him forever. The great love story of Emma Swan and Killian Jones was over before it even got the chance to begin. She was torturing herself trying to believe any differently. She had to be strong. She had to forget about him and focus on Henry, on getting out of here, on getting him safe. But as her steps faltered just the smallest fraction she found herself wrapped up in him once again and what strength she had was overrun by grief and pain and loss. She hadn’t been able to save him. She hadn’t saved anyone. How could she save Henry? She’d lost every battle so far. She’d been right all those years ago. Emma Swan was no Savior.

 

They finally stopped in front of one of the cells in the psych ward. He opened a door and waited, obviously assuming she would get the point and just walk in on her own – no words, no gestures just cold silence. When she thought about it, he hadn’t spoken a word in the entire time she’d been around him – had Gold done something to him? Taken his voice away as part of some sick pleasure he was getting out of having the pirate as his play thing? The thought made her stomach turn. It struck her then that she hadn’t heard his voice in over two months and Emma wondered if it would it sound the same. Would it curl around her name the way it always had, since the day they met? She doubted it. So much of his voice came from his emotions, wrapped up in strong feelings, good or bad. He was always so prolific. It was jarring to see him like this now – silent, no witty comment or words of support. She didn’t want to hear him speak devoid of everything that made him sound like Killian – didn’t want to hear this imposter steal his voice but not his words.

 

Stop it. She told herself. It’s not him. He’s gone. Deal with it.

 

Emma walked into the cell that was usually reserved for Storybrooke’s biggest baddies and turned to watch the door slam shut. She listened to his footsteps as they echoed across the tiled floor, retreating until not a sound could be heard in the vast, empty halls of Storybrooke General. She was alone. Trapped. Helpless. She wanted to scream, bang on the door, demand to be set free, try the bars at the window, fucking Shawshank her way out of this damn prison cell. But she was so tired. She was just so tired. Of everything. Of the loss, of the pain, of the heartbreak – of trying. Trying and failing. Emma Swan was alone. And she was lost.

 

She sat herself on the thin mattress, laying on her side and curling her legs up into her chest. And for the first time in a long time, a lost girl cried herself to sleep.  

Chapter 3

Notes:

Anyone still out there?

I'm so sorry. It's been almost a year since my last update. I don't have any excuses except that this story is really hard for me to write because I just love it so much I'm afraid of it not living up to the story in my head and of disappointing all you lovely people who take the time to read it and leave comments or kudos.

Anyway, without further ado, here's hoping you guys like this new chapter!

Chapter Text

  Emma groans, rolling over on the bed and pulling the comforter over her face. It’s too early and the sun is too bright. Why, why, why did she forget to close the blinds last night? Oh, right, because a particular pirate decided to distract her as she was getting out of the shower before bed and thoroughly exhaust her beyond the point of remembering her own name, let alone something so menial as blinds. She wonders briefly if they gave anyone a show and smirks a bit at the thought. She hopes it was Grumpy. He deserves it for all the times he interrupted them.

She stretches, feeling the burn in her limbs from last night’s exertions and sighs contentedly. It’s a good burn - a reminder - it feels like a brand, one she’ll gladly carry with her forever. Because they have forever now. No more death, no more Underworld, no curses or monsters hell bent on tearing them apart - just lazy Sunday mornings spent sleeping in, curled around her true love. It still surprises her that she’s able to do that. Less than a week ago she’d thought all her chances at happily ever after were gone forever - but he’d come back to her - like he always did.

She reaches over to what’s become his side of the bed, wanting to feel his warmth and sturdiness, wrap herself around him and ignore the rest of the world today, but she freezes when her hand meets only cool sheets.

“Killian?” She starts up, heart already racing as panic begins to build in her chest, tightening around her heart, constricting. Her eyes dart frantically around the room but there’s no sign of him. No. No no no no no. Not again. She just found him. He can’t be gone again. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel. It couldn’t. She couldn’t take it. Where is he?

She jumps out of bed, barely remembering to throw her robe on as she runs to the bathroom. Empty. The panic tightens its hold. Thoughts flash through her mind a mile a minute. Images of monsters and evil gods and all sorts of darkness that could have taken him. Killian in pain. Killian suffering. Killian somewhere she can’t follow. She practically flies down the stairs, feet slipping on the steps as she stumbles into the kitchen.

Her breath leaves her all at once, the tightness in her chest loosening so quickly she nearly faints from the lightness in her head. He’s there. Standing barefoot and shirtless in the middle of their kitchen, the muscles in his back moving and flexing as he pours hot chocolate from the saucepan on the stove into her favorite mug. He turns when he hears her come in - the commotion of it.

“Swan,” he smiles, looking surprised but happy to see her. “I hoped to be back before you woke, what are you doing up so early?” Emma doesn’t answer, still too relieved to feel or think anything else except ‘he’s here’. “Swan?” he says again, a question this time and a frown pulls at his brow. He steps forward, hand and hookless wrist on her arms as he tries to meet her eyes. “What’s the matter love?”

Emma sucks in a shaky breath, feeling stupid. He was just downstairs making her cocoa and here she was imagining he’d been taken again. She doesn’t want to tell him, but the way he’s looking at her, concerned and expectant, she knows she has to - that he won’t let it go. “I woke up and you weren’t there and I… panicked.” She looks at the floor, embarrassed at her overreaction.

She glances back up when he’s silent and sees understanding and guilt wash over his face and she feels even worse. He’s the one who suffered a trauma and somehow he’s always the one comforting her. “Forgive me, love,” he says, pulling her into his arms, chin resting on her crown. “I didn’t think.”

She shakes her head, pulling back to look at him. “No. It’s silly. I just… I don’t think it’s really hit me yet that you’re here - that you’re safe - that we get this.”

His smile is affectionate. “Aye, me too.”

She buries her nose in the warm skin of his neck. “I’m sorry,” she sighs.

“What for?” he asks, fingers running smoothly over her back, through the ends of her hair.

“For being so desperate and needy.”

She can feel the smirk on his face. His breath and the stubble around his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he speaks. “I like you desperate and needy.”

Emma rolls her eyes, giving his waist a pinch and he laughs. He leans back, fingers tracing her face as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “How about from now on, I wait for you to wake?”

“You don’t have to,” she says. She really wants him to. “You wake up so early.”

His grin is a bit mischievous this time. “Spending more time in bed with you is hardly a hardship, Swan,” he teases. Emma smiles despite herself. Seriously, how the hell did she get so lucky?

“Okay,” she nods. “But only until I get this under control.”

“Of course, love,” he smirks and she knows he’s placating her - placating her need to seem stronger than she really is right now. “In fact,” he moves in closer, backing her up against the island. There’s a heat in his eyes as his hand wanders to the knot of her dressing gown. “I think it would be best to return - to bed I mean. Most pressingly.”

Emma smiles ruefully as his deft fingers work the knot free, breath catching as his fingers skim the sliver of skin revealed. She drags her hand up his bare chest, fingers tangling in the hair there and tugging the way she knows he likes. He lets out a low groan.

“I dunno,” she says. “Here seems pretty good.”

The look he gives her is downright sinful and she lets out a squeak of surprise as he hoists her up onto the countertop, the marble cold against her ass but his skin warm against her chest. He’s just worked his hand inside the opening of her robe when the door is flung open.

“Mom!” Henry shouts and Hook is suddenly five feet away from her on the other side of the kitchen. Emma rushes to pull her robe closed and turns to face her son.

“Hey, Kid,” she greets him but her face drops when she sees his panicked expression. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s mom,” he says. “I think something happened to her!”

“Woah, woah,” Emma says, stepping forward to take hold of his shoulders. Killian is suddenly there too, standing behind her and throwing Henry a concerned look.  “Slow down. Why do you think something happened to Regina?”

Henry takes a deep breath and reaches into his back pocket for a note. “She left.” He tells her, sounding a lot like the ten year old boy he used to be. “I woke up this morning and she was just gone and she left this note on her desk but it doesn’t seem right she wouldn’t just leave and -”

“All right, lad, have a seat,” Killian tells him leading Henry to a chair at the table before heading to the sink to fetch a glass of water. Emma takes the note from his hand and opens it, reading it over carefully.

“It says she has to go away a while and she doesn’t know when she’ll be back. It says she needs time. That’s all it says.” Henry sounds panicked, desperate for her to make it all better and it kills her because she can’t.

Emma throws Killian a wary glance as he returns with a glass of water and hands it to Henry with a simple ‘drink’. She hands Killian the note as Henry does as he’s told and Emma can slowly see the anxiety calm in his shaky limbs. ‘God dammit, Regina! Don’t do this to him again,’ is all she can think as she crouches down to sit at eye-level with her son.

“Henry,” Emma starts, brushing his bangs away from where they’ve fallen into his eyes. She notices the sweat caught in them. He must have run here. “Regina just lost Robin, she’s suffering…”

“But I can help her,” Henry insists sounding desperate and lost and Emma’s heart breaks. He doesn’t deserve this, Regina.

“I know you can, Kid. But sometimes, people just need to heal on their own. It’s not forever.”

“Your mother’s right,” Killian chimes in. “I’ve only ever seen Regina lash out or retreat into herself when she suffers a loss. I can tell you from experience that it’s not easy for some to be vulnerable in front of others - especially those you love most.”

“Yeah,” Emma adds. “Remember when Robin left with Marian?” Henry nods. “Just give her some time to lick her wounds. She’ll come back around soon, you’ll see.”

Henry looks down at the glass in his hand for a long moment before finally letting all the air out of his lungs in one heaving sigh. He nods. “You’re right. I think I just… panicked because I’m so used to everything being a new threat.”

Killian smiles a little. “We’ve had some of that ourselves, my boy.”

Emma takes Henry’s head between her hands and kisses his forehead. “Not anymore, okay? That’s not gonna be our lives anymore. I’m not going to let it. You hear me? For now you’ll just live here with me and Killian and from now on I want the biggest stress in your life to be deciding whether you want to invite Violet or Grace to the Spring Fling.”

Henry rolls his eyes, pulling away. “Mom!” he groans and Emma smiles. So does he.

“I mean it. No more monsters and curses. Normal teenage stuff only,” she says firmly.

Henry stands. “I’ve got to get to grandma’s ‘Welcome to Storybrooke Pancake Breakfast,’” he tells her and Emma rises with him. Ah yes, that town-wide breakfast that Emma had managed to get out of because she was sick. So was Killian. Both of them horribly, terribly sick with a cold. And the flu. And something else surely.

“Do you want a ride?”

“No, I’m good!” Henry insists a little too quickly.

Emma smirks. “Oh yeah, isn’t Violet going to be there? She lives on the way doesn’t she? She’d probably be leaving right about now…”

“Bye, Mom,” Henry says firmly with every bit of teenage ‘oh-my-god-you’re-so-embarrassing’ that could possibly fit into two words. Emma laughs as he rushes out the door.

She turns to Killian who stands looking pensively at the floor. “You’re awfully quiet,” she says, smirking. “You didn’t even jump at the chance to tease him about girls.” He continues to look at the floor, an expression between awestruck and frowning caught on his face. “Killian?” she asks again, worried.

He looks up. “Sorry, what was that, love?”

Emma frowns. “Is everything okay with you?”

Killian hums. “Yes. It’s nothing. Just…” he trails off, looking at the floor again and Emma steps forward, brow furrowing further in concern.

“Killian,” she insists.

“You said… you said the boy could live with us. You said live with me and Killian.”

“Well, yeah,” Emma says, more confused now. “I’m not going to let a fourteen year old boy live on his own.”

“No, it’s not that,” he interrupts, finally looking up at her. “I just… I didn’t realise.” He’s awkward now, reaching up to scratch that spot behind his ear.

“Realise what?” She prods.

“That I lived here.” He finishes lamely and Emma’s heart sinks a little. Oh.

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t mean to imply… I mean if you don’t want to.” She’s at a loss for words. She’d just assumed. It’s only been a week since they got back but he’s spent every night here and he makes them breakfast in her kitchen in the mornings and she comes home to find him on her couch tinkering with some new gadget or other and she just… he chose the damn house.

“Of course I want to,” he says quickly, moving to pull her into his arms and Emma looks up at him, hopeful. “I just wanted to give you time and, well, we never spoke of it and…” He’s getting awkward again and Emma smiles affectionately at him.

“Killian,” she cuts him off, hands on his chest. His eyes snap to hers. “Do you want to move in with me?” she asks him, very seriously. She can see the grin tugging at his lips but he manages to school his features into an equally serious expression.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then it’s official. Killian Jones you now live here. In this house. That you chose,” he nearly cracks a smile at that, “with me.”

“Good,” he agrees. There’s a moment and then a huge, face-lighting, eye-crinkling smile spreads over his face before he scoops her up and swings her around in a circle in the middle of the kitchen. Their kitchen.

Emma squeals and laughs, grabbing on for dear life before he sets her down and presses a big, smacking kiss to her lips, one that has them both laughing as he does it again and again.

When he finally pulls away, Emma pauses, looking at him and she’s taken aback for a moment by how much pure, unabashed joy she feels right now. She was right when she told Henry that it was time to get back to normal. No more monsters no more curses. Just her and her boyfriend and her son living happily in the home they’re going to build together.

“What?” Killian asks when she’s silent.

“Nothing,” she smiles. “I’m just… looking forward to the future - now that we get one.”

Killian smiles. “Aye, we’ve much to look forward to,” he promises before leaning in to kiss her again, this one full of joy and hope and love. Always love.

“Come on then,” he says before bending down.

Emma lets out a cry as she suddenly finds herself upside-down, thrown over his shoulder. She doesn’t even have time to be confused before he’s headed to the stairs.

“What are you doing?” she practically shouts.

“We’re christening the bed,” he replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“We’ve already done that, you idiot!”

Killian lets out an affronted sound when she smacks his butt in annoyance. He turns his head and nips her thigh.

“We’ve christened your bed, Swan. Now we’re going to christen ours.”

Emma shakes her head but smiles all the same as she lets him carry her the rest of the way up to their room. Stupid, ridiculous, childish, wonderful, bloody pirate.

Emma jumped as her cell door swung open. Her eyes were dry, out of tears and crusted from the ones she’s already shed. For one brief moment Emma didn’t remember where she was and later she’d wish she’d been awake enough to appreciate the fleeting, blissful ignorance before she heard the lilting voice that settled like a stone in her stomach.

“Rise and shine, dearie!”

Gold. Emma was suddenly very aware of where she was as the day before came rushing back. Gold, and David, and Henry, and… Killian. It was a moment before she saw him, lurking in the doorway behind Gold – Rumplestiltskin – whatever. He stood with his hand over his sword, ready to take action. Against her. Emma wanted to vomit as she was reminded again of everything Gold had done so far. He’d turned her father, taken Henry. Used her son as a fucking bargaining chip and turned what was left of Killian into his own personal slave - his puppet.  

She wanted to hurt him. Hurt someone for everything she’d been put through. What they’d all been put through. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t care if he was under the dagger’s influence. She’d given him a chance to do the right thing. Now she just wanted blood. She charged.

Everything after happened quickly. Gold took a step back until he was out of the room then suddenly Killian was there, blocking the door. She didn’t care. She’d take her anger out on that thing that had killed him if she couldn’t get Gold. Anything to quell the rage and the hate burning through her. She felt a shock hit her body. Like magic, a force, a blast, but painful. Like running face first into a brick wall, or an electric fence, and she was blown straight across the room. Her back collided with the wall as she slumped to the ground, head foggy for a second before she looked up at the door with confusion. A spell. Some kind of protection or imprisonment spell. She should have known.

She watched as Gold put a hand on Hook’s shoulder and his slave immediately relaxed his stance, stepping back and sheathing his sword. She hadn’t even noticed he’d drawn it. It hurt. To know he’d have killed her. No, not him. She had to stop thinking like that. She had to stop looking at him and seeing Killian. He wasn’t Killian. Killian was dead. This was just… a weapon. A sword at the King and Gold’s command – a hook.

It took Emma a moment to notice that Gold was holding something in his hand. The cuff. She looked at her wrist and then back at him. He grinned at her as she looked at her hands, fingers flexing as she felt the magic surging under her skin. He knew what she was thinking.

“Go ahead and try. See how far it takes you,” he trilled. She knew she shouldn’t. That this was obviously some kind of trick. The door was sealed. The whole room was probably sealed. But what if it wasn’t? What if he was testing her? It was stupid but she had to try.

Letting all of her anger and all of her hate build up into the center of her chest, she pushed it forward through her arms, into her hands as she let out a burst of magic the likes of which she hadn’t since she was in Camelot, the darkness and the light inside of her combining into one. Both were reduced to nothing as they hit the barrier. Stupid.

Gold was grinning again. “If you’re quite done,” he began, mocking yellow eyes twinkling with amusement. “The room is sealed. But I’m sure you’ve figured that out.”

Emma glared at him. “Why’d you take the cuff off?” she demanded. Why give her back her magic?

Gold looked at her as though she’s missed something obvious. “Why, so that you can get to work of course!” he sing-songed. “We’ll be needing that heart of yours quick as you can, dearie!” Emma glared again and he giggled. “It’s quite ingenious, really,” he added. “The spell prevents you from leaving without the cuff on - no magic can come through. But you can use it to your heart’s content while you’re inside! Now tick-tock, Miss Swan, no time to waste!” And with that he waved his hand and stacks upon stacks of books appeared on the floor of her cell along with boxes full of ingredients and vials. “Oh, and should you need to leave the room for anything such as… the lavatory,” he added, handing the cuff over to Hook, “simply knock on the door and our dear captain here will return your cuff to you.”

What? No. No. She didn’t want this thing standing outside her door. The reminder, being this close to him - not him - it would kill her. She couldn’t. This was sick. Gold was sick and he knew it. She could tell he knew by the self-satisfied smirk he shot her before he vanished in a puff of red smoke.

“GOLD!” she shouted after him. She ran out the door as it slammed shut in front of her. “GOLD, you son of a bitch! Get back here! Where’s Henry? Where’s my son? GOLD!” she screamed, hands gripping the bars of the small window in the door. She rattled them - fruitlessly - but she had to do something. She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while Henry was out there.

She banged on the door again. Screaming, cursing Gold’s name, cursing the King, cursing everyone and everything. She stepped back with rage burning through her, burning her up, feeding itself on her magic like fire on oxygen. “TELL ME WHERE MY SON IS OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL BE THE LAST FUCKING THING YOU EVER SEE! Do you hear me?” she screamed. “I’m not going to do what you want! I’m not your fucking experiment! WE AREN’T YOUR FUCKING PLAYTHINGS!”

She couldn’t have stopped it if she’d tried. It was like her magic took on a life of it’s own, surging out of her, out of every pore in a blast that made the whole room shake. She could see the flicker as the barrier took the blow, shuddering under it’s force. But it held strong. Emma collapsed on the floor, breathing heavy as she glared at the bars. Just barely, she saw the movement, the twitch of his head as it turned to look inside, his profile barely visible. Just the outline of a jaw, a cheek, a stupid pointed ear that she used to love. Her voice cracked as she spit the words at him.

“And you. What’s the fucking point of you, huh?” He turned back away from the window. “Are you just going to stay there and not say anything?” He didn’t move and Emma’s voice rose. “Why are you here? I can’t go anywhere so what’s the point? Why? Why you? Is this some kind of cruel joke on the King’s part? Is this how he gets his rocks off? Huh?” He was silent. “ANSWER ME!” she screamed, kicking the door. He didn’t even flinch and Emma felt tears well up in her eyes. Tears of anger. Tears of frustration. Of rage, of despair, and grief. “I just need to know,” she whimpered as the first fell hot down her cheeks. “I just need to know if he’s okay.”

There was a moment where the air hung heavy between them and she thought he might say something. Thought that maybe Killian would say something. If anyone could break through this curse it was him and Emma would have given anything for that to be true. She waited, holding her breath and willing him to say anything, to fight, to come back to her.

He walked away.

Emma’s heart broke more with every step that echoed through the empty hallway. Killian was dead. Killian was dead. Killian was dead. She repeated it to herself like a mantra. Praying it would finally sink in. That seeing that thing wearing his face would stop making her heart race and her throat burn with bile. Killian was dead. David was dead. Snow was dead. They all were. Henry… No. she couldn’t let herself think it. But he could be. They said he’d be okay if she did what they asked but what was their word worth? He could be and that though sent a numbness through her - one she hadn’t let herself feel yet. Not with any of the deaths. And she embraced it. The nothing. The nothing didn’t hurt. She’d felt it creeping around the edges for weeks, months since this all started and she just didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not when she was alone.

She didn’t know how much time had passed. She sat, staring at the florescent lights on the ceiling, laid out on the cold, cement floor. She didn’t hear the footsteps echoing through the halls again, faint and blending in with the buzzing of the lights and the humming of the pipes and the nothingness.

She heard a new sound though, loud like a rusty hinge being forced open. She looked up to see a tray being forced through what was basically a mail slot in the door.  It was dark out. No light coming through the window above her cot. It must have been hours then since she lay down.

She let her head fall back. She didn’t feel like eating. She didn’t feel like anything at all. But she felt the flutter in her stomach, a growl of hunger at the smell of whatever was being offered on the tray and she let her hand fall over the pang. With a sigh she sat up and walked the few steps to the door. She took the tray, barely registering her own actions, when she was met with resistance. He wasn’t letting go.

Emma looked up, meeting his - it’s - eyes through the bars in the darkness. The brows above them were pulled into a frown. His eyes flickered down to his hand like he couldn’t understand what he was doing, like it was hurting him. That wasn’t possible. They didn’t feel anything, didn’t think. His eyes met hers again and he released his grip on the tray. “The boy is safe.”

The tray clattered to the ground, glass shattering at her feet, food staining her shoes. Emma didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He’d spoken to her. For the first time in months. For the first time since she got here. He’d spoken to her. Not that thing - him. She watched with her pulse racing in her throat as he turned his back to the door, resuming his post. No. No it couldn’t be him. She couldn’t let herself think that. This could all just be some play on the King or Gold’s part. But he’d looked so torn. And he’d spoken to her about Henry. He’d found out about Henry. For her. No.

Henry. Henry was safe. She didn’t know what his answering her meant but she couldn’t focus on that now. She couldn’t let herself hope for that. Henry was safe, Henry was alive and now Emma had a purpose. She had to get them out of here. She would get them out of here no matter what it took. She had to focus. She couldn’t let herself feel or hope or want. She needed to think.

Emma turned to the books that Gold had left her. She would get them out. She’d find a way. There had to be something in the books. Some way to break the seal. She would save her son. She would save - no. But as she turned through the pages of the first book, trying to shake his words - his voice - from her mind, Emma felt something.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Notes:

As always I'm sorry about how incredibly long it's been since my last update. I'm out of excuses.

Thank you for all your lovely comments <3 They really inspire me to keep going.

Hope you like it!

Chapter Text

“Two grilled cheeses, one with onion rings and one with salad!” Ruby calls behind her to the kitchen as Emma walks into Granny’s. They both make a face at the word ‘salad’.

 

“Are we that predictable already?” Emma asks her, coming up to sit on one of the bar stools and wait for her order.

 

Ruby smiles. “I mean you guys do get lunch here every Friday…”

 

Emma smiles back awkwardly, wondering if they should cut back on the junk food a little. At least Killian always gets a salad - old habits and scurvy he’d told her once. But Emma can’t bring herself to sacrifice her onion rings. There’s something blasphemous about vegetables with grilled cheese. She worries sometimes though. She knows it's a small thing - getting take out every week from Granny’s - but it’s more than that. Since Killian joined her at the station as the new deputy, she worries. Worries that maybe this isn’t enough for him. That giving up a life on the sea for being a cop in a small town where nothing seems to happen (anymore anyway) is too dull - that he’ll get antsy and want to leave - want more - more than her. She knows he won't. She knows it. But, well… old habits.

 

“Hey,” Ruby says, reading her expression. “It’s nice. You guys have a routine. Nothing wrong with that. God knows you deserve it after all the hell you went through - literally.” Emma nods but she’s not totally convinced. “Emma,” she says and Emma forces herself to look at Ruby rather than her hands on the countertop. “You know he’s not going anywhere right?”

 

Emma hesitates for only a moment before nodding again - more sure this time. She does know. She just needs to keep reminding herself every now and then. He’s here to stay. He’s promised her as much countless times. “Thanks,” she tells her friend. Emma likes that, having friends. It’s new to her. She has a whole community really. Ever since they got back from the Underworld things have been… normal - not Storybrooke normal but actual normal - calm - and Emma has finally had the time to get to know the people she’s lived with for the past four years.

 

“Listen,” Ruby adds when she seems sure that Emma’s over whatever little inner crisis she just had. “I was talking to Henry last night…” She hesitates, like she’s unsure if she should bring up whatever she’s about to say. “He’s really worried about Regina. It’s been three months.”

 

“I know.” Of course she knows. How could she not know that her son’s other mother took off three months ago without a word and hasn’t bothered to keep in touch beyond a few letters or texts to Henry letting him know that she’s alright and in New York or California or wherever “finding herself” and “healing”. Emma understands grief but this is a bit much. She has a child; she has responsibilities.

 

“I only mention it because he’s brought it up a few times and, well…”

 

“Well what?” Emma prods.

 

“I caught him trying to steal my car last night.”

 

“What!?” Emma repeats, shocked. Henry did what!? Henry doesn’t do that kind of thing. Henry’s a good kid - her kid. Her kid who’s apparently headed down a path of grand theft auto. (Why the hell did David teach him to drive!?) Emma has a moment of panic that somewhere along the lines she gave him the impression that this was okay, that she’d failed him as a mother, at teaching him what’s right and what’s wrong. She’d stolen a car after all. She’d stolen lots of things. How could she not have noticed? How could she not have noticed that things were this bad?

 

“It’s fine. He didn’t even get the thing unlocked,” Ruby reassures her. “I don’t think he’s turning to a life of crime,” she adds. “He told me… he told me he was going to go looking for his mom. He doesn’t believe that she’s really okay and just out there travelling.”

 

“He doesn’t?”

 

“That’s what he told me.”

 

Emma lets out the breath she’d been holding since Ruby started speaking. Of course he doesn’t. Henry’s life for the past few years has been nothing but one crisis after another. He’s lived in fear and on edge for most of his pre-teen life. Of course he wouldn’t believe that his mother left willingly.

 

He doesn’t want to believe it, Emma realizes. She’s been there, rationalizing away people disappearing from her life. She remembers coming up with all sorts of reasons why they must have had to leave. Anything is better than admitting that they left you behind, that they abandoned you.

 

Henry’s hurting. She knew he was hurting but she didn’t know it was this bad. “Thanks, Ruby. I’ll talk to him,” she promises. And she will. She can’t do anything about Regina leaving but she can damn well make sure that Henry knows that the rest of the people in his life aren’t going anywhere - not her, not Killian, not David, or Mary Margaret, or any other surrogate parent he has in this town.

 

And she needs to step up. She’s been slacking on her mom duty lately and a flutter of shame flows through her. She’s been so caught up in her new routine, her new relationship, and her happiness that she hasn’t made the one-on-one time she should for Henry. Sure, he’s a teenager now and wants to spend most of his time with friends or on his phone but he’s been spending too many nights with his grandparents or Ruby while she and Killian play house.

 

“Hey, you’re a good mom,” Ruby assures her, as though she can read her thoughts. “With everything being so calm lately… I think a lot of us have forgotten how to deal with the issues that don’t involve monsters or villains.”

 

Emma nods but doesn’t feel any better. “Thanks for telling me. And for watching him so much lately,” she says as a cook hands Ruby a brown paper bag containing her and Killian’s lunch.

 

Ruby’s smile becomes a bit more mischievous then. “No problem. He’s a good kid. Besides, it’s good for you and Hook to have some alone time to… reconnect,” she says with a raised brow and Emma’s face flushes bright red at her tone - mostly because she’s not wrong. They've been doing a lot of ‘ reconnecting’ since Killian got back. She just wasn’t aware the whole town knew about it.

 

Ruby laughs at her. “So, what’s it like?”

 

“What’s what like?” Emma asks, eyes wide.

 

“Having a live-in boyfriend, having him at the station with you.”

 

“It’s nice,” Emma says cautiously, wondering where this is going. It is nice. She didn’t know how it would work out - being together all day and then going home to the same house, but it’s, well… it’s perfect really.

 

Most days are slow and Emma gets to spend time playing cards or swapping stories with Killian and her dad. She loves watching them grow closer, the genuine friendship that’s developed between them makes her heart swell in the most amazing way. The same way it does when Killian and Henry come home with windswept hair and sunburnt cheeks after a day on the water or sword fighting. Or when they come home humming the same song after an afternoon of listening to music and talking in the park - something Henry has been inviting Killian to do more and more lately.

 

On the days where David isn’t there, Killian and Emma have taken to continuing an ongoing competition to see how much they can rile the other one up with wandering hands while they pass each other in the narrow halls of the evidence locker, or lips so close they nearly brush ears as they pour over case files together, before one of them breaks and jumps the other in the break room or the holding cell - or that one time on her desk.

 

Some days there’s a little more action - a fight breaking out in a bar or chasing down vandals through the streets of Storybrooke. Those days, Emma keeps the images of Killian in the back of her mind - Killian breaking apart a brawl with surprising strength, Killian sweaty and panting after chasing a perp, or - most significantly, Killian using what she’s come to refer to as his ‘captain’s voice’ to strike fear into the hearts of grown men. She lets them play over and over in her head throughout the day until finally she gets him home and has him use that captain’s voice on her. A small smile pulls at her lips. Yeah. It's really nice.

 

Emma grabs the bag from Ruby who’s grinning like the cheshire cat now. “What?” she demands.

 

“Nothing,” Ruby says innocently. “You just look a little tired. Late nights at the station?” she asks and the way she says it makes Emma go bright red again.

 

“Shut up,” she mumbles, putting some money down on the counter and Ruby throws her head back laughing.

 

“Yeah, you better get going. I’d be in a hurry to get back to work too if I had that waiting for me,” Ruby teases her, leaning her elbow on the counter and laying her chin in her palm.

 

Emma, now definitely the colour of a tomato, turns to leave, only to nearly collide with Doc who comes storming up to the counter.

 

“Watch it,” he says and Emma is taken aback by the harsh tone of the usually kind man’s voice. “Coffee,” he tells Ruby without so much as a please or even a hello. Emma watches wide eyed as Ruby pours him a cup and accepts cash before Doc walks right back out the door without a word.

 

“What the hell got into him?” Emma asks, staring after him.

 

Ruby shrugs. “Lots of people have been acting weird lately,” she says dismissively. “Like I said. I think people just don’t know what to do with no crisis to obsess over. They’re going stir crazy in a small town. Maybe we should talk to your mom. She could probably organize some kind of event right? Or a committee? Give people something to do.”

 

“I think my mom would love that,” Emma says. She also can’t ignore the fact that giving Henry something to keep him busy might be a good idea as well - something that doesn’t involve criminal behaviour. She thought him learning to sail and sword fight was enough but maybe he needs something else - a club or a hobby.

 

She’s going to tell Ruby that she’ll ask Mary Margaret about it when her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out only to open it and find a slew of messages coming in from Killian, asking if she can get back to the station early. Something about the phones and an overwhelming amount of calls and she knows he still has trouble with the landline. She frowns. It’s not like him to ask her to rush back. He’s always the one insisting she doesn’t take enough breaks, that she needs to take more time for herself.

 

“I need to go,” she says. “Something’s up at the station.” She pockets her phone and heads for the door.

 

“Call me if you need anything!” Ruby says, her tone much more serious than it was a second ago. Emma waves at her in acknowledgement as she makes her way out the door.

 

Luckily, the station is only a five minute walk from Granny’s. When she arrives, she can hear the phone ringing off the hook before she even walks in. She makes her way into the office and finds Killian pacing by the desk, stopping every now and then to jab at buttons or pick up the phone, shout ‘hello’ and then hang it back up. She sets the paper bag down and approaches her flustered boyfriend.

 

“Hey,” she starts cautiously, glancing at all the flashing lights on the phone. “What’s going on?”

 

“Swan! Thank god. That infernal machine hasn’t stopped shouting at me since you left.” He looks equal parts angry and defeated and Emma has to fight back a small smile at Killian’s ongoing battle with modern technology.

 

“Okay… You remember how to answer it right?” she asks and he gives her an exasperated look.

 

“Yes, Swan. I remember how to answer it. But I tried to put someone on hold because so many calls were coming in at once and then suddenly they were all on hold and I can’t answer any of them and it’s still ringing!” He looks about ready to introduce the phone to the wrong side of his hook.

 

“What are people calling about?” she asks, surprised by the volume of them.

 

“Ridiculous things. Pointless things.” She gives him a look. “I’m serious! I’ve had three calls from people telling me their cashier was rude to them and two from people telling me their neighbour ignored them.”

 

“We can’t arrest people for being rude,” Emma answers.

 

“That’s what I told them! It’s what I told all of them. But still. They keep calling.”

 

She frowns. “Alright. Let’s see what we’re dealing with now.” She picks up the phone and presses a few buttons and suddenly all the flashing lights go away. Oops. Well, she might have just hung up on everyone at once but at least the phone stopped ringing?

 

Killian lets out a heavy sigh at the silence, looking extremely grateful. She’s about to make a comment about it when the phone suddenly starts ringing again. Killian lets his head fall back as Emma answers it. She frowns, then closes her eyes and says uh-huh a few times before finally telling the person on the other end of the line, “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but that’s not really police business. Maybe you can try a marriage counsellor?” She hangs up and Killian is giving her a knowing look. “That was Mrs. Cobbler. She said her husband has been out all night lately and that he’s been distant.”

 

Killian nods. “They’ve all been like that.”

 

Emma frowns, thinking about what Ruby said earlier about people having trouble adjusting to the comparable dullness small town life. She reasons that that makes sense but there’s something pulling at her gut, something whispering what if it’s more? Could it be? Or is she just so used to her life being a non stop parade of crisis and horror that it’s just become a knee-jerk reaction now; her default setting is to assume the worst. She should ask Killian. He knows her better than she knows herself most of the time. He’d be able to tell her if she’s just panicking.

 

She’s about to ask him when the phone rings again. This time he answers it and his face quickly turns from annoyed to serious as he listens to the voice on the other end. “We’ll be right there,” he says before hanging up.

 

Emma’s already grabbing the keys as she asks him “where are we headed?”

 

“The Rabbit Hole,” he tells her, throwing on his jacket. “That was the owner. A fight broke out.”

 

She frowns, glancing at her watch. “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon!” Who could be drunk and fighting at one o’clock in the freaking afternoon? People really needed something to keep them busy.

 

“People are bored, love,” he tells her and Emma feels that swell of doubt and fear creep up again and she just knows he sees it because he catches her arm. “ People are bored. Not me,” he tells her, planting a quick, reassuring kiss on her lips. He smiles at her. “How could I possibly be bored when I get to break up a fight before lunch? It’s like being back on a ship again!” She smiles back at him and he signals for her to head out first. She hears him hum in appreciation behind her. “Getting to follow along behind the sheriff helps too,” he says. She glances back long enough to catch the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he unabashedly checks out her ass.

 

She smirks at him. “Yeah, well, just make sure you can keep up,” she answers and he grins, following her out the front door.

 

They’ve just gotten to the parking lot and are making their way to her bug when Emma spots David walking down main street, towards the center of town. That’s weird, she thinks. David told her that he and Mary Margaret were planning on spending the day at the beach with Neal since it’s the first day off David’s had in awhile. The beach is the other way and she’d think they’d be there by now...

 

“David!” she calls but he doesn’t react. “Hey, Dad!” she tries again but he continues walking. Emma frowns. She swears he can hear her from where she’s standing. She sits in the driver’s seat, still frowning.

 

“Everything alright?” Killian asks, looking at her with concern.

 

Emma shakes her head, trying to clear it. “Yeah, fine. Let’s go see what this fight is about.”

 

Killian hesitates for a second before reaching up and putting the siren on top of the car as Emma starts the engine.



Emma came to a decision last night. While she tossed and turned on her uncomfortable little cot, trying to come up with an escape plan, she was faced with the crushing realization that, as of now, she didn’t have one. She was stuck. Stuck in this stupid cell in this stupid hospital and stuck trying to figure out how to offer up her own heart to some asshole who called himself the Horned King. Yeah. The fucking antlered monster from that stupid movie with the talking pig.

 

She didn’t have a way out. Not yet. But as she’d stared at the books that surrounded her in the darkness last night, the only light coming from the small flame she was producing and extinguishing over and over in her hand as she debated setting all the pages on fire just to piss off the King and Gold, she had a thought. She was surrounded by piles of tombs on all manner of spells and enchantments and curses. Maybe, just maybe, there would be something in one of them. Something about the King or the curse he’d cast on the people she loved.

 

Maybe she didn’t have a way out yet, but, maybe if she found something, when she did find a way out she’d be ready. Ready to take him down. Maybe here is where she needed to be. Here where she could use the resources she was given to finish the bastard once and for all.

 

She had two purposes now. Find a way to stop the King, and get Henry out. That was always number one. Maybe she could bargain with Gold. Offer him something for Henry’s release. But he’d never go for it. She knew it. Henry was their only leverage. No, she’d have to get him out, get them both out. But until she could do that, she was going to make the best of this captivity and make sure that the first thing she did when she got out was kill the King. Slowly.

 

She’d been pouring through books now for hours. At some point, a tray had been slid under her door so she knew it must be after noon but she hadn’t found anything. Nothing on the curse, nothing on the King, nothing on how to break this stupid magic-containment spell keeping her locked in this room. This was like Hades all over again, she thought. A villain so powerful that no earthly means seemed to be able to stop him.

 

That’s when it hit her. Hades. They’d beat Hades by finding out his weakness, by reading his story. What if she could find the King’s story? Then maybe she could learn the source of his power and, more importantly, how to destroy it. She searched desperately through the piles of books, looking for the storybook, for any storybook, but it was nowhere to be found. She threw a copy of “The Necromancer’s Guide to Life after Death” across the room in frustration before marching her way up to the door.

 

“Hey! You!” She called. The Killian-shaped thing at the door turned its head only a fraction in acknowledgement. “Yeah, you. Tell Gold I need the storybook.” She made something up on the spot. “I think I remember a story about Cora and some heart stealing loopholes she had.” Killian would know that she was lying but this thing wouldn’t. She tried not to let that sting as much as it did.

 

He didn’t acknowledge her words or say anything in answer, but he walked off down the hall. Emma waited, heart racing and hands nearly shaking as she waited to see if Gold would buy her excuse. After what felt like ages, she heard footsteps returning and the storybook was shoved through the slot in the door. Emma rushed to pick it up and brought it back to her cot, tearing it open and desperately searching for anything that could help.

 

She didn’t find anything. What she did find was that stupid picture of her and Killian dancing at King Midas’ ball. The one that seemed to haunt her whenever she was at her lowest. The one that reminded her of everything she’d lost. She slammed the book shut and threw that one across the room too. She collapsed sideways on her cot, defeated. Fucking pointless. It was all fucking pointless.

 

Emma winced as something dug into her ribs. Annoyed, she reached into the inside pocket of her jacket, the same one she’d been wearing since she got here, since she was taken, and touched something familiar.

 

Her phone.

 

She was a fucking idiot. Her phone. Here she was relying on the books provided by the person who would be most invested in protecting the King’s identity when she had the unlimited resources of the internet in her pocket the whole time.

 

She yanked it out desperately, thanking whatever gods were out there that it still had a charge. She picked up the nearest book, curling her knees up and resting it open against them, hiding her phone behind the pages like a teenager texting in class. She started her search.

 

There wasn’t much. Apparently the Horned King’s movie didn’t do too well at the box office and it didn’t seem to pull from any fairytale. She searched for nearly an hour (making a point to turn the pages in the book in her lap every now and then so that her guard wouldn’t get suspicious of the silence) before she found something. It wasn’t much. A passing reference to a character from a fantasy series that seemed to be the inspiration for the Disney movie. It could be nothing but if this was it - if this was his story… it could be everything.

 

Emma nearly cried out in anger as her phone flashed low battery a second before the screen went black. Of course. She let herself flop back on her mattress. She didn’t know how many more let downs she could take. She was so tired. Tired and annoyed and frustrated and… lonely. She hated to admit it but it was true. This whole solitary confinement thing was starting to make her feel a little “yellow wallpaper” and this latest defeat just made it more unbearable. She just wanted to hear something other than the pages turning in her book and her own breathing.

 

“Don’t you get bored just standing there?” she heard herself asking before she’d even thought about what she was doing. There wasn’t an answer. She didn’t expect one but even hearing her own voice was something - better than the deafening silence anyway. “Or do you not feel boredom?” she continued, the sound of her voice echoing against the stone walls. “Is bored an emotion? I know you guys don’t do emotions. I don’t know if boredom counts though.” She just kept talking. “I wonder if the King feels anything. Is that why he cast this curse? Because he doesn’t have a heart or a soul or whatever? Is it some kind of Voldemort complex?”

 

Emma rolled over onto her side, noticing the book she’d thrown most recently. It was a book of potions and the subject intrigued her. She didn’t know much about potions - all her magic came from inside of her - she’d never really done much of the ‘bubble bubble toil and trouble’ part of it. She walked over and picked up the book, leafing through it and making faces at the ingredients listed in some of the recipes.

 

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbled as she read one particularly nasty one. “Did you know that to make yourself look younger you can drink a combination of pig warts, ground baby teeth, and unicorn dung?” she felt her stomach roll. The thing on the other side of the door didn’t answer. She imagined what Killian’s answer would have been. She could just picture his disgust as she teased him about alternative options to curses and Neverland. She smiled a bit as she remembered the morning he’d discovered a grey hair in his beard and she’d had to convince him not to shave it off completely by showing him exactly how fond she was of the whole ‘silver fox’ thing.

 

She stopped herself. That wouldn’t do any good. She had to stop remembering him. He was gone. That thing outside the door wasn’t him and it wouldn’t tease her back or feel any disgust over weird potions or distress over aging. She went back to her cot again, laying back and staring up at the small, barred window that stood above it.

 

That’s when she saw it. Something moved outside. Something big. She waited, holding her breath until she saw it again. It was an animal. A wolf. Ruby. Ruby was alive! Holy shit! She stood up on her cot, just able to reach her nose over the windowsill. Ruby was getting further away. She didn't know Emma was there. She had to get her attention.

 

“You know, there’s some other stuff in here too,” she began making up, hoping not-Killian would assume she was still just talking to him and praying that Ruby’s wolf ears would pick up her voice. “Uh, something about shape shifting. Like you can turn into a wolf.” She watched as Ruby paused, ears pricking up. She looked around desperately at the ground outside. The base of the window was level with the grass. Nearby, she spotted some blue and yellow flowers growing along the wall. “It’s pretty easy to find the ingredients too. Just some forget-me-nots and dandelions.” The wolf turned, coming back towards her cell and Emma’s heart soared. Ruby searched, spotting the flowers growing. “Yeah, they’re not hard to find at all - really close actually… lots of them left this time of year.”

 

And suddenly, Ruby’s nose was right at the bars and Emma’s eyes burned with tears of relief as she saw the recognition in her friend’s yellow eyes. She was alive. She was alive and she was herself. Emma held a finger up to her lips, pointing to the door and Ruby lay down on the grass by the bars. “Oh, this part’s kind of interesting,” she said dismissively, hoping Ruby could read her expression and hear the hidden meaning in her words. “It says that for the spell to be permanent, the one who wants to use the wolf-shape-shifting-spell-thing…” she continued, cringing at her own words, “has to find the witch or wizard’s firstborn son - or daughter!” she added quickly. She doubted he was even listening but she couldn’t risk him understanding. “And watch over them… while they… pick the flowers,” she finished lamely.

 

Ruby looked at her and then she nodded. Or at least Emma thought she nodded. She’d never really seen a wolf nod before but that was what it looked like. She returned it and Ruby took off, nose to the ground as she searched for what Emma could only assume and hope was Henry’s scent.

 

Hope. There it was again. When she’d woken up this morning she’d been without hope of getting out of here but now - with Ruby’s help - maybe they had a chance. She felt hopeful. She felt capable and brave and she wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

 

“Hey!” She shouted, coming up to the door. “I want to see Gold. Bring me to him.”

 

There was a second of silence before the cuff was slipped through the slot. Emma put it on and banged twice on the heavy metal door.

 

The door opened and Emma steeled herself against the pain of seeing Killian’s face staring at her with blank eyes. She wondered if it would stop hurting eventually. She needed to believe that it would.

 

Still without a word, the imposter took hold of her shoulder and began leading her down the hall. She tried to shake off his grip, the pressure of his hand through her jacket making her feel sick to her stomach. His hold was too tight, too severe. She hated him. But he held firm and Emma resigned, aware that without her magic his strength outweighed her own.

 

She let herself be led to a room where she presumed Gold was waiting. Her guard knocked and waited for a cold, impish voice to beckon them in before opening the door. Emma looked around. She snorted. It seemed Gold had taken up the former chief of surgery’s office and turned it into some kind of throne room. It reminded her of his castle in the enchanted forest when she’d gone back in time with Killian. Various objects were scattered around the room - some she recognized from his shop, some she didn’t. He had spell books open on his desk and Emma wondered if he was still looking for a way to remove her heart.

 

“Miss Swan,” he chimed as she walked in. “I can’t imagine you’ve come to tell me you’ve already succeeded.” Emma only glared at him. Yeah, she wasn’t in any rush. “Tell me, did the storybook prove helpful?” he asked, almost conversationally and a part of her wondered if he knew what she’d been up to and had allowed her the book only to revel in her disappointment.

 

She took a deep breath and made herself as tall as possible. “I want to see Henry.”

 

Gold looked at her, his expression a mix of curiosity and mirth. “Do you now? And what do you possibly think would persuade me to allow that?”

 

“I need to know he’s okay.”

 

“He’s fine,” Gold said dismissively.

 

“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” she demanded, her anger getting the best of her.

 

“You have no other choice,” Gold told her, waving a hand at his puppet to lead her away. The hand on her shoulder started to drag her back but she fought it off, thrashing under the grip.

 

“I won’t do what you want me to!” She said, desperately. Gold paused, looking her over. “I won’t figure out the spell unless you let me make sure he’s okay. Once a day. If you want my heart, that’s the deal.”

 

“But we’ve already made a deal,” he reminded her. “You’ll do it, or we’ll kill him,” Gold said as if the threat itself didn’t rip her heart out of her chest for her.

 

She breathed deep, reigning in the panic and the fear and the desperation and hiding it all behind her best poker face, behind the indifference she needed to make Gold believe her, the indifference she’d developed after watching her family become creatures she felt no pain in ridding the earth of. “Then you won’t have any leverage.”

 

Gold looked at her for a long time. His yellow eyes seemed to force her own to stay locked on him and she felt like Mogli looking into the eyes of the snake, mesmerized, terrified, and trapped. He held all the power here. If he called her bluff she wouldn’t get to see Henry - wouldn’t know if he was alright or if he was scared and hurt. Or, even worse, Gold could call her bluff and kill Henry. She prayed that some part of him, some small part that was still Baelfire’s father and not the Dark One wouldn’t be able to bring himself to kill his own grandson.

 

Finally, he looked away, turning his gaze to the imposter beside her. “Take her to the boy,” he said flippantly. “Far be it from me to keep family apart,” he added and something in his tone sounded like a challenge. Emma didn’t know what the challenge was but she hoped she could face it when the time came.

 

The hand was back on her shoulder again and this time she let herself be led away. They didn’t walk far. They made their way up a set of stairs to the children’s ward. They stopped outside what looked like a playroom and her prison guard stopped her in front of the door.

 

“Three minutes,” he told her before opening the door. Emma stepped forward, heart swelling with the anticipation of seeing her son. She’d barely made it through the threshold when she had to duck to avoid a marble flying by her head. It hit the wall behind her with a sharp ping. She looked up shocked to see Henry sitting on a hospital bed holding a makeshift slingshot built out of what looked like lego, train track pieces, and some kind of rubber. His expression reflected her shock when he recognized her.

 

“Nice shot, kid,” she told him, barely holding back the tears in her eyes. She hadn’t been this relieved to see him since he’d found her in that tower so long ago.

 

“Mom!” he shouted, flinging himself off the bed and throwing himself into her arms. She stumbled back with the force of her nearly-grown son colliding with her chest, her shoulders bumping the door shut in the process. She was surprised when it remained closed.

 

“Hey,” was all she could manage to say, squeezing him as tightly as she could. The tears fell freely now and she just let herself enjoy the feel of him wrapped in her arms, his chin digging into her shoulder and his arms crushing her ribcage. “Are you okay?” she asked, voice cracking. She felt him nod against her shoulder before pulling back slightly. She took his face in her hands and looked him over quickly. He looked okay. He looked tired but healthy. He was in a room with books and toys and he was clearly able to defend himself if the slingshot was anything to go by. That’s my kid she thought proudly.

 

“Mom,” he whispered, casting an eye at the door, “Ruby’s here.”

 

Her heart swelled in relief knowing that Ruby had found him. “I know.”

 

“The guards don’t notice her. They only know to look for people so they don’t care about a wolf,” he continued in a hushed tone. “It’s just like Sirius Black and the dementors!” he added a little excitedly and Emma couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

 

“Listen, kid, we don’t have long, okay?” She had a million things to ask him, to tell him - she wanted to spend an hour just holding on to him. But they only had three minutes and she knew that if anyone would be able to find out more about the Horned King it was Henry. She brought her own voice down to a whisper as she told him what she’d discovered earlier, told him about the book series and a creature with an army of living dead.

 

Henry’s eyes lit up in excitement as she spoke and she had to shush him as he answered her. “I think I’ve read that series!” he exclaimed before bringing his voice back down to a whisper. “It was a long time ago but if he’s who I think he is…” Henry looked around frantically, trying to recall details before his eyes widened even more. “Mom, I think he can shapeshift. That explains people acting acting so weird in the beginning - well that and the cursed sleeper-cell agents. Maybe he was pretending to be them.” Emma stared at her son in amazement and pride, remembering an event months ago with David outside the station. “We should think of a code!” he said suddenly. “Something so that we know it’s really us. Just in case.”

 

Emma looked at him for a moment, trying to think. Suddenly it dawned on her. “When we were in New York, that year we were cursed, what video game could you never beat me at?” She smirked a little as Henry rolled his eyes in annoyance.

 

“GoldenEye” He looked at her a bit snarkily. “What movie did you make me watch a hundred times because you didn’t want to watch it alone and didn’t want anyone else to know how much you loved it?”

 

She rolled her eyes this time. “The Princess Bride.”

 

Henry nodded. “Okay so when you see me say ‘Princess Bride’ and if I don’t answer ‘GoldenEye’ then we know. Operation: New York,” he said with a small grin.

 

Emma let out a sob as she wrapped him up in her arms, just needing to hold on to him for as long as she could. He may have grown up a lot in the past four years, especially in these last few months, but underneath it all, he was still that same infuriatingly-optimistic, brilliant kid who had found her all those years ago.

 

The door opened then and a familiar voice called, “Time’s up.”

 

Emma whirled around, rage in her eyes and in her blood as a fierce protectiveness came over her. “Just give us a minute!” she shouted. She didn’t want him near them. Didn’t want this thing coming anywhere near her or Henry and spoiling this moment. She didn’t want Henry to see the man he’d grown to care for as a father look at her with those cold, empty eyes that had broken her heart so many times already.

 

She watched in shock as those same eyes stared at her, the hand that had reached out to grab her, to pull her and Henry apart paused in mid air. He frowned, looking at her, then the ground, then his hand, his whole face pulling into a pained grimace. Slowly, the fingers that he held extended curled in one by one, his arm dropping back to his side as he continued to stare at her, his brow twisted in something she couldn’t read. Emma felt trapped under a gaze for the second time that day. He didn’t look emotional, it looked like a physical pain. Like stopping hurt him. Her heart stuttered in her chest, her mind flashing back to his hand squeezing her wrist so hard it hurt in the middle of Granny’s diner. No. She couldn’t let herself think like that. She just couldn’t. If she did and she was wrong. No.

 

She didn’t know how long this weird compliance would last so she turned quickly back to Henry who was staring at the man who used to be Killian with shock and a little bit of heartbreak. “I love you, Henry,” she told him, hugging him one more time. She turned her head so that she could whisper in his ear, low enough so that only he could hear. “I’ll get us out of here, I promise.”

 

“I know,” he answered and Emma wasn’t sure if it was her tears or his that were soaking her hair to her cheeks but she didn’t care.

 

She pulled back, kissing his forehead and telling him she’d be back tomorrow before she turned back to her guard. He looked physically relieved as she let him lead her back to her cell.

 

As Emma walked, the hand on her shoulder felt lighter and she chalked it up to her newfound sense of purpose - purpose and hope. She wasn’t alone. She had Henry and she had Ruby and together, they could do this. They would get out. She just needed to hold on to those two words Henry had said. “I know.” If he believed in her, believed in them, after all of this, then she had to believe in them too.

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Summary:

Trust me, nobody is more surprised by this update than me.

Chapter Text

Emma's eyes flutter open slowly, still half asleep and not quite sure why she’s half awake. It’s a moment before she feels the bed shift beside her. Another moment passes and she hears a small whimper. She’s fully awake now as she turns quickly to face Killian. He’s tossing in his sleep, his eyes clamped shut and his brow pulled low, beads of sweat already gathering at his temples. 

 

Another nightmare, she thinks. It’s the third one this week. They started as soon as they returned from the Underworld. There had been a brief respite for a week or so after the incident at the bar when work was driving him to the end of his rope and he collapsed in bed before the sun went down, too tired to sleep. But now, it seems that even exhaustion can’t keep the dreams at bay.

 

“Killian,” she speaks quietly, shushes him as she runs the back of her fingers over his damp forehead and down along the side of his cheek. “Wake up, Killian, it’s just a dream, you’re safe.” She knows from experience that her words will do little to help him as she hears another strained whimper escape his lips, jaw clenched painfully tight. She brings her hands to his hair and runs them soothingly through it as she continues to try to coax him awake. 

 

It’s another moment before he gasps, eyes snapping open as he lets out a cry that has her heart stuttering in her chest as he sits up in bed. His shoulders are tense, eyes darting madly about as though looking for whatever threat pursued him in his dreams. She sits up with him, places a hand on his shoulder and doesn’t take it personally when he flinches away before his eyes focus on her and the tension leaves his body. He groans, collapsing back on his pillow, chest still heaving.

 

“It’s okay,” Emma tells him gently wrapping him up in her arms. 

 

“It’s bloody not,” he answers somewhat bitterly but he lets himself be pulled into her, laying his head on her chest and allowing his hair to be stroked like a child. He feels like a child and she knows it, he’s said it before. “They won’t stop,” his voice is bitter, angry and a bit defeated. Her chest aches for him.

 

“They will,” she promises. She knows he hates it. It’s killing him, feeling weak, feeling powerless. But what he went through… he died . And after he died, he was tortured. And then he died all over again. Of course that would affect him. She’s noticed his efforts. He’s stopped drinking; he tried to start running with Henry (and hated it choosing instead to teach the boy to sword fight), he’s even been to see Hopper, anything to help him get a solitary night of peace and rest. Nothing has worked and she feels impotent and powerless to help the man she loves. 

 

“You guys okay?” Henry’s voice speaks up quietly from the crack between the door and the hallway. He sounds sleepy but also worried.

 

“Yeah, kid, we’re okay,” Emma tells him. “Come on in.” 

 

They shift, making room for Henry to climb up on the foot of the bed. Maybe he’s a bit old to be climbing into bed with his mom and his quazi step-dad but they’re all a little vulnerable lately and Emma loves that he’s still on that cusp between childhood and adolescence where he feels okay seeking comfort like this. She knows it won’t last much longer.

 

Killian sits up with his back against the headboard. “Sorry I woke you, Lad.” he rubs a hand over his face, scraping through his hair.

 

“It’s okay,” Henry answers. “I wasn’t sleeping much either.” 

 

Emma runs her hand through her son’s hair and kisses the top of it. She’s pretending not to notice that he’s gotten it cut in a style suspiciously similar to Killian’s.

 

“Was it another nightmare?” Henry asks and Killian nods. “Have you tried rewriting it?” he suggests and Killian frowns.

 

“What do you mean?” he asks and Henry looks to Emma.

 

“It’s something mom and I used to do when I was little. Or well, technically we didn’t since I guess those were all made up memories from when we were cursed in New York but it always helped when I had nightmares.” 

 

Emma smiles at him. Rewriting them. She’d forgotten all about it - or well not really since technically she never really did it in the first place but that’s semantics. But she does remember the nights when she was a child, alone, in the system, dreaming horrible things, some real and some not, and she remembers trying to rewrite them, telling herself a happier story so that she could go back to sleep and let her dreams at least be a place she felt safe and happy. 

 

“What does it entail?” Killian asks a little suspicious but sounding open to just about anything. 

 

“First you tell us about your nightmare.” Killian looks hesitant but Henry continues. “Then we scratch it out and give it a different ending. 

 

Killian still looks apprehensive but after a moment he starts to speak. “We were on the Jolly,” he looks to Emma who smiles encouragingly. “We were going to have a picnic. But then,” he takes a breath. “But then suddenly we weren’t on the water at the Storybrooke docks. We were back there.” His fist clenches a bit and she knows he means the Underworld. “We were on the river of lost souls and it was angry. All of them were so angry and they rocked the ship and they ripped the boards and I tried to fight them off but they were like smoke beneath my blade.” He reaches out then and takes her hand, holding it tighter than is comfortable but she doesn’t complain. “They took you. They took you and they pulled you under and I couldn’t stop them. And the ship, it took on water and it sank and I could feel them coming for me. Pulling at my legs, pulling me under and I felt the water fill my lungs and I knew I was dead but I was still there, watching it all happen, watching them take everything they could from me, watching you float lifeless next to me.” 

 

He stops speaking, voice cracking and Emma wraps herself around him, placing a kiss to his shoulder. Even Henry doesn’t protest, his face screwed up in concern rather than disgust at his mom and her boyfriend’s show of affection. 

 

“I knew all their faces,” he says so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him.

 

“Let’s rewrite it,” Emma says, turning to Henry who nods, contemplating. 

 

“So you’re on the river of lost souls.” Killian looks at him, waiting. “And you see the souls moving in the water, coming towards you so you draw your sword ready to fight off whatever might be coming for you.” Killian frowns and so does Emma. This story does not sound like a happier version of his nightmare so far. “But they don’t come for you. They just float. They’re just lost souls wandering aimlessly. So you reach in. If they’re lost, they need finding. Our family finds people - it’s what we do.” Emma doesn’t miss the slight hitch in Killian’s breathing at Henry’s casual reference to him as family. “You get hold of one and pull it out.” He looks to Killian. “Who is it?”

 

Killian hesitates, looks to Emma almost in apology but she knows who it is and she nods at him to go on. “Milah,” he says almost in a whisper. Emma squeezes his hand. She understands. 

 

“Let’s give her a lift,” Emma suggests. “Make our way to the bridge and let her move on.” 

 

Killian nods, hesitates. “There are others…”

 

“Who’s the next one?” Henry asks.

 

“Balefire,” he answers softly. One by one, the people he’s lost, those he betrayed, those he abandoned and those who left him, the demons he had to face in his own personal purgatory are pulled from the water and one by one they find their peace. 

 

Emma looks between her son and the man she loves, heart swelling at how strong the bond between them has gotten without her even noticing. She knows Killian takes care of Henry, loves him and will always watch out for him, but it’s nice to see that Henry feels the same.

 

It takes another week but eventually the nightmares stop. And every night that week, Henry and Emma are there, rewriting. 


Emma looked down from where she was currently climbing a freaking beanstalk with a handsome, somewhat roguish pirate that seemed incapable of shutting up. Don’t do that again she told herself. Instead, she focused on his voice, the lilt of his accent and the teasing tone as he accused her of being an open book. 

 

“No, I have never been in love,” she told him but somehow it felt like a lie.

 

Jesus christ how on earth could one man make first aid so confusingly arousing?

 

When they took out a goddamn giant she refused to acknowledge the giant flutter of panic when she couldn’t see him down below her and the tiny flutter in her chest when he told her they made quite the team. 

 

She forced herself to squirm away as he held her tightly against him, pointing out the trip wire and ignoring the fact that she quite enjoyed the way she could feel the muscles in his arms wrapped around her.

 

Finally, when she pulled him out from under the rocks, ignoring the heat of his hand in hers and the pull in her stomach at his smile “ you are blood brilliant, amazing!”

 

And there he waited on bended knee, offering her a hand and a chance at something. She wasn’t sure what that something was and it scared her. She knew she shouldn’t trust him, knew that she couldn’t take the chance that she was wrong about him, knew she should lock him up and leave him behind. But when her palm touched his and she saw the tentative smile pull at his lips… she decided, just this once, to trust herself. 

 

She used their hands to pull him closer, catching him off guard as he tumbled forward and she caught his lips with hers. He let out a surprised ‘umph’ before leaning in and returning her kiss with enthusiasm. Emma didn’t know if it was the high of success, the tiny flutter of hope that he had stirred in her, or just that he was so goddamn gorgeous but she let herself “really get into it” just as he’d encouraged her to earlier. 

 

She felt herself smile a little as they broke apart, certain he would have some sort of quip or innuendo for her and almost looking forward to it, but when she opened her eyes, her heart fell into her stomach. 

 

His face was blank, no recognition in his eyes, no hint of the man he’d been a moment ago, the man who’d kissed her, the man who’d made her believe that maybe she could trust people. There was nothing. 

 

“Killian?” she asked, voice small, surprising herself by the use of his real name. 

 

His face remained unchanged as he reached forward and clamped his fingers around her throat. She panicked, hands clawing and clutching at his own as her eyes began to water and her vision went blurry. There was no rage in his expression, no hatred, no vengeance as he squeezed the life out of her. Killian was gone.

 

Emma gasped awake, hand reaching for her throat. She could still feel his hand there, still see the deadness in his eyes, the indifference. She heard movement coming from the door and looked up to see him, Killian - not Killian - watching her. There was no concern in his eyes, no fear or worry. Not even the slightest shred of emotion crossed his features as he looked her over through the tiny window in the door, clearly realised she’d been dreaming, and turned back around to man his post. 

 

It hurt. More than the fingers at her throat had, more than the blankness of his stare in her dream had. Because this was real. It’s not him , she told herself. But that didn’t didn’t dull the pain or the cold that settled in her chest and spread its way through her limbs. She curled her knees to her chest on the thin mattress and let a few tears fall at the memory of nightmares and the family she had not long ago. 

 

“Once upon a time,” she started, rocking herself slightly and convincing herself it was just to try force some heat back into her bones. “There was a girl with walls a mile high and a boy who climbed a beanstalk to get over them.” She smiles to herself a little, allowing herself the warmth of the memory of Killian, of how he’d persisted, how he’d won her, without trickery. She continues speaking, recounting how he’d bandanged her hand and she’d felt cared for and taken care of for the first time in her life. She reminds herself of what a team they’d made and how she realised that just maybe she didn’t have to fight every battle on her own. She laughs through her realisation that the attraction was definitely not one-sided as she felt him react to being pulled against her when he nearly triggered the trip wire. She smiles to herself as she recalls how he’d supported her, sung her praises, appreciating her strength and her intelligence rather than being turned off by it as so many men had before him. 

 

“And he reached out his hand and I could see it in his eyes, the fear and the hope. And that was when I realised that while I’d started to believe that I could hope again, that there was someone else out there like me… that maybe he’d been waiting for the same thing, waiting for someone to trust him, to find him.” 

 

She stopped, overwhelmed by the memory and the grief of their love story, of losing him. She didn’t want to cry anymore but she didn’t hate herself for it anymore either. She knew now that it wasn’t a weakness. She knew because of him. Promise me one thing, if I helped take off that armor, don't put it back on just because you're gonna lose me.

 

“And?” 

 

She froze, his voice cutting through the silence and making her heart race though whether in fear or in hope she didn’t know. He spoke. He spoke again. What did that mean? What was he asking?

 

“And?” she repeated, hoping for clarification. She didn’t get any. And. And. it dawned on her then and she realised he was asking for the rest of the story. She wanted to read into it, wanted to hope but she was too tired, too beat down and too many times disappointed to let herself. 

 

Instead, she let out a bitter laugh. “They lived happily ever after.” 

 

There was another long, weighted silence and she assumed he’d lost interest, but then he spoke again, his voice softer, barely audible.

 

“They didn’t, did they?”

 

The tears fell freely now. “No, they didn’t.”

 

***

 

Emma threw a book against the door and almost smiled as it made a satisfying sort of crash against the metal. Useless. This was all fucking useless. None of these books were going to tell her how to do something impossible! She was the product of true love for fucks sake! She was born with a built in anti-theft device on her heart and no book was going to tell her how to break the laws of magic.

 

“What the hell does the king even need with my heart anyway?” she practically shouted at not-Killian. He stayed silent. “Oh yeah, that’s right,” she sassed. “You only speak in cryptic little phrases and questions when it’s convenient for you.” She rolled her eyes at his continued, predictable silence. She threw another book, this one nearly hitting the window where she could see the point of his ear and the flippy bits of hair beneath it. He didn’t flinch and Emma armed herself with another book.

 

She raised it, aimed and ready to fire when suddenly she noticed the title. She knew this book. She’d seen this book. It was one of Regina’s that she’d leafed through it in the crypt when she’d been practicing magic. It was a book of protection spells, the type of protection spells that had been cast around the border of Storybrooke on rotation since she’d first arrived. She ran her hand over the heavy red leather of it’s cover before opening it and starting to read.

 

She read for nearly three hours. Some of it she couldn’t make out but some of it she was able to decipher. 

 

“Ah-ha!” she shouted, forgetting herself when she found it. She panicked as she heard movement coming from outside her door, saw not-Killian turning to see what the disturbance was. Quickly she dropped the book, making a show of trying to catch it and making a few more loud exclamations before it landed with a thud at her feet. Her guard stared at her for a moment and the moment lasted just long enough to make her worry that he hadn’t bought her poorly executed ruse. But, finally, his face as blank as ever, he turned his back on her again and she let out a sigh of relief. 

Picking up the book, she quickly flipped to the page she’d found, reading silently this time. There it was, the spell, the spell keeping all of them trapped here in Storybrooke, the one that felt like running into a solid brick wall when you tried to cross the border. 

 

She scanned the page quickly and her heart sunk so she read it again slower. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. If she read it right, and she was pretty sure she did, the spell could only be taken down by the one who cast it. ‘ Stupid fucking magic laws’ she grumbled to herself somewhat despodent. So even if she and Henry did find a way out of this place they would still be stuck in town, right back where they started from a few days ago - only now even more alone.

 

She wanted to scream, cry out again, do something, hit something, anything to get this anger and frustration out of her body. Why? Why was there always something? Was six months really all she was allowed? Was that the deal as the savior? Was she cursed to never be happy, to never be safe? 

 

She noticed movement through the window in her door as the cuff was held up, followed by a quick succession of rapps on the door. Henry! It was time for her to see Henry! She’d lost track of time but was suddenly more grateful than she had ever been in her life for this brief moment of humanity that Gold had allowed her - even if she still fantasized about separating his head from his shoulders. 

 

Quick as she could, she ripped the page out of the book and crumpled it in the pocket of her jacket and jumped up to retrieve the cuff from the slot in the door. Once it was secure, she held her arm up to the window and the door was swung open. The man on the other side looked indifferent and unaware of her theft but then that was always his expression so she just had to hope he hadn’t seen her. 

 

She stepped out and the hand that didn’t belong to Killian anymore resumed its place on her shoulder. She didn’t know whether to shutter or melt under the touch but she settled for tensing every muscle in her body and trying to ignore the memory of it’s warmth and the truth of its emptiness. 

 

They walked to Henry’s room without a word passing between them apart from the warning of “five minutes” that she expected. She gave the door a warning knock. 

 

“Hey kid it’s me, don’t shoot!” she called as she swung the door open. 

 

“How do I know?” Henry called as she walked in, slingshot held at the ready. 

 

She smiled. Sometimes she was just so damn proud that she made him. She shut the door and cast a quick glance behind her before whispering “Princess Bride.”

 

Henry lowered his weapon and whispered “Goldeneye” before running to wrap his arms around her with such force that he actually knocked her back against the door.

 

“Woah, kid, you’re getting strong!” 

 

“I’ve been getting ready,” he told her. “There’s nothing to do so I’ve been doing push ups, pull ups, running, whatever I can. When it’s time to go, I’ll be ready,” he promised. She knew that it was more than that, more than a few days workout. He was growing up and the last few months of their lives had been particularly physically demanding but his voice was strong and certain and Emma felt a renewed sense of purpose, the one that appeared the first time she met Henry and that swelled within her each time she saw him. 

 

“Good job,” she told him. “You’re okay? They’re not hurting you?” she checked his face and arms for any signs of harm and then his cheeks and eyes for any signs of exhaustion. “Are you getting fed enough? I can sneak you some of mine next time--”

 

“Mom, I’m okay. You need to eat too you know. Listen,” he told her, pulling her into his arms to whisper in her ear through the guise of a hug. “Ruby’s outside the window, she’s been here the whole time. We have a plan. They never watch me - except sometimes Archie but possessed or not he’s a wimp. If you can get out of your cell and get to us, we can do the rest. 

 

Emma nodded and just let herself hold her son for the last few minutes she had left. She whispered promises that she would get them out and out of Storybrooke and he whispered that he knew she would. Before she was ready, the door was opened again and it was time to go. 

 

The walk back felt longer, not just in the emotional sense but in a very real, very physical sense. Emma’s muscles felt like they were failing her as she tried to put one foot in front of the other and the hand on her shoulder felt like a weight she couldn’t support. The hallway stretched out before her, growing, it seemed, impossibly longer and suddenly it turned on its axis and Emma saw black spots in front of her eyes. She was gonna be sick. She was gonna be sick and she held her stomach as her feet gave out under her and she swayed towards the ground. 

 

She didn’t hit the ground though. Killian was there, suddenly, quicker than she could have been, catching her - like muscle memory - holding her up before slowly lowering her to a seating position on the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around her and one hand in hers as he crouched behind her. For a brief, fleeting second, she felt the familiarity of the embrace, felt the somewhat muted heartbeat pressed against her back, felt the warmth of his chest and his breath on her neck and it felt like Killian, it felt like home. 

 

She turned to meet his eyes as the blackness cleared from her own and she was met with the blue she had always loved. But behind it there was nothing. No concern, no love, no support. Muscle memory. That’s all it had been. She felt sick all over again and she ripped herself out of his hold, shoving him with as much force as she could despite still feeling wobbly and weak. She rose to her feet and began walking.

 

She felt a hand on her elbow and jerked her arm free. “I’m fine! Probably just weak since you guys only feed me once a day,” she snapped. “I hope you’re feeding Henry more or you can tell Gold that he’ll have me to answer to,” she threatened, trying to keep her heart from beating out of her chest at both her barely contained rage and the renewed grief that seemed to find her every time she was near him. Gold really outdid himself this time. This kind of cruelty took dedication. 

 

There was a brief pause before she felt the hand fall on her shoulder again and she whirled on him, rage seeping out of every inch of her being. 

 

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted. “Don’t touch me with his hand! With his hand that you stole, from him, from me! Don’t you fucking dare! You killed him! And I promise you I’ll kill Gold and the King and then when I’m done I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you for taking him from me!” 

 

There was a long, silent pause as Emma stood, panting in the hallway, watching him, daring him to do something, say something, react. But there was nothing. He hesitated, hand hanging in the space between them for a moment, before lowering it back to his side and continuing to walk. Emma steadied her breathing before following along behind him.

 

A few hours later, when Emma’s meal was slid through the slot in the door, she could have sworn there was more on her plate than yesterday. 

 

She couldn’t sleep that night. She was too annoyed. Annoyed at herself mostly because she couldn’t for the life of her stop thinking about that moment when for the first time in what felt like forever she found herself wrapped in the arms of the man she loved. It wasn’t him. She knew that. But her body didn’t and her body had been denied his touch and his comfort for far too long and like an addict it only craved more now that it had had a taste. 

 

She could hear him, breathing on the other side of the door. Did he never sleep? He breathed too loudly. Killian never breathed too loudly - except those few nights where he would sleep so soundly he snored.

 

“You know,” she started. “It’s really creepy, you standing out there, listening to me not sleep.” He was silent. Of course he was, he only spoke to her in the middle of the night when she was telling stories or -

 

“What happened next?” It was soft but she heard it. His voice through the door. It only took her a second to piece together her confusion and realise he was asking her about the story from last night - their story. He remembered it? He cared about it? No, he didn’t care. He was probably just trying to get information. Probably. Definitely. Probably. He had to be. 

 

The silence drew out between them as they both waited for the other to say something or do something. Emma made a decision. She didn’t know what she hoped to accomplish or why she was such a masochist but she had to try. If his asking meant something, if there was the tiniest chance that she could gain a bit of him back, even that bit of him that seemed to know to catch her, to support her… she had to try.

 

“Her son was taken and it broke her heart. So he gave up who he was, gave up the darkness that had been driving him for centuries and helped her. He chose her, and he never looked back.”

 

She told him the story: of Neverland, of Echo Cave, of the kiss, of him promising to win her heart, of the two of them bringing Henry home - and through all of it he listened. He never said a word, never interrupted but she could hear his steady breathing and see the point of his ear, angled towards the door. He listened. 

 

“You know,” she said into the silence, the quiet weighed down with her heavy eyelids and whatever unspoken thing was going on between them. “You can open the door.” She hesitated. “It’s not like I can get out without the cuff… and this room is really claustrophobic.”

 

He was quiet for so long she thought she had lost him but then the door opened and she held her breath as he walked into view and sat down in the opening, with his back against the doorframe. He didn’t look at her, just sat silently, stoically staring at the wall across from him, waiting. 

 

She told him about Marty McFly.

Chapter Text

Emma is tired - really tired. Like fall asleep on your feet, collapse on the nearest surface when you get home and pass out tired. Today had been awful. All week there had been a non-stop chaotic inflow of stupid calls from stupid people with their stupid small-town problems. But today was different. Today there had actually been a few real problems along with the usual bullshit she’d gotten used to. Today she’d had to deal with vandalism, three fights, two women who wanted to divorce their husbands and thought the police were the right people to call for that, trespassing, and even a suspected stalking. And it was fucking exhausting.

To make matters worse, she had been alone today. Her parents are out of town for the day, picking up some order she couldn’t remember that Snow needed for one of the events she’s throwing to try boost town morale. Emma’s lost track of which event it is. She’d have asked Killian to come in but he had booked the day off to go sailing with Henry before Henry left to spend the weekend at a friend's cottage. And with everything that her kid was dealing with right now, she didn’t want to take that away from him. And Killian deserves a break too. He works just as hard as she does at the station. It isn’t his fault that today happened to be the day that all hell broke loose. 

She’s so relieved when she reaches her front door that she barely registers Killian’s ‘Hello, Love’ as she walks inside. All she can see is the couch. The big, comfy, soft couch that looks so inviting and so very enticing. She drops her keys and her bag and shuffles the short distance into the living room before collapsing face first onto the cushions. She can hear Killian chuckling behind her. 

“Rough day?” he asks. She lets out a long suffering groan that’s slightly muffled by the pillow under her face and Killian laughs again. She feels him sit down, his weight shifting the couch beneath her and she forces herself to roll onto her back so she can look at him. She likes looking at him. He has a nice face. Looking at him always makes her feel the tiniest bit better even when she feels her worst. He reaches forward and brushes her messy, staticky hair off her forehead. “Want to talk about it?” 

No, she really doesn’t. She wants to lay on this couch with her boyfriend and snuggle and eat bad food and watch bad movies. She shakes her head and then notices a bag, packed and sitting near the coffee table. Oh crap . She forgot. They’re supposed to have a date night tonight. Emma practically wants to cry at the idea of leaving the house right now - at the thought of standing up honestly. She takes his hand that’s still stroking her face and holds it with both of her own against her chest.

“Do you mind if we reschedule our date tonight?” she practically pleads. She feels guilt drop like led in her stomach when he looks really thrown - and a bit disappointed - by her request. His expression is shocked and even a little bit panicked and Emma quickly rushes to explain. “I really wanted to but I'm just so tired and I know I won’t be any fun,” she explains. Killian gives her a soft smile then.

“You’re always fun, Emma,” he tells her and she smiles back at him appreciative of the blatant lie. 

“Can we just stay in? All I want to do is eat an entire tub of ice cream, put on my PJs and watch bad Netflix with you.” 

He nods. “Go get changed. I’ll make dinner.” She beams at him. This man is too good to her. She loves him so damn much it actually scares her sometimes - like she doesn’t know if she’s physically able to contain all of that love inside of herself and one day it will just explode. 

She uses his hand to pull him down to her so she can kiss him. He comes willingly and presses his lips to hers. He kisses her softly, one of those long, slow, reverent kisses that he always means to be sweet and innocent but that instead always sends her pulse rocketing and heat flooding to her belly. She groans a bit and pulls him closer, fisting her hand in his hair so she can deepen the kiss, opening her mouth under his in invitation. He’s the one who groans this time, pushing his tongue into her mouth as his hand drops hers and slides up her side under her jacket and t-shirt, leaving fire and goosebumps in its wake. 

“I thought you said you were tired,” he reminds her with a smirk, pulling back slightly so he can speak but not so far back that they’re lips have to stop touching. 

Emma lets out a sad, pathetic whine. “I am,” she admits bitterly. She is tired. Too tired for sex. Not that she doesn’t want him. She always wants him. Her body is screaming at her right now for daring to stop Killian once he gets going but she just doesn’t have the energy. She hates her job so much. He chuckles and kisses her once more on the mouth and then once on her forehead. 

“Come on,” he says, standing. “Need a hook?” he offers, holding the appendage out to her with a stupid grin on his face. She rolls her eyes at him as she grabs hold of it and he heaves her up off the couch. She loves him so damn much. 

Slowly, ridiculously slowly, maybe a bit dramatically slowly, Emma makes her way upstairs to find her pyjamas. This house is too big , she decides as she climbs what feels like the millionth stair and walks down the longest hallway in the world to their room. She changes slowly, every movement feeling like a momentous effort as she becomes aware of how sore she is. She’d had too much adrenaline in her system today to notice how much of a tole the running and the breaking up fights and the getting struggling idiots into the back of her bug had taken on her muscles. She debates a shower but as good as that would feel she fears falling asleep in it and drowning. She feels very dramatic tonight.

When she finally reaches the living room again, there’s a grilled cheese waiting on the coffee table and a handsome pirate waiting on the couch. His plate is already finished. She smiles, taking a seat next to him - well she doesn’t really sit, she throws herself across the couch with her legs in Killians lap - and takes a bite of the sandwich. She’s touched. He didn’t even try to sneak anything healthy into it. She moans as she chews her first bite. 

“Thank you,” she says around a mouthful and he smiles endearingly at her. He produces a pint of ice cream from beside the couch and Emma puts her hands to her chest, greasy bread and all. “I love you,” she tells him and he laughs.

“Never let it be said I don’t know how to keep my woman happy,” he jokes and Emma nudges him with her foot.

“You do,” she agrees, accepting the ice cream.

Later, when the grilled cheese and the ice cream are finished and they’re lounging, watching some crime documentary, Emma takes a look at the man beside her. He’s relaxed now, laying back against the armrest with her legs in his lap, absentmindedly rubbing the arch of her foot. He’s taken off his jacket, vest and shirt, leaving him in only his black t-shirt - the man wears way too many layers, she thinks not for the first time. His shoes are on the floor, having been kicked off at some point between this show and the last. She loves seeing him like this, so comfortable and at ease, looking like he belongs here in her living room - like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. He does belong here , she thinks and she belongs wherever he is. This is exactly what she never knew she dreamed of. Lazy evenings on the couch with the man she loves and who loves her more than she ever thought anyone would. 

He looks over at her, seeming to have sensed her staring at him. 

“What?” he asks, voice not too troubled. 

She smiles at him and shrugs. “Nothing,” she tells him. “You’re just kind of perfect.” 

Killian scoffs. “Hardly.”

Can’t have that , she thinks. With great effort, she sits up and crawls across the couch so that she can lay against his chest, tangling their legs together on the slightly too narrow sofa. She brushes his cheek with the back of her fingers, somewhat in awe of how beautiful he is. She’s still not used to it. But it’s not just his face. His heart is beautiful too and that’s something she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to - how kind and supportive and loving he is. Always. She cups his cheek in her palm.

“You are,” she tells him firmly and his eyes soften a little at her words. She forgets sometimes that he needs to hear it too. He’s so good at telling her how beautiful, how smart, how strong she is but she realises that maybe her lack of skill with words has made him doubt himself. She resolves to make an effort, to tell him more often, all the time. “This is perfect,” she says, still holding his gaze.

He gives her a small smile, eyes full of affection and love and pure contentment as he brings his own hand to her cheek. “It is,” he agrees and she lays her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his fingers brushing gently through her hair until she starts to drift off. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, you know.” She vaguely hears the words, drifting in that space between sleep and wakefulness, not quite registering their meaning but it fills her with a soft warmth and she snuggles deeper into him, breathing him in.

“Okay,” she mumbles, nuzzling at his chest as she tries to find sleep again. 

She feels his whole body tense and Emma feels her own instantly do the same. He thought she was asleep, she realises. 

“Do you mean it?” he asks, craning his neck to try to look at her. She lifts her head and rests her chin on her hands, folded over on his chest. She meets his eyes and he looks so anxious, so nervous and it rattles her. She did mean it. Of course she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. She went to Hell for him, literally. She’s been afraid of this kind of love, this kind of commitment, her whole life. But now, with him, it doesn’t feel scary. Why should she be afraid to tell him that she’s in this for the long haul? 

She knows he’s looking for an honest answer so she gives him one. “Yes.”

She watches as his eyes go wide for a fraction of a second, like he can’t quite believe it. Then, he wriggles beneath her as he reaches for something in his pocket. She lifts some of her weight off him to help. He brings whatever it is up between them and holds it out to her, his arm wedged between the couch and her head. She turns to look at it.

Holy shit. It's a ring. A diamond ring. The kind of diamond ring that can only be that kind of diamond ring. Holy shit. Holy shit. Her heart is pounding against her ribcage, blood rushing in her ears and she reels up so that she’s sitting on the other side of the couch, staring at him in shock. 

“Emma?” he asks, sitting up as well. He's worried and Emma tries really hard to fight through her initial shock. Crap. He probably thinks she’s panicking, probably thinks she’s changing her mind or didn’t mean what she said. She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. It hadn’t been doubt or fear, it had just been shock, she hadn’t been ready for it and she needs to make sure he knows that’s all it is. 

“Sorry,” she says, reaching out for him, scooting herself closer so that she’s practically in his lap. “You just surprised me.” He looks apprehensive for a moment but then she sees the anxiety leave him in one heavy breath. He holds the ring between them, just by his heart, looking at it and then chancing a glance up at her.

“So you still want to…”

“Of course I still want to!” She practically giggles she’s so excited. Now that the panic is gone she’s able to take it in. This is real. Killian Jones is asking her to marry him. She could cry she’s so happy. “I just didn’t know you were planning to -” she cuts herself off as she realizes. “Oh my god,” she groans. “We were supposed to go out tonight,” she brings a hand to her face, remembering their plans to take the Jolly Roger out overnight. He’d said he wanted to take her stargazing. “You probably had a whole thing planned didn’t you?” She feels awful. “And now I’ve ruined it.”

Killian puts the ring in his pocket and takes hold of her face, gently urging her to look at him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he tells her, his thumb coming up to sooth the frown between her brows. “I like it better this way,” he confesses and Emma lets herself relax a little as she listens. “Actually, Henry and David were the ones who told me I should make a grand gesture out of it. They said that’s what women in this realm expect.”

“You went to my dad?” she demands, somewhat shocked. Henry she could understand. Henry had been dropping hints about how they should just get married already for months. But her dad? David had certainly grown to like Killian, she’d even dare say they were friends now. But she worried about how he’d react to anyone wanting to marry her. 

“Not for permission,” he assures her. “For advice.” 

“What did he say? When you told him.”

Killian goes a little red, the tips of his ears and the top of his cheekbones flushing. “He hugged me.” 

“He hugged you?” This night is just one twist after another. 

“Aye, he gave me some speech about how proud he was of me for changing from a - quote - vengeful pirate to a man willing to give someone his heart.”

She smiles, her heart filling with love at the idea of David being so happy for Killian. He didn’t need her father’s blessing, but somehow, knowing that they have it makes this moment all the more perfect. 

“And what did you say?”

Killian brings his hand up to scratch behind his ear. “I told him anyone can give their heart away if they truly wish to.” He looks at her then. “And I do, Emma, I have ever since we climbed that beanstalk.” 

She leans in and kisses him, eyes brimming with tears. “Me too. I’m sorry it took me so long to realise.” 

He smirks at her. “Don’t be. You know I love a challenge.”

“So, wait,” she asks, still trying to put together all this new information. “You said Dad and Henry told you to propose on the ship.” He nods. “How did you want to do it?” 

Killian smiles, a slow, fond kind of smile with just that little bit of mischief that she loves about him. He takes her hand in his again. 

“In New York, when I found you after the longest and most difficult year of my life.” He presses a kiss to her knuckles. “In Storybrooke, when you sacrificed your magic for me.” His lips press against the tips of her fingers. “In the Enchanted Forest… so many times then.” She feels him place another kiss in the centre of her palm. “When I found you in Camelot after I thought I lost you.” On her wrist this time, a longer, more lingering kiss and it makes her heart race. “When you found me in the Underworld, when Zeus sent me back to you…” he looks at her then. “It’s always been you Swan. Since the moment we met.” 

She smiling through her tears now, practically blubbering as she grabs hold of his face and kisses him with everything she has inside. How she ever doubted this man she’ll never understand but she knows she never will again. 

“And,” he says as they break apart for a moment. Emma is torn between wanting to hear what he has to say and wanting to continue kissing him. He’s reaching back and digging into one of the many pockets in his jacket until he finds what he’s looking for. “I wanted to ask you with this ring.” 

Emma looks at the ring he holds up between them. She recognizes it. It’s small and silver with a dark stone in the center. It was the one he wore when he got his hand back. 

“It was my mother’s,” he says and then shrugs. “But, David and Henry said people propose with diamonds here.” 

It takes everything in her power to compose herself but she manages to stop the continuous stream of happy tears long enough to take his hand, and the ring, between both her hands. He looks at her questioningly.

“Ask me again,” she says. “Ask me with this ring, the way you want to.” He beams at her like he’s having as much difficulty containing his happiness as she is. He clears his throat, holding the ring up between them. 

“Will you marry me, Emma?” 

“Yes!” She practically throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lets out a laugh that comes from deep within him, one of pure joy and something that almost sounds like relief. She muffles it with her lips on his but can’t silence it completely, both of them attempting to continue the kiss while laughing and smiling so hard her face hurts. They fail miserably but she doesn’t care. 

They detangle long enough for him to slip the ring on her finger and for a second he just stares at it and she wishes she knew what he was thinking. After a moment, he presses a kiss to her finger and she drags him back up to her lips. Shitty day at work and stupid townspeople be damned. Emma has never been this happy in her life.  



She woke up the next morning to a shut and locked door. The faintest shadow of a profile through the window let her know that her guard was still there, standing on the other side like nothing happened. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she’d dreamed it. Whatever it was, it didn’t change anything. More likely than anything he was supposed to listen to her talk, get information, pass it on to Gold and the King. 

What a pretensious fucking name , she thought. What kind of high and mighty son of a bitch just comes into a town or a realm and demands to be called a king. She has other reasons to hate him, plenty, but this is just another good one to add to the list. Only a monster would come up with this kind of torture, making her spend day after day with the thing that killed the man she loves while pumping her for information. 

The last few nights, thinking that maybe he was in there, maybe he was trying to get out… she’d been an idiot. That kind of stuff wasn’t real. True love didn’t conquer all and she’d let herself be drawn in by the memory of a love so overwhelming she didn’t know how to exist without it. She was trying, every day, but it just got fucking harder and harder and having him here - she couldn’t think about it. She needed to do something else, distract herself.

She took the stolen pages out of her pocket, unfolding them and finding a book to read them behind. There had to be some kind of loophole. There was always a loophole wasn’t there? She read the spell over and over again. And then she read it three more times. Nothing. There was nothing except - holy shit . She read the phrase over and over again. It could work. It was huge fucking gamble, but it could work.

She shoved the pages back in her pocket and started pacing her room. Okay. Okay. She had the beginnings of a plan. She had something. She could feel herself getting riled up, more energy coursing through her than she’d had since she was brought here. She didn’t want to let herself hope but if this worked - no, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered unless she could find a way out of here. How the hell was she going to get out of here? How was she going to get Henry out? That was what mattered. She didn’t care if she didn’t make it out. There was nothing out there for her. All that mattered was Henry and if he was safe and alive then she could rot in here for all she cared. 

She had a vague idea of the layout of the hospital after the many visits paid here in the past. She knew the path between her cell and Henry’s and had a vague sense of who was usually on guard. She’d passed the same people on almost every walk there. And  as Henry himself had said, Archie only occasionally guarded his cell and if she needed to she knew she could take him out - kill him if she had to. She tried to remember who the others were, which ones she could fight and which one’s she’d have to avoid. She’d seen Jefferson once and he was her biggest worry. She’d bested him once but that had been luck. 

Killian though - no. not Killian. Some imposter, some monster who had replaced him - he would be the most difficult. There had been moments. Small, almost insignificant little blips where she thought maybe she was getting through to... something. She couldn’t believe that it was Killian in there, that he was trapped and trying to break free. No. Killian was dead. He had to be dead. Everyone else was. She remembered the way his face had twisted the time she demanded more time with Henry. What the hell was he

Her musings were cut short by two hard raps on the door. She looked up to see her guard holding up the cuff. She sighed. She really didn’t have fucking time for whatever Gold wanted. Screw him. She said she’d try to work on the spell to keep Henry safe but she’d never promised to be at his beck and call. She sat on her mattress, arms crossed in a pathetic attempt at defiance, at exercising the feeble bit of free will she still had. 

After a moment there were another two raps on the door. Emma held firm. They’d have to drag her out if they wanted her. He could come in here and force her to put the cuff on. Let him try his luck once he was in here and she had her magic. She would destroy him, for Killian’s sake. She waited. Again, there were two raps at the door. 

Finally, after she didn’t respond for a third time the door opened. He just stood there, staring at her, holding the cuff up in the air beside him. She glared at him. She hated him. She hated the way that whatever he was had warped and twisted the beautiful face that she’d loved so much, made it dark and cruel. No, not cruel. Cruel required emotions. She could handle cruel. She had handled cruel when he was the Dark One. This was just… empty. All of the love and hope and kindness that Killian had in his heart had been snuffed out by this thing that dared to wear his face. 

He didn’t move, just waiting. It broke her heart to look at him. Even now she could feel the raw ache starting to claw at her chest, ripping out bits of her and leaving them to drown in the misery that was left behind. She glared at him, arms tightening around herself as though she could physically keep herself together, protect herself from the memories that every look threw her way. 

“What do you want?” she spat. He gestured with the cuff, barely a movement. “I’m not putting it on.” He continued to stare. “Go away!” she demanded, feeling like a teenager now. She picked up a book and threw it at him. It hit him squarely in the chest. It had to have hurt. But he didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t. This imposter didn’t feel anything. It just existed, some kind of abomination with no soul and -

He looked away. It was the first time he had moved since opening the door. She followed his gaze down to the book which had fallen at his feet. She hadn’t even noticed what she’d thrown at him. It took her a second before she recognized it. It was the storybook. He tilted his head as if trying to make sense of it. 

The book hadn’t fallen completely open, the pages only half turned, wedged between his foot and one of the other piles of books by the door. It was inside though, and Emma watched him watch it. His expression didn’t change but he continued staring at it. There was no recognition but he didn’t look away. What was he doing? she wondered. 

Her heart started racing. The book was inside the room. Her magic worked inside the room. Maybe… she didn’t want to hope, she was so fucking scared of hoping, so tired of having it dashed away every time she let it creep in to her bones. But she needed to know, needed to see his reaction. See if there would be a reaction. She braced herself, braced herself for the pain that would come if there was nothing.

She waved her hand and the pages of the book flipped until it fell open to that same picture that had stepped on her broken heart not just once, but twice. She watched him closely as he took in the image of them dancing, holding each other close and smiling, happy. He remained stoic, unmoving and Emma could feel pain starting to flow up in her throat, like bile burning her, when suddenly, there was something. She almost missed it. A flicker, like an involuntary reaction. A small twitch in his eyebrow, a microscopic clench in his jaw. And just like that it was gone.

Emma lost all the air in her lungs. She couldn’t remember how to breathe. Did he know? Did he remember? She looked at him as he turned his gaze back to her. She watched every inch of his face, heart racing in her chest, stomach clenching. Please. Please. Are you in there?  

He motioned with the cuff again and Emma let out an exasperated breath. Of course he wasn’t. But there had been something . She hadn’t imagined it, hadn’t dreamed it this time. She saw it. She just didn’t know what it was. She stood, walking to the door and accepting the cuff, putting it on her wrist and showing him it was on her wrist with a bit more sass than was really necessary. But it felt good. 

Once it was on he turned and allowed her to walk past him out the door. She followed him down the same hallway she always did. As always, he didn’t look at her, just stared straight ahead, like she could have been a dog or some other animal just walking along beside him. Like she was nothing. 

They reached the fork where they had turned towards Gold’s office last time and she headed to the right. She was stopped with a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, then at his hand, then back at him, wishing looks could kill. After a moment, he dropped his hand and started down the opposite hallway. This was new. He’d never taken her this way before. She stayed vigilant of her surroundings, trying to take note of where they were, if there was any sort of escape route, or any indication that he was taking her somewhere dangerous. Maybe they’d decided to just kill her and take her heart themselves from her corpse. 

She watched the man in front of her carefully, taking note of his defenses. If she had to fight her way out she would. She saw his sword at his hip but knew there was no way she’d be able to get that from him. She remembered that when she first met Killian he used to wear a dagger on his ankle. She wondered if he still did - or well, if he’d been wearing one when this thing had stolen him. They had been living in fear for months, always armed, always ready for a fight. Maybe he had taken to his old ways, concealing weapons to protect himself - protect them. 

She didn’t have long to ponder that thought before her guide stopped, unlocking a door and holding it open. As always, there were no words, no gesture that she should enter. How galant , she thought sarcastically as she brushed past him into the room. It was a locker room. With showers. She glanced back at him in surprise but his face remained impassive. There was a towel and a bar of soap on a bench near them and she realised they were for her. She waited for an explanation, but of course, none was given. 

Screw it, she thought. It was just a shower. If he was going to kill her at least she could die warm and clean. She hadn’t had a chance to wash since before she’d arrived and she could smell how much she stank. She decided she didn’t care if this was a trap - if it was one, it was a really bad, really weird one. She let her vanity take over for a moment. She was tired of feeling and looking disgusting. She wanted to feel clean and normal. She wanted to feel human. Just for a second.

She heard the door shut behind her as she started stripping off her clothes. She looked up to see not-Killian standing inside of it, hook at his side and hand on his sword. Standing guard , she realised. He didn’t seem to care about where they were and why would he? He didn’t care about anything. But she did.

“Turn around,” she told him. She wasn’t going to undress in front of this thing. He may look like Killian but he wasn’t. He didn’t move but his eyes met hers. “I mean it. Turn around.” He stared at her for another second, and she could have sworn she saw the slightest twitch in his eyebrow, but then he turned around and it was gone. 

She stared at the back of him. He shouldn’t have listened to her. She knew he shouldn’t have. Had he been told to? How many times now had he done as she asked? First with finding Henry, then giving her more time, opening the door last night… and now this. How many times had those actions gone against what he’d been told to do? She didn’t know. She had no idea what he’d been told to do and so she couldn’t trust him. Couldn’t trust this feeling that pounded in her stomach every time he did something… wrong. She knew the feeling. It was her gut, her unwavering trust in Killian telling her to believe, believe that he was in there, that he was trying to get back to her. But she couldn’t trust it. It was too dangerous to trust anything, to believe in anything. 

She finished stripping off her clothes. She didn’t enjoy the thought of having to put them back on. She wondered if maybe he’d give her time to wash them, at least her underwear. She wondered if he would if she asked him. Angry with herself for the thought - don’t be an idiot. He doesn’t care about you. You mean nothing to him - she grabbed the soap and turned on the shower. She decided just to keep her underwear on and wash them that way.

Stepping under the spray felt like heaven. The water was hot and the pressure was good and she allowed herself a moment to just stand there, letting the water cascade over her tired, cramped muscles and warm her from the outside in. She tilted her head back, letting her hair get soaked and did her best to lather the bar of soap into it. It would still be a tangled mess but at least it would be a clean tangled mess. It flopped wetly against her back as she turned to let the water wash over her chest and stomach.

She felt him move before she heard it. She froze, not daring to turn around. The footsteps didn’t sound aggressive they sounded… tentative? She hadn’t heard him draw his sword, hadn’t heard any kind of weapon be unsheathed. Just footsteps. She waited, waited until she could feel him standing behind her. She should have felt afraid. She was vulnerable and exposed and he was armed. But she couldn’t summon any fear. Maybe it was because she had given up on caring about her own life, about her own safety. Or, maybe, it was because she could hear him breathing behind her, his breath shaky and uncertain. Or, maybe it was because of the strange, gut feeling that if she told him to leave… he would. But she didn't. He was so close and it killed her. Everything about him felt like Killian. She could smell him, feel the heat of him radiating against her back despite the distance and the hot water. 

She closed her eyes and just for a minute she let herself imagine that it was him. If he was going to kill her, if she was going to die, she wanted to remember him one last time before she did. She wanted to let herself believe that he was here with her, that he’d come back to her, that none of this had ever happened. 

She heard the rustle of his coat as he moved and then gently, almost reverently, his fingers combed through her hair. She had to cover her mouth with her hand to stop the sob that wanted to break out of her. He touched her like he always had, like Killian always had, brushing his fingers through her hair until he came to the ends. She risked a glance over her shoulder at him. She couldn’t see him well, just bits of his profile. He was closer than she’d realised, fingers toying in the ends of her hair, head bent forward so that she couldn’t make out his face. 

She waited, holding her breath, afraid to break whatever was happening, break whatever spell or trance he was under. There was a moment before she felt him let go of her hair. She felt his fingers on her back. Tentatively at first, just the tips of his fingers brushing along the line of her spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and then he pressed his palm the to small of her back. His forehead fell against her shoulder. 

Killian? she thought, and the word was like a knife ripping through her, ripping open the bag in which she had kept all of her hopes and fears safely stowed away and letting them reap havoc inside of her. Could he be in there? God, she’d fought it but she wanted him to be in there. She would do anything for that to be the case. She fought the tears that wanted to fall, that wanted to wrack her whole body with pain and loss and desperation - this small piece of her just begging for it to be real. Killian, come back to me , she thought, raising her face to the spray so that the water could wash the tears away.

His hand rose up, fingers barely touching the hair at her left shoulder, the pieces that had fallen across her chest. Gently and agonizingly slowly, he brushed her hair off over her right shoulder, revealing her back to him. And he froze. 

She whirled around, watching as he stepped back quickly, like she had burned him. His face was still blank but his eyes were fixed on her. His hand came up to his chest, fingers resting over his heart and she knew what he’d seen. The small tattoo on her back, over her heart. He broke away from her eyes and looked down at his hand, at his chest where she knew, and apparently he did too, that he had the same tattoo. 

He looked at her again and she could swear there was something. Another twitch that felt like she could have imagined it. But she didn’t imagine it. Maybe she hadn’t imagined any of them. But then it was gone, as always, and he was empty again. A shell, a husk, a corpse. He picked the towel up off the bench and handed it to her.

They went to Henry’s room after. On the way, Emma kept trying to rationalize what had happened, ignore it, convince herself it wasn’t real. But then she’d notice the dampness of his shirt or the droplets hanging off the tips of the hair that fell over his face and she knew it was real. She just didn’t know what it meant. But she did know how she could use it. 

She and Henry had the same routine as always. They were given their five minute order and spoke their code words and then he threw himself at her and she clung to him. This time though, she actually had something for him. She had a plan. She held him tight, turning her head to whisper in his ear. 

“Tell Ruby to be ready. We’re getting out tonight. I'll come find you. I know what to do now.” 

 

Chapter Text

“Oh, Emma, I’m so happy for you,” Snow sighs. “For both of you,” she says asking to see her left hand for the fourth time this morning. “How did he ask you? Was it romantic? Did he get down on one knee? I want to know everything.” 

Emma gives her mom a patient smile, glancing at where Killian and David are standing in the kitchen, sliding pancakes and bacon onto plates. Killian catches her eye and she can tell by his expression that he’s getting a similar line of questioning from her dad - though maybe a little less detail-oriented. She sees David smile and clap her fiance on the shoulder and it makes her heart flutter a little bit. Killian looks flustered and bashful but she knows how much her father’s approval means to him, especially after everything they’ve been through. 

“It was very romantic,” Emma answers. 

“That’s it?” Snow insists. “That’s all you’re going to tell me? Emma, I am your mother . This only happens once. I want details.”  

“Yeah, did my advice work?” David asks as he and Killian make their way over to join the women at the table, setting their breakfasts in front of them. Emma thanks her fiance - she’s still not used to that, but she likes it - with a kiss on the cheek. 

They exchange a secret little smile before Killian answers. “Oh, yeah, mate. Absolutely. Great advice.” David looks very proud of himself and so Emma doesn’t bother to tell him the truth. She understands, her parents’ version of romance is very different from her own.

“What’s with the ring?” David asks somewhat tactlessly. Snow immediately snaps ‘ David!’ He gives a slightly abashed look. “I just mean it’s different,” he explains. “Unique,” he corrects himself when Snow frowns at him. 

“Killian chose it,” she tells them, smiling affectionately at the man in question. “It was his mother’s.” 

Snow practically melts into the floor at that, swooning over how sentimental and romantic it is. “You know, your father proposed to me with his mother’s ring too,” she tells her, taking a moment to admire the stone on her own finger, a wistful little smile blooming on her face. David’s fingers absentmindedly twist his wedding band as he shares a smile with his wife.

“I know,” Emma smiles, remembering her parents’ love story fondly. “I guess we just have a couple of romantics on our hands,” she says. The boys roll their eyes good-naturedly but Emma sees David slyly give Killian a thumbs up when he thinks they aren’t looking. 

“So, have you started planning the wedding at all?” 

“Mom, we got engaged last night,” Emma groans.

“Aye, we were far too busy celebrating ,” Killian adds cheekily and David makes an exaggerated show of disgust and outrage at the idea of his daughter doing anything. Ever. With any man. 

“I’m just saying,” Snow continues. “Venues book up really early and you have a limited choice here in Storybrooke. Unless you were thinking of having it somewhere else! Oh a destination wedding can be so lovely - but difficult to coordinate and -”

“Sweetheart,” David interveens and Emma shoots him a thankful look. “Why don’t we just let them enjoy the moment for now. They can start planning later.”

“Oh, but -” Snow begins, looking terribly disheartened. 

“But I’m sure Emma and Killian wouldn’t object to us throwing them an engagement party,” he adds, in an attempt to placate her. He raises an eyebrow meaningfully at Emma. “Right?” 

“Right,” Emma agrees. 

Oh, boy . This is gonna get interesting. She knows her mom means well, really she does. Snow just has a habit of getting overly enthusiastic about anything involving Emma. And when that happens, she often loses track of why she’s doing it, getting too caught up in the details and the excitement and forgetting exactly who her daughter is and what she does and doesn’t like. 

But she understands. Her mom missed out on twenty-eight years with her. Twenty-eight years of birthdays and holidays and first dates and boyfriends and countless balls and whatever other royal events there were. She can give her this. Emma can handle an engagement party. And she trusts David to keep his wife in check when it comes to the wedding. Besides, Emma never got to have a mother, never got to have anyone dote on her and be excited about any aspect of her life. And it’s nice. It’s nice to be loved that much.

 “Besides,” David adds, breaking her out of her reverie. “I’m sure they’re not in any great rush. There’s no urgent reason for them to have to get married soon. Is there ?”

The last question is quite pointedly directed at Killian. David gives him a stern, overly-protectice-father frown. Emma can see the mischievous expression creeping onto Killian’s face and she interjects before he can say anything to really rile her dad up.

“Jesus, Dad,” she groans. “This isn’t a shotgun wedding,” she nearly glares at him for the implication. 

“I didn’t say it was!” he insists, playing innocent and Emma raises an eyebrow at him.

“We could make it one,” Killian suggests, snaking an arm around her waist and sending David an exageratedly salacious eyebrow lift. David looks like he’s going to punch Killian for that one but Emma can’t quite bring herself to be mad. Snow is failing to hide a giggle behind her hand and David looks at her, betrayed.

“You asked for it,” she tells him with a shrug and he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and muttering under his breath about ‘my daughter and my own wife’. 

Later, when they’re finishing their meal, David, who has now cooled down, asks if they’ve told Henry yet. 

“No,” Emma says. “He’s still at his friend’s for another two days. And if you guys don’t mind not saying anything until we get a chance to that would be great.” She looks directly at her mother. “ To anyone ,” she specifies and Snow looks almost offended at the idea that she can’t keep a secret. “We just don’t want him finding out from someone else before we get a chance to tell him.”

Snow looks ready to protest but then sighs. “Mum’s the word,” she promises, miming locking her lips with a key. She rises, beginning to gather up their dishes and Killian immediately gets up to help. Emma moves to join them but is stopped by David’s hand on her arm. She sits back down. He takes a moment before he speaks.

“I’m really happy for you, you know,” he says and Emma smiles. 

“I know, Dad. Thank you.” He looks like he wants to say more, his face swelling with emotion he is trying and failing to suppress. She gives him a minute to compose himself.

“I’m just… I’m so proud of you, Emma.” A feeling swells in her chest, warmth blooming from the centre and spreading out. 

“Dad…”

“No, really,” he continues. “I want you to know this.” He places his hand over her own and squeezes it gently, looking her in the eye. “When you first got here, you were so closed off, so scared of letting anyone in, of letting anyone mean anything to you. And part of that is my fault.” She tries to protest but he holds up a hand to stop her. “No, it is. You grew up without anyone taking care of you, without anyone loving you, and you should have. The world was cruel to you and you learned how to protect yourself. But, Emma, you’ve come so far. You’ve grown into someone so strong and so brave - so open - and I’m just… I’m really proud of you.”

“I don’t know if I’d go so far as brave,” she says, a little embarrassed.

“You are brave. Letting someone love you is brave. Letting yourself love someone is even braver.” His fingers begin to toy with his wedding band again, spinning it around as he focuses on it. “And I know I give Hook a rough time. But he loves you, and you love him. You know, he told me once he’d go to the end of the world or time for you and I don’t doubt for a second that he meant it. He’s a good man,” David says casting a glance at Killian who is helping Snow load the dishwasher.  “I’m happy he’s the one you chose to let in.”

He looks her in the eye and for a moment she forgets that he’s not much older than her. She forgets that they’ve only known each other for four years. Suddenly, she feels like a little girl, sitting there with her father. It’s not something she really ever got to experience before and… it’s a lot. But the good kind of a lot. David has been there for her since the moment he knew she was his daughter. Not once has he faltered in his role. He’s been supportive and kind and understanding and Emma wishes she’d had a chance to grow up with him - overprotectiveness and all. 

“I guess I take after my mother when it comes to my taste in men,” she tells him and David looks about ready to cry. He clears his throat, coughing to hide the way he’s choking up. 

She glances up at Killian who is watching them now, watching David play with his ring and try not to cry. An expression crosses his face that she doesn’t quite understand but then Snow says something and he snaps back into the smile he wore a moment ago. 

On the car ride home, Emma can tell that something is off. She keeps looking at Killian, trying to make conversation, but his answers are short, distracted, and his attention seems to be completely focused on his hook. After ten minutes of tense silence Emma pulls the bug over. 

“Okay, what's up with you?” she demands. 

“What?” he answers, still not fully noticing that she’s speaking, she doesn’t even think he realized she stopped the car. She waits and finally he looks up at her. “Sorry, Love,” he says, finally seeming to have tuned into the conversation. “I was distracted.”

“By?”

“It’s nothing.” 

“Uh-uh,” Emma shakes her head. “Something is clearly bothering you. You’ve been weird since you were in the kitchen with my mom. Did she say something? I know she can be a bit much but -”

“It wasn’t you mother, Swan,” he tells her. 

“Well then what?” she pushes. She doesn’t like not being able to read him and it unsettles her. Killian takes a long moment, looking down at his hook again before finally sighing, shoulders hunching forward a bit as he makes his confession. 

“It was just… I hadn’t realised until now that I won’t be able to wear a wedding ring.” His answer throws her for a moment. She doesn’t understand what he’s talking about. Of course he can wear a ring. She frowns at him, trying to figure out what he’s saying and he sighs again, holding up his hook and it dawns on her. 

She takes hold of his hook. “Killian, you’ll just wear it on your right hand. It doesn’t matter to me. You know it’s never mattered right?” He has to know. Even when they first met, back when she was pretending she didn’t like him, the hook never bothered her. It’s a part of him, a part of his story, a piece of who he’s become, like the scars on his body. 

“I know,” he tells her but she can see it’s still bothering him. She waits, giving him time to tell her what he’s feeling when he’s ready. “It's only that a ring on your right hand is just a ring,” he starts. “A ring on your left hand.... It shows the world a commitment. And I want to show the world my commitment to you, I want everyone to know that I’m yours and your mine and… and I can’t. I can’t show you.” 

Emma feels gutted by his words. It breaks her heart to think that this is eating away at him so much. She doesn’t care, at all. Killian shows her his commitment every single day. Nobody has ever fought for her the way that he did. Nobody else has been so steady and strong and constant in her life. Only him. She doesn’t need a ring to show her that he’s in this for the long haul. She brings his hook up to her heart and he meets her eyes and she tells him so. 

He gives her a smile but it’s a little half-hearted. “Thank you, Love. I suppose you’re right.” She can tell he’s still not quite convinced but she can also tell that he’s done talking about it for now so she starts the car and they continue down main street. As she drives, she keeps casting little glances at him and each time it breaks her heart a little bit. Killian should never feel less-than.

They pass a side street she recognizes and suddenly Emma has an idea. She pulls off and Killian looks up as the car jerks. He asks where they’re going but she only smiles. After a short ride, she pulls the bug over again and shuts off the engine. He gives her a questioning look. She turns in her seat. 

“You want a commitment the world can see?” she asks. “Come with me.” She hops out of the car and waits for him to follow. He still looks confused but eventually, he recognizes the building they’re standing in front of. A tattoo shop. He smiles at her and it’s the first real smile he’s given her since this started, raised eyebrow and all. 

“We’re not getting rings,” she tells him, then reconsiders. “Okay, yes, we’re getting rings because I do not want to deal with explaining that to my mom. But we’re not just getting rings. We’ve never been a traditional couple. Why start now.”

“Swan,” he says, amusement in his voice and she’s thrilled to hear it. “Are you telling me that we’re getting husband and wife tattoos?” 

She nods. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” 

He considers it for a moment and then gestures for her to take the lead. “After you.”

They settle on a compass. It was the first thing that brought them together - literally. They met because of it, they went on their first adventure because of it and, as he’s told her before, he’s known since the beanstalk that they would end up here. It’s fitting really. The compass was supposed to bring them home, and it did. It brought them to each other. They get them over their hearts, him on his chest and her on her back.

Killian gets his first and Emma can’t help smiling back as he grins through the whole thing, apparently oblivious to the pain. She likes the fact that this is only his second tattoo - that clearly the permanence of it means something to him. She goes next. She grimaces through the whole thing but he holds her hand and lets her squeeze it too tightly. When it’s done, they stand in front of the full length mirror in the shop. Killian is staring at the ink just by her shoulder blade. He wraps her in his arms, pressing her to his chest and leans down to kiss her forehead. 

“Thank you, Emma,” he says, eyes fixed on the artwork. She looks up at him, arms trapped between them, enjoying the feel of him wrapped around her. She kisses the spot where his tattoo is bandaged under his shirt.

“You’re my home,” she answers. “Now I’ve just got the proof… for the world to see,” she adds. 

He smiles, takes her face in his hands. “And you’re mine,” he promises before placing a kiss to her lips. 

 

***

The next morning, Emma wakes to sunlight streaming through the windows, filling the room with streaks of golden light and she watches the bits of fluff and dust dance around in them. She can feel Killian’s fingers stroking through her hair, fanning it out across the skin of her back. When her new tattoo is revealed to him he begins to trace the delicate lines, fingers gentle on still-tender flesh. She’s not sure, but she thinks he might be humming. It’s a song she doesn’t recognize. She turns her head so that she can look at him without disrupting the motion of his hand.

“Good morning, Love,” he beams when he sees her peeking up at him from under her hair, face still half pressed into the pillow. He leans down and presses his lips to her shoulder blade, over her heart. She smiles, a sleepy but content smile. She can’t help herself. Emma’s never been a morning person, but waking up like this, in a room bathed in sunlight, to the gentle caress of the man she’s going to marry… she doesn’t care how early it is. It’s worth it. 

She hums. “‘Morning. How long have you been up?” Her voice is still groggy from sleep.

“Not long,” he says and Emma knows he’s lying. Killian is always up with the grey of the dawn but ever since her panic attack nearly five months ago he’s stayed true to his promise and stayed in bed until she wakes up. And she really, really likes waking up next to him. She looks at him now, his hair still a little wild from sleep, the skin of his shoulders and chest almost golden in the glow of the sun. He looks like some kind of greek god, like he was made to be sculpted, painted, his beauty a thing to be preserved and admired. 

He’s smiling gently at her, his fingers still tracing the new brush strokes on her body, tangling in the ends of her hair, and she snuggles a little closer so that she can press herself against the warmth of his skin. “What?” she asks as he continues to look at her admiringly, happily. 

“Nothing,” he says, voice soft and almost distant. “It’s only that you look exceptionally beautiful bathed in the morning light.” 

Emma wants to roll her eyes - her natural reaction to compliments - but she doesn’t. She likes it. She likes compliments when they come from him. Even his most flowery, poetic speeches sound sincere when he speaks them, and it fills her heart to know how much he loves her. So, instead, she snuggles even closer to him, curling herself around him and laying her head on his chest. Killian welcomes her eagerly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly to him. 

“You should see yourself, ” she tells him and a slightly smug smirk pulls at his lips.

“Oh?” he prods, but she doesn’t take the bait. She’s not going to tease him. She wants him to know that she’s as impossibly in love with and in awe of him as he is with her. It surprises her briefly, it still does sometimes, how easily she accepts that he loves her. The doubts that had plagued her her entire life seem to have dissapeared when Killian decided to love her - when she decided to let him love her. 

“Mhm,” she hums, bringing a hand up to caress the lines of his face, tracing his temple, his cheek, his jaw. “You know, I think I could get used to waking up next to you every morning.”

Killian chuckles, catching her hand and taking a moment to admire the ring that rests on her finger. A reverent smile blooms on his face and he turns his head to look her in the eye. “That’s the idea, Love.” He brings her hand to his lips and then lowers it to rest on the compass over his heart. 

Emma smiles at the reminder of the commitment they made yesterday. She knows most will see it just as a new tattoo, some even will tell her it’s bad luck, but she doesn’t care. Killian promised to love her forever and yesterday he proved it by branding the promise permanently on his skin. It still doesn’t feel real. She feels like she’s in a dream, the most wonderful, fantastic dream of her life and she never wants to wake up. She can’t stop smiling. She looks at the ring on her finger, their hands still intertwined.

“What is it?” he asks and she shrugs a little.

“I just never thought this would happen for me, you know?” she tells him. “I just can’t believe this is real.” 

He smiles affectionately at her, understanding in his expression. “It’s real, Swan,” he promises, placing a kiss to her palm. “Very real,” he assures her before leaning down to kiss her gently, his hand coming up to cradle her face as his lips move slowly and intentionally over her own. She lifts her face to meet his, happy for the feel of his mouth on hers, the reminder that he’s here and that he’s real and that she gets to have this - forever.

It’s not long before their kiss turns passionate, Emma pressing herself closer to him, desperate for the feel of him against her skin. Her arm snakes up under his shoulder as she pulls him closer. She wants to wrap herself around him and feel him wrapped around her, feel the love and the trust and the realness of it all engulf her. Killian tightens his hold until there’s no space left between them at all and she curls her foot around his calf. He lets out a small groan before rolling her over onto her back, his mouth not leaving her own. She feels a slight burn as her sensitive skin hits the mattress but she doesn’t mind - it’s a pleasant reminder, a brand. 

They kiss for a long while, neither in any hurry as the warmth and the desire builds slowly between them. She lets her hands wander the expanse of his back, feeling the raised scars that criss cross it. It’s a map she knows by heart now, one she could trace with her eyes closed, a roadmap of his life written on his skin. His hand is everywhere, tracing her face, her neck, her shoulders, her chest, every touch featherlight, just soft enough to make her want more and she lets him know with a slow small grind of her hips against his. 

She feels his smile before his lips leave hers to trail down her neck. He’s in no hurry, the kisses he traces on her skin are slow and deep and deliberate, each press of his lips and brush of his tongue stoking the flames of the fire that is smoldering inside of her, teasing it into what she knows - what he knows - can quickly become a raging inferno.

It’s ages before he reaches her chest but even still he takes his time. He places a deep kiss to the bottom of her throat moving slowly down across her sternum. She can feel his tongue moving under her breast, licking at it, and a sound between a sigh and a whine leaves her as he slowly trails it up her skin to her nipple. He flattens his tongue and drags it over the bud once, twice, slowly and purposefully before taking it into his mouth and lavishing it with attention. 

Emma’s hand comes up to fist in his hair of it’s own free will as she desperately tries to hold him to her, to keep him there. His name leaves her lips in a breath and she feels him smile against her skin before he turns to pay her other breast the same attention. He feels amazing, what he does to her, the way he knows how to wind her up while keeping her from going insane. It’s lazy and slow and yet his passion is always there, his love and need for her coming out in the way his lips start to trail slowly down her stomach, his hand and wrist sliding along her sides as they come to rest on her hips, opening her up to him. 

His first kiss against her centre is long and deep, Killian taking his time to kiss her properly, thoroughly, his mouth working over her as expertly as he does everything. He’s meticulous in all aspects of his life and Emma couldn’t be happier for it than right now. She feels his tongue slide slowly through her folds, the tip flicking gently against her clit when he reaches to the top of her. 

She sighs a little desperately and he flattens his tongue against it, soothing the ache but still not enough. Bastard knows it too , she thinks. But he seems intent on taking his time and Emma is forced to wait, the heat inside of her growing nearly unbearable as he works her slowly towards her peek. Her hands grip the sheets on either side of her, fisting them between her fingers as Killian slowly swirls his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves in the way he knows she likes.

A part of her wants to beg him to go faster, to end the blissful agony that is this slow climb. But there’s something so erotic and so intimate about his unhurried pace. She can feel every soft flick of his tongue as he drags it up her slit, can feel the shape of his lips around her clit as he sucks it into his mouth and she cries out. And she can hear every moan and low growl that emanates from him as he pleasures her, can fill them reverberating through her skin, only making her want more. 

She loves how much he loves this. His mouth on her is like heaven but knowing that he enjoys it nearly as much, hearing and feeling the greedy way that he licks into her, is the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced. She knows that he’s likely already hard and desperate for her, the way her hips rock slowly against his face as arousing for him as his ministrations are for her. 

She lets out a breathy moan, almost a gasp as he pushes two fingers into her of her, dragging them slowly in and out as his tongue continues to lavish attention against her clit. She can feel it building now, her climax close as he keeps his movements steady, fingers thrusting, tongue circling. He lets out small, appreciative moans every time her hips buck up. The climb is slow but no less intense as he continues to work her gently, bringing her to the edge but not quite letting her fall over it. 

He keeps her there for ages, just on the cusp, the pleasure building and building until she feels that it can’t possibly grow anymore. The feeling is overwhelming, completely encompassing, taking over all of her senses until there’s nothing else but him and her and the high that’s just out of reach. Tears brim in her eyes, gasps and cries spilling from her lips at the sheer bliss of it until finally she begs him to let her fall.

He does, and she feels it in every inch of her body, a bliss and a warmth filling her from her centre outwards as her back bends and her mouth hangs open in a silent cry. It goes on forever, wave after wave of pleasure lapping through her, making her shiver with every pass. She feels him slide up her body, slide into her while she’s still riding the high of her climax. He moves inside her and with every thrust she feels more sparks igniting in her belly, shooting through her limbs, prolonging her peak rather than building a new one. She wraps her arms around him, holding him close and whispering his name each time he pushes into her. 

He doesn’t last long. Between the pleasure he took in using his mouth on her and the way her walls are contracting around him now, it’s not long until he’s murmuring words in her ear, words of praise, of want, barely coherent, lost in his own desire. She urges him on through her hazy fog, bringing her lips and her teeth to his ear and scraping her nails down his back. 

He comes with a desperate, agonized cry, burying his face in her neck, breathing heavily. She can feel him trembling slightly in her arms and runs her fingers though the hair at the nape of his neck. They lay there for a moment, simply basking in the heavy, sated feeling that always comes after their lovemaking. When the final shocks have finally left her body, Emma speaks. 

“If this is what married life is gonna be like, sign me up.” 

She can feel him laughing against her throat before he rolls over and off of her, pulling her back into his arms so she can curl up against his side. After a moment, Killian speaks.

“What’s troubling you, Love?” he asks. He knows her so damn well it’s frustrating sometimes. 

“It’s just - I guess I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

He pulls back so that he can look at her better, turns on his side so that they’re facing one another. “What do you mean?”

She hates that this nagging feeling won’t go away, no matter how many speeches she gives Henry. “I guess I’m still waiting for you to be taken away again. For something to happen.”

He smiles at her understandingly. “I know.” They’ve had this conversation before. “But that’s not our lives anymore,” he assures her. “I’m here to stay.” 

She gives him a bit of a watery smile. “I know you are. But what if you can’t help it?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, certainty in his voice. “I’ve found you before and I will again. Or you’ll find me.” She nods but can’t keep the worry from her face. “Give me your hand,” he says sitting up. She follows suit and holds out her hand. He takes it, places it on his chest, right over the new ink. “I know we’re not married yet, Swan, but this is a vow.” His face is serious, love pouring from every word. She knows. It means more to her than any piece of paper ever could. “And this is another.” He looks her in the eye.  “I promise that no matter where life takes us, I’ll always find my way back to you.” He releases her hand but she continues to trace the intricate lines under it. “I have a compass to guide me.”

 

***

 

Emma was ready. The door to her cell was closed and the last of the daylight had finally faded from her window. The room was dark, bathed only in the hints of moonlight that reached this far down into the basement. She could do this. It was time. They were getting out. She made sure she had everything, felt for the spell pages in her back pocket and her phone. Okay. It was time. 

She took a minute to fluff her hair, she didn’t even really know why she did it. It was an old habit she assumed, from years of setting honey traps. She let it fall around her shoulders before hesitating for a moment. She shrugged off her jacket. It couldn’t hurt

She ignored the anxiety in her chest, the one that wouldn’t stop flaring up, like it was trying to tell her something. She knew what it was trying to tell her. What if you’re wrong? She couldn’t take that risk. This was her only chance, Henry’s only chance. There was no other way out of here. She had to do it. It’s not him . She repeated over and over again. It’s not him.  

She rose from her cot, took a breath, and then stepped forward, halting when she reached the door. She let her forehead fall gently against the stone next to it, knowing that he was right on the other side of the wall. Close enough to touch but so far away. As if that wasn’t a damned metaphor for the last week of her life . Squashing down the last little bit of hope and belief that tried to change her mind, Emma turned and sat with her back to the wall.

“You know,” she started. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been cursed. Far from it actually.” She gave a little laugh. “I’ve lost track of how many times, to be honest. Some weren’t that bad, missing weeks, magic-stealing lips, even one that made everyone turn on each other. Not like this though .” Emma felt a heaviness in her chest, remembering when they thought the curse of shattered sight was the worst thing that could happen to them. If only they’d known. At least she’d gotten to say goodbye to him that time. She shook her head. She needed to concentrate. 

“This one time… This one time Henry and I were cursed. We were sent far away with no memory of anyone that mattered to us, no memory of anyone we loved. And everyone else… well they were sent to a different far away place. You -” she stopped herself, corrected herself. “ Killian was sent far away.” She could almost hear him listening to her. Something about the silence, the weight of it maybe, changed when he was focused on what she was saying, when he was focused on her. She waited, holding her breath as her heart raced. Come on…  

The door creaked open slowly and Emma didn't dare move. She sat there with her knees drawn up, hoping that he wouldn’t change his mind. After a moment, a long, strained moment that felt like ages, he slid down onto the floor with her, resting his back against the doorframe just as he’d done last night. Their arms were inches away from each other. If she’d shifted slightly she could have pressed her left shoulder to his right. Her heart was hammering in her chest as he sat and waited for her to continue. 

She tilted her head back, letting it rest against the stone behind her. “He found me though. Somehow, he defied all the odds to get to me. But that’s just who he was. He never gave up on anyone.” She laughed a little to make up for the tears that were threatening to stream down her face. “He found a way to break the curse. After that… Well it doesn’t really matter what happened after that. What matters is I got my heart broken. All over again. Just one more guy who ruined a little piece of me and didn’t seem to suffer at all for it.” 

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to not let her hands shake as she slowly slipped her palm across the cold, hard floor. Hesitantly, she let her little finger brush his own, barely touching. She waited for his reaction. He didn’t pull back, his hand didn't move at all. But she saw his head tilt down a little, and saw his eyes zero in on where they were touching. She continued. 

“And so here was this damn pirate. This man who had followed me, crossed realms to get to me - and I knew why. I wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but I knew.” She shifted slowly again, her finger laying over his own now. “He wouldn’t tell me what happened while I was away, but I could tell he’d suffered - probably as much as I was suffering then. Probably more.” Braver now, she let her fingers trace the back of his hand. He still didn’t move but she saw that little twitch in his jaw again and it encouraged her. 

“I just… saw myself in his heartbreak. Saw that he needed someone as much as I did.” She caught her breath, heart racing as his hand slowly turned over under her own. “He needed me ,” she corrected. “And I needed him.” Her fingers were drawing soft patterns across his palm, his gaze fixed on her every movement. “So, I let him kiss me.” Her pulse pounded against her ribcage as his hand moved, fingers hesitantly tracing against her own palm, brushing her wrist. 

Moment of truth , she thought. “I knew it wasn’t just a kiss back then, it was always more than that.” She carefully took hold of his wrist, he did the same. She watched him, watched as he followed, only the slightest hesitation in his movements as she rose and gently pulled him up along with her, led him into the room. He followed her steps blindly, like he was on autopilot, eyes not leaving where they were touching. They stood facing each other now, hands still held between them. She brought her free hand to his chest, placing her palm over his heart. His breathing changed ever so slightly as he freed his fingers and started to trace them up along her forearm to her elbow. “I let him touch me,” she told him as his hand continued on to her shoulder, his fingers following the line of her collar bone, touch feather light.

It was just like it was in the showers. The air heavy between them and his breath matching it. For a second she could swear she felt his heartbeat pick up under her palm but she ignored it. It didn’t matter. It was just muscle memory. His body still craved her the way hers craved him. It was like an addiction, like muscle memory. There was nothing emotional about it. 

“And just for a little while,” she breathed, finally giving up and letting a few tears roll down her cheeks as she remembered the man that she’d lost, the one who had found his way back to her so many times. “We got to forget everything else. Forget everything we’d lost, everything that hurt.” His forehead fell against hers and he took a deep, shaky inhale through his nose, like he was trying to breathe her in. 

Her own voice was unsteady now, choked with emotion and grief. “And in that moment, we were the only thing that existed.” Her hand cautiously slid down along his side as his own slid up to cup her face. His eyes were closed now and she did her best to look at him from so closely, to take him in, pretend that it was Killian and that it was real. She needed to remember him one last time.

She lifted the cuff out from his pocket and in a flash she’d slipped it on her wrist. Heart pounding and adrenaline racing through her veins, Emma turned them and jumped back out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her before he’d even opened his eyes. When he did, she was bolting the lock into place. He looked at her, no anger, no betrayal, no panic… nothing. He only blinked at her, his eyes meeting her own through the bars on the window. “And then I ran,” she said, finishing her story. 

What are you doing? A voice screamed inside of her. Get out of here. Get Henry and run. But another voice screamed just as loudly. What are you doing? It’s Kilian. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to silence both voices. It wasn’t Killian. She couldn’t risk believing that he was in there. It was too dangerous. She needed to run and get what was left of her family safe. She knew that was what she had to do. It was the logical thing to do. But then why does it hurt so damn much

She opened her eyes again, meeting his. He hadn’t moved, he just continued to look on. “I’m sorry,” she said, not believing that she’d found herself here again, that they’d ended up right back at the beginning. “I just can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.” 

She ran off down the hall, following the path she knew off by heart now. She wasn’t far from Henry’s cell. Her heart raced, adrenaline fueling her as she weaved her way through the corridors. She came across one guard, a townsperson she didn’t recognize, but managed to duck into a doorway. He walked right past her. When he was far enough away she took off again, finally reaching the corner next to her son’s room. Archie was there, standing guard, stoic and empty like all the others. Needing a distraction, she tossed her phone across the hall and waited. She could hear his footsteps as he followed the sound. She waited until he was just rounding the corner and then hit him with as much force as she could on the side of the head. He went down in one blow and Emma stood over him, shaking her sore hand. “Sorry,” she said, wincing. Even in this form it felt wrong to punch Jiminy Cricket. 

She approached the door and knocked softly twice. “Kid, you ready?” she asked, lifting the deadbolt. 

“Who's there?” he demanded and she smiled despite herself. “The Dread Pirate Roberts. I’m here to rescue the princess.” 

She opened the door and Henry stood there smirking at her. “I’m not a princess. I’m James Bond,” he sassed and she laughed a little. 

“Come on, we have to hurry,” she said and suddenly his face was serious. He picked up his slingshot, ‘ just in case,’ and followed her out of the room. 

“We need to get to the emergency room,” he said as they hurried down the halls, careful to try keep their feet quiet and their voices low. “Ruby has a way in and out from there.” Emma nodded, familiar enough with the ER from her frequent visits since arriving in Storybrooke. 

They reached it without any issues and that put Emma on edge. Surely someone must have noticed their guards by now, or heard something or even just have happened to be patrolling one of the hallways they turned down. It was too easy. Emma didn’t trust easy. Nothing was ever easy, especially not in Storybrooke. They heard a shuffling in the back corner of one of the waiting rooms and Emma swirled around, pushing Henry behind her. She watched as one of the large tiles rattled and then slowly slid across the floor. From the hole beneath it, a wolf’s head emerged. 

She let out a sigh of relief. “Ruby!” she nearly cried, so happy to see her friend here and safe. They approached the hole in the floor and as Ruby climbed out Emma saw that it wasn’t just a hole, it was a tunnel. She turned to the wolf, practically laughing she was so impressed. Maybe it was just the adrenaline. “You fucking Shawshanked your way in here?”

She knew if Ruby could have smirked right now she would’ve. But suddenly, she let out a low growl, turning to the door behind them. It took Emma a second longer to hear it with human ears but when she did, her blood ran cold. Footsteps. Lots of them and all running towards them. Shit. They found them. She knew it couldn’t be that easy.

Suddenly, the room was invaded by imposters. Faces they knew, faces that belonged to people they cared about but that looked at them and felt nothing. There were ten of them. They didn’t stand a chance. She didn’t have time to think. They wouldn’t have time to get the cuff off her and magic them out of here before the creatures were on them. It’s me they want . She could get the others away. She could be bait. 

She darted across the room and just as she’d expected - hoped - the things followed her. Guess they got the order, she thought. Don’t let the Savior out. “Ruby!” she shouted. “Get him out of here!” 

Ruby reacted immediately, grabbing a protesting Henry by the arm and dragging him down the tunnel. He would hate her for that. She knew he would. But she had to know he was safe. It didn’t matter if she didn’t get out, so long as he did.

Emma scanned the small space around her, desperately seeking anything she could use as a weapon. She spotted an IV drip and figured that was the best she was going to find. She’d only just managed to rip it out of it’s base when the first one was on her. Emma knew her, she was one of Henry’s coaches. She whacked her over the head with the metal bar. The woman fell hard, blood seeping from the wound on her temple. Jefferson approached her next and she jabbed him in the stomach, he doubled over and the end came out bloody. 

They were closing in on her now and Emma swung the bar in front of her, desperately trying to keep them back. They dodged skillfully but she managed to get one more - Aurora - across the shoulder. She fell, but was back up quickly. Emma screamed, a raw, angry sound from inside of her as she lunged at them. This was it. She knew she couldn’t beat them. But she would take as many of them as she could down with her. 

She swung again but this time someone caught it. She looked up to see - David . She was startled for a moment. Love made her hesitate for a second and that was all it took for her to drop her guard. David’s elbow collided with the side of her head and she felt the world go silent for a second, her head was swimming as her vision blurred briefly. But she didn’t fall. With as much strength as she could manage she swung her fist at his face, making contact with his nose and sending him reeling back. He collapsed on the floor and didn’t get up. That was the last blow she got in.

Everything was a blur after that. Someone caught her arm as when she tried to fight him off another landed a blow to her stomach. She felt her breath leave her as she wheezed. There was another blow to her back that sent her to the ground, falling onto one knee before a foot kicked her down onto both. Everything hurt. She couldn’t move, her head was still ringing and she was out numbered. This was it. It was over. 

A pair of hands grabbed her by the front of her shirt and heaved her onto her feet. She felt her back hit the wall as the hands closed over her throat. She struggled, hitting and clawing at the hands but it was no use. She looked at the face in front of her. She didn’t know it. Good , she thought. If she was going to die now she didn’t want it to be done using the hands of someone she’d liked. And she was pretty sure she would die now. Henry was gone. They had lost their leverage. She was better off dead to them now. They could still try and get her heart that way. She focused on the stranger’s face, on the blank expression staring back at her.

She was vaguely aware of sounds going on around her, small flickers of movement she couldn’t make out. The blood was rushing in her ears now, pressure building in her head. Everything was muffled. The world was slowly fading away. She was growing numb. 

Then, just as her vision was starting to go black around the edges, the hands were ripped away from her throat. She collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath and coughing as she desperately tried to fill her lungs. It was a while before she could, but when she finally managed to inhale more than once and the blurriness cleared from her eyes, she looked up. And that was when she saw him.

Killian stood with his back to her, his body between her and those that had attacked her. Emma couldn’t quite make sense of it at first. What was he doing here and why had they stopped? That was when she noticed the bodies strewn about, lying limp on the floor in front of him. She looked at him again and saw the cuts and scrapes on his knuckles. There was blood dripping from his hook. He’d… He’d saved her? 

Emma felt panic and hope swelling up inside of her, blending into one overwhelming emotion that had her breathing heavily, hands shaking. What the hell was happening ? If he’d saved her then that must have meant that he - she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Did he care? Did he care about her? He’d protected her. Risked his life for her. You didn’t do that unless… Had he felt something? Oh, god please let him have felt something. If he felt something then that could mean… 

“Killian?” Her voice was still raspy and her fear of hope, of being disappointed again, made her sound weak and desperate. He raised his hook and looked at the blood that stained the end. He looked down at the bodies at his feet and then whirled around to look at her. There was fear in his eyes. 

Her heart stopped for a moment. Fear. He was scared. Right now he looked scared and confused and Emma didn’t know what it meant but she knew it was an emotion. He felt something. He was feeling something. She looked between him and the people at his feet, one or two of whom were starting to stir and she stood on shaky legs. She rushed towards him, taking his face in her hands, dragging his gaze away from what he’d done and trying to make him focus on her. His eyes were blown wide and his brow pulled up in a scared frown. 

“Hey, look at me,” she told him. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” She was lying. She didn’t know if anything would be okay. All she knew was that right now, somehow, something had come to life inside of him. It might have been small but it was there and it was real and it was human . And if there was even the smallest, tiniest chance that it meant Killian was in there… then she had to find him. 

“Just breathe,” she said. When he looked away again she slid her hand down to his chest and he bowed his head, watching it. “Breathe.” He hesitated and then took a slow, shaky breath in. He looked up at her again, the panic in his eyes twisting with more confusion, like he didn’t understand what was happening to him, like it was physically hurting him to feel. 

“I can get us out of here,” she rushed. He continued to look at her with fear and pain. He didn’t trust her. “Look, I - I’m sorry for what I did… I didn’t know… it doesn’t matter. I can get us out and get us safe but I need you to take this off.” She raised her arm between them so he could see the cuff and he looked at it, his frown pulling down further, the pain twisting his face even more. He looked at her desperately and she wanted to help him but she didn’t know how. All she could do was get them somewhere safe. She could hear more people coming, they were getting close. She didn’t know if this would last. Didn’t know if this was a blip or the start of something. She needed it to last, needed it to mean something. “Please,” she pleaded. “Just trust me.” 

A long moment passed between them and Emma started to lose hope. There were tears stinging her eyes and she could feel the heavy weight settling slowly on her heart, snuffing out the light. “Please,” she repeated. The footsteps were close now. He looked at her for a moment longer, and then pulled off the cuff. 

Emma didn’t think. She didn’t think about what she was doing or the risk she was taking. All she thought about was Killian. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and hung on tight as a cloud of white smoke enveloped them. 

Chapter 8

Notes:

Ready to finally find out what happened to everyone?

Little late this week but it’s extra long to make up for it! I’m gonna try update this one on Wednesdays from now on. My new job means I can’t turn out new chapters of 2 stories every Sunday anymore.

Chapter Text

“Where’s Henry?” Snow asks as she finishes cleaning, drying, and putting away the dishes in the sink. Emma wants to groan. She told her mom that she and Killian can clean their own dishes - they have a dishwasher for god's sake. But Snow had ignored her daughter and filled the sink with warm water, insisting it was nothing. She loves her mom, she reminds herself, even when her mom is a busybody who makes her feel like her house is a disaster. It was only two coffee mugs and a plate.

Her mom is draining the sink and eyeing the counters when Emma answers, hoping she can prevent her from searching for a washcloth. “He’ll be here soon. He went to pick up some stuff at Regina’s - a videogame he wants to teach Killian.”

“Aye, he said it was called a Woo or something and it’s easy to play one handed.”

“It’s called a Wii,” Emma tells him, giving him an affectionate but amused smile.

“Is that not what I said?” 

“I love Wii!” David pipes up. “Maybe we can get a quick game in when we finish planning!” 

They’re all here to finally start planning the wedding. Well, ‘finally’ is Snow’s word. A month seems pretty premature in Emma’s mind. How much could there be to do? If she had it her way they would find an officiant, have her parents and Henry there, probably Belle as Killian’s best man, and get married on the Jolly Roger. Quick and dirty. She feels herself cringe a little as she thinks it. Maybe the fact that she just referred to her own wedding as ‘quick and dirty’ is exactly the reason she should be letting her mom help her plan. 

Just then, Henry bursts through the door in a panic. He’s sweating and Emma’s heart drops and starts racing at the fear in his eyes. “Mom!” he shouts, frantically scanning the room for her. When he spots her, he runs to her side. She inspects him carefully. No bruises, no cuts, just panic. 

“What happened?” she asks, taking hold of his shoulders. He’s gasping so hard for breath he can barely speak. Killian, David and Snow have all stepped forward now, the four of them surrounding the scared kid. David’s eyes are focused on Henry, Snow and Killian are on guard, like they’re ready to take on whatever threat might follow him into the room. 

“The town line-” he starts but has to stop to breathe. “There’s something-”

“What about the town line?” Emma asks, dread filling her. Nothing good ever comes from the town line. It’s another minute before Henry can speak properly.

“I went to my mom’s and I don’t know why but I decided to check her room. And all of her clothes were still there, everything was, even her bags and her shoes. Her passport was there. She didn’t bring anything with her.” Alarm bells are going off in Emma’s head. “So I -” He hesitates. “I took her car.”

“Henry!” Emma scolds immediately, instinctively. He continues, ignoring her.

“I drove to the town line… I was going to go after her.”

“We’ve talked about this, kid. This is not the way to do things,” she starts, that same awful twisting in her stomach as the last time he did this coming back. 

“Mom -” 

“I know you’re worried about Regina but stealing cars is not okay and -”

“Mom!” he shouts suddenly and the volume of it forces her to shut her mouth. Henry never yells. Not at her anyway. She looks at him now and realises there’s something more.

“That’s not the bad part.” Her heart drops into her stomach. She feels Killian step closer to her place a hand on her shoulder. 

“What is it, lad? What happened?”

“I drove to the town line and there was something happening. Some kind of forcefield is falling over the town, it was floating down from the sky - like it was a bubble. Mom, I think something’s trying to trap us here.” 

Emma’s up in a second. This is bad, really bad. Fuck. Anxiety twists in her gut, pinpricks making her fingers feel numb. She should have listened to Henry, she should have listened to her son when he told her something was wrong. This is her fault. 

“Dad, Killian,” the two look at her instantly, awaiting orders. “Get to the police station, see if you can find out anything. Go over all the calls you can, see what people are reporting. We’ll meet you there.” They nod, no questions asked and head out the door. 

“Be careful,” they call on their way out.

“Where are we going?” Snow asks. She looks at her mom and then at Henry. This is her fault. She fucked this up. Something was wrong, somehow, deep down, she knew there had to be something wrong - and she’d ignored it, ignored Henry, ignored all the weird calls they got at the station. She’d been too wrapped up in her own little happy bubble to notice, to see the pattern. She’d fucked this up. And now she was going to fix it.

“We’re going to the town line. Henry, let’s go.”

The three of them pile into her bug. Emma doesn’t even bother to put the cherry on her car, she just breaks every speeding law as she races to get them to the town line. She has to get Henry safe. That’s her only thought. She has to get her son safe and then fix what she did. 

They’re a few miles away from the edge of Storybrooke when she sees it. It’s like Henry described, some sort of forcefield slowly creeping over, creeping down to the earth, as though the town is being turned into a snow globe. What’s more terrifying is that she can feel it, feel the power and the strength of the magic emanating from it. Her own magic hums in reaction to it, in recognition. She hasn’t felt this kind of magic since she was the Dark One. A chill runs down her spine. 

She tries to get a closer look while still watching the road. After a moment she sees it, a beam, coming from somewhere in the centre of town and shooting up into the sky. She casts a glance at her mom and she knows she saw it too. A grave look crosses Snow’s face. 

“It’s coming from the clocktower,” is all she says and Emma nods. They know what that means. If it’s in the centre of the town - whatever it is - if it was hiding, it isn’t hiding anymore. And if it’s not hiding, everyone is in danger. Shit, shit, shit. She can’t deal with that right now. Right now she has to protect her kid. She presses harder on the gas. The field is falling faster now, it’s nearly at ground level, maybe a story or two left. They have to beat it. 

Emma screeches the car to a halt next to the sign. ‘ Welcome to Storybrooke’ . It feels like it’s mocking her. Welcome to Storybrooke, where everyone you love will be in constant danger. Welcome to Storybrooke, where no one gets to be safe or happy for more than a second. Welcome to Storybrooke, where there’s always a threat, always someone trying to make sure that you don’t get your happily ever after. 

She whips open the door, getting to Henry’s before his is even fully open and practically dragging him out. She takes his hand and they head to the border. He follows her but there’s concern on his face. 

“Mom,” he says when they reach the line and she keeps dragging him. “Mom, what are you doing?”

She stops. She doesn’t answer him. She looks at Snow. “Mom, take Henry over the line. Keep him safe.” To her credit, Snow only hesitates for a second and then nods, steps forward. “Whatever is going on I have to -”

“What? No!” Henry shouts, wrenching his hand free of hers and stepping back. 

“We don’t have time to argue,” she tells him. “I need to get you safe. I can’t deal with whatever is happening if I don’t know you’re safe.” 

“I’m not leaving,” he insists. He crosses his arms, his shoulders straightening like he’s willing to put up a fight if she tries to drag him over. She’s considering it. “I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself - I can help! I’m the one who figured out something was wrong. I knew something was wrong!” His voice breaks a little on the last word and it’s a reminder to Emma that despite the fact that he may almost look like an adult now, he isn’t one. He’s still a boy and she needs to protect him from whatever new danger is here. 

It’s also a reminder that she betrayed him. He’s right, he told her something was wrong and she didn’t listen. She minimised his fears, rationalized his worries And why? Because she was too happy playing house. She doesn’t deserve to be his mother. He deserves better. But, while she’s all he has, she’s going to keep him safe. 

“This isn’t a discussion,” she tells him. She looks behind her, the magic has nearly encompassed the town. It’s maybe eight or ten feet away from the road.

“You didn’t trust me,” he says, and it hurts. “Trust me now. Let me help.” She pauses, only for a second. She looks at her son, looks at how big he’s gotten, how sure of himself he is now, how dead-set he is on doing what’s right, on protecting everyone. She wishes she were less selfish. If she were, she would let him help. But she’s not. She needs him to be safe. She can’t function if he’s not safe. She’s about to argue again when Snow’s voice draws her attention.

“Emma,” she says but it’s a warning. 

She turns to her mom and sees that Snow is looking back the way they came. Her shoulders are tense, fists clenched and Emma follows her gaze. There are people walking towards them. Five of them. Whale, Grumpy, August, Geppetto, and Philip. For a moment, she’s about to tell them to hurry and get out of here before the exit is cut off but then she sees it, sees why her mother looks tense, ready to fight. 

“Guys?” she asks, hesitant. There’s something wrong with them, something off - an emptiness. She looks at them and sees no recognition in their faces. They’re blank. Their stride changes, becomes determined, aggressive, she sees August reach for a weapon, pulling a gun from the back of his pants and aiming it at them. Emma blasts him with magic before he can pull the trigger. The rest are approaching faster now. Emma, Snow and Henry step closer to one another, guarding each other as the men approach. She sees two more of them reach for weapons.

“Get behind me!” Emma orders. Her mother and son just have time to do as she says before she lets out a wave of magic the likes of which she hasn’t managed since Camelot. It pulses out of her, through her chest and hands and knocks down all four of the men still standing. She nearly falls over from the force of it. Henry catches her, sounding worried. She feels drained, exhausted, but it only lasts a moment. She hadn’t even thought about it. She’d felt it coming on, felt the urge to protect and the love and the fear overwhelm her until she knew she couldn’t contain it anymore, could only warn her family to get out of the way before it burst out of her. 

The men on the ground don’t move. Emma would be scared that she’d killed them but she knows that light magic can’t do that. And, despite all she’s been through in her life, her magic is still light. She waits a moment to see if they stir. When they don’t she stands back up straight, turning to look at the town line behind her.

It’s too late. The force field or magic barrier or spell or whatever it is has reached the ground, efficiently encompassing Storybrooke in some kind of translucent dome. She can see bits of magic, like electrical currents shooting through it. She steps towards the line.

“Emma, be careful,” Snow warns.

She continues forward, bracing herself for whatever this line might do. She reaches out with her magic, trying to feel whatever is radiating off of it. She can feel the power of it, but there’s no danger radiating like last time they were trapped, just strength. Emma reaches out and hears her mother gasp as she touches it. Nothing happens. No magic shot, no turning into anything, it’s like touching glass. Thick, impenetrable glass. 

She bangs at it, knowing it’s hopeless but feeling she has to try. Nothing happens. She takes a step back and blasts it with magic. Nothing happens. She’d take out her gun and shoot but she knows nothing would happen, that the bullet might even ricochet and hit one of them, but the barrier wouldn’t be affected. Her heart races as dread fills her chest, makes her arms feel weak. Whatever did this, doesn’t want them dead. It wants them trapped. 

“We have to get to the station,” she says, thinking of Killian and her father. She hadn’t gotten Henry out in time. She’d failed him again. And now the two most important men in her life are near the center of town, near whatever happened. She needs to be with them. Needs to make sure they’re safe. 

The three of them jump back into the car, no questions are needed, all of them feel the same fear, the same longing to be with and protect the people they love. When they reach the station, the beam of light that was coming from the clocktower is gone. The streets are bare. This feels wrong.

“Stay close,” Emma warns Henry, orders him. He agrees, his bravado from earlier seeming to have left him a little as the seriousness of whatever is going on hits him. He’s just a kid , she thinks again. They get inside and find David and Killian but also dozens of townspeople, all of whom are shouting and looking panicked and scared. She can hear them demanding answers, wanting to know what the light was about, expecting them to have the answers. She should have the answers. She doesn’t. 

“Swan!” Killian calls when he sees her. He rushes to her, looking her over to make sure she’s okay and wrapping her in his arms. She takes a brief moment to appreciate the way that even with all this she feels safer, better, knowing he’s here. When he releases her he turns and does the same to Henry, checking he’s alright before taking the boy in his arms. David is still trying to calm the mob in the room. 

“What’s happening?” She asks and Killian turns to her again, his expression lost and worried. 

“People are missing.” He gestures at the townspeople. “They’re all here to report that someone’s disappeared, overnight, just gone.” The anxiety is creeping into her lungs, suffocating her. She can’t breathe. What the fuck is going on? 

“Did you see what happened? The light?”

He shakes his head. “It was gone by the time we arrived. We tried to go check it out but we were stopped by people demanding answers.” Snow has gone over to help David control the panic. Good, these people need their king and queen more than ever right now. 

“How many people are missing?”

“It’s hard to know for sure,” he says. “But from what we’ve gathered… over half the population of Storybrooke.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! She needs to figure this out. She needs to fix this. How had they missed this? She remembers all the fights and the complaints about rude neighbors. Maybe that was the start. She thought that people were just bored. But something had been happening to her town, to her people, the people she was responsible for - and she’d done nothing.

“Everyone just be quiet!” David finally roars and silence falls over the room. Emma’s almost impressed. There’s a moment where the quiet is deafening and her dad pauses a minute, clearly trying to figure out what to say. That’s when then they hear it. 

It’s rhythmic, like a beat of a drum or a heartbeat but it fills the whole room. It takes Emma a moment to place the sound before she realises... it’s people walking - people walking in tandem - marching. It sounds like there’s an army marching down Main street. She, and David lock eyes before both of them run outside, the others hot on their heels, the whole of the police station funneling out onto the road. 

They wait. The streets are bare. A fog has rolled in and Emma can’t see further than a few buildings down. But she can hear it, the marching, growing louder, coming closer. All of them wait. Nobody breathes. Henry takes her hand and she holds it tight, glances over his head at Killian. He’s already watching her, looking like he’s ready to jump in front of a bullet for her or Henry. The steps keep coming closer. 

Finally, something appears in the fog, a long, dark line that spans the width of the street. As it approaches she realises what it is - what they are - people. People they know. They make their way through the fog and Emma recognizes them. Teachers, doctors, waiters, shop owners… all people of Storybrooke - her neighbors. There are rows and rows of them, thousands of them, all marching in tandem. She sees Regina a second before Henry does.

“Mom!” he shouts, darting forward, but Killian is able to hold him back before he gets anywhere. He looks at Regina and then at Henry and shakes his head. Henry follows his gaze, looking at his mom. There’s nothing there. No recognition. That’s not Regina . Emma feels Henry’s hand tighten in hers. She can feel it shaking. He was right. All this time, he was right.

The marching stops. All at once. Silence fills the streets. There’s tension in the air as everyone standing with them seem to realise the same thing they just did. These are not the people they’ve lost. These are something… else. Suddenly, he crowd of missing people parts, splits down the middle like the fucking Red Sea and Emma watches as someone makes their way through. 

The figure is massive, towering over the others, dwarfing them. It wears a dark, heavy robe, obscuring its face. But not the horns. Horns , massive, bone-coloured, ox-like horns protrude from the front of the creature’s head. Curving up and out from it’s forehead. Emma feels her blood freeze. This isn’t a person. It’s some kind of creature. This is - it can’t be… it looks like a demon. There’s no other way to describe it. Does that mean… Is this thing from the Underworld? Her heart races but she can’t feel anything but cold, a deep heavy cold that seeps into her bones. Did it follow them back? Did they bring this thing back with them? 

The creature stops when it stands in front of them, in the open space between the missing and those who were left behind. The crowd behind him closes the path as swiftly as they opened it. The creature pauses, taking a moment to slowly remove its hood. The face beneath it isn’t human either. Or at least… not anymore. He looks like he could have once been a man, but something has twisted him, making him depraved, a monster. The flesh of his face is taunt, stretched, paper-thin and yellowed. It looks dead, mummified, the cheeks hollowed to the point that they’re little more than the tendons underneath. She can see the sharpness of his teeth from here. But the eyes are what strike fear into her heart - or rather the lack of them. Where they should be there is only darkness, not emptiness but swirling pools of black magic. Emma feels it then, the force of the magic that had created the barrier. There’s no doubt, if there ever was, that it was him. She can feel it pouring out of him now, a magic darker than what she’s felt before. It feels otherworldly. This is not the stuff of fairytales.

“I have come for the one you call ‘Savior’.” His voice is deep, booming, echoing through the streets, through the silence that surrounds them. Everything stops. Emma hears nothing but the blood rushing in her ears. Of course. Of course it’s her he wants. Why wouldn’t it be? She casts a glance at Killian; she can see him begging her not to do it. But she has to. It’s her he wants. If she can keep him from them, then she’ll give herself. 

“I’m the savior.” She steps forward. The creature turns his dark gaze on her. He tilts his head, considering her, judging her.

“I thought you’d be more impressive,” he says like he’s trying to belittle her. She hates him more.

“We can’t all have massive inferiority complexes coming out of our heads.” 

He laughs. He actually fucking laughs. 

“I am the Horned King.” He announces, arms spread as though he’s awaiting applause. What a stupid fucking name , Emma thinks. He continues. “I’m told you are the leader of this town.” Emma doesn’t correct him. Better her than her parents. “I’ve come to claim it.” He holds his hand out like he’s expecting her to hand it over. “Surrender yourself and your citizens and you may live.” Fat. Fucking. Chance.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” she tells him. “We’ve faced assholes like you before and won. We’ll win again.” She doesn’t feel as certain as she sounds, or as brave. He doesn’t answer, simply raises a hand in the air. His army takes a step forward. The effect is jarring, threatening. He has them completely under his control. What the fuck did he do to them ?

“You’ve never faced anyone like me,” he assures her. Quickly, he throws his hand forward. There’s a cry as Archie is dragged forward from the back of the crowd, from behind her, as though by some kind of Star Wars force-magic. He only comes to a stop when the Horned King’s hand is at his throat. 

“What are you doing to him? Stop!” Emma demands, stepping forward but Killian’s hook catches her elbow, holding her back. She sees why. Regina stepped forward at the same time Emma did, clearly ready to stop her. It would destroy Henry to see his mothers pitted against each other. The King smiles when he sees her freeze. He’s done it on purpose, she realises. He knows their weaknesses, knows they won’t hurt the people they care about. 

“Would you like a demonstration?” He asks. With his other hand, he conjures something from thin air. A cauldron. Archie is still struggling in his grasp, trying to free himself, letting out small whimpers and cries as he tries and fails to fight. The King signals Regina and she walks over to him, grabbing hold of Archie. Archie is begging with her now. Asking her to stop. ‘Regina, you know me,’ he says desperately. Regina ignores him, grasps the back of his head and pushes him forward so that he is bent over the cauldron. His hands catch at the edge of it and he continues to plead as she holds strong, forces him to gaze into whatever is inside. 

Emma doesn't know what he sees, but after a moment, he stops struggling. When he’s still, Regina releases him. Archie continues to stare into the cauldron for a moment, and then he rises to his full height. His gaze is empty. He’s gone. Like every trace of him has been wiped out, erased, stolen. Someone shouts his name from the crowd, trying to call him back. But he doesn’t listen, maybe doesn’t even hear it. Instead, he turns and walks past Regina, past the creature and disappears among the army of missing people. 

“What did you do to him?” Emma demands, freeing her arm from Killian’s hold. 

The thing smiles again. Without ceremony, the King plunges his hand into Regina’s chest. There’s a collective, terrified gasp, but Regina doesn’t flinch. When he removes his hand, her heart is clutched in his fist. 

“He had a change of heart. They all did.” 

Emma feels her own heart drop into her stomach. It’s stone. Regina’s heart has been turned to stone. There is no red, no brightness, not even any darkness swirling around. The entire thing is solid, grey stone. This isn’t magic they’ve seen before. This is something darker.

“And now,” he goes on to say. “So will you all.” 

“Never!” It’s Snow this time who steps forward, strong and defiant and every bit the leader Emma doesn’t feel she herself deserves to be. “We’ve broken curses before,” she says, certainty in her voice. “And we’ll break this one too.” 

He chuckles. “This curse cannot be broken,” he says simply. “And what will you do? How will you protect yourself? Will you murder your friends? Your neighbors, your kinfolk?”

“We’ll find a way. We always find a way.” She looks at him, no fear in her gaze, only determination, protective of the people around her. “We will never surrender to you.” 

“Then you will die,” the King says simply. 

After that it’s chaos. His army charges forward, some armed, some not, but all with a single purpose, a clear one. To capture them, to turn as many of them as possible into empty shells, and to kill the ones they don’t. There are screams as the townspeople run, scatter, trying to hide. Emma fights off as many as she can, using her magic. Killian’s sword is drawn, slashing wildly but with intent, enough to harm but not to kill. She finds David and Snow among the mayhem. Fighting the attackers with their bare hands. His gun in the station and his sword is at home. Snow put her bow away a long time ago. She and Killian keep Henry behind them as they ward off their assailants. 

They’re losing. The others are overpowering them. They outnumber them and they fight without inhibition, without worry for their own safety, without a care for the people they take or hurt. In the confusion, she loses Snow. She can’t find Snow. She searches frantically as she continues to fight. She needs to find her.

A child screams and suddenly Emma sees her mother. Snow jumps at the man who had grabbed hold of one of her students, knocks him to the ground and holds him there as she shouts at the girl to run. The kid takes off, disappearing into the crowd as Snow is grabbed by another man, lifting her off of the one she tackled. 

“David!” Emma shouts, as she watches her mom do everything in her power to fight the two of them off. David follows her gaze and starts fighting his way towards her. But there are too many people between them. He starts to falter as Snow is dragged still kicking and screaming to the cauldron.

“Swan!” Killian shouts, going after her father. “Protect Henry!” Emma nods, keeping her son held close to her side, blasting back anyone who dares come near him. 

“Snow! No!” She hears David shout but it’s too late. “Get the fuck off of me!” he shouts as Killian struggles to drag him back to safety. 

“We’ll save her, David. I promise,” Killian says, fighting to keep hold of his friend who is still desperately trying to get to Snow. Killian gives her father a sharp jerk, trying to snap him back to reality - into this sick twisted reality they’re living. “Live to fight another day, mate,” he says.

That seems to register with David. He casts one last, desperate look at his wife but stops resisting. The look on his face breaks Emma’s heart. More than it already was. She did this. She let this happen. She fucked this up and she will fix it. She will find her mom and get her back. 

“Emma, it’s no use,” Killian tells her. “We have to run. Take as many people as you can and get us out of here.” She knows he’s right. She hates that he is but it’s true. This isn’t a fight they can win, not now. They have to get out of here. 

She takes David’s hand. “We’ll find her, Dad,” she promises as she starts to let her magic seep out of her, seeking out as many people as she can reach who are still here, still living and feeling, and wrapping them up in it. 

The last thing she sees before they vanish is her mother, watching them. Her eyes are cold and empty.

 

***

 

They materialized outside her house only seconds later. Emma took a moment, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. Her hands still held a death-grip on Killian’s jacket. Not Killian. Maybe Killian? She didn’t know. She hadn’t been back here since... It had been months ago. How many she wasn’t sure. She’d lost track, lost count. Days and weeks and time didn’t matter. All that had mattered was surviving and that had meant leaving behind the places she felt safe. 

She opened her eyes slowly, afraid of what might face her. She blinked up at the man who stood before her. He was looking at the house in front of them. She saw curiosity on his face, not as such, but he tilted his head, something she’d come to understand in the last week meant he was interested in something. But there was no recognition. This place didn’t mean anything to him. She tried not to dwell on that. She didn’t have time to dwell. 

He turned his gaze to her then and there was… something. Not recognition. She was sure he didn’t know who she was - who she was to him. But his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes darting about her face, not focusing on a single spot for long. She had the uneasy feeling he was looking for something. 

He’d saved her. He’d come in like a white knight and rescued her from the monsters that wanted her dead. But she didn’t know why. If he gave her any sign that he remembered her, if he showed any ounce of emotion besides the fear that had crossed his face back in the hospital, that would have at least been something . But he was back to how he’d been before. His gaze empty, a stranger to her, and yet - she watched his brow twitch, his eyes taking her in - not quite. Whoever he was, whether this was Killian somehow still alive and trying to break free, or someone new, someone whose trust she’d earned over the last few days, who had earned her trust… she owed him her life.

She released his lapels. “Come on,” she told him, turning her back to him and heading into the house. She couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, couldn’t bear to have him look at her. She waved her hand, cutting their path through the weak remains of the protection charms she’d cast when she was the Dark One. She heard his footsteps falter as magic crackled in the air like electricity. But he continued after her. 

Walking inside was difficult. As soon as she opened the door she was assaulted with memories. Happy ones, painful ones, all of them ones she wouldn’t give up for anything. This house had been warm, full of people, full of family and love. But now her family was gone and Killian wasn’t Killian anymore. Having him here was a terrible juxtaposition. It felt right, like it was where he belonged, but also so very, very wrong. It was like she’d invited a ghost into her home. 

She shook her head, trying to clear it of her self-pity and moody thoughts. She had work to do. She needed to hide him, get what she needed, and then meet Henry and Ruby. She was in the kitchen by the time she realised she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore. She turned back, saw him standing in the front hall, hovering. He looked awkward. It was so odd to see him looking so out of place in his own home and she felt it like a hot knife in her heart. Focus. 

“Come inside,” she said. “Close the door.” He obeyed automatically, following her into the kitchen, and it unnerved her. He followed her orders the way he’d followed the King’s, the way he’d followed Gold’s. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want him like this - didn’t want him as her puppet, as her slave. She didn’t want him mindlessly doing whatever she asked, as though he’d just needed to find a new master. She needed him to show her that he cared, that he thought, that he felt - like he had when he’d saved her. 

“I need to get some stuff from the basement,” she told him, waiting to see if he’d catch her eye. He seemed fixated on a spot on the counter. His finger reached out and traced over the spot. “I’ll be right back.” She waited for some indication that he’d heard her, that he’d understood. He nodded, barely, nearly imperceptible. She headed to the stairs.

Once in the basement, in the creepy dungeon she’d built after Camelot that still existed under her house, she let herself feel everything all at once, just for a moment. She only had a second and then she needed to compose herself and get to work. A sob ripped through her and she brought her hand to her mouth to try and muffle it. The other came to her stomach, trying to hold in the pain there, not let it burst out and overwhelm her. She felt sick but she bit back the bile in her throat. She let herself fall slightly against the doorframe, let only one tear cross her cheek before she steadied herself. 

She pushed herself up. Get it together. Think of Henry. Get Henry safe. It still hurt, but she needed to stay standing under the weight of it. For him. She dug the pages out of her pocket, re-read them to be sure she had understood it right. This should work. She remembered the spell, knew what book it was in. She found the volume quickly and then gathered the ingredients from the store she kept there. She got to work. Potions were not her strong suit but she’d followed the steps correctly and it looked like it was supposed to when she finished. 

She swished the blue liquid around in the vial. How all those rancid and wretched ingredients had turned into something resembling Kool Aid she’d never really understand. She only had the one vial but it should be enough. It had to be enough. She stoppered the bottle and headed back up the stairs.

He hadn’t moved. He still stood in the middle of her kitchen where she’d left him by the counter. But he wasn’t focused on the surface anymore. He held his hook in his hand, eyes unblinking, face convulsing slightly, trembling, like it was trying to form an expression but didn’t remember how. It broke her heart. It took her a moment to realise what he was staring at, but when she did, that hurt even more. The blood. His hook was still soaked in it, some of it starting to dry, staining the metal. His thumb brushed against it, like he was trying to erase it. That wouldn’t work.

She shoved the potion into her pocket, quickly making her way to the sink and finding a cloth, running it under warm water. She approached him and grabbed hold of the cold metal. He jerked back, flinched like she’d tried to strike him. Her pulse fluttered in her chest when he turned wide eyes on her. Fear . He was still scared. Whether of what he’d done or of whatever was going on with him she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to scare him - whoever he was.

“I’m sorry,” she said, letting go. He pulled the hook into himself a little cradling it to his chest, like he was protecting it. He looked up at her, his face still incapable of settling on an expression. “It’s okay.” Slowly, she reached her hand out, palm up. She showed him the rag in the other. “I’m just going to clean it. Take the blood off.” He didn’t move at first, lowering his gaze to her hands and then back up to her face. She gave him a small, encouraging nod, promising it was okay. Without looking away from her, he slowly held out his hook. 

Gently, she started cleaning the blood. She remembered the last time she’d seen his hook like this, when Hades had held it up in front of her, taunting her, threatening Killian. She’d never felt as scared as she had in that moment. Until now. He watched her as she wiped at the dark, red stains. She’d found him then. But now, not knowing if she could find him again, if he was even still there to be found… the hope that he could be… It terrified her. 

“You did a good thing,” she told him, not brave enough to meet his eyes but feeling them on her. “I know you’re scared. But you saved me.” The last bits of what he’d done were washed away, the evidence gone. She held on just a little bit longer, finally forcing herself to look at him. “Thank you.” The expression on his face was unreadable - but it wasn’t empty. She released him and he pulled his arm back across his chest. “Are you hurt?” she asked, feeling guilty for not thinking of asking earlier. He saved her damn life and she hadn’t bothered to check if he’d been injured in the process. He shook his head, his reactions coming quicker now than before. 

She nodded. She needed to go. She was afraid of leaving him but she needed to find Henry and Ruby. They couldn’t linger at the town line long, couldn’t risk being exposed and vulnerable. She didn't know what to do with him. She briefly debated tying him up but realized it was pointless. He’d get out. He always got out. He’d gotten out of the damn cell less than an hour ago. But, if she left him here… would he leave? Would he stay and wait for her? And worst of all, would he go back and tell the others where they were? No. At the very least she knew, deep down, in her heart or her gut or wherever the feeling was coming from… she knew he wouldn’t betray her. He’d proven that. She owed him that much trust at least.

“I have to go,” she said and his eyes snapped up to hers, his features settling on panic again, on fear. “I won’t be gone long. I have to take care of something.” His features relaxed. “Will you stay?” she asked, hesitant, her voice soft, nearly pleading. He nodded. Her heart gave a little flutter. “Thank you.” She tried to put as much sincerity as she could into the word. Despite what had happened to him, this new him, what she’d done to him, he was trusting her. “Wait for me here. You’ll be safe.” He nodded again and Emma stepped back. She closed her eyes, hoping that he’d still be here when she came back. Her magic enwrapped her. 

She’d barely materialised in front of the Storybrooke sign before she was tackled by Henry. His eyes were wet. She could feel them against her neck.

“I thought you were dead.” 

“I’m okay, kid. I’m right here,” she promised, wrapping him tightly in her arms and pulling him into her. He held onto her for a moment longer and then lifted his head to look at her. She wiped at the tears on his face, brushed his hair of his forehead. If things were different, if he hadn’t actually lost everyone else he cared about she’d make a joke - something about being invincible. But she can’t make those kinds of jokes now, can’t make those kinds of promises. She’d nearly died. She wasn’t invincible.

“How did you get out?” he asked. She wanted to tell him. She really did. It would mean everything to him if he knew Killian had saved her, if he knew that there was a chance (she didn’t even want to call it that) that people could come back to them. But then he wouldn’t leave. He’d want to stay and fight and be the hero she knew he’d be one day. But he couldn’t become that hero if she let him stay here - here where they could take him, where she could lose him. She chose to be selfish. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. Emma caught Ruby’s eye. She was back in her human form now and her expressions were easier to read than they were as a wolf. She had to find a way to tell Ruby the plan without Henry finding out. She could tell her friend already knew something important had happened. But she also knew that Ruby wouldn’t ask in front of Henry - especially if Emma was hiding something from him. “ What matters is that I think I found a way for us to get out of here.” 

Discreetly, so that Henry couldn’t see, Emma made a small fluttering motion with her hand behind her back. She felt the magic flutter from her fingers and then shift, solidifying into what she pictured. A note. An explanation. It was a spell Regina had taught her once, surprisingly simple. Henry didn’t see it. He was still looking at her. Ruby walked over to them, stood beside her and put a hand on Henry’s shoulder as the other snuck behind Emma and took the letter from her hand. The exchange was flawless. 

“See, Henry. I told you your mom would save us,” she winked at him. Henry beamed. 

“What’s the plan?” he asked. 

Emma pulled the pages out of her pocket and handed them to her son. “I found a loophole.” 

As Henry read the spell, she saw Ruby open the note and read it with her back to them before shoving it in her pocket. She turned back and met Emma’s eyes. She nodded. Emma would be grateful to Ruby for the rest of her life for this. She knew that this would be hard for her friend, that it would feel like giving up, that it would mean leaving the family she’d lost behind. But she understood. They had to protect Henry. And they both knew how this would end. It always ended the same. It would come down to her - to the savior - to put this right or die trying. A week ago, Emma wouldn’t have cared. She’d have taken this chance to run and not looked back. But things were different now. Killian was different now. And so she had to try. 

Henry frowned at the pages, reading them carefully. She was about to explain when his eyes widened suddenly. His head snapped up to look at Ruby, then back at the pages. 

“Are you saying?” he asked. Emma smiled. She had a hell of a smart kid. He’d figured it out faster than she had. 

“Yeah,” she nodded, taking the vial out of her pocket. “No human soul shall cross,” she quoted. 

“That’s a big fucking loophole,” Henry said. She nearly corrected him for his language but instead she laughed, reaching out to pull him to her again. She held on tight, maybe for the last time. 

“Shall I, then?” Ruby asked, getting ready to shift. Emma nodded but quickly wrapped her arm around her friend’s neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered in her ear before wishing her good luck out loud. 

She and Henry watched in fascination as Ruby turned from a woman into a wolf. She heard her son mutter ‘so cool’ under his breath. The wolf approached the line cautiously. Though there had been no dangerous effects when attempting to cross before, who knew what would happen to her in this form - who knew what would happen when they tried to cheat. Ruby stepped up to the barrier, hesitated, and then walked right through. 

She was human again the moment she was outside of Storybrooke. No magic meant no shapeshifting. Emma knew that Ruby couldn’t see them anymore but they could see her. She gave them a thumbs up, letting them know she was safe - it was safe. This was it then. Time to say goodbye. 

“Alright, Henry. Your turn,” she said, handing him the vial. “I’ll follow you.” 

He took the bottle from her. “Are you sure about this, Mom? Shouldn’t we stay and try to save them?”

“It’s too late, kid. They’re gone. It's not safe here anymore. We have a better chance out there than we do in here of saving them.” He still looked uncertain. She had to convince him. “At least out there we can keep looking for answers, keep searching for different kinds of magic. We won’t last in here.” 

“Okay,” he agreed finally. 

She was surprised he’d agreed, thought he’d have put up more of a fight. The Henry from months ago would have put up more of a fight. She looked at him now. There were bags under his eyes, he’d lost weight, he looked older than his fourteen years. He was tired. The light inside of him had dimmed. She only hoped it hadn’t been fully snuffed out. Not forever. 

“As long as we don’t give up. They’ll come back to us, Mom.” There he was. She loved him, loved his unwavering belief and hope that things would always turn out right in the end, that good would always win. She just didn’t know if she believed him this time. “August told me about some guy called The Dragon, maybe we can find him.” He unstoppered the potion and threw it back in one shot. He pulled a face. “That’s disgusting.”

It only took a moment for the magic to do it’s work. She watched as his hair turned into fur, started to grow on his face, his ears and eyes changing shape and colour until suddenly there was a wolf standing in front of her. He was smaller than Ruby’s wolf, scrawnier too. He looked like a teenager even in this form. He looked like a kid.  

“Hurry, it won’t last long!” she warned him. She put her hand in her pocket, hoping he would believe she had another potion in there. “I’m right behind you. I want to make sure you’re safe first.” Henry took a moment to examine his new body. He seemed very interested and excited. His fucking tail wagged. “Henry,” she got his attention again. “You need to go.” He did need to go. Because any second the tears that she was doing everything to fight would show on her face and then he would know. 

He nodded, his big, furry head bobbing up and down, and then he turned and hurried across the town line. He was human again the moment he was through. She couldn’t hear him but she could see him talking excitedly to Ruby. He probably thought that was pretty cool. He waited, facing the border, waiting for her to come through. She stepped forward, put her hand against the glass-like surface. She knew he couldn’t hear her, couldn’t see her. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered anyway. He would hate her. She’d betrayed him, lied to him. She saw the moment he realised, turned to Ruby, clearly wondering why she hadn’t followed. She saw Ruby put her hand on his shoulder, saw her explain. It was like watching a silent film - the most heartbreaking film she’d ever seen. His face twisted, disbelief, and hurt, and anger as he let out a scream that fell on her deaf ears. ‘ No,’ he mouthed over and over again, ‘ Mom ’. He turned back to the border, slamming his hands against it, fists pounding, trying to break through, shouting, kicking, angry tears staining his face. He would never forgive her. But he would be safe

“Take care of him, Ruby,” she begged, knowing the other woman couldn’t hear her, but knowing she would all the same. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t watch her son grow to hate her right before her eyes. She’d left Killian alone too long. She needed to get back to him. Focus on him now, focus on what she could change - maybe. Henry was safe. That was all that mattered. And that’s what she told herself as she magicked herself away for the third time that night. 

She appeared on her front porch, not ready to be inside just yet. She needed a moment to compose herself, to prepare herself for the transition from one heartbreaking moment to another. She knew what would be waiting inside, a Killian who didn’t know her. That was where this life had led her: to a son who hated her and a love who’d forgotten her. She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. Buck up, Emma , she told herself. Just fucking suck it up and deal with it.

She walked inside. The house was silent. Unearthly so. For a brief moment she worried that he’d left. Whether to return to his master or to get away from her she didn’t know. She didn’t know which would hurt more either. But as she entered the kitchen, her fears were assuaged and new ones replaced them. He was here. Standing in the middle of the room, exactly where she’d left him. He hadn’t moved. Why did it bother her so much that he hadn’t moved? She’d seen him stand outside her cell for hours on end without so much as shifting from foot to foot. But that had been then. Now... now she’d allowed herself to hope, hope that he might be different, might be more . And now she feared she’d been wrong. 

He turned slightly when her footsteps echoed against the tile. He watched her, focused, unblinking, silent, waiting for her to say something or maybe not caring at all if she did. They stood there, facing each other, not speaking a word, the silence in the room growing heavier, heavy with the memories and the grief that having him here brought her, and with the fear and hesitation that seemed to consume him. She couldn’t take it. She tore her gaze away, walked passed him into the pantry at the back of the room. 

“We should eat something,” is all she said as she looked through the sparse food that was left, what hadn’t gone bad. There were some canned goods and she grabbed them all, carrying as many as she could and dumping them on the counter. Killian only stared. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her annoyance growing. Annoyed was good, annoyed was easier than pain, easier than heartbreak. She focused on that.

She found some sort of canned soup among her loot and opened it, using her magic to heat it. She found a spoon and ate, desperately trying to distract herself from the eyes that were still on her. There was a weight to his gaze.

“You should eat something,” she pointed out, still not looking at him. He didn’t move but his eyes flickered briefly to the counter and then back to her. Just fucking say something , she wanted to shout. I know you can talk so say something ! She needed him to. Needed to know that there were thoughts in his mind, that he wasn’t the shell he’d been, that her hopes and her trust hadn’t been in vain. She needed to see again that someone was in there. She didn’t know if that someone was Killian, but that someone had cared about her, if only for a moment, and she needed to know that they were still alive. He remained silent. She snapped.

“Just fucking eat something, would you!” 

He blinked. Apparently her anger had finally drawn his attention away from the hyperfocus he’d found himself in. But he still didn’t move. And now his eyes were on hers and there was something about the way he looked at her, something searching, something vulnerable and lost - but not anything Killian . She stormed out of the kitchen and towards the front door, worried her rage or her heartbreak would get the best of her if she stayed and that she’d end up yelling at him (again) or crying (again). She didn’t know which would be worse but neither would be constructive. 

“I have to go rebuild the protection spells,” she mumbled, glad for an excuse to step out. Ten minutes . She’d lasted ten minutes with him before she broke. She wanted so desperately for him to act like the man she loved. He’d given her hope, feeble and desperate that she might get him back. But with every passing second since they’d left the hospital doubt crept in. She should leave him. It was safer if she was on her own, safer not to risk trusting him… but she owed him. He’d saved her life and now she worried that leaving him on his own to face the King would be risking his

She turned her attention to the protection spells. She didn’t think they’d stand up to the King himself or to Gold but they would do for a little while against the imposters and would at least give them warning should their enemies arrive and break them down. She focused only on that. It helped. This kind of magic took concentration. She couldn’t think of anything else or it wouldn’t work. 

So for a small moment, she was allowed to feel some peace, some emptiness. She basked in it. Unfortunately, that only meant that everything would hurt tenfold when she allowed herself to think about him again. She shut her eyes tight as all her fears overwhelmed her again. She dropped her hands. The spell was up. She took a shaky, steadying breath and forced herself to go back inside. She had such doubts. Doubt that she’d ever really seen the emotions on his face, doubt that he had truly betrayed his own kind, doubt that there was something human in there, doubt that any of it was Killian, would ever be Killian again. She froze when she saw him. 

He was standing at the counter, eating anchovies right out of the can. It shouldn’t have hit her as strongly as it did, shouldn’t have made her heart race and her head light. It was a coincidence. It had to be. But she remembered the way Killian had insisted that fucking anchovies - she wanted to gag just thinking about them- be a regular item on their grocery list the moment he’d tasted them. She remembered the way he always tried to get her to eat them, loving how much she hated them and would squirm away from him, trying to avoid his salty kisses. He’d told her that they reminded him of his life on the Jolly Roger, and even his life before that, on his brother’s ship, when salted fish had been one of the only decent foods available. He’d said they tasted familiar, reminded him of his history, of who he was and where he’d come from. They reminded him of home. The one before her.

It was just a coincidence. 

He looked up when he heard her walk in, froze with his hand halfway to his mouth. He looked like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Emma didn’t want to think about the fact that he looked nervous and almost sweet. Thinking he looked sweet meant thinking he was sweet, thinking he was someone, thinking he could be Killian. She cut that thought right off. She walked past him towards the stairs. 

“We should get some sleep. The protection spell should hold for a little while and I doubt they’ll come looking for us here.” That’s why she’d picked her house. It was too obvious. Only an idiot would hide in their own home. She just had to hope they didn’t think she was an idiot. It was a gamble. She felt a nervous twist in her stomach. “We should leave first thing in the morning.” She wondered if he would still wake up at the crack of dawn like he used to. Like Killian used to, she corrected herself. He’s not Killian. 

She paused with her foot on the first step, turned around and was surprised to see he had abandoned his meal in the kitchen and was standing only a few feet away from her. “Do you sleep?” she asked, genuinely curious. He’d spent so many nights standing guard outside her room, he was always there when she woke up, not having moved. He only gave her a non-commital shrug. Great. So they were back to cryptic. 

He followed her up the stairs and to their room but he didn’t come in. He hovered in the doorway, eyes roaming, looking around. She didn’t even hope he recognized anything anymore. This person wasn’t Killian. This person had never been here before. And if it was - her heart lurched at the thought alone - if it was Killian, if there was a part of him in there, it was buried so deep that she was pretty sure he’d never really come back completely. 

She grabbed some of Killian’s old clothes out of his drawer, sweatpants and a shirt. She paused, running her hand over the fabric, remembering how many times she’d seen him in that shirt, usually in the morning with his hair a mess and a sleepy smile on his lips. She pressed the material to her nose, felt the softness of it against her cheeks as she breathed in deep. It still smelled like him. A small, broken sob broke through, but it was muffled by the material. When she pulled back, the shirt was damp. 

She walked across the room and handed it to him unceremoniously with a brusque ‘ here ’. He took it from her immediately but that was likely because she’d practically shoved it into his chest. She felt a little bad but right now she needed him to leave so that she could crawl into one of Killian’s sweaters and cry herself to sleep. She knew her eyes must be red now, her cheeks blotchy. She’d cried too much today. She’d give herself tonight and then tomorrow she’d be stronger. She had to be.

“There’s a room down the hall,” she told him. “On your left. You can change and sleep there.” 

It felt strange, wrong even to have him in the house and sleeping in a separate room. Usually when they slept they were so entangled in one another that the king sized bed felt redundant. She felt like they were an old married couple who’d had a fight, like she’d banished him to the guest room. She looked up at him and another stupid, useless tear ran down her cheek when she realised they’d never get to be an old married couple. They’d never even gotten to be a young married couple. It’s not him, she insisted. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t lost him. 

He was still looking at her. His head was cocked and his brow looked like it was trying to frown but had forgotten how, quivering like someone’s lip when they cried. 

“What?” she asked when he continued to watch her. It was unsettling, it made her heart race, the pounding echoing in her ears. She just wished she knew what it meant. “ What ?” she repeated when he still didn’t stop staring. 

His hand rose up between them, hesitantly. He seemed captivated by something on her face. Slowly, he brought his hand to her cheek. She nearly flinched when the back of his fingers brushed her skin. He continued to stare, the frown now nearly fully formed, focused on the spot beneath his fingers. What the hell was he doing? Her heart only beat harder, thumping against her ribcage as he traced the trail left behind by one of her tears until he reached her chin, his thumb lingering there for a moment. He dropped his hand.

They stood there for a long moment, neither saying anything. Her breathing was shaky, but his was steady. She closed her eyes. Killian? She wanted to ask. Killian please. Come back to me. You promised you’d always find your way back. She wanted to say so many things to him, wanted to wrap herself in his arms and beg him to come back to her, to give her some sign if he was still in there. Instead, she said goodnight and shut the door. She stood with her forehead pressed against it until she heard his footsteps retreating down the hall, heard the guest room door open. 

Later, wrapped in one of Killian’s hoodies with her head buried in his pillow, Emma remembered his touch on her cheek. She replayed it over and over again, remembered the way his face had twisted when he’d looked at her tear-stained face. The tiniest, smallest little flicker of hope fluttered in her belly, fueled by love and how much she just wanted it to be true.

Killian , she thought. She thought it over and over again, tried to match her memory of the man she loved with the man who was down the hall now. Something about him, something about the way he’d touched her, the way he reacted to her… if anyone could fight this curse, claw his way out of the grave and find his way back to himself - back to her - it was Killian. If there was one thing he was good at, it was surviving. 

 

Chapter Text

When my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I’ll crawl home to her

 

  • Hozier, Work Song

 



It’s been six weeks. Six weeks since the King came to Storybrooke and changed their lives forever - destroyed their lives it feels like sometimes. Killian had been happy. He was pretty sure that he’d never been so happy in his entire life. Three hundred years and nothing had brought him as much joy as the moment Emma had agreed to marry him. He’d let himself live in the carefree bliss and the joy and sometimes, when he looked at her, he almost forgot all the darkness that had once been a part of his life. It was a fleeting respite but it was overwhelming. He knows now that he’s never loved this completely before and never will again. 

She’s it. She’s the one. It hadn’t been easy but that makes it all the more real, all the more powerful. He’d had to fight for her, work to make her trust him, make her believe in his love, earn her love and trust in return. And, when he had, when she’d admitted that she loved him back, he knew he'd never stop fighting for this woman. All of the darkness and the pain and the grief that had come before didn’t matter because it had led him to her, made him someone that she could rely on, and trust, and love. He would do it over again a hundred times. 

They had been so happy, so ready to start their lives together, and then it had been ripped away. She’s still here , he reminds himself as he glances over at where Emma is sitting with David, likely planning their next move, their next plan of attack. She’s not gone. She’s safe. 

Her face is puckered in a frown, one that she’s been wearing far too often since that terrible day. Six weeks ago they were laying in bed, dreamily debating an elopement. Now, they’re hiding out in the mines under Storybrooke, taking turns keeping watch, on edge every second of every day and every night. Six weeks ago his only purpose in life was to make Emma Swan as happy as humanly possible. Now he has a new one. To keep her safe, to keep her alive, keep her fighting, and to keep her… Emma. He won’t let the darkness and the tragedy that has swallowed their lives break her. He could never forgive himself if he did. 

She is everything. She and Henry and the few people they still have left. He knows she blames herself. She’s admitted it to him. Each time he tells her it’s not her fault. Each time she pretends she believes him. But as more and more people are lost to the Horned King and the Crocodile’s army, he can see the weight on her shoulders growing, pressing down on her and trying to snuff out the light in her heart. He’d told her once that it was his job to protect her heart and he’s not going to give up his post now. Not ever.

He walks over to where she sits, places a hand on her shoulder. He can feel how tense her muscles are under his fingers. Six weeks. They’ve lost so many people. There were nearly twenty of them when they first ran from the chaos on the street, the first attack. Now they're five. Emma, Henry, David, Ruby, and himself. Granny had been with them too until a few nights ago. They’d been discovered, hiding in the basement of her restaurant. She’d gone out in a blaze of crossbow arrows - just as she’d have liked it , Ruby said. 

They’ve been in the mines for three days now. For the moment they’ve managed to remain hidden. Nowhere is truly safe, their best bet is to keep moving. He can tell Emma is already inching to go. But Killian can see how tired Henry is - David too - though neither of them would ever admit it. But it was enough to convince Emma to wait one more night. Their hiding place is a gamble. The mines are a series of narrow tunnels and wider ones that make up rooms. They’re in one of those rooms now, one that has six narrow passages stemming from it, like spider’s legs, with them in the body. Their choice offers them half a dozen escape routes, but also provides just as many entrance points for any who wish them harm. 

Killian doesn’t trust the beams either. There are hundreds of them, lining the walls of the tunnels, working to keep them from caving in. He’d inspected the wood when they’d first arrived, noticed how old and splintered they are. He recognizes the early signs of rot in some and the later stages in others. Years of life at sea has trained him to be weary of age and decay in wood. He tries to ignore it but it feels like a bad omen, hovering over him. A warning. But everything feels like a warning these days. 

Their lives are strange now - always on high alert. He feels as though they’re back in the jungles of Neverland and, while that is the place he fell in love with Emma, he had no wish to ever return to that way of life. They sleep in shifts, eat only when they have to and perform raids for food and supplies whenever they run short. Their raids more often than not involve Gold’s shop and Regina’s crypt, looking for a cure to the curse. They’ve spent hours pouring over books and spells and even stories. But it's been fruitless. They’re no closer to saving their family and their friends than they were six weeks ago. 

Emma has put up protection charms on all the access points to the mines. Every time he watches her do it, there’s a twisting in his gut. He can see how it drains her, the toll it takes on her body. But he doesn’t dare ask her to stop. He knows she wouldn't. She needs to protect them, feels she is responsible and therefore all of their safety is her burden. All he can do is support her, offer her encouragement and his unwavering belief in her. And, when she needs it, he welcomes her into his arms, hoping that he’s doing something, no matter how small, to make her feel safe. He loves her, loves her strength and her vulnerability and her intelligence and everything that makes her Emma. And he’ll do everything in his power to make sure she stays Emma. No matter what the cost to himself.

"You should be sleeping, Love," he reminds her gently as David gives him a nod and walks away to check on Henry. They both know Emma can take care of herself. She’s strong and has been independent her whole life. But they also both know how easily she can give up on herself. He knows that while David’s nod might be interpreted as merely an acknowledgement, it really means ‘ I trust you - watch out for her ’. 

“Uh huh,” she says dismissively and he knows she hasn’t heard a word he’s said. She might not even realize that it’s him talking. He looks over her shoulder to see what has her so preoccupied. A spellbook. He’s not surprised. She’d been driving herself mad looking for a cure for weeks. She was so sure that they could find a way to save everyone. But as their numbers dwindled he noticed that her search changed. She’s looking for a way out. He knows it's not for her. He knows she won't leave, no matter how much he might beg and plead with her to save herself. She will stay until her last breath, fight until her last breath. He won’t let that happen. He’ll die before he lets anything happen to her. 

He circles around the rock that she’s perched on, kneeling before her and trying to look at her face which is bent over the book in her hand. Her brow is turned down again. There are dark circles under her eyes. He tries to think back to the last time she slept. It’s been too long. Last night she hadn’t slept at all. The night before he’d convinced her to lay down with him for a little while but he was woken less than an hour later by her standing again, finding something to do. She needs to sleep. He reaches out and takes the tome from her hands. 

“Hey!” she snaps, probably noticing him for the first time. His lips tick up at her fire. She’s still in there . Her face relaxes a bit when she sees it’s him, but she looks at him like a petulant child who’s about to protest bedtime. He almost laughs. It’s not far from the truth. 

“The book will still be here in a few hours.” He sets it down behind him, intentionally placing it out of her reach. She narrows her eyes at him - she sees right through him and he loves that about her. 

“I just need a little longer. I’m almost done.” She sounds like an addict and it twists his heart to see her like this. He cups her cheek in his palm and her breath leaves her in a soft sigh. It’s almost immediate, his touch seeming to bring her back to reality, calm whatever storm is raging inside of her. This is his sole purpose now, to be a lighthouse in a dark sea, to bring her back safe. He runs his thumb over the purple smudges beneath her eyes. 

“When was the last time you slept?” She looks a little disgruntled and he nearly laughs. He’s reminded of the Underworld then, of how raw she’d ran herself in an attempt to save him. Now she has a whole town to save. “I can’t remember,” he pushes. “Can you?” 

“No,” she admits a little grudgingly. 

“Then perhaps it’s time you let Ruby take a shift, close your eyes for a moment.”  

“I just…” she starts and he can see tears welling up in her eyes. It breaks his heart. His beautiful Emma, his strong Emma, beaten down not by a villain but by her own self-loathing and guilt. 

“I know,” he says softly. She doesn’t have to explain.

“It’s my fault,” she starts and he can feel her shaking, knows she won’t be able to keep her tears at bay much longer. 

He shushes her, leans in so he can press his cheek to hers, place a kiss to her temple. He feels her grab hold of his jacket, turning her face into his neck. “It’s not your fault, Emma.” 

She pushes back and he braces himself for it. They’ve had this fight before. They’ll have it again. It doesn’t matter. He will never not fight her on this. It isn’t her fault. He knows each time she says it she’s hoping for confirmation, looking for a reason to blame herself more, to hate herself more. He won’t give it to her. 

“How can you say that,” she growls, letting her anguish out but still trying to keep her voice down. “I’m the sheriff! I’m the savior !” She speaks the last word with disgust and venom in her voice. “People were dying around me.” He doesn’t correct her. A part of him still believes that they can save them, perhaps it’s because he’s been around magic longer, has seen what it can do, the depths of its power. Perhaps it’s because he’s been around her , seen what she can do. But she’d started referring to their stolen friends as dead a week ago. 

“And I was too busy to notice,” she spits. “Too busy living in my own little world, running off and getting engaged, getting fucking love tattoos while people were dying.” Her words sting. He knows she doesn’t regret their engagement, doesn’t regret their commitment, but he can’t help the sharp pain in his heart as she blames their love for what happened, resents it. It must show on his face because a second later her hands take hold of his jaw, turn his eyes up to hers. “I’m sorry,” she sighs, her voice cracking. “I didn’t mean it.” 

He presses his forehead to hers. “I know,” he promises. Her hands drop back to his shirt.

“I just don’t know what else to do.” Her voice is so small, so desperate and vulnerable that it nearly breaks her heart. “What if I’m not enough this time?” There it is. She’s still holding him to her and he feels as though she’s trying to physically draw strength from him. He’ll gladly give her anything he has - anything she can take. It’s hers. He’s hers. He has been since she held a dagger to his damn throat. Whatever she needs, whatever she wants, it’s hers. And if now she needs his strength then he’ll give it to her the only way he knows how. 

“Then just be Emma Swan. Keep Henry in one piece. Keep Ruby from forgetting what it is to be human. Keep your father from doing anything stupid.” There’s a small, watery uptick in her lips and it lightens the heaviness in his chest to see it. “And come to bed so your fiance can get some bloody sleep.” Her laugh is weak and still sounds more like a sob, but she lets out a heavy breath, letting out all the anxiety and fear she’d been holding in. “You’ll figure this out, Love. I have nothing but faith in you. Not because you’re the sheriff or the savior. Because you’re Emma.” 

 She presses her forehead to his, nods lightly. They stay that way for just a moment, long enough for her to compose herself, to maintain the illusion that everyone doesn’t know how much she’s struggling. When he thinks she’s ready he stands and she lets him pull her up with him. 

Emma looks at her feet as they make their way to the pile of blankets and camping mats they’ve improvised into a sleeping corner. She’s practically asleep on her feet already, as though giving her body permission to relax was the breaking point for her exhaustion to fully consume her. Killian makes eye contact with the other three members of their party. They all offer him respective indications of appreciation and understanding. He knows they’ll keep watch, figure out who’s turn it is. They’re all just as thankful as he is to see her finally agree to rest. 

They reach the makeshift beds and Killian lays down first, taking her hand and coaxing her down until she lays next to him. She moves like a zombie, sinking onto the blankets with her eyes half open and curling onto her side. He reaches down, unlaces and pulls off her boots one at a time but doesn’t try to get her jacket off. Let her keep her armor on now. She needs it . He finds the softest blanket he can and drapes it over her, making sure she’s tucked in properly before he lays down beside her and pulls her to him, pressing her back to his chest. 

She’s already asleep. He places a kiss to her shoulder, another to the shell of her ear. He can’t help himself. Having her here in his arms is a reminder that she’s safe, that she’s alive, that she’s here with him. He’s being as strong as he can for her but the truth is he’s terrified. Terrified of losing her, of losing Henry, David, Ruby. His friendships in town may have been new but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t grieve their loss. Granny had always been kind to him. Snow had become one of his biggest supporters when others or he himself doubted his and Emma’s relationship. He can’t remember the last time he saw Belle. 

He pulls Emma even closer, holds on tighter. Not for her this time, for him. He takes her presence, the warmth of her in his arms, as a small selfish comfort. He knows she wouldn’t mind. They’ll fix this. They’ll save their friends, their family. He has to believe it because if he doesn’t then Emma won’t either. His belief wavers though so he focuses on his belief in her. He finds her fingers poking out of the blanket, laces his own through them. Her fingers close over his even in sleep. Above all else, he believes in her. 

 

***

He’s woken suddenly by David’s hand on his shoulder. His eyes open to see the other man’s face knotted in something. It’s not fear. It’s resolve. David looks determined, prepared, ready for a fight. Killian knows what that means. It’s time to leave. It’s time to run. They’ve found them.  

“When?” is all he asks as he sits up, keeping his voice low.

“Less than a minute.” David answers. “One of Emma’s protection spells went off. We think it’s the east entrance.” 

That’s less than a quarter mile away. He reaches for Emma’s shoulder. “Emma. You need to wake up. We have to go.” She’s up in a second, running across the tunnel. 

“Where’s Henry?” 

“I’m here,” the boy announces, running to his mother’s side. 

“Everybody grab your stuff,” she orders. “We need to get out of here n-”  her words are cut off as something rolls to her feet. It’s small. He can’t quite make it out but it looks like a little, glass sphere. Emma stares at it for a second, shock taking over her, but that’s all the time it takes. He sees the smoke inside it now. But he’s not quick enough, he’s too far away. He shouts her name as the smoke glows dark purple. Emma barely has time to put her body between it and Henry before the globe shatters, sending the smoke billowing through the room. 

He runs to her, grabbing hold of Henry’s shoulder, his hook on Emma’s arm. David and Ruby are right behind him. 

“Is everyone okay?” David asks but Killian barely hears him, too focused on Emma and her son to care or notice his own wellbeing. Ruby is already in her wolf form but she gives a low howl that is interpreted as her being intact. 

“Yeah,” Henry says and Killian takes a moment to make sure he’s not putting on a brave face - checking him for cuts or burns or bruises - before turning to Emma.

“Love?” 

She looks at him, nods. “I’m fine.” The relief that courses through him is overwhelming. But it doesn’t last long. If they’re all unharmed, then what was the point of it? Was it a distraction? Some kind of curse? He doesn’t have time to deliberate it. They can hear them coming now. Their voices shouting and their steps echoing through the vast, empty spaces. 

“Grab on to each other!” Emma orders. They do as they’re told, gathering around her to make the spell as easy as possible. She shuts her eyes, concentrating. Nothing happens. He looks at her carefully, sees her frown deepen, sees her concentrate harder. Still nothing. She opens wide, panicked eyes on him. 

“What’s wrong?” David asks. 

“I don’t know. It’s not working. My magic…” She looks down at her hands, steps back. She throws an arm out towards an empty corner, away from them. Nothing happens. “Something happened to my magic.” 

He feels his heart plummet to his stomach. That’s what it was. The ball, the smoke, it’s stunned her magic, trapping them in here. “Run!” he shouts, drawing his sword. He sees David do the same, just as their attackers appear in the open mouth of the tunnel. 

“That way!” David shouts, pointing at one of the narrow passages on the other side of the cavern. They all head towards it, but before they reach it two men emerge from the opening. Ruby lunges at them, takes one down, her teeth fastened on his shoulder.

“South!” Emma shouts, pointing at another entrance. The others are starting to close in. Killian swipes at one with his sword, catches him in the side and tries not to look at the man’s face as he goes down. He hears a gunshot behind him and looks up in shock just in time to see a woman fall at his feet, a bullet wound in her shoulder and a dagger in her hand. 

He looks back where the shot came from, sees Emma standing there with her weapon raised. He nods at her in thanks before heading towards the south exit, grabbing hold of Henry on his way and pushing him along. They’ve only just reached the mouth of the tunnel when they see another five coming through the other side. 

“No good,” he shouts, desperately looking around for the next safe exit. There are two to his left and one to his right. All of them have people coming through. David and Ruby are doing their best to ward them off. The sound of Emma’s gun is deafening in his ears. He still has his hook on Henry’s shoulder, guiding him out of the way of danger. He doesn’t know how much longer they can keep them at bay. They’re outnumbered nearly five to one. Killian cuts down another attacker, feels Henry grab his dagger from his belt and lunge at someone. 

He looks to Emma who is holding her own. “Emma! Your magic,” he asks, shouting at her across the madness. She shakes her head. It’s still gone. There’s only one exit left. Only one that doesn’t have people funneling out of it, trying to kill them. He knows why. There’s nothing beyond it. Just a little opening, a dead end. Maybe, maybe they can get in there, hold the imposters off as they bottleneck through the tunnel, keep them at bay long enough for Emma’s magic to come back. Killian knows the tunnel is a hundred yards deep and only really wide enough for one person at a time, maybe two. He looks around. They don’t have many other options. 

“David!” he shouts. David meets his eye and Killian nods at the last tunnel. David looks back, takes down another man, and turns to Killian. He knows he understands. “Emma! Ruby! Follow him!” he orders. The two start backing as quickly as they can towards the narrow tunnel, cutting people down as they go. David is the first through, Ruby following closely behind. He can see Emma standing there, waiting at the entrance. 

“Emma, go!” he shouts at her as he and Henry make their way to her. 

“Not without you!” He’s not sure if she means him or Henry or both but he knows she’s not moving. Bloody stubborn woman ! They reach the tunnel and Killian doesn’t waste a second, pushing her in ahead of him and then Henry next. He turns to slice at another woman with a gun as they try and run down the narrow passage. The stolen people are close behind them, cramming their way in, trying to fit as many as possible as they chase them, crawling over one another. 

Henry trips and Killian stumbles over him. Both of them are stuck on the ground for a second as two shells wearing Zelena and Lancelot’s faces grab at their ankles. Henry kicks out at them frantically and Killian can see the fear in his eyes. He slashes at their hands with his hook, piercing flesh but they seem to barely notice. He uses Henry’s technique and kicks the one holding the boy in the chest, pushing him back just enough so that Henry can get up. 

“Run!” He shouts at him. “Get to your mother!” The boy hesitates. “Go!” he roars and Henry does as he’s told. Killian gives another kick, another slash of his sword and manages to free himself, scrambling to his feet as he hurries through the tunnel. He can see them, Emma, Henry, Ruby and David, standing inside the room, waiting for the onslaught that is coming. He’s still only halfway to them. The creatures are at his heels. He’s running, twisted, as he tries to keep fighting them off and keep an eye on where he steps and ahead to the people he loves.

He meets Emma’s eyes. He looks at her, questioning, hoping, knowing she’ll understand. She flexes her fingers in front of her, tiny infinitesimal sparks shoot from her fingers and fizzle away. She looks at him with dismay, shakes her head. His heart plummets. Fuck . They’re trapped. They’ll be trapped in the tiny room as the monsters pour in, never stopping unless they’re dead and they can’t kill them. They know them. They can’t. 

Killian looks up at the beams that are spread throughout the length of the tunnel, notices their decay, their age. He knows what he has to do. A sense of peace comes over him. It doesn’t scare him like he thought it might. Maybe it’s because he’s lived so long already, already had more than his fair share of time on this earth. Maybe it’s because he’s already met his maker more than once. No , he thinks. It’s because of her. She’ll find him. He knows she will. 

He darts forward, not fighting now but just trying to put distance between himself and his enemies. He reaches the next support beam, pauses. He shouldn’t pause, he doesn’t have time. But he needs to see her, needs to look at her one last time, tell her one last time. He sees it in her eyes when she realises, sees her freeze, look at him with desperation and anger.

“Don’t you dare,” he can hear her warn him over the clamour. The chaos is deafening, he knows, but he can’t hear it. He only hears her, only sees her. It’s an appropriate choice of last words, he thinks, very fitting. He gives her the best smile he can muster, knows he can’t put everything he wants into it but that’s alright. She knows. 

“I love you,” he says before giving a swift, solid kick to the beam beside him. The wood gives easily and with it comes the tumble of rocks and earth as the mouth of the tunnel collapses around him. He steps back, putting himself between the cave-in and the attackers, holding them back, holding them off. The last thing he sees before the hands grab him is her face. He closes his eyes, keeps it in his mind, pictures every detail of every curve and soft edge and pale shade that he’s already memorized. Remember her

 

***

 

He woke with his heart racing in his chest, sweat soaking him, chilling him despite the heat that coursed through every muscle of his body. His hand came to his chest, grabbing it as though he could physically stop the pain in there. He looked down. He hadn’t been wounded, he had no injury to speak of. So then where was the ache and the burning in his stomach coming from? Why couldn’t he stop it? His breath was coming in fast, harsh pants and, try as he might, he couldn’t slow it. It was dark now. It took him a moment to realise that it wasn’t happening now, that it had been some kind of vision, some kind of trick while he slept.

Who had they been? He tried to remember the details of what he’d just witnessed but they were fading away. He hadn’t lived this, had no memory of it and slowly it was becoming just a medley of sights and sounds. Who were those people? Who was that man and why had he had his voice and used it to speak words that weren’t his own? 

“It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

He became aware then of a hand on his shoulder then, noticed the sounds of someone speaking. He looked to where someone else’s skin was touching his through his shirt, looked at the face the hand belonged to. It was her. The woman who made his stomach clench and his heart feel like it was trying to push its way out of his chest. He didn’t understand the way his body ached. 

Physical pain didn’t bother him. A blade or a bullet in his flesh did little more than slow him down for a moment. He could ignore it, push the sensation away and continue on. But the ache that her presence could incur wasn’t one he could ignore. He’d been wondering lately if it was even pain or some new sensation he wasn’t acquainted with. He didn’t know. He’d never experienced it before he met her. 

She’d been there, in the images he saw in his sleep. The man with his voice had called her ‘Emma’. Was that her name? He had heard her called many things since she’d been brought to the King’s lair. Miss Swan, Dearie, The Prisoner . The boy had called her ‘Mom’. But he’d never heard Emma. He tried to piece together what he could from the vision. She’d called him something - called the man with his voice something. 

Killian . She’d called him Killian. Was he Killian? No. He wasn’t anyone. He existed to serve his master. He had no name. But... she’d called him that before - when she was in the cell, when they were leaving, last night even. He thought the name again and his heart felt like it was trying to climb into his throat. He had the sudden instinct that he was supposed to know something but couldn’t recall what.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, looking at him with her eyebrows pulled down. He looked down at his hook. He didn’t think so. He didn’t think talking was a sound decision. He’d come to know a few things about this woman, about her reactions to him. When he came near her she tensed. When he spoke she became aggressive. When he touched her she became violent. He’d done his best to avoid doing any of these things around her. 

But that had changed. She didn’t seem tense now and they were close enough to touch. When he’d touched her face last night she hadn’t reacted violently. He’d felt a pull then, like his body was demanding that he touch her, hot fire burning in his chest at the sight of tears on her face. The same kind of fire that was searing in his shoulder now under her fingers - no, he realized, this burning was different, hotter, reaching into his bones, spreading through his body. 

He looked at her again. “Emma?” His voice was hoarse and cracked as he spoke. She didn’t become aggressive but a small gasp fell from her lips and her face looked like she was in pain - looked the way he felt. She was silent for a long time and he started to believe he’d guessed wrong, that the vision had misled him.

“Are you in there?” she whispered, voice breaking the quiet in the room. 

He didn’t understand her question, but his heart felt as though someone had grabbed hold of it and was squeezing tightly. He didn’t speak and slowly the expression on her face returned to normal. She shook her head. Her hand on his shoulder started to push him back down onto the mattress.  

“Go back to sleep,” she told him. “We should leave in the morning.” 

He let himself be pushed, lay down against the pillow and looked at her. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He didn’t know why. It was like there was a voice in his head, one that both wasn’t his and was all at once that insisted that she was important, not with words but with those strange, foreign sensations - blood rushing in his ears, the pounding of his heart, the racing in his blood. 

She stayed for a moment, her hand still on his shoulder as she looked at him. He felt his own brow pulling down of it’s own accord as she did. But he felt warm, he felt comfortable with her eyes on him. She raised her other hand and slowly - her fingers hesitating a few times, changing their mind - she brushed the damp hair off his forehead. Her fingers were soft and cool on his skin and he wanted her to keep them there but they were gone in a second. 

She stood, her hand leaving his shoulder for the first time since she’d arrived and he wanted it back. No, he needed it back. He needed her back. His heart pounded against his ribs so hard he thought they might break and his blood felt as though it had turned cold. He’d felt this before, as they escaped, and then again in her kitchen. There had only been one thing that had stopped it, made him feel like he wasn’t about to die, made the pain go away, took his mind off of it. Her. 

He reached out, nearly lunged off the bed, his hand catching her wrist. She whirled on him, looked at him, her eyebrows shooting up, and for a second he thought he’d done something wrong. She stared at his hand on her wrist and then back at him. She was waiting for him to say something, he knew she was, he’d become familiar with the way she looked at him, the way she held herself when she wanted him to speak. 

“Stay,” was all he said. 

He loosened his grip, not wanting to hurt her. She continued to look at him, tilting her head and doing that thing with her face again. He thought she might cry again and his heart gave a heavy thud. He didn’t want to make her cry. Finally, she moved back towards the bed, sitting back down beside him.

“Okay.” 

He thought his body would react violently again, thought his heart would hurt and his blood would burn him. Instead, he felt every muscle in his body relax at once, the fire and the ice and the pounding stopping altogether. For a brief moment he thought he had returned to how he used to be, to the empty dullness in his limbs. No. Where there had been nothing, there was warmth now, he could feel it, seeping out from the middle of his chest and into his languid muscles. 

He slid over to make room for her and as she lay down beside him he felt the warmth spread into his limbs and his fingers. He didn’t know this reaction, it was new and different but it was one he wanted to keep, wanted to hold on to, and it came from her. He realised, it was her that he wanted to hold on to. 

He reached out again, slowly, unsure, and wrapped his arm around her. He felt that same pull he had before, in the showers and in her cell earlier tonight, like something inside of her was calling out to him and, if he could just press her close enough, he might be able to hear it. The pull had been different then, more urgent, more pressing. Now it was stiller, quieter, softer. She hesitated for a second, and then slid against him, resting her head on his chest, her hand coming to rest over the spot where he knew the strange marking lay hidden under his shirt.

He felt dampness seeping through the material under her cheek, onto his chest and realised she was crying again. He loosened his hold, thinking he’d done wrong, hurt her, the softness in his chest being replaced by the racing of his heart again. But she didn’t pull away. She pressed herself closer to him and the feel of her wrapped around him calmed his heart once again. He lay his arm back around her as his breathing evened out. He let his eyes drift closed.

 

***

 

It was still early when Emma woke, the sky outside just shifting from black to the grey that welcomed the sunrise. It took her a moment to remember. When she first opened her eyes she forgot, smiled a little and snuggled deeper into the warm body beside her. He still smelled the same, still felt the same, strong muscles under soft flesh. So she forgot. It was easy to forget. Maybe she’d wanted to - just for a little while. For a little while it was any regular morning, waking up in the arms of the man she loved and finding him sleeping soundly beside her. 

That was what brought her back. Him sleeping. Never once since she’d shared a bed with him, since she’d met him really, had she woken before him. She sat up, letting the arm that had been slung around her slide off and fall to the mattress. She didn’t know why she’d stayed. She shouldn’t have. It was a mistake. All it did was confuse her, blur the line between what was Killian and what was… whoever this was. 

But she’d been tired and she’d been missing him and so she’d been weak. He’d looked at her with such a desperate expression on his face - one she hadn’t seen yet, not on this version of him. And maybe she’d hoped that on some level that meant something, that a new emotion had finally appeared on his face, one that wasn’t just fear or panic. If she was honest though, she’d really just wanted to be reminded of what it felt like to be held by him again, even if it was just someone wearing his skin. The illusion had been enough - not right, but enough. 

Now though, in the light of the early morning, the illusion was shattered and all she was reminded of was the fact that he was gone. She stood, needing to get out of this bed, out of this room and far enough away from him that she could think straight. She had to stop letting herself slip, stop trying to convince herself that this was Killian. He wasn’t Killian. Killian was, like everyone else, the summation of his life experiences, of his memories, of his loves and losses and beliefs and hopes and fears. This man had none of those. This man had none of the memories that made Killian who he was. Those had been ripped out, replaced by something dark and empty. But… he’d called her Emma. 

She made her way downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat before they left that wasn’t canned and salty. How long did dry cereal last ? she mused. She decided to risk it, eating handfuls of stale cornflakes out of the box. It’s only a little past the best before date, really. 

When she was done, she found an old duffle bag in a closet by the front hall and began rummaging around the house, finding anything that might be useful and throwing them in. There wasn’t much, some rope that Henry had never brought back to the garage after some science experiment, matches, extra blankets and sweaters, a change of clothes, dry socks, a beat up old paperback - it wasn’t like she was going to have much in the way of conversation for the next little while . She wanted to cheer when she found a few fruits and vegetables in the cold storage, thanking whichever confused, well-intentioned man in her house had put the groceries away in the wrong place. 

She made her way through the rooms until she was back in the kitchen. She opened the knife drawer and almost laughed at the fact that she’d argued with her mom once about how pointless it was to keep the little plastic sheaths that came with them. Now she was glad she’d lost that argument. She threw a few in the bag, she’d have to find a more practical way to carry them later. 

She zipped up the duffle and tossed it on the counter - effectively knocking something over. She sighed, hoping it wasn’t something valuable - not that that sort of thing really mattered anymore. She slid the bag out of the way and saw that it was an old ipod dock, with a little blue ipod lying next to it. She reached for it tentitively - it was valuable. It was his. David had bought it for him months ago, thinking he would enjoy being able to listen to music whenever he wanted but probably wouldn’t be able to handle a smartphone. 

She smiled a little despite herself, remembering how confused Killian had been when he’d first been gifted it, already loaded with songs. It had taken a long time for him to figure out how it worked, practically driving Henry insane with repeated requests for him to add a song he had heard on the radio to his music box, and the three or four times he had to be shown how to do something as simple as select an artist before he mastered it. 

It was already on. Emma looked through it a little, remembering how many times he’d made her listen to the songs on his ‘most played’ - some of them folk songs she regretted introducing him to sometimes, some of them 80s hair bands that she really wished David had never shown him. She was surprised to find he had playlists - she didn’t think he’d known how to do that. She scrolled through them, smiling a little as she read the titles: ‘David recs - good’, ‘David recs – rubbish’, ‘Henry’s favorites’, ‘Jolly Roger alone’, ‘Jolly Roger with Emma’, ‘Jolly Roger with Henry’... 

Her breath caught a little. There was one that was simply called ‘Emma’. She opened it, there was only one song in the playlist, a song she didn’t know. She knew she shouldn’t, knew that it would probably do more harm than good… but she had to know. 

She plugged the device back in and turned on the speaker. She pressed play and a slow, soulful melody filled the room. She listened as the lyrics started, singing about a man who had lost his way and the woman who had saved him, about the love he held for her, a love that nothing could ever destroy - not even death. 

She caught herself on the counter, needing something to hold herself up, needing something to hold on to as tears burned her eyes and her cheeks. She could feel herself breaking down, learning this was how he felt about her. No , she knew this was how he felt about her. He had literally come back from the dead for her once. But to be reminded of it so suddenly and so overwhelmingly, it was like a message from the grave and it brought her grief back up to the forefront once again. How lucky she’d been to find him, and how cruel it was to have lost him. 

She didn’t hear him come down the stairs, the song continuing on a loop, filling the room and silencing his steps. He hesitated at the foot, looking at her with concern, his brows pulling up and his jaw dropping a little in a way that was just too familiar and she shut her eyes against it, turned around so she wouldn’t have to face him. It was too much, with the music and the memory and him here in his place… it was too much. 

She felt his hand on her back, shuttered at the touch, not in disgust or revulsion like she’d have prefered, but at the overwhelming comfort it brought her. His fingers slid to the spot just over her heart, his hook coming to rest against her hip and despite herself, despite everything that was screaming at her not to, she leaned back into his touch. 

She felt him tense for a moment and then his arms slid around her waist, pulling her to him as though they’d done this a million times, as though he wasn’t a stranger, an imposter wearing the face of the man she was grieving. He rested his chin on her shoulder, turning his face into the crook of her neck and the feel of his beard against her skin, of his hair tickling her ear was so familiar, so much better than anything she’d felt in a long time, that she gave in. She just wanted something good. 

She turned in his grasp and slid her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder and letting him wrap his hand and hook around her, pull her in closer. If she closed her eyes really tight, and ignored every screaming voice in her head, maybe she could forget that it wasn’t him.

They stood there for a long while, just holding each other. Emma was so focused on not noticing what was happening that she was surprised when she realised that they were swaying. Just a little, softly side to side - he was swaying them, in time with the music. His cheek was pressed to her temple. He was humming. The sound of it brought her right back to a morning, ages ago now, when she’d woken up to him humming a song under his breath. She hadn’t known it then but she knew it now. 

A small sob rocked her shoulders and she moved to pull back, to draw away from him and the pain that standing here in the middle of their kitchen, dancing with his ghost was pressing down on her. But she didn’t go far, couldn’t bring herself too. If she stepped back, left his arms and felt the cold air on her skin where she’d been pressed against him - it would feel like losing him all over again. She could only live through that so many times. 

He didn’t open his eyes. That was easier. If she looked into them she’d see who he really was, see that it wasn’t him. Like this she could pretend, she could hope. She closed her own eyes, pressed her forehead to his. Her cheeks were wet again. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been dry for longer than a day, an hour even. He must have felt it somehow because his hand slid up from its place on her hip, found its way to her cheek, holding her to him as his thumb swiped at the hot tears there. 

She knew it wasn’t him. She knew this wasn’t the man she loved, knew that he barely knew who she was, let alone who she was to Killian. But he looked like him and he smelled like him and he felt like him and he was kind somehow, gentle - he cared. Her body hadn’t accepted that Killian was gone, it still missed him, still waited for him, still needed him. The feel of his face so close to hers, his breath on her lips and his thumb on her cheek was just so familiar and so much more than anything she’d felt in so long. She leaned into it. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t him. It was enough for now. 

Her lips pressed against his and he froze. She should have pulled back. She shouldn’t be doing this. But she needed it, so she pressed forward, bringing her hands to the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him there. He was so still against her, his mouth soft but unmoving under her own. She was coming to her senses, realizing how stupid it was to think that kissing this person would be anything like kissing Killian, when shifted. 

His lips parted, a shaky breath leaving him, breathed into her before his arm tightened around her and he pushed back, his mouth capturing hers in a way that was so familiar that she wanted to laugh and cry all at once. It’s not him . It’s not him , she reminded herself as he continued to explore her mouth with lips and teeth and tongue, as she continued to let him. 

He didn’t kiss the same. He tasted the same and his movements were familiar, but the feeling behind it was different. Where Killian’s kisses were passionate, romantic, teasing, this kiss was pure desperation, searching for something that he couldn’t find. Muscle memory . Muscle memory and fear. He was shaking even now. She could feel it. 

She pulled back finally, and he tried to chase her but she caught him with a hand on his cheek. His breathing was heavy and when she opened her eyes she could see how pained he looked, how uncertain and how scared. She shouldn’t have done it. She’d been selfish and in her selfishness she’d tormented this scared, confused soul that had only shown her kindness. He wasn’t Killian. She didn’t love him and he didn’t love her but what had been done to him, what he was, wasn’t his fault.

She stepped back and he only resisted, only tried to keep her close, for a second before he dropped his arms and let her move out of them. When he opened his eyes there was something new there, something she couldn’t place. 

They were still standing across from each other, still only inches apart. She was trapped between him and the counter behind her. But trapped was the wrong word. She didn’t feel unsafe around him, not anymore. But the way he was looking at her was stirring up emotions she didn’t want to deal with. Not now. They had to get somewhere safe first. She could unpack what she was feeling, try figure out what he was feeling, later, when they were hidden. 

“We should go,” she told him, turning her gaze away, finding something else to focus on. She couldn’t look at him anymore. With every new emotion that played out across his face he looked more and more like the man she’d lost. He stepped back, giving her room. 

“Do you have everything you need?” she asked. He was back in his clothes and she figured anything he had was in his pockets as he hadn’t brought anything else with him. He nodded. She moved to get her bag and froze when she heard him speak. 

“Where are we going?” he asked. His voice took her by surprise. He used it so rarely that she’d wondered for a while if he knew how to speak, and then had wondered if he was avoiding speaking to her for a reason. At first she hadn’t minded, preferring not to hear Killian’s voice come out of a stranger. But now… it didn’t bother her so much. She liked it when he spoke. It was comforting, a reminder that there was someone in there, that he wasn’t just a shell. 

She reached into the bag, threw him an apple. He caught it against his chest, looking a little surprised, and the corner of her lips curled up. “To Regina’s.”

Chapter 10

Notes:

Slightly shorter chapter this week and I'm not super happy with it but here is the product of my flu-addled brain... and me being forced to write plot.

Chapter Text

Emma couldn’t help but notice how good she was getting at this whole teleportation thing - at this whole magic thing really. She’d only just started to learn and get the hang of it before she became the Dark One. Before that her magic had been unpredictable, driven by fits of fear and anger or other strong emotions. But when she’d taken on the dagger’s magic it had been fueled by something else, by darkness and hatred and desire. It had come easy but with a price. 

It had been hard to relearn how to use it without channeling the darkness inside of her, the sad, angry places that she’d buried deep. She’d just begun to understand how to draw from the light in her life, from the happiness and desires she had for herself and for others. Killian had helped. He always helped, being around him had that kind of influence on her - calming, encouraging, letting her believe in herself and in her abilities. 

And then, after they’d returned from the Underworld, after they’d defeated Hades and Killian had come back to her… she hadn’t needed it. For those six, happy months that she was allowed, Emma hardly ever used her magic. It was still a part of her, still sometimes flaring up when she got excited or upset - much to Killian’s amusement - sometimes used as a party trick or out of laziness. But there had been no threat, no reason to practice, no one to defend. She’d been able to just let it be another thing about her that made her different, made her who she was, rather than a weapon, something she had to master and learn in order to protect and save people. 

She wondered sometimes if practicing would have made a difference. If being ready and constantly prepared for any new danger could have somehow prevented what happened, if she could have somehow defeated the King if she’d just been stronger. But then, Regina hadn't been able to stop him, or Gold. She may have been the product of true love, but their magic still far surpassed hers in skill and experience. It wouldn’t have made a difference.

But now she was back to learning, back to practicing, and once again almost always doing so under threat. Getting them out of the hospital had been a gut reaction, instinct and fear and even, a little bit of protectiveness. The potion she’d learned from a book, followed a recipe. But more and more she was noticing that she could call on her magic, weave it without the need for any emotion at all. It was strange. It was as though it had been simmering below the surface, waiting for her to need it again.

Her partner seemed unaffected by the magical travel. Maybe he was used to it, maybe he was completely unaware of it or unfazed, didn’t know that it wasn’t normal to teleport from one place to another. He was more concerned with something else than with magically appearing out of thin air.

This is a house ?” he asked, staring at the Town Hall. He sounded shocked and skeptical and it made her laugh, drawing his attention away from the massive building and to her. Those were two more emotions she hadn’t heard from him yet. She didn’t really know if they even counted. Maybe it was just because he was speaking more now that she was noticing tones in his voice she hadn't picked up on before. She’d heard other stolen people speak, had heard cruelty and malice in their voices… but never shock, never doubt. It was such a small thing… but still.

“Not really,” she told him, unsure how to explain the intricacies of mayorhood to him. “It’s the Town Hall. Regina’s office was in there and she spent more time here than she did anywhere else - more than at her own home anyway.” He considered her for a moment and then nodded slowly. She wondered if he really understood or was just letting it drop. She’d have known if it was Killian. He was always easy to read. “Come on,” she continued. “Ruby shawshanking her way into the hospital gave me an idea.” 

Ruby?” he asked. “Shawshanking ?” 

The way he said those words… it almost sounded like him. The same confusion and slight aversion to new terms he didn’t recognize, a sort of distaste at being out of the loop. Marty Mcwho? Photoshopped? It made her heart tighten a little, the way his brow was pulled down, the immediate instinct to tease him, to make a joke about him not knowing anything about pop culture - the way she would have teased Killian. He looked so much like him now. She thought about how she could possibly explain what shawshanking was when he spoke again, making her heart jump into her throat. 

“Ruby is the wolf-girl, right?” He was still frowning, still looking unsure, and increasingly so under her gaze. How did he know that? She tried to put it together, tried to think of when he might have seen Ruby. She’d been gone when he’d arrived to save her at the hospital hadn’t she? Had he heard her talking to Ruby through the window of her cell? Had she been less successful in being stealthy than she thought? Had he heard her and Henry talking about her? Her brow was pulled down now and she tried to force down the hope that was flaring up.

“How did you know that?” she asked. Was he remembering? Had something happened since this morning that was somehow bringing bits of his memory - of Killian’s memory to the surface? He frowned deeper, eyes searching, staring at the ground below his feet. That panicked expression started to bloom on his face again the longer he thought.

“I - I don’t know…” he started. Emma stared at him, waited until he brought his eyes back up to hers, searched them, tried to look past the scared, lost expression there, looking for any hint of recognition. 

“What’s... your name?” she asked, hesitant, afraid of what would be better, what would be worse - him knowing or not knowing. That expression came over his face again, the searching and then the worry and then the panic and the pain. “Hey, sorry, sorry,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. He inhaled sharply when she touched him. “Forget I asked, okay?” He didn’t respond but his muscles relaxed a little. “Let’s go inside. We shouldn’t be out in the open.”

 He nodded and followed her. She didn’t know what to make of it, of his confusion. Was he scared because he knew that something was missing? She really, really didn’t want to hope… but she really did. They had to get out of the open, she reminded herself. Now wasn’t the time for introspection and hope. 

Ruby’s tunnel had given her an idea. It had reminded her of something Regina had said once - back when defeating Hades had been the worst of their worries - that there were tunnels that ran under the Town Hall, hidden beneath it. She was pretty sure that Regina was too smart to have designed a town with a single, underground passage - Emma was pretty convinced that those tunnels ran under the entire town. At least, she was really hoping that they did.

Remembering them had given her two new hopes. One, that they might actually find a safe place to hide that nobody in the King’s army knew about, including Gold. And two, that maybe Regina had stashed away some of her spellbooks there for safekeeping. It was a long shot but that was what she was left with at this point. The only problem was that she had no fucking clue how to get into them. She hadn’t been allowed to go on that particular mission, had been called too emotional because of her grief. Yeah, well, things change and now she was the only one who could complete this mission, grief and all. But now she didn’t know how the fuck to get in there. 

There were thankfully no protection charms around the building - her parents taking over as town leaders had seen to that, ensuring everyone was able to come and seek aid, find refuge if they needed it. But while that was a good thing, meaning they could get in easily, avoid being exposed for very long, it also meant that they wouldn’t be as safe inside. She didn’t have time to put up new ones, didn’t have the amount of backup standing guard she needed to make sure nobody tried to get through before they were even built. They would have to be quick. 

She led him inside and he followed easily, letting her grab hold of his hook and drag him along behind her. They made their way up the grand staircase and into the mayor’s office. She almost laughed again when she saw his reaction to the decor. She had to agree, it was a bit much. She got to work, pulling books from shelves, looking inside and under potted plants, investigating the desk for a secret latch or a set of keys, anything that would point her in the direction of the entrance to the tunnels. She was so focused she almost didn’t hear him when he spoke again. 

“Is it… Killian? ” he asked. She froze, kneeling by the foot of Regina’s chair where she’d been inspecting the underside. Everything stopped for a moment, every muscle in her body, the blood in her veins, the beating of her heart just stopped with those three words. His voice was small, quiet and full of that same, almost childlike confusion and fear. He reminded her of the lost boys they’d met in Neverland. She waited, waited until she could feel her limbs enough to move them, to stand, to look at him cautiously, too afraid to hope for the best, bracing herself for the worst. 

“Is what Killian?” 

He only looked at her for a moment. “My name. Is it Killian?” Emma’s breath was shaky and harsh now with fear and she didn’t even know what else. This was foreign territory. 

“Why are you asking?” She couldn’t let herself presume, couldn’t put words in his mouth. 

“You… called me that,” he said, the frown still ever present and ever deepening on his face. “Before.” Her breath left her all at once. He hadn’t remembered. The memories weren’t his to remember. She shook her head.

“Killian…” she paused, not sure exactly how to explain it. “Killian was his name.” He watched her again and then the frown softened in understanding as he put it together. 

“The man from your stories.” 

“Yes.” 

“The man who had my voice.” She frowned. What? She stared at him. “In my vision last night,” he continued as though that explained anything. 

“Your vision?” she asked, confused, trying to understand this cryptic, riddle-like way in which he was so fond of speaking. “You mean your dream ?” Her heart pounded, hard, heavy beats against her sternum, echoing through her whole body, shaking it. “Did you dream about him?”

“I - I don’t know,” he said and it took everything inside of her to stay calm, to not let herself get frustrated, not to demand answers. Whatever was happening was clearly as new for him as it was for her - and just as terrifying. “It’s... blurry.” 

She walked up to him, put her hand on his arm again, noticed the way the deep creases that had returned in his brow faded a little at her touch.

 “What else was in your dream?”

He looked at her and slowly the fear and confusion left his face, was replaced with certainty. There was almost a longing in his eyes. She was sure that if he didn’t seem so afraid of touching her he would have reached out for her then. 

“You.” 

Shit . She didn’t know what to do with that. He’d dreamed about her. She didn’t even know he could dream - didn’t know the shells dreamed. Had he dreamed about her now, as she was, as the person he’d known for a little over a week? Or was it… She was still so afraid to hope. She could handle him being someone new, being someone born of what was done to Killian, someone that she had grown to trust. But to let herself believe that he was Killian, that he was Killian trying to break through to her - and if she turned out to be wrong… 

She stepped away, dropped her hand and with it his gaze left hers. Whatever focus, whatever draw had been making her look like that left him and he was back to the reserved, quiet man he’d been before. She moved to resume her search, starting to pull books from shelves again and leaf through them. She didn’t even know what she was looking for anymore. She wasn’t really focusing. She was just trying to get her heart and her breath and her feelings back under control. 

“What is it then?” he asked and she nearly sighed. She’d only just started to manage to ignore the thoughts racing in her head, to try rationalize his existence and he’d had to go ahead and pull her right back. 

“What’s what?” She didn’t look up from her book, knew she’d groan at him if she did.

“My name.” 

The words caught her by surprise. She shut the book slowly, put it back on the shelf. His name. She didn’t know what his name was. She didn’t think any of the King’s minions had names. She’d been calling him Killian and then correcting herself and calling him Not Killian in her head - as well as several other, much ruder names out loud. She remembered what Gold had called him - his puppet . It made her skin crawl just to think about it, about this man being used as a slave, being used to do evil’s bidding when there was a kindness in him - she’d seen it. He deserved a name. 

She looked over at where he stood, awkwardly in the middle of the room, fiddling with the sharp point of his hook the way he seemed to do when he was nervous or scared. She smiled a little, remembering another man that she’d believed to be evil and cruel but who had proved her wrong. She gave him a little smile. 

“Why don’t we call you Hook for now?” 

He looked up at her, his brows lifting in surprise, and then back at the appendage for a moment before meeting her eye once more. He nodded. Hook it was then . She could handle that. Killian hadn’t been Hook to her for a very long time. It was fitting, someone who looked like him and sounded like him but was so far removed from the man Killian truly was, the man he had become. She returned his nod and pulled out another book. 

“Good. Now help me look.” It was the least he could do instead of just standing there, making her question everything she knew and believed every few minutes. 

“What are we looking for?” 

She sighed. “I don’t know. Anything that looks like it could be a passageway or a key or something to get into a secret tunnel. Just, tell me if you find anything that doesn’t look right.” 

He nodded but he looked more confused than ever. She couldn’t blame him. He would be no help at all, she thought. He made an effort though, searching the room, looking under pillows and along tables for buttons or latches. He was inspecting the window when he stopped. She figured he’d given up, that he didn’t understand what they were doing or why. 

It was a long, fruitless while where she turned the entire room upside down before she gave up, collapsed on one of the armchairs and heaved a sigh. She looked over at him, unsure what their next move should be. She had really placed all her bets on finding this tunnel. He was still at the window, looking out of it, focused on something outside. Her immediate thought was that someone was coming, that they’d been found and even - fleetingly - that he’d sold them out. But he didn’t look worried or tense or prepared for a fight. He just looked focused. 

She stood, walking across the black and white linoleum to where he stood, following his gaze to whatever it was that had caught his attention so raptly. It was a tree. A single tree, isolated from the rest, with dark, red apples growing from it. Of course. Of course Regina would hide her secret entrance in her most precious possession. It wasn’t her desk or her chair or her books - it was that fucking tree. 

She remembered then that it had been Killian who had told her about that particular royal quirk. King Arthur had revealed it to him in the Underworld when they’d been looking for Hades’ missing pages. Had this man - had Hook - known who Regina was, what that tree meant to her? Maybe they had been told things about them, fed information to make it easier to hunt them. The person who stole Snow had known who she and her father were. 

Maybe. But maybe it was something else. It was too many coincidences, too many little moments and whispers that kept hinting at, adding up to, the same thing. His dreams, the way he’d reached out for her so desperately, the way he’d hummed that song, the way he knew who Ruby was, the way he’d listened to her stories, the way he’d kissed her back, the way he’d called her Emma, the way he’d saved her life - and now this. 

Something was - no, he was changing . Whether it was the spell fading or Killian screaming out from somewhere inside of this new man, she didn’t know, and she didn’t have time to speculate. But she couldn’t keep hiding from it, couldn’t keep protecting herself from it if it meant not helping Killian - not finding him.

She thought back to another time, long ago, when she’d met another version of Killian, one that wasn’t so different from the man before her now. He’d been a deckhand, scared and confused and nearly helpless but deep down, in the end, he’d still been Killian. Kind, and brave, and willing to sacrifice anything - even himself - to protect those he cared about. At his core, he’d been Killian, regardless of the memories he’d been fed, or the ones that had been stolen. 

She remembered her parents then too. Remembered how David had told her that he’d helped Snow find her way back to herself once, back to him, by reminding her of who she was and who he was to her. True love was the most powerful magic in the world and she knew, without any test or scales or magic kiss that that was what she and Killian had had. Maybe it was time to start believing in that, time to start reminding this man of who he was rather than just resenting what he’d become.

She took his hand and he startled. “Come on,” she said gently. “You figured it out.” His brow pulled down in that confused way that had made her laugh before, clearly having no idea what she was referring to. She grabbed her bag and led him out of the office, her hand still wrapped around his and, after a moment, she felt his fingers close over her own. The familiar feel of it was like a warmth, blooming from where they touched and out through her limbs, into her bones. I’ll find you, she thought. If you’re in there, I’ll find you.  

They made their way through the building and out to the tree. That was as far as she got for a while. She was sure that Hook was right and that the entrance was probably disguised somewhere on the trunk. But how the hell she was supposed to find it she had no idea. She circled the tree, looking for something out of place, something wrong. It looked like a normal damn tree. Hook was staring straight up, frowning a little at the fruit with his mouth hanging open, like he’d never seen an apple tree before. Technically, this version of him probably hadn’t, she realized. She left him to his confusion as she kept looking, pressing at every knot and pulling at every branch she could reach. 

“What I wouldn’t give for Indigo’s magic sword,” she muttered under her breath. 

“What?” he asked, his face finally looking away from the fruit and the leaves. Good, his neck was gonna get sore if he kept that up. 

“Nevermind,” she said. After a moment, he simply nodded and went back to looking at the apples. She frowned. “What the hell is so fascinating about these fruits, man?” she asked, getting annoyed - more at herself but, well, he was there for her to project it onto. He didn’t look down again.

“They’re all exactly the same.” 

“Huh?” she asked, frowning and following his gaze. He was right. Every single apple was identical. While she’d never really noticed much difference from one apple to another, these ones were eerily all the same. Each the exact same shade of red, each the exact same size, each the exact same flawless shape. That wasn’t normal. She should have known Regina would use magic to genetically modify her fruit. 

She noticed one though - one that was just a little bit different. Where the others were a dark, almost blackish red, this one was paler, like it was younger, like it hadn’t ripened yet. It was smaller too. She reached out, pulled it until it came loose, and held it between her hands. Hook watched her do it, that same, confused, skeptical look on his face. 

After an anticlimactic moment, where she thought she’d guessed wrong, she jumped at the sound of the earth moving. The ground next to her feet was falling away, opening up to reveal a set of stairs that disappeared beneath the tree. Fucking Regina and her fucking apples . She almost laughed, almost groaned. A new fruit was already growing in the old one’s place.

Hook was tense beside her and it took her a second to realise that at some point, he’d put himself between her and the passage, as though blocking her from whatever the noise was, or whatever might have been planning to come out. She put a hand on his arm that was braced, held out in front of her. She gently urged it down and after a moment, he didn’t resist. 

“It’s fine,” she told him. “This is what we were looking for.” She took his hand again. It was hard to stop once she’d started. Just like it had been hard to stop talking to him those nights in the cell. Every time she touched him she just wanted to keep touching him, keep feeling him. She liked feeling the warmth and the comfort, liked the way his hand still fit with hers the same way, the way his rings were still cold against her skin. It was familiar and now… now she had hope that maybe it really was him, somewhere, somewhere really deep down. 

He was staring at their hands again, his still stiff in hers and she worried. Maybe she shouldn’t be pushing him. She might have just begun to believe that maybe there was a chance she could find the man she loved… but to him, to Hook , she was still a stranger. Maybe it wasn’t fair to put all of this on him, to expect him to be someone else, someone he wasn’t anymore, someone he would hopefully be again - but might not. She moved to loosen her hold but he shifted, slipping his fingers through her own and hanging on, like he was grounding himself. 

He looked up at her then and she nodded before slowly heading down the stairs, testing the first step, making sure it would hold, making sure it wasn’t a trap. When it held steady under her weight she continued. Hook followed behind her, not releasing his grip on her hand. When they reached the bottom, Emma found a leaver in the wall. Apparently opening it from the inside was easier than from the outside. She pulled it and the steps rose back up, disappearing into the ceiling above them. 

It was dark inside. Emma felt for a lightswitch, instructed Hook to do the same, a little disappointed when he dropped her hand, but she couldn’t find one. Hook didn’t seem to have any luck on his side of the tunnel either. She couldn’t see him anymore, it was pitch black around them. She was worried suddenly, not liking not knowing where he was, if he was alright, if he was afraid. She focused on her hand, held it out in front of her and thought about how much she wanted to see his face in that moment. 

A small flame appeared in her palm and she let out a small cheer, pleased with her own achievement. Fireballs were hard. She remembered how long it took Regina to teach her to even manage a spark. Hook looked up at her when she called out, reacted to the light. He seemed surprised for a moment but when he saw the excitement on her face he gave her a small, hesitant smile. Maybe even this version of him was a fan of her magic , she mused. 

“Emma!” he shouted suddenly and she barely had time to see the panic in his eyes, see him try and reach for her before someone grabbed her from behind, a knife pressed to her throat.

“Stay back!” the voice shouted when he took a step forward. He paused, looking between her and the person who held her, evaluating, judging the threat. The voice spoke to her next. “Move and you die.” The voice was female, and familiar.

“Ariel?” she asked, surprised, confused. She didn’t even know Ariel had been in Storybrooke when the Horned King arrived. 

“You know who she is?” another voice asked. A second woman came out of the darkness, holding a sword to Hook, aimed it at his chest. 

“Tink?” she asked in shock. The blade at her throat pressed harder. Hook stepped forward but Tink moved in front of him, stopping his progress. The blade was digging into his jacket now, over his heart. If he took another step it would run him through. “Of course I know her,” Emma said, hoping to de-escalate the situation. “Tink. It’s me, Emma. You know me.” 

“We used to know a lot of people in this town,” Tink said, not letting up. “Don’t trust her,” she said to Ariel. “It could be a trick.”

Emma met Hook’s eyes over Tink’s shoulder. She could see his hand twitching, tense. She also knew he could get out of this, could escape giving the opportunity. He’d had blades pointed to his chest before. She looked down at her hand, at the fire, hoping he’d understand that she could get out too. He nodded. 

Emma snuffed out the flame, engulfing the room in darkness again. She raised her hand faster than Ariel could react, blasting the knife out of her hand, heard it clatter to the floor. She heard the screeching of metal on metal next, heard Tink cry out but she didn’t hear her sword hit the floor. There was panic for a moment as they all scrambled in the dark, and then the lights came on. 

Tink and Ariel stood to one side of the tunnel, Ariel’s hand was still gripping the leaver that had clearly turned on the power. Tink was next to her, still armed. Emma looked around frantically for Hook, relieved when she saw him standing a little ways away from where she’d last seen him. But he was far too close to that sword.

“Are you okay?” she asked. He nodded. She turned to the other two. “Tink, Ariel... Is it really you? Are you really okay?” She had tears welling in her eyes now, her voice cracking. She’d thought she was the only one left, her and Ruby and Henry. But there were more. How many more were there? How many had survived? “Are you really still human?” They were, she could see it in their eyes, see the recognition and the fear and the anger. 

“We’re plenty human,” Tink spat. She stepped closer to Hook again, sword drawn. “What about you though. How can we know you’re human?” Emma saw his face harden, ready to fight and she shook her head at him. Don’t, she tried to say without words. We need them to trust us. They needed to be together in this. They couldn’t defeat the King if they were divided. But she didn’t know how to convince them to trust Hook when she herself had only just begun to. He was still cursed and she knew that that would be enough to scare any of them into action. Hook didn’t move but he still glared at the woman who was holding a blade to him for the second time since they’d entered the tunnel. 

“I am,” she tried to tell them, tried to beg them to listen. “My heart… it has a protection spell on it.” Ariel seemed to relax. Tink didn’t. “Ask me anything! Anything at all, something only I’d know and I promise I’ll know the answer.”

“I believe you,” Ariel said.

“What about him ?” Tink demanded. “I’ve seen him around. Seen him with the others. He’s one of them .” Emma saw her hand tighten around the handle of the blade. 

“Don’t touch him!” she shouted. She could feel the magic burning in her fingers, had to rein it in, had to control herself to stop it from lashing out. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to if Tink hurt him. “ He’s different ,” she tried to explain. “Something’s… happening to him.” 

Emma ,” Tink said over her shoulder, her voice patronizing, heavy with pity. “I know you loved him and all, but you can’t be serious. He’s dangerous. Just like the rest of them.” 

“Tink,” Ariel said quietly. “Maybe we should listen to her. What if…”

“What if nothing,” she snapped. “He’s cursed. There’s no coming back from this one.” Her voice broke on the last words. 

Emma recognized it then. The despair in Tink’s voice, the hopelessness, the anger, and the hatred… the emptiness. She recognized it, recognized herself a week ago, hell, days ago. But she also knew what that meant. Tink wasn’t going to let him go. She was going to kill him. Emma felt fire burning inside of her - rage, protectiveness, love , all merging into one. It raged through her veins, rushed through her body until she could feel it in the tips of her fingers. 

“I said . Don’t. Touch. Him , ” she shouted again. But this time it was a warning. There were twin flames burning in her hands now, she could feel the magic coursing through her, knew she couldn’t stop it, she'd lost control. She couldn’t let her hurt him. It was engulfing her, overpowering her, consuming her. She’d just got him back -just got the possibility of him back. She wasn’t going to let anyone take it away. 

“Enough!” someone shouted behind them. The voice broke through the anger and the rage and the fight in the room, all gazes snapping to its source. Emma’s fire simmered out when she recognized who it was. Belle . Belle, heavily pregnant and pacing towards them with a crossbow aimed at Killian. She didn’t look ready to shoot but Emma knew better than to challenge her. 

“Belle -” Tink started but she interrupted her.

“I said enough.” Tink hesitated for a moment, looking between the woman and Hook before finally stepping back, dropping her sword. She didn’t look happy about it. Belle looked at Emma then. “ How is he different?” 

Emma hesitated. “He’s… changing.” She knew that wasn’t enough. Belle’s look told her so. “He’s - I think he’s coming back. He’s remembering things - little things -”

“None of them come back,” Tink insisted, sword lowered but her hand still had a white-knuckle grip around it. 

“Yet,” Emma reminded her. “None of them have come back yet .” She looked at Belle again. She was still aiming the crossbow at Killian. But Emma knew her. When it came to hope and believing in people, in trying to see the good in them, Belle was only second to Snow. She just had to convince her. “He saved my life,” she told her and Belle raised a brow, surprised, interested. “He turned against the others - he saved me from them.” She could see that had gotten through to her.

Belle thought for a moment, eyeing Hook warily. “Show us his heart,” she demanded.  

Emma hesitated. She didn’t know what good that would do. He was cursed and his heart would reflect it. She feared that more than anything it put him at greater risk - Tink was just waiting for an excuse to run him through. She wondered, just briefly, if it was because she’d cared about Killian too, if it hurt her to see him stolen. But Belle wasn’t budging. Her bow was still at the ready, her expression told Emma she was waiting. 

Emma sighed. At least, maybe this way she could be close enough to protect him if Tink or Belle came after him again. If she could keep his heart safe then they couldn’t kill him. She stepped forward and Hook’s gaze was still firmly on Belle, on the weapon in her hand. She approached him cautiously, not wanting to scare him, hoping he knew she was still on his side. She didn’t touch him yet. Didn’t want to distract him from the seriousness of what she was going to ask - because she was going to ask. He deserved better than to have his heart ripped out of his chest like he was no one. 

“Hook,” he hesitated for a second, not wanting to look away from the threat, but finally his eyes met hers. “I have to show them your heart. I need them to trust us. This is what they need to trust us.” His expression was unreadable. “Will you let me do that?” she asked and he hesitated for a moment, gaze flicking back to the other women in the room before settling on her again. When he looked at her there was trust in his eyes, not for them, but for her. “Thank you,” she said so that only he could hear. She brought her hand to his chest, felt his deep inhale as it rose under her palm. “This might hurt,” she apologized. 

She pushed her hand in. There was no resistance. She did it as slowly and gently as she could and he barely flinched, though she didn’t know if that was due to her care or to his cursed ability to ignore pain. She’d only done this once and that time she’d been scared and frantic and overtaken by darkness. It still felt wrong, taking someone’s heart from their chest, but it didn’t feel as cruel as it had the last time she’d done it. She took hold of his heart and pulled back slowly. He let out a small grunt but seemed otherwise unharmed. She cradled it against her, protecting it, remembering the last time she’d held his heart in her hands. 

“Let’s see it,” Belle said but her tone wasn’t as harsh as it had been. Emma knew - if anyone could understand loving someone despite their darkness it was her. And Belle had loved Killian too. It had taken a while but their friendship had grown into one that she knew Killian cherished. She realised then that all the women in this room had cared about him at some point in their lives. She just hoped that she could convince them to believe in him now.  Emma held out the heart. 

A small gasp left Belle’s lips and Emma’s eyes shot down to the heart - to see what was wrong. She nearly dropped it, shock and fear and hope coursing through her all at once, knocking her back with the force of it. It was cracked. His heart was stone, just like the others, solid rock encompassing it in its entirety… almost. In the middle, right in the dead center of the stone, was a tiny, little crack, as though a piece had been chipped out. It was barely a hair’s width but from it she could see the red glowing through, shining through, a little bit of light trying to force its way through the darkness. Holy shit.

She looked up to meet three equally stunned faces. No one knew what to do. No one knew what this meant. Was the spell breaking? Had something been wrong in the first place? Was this Killian fighting his way back to her again? She wanted to cry. She did cry, a hot, silent tear rolling down her cheek. Belle dropped her weapon. Ariel came up to Belle’s side, taking the weapon from her and offering her very pregnant friend a hand should she need to lean on it.

“What does this mean?” Emma asked, hoping Belle had an answer. Belle with all her books and her research and her love, if anyone had an answer it would be her.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.” Belle walked over to her, took hold of her arms, the heart still held between them. Emma tightened her grip, needing to protect it now more than ever. “Emma, if he’s trying to get back to you, then we’ll help him.” Emma nodded and Belle turned to the others. “Come on, let’s head back to camp,” she told them. They agreed, Tink heading off after her. Ariel walked by Emma, stopping to pick up her dagger that was still on the floor.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice a little small, embarrassed. 

“It’s okay,” Emma said. “You were protecting yourself.” Ariel’s gaze dropped to the heart in Emma’s hand. “That’s incredible,” she said. “I didn’t know that was possible. I thought the spell was unbreakable.” 

“So did I,” Emma breathed. 

“I suppose we never really know the limits of magic until they’re tested,” Ariel said. She gave Emma another, encouraging look and headed off after the others who were waiting for them a few yards away. 

Emma turned back to Hook, her eyes still fixed on the heart. When she looked up at him he was watching her, looking unsure. “Thank you,” she told him and he only nodded. “We can trust them now, okay?” He looked hesitant but he didn’t protest. “I’m gonna put this back now.” He nodded again, waited. 

Raising the heart between them, Emma paused, focusing again on that soft, pinkish glow - Killian, reaching out to her. She had to believe it was him. She should have trusted him sooner, believed in him sooner. She brought the heart close to her face, held it so the crack was barely a breath away from her lips. 

Come back to me ,” she whispered, hoping, that somehow he would hear her, that the message would reach him, that he would keep fighting, knowing she was out here fighting for him too. Hook was looking at her, his head tilted slightly, brow knotted again. He’d find her. She knew he would. In this version, in any version, Killian would always find his way back to her. 

Emma pressed the heart back into his chest, gentler this time than when she’d done this for him so long ago. She could see the change in his expression when the heart was returned, a change in the way he looked at her, that slight recognition, that slight longing coming back. She was relieved. 

She kept her hand there on his chest for a moment, appreciating the steady beat under her palm. Hook’s hand covered hers, holding it against him. She realised then that as much as she was trying to believe in Killian, believe that he could break this curse, she also needed to believe in Hook - in this version of him, believe that he was a good man, that he was fighting against his instincts, choosing her, despite the risks. She slid her fingers through his, squeezing them once before leading him off after the others. 

 

Chapter Text

Belle led them to a small, makeshift camp they had set up underneath the Town Hall. Emma had been right, there were tunnels that spread out through the entire town, and the one below Regina’s office was dead center. Ariel explained how there were secret entrances all over Storybrooke, that the three of them had been using them to navigate their way around, to collect supplies, to raid Gold’s shop and even Regina’s vault. Nearly every establishment in the town had an access point. 

Emma tried not to think about how creepy it was that Regina had a secret way of getting into any building at any time during the first curse. But it made sense - the Evil Queen would have wanted to make sure she was in complete control of her little prison. 

She followed the women, leading Killian along behind her. The whole way he kept casting strange looks at Ariel and Emma couldn’t figure out why. She wondered if perhaps there were new memories emerging, if maybe he was remembering what he had done to her in the Enchanted Forest. She thought they had put their differences aside. Ariel wouldn’t look at him, avoiding his gaze as they made their way to the camp and settled there. She squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him. Old grudges didn’t matter now. Those things had to be put behind them. They had a common enemy now. 

“How long have you guys been down here?” Emma asked, looking around. The camp was surprisingly nice and Emma realised that they must have been settled here for a while. Their collection of supplies and the small comforts they’d amassed was impressive. They had stockpiles of food and medicine and even toiletries. There was also a very comfortable looking little pile of blankets and pillows that made up a sleeping quarter, and a makeshift table built out of an old door and books stacked for legs. 

Emma shouldn’t have been surprised by the sheer amount of books scattered around the tunnel. Belle was a librarian after all. And, you know… the actual Belle from the Beauty and the Beast. But Emma’s heart started racing as she noticed the massive pile of spellbooks. They were scattered across the table, several open with notes in the margins and dog-eared corners. Belle had been researching - just as she had. Maybe together they could find a solution, learn how to break the curse. 

“Tink and I have been here… almost 9 weeks now I think,” Belle told them. “We found Ariel on one of our raids a little over a week ago.” 

“I came to visit and couldn’t figure out where everyone had gone,” Ariel explained. “It was like a ghost town. I didn’t know what had happened but then I saw Belle and Tinkerbelle and they told me about the attack. I stayed to help them fight.”

Nine weeks, just over two months. Emma did the math in her head, trying to put together how much time had passed. Weeks and days had become a blur, irrelevant in her life but she thought back. Killian had been taken six weeks after the attack - she’d never forget that date - and then she, Ruby, Henry and David had survived on their own for two more without him, plus the week she’d just spent in captivity… that meant…

“You guys have been here the whole time? Since the attack? Nobody’s found you?” Had it happened? Had they finally found a safe place? A real one?

Belle nodded. “Hardly anyone knows about these tunnels. Those who did have forgotten. Rumple -” Her voice caught. “The Dark One didn’t even know about them.”

“How did you find them?” 

Belle shrugged. “I found one by accident once when I was working in the library. I didn’t think it was smart to share their existence. I was planning on finding a way to seal them off, in case a villain ever wanted to make use of them. I’m glad now that I didn’t.” She looked up at Hook who was still holding Emma’s hand. “I was going to ask Killian what he thought, see if he could find a way to destroy them. But then everything happened.” 

She looked at him sadly, and Emma realised that maybe Belle had missed him too. Hook however, was still fixated on Ariel, who was looking uncomfortable under his gaze. What was wrong with him? Was it because Ariel had threatened her? Was there more bad blood between them than Killian had told her? Was it enough that even now, buried under the stone around his heart, he remembered, or felt, some sort of animosity?

Emma set her bag down in the middle of the table, reaching in and taking out the food she’d grabbed before leaving the house as well as the other supplies. Killian stood behind her as she did, closer than he had been standing before and she felt the strange sense that he was being protective, watching her back. He didn’t know them. She’d told him to trust them but maybe it would take him time without his memories. She tried not to think of how it warmed her heart a little to know that he was still looking out for her.

“Here,” she said, gesturing at them. “Add these to your stocks. If we’re staying with you then we should at least pool our resources. 

“Thank you,” Belle said, and Tink and Ariel collected the supplies and started dividing them into the neat little stacks and towers they had built further along the far wall. Emma started to leaf through some of the books on the table. No wonder she hadn’t been able to find much - Belle had hoarded all the spellbooks in Storybrooke. 

“Killian,” Belle started, but the man beside her didn’t react. 

“Hook,” Emma corrected, and he caught her eye. She nodded towards Belle and he looked at her. Belle raised a brow but didn’t comment on the name.

“Could you help them please?” she asked. Hook turned back to Emma, hesitant and unsure. He stepped a little closer to her, clearly suggesting he wasn’t planning on leaving her side. Belle smiled a little. “I just want to talk to Emma alone for a moment.” 

Hook looked at Emma again and she gave him a small smile. “It’s fine.” He hesitated another moment and then gathered the supplies that were still on the table and headed over to the other women. Emma watched as he awkwardly stood by them and handed them things as they asked for them. 

“That’s quite the bodyguard you’ve got there,” Belle commented. Emma nodded.

“I don’t know how it started. The King caught me, kept me in a cell and kept him outside my door as a guard. But… I don’t know… he didn’t act like the others, even from the beginning.”

“How so?”

“He - he listened to me. If I asked him not to touch me or to find out if Henry was safe, he listened, he did it. And then I started telling him stories about me and Killian and he asked to hear more.” Emma frowned, realising how clear it had been from the start that Hook wasn’t like the others, that there was something more human about him than she’d seen in any other stolen person. How had she missed it? How had she let herself be so blinded by her anger and her grief and hatred that she hadn’t seen the bits of this man coming through?

“When did it start?” Belle asked. Emma frowned, trying to think, to see clearly through all of her doubts and denials. 

“I think,” she remembered how he reacted the first time she’d seen him, when she’d refused to let him touch her and he’d hesitated, how he’d reacted the next day when she’d gotten angry with him and he’d gone to check on Henry. “I think it was right from the start. I yelled at him and -” An amused, knowing smile crossed Belle’s face. “What?” Emma demanded. Belle pressed her lips together, trying to school her features but doing a poor job.

“Killian’s always had a type, hasn’t he?” she said. Emma frowned at her. “You know, we used to talk about you sometimes, when he would come visit me in the library or on his ship.” 

Belle had been staying on the Jolly Roger since they’d come back from the Underworld and her father had woken her from her sleeping curse. It had been one of the few places she’d felt safe from her husband after she learned she was pregnant. Emma and Regina had put up the protection spells themselves. Killian would go there some nights to spend time with her, to talk about books and the Enchanted Forest. But she knew he also went to make sure she was safe. She wondered if that was where she’d hidden when the first attack had happened.

“He told me that the first time he realised he liked you was when you threatened his life.” She smiled a bit and raised an eyebrow questioningly. “He said you tied him to a tree?” 

Emma shrugged. “It’s a long story.” 

Belle laughed. “The point is, Killian liked you because you were strong and you fought him. You stood up to him and challenged him - not many people have done that, you know.” Emma smiled. She did know that about Kilian. I quite fancy you from time to time, when you’re not yelling at me. .. Yeah right. “Maybe, this version of him isn’t so different,” Belle continued. “Maybe you yelling at him sparked something, found its way into the feelings that had been locked up. Stranger things have happened.”

“Maybe,” Emma agreed then hesitated. She looked over at where Killian was now standing in front of a stack of books. He ran his fingers over the spines carefully. Belle followed her gaze and smiled curiously. “Something else changed,” Emma said. "Today." She looked back at Belle. “He’s started remembering things.”

“Like what?”

“He knew who Ruby was. He remembered Regina’s apple tree… he remembered his name - sort of.”

“Did anything happen today? Anything that could have triggered it?”

Emma blushed. “I kissed him.”

The smile Belle gave her was understanding and a little sad. “He’s your true love, Emma. Even if he’s buried under darkness and stone. And you’re the product of true love - that’s a powerful combination. Maybe you reached that part of him that’s trapped, helped him break through.”

“Like with Graham,” Emma said quietly to herself, remembering how kissing Graham had sent him on a quest to find his heart, believing he was someone else - he’d been right, she just hadn’t known it then. 

“Who?”

“Nevermind.” She didn’t want to get into that particular tragedy. She had enough loss to focus on already. “So what have you found out about the curse?” she asked, looking at the books again. Belle didn’t push her.

“It’s called the Stone Heart curse. It creates a prison around someone’s heart, locking away all their memories and emotions - effectively erasing their personality. In theory it kills the soul and leaves behind a sort of living-dead corpse, a shell that the one who cast it can feed orders into. The cursed are loyal only to that person, They’ll do whatever they ask. I think his cauldron is some kind of conduit. He can use it to communicate with all of them, tell them where to go and what to do.”

Killian came to join them now and Emma couldn’t help the way her body reacted when he walked up to her side and placed a hand on her back, as though it was something he did all the time. “Have you found a way to break it?”

Belle shook her head. “No. You’ve come closer to that than any of us have. The thing I don’t understand is what the King’s purpose is. Why is he doing this? What is the point of creating a living dead army if there’s no war to fight? There has to be more.”

Emma hung her head. “He was looking for me. For my heart.” 

Her eyes widened. “Your heart? But I thought your heart was protected.”

“It is. That’s why he kept me prisoner. He said he needed the heart of the product of true love and he wanted me to figure out how to remove it. The way he said it was weird though.” Emma paused, trying to remember the exact phrasing Gold had used, knowing that any details they had could help. “He said he needed ' the heart that belonged to the product of true love ’.” 

Belle frowned, muttering to herself under her breath. “ The heart that belongs to the product of true love .” Her eyes snapped up to Emma’s, shock registering on her face. She dashed across the tunnel - as much as she could in her current state - and headed over to another stack of books. 

“What is it?” Emma asked, following. Killian followed with her, like a magnet who was being pulled along. 

“I’ve heard that before. It was something I found Rumple looking into before we went to the Underworld. She tried to grab a book but it was weighed down by a few others that were out of her reach. Emma went to help but Hook was quicker, lifting them off with one hand. “Thank you,” Belle said with a little shock in her voice. She headed to the table and sat down, opened the book and flipped through the pages. She stopped, reading over one of them quickly. Her face lit up then, with success and surprise, and then it was replaced with fear and panic. 

“This is what he’s doing,” Belle said, turning the book around so Emma could see the pages. “Your heart is the primary ingredient in a spell that will allow him to break the laws of magic.”

Emma’s heart raced. “But that could mean…”

“He could do anything. Anything he wants. Bring people back from the dead, perform magic without a price, live forever… make someone love you.” 

Emma’s chest tightened, thinking of how Gold had been helping the King. She looked at the sadness on Belle’s face and reached for her hand. “We’ll save Gold. I know that he’s under the control of the King but if we can get his dagger we can -”

Belle stopped her. “He’s not under the King's control. Rumple has his dagger locked away where no one could ever find it, not even me. He -” she stumbled, her words catching in her throat. “He made a deal with him, of his own will.”

“How do you know?”

“He came to me the day before the attack. He found me on the Jolly and asked me to come back to him. I said no.” Tears were welling in her eyes and Emma’s heart went out to her friend, proud of her strength and her decision to choose herself despite how much it must have hurt to give up on the man she’d loved. “He said I would. That he’d find a way. That somehow, I’d love him again.” Belle’s tears fell. She put a hand over her swollen stomach. “That’s what he wants. To make me and the baby love him.” 

“Hey,” Emma said, taking her hand again between her own. “We won’t let him. We’ll figure out how to break this curse and then we’ll find his dagger. We’ll stop him. I promise.”

“He’d also… Emma, he could bring Neal back.” Emma fought against the way her heart raced, against the way a small part of her wanted that, not for her but so that Henry could know his father, so that Killian could see Balefire again. She knew how much his loss had hurt both of them. 

But she couldn’t let herself think that way. That kind of thinking made her just as bad as the King and Gold. It wasn’t worth the sacrifice of giving them that kind of power just to bring him back. She shuddered though, fearing what she might be willing to do if it meant bringing Killian back. She reached out for his hand. He was here. He was coming back to her. 

“We’ll stop them,” she said again and Belle let out a heavy breath. 

“Thank you.” She moved to stand. “I’ll go look through some of the books we found in Regina’s vault. Maybe there’s something more about what’s happening to Killian. Maybe we can find a way to -” She stopped. She’d been in the process of standing, awkward and clearly difficult for her to do from her low seat when suddenly Hook was at her elbow, steadying her, letting her use him for leverage as she got to her feet. She blinked at him. “Thank you,” she said and he nodded, letting her go. 

Emma’s heart leapt into her throat. It was another sign that Killian was in there. She’d been worried, still, that maybe some of Hook’s actions had only been because of this new version of him’s apparent affection for her. But Killian had loved Belle, Hook didn’t know her. But he was looking at Belle now with the same protectiveness and openness that Emma saw when he looked at her. She looked at the other woman and knew she’d seen it too. 

“Do you want to help us?” Belle asked and Hook cocked his head. “We’re going to look through as many of these books as we can to try and figure out what happened to you.”

“Why?” he asked. 

“So we can fix you,” Emma said. Hook looked at her now. 

“Am I broken?” 

She felt her gut twisting. Shit. Nice job, Emma . Belle stepped back, making a point to look very interested in the book on the table, offering them some privacy. How could she explain this to him? How could she explain that he wasn’t who he thought he was, that there was someone else trapped inside and that she wanted that person back? How did she explain that without hurting him?

“You know how you told me about your dream?” she asked.

“Yes. You were there. And the man.” 

“Yeah, that’s right. I think it was a memory. You had all of your memories stolen from you and we want to get them back so that you can remember everything else about your life, who you were before the King made you.”

He frowned, looking at the floor, taking in her words and then looked up at her again. There was that openness again . “Will I still remember you ?”

Emma smiled, her eyes watering at the sweetness and the concern on his face. Yes, you’ll remember me , she wanted to scream. You’ll remember who you are and you’ll be the man I love again . She only nodded, worried that her voice would betray her.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay.” She was going to step away, going to go find a book and get started, but the way he was looking at her kept her where she was. He was still an open book, even now. He looked so worried, so unsure, but still, he trusted her, believed that she wouldn’t wrong him. 

He still wasn’t Killian, not yet, but when she got him back - and she would get him back - she wanted to remember this version of him too, keep him in her mind with the other versions of him that she’d been lucky enough to know. And for now, for now this version of him needed her, needed her to believe in him, to protect him, to reassure him that things would be okay despite the risk he was taking. 

She took a step towards him, noticed the way that longing returned to his eyes the moment she was close, saw the way his breathing picked up just a fraction. She put her hand on his shoulder, balanced herself as she rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. He turned into her touch, the same way Killian always did, and she smiled. He followed her as she pulled away, leaning forward, his hand brushing her arm but not taking it. 

He stood there, watching her as she and Belle made their way over to where Ariel and Tink were. “You’re right,” Belle said and Emma glanced up at her. “Something is definitely happening.”

“I’m sorry,” Tink said then. “I didn’t know. But I can see it now. I can see the way he’s looking at you.” 

“It’s okay,” Emma assured her. “I get it.” Tink still looked a little ashamed. “Really. I do.” She nodded.

“If it was going to be anybody,” Tink started, “it would be him. I’ve never seen anyone survive the way he does, never seen anyone fight that hard for the people he loves. I’m sorry I doubted him. I just -”

“I know. I miss him too,” Emma said and Tink nodded, her lips pulling into a thin line, fighting the emotion on her face. 

“Then let’s get him back,” Ariel said. 

Hook joined them and helped them carry as many books as possible to the table. They grabbed everything they thought could be useful. In addition to her spellbooks, Belle had amassed an impressive collection of storybooks. None of them like Henry’s, but novels and fairytales and myths and legends - anything that had some link to magic. 

For a brief moment, Emma was worried about whether or not Hook could read but he took a book at random and opened it, getting to work. But he didn’t stop casting glances at Ariel. She didn’t notice, her own head buried in her own book, but Emma did. She wished she knew what memory he had or what information he’d been given that made him so anxious around the mermaid. 

“What’s with you?” she whispered to him and he caught her eye. “Why are you glaring at Ariel?”

He continued to stare. “She seems… familiar,” was all he said in answer. 

“That’s because you know her - or you did know her,” she tried to explain. He frowned. “She’s one of us,” Emma said. “She’s on our side.” He didn’t look convinced. “Look, you and her… the old you and her had some issues. But you need to ignore that now, okay?” 

He relented finally, nodding. They returned to their task, all of them focused and frustrated as they found useless spell after useless spell. She had learned how to freeze a heart, how to crush one, how to control one, how to connect one to another, all sorts of different ways to curse hearts - but nothing about how to free one, how to chip away at the stone. 

She was getting antsy. Her leg bouncing rapidly under the table as she continued to be let down by book after book. She felt like she was about ready to scream. They’d already been at it for hours and the closest they’d gotten was a spell on how to draw water from a stone. Unhelpful. She’d also found the note that Gold had refered to. The only way to remove a protected heart, the heart of the product of true love, was for the one who was protected to break the spell. Of course it didn’t say how someone would go about doing that - no, that would be too easy. 

She felt a hand fall over her own, looked up to see Hook, his eyes still on whatever page he was reading, but his fingers closing over hers on the table between them. She didn’t even think he’d done it intentionally, like it was a reflex, an impulse, but it calmed her almost instantly, the calluses of his fingertips familiar and the warmth of his skin spreading through to hers. She turned her hand under his and he nearly startled before letting her intertwine their fingers. She smiled. So it had been a reflex.

“I think I need a break,” Belle announced finally and they took that as permission to stand and stretch. Belle looked at her. “You look exhausted.”

“Thanks,” Emma deadpanned, only half joking.

Belle laughed. “I only meant you look like you could use some rest - especially him.” 

She gestured towards Hook and Emma took a closer look at him. Belle was right. He was pale and dark shadows were beginning to bloom under his eyes. She remembered how she’d woken to him crying out, loud enough that she could hear him down the hall, how he’d been sweating and tossing and turning when he woke up. They hadn’t had a particularly long day, but it had been a big one, especially for him. It was funny, she thought, she hadn’t remembered ever seeing him look tired before. She hoped it was another sign, another thing that proved he was becoming more human. 

“Maybe you’re right,” she agreed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, regardless of how tired she was, but she wanted him to. She was also pretty sure that he wouldn’t go to sleep unless she went with him. He seemed pretty opposed to leaving her side. 

“You should rest too, Belle,” Tink said. Belle started to protest but the fairy gave her a stern look. “Your baby needs you to take care of yourself. Now go. Lie down and read it one of those bedtime stories you’re so fond of and try sleep a little. Ariel and I will keep watch.” Belle agreed but begrudgingly, putting her hand on her stomach and stroking it protectively. 

Belle led them to the pile of blankets and pillows they’d converted into a cozy little corner. Killian didn’t protest when Emma rose and pulled him along with her and she worried that maybe he was more exhausted than he was letting on. Maybe all of those nights not sleeping outside her door were catching up with him now. 

Belle lay down first, propping herself up against one of the walls and pulling a large book from under one of the pillows. Her Handsome Hero , Emma mused. This must have been the bedtime story Tink had mentioned. She smiled a little, it was fitting that Belle would start reading to her baby before he or she was even born. 

Emma lay down next to her and groaned at how nice it felt to lie down. She felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. They were safe - for the time being , a voice in her head reminded her, but she ignored it. They were somewhere that the King didn’t know existed, somewhere Gold didn’t know existed, and they had allies. They weren’t in this alone anymore. And Killian was coming back, with every passing moment he did something else that assured her that she’d find him. She just had to keep digging, keep looking for him, help him find his way back to her. 

Hook stood above her looking uncomfortable. There wasn’t room for much more than three people on the pillows and she wondered if he was remembering how she’d sent him away last night… but then, she’d also stayed with him until morning. He looked torn, like he wanted to join her but didn’t know if he was allowed, like he was waiting for permission or a command. She didn’t want to give him a command. She wanted him to decide what he wanted.

She sat up. “Are you gonna join me?” she asked and he looked at her, eyebrows shooting up in surprise for a moment before he nodded. He sat next to her and hesitated for a moment before lying down. He seemed to be doing his best to keep his distance, to avoid touching her. She didn’t like that. She took one of his arms that was folded over his chest and stretched it out on the blanket so that she could lay her head on it. She didn’t think she would sleep but the smell of leather and the familiar feel of his shoulder under her cheek might help. 

He hesitated for a moment and then slowly, the arm that she was using as a pillow curled around her, holding her to him. He was still for a long time and Emma listened as his breathing slowed and then evened out. She closed her eyes, listening to his breathing and to Belle’s story as she read aloud in a whisper, trying to find a little rest. It was useless. 

She rolled onto her side, facing Belle and froze when she felt Hook move again, rolling onto his side with her and wrapping his other arm around her, pulling her back against his chest. Her heart raced against her ribs. She looked up at Belle who had stopped reading and was looking at them with wide eyes. Emma frowned.

“What is it?” Belle asked, speaking quietly so as not to wake him. Emma took a moment, unsure how to explain the worries that still plagued her. She could barely explain them to herself, they were so confusing, everything about this was confusing. 

“I just… I don’t know what’s Killian and what’s Hook. When he does things like this I don’t know if it’s Killian breaking through or if it’s this new person developing… feelings.” It felt strange to say but she couldn’t deny the way that Hook had reacted to her, even before the kiss, before the crack in his heart. 

“Maybe it’s both,” Belle said. “I’m pretty sure that any version of Killian would fall in love with you. Maybe Killian breaking through has allowed Hook to care about you on his own, as his own person - but I don’t think that means that Killian is any less there,” she said. Emma nodded and Belle gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s okay to like him like this too, Emma. It’s not betraying Killian to feel something for Hook.” 

And there it was. Exactly what she’d been afraid of. Because she did like him like this. Of course she wanted him back - all of him. But she couldn’t fight the growing affection she had for the version of him that was with her now. He was kind and he was good and he cared about her and he was still so very much Killian , despite not having his memories. 

She remembered the way she’d had the same battle when she met the shy, nervous deckhand, when she met Captain Hook in the past. Each time, every Killian she met, she couldn’t fight the pull she felt towards him, the connection. And each time it felt like a betrayal. She swallowed, guilt eating at her even now. 

Belle reached for her hand. “True love is a powerful thing,” she said. “It transcends everything - time, space, magic, curses. I think that you and Killian are just fated to love each other no matter the circumstances. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Think of it as a gift. Not everyone gets to experience love like that.” 

Emma nodded, some of the tightness in her chest lightening. She was right. She couldn’t imagine a version of Killian she couldn’t love. She’d known him at his darkest, both when they first met in the Enchanted Forest and when he was under the power of the dagger. But she still loved him. And now, this version was no different. He’d had the darkness inside of him but he’d fought it - he’d fought it for her. 

She took hold of his hand that was splayed over her waist, pulled it up to her chest and held it there between her own. No matter the time, the place, the circumstances - she loved him and she would always love him. She just needed him to remember that he loved her. 

Belle grunted sifting and arranging pillows around herself, grumbling that she could never get comfortable anymore. Emma smiled, remembering the hell it had been to sleep when she was in the later stages of her pregnancy with Henry. She felt a pang in her stomach thinking about him now, about how much she missed him, how she hoped he was safe. She needed to find a way to break this curse, to get back to him and make him forgive her. She’d lost him once, when she was young and too afraid to fight for him. She wouldn’t lose him again. 

Emma frowned, watching as Belle shifted again, thinking of Henry… she froze. She could feel the blood rushing from her face. Shit . Shit . “How long did you say you’d been here again?” she asked. Belle looked at her, frowning.

“A little over two months,” she answered. Shit. She looked back at Hook behind her, tried to do the math in her head. When she looked back at Belle she had another one of those understanding, sympathetic looks on her face. “How late are you?” she asked. 

She didn’t even know. She’d lost track of all sense of time and what was normal and what was human in the weeks that had passed since the attack. She tried to think of everything that had happened since, how exhausted she was all the time, the way her mood swung from one extreme to another, the fluttering feeling she’d gotten in her stomach, thinking it was pain or guilt or grief - she’d fainted in the hospital a few days ago. Fuck . She’d chalked it all up to stress, up to a reaction to the absolute hell she’d been living in. But what if it wasn’t just that? 

“Late enough,” she answered.

Her heart was racing, her ears ringing, she couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t do this again. Not alone, not without Killian. She sat up, shrugging Hook’s arms from her, feeling claustrophobic. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not here. Not when everyone she loved was slowly being taken away from her. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Belle tried to sooth her. “Believe me, I understand.” Emma looked at her, tried to calm her pounding heart as Hook stirred behind her. He rolled onto his back but didn’t wake. Belle settled her, told her to breathe and slowly, Emma’s hands stopped shaking. She thought of all the times she’d put herself in danger, the reckless lack of regard she’d had for her own life since the King arrived. And now to know it might not have been just her life she was risking… 

“I can’t think about it,” she said, doing everything in her power to push the thoughts away. She didn’t even know if she was pregnant. And she couldn’t be right now. There was too much - it was too much. She looked at where the man next to her still slept. “I can’t do this alone,” she said, turning to Belle. 

“You won’t. You have us. And you'll have him. I promise.” Belle frowned at Killian then and Emma couldn’t read her expression.

“What?” she asked. 

“Do you think he knew?” she said and Emma’s brows shot up. “Killian, I mean.”

“Why?”

“I just - I know the love you can have to your baby before it’s even born. I have it now. I’m sure you had it with Henry. The love between a parent and their child, that’s true love in its purest form. If he knew… then he’d be fighting his way back to two true loves - that’s a powerful pull. Enough to break a curse.” Belle looked at Killian again, tilted her head. “And even now, he’s so protective of you…” 

Had Killian known? Had he figured it out before she had? She wouldn’t put it past him. He was a very perceptive man. And he wouldn’t have said anything, not in the state she was in then - he knew her, he knew she couldn’t handle this, not now. But he’d protected her, kept her safe, kept her healthy… He was continuing to do it now, even buried under rock and darkness. 

Later, when Emma had had a bit of time to come to grips with the possibility of being a mother again, and to rise above the panic and the fear that possibility brought with it, Belle asked her how she felt about it. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you want to be pregant? Do you want to have another child? Are you happy?”

That was a hard question. If she’d been asked two months ago she’d have said yes. Of course, yes. She loved Killian, she knew he wanted this, she wanted it with him. They were in love, happy, together. But now, now she didn’t know. She was too afraid of having to do it alone, too afraid that they wouldn’t defeat the King before this kid showed up and then what kind of world would that be for her to raise it in? 

“I don’t know.” 

Belle nodded. “I understand,” she said, her hand coming to her stomach. “But, life goes on doesn’t it? Despite everything, all the horribleness that gets thrown at us, it’s still life. We need to seek out the good and hold onto it or we’ll lose ourselves to the bad.” 

Emma nodded. She tried to think of how she’d feel if this wasn’t happening now. She was happy. It was a confused, complicated kind of happy, one that brought with it more anxiety than joy, but she was happy. She looked at the man laying next to her, the one who had protected her since she’d met him. She loved him so much that it hurt. She loved them both and she needed to do whatever she could to keep this version of him safe and save Killian. She needed Killian to share this with her, knew how much it would mean to him, how much he wanted it. Emma reached out, brushed his cheek gently. 

“Come back to me,” she begged for what felt like the hundredth time. She lay her head down on his chest, wrapped her arm around him and held him tight. “Come back to us.” 

 

***

 

They were woken later by Ariel shaking her shoulder gently. Emma blinked up at her, wondering what time it was, how long she’d slept. “What is it?” she asked and a playful smirk crossed Ariel’s face. 

“Want to go on a raid?” she asked. Emma looked up, Belle and Tink were sitting at the table again, discussing something intensely. 

“A raid where?” Emma asked, sitting up slowly, trying not to wake Hook. 

“I found something.” Emma’s heartrate picked up, feeling suddenly very awake. Ariel smiled. “One of the books made mention of a magical object that could break any curse. A dagger that can sever magic from an afflicted person’s body.” 

Holy shit, this was really something ! Something that could help them, could maybe free Killian, free her parents, free everyone. She leapt up, jostling Hook as she did and he bolted to a seating position, looking between the two women. She ignored the way he wrapped a protective arm around her, shielding her from whatever threat he thought might have woken him. 

“Where is it?” Emma asked, brushing Hook’s arm away and standing. He stood with her.  

Ariel’s smile widened. “On the Jolly Roger.” 

“Wait, what,” she demanded, shocked and confused. “ Killian had it? ” 

Ariel shook her head. “Not Killian, Blackbeard. When he had possession of the ship he hid treasure all over it. I remember seeing a dagger that looked exactly like the one described in the book. I don’t even think he knew what it was, just another prize.” 

“What are we waiting for?” she asked. “Let’s go!” Hook moved to follow her and she hesitated, not sure if he would be a help or a hindrance, not sure what was going on between him and Ariel, but also not wanting to be separated from him - not again. Ariel must have seen her hesitation.

“Bring him,” she said. “Maybe the Jolly Roger will help spark some memories. And,” she hesitated, like she felt bad about her next words. “He knows how they think. If we run into any shells he could help.” 

Emma turned to him. “Will you come with us?” she asked. He nodded, took her hand. She smiled. “Good.” 

The tiny, hesitant smile he gave her in return was familiar and made her heart race even now. She would be careful, she promised herself. She had two people to protect now. But she needed to go, had to go if there was a chance that this dagger could save him. She nodded for Ariel to lead the way. 

“Be careful,” Belle said as they headed to the stockpiles and armed themselves. Emma was happy to find a gun. She could use a sword but at the end of the day, a gun was familiar and more reliable. She tucked it into the back of her jeans. She tried not to smile as Hook found a sword and secured it to his hip.

“Take care of her,” Ariel told Tink. 

Belle frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not a child,” she said. 

“No, but you’re carrying one,” Tink reminded her. She still didn’t look pleased. 

“We’ll take the tunnels,” Ariel told her as they headed down in the opposite direction of the way they’d come in this morning. “If we magic there in broad daylight we could draw their attention.” Broad daylight? Had they slept all night? 

“There’s an entrance that comes up in the warehouse,” she continued. “If we’re quick, and careful, we should be able to stay hidden through the covered docks, climb down to the water and swim to the Jolly Roger.” Emma wanted to groan. Of course the mermaid would suggest swimming. At least it wasn’t winter. 

They made their way through the tunnels until they reached what Ariel said was the right exit. Thankfully Storybrooke wasn’t a very big town and Ariel seemed to know her way well enough. They came up through a trap door in the harbormaster’s office, making sure to crack it open and be sure nobody was around before climbing through. 

“Be careful. They usually have three guards to each post,” Emma said.

“Four,” Hook corrected and she turned to him. “Four guards. Three visible and one hidden. For backup. Or to deliver a message back.” She raised a brow at him, not only was that the most he’d spoken yet, but she was surprised at how much he knew, she’d somehow forgotten he was one of them so recently. He only shrugged. 

“Okay, four. Do you know where they are?” she asked. He smiled and it was the most Killian-like smile she’d seen since she met him, full of mischief and a little cocky. He nodded. 

“They guard the shore, not the water.” 

That meant they were behind them. They wouldn’t have to face any of the shells if they avoided making enough comotion to draw their attention. Emma smiled at him and he looked so proud it made her smile more. 

Carefully, they made their way down to the edge of the water and ditched their boots. Emma tried not to make a sound as the freezing cold water hit her. She could handle this. The Jolly wasn’t far off, maybe a few hundred feet. She was a strong swimmer and so was Killian and, well, Ariel was a mermaid so they should be fine. They allowed her a moment to get used to the cold, to lose the heaviness in her limbs and be able to breathe easily again before they started making their way to the Jolly. 

They reached the side of the ship and grabbed hold of the nets that hung down it’s side, starting the slow, steady climb onto the deck. Hook climbed expertly to her annoyance, occasionally reaching out to steady her with his hand on her back when she lost her balance on the uneven terrain that moved every time she reached up. He was doing it one handed too. 

She was reminded of the beanstalk, of how they’d climbed together then, how this wasn’t so different. Both of them on a quest to find a magical object that would reunite her with those she loved. Killian was still Hook then, still someone who had only just chosen her over the evil he’d to whom he'd promised his allegiance. She knew better now though. She could trust him. And she would. 

They finally made it on deck, Emma taking just a moment to flop down on the wood, exhausted. Hook reached it just after her, smiling down from his spot standing next to her head. He reached his hook down and she grabbed it, let him haul her up to her feet. 

“We should split up,” Ariel said. “Search the ship. Blackbeard would have hidden it well. He didn’t like anyone coming near the things he’d stolen. Especially anything that could be valuable.” 

Emma nodded, and Ariel suggested she start with the deck and Emma with the captain’s cabin since she was the one here most familiar with it at the moment. It was understood that Hook would come with her. Ariel said she’d start with the healm, knowing that Blackbeard had a habit of hiding things where he could keep them close. 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright by yourself?” she asked.

Ariel brushed her concerns off. “If anything happens I’ll jump overboard. They won’t find me in the water. I can swim away or stay under until they give up.” 

Emma agreed reluctantly and she and Hook made their way carefully down below deck. She felt safer now that they weren’t out in the open, but she still worried for Ariel out there alone. They were in the galley, the crew’s sleeping quarters to the left and Killian’s room to the right. She figured his room would be the best place to start. 

Hook was looking around with a strange expression on his face. It was the same look he’d had when they were in their home, in Regina’s office. Like he was trying to put the pieces together but couldn’t. She hoped it felt familiar, hoped it would spark something. 

She led him towards his room, only making it halfway down the narrow hall when Hook shushed her, his whole body going stiff. He reached for his sword. 

“Someone’s on deck,” he said. She heard it then, the creaking of the boards above them. Her heart leapt into her throat, her body suddenly on high alert. He was right, she could hear it, footsteps above them. Not Ariel’s, the helm was at the bow of the ship, the sounds were coming from the stern, but they were making their way to the front quickly.

“Are they usually on the ships?” she asked, her heart racing, hoping he’d have an idea of how many people they were facing. 

He shook his head, “Never.” 

Oh crap , she thought as she realised - They were looking for him . If they’d suddenly posted guards to the Jolly Roger then that meant that they were expecting him to come back, maybe expecting her to bring him back. She should have expected this, should have seen it coming. They needed to get off the ship. They needed to get to Ariel, save her before she was caught unawares. 

“Hurry,” she said. “We need to help her.” 

He jumped to action, heading back to the stairs and she rushed after him. They climbed back up on the deck, hiding for a moment in the stairs to try see how many there were. She could see three. Hadn’t he said four? That meant there was another somewhere. 

She motioned to two of them, indicating that he should take them on while she took the third. She should have grabbed a sword. She couldn’t use her gun now, it would draw too much attention. Stupid. She thought. How had she been so stupid? Hook nodded and headed up first. She followed after him. 

He cut down the first before he had time to make a sound. He was rounding on the second as Emma tackled the third, knockin him to the ground and whacking him in the head with the butt of her gun as hard as she could. His head fell against the wood with a hard thump. She looked back up and saw Hook standing over the second shell. She almost smiled before she heard the scream. 

Ariel . She and Hook cast a glance at each other before running off towards the sound. When they reached it there were two more, each holding one of her arms as she struggled in their grasp. Emma charged, gun raised, they’d been found out now anyway. She took a shot, getting one in the shoulder and wounding her enough that she flew back with the force of the bullet. 

She kept her distance as she circled the second one, keeping her back to the railing, trying to get a shot but he kept Ariel between them as a shield. She heard a sixth running towards them, saw as Hook whirled around to take him down, their swords clashing. But Hook was a better fighter, he was always the better fighter. She nearly had her shot. 

“Emma watch out!” Ariel screamed and she barely had time to follow her gaze to the woman she’d shot down, aiming her own gun straight at Emma’s heart. She  heard the shout of Hook’s ‘no ’ echoing across the water, heard the crack of the bullet leaving the chamber. She waited for the impact but before it could come he was there, throwing himself between her and the bullet.

“Killian!” she screamed as he was thrown back by the force of it, falling over the railing and crashing into the water below. She didn’t even know if she screamed, she didn’t think, just threw herself over the edge after him. She hit the icy water, ignoring the way it constricted her lungs and numbed her limbs. She opened her eyes, searching. Where was he, where the fuck was he?  

She found him, sinking deeper, his eyes shut, his body lifeless, blood turning the water around his stomach red, seeping out into the darkness around him. She swam, kicked and dived, her lungs screaming at her, her eyes burning from the salt. Just get to him . She couldn’t lose him again. Not now, not like this. 

She reached him, wrapping her arm around his chest, under his arms and slowly making her way up to the surface. But he was too heavy. She had nothing to push off of and she was running out of air. The surface was too far away. She kept pushing, kept kicking but she knew she wouldn’t make it. 

If she hadn’t been underwater she would have laughed when she saw Ariel dive in beside them, saw her spot them and swim over. Arielgrabbed hold of one of Hook’s arms and Emma grabbed the other. Together, they heaved him up. 

Emma gasped as they broke the surface, not even taking a second to appreciate the air in her lungs because Hook hadn’t taken a breath. She leaned back, holding him to her chest, keeping his face out of the water. She put her fists to his sternum and squeezed harshly, a desperate, relieved sound leaving her when he spit out water, coughed and gasped desperately for breath. 

“Emma,” Ariel said, getting her attention. “Can you get us back to the tunnels?”

She nodded, focusing, struggling as she tried to balance calling on her magic, stretching it out to include Hook and Ariel, and focusing on keeping herself above water, on not panicking at the fact that Hook was still shot, still bleeding out, that he wasn’t out of the woods yet. It took a moment but the white smoke surrounded them and suddenly they collapsed to the ground, soaking wet, in the middle of the camp. 

“What happened?” Belle shouted, she and Tink rushing to their sides. Both of them turned their attention to Hook. He’d stopped coughing, his breathing coming in shallower and shallower bursts. Emma didn’t answer, let Ariel explain. She had to save Hook. 

You idiot, she thought. She wanted to scream at him. Why would you do that! He’d jumped in front of a fucking bullet for her, had nearly drowned, had nearly left her. She brought her hands to his stomach, over the wound there. She tried to rein in her panic at the amount of blood that stained her shaky hands, flowing out of him freely and quickly with each beat of his heart. He groaned at her touch but it was weak. 

Emma shut her eyes, focused on him, on Hook, Killian, whoever he was. It didn’t matter who she was saving. She needed them both. She loved him, all of him, and she focused on that love, let it pour out of her heart and into her blood, let it course through her veins and into her skin where she touched him. A golden glow shone there and she opened her eyes, watched as some of the paleness left his face, as his breathing evened out, the blood slowing. 

She lifted her hands, pulled open his shirt and vest so that she could look at the wound. It was gone. Not even a scar left. The only evidence it had been there at all was the blood that was slowly rolling off his stomach with the water. She broke down, finally let her fear and the fact that he’d almost died again crash over her. She fisted her hands in the open collar of his shirt and bent over him, let her forehead fall against his chest as a sob wracked her body. He was alive. He was alive . He was still here.  

She felt his arm come up around her, felt his hand rub soothing, and hesitant up her back and she remembered she was angry with him. How could he have been so careless, so reckless with his life? How could he have been so stupid? He’d nearly died, he’d nearly left her again. She wouldn’t have survived it. And now she wasn’t the only one who needed him anymore. 

She stood, storming off under the guise of wanting to wash the blood off her hands. She’d seen some wipes in one of the stockpiles and she found them, ripping the packet open and rubbing aggressively at the stains on her skin. There was so much of it. She’d almost lost him. She heard him coming up behind her but she didn’t turn around.  

“Thank you,” he said and she tensed. She didn’t want his thanks. She wanted him to not be a fucking idiot and throw himself in front of guns for her. She didn’t answer him, kept working on cleaning her hands. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked. She felt the fury rising up inside of her, she couldn’t stop herself, she whirled on him.

“Yes, you did something wrong!” she snapped, anger taking the place of the fear and the pain that seeing him like that had caused. Anger was easier, anger didn’t hurt as much. “How could you do something so stupid, so dangerous?” she demanded. “You almost got yourself killed!” He looked down at his feet, worried the end of his hook. She stared at him, panting in her rage, waiting for him to say something, something she could yell at him for again. 

He looked at her and her breath caught in her throat. She knew that look. He was looking at her the way Killian always looked at her, the way he looked at her before she let him in, before she admitted she loved him, after he admitted he loved her. Her anger faded away, snuffed out by the affection and the dedication in his expression. It was overwhelming after not having been looked at like that for so long. 

“I couldn’t let them hurt you,” he said and her chest tightened. “Not you.” He stepped forward, always hesitant, always unsure. “I - I don’t understand it but,” he frowned, his face screwing up under the effort of trying to find the words. “You make my chest hurt,” he said and it was her turn to frown. “You make my chest hurt and my stomach twist and when you’re far away it hurts more.” He reached out, brushed her arm, let it trail down to her hand where he wrapped his fingers around hers. “When I touch you it stops hurting. I don’t want to let go.” He squeezed her fingers. “I couldn’t let you get hurt. I don’t know - I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone.” Emma looked into his eyes and was nearly knocked back by the emotion there. “I need you,” he finished. 

It was a clumsy declaration, an awkward explanation. Killian had always been good with words, she was usually the one to stumble over her feelings. He didn’t understand what he was feeling but it didn’t matter, she did . He loved her. This version of him loved her, Hook did, and he had risked his life for her, to protect her. And she’d yelled at him. He loved her. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. Belle was right, any version of them, in any universe, they would find each other, they would love each other.

She reached for him, brought his lips down to hers and kissed him. She kissed him to say thank you, she kissed him to say she was sorry, and she kissed him to say she loved him - in a way that he would understand. His arms came around her as he pulled her close, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe but she didn’t care as his lips moved over hers with an intensity and a rightness that had been missing from their last kiss.

She felt it when it happened, felt the light burst from between them, the shock of magic that blew out, surged through her and filled the room, scattered out beyond the walls and out into the world. She stumbled back, knocked over by the force of it. She held on to him as he tumbled with her, trying to steady herself. When she looked at him again it was Killian looking back at her.

“Swan?” he said. 

Emma let out a sob, throwing herself at him with so much force that it knocked him back a step. He caught her, letting out a surprised ‘oomph’ when she pressed her lips to his again, kissing him over and over to make sure he was real. He was here. He was back. He’d come back to her. 

“I knew you’d do it, Emma,” he said when she released him so that she could wrap her arms around him, tuck her head under his chin and feel him pull her close, feel his fingers run through her hair. “I knew you’d find me.” 

They turned as the others came running, looks of shock and excitement and bewilderment on all their faces. She released him but grabbed his hand, not ready to let him go just yet.

“What happened?” Ariel asked, looking between the two of them. 

“We did it,” Emma said, not able to keep the happy laughter from bubbling up in her voice. “We broke the curse!” 

“How?” Tink asked. 

“True love’s kiss," Belle smiled. "The most powerful magic in the world.” She stepped forward, pressed her lips to Killian’s cheek. His ears went red. “It’s good to have you back, Killian.”

“Is it really you?” Tink asked and Killian smiled at her.

“Aye, Tink, it’s really me.” 

She jumped forward, slamming into him and throwing her arms around him, squeezing him tight before remembering herself and stepping back, looking embarrassed. 

“This is wonderful news,” Ariel said. “I’m so glad you figured it out.” And with that, she plunged her hand into his chest and ripped out his heart. 



Chapter 12

Notes:

Here we are, the last chapter (minus the epilogue). Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and this story for so long, even when I was going months/years between updates. Finishing this fic is one of the raddest things I've ever done and I couldn't have done it without all the support. Your comments and flails kept me going so thank you all <3

Chapter Text

“Ariel, what the fuck!” Emma shouted, already feeling the magic burning in her fingers, the fire ready to come out at any moment. But she held herself back. Ariel had his heart in her hand, right there in front of her. It was red, glowing, and bright with the tiniest swirl of darkness in the middle. There was no stone to be seen.

Killian was hunched over beside Emma, bent in pain, his hand clutching at his chest, shock and betrayal written on his features. Emma reached out for him, grabbed hold of him and held him close, trying to shield him from the woman who had ripped out his heart. But it was useless, Ariel didn’t need to be anywhere near Killian to hurt him now. 

The smile on her face was twisted, evil the likes of which Emma had only seen once before. And she had seen her fair share of evil.  

“So you broke my curse,” she said. “Good for you.” 

What? Emma’s eyes widened as Belle and Tink joined her at her side, Tink grabbing Kilian’s sword from his hip and pointing it at the mermaid. Ariel gave a dismissive flick of her hand and the weapon went sailing across the room.

They all watched in horror as Ariel shifted before them, her features warping and changing until it was no longer her standing before them. It was the King. How, Emma thought as she remembered Hook’s reaction to her earlier. How had they not figured it out? She glanced at Belle who looked as terrified and struck dumb as she felt. But the King had known about Killian, about the ship, about Blackbeard - and clearly a great many other things if he’d managed to fool Belle. How -

“Rumple,” Belle said and her voice betrayed, resigned. 

“Yes, your husband was absolutely instrumental in helping me accomplish this little ruse,” The King smirked. “All that pillow talk about your friendship with the mermaid made for excellent backstory, really helped me sell the character, I think.” 

“What do you want?” Tink demanded, her fists clenched, fury raging on her face. 

“Nothing from you, my dear. I have exactly what I need.” 

Leverage , Emma thought. Like Gold had with Henry, now the King had it with Killian, a way to control her, to get her to do what he wanted. She cast a glance at Killian, watched as his face shifted from pain to realisation to panic. 

“Emma, don’t,” he warned. But she had to. To save him - she’d do whatever it took.

“Let him go,” she said and the King turned his attention to her, a bemused smile on his face. He cocked his head and Emma stepped forward, despite Kilian’s hand grabbing at her arm, trying to hold her back. “It’s my heart you want. Give me Killian’s and I’ll find a way to give you mine.”

No !” Killian insisted but he was halted in his attempt to grab her, crying out as the King gave a little, almost experimental squeeze to the heart in his hand. 

“Stop it!” Emma shouted, looking at where Killian now kneeled on the floor, struggling to catch his breath. Belle ran to him, trying to hold him up, unable to help. “I said I’ll give you what you want! You win! Just stop!” 

“How very noble of you, Savior,” the King taunted. “But you’re right - I have won. I have exactly the heart I need.” Emma frowned at him, heart racing in her chest. No. It was her they needed. That’s what they’d said! That’s what the spell called for! 

The King smiled again as he watched the confusion play on her face. “The heart that belongs to the product of true love,” he said and Emma felt the words echo in the hollow beats of her heart against her chest. “This pirate’s heart has belonged to you for a very long time, has it not?” he asked, looking down at Killian with false sympathy. “The true love of the product of true love… that’s a rare heart indeed. Worthless though when encased in stone.”

No, Emma thought. No , it couldn’t be him. Not after all of this, not after everything they’d gone through to get him back. To learn now that he’d have been safer if he stayed cursed. There had to be another way. Anything, she’d do anything to trade her heart for his, her life for his. Not Killian. 

“Unfortunately we didn’t figure out that little riddle until after we’d cursed your captain here. Always so cryptic these dark spells. And infuriatingly irreversible. But Rumplestiltskin was convinced that if we just put the two of you together you’d find a way around it.” 

The hospital, him standing guard, forcing them together again and again... It all made sense now. She’d thought it was some kind of game, some way for them to torture her, to manipulate her into doing what they wanted. But she’d been so wrong. It had all been planned, all a setup. 

She thought of their escape from the emergency room, how easy it had been to get there, how Killian had somehow gotten to her despite her locking him in the cell. They hadn’t been followed. It had all been planned, organized and manipulated. It was so obvious now. And Ariel arrived in the tunnels at the same time she and Killian were put together. They’d been played for fools. 

“And what do you know,” the King continued. “True love prevails!” He looked at her then, twisted, hollowed features filling with sick pleasure. “What a pity it has to be cut short.” 

He closed his fist, crushing the heart in his hand. Killian let out a scream, a raw, primal thing the likes of which she’d never heard. And then he didn’t make any sound at all. 

“No!” Emma screamed as Killian went limp in Belle’s arms. Her scream was deafening, echoing in her ears, over the rush of blood, over the hum of magic, over the emptiness, the silence in the room that hung like a physical presence. Frozen, powerless, Emma watched as the King raised his fist, tilted his head back and let the dust that had been Killian’s heart fall into his open mouth. 

She collapsed to her knees beside the man she loved, the man that had been taken from her so many times, now lost to her in death once more. She was vaguely aware of the other women beside her, of their own cries of anguish and loss.

“Killian, no,” she sobbed, tears blurring her vision, her voice small and hoarse. Not again. Not now . The hollowness in her chest grew, ached and burned her as though it had been her own heart that had been ripped out. “ No, please ,” she whimpered. She took his face in her hands. “Please don’t leave me.” The warmth was already fading from his skin, a deathly paleness taking its place. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. After everything… he'd been taken from her again. 

She pressed her lips to his, a desperate, last resort. But she knew it was pointless. There was no coming back from this. Their magic had run out. He was lost to her now - forever. And it was his fault. The King. This monster who had come into her life and ripped it apart, taken away everything she’d ever loved - her parents, her friends, Henry, and now Killian. He would pay. She would see him dead if it was the last thing she ever did. 

She pressed her lips to Killian's once more, a goodbye, a promise. She ran her thumb over his cheek, traced his features, taking one last look at the face that had expressed such joy, such love, such playfulness and mischief, such pain, and such light even through the darkness. There was nothing there now. Only emptiness. All of that life, just gone - no, stolen . The King would pay. She rose to her feet, fingers burning.

At last,” the King said, summoning his cauldron, the heavy, black vessel appearing before him. “The power to do as I please. No more infuriating laws, no more limitations. Death has been my enemy for far too long. I am the master of death now. It bends to me. I will be eternal.” He let the last bits of dust fall from his grasp into the cauldron. 

He began to mutter under his breath, something lyrical and rhythmic, a language she hadn’t heard before. She watched for only a moment as the spaces between the tendons on his face and body, the places where the skin was stretched so thin it was nearly transparent, began to glow. Not the golden, healing glow of her magic before, but something ghoulish, ominous like a fog drifting in on a dark road. 

Emma’s hands were burning, as was her heart - rage and fury and hatred and grief rushing through her so quickly she could barely tell one from the other, all of them mixing into one cruel, agonizing blur. She wanted revenge. She wanted to kill. She wanted to watch him suffer and die. 

She could already feel the dark magic inside of her, the whispers in her ear that had never really left, egging her on, encouraging her. He’d killed him. He killed Killian. He took away everyone. He needs to pay. 

“Emma,” she heard, the sound of her name breaking through the vicious thoughts swirling around in her head. It was Belle. “Don’t give in to it,” she said. “Darkness won’t defeat darkness.” She didn’t care. She was done trying to save everyone. She had only one goal now - since Killian’s heart had stopped beating. 

The King continued his incantation, unbothered by what was going on around him. The arrogance, she thought, adding fuel to the fire as she raised her hands. She froze when Belle spoke again. “Think of Henry, Emma! Think of Killian. They wouldn’t want you to do this. They wouldn’t want you to give in.” 

But it was too late. Too late to save either of them. Killian was dead and Henry was lost to her forever now. She didn’t expect to survive this battle, regardless of what she did, of what happened, so that little hope that she’d only just discovered, the possibility of the new life she and Killian had made - it would be gone too. She was tired of the light. The light had brought her nothing. 

The magic poured out of her, burning through her body, feeding on the pain and the anger. The King went sailing across the room, blasted back by the onslaught of dark magic that had escaped her. He at least had the decency to look shocked as he hit the wall behind him, collapsing. But then his shock turned into a grin as he rose to his feet, prepared for a fight. 

Emma didn’t give him the time, a roar bursting from her as she blasted him again. He was ready this time, his own magic meeting hers, both of them at a standstill, their power mingling and burning between them. 

“I underestimated you, Savior,” he taunted. His own magic pushed hers back just a fraction, and Emma growled again, sweat beading on her forehead with the effort to hold him back. She pushed, raged, fought with everything she had, drew all of her strength, and still he overpowered her. He was stronger. His hate and his darkness greater than hers. She couldn’t win. This was it. She’d follow Killian, and then Belle and Tink would be left to fend for themselves. 

She felt her magic weaken as the fight started to fade out of her, as her rage was replaced with hopelessness. She looked at Killian over her shoulder, looked at Belle and Tink who were watching her with frightened, helpless expressions. She’d failed them. She was going to die, they were all going to die, and it was because she’d failed them in this moment. She could feel the King's magic now, so close, overwhelming her own, inches from her face. She nearly collapsed under the weight of it.

She met Tink’s eye. She could tell that she had accepted her fate as well, but she was going to fight longer. The fairy looked at her imploringly and put her hand on Killian’s shoulder. “Love and revenge,” she said. Emma remembered then, the words Killian had told her once, long after they’d found their way to each other, a night when he shared with her some of the darker times from his past. He’d had a code, been single-minded. I’d risk my life for two things - love and revenge

" Choose love, " Tink said. She followed Tink’s hand with her eyes, looked at the man she was holding on to. The King’s magic had nearly engulfed her own now, the power overwhelming, strong and terrifying. Tink was right, Killian was right. If she was going to die, if she was going to go down, then she had to go down fighting. And she’d rather die fighting for love than for revenge. 

She shut her eyes, looking at him would bring back the pain, the anger, the vengeance. She thought of Killian, of the time they'd had together. It had been too short, cruelly, unfairly so, but it had been full of more love than most could dream of knowing in a lifetime. She knew that no matter what happened, that love, unwavering and constant, would be with her forever. She thought of Henry, of her parents, she’d only had them for a short time as well, but they’d changed her life, saved it, made it better. 

She had been alone for decades, but in the years since she’d found them, all of them, even the people of Storybrooke who drove her insane half the time, her friends, she’d been more loved than anyone had a right to be. She’d had a family, she’d had a home, she’d had true love - how many people got to have all that? She’d been lucky, to be loved enough for a lifetime and to love back just as strongly. 

She’d had to learn how to love like that, be taught how, taught that it was alright to open herself up to others, to hope, believe and to love. Yes, love hurt, love had the power to destroy you, but as she thought of the way Killian had fought his way into her heart, had taught her to see herself differently through his love, to love herself , and to love him… Love was strength. And she would fight for it until her last breath. 

Emma felt when her magic changed, felt the light wash through her, clear away the darkness, cleanse it from her bones. It lifted her, took the weakness of her muscles and renewed them, swelled in her heart and her body like a physical embodiment of the strength she’d found in her love for Killian and her family. She stood taller, watched as the King’s grin wavered as her magic changed, as it pushed back, slowly swallowing the darkness. She nearly smiled as his face turned worried, anxiety clear as she stepped forward and he stumbled for a moment, nearly knocked back in the effort to hold her off. 

“You’ve taken everyone from me,” she told him, feeling the anger flicker for a moment, but the light was too strong, love more powerful, prevailing despite it. “But you won’t win. Darkness is empty, I know, I’ve felt it.” She pushed again and he stumbled back a step. “It’s weak. You’re alone. We’re not.” Belle and Tink were at her side now. They put their hands on her shoulders and she felt their support, felt it fuel her. 

The King grinned again but it was weakened by the effort on his face as he struggled to hold her off, the upticked corner of his pale, thin lips wobbling under the strain. “Ah, but you see,” he said, his voice shaking slightly as he panted. “I’m not alone.” 

Emma barely had time to look over, barely had time to hear the malicious, gleeful giggle before another beam of dark magic was shot at her. She’d have taken the blow, would have been knocked down, killed probably, but Tink stepped in front of her. The fairy released a force of green light, a shield, and Gold’s magic was refracted, bouncing off of it and into a corner of the tunnel. 

Tink collapsed, panting on hands and knees. The bit of magic she’d had, the bit she’d sacrificed, had drained her. She knew Tink only had small amounts of power now, had only just started to get it back. She’d risked her life - but it had been enough. Emma swung one of her hands over to where Gold stood, attempting to blast him back but he was too quick, meeting her magic with his own. 

She was fighting two wars now. One with the King and one with the Dark One. Her magic held strong for now, but she could feel the strain that holding them both off was putting on her - the toll it was taking. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to hold them both off. She had to get the others to safety. She hoped that Gold still had enough humanity in him that he wouldn’t hurt Belle, even in trying to thwart her escape. 

“Belle,” she shouted and she could hear the way her voice wavered. “Get Tink out of here. Get somewhere safe.” They ignored her. Belle grabbed Tink but rather than leave, they made their way to one of the stock piles, searching. 

Gold’s attention was turned, only for a moment as he followed Belle’s movement, but it was just long enough for Emma to gain the upper hand, to throw her arm forward and overtake his magic for a moment. He hit the wall behind him with a sickening sound. He wasn’t down for long though. 

Emma barely had time to focus her magic back on the King, to double down before Gold was standing, anger and something vicious in his eyes. She watched as his fingers moved intricately, conjuring something that she was sure she’d be no match for - light magic or not. He was only just preparing his attack when Belle threw herself between them - the third person today to risk their safety - their lives - for her. She was loved. 

Gold hesitated, anger and doubt flickering back and forth in his expression, fighting one another. She saw his brow pull up as Belle stepped forward, held her hands out and spoke his name softly. 

“Rumple,” she said. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll - I’ll come back. We both will. Me and the baby. We’ll find our way back to loving each other again. But not if you do this. If you do this, you’ll lose me forever. No spell will change that.” She was only a few feet away from him now and he was watching her with trepidation - like he really wanted to believe what she said. 

Emma focused all her efforts on the King. With only him to worry about she began to win again, enjoyed the nervous look on his face as he took another step back. She’d only gained a few inches, but it was something. 

“Rumple, don’t do this. Choose us,” she heard Belle say. She could see her out of the corner of her eye, saw her reach Gold and put her hands on his shoulders. She saw Gold hesitate again, watching Belle, unsure but clearly wanting to hope as Belle wrapped her arms around his neck. 

She barely heard Belle’s whispered ‘ I’m sorry ’ before she opened her hand and emptied a vial over him. Gold’s face flickered with surprise, with confusion, and then with betrayal - but only for a second before his entire body froze. Squid ink . Belle was a fucking genius. 

“Tink, now!” the woman shouted and Tink stood before Rumple, shaky but determined. She held Pandora’s box out in front of her. They'd planned for this. Tink waved her hand, her brow pulling in pain as she pushed herself just a little too far. The box opened and Belle stepped back. Gold gave her one last look, something dark in his expression, before he was pulled into the box. It locked. Tink collapsed at Belle’s feet, her eyes closed, unmoving. 

Belle knelt beside her, and Emma hoped she found a pulse, hoped that Tink would be alright. Belle looked at her then and the lack of anguish on her face gave Emma hope. She watched Emma and the King for a moment, looked at both of them, and then between them. Emma could barely focus on her, using every bit of her concentration to hold off the King’s magic.

“Emma!” Belle shouted. “Emma, it’s the cauldron!” The King snarled, turned a hand to attack Belle, to silence her, but she managed to duck out of the way, his own focus too divided to aim true. “He’s drawing his power from it!” Belle shouted. 

Emma glanced at her, then at the cauldron. It was faint, but after a moment she saw it, saw what Belle must have seen. There was a pale ribbon of magic connecting the King and the vessel - a teather, some sort of magical umbilical cord, linking them. The way the King had reacted to Belle’s warning only confirmed their suspicions. She had to get the cauldron, had to destroy it. But how? How could she destroy it without giving up her current fight with him, without letting him win, without putting Belle and Tink in danger?

The gleam of metal caught her eye and she looked to the left of the King, just beyond where her friends were. Belle followed her gaze, saw it too. The sword. Killian’s sword. Belle dashed for it, grabbing hold of the hilt and sliding it across the stone floor where it stopped by Emma’s feet, by Killian’s body. 

With all of her might, Emma leaned into her magic, angled it, moved his, and both beams shot down the empty passage. The King paused in shock at his magic being ripped away from him. Emma had to be quick. Before he had time to shake himself out of it, to attack again, Emma dove for the sword, rolling to face him. She threw it with all of her strength. The way she had learned, the way her father had before her. 

A sickening sound echoed as the sword pierced through the King, pinning him to the stone behind him. It wasn’t the sound of flesh being sliced, it was wrong, hollow, inhuman. Emma wondered how close to death he was already, how much borrowed time he was living on, what he’d done to his body, to his soul to achieve this half-life, the mummified skin, the horns, the hollow eyes. He’d strayed too far from whoever - whatever he’d been once. 

Emma turned her magic on the cauldron as the King sputtered for a second, but there was more annoyance on his face that fear, than pain. The cauldron stood strong. She hit it again and again, but nothing happened.

“You stupid girl!” The King cursed, angry now. “You think you can stop me? Kill me? You are nothing, a child. I am timeless and you will bow to me as all others did before you!” He reached for the sword in his chest, pulled, and it made a sickening sound, stone and metal mixed with bone and skin. “Try all you will,” he taunted. “You will never destroy it.”

“An enchanted object,” Belle muttered before repeating it, shouting it. “Emma! An enchanted object can only be destroyed by another.” She looked beside Emma. “Killian!” 

His hook . Hades had enchanted Killian’s hook in the Underworld. It had been meant as a way to trap him. Perhaps now it could set them all free. She hoped there was still enough, that somehow the enchantment held, that even the barest amount would still cling to it. Magic didn’t die easily. 

She knelt beside him. She didn’t have the time, she could hear that the King had almost freed himself, could hear Belle’s warning call, but she needed it. She brushed the hair from his forehead, took in his features again, fought the tears that swelled in her eyes. Even amists the battle, even when her life was at risk, she loved him and that feeling wouldn’t be ignored. 

“Looks like you’re gonna save me one more time,” she said before twisting the hook from his brace. In some strange way, she felt they were doing this together and it brought her a sense of peace, of rightness. 

The King pulled the sword from his chest and it clattered to the ground beside him. He raised a hand to strike but Emma was faster, throwing one, concentrated bolt of magic at him, enough to wind him, to slow him. In three, quick strides she dashed across the room to the cauldron. She heard his screamed ‘ No! ’ as she raised the hook and smashed the point into the side of the bowl with as much force as she could muster.

It shattered, breaking into pieces as the contents spilled out onto the ground, ran across the floor like a river splashing at her feet. The King screamed again, a visceral, inhuman sound as the smoglike glow began to emanate from him again. But this time it was different, it consumed him, burning him from the inside out. 

She felt as though everything was happening in slow motion, his scream echoing against the walls of the tunnel as the morbid scene played out in front of her. She watched as the paperlike flesh of his skin fell away leaving behind only bone, before that too, turned to dust. The last thing to fall were his horns, clattering to the ground, holding on a moment longer as though they’d not truly been a part of him, before turning to ash. 

It was over. They’d won. Just like that. The King was defeated, Gold trapped. Silence hung heavy in the room as she and Belle sat motionless, having trouble believing it was real. Tink still lay silent beside them, as did Killian. The only difference was that Tink would wake again. Killian wouldn't. 

She went over to him, crumbled to the ground next to him, exhausted, drained, heartbroken. She couldn’t hold it in anymore, the tears fell freely from her eyes, the pain and the grief wracked her body as she knelt next to the man she loved. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said through her heavy sobs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I brought you back for this, put you in danger. I’m so sorry. If I had figured it out…” she couldn’t speak anymore, her pain overwhelming her. She tried to steady it with a deep breath but it shook as she inhaled. But she needed to speak, needed to plead with him. “Please come back to me, Killian,” she begged. “I’ll do anything. Please. Just… fight this. Come back to me.” 

But it was useless. She was asking him to fight death. She didn’t think a man could do that more than once in his life. And this time there were no dark curses, no gods to send him back where he belonged. There was only them, there was only this. 

She felt Belle’s hand on her back, felt her wrap her arms around her shoulders and Emma fell into it, let herself be held, let herself be comforted. But she would find no comfort. Nothing would make this better. The only thing that would make her feel whole again was Killian. And she couldn’t have him.

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” Belle said and she could hear the tears in her friend’s voice as well. 

“There has to be something we can do,” Emma insisted, but it came out weak, flat and defeated. “Belle, please. In all of your books, all of Gold’s spells. Was there anything at all?” 

Belle shook her head, looking heartbroken. “Not for this.” 

“Take mine,” she said, desperate. “Take mine and give it to him. Use the hook, use anything.”

“You’ll die, Emma.” So what . She didn’t care. Not if he would live. Her disregard must have shown on her face because Belle frowned at her. “Would you really do that to Henry?” she asked sternly, trying to force her back into reality. “To your parents? What about Killian’s baby - your baby?”

“We don’t even know if -”

“What if you are? Would you do that to him? To it? To any of them?” 

Emma’s shoulders fell. “No.” She still needed something. She didn’t care if this was the goddamn first stage of grief, she wasn’t ready. Not with all the magic that existed, with all the power that she had, that the world had - there had to be a way to save him. He’d fought so hard to come back to her, had defied all the odds. He deserved better than this. She needed better than this. 

“Half of it then,” she said, hope building again. It hadn't worked in the Underworld but that was because he’d been dead too long. Maybe if they were quick -

“You’re heart’s still protected, Emma,” Belle said sadly. Emma knew she wanted there to be a way nearly as much as she did. But Belle was a realist in this moment where Emma couldn’t be. Her grief - her love - wouldn’t let her.

But she had removed it once. In the Underworld before the failed heart split. She’d asked Regina about that too, about why she’d been able to remove her heart then. She hadn’t known. She’d been pretty sure that it had something to do with the way magic worked in the Underworld. Perhaps since she wasn’t in the land of the living the magic that protected her life hadn’t worked. 

They’d tried since, to test the spell, to see if it was a risk she or Henry would have to face. Regina had been extremely annoyed when the protection spell had blasted her back almost ten feet. What she wouldn’t give for a little Underworld magic right now . But if it had been possible once it had to be possible now. There had to be a way. 

She tried to think, through the fog of emotion, tried to use logic and reason. To understand magic? a snide voice in her head commented. But she had to. She had to… she had to think like Killian. Killian who understood magic, who believed in hers, who would find a way to fix this, would believe in their love enough to find a way. 

Something irked at the back of her mind, something he’d said once. She could see it so clearly. He was sitting on the couch, a ring held between his fingers as he scratched behind his ear. He’d been embarrassed, he’d been talking to her father - about her. He’d been embarrassed because David had been proud of him for becoming someone willing to give his heart to her. What had he said? His exact words they - it dawned on her then. 

Anyone can give their heart away if they truly wish to.

That was it . It hadn't been any Underworld magic, nothing about her body or her power not being able to protect her. It had been this - it had been love . Nobody had been trying to steal her heart then. She’d been trying to give it away, trying to save him, save the man she loved. That was the difference. The spell prevented anyone from taking her heart - even she couldn’t take it if she was being forced or under duress or unwilling. But to give it away - to give it to someone she loved… that wasn’t something she needed protecting from. 

She looked at him, a small, hopeful smile breaking out on her wet lips and cheeks. She touched his face again, put her hand over his chest. He’d already held her heart for a long time. The King had said that Killian’s heart belonged to her and he’d been right. But her heart wasn’t just hers either - it belonged to Killian too - it was just time to make that a little more literal. 

Emma put her hands to her chest, took a deep breath as she felt only a second’s resistance, her body’s immediate reaction to a possible threat, protecting itself like it was supposed to. But she let herself relax. This wasn’t a threat. This was love. 

“Emma, what-” Belle started but she grew silent as a soft white light shone from Emma’s chest. She could feel the spell opening up, letting her in, like her magic understood what she was doing - why she was doing it. Her magic was fueled by love, her heart protected by love, and so it recognized it too. 

There was no pain, no harsh jolt like when Regina had taken her heart. Her hands sunk in and found it, warm and beating and glowing red as she held it out in front of her. 

“How?” Belle asked in amazement. 

Emma smiled. “Like you said. True love really is the most powerful magic in the world.” 

As carefully as she could, she took hold of either side of the heart, turned it, keeping her intent in mind, remembering why she was splitting it. It came apart easily, two halves of a whole. She placed one half on his chest, asked him quietly just once more to come back to her, before she pushed it in. A small tear or relief rolled down her cheek when he accepted it easily.

It felt strange, but only because it didn’t feel strange. She thought that she’d feel a part of her heart leave her, that she’d feel something missing. But there was none of that. Even as she replaced the other half in her own chest, she thought it might feel incomplete. But she should have known better. The other half was right where it belonged, where it had always been meant to be. 

There was a long, heavy pause as she waited, as Killian remained still, silent, pale. But she forced herself to hold on to hope, to believe in him, to believe in them , trust their love and know that it would find its way. After a moment, she saw the colour come back to his face, the rosy flush that she loved so much returning to his cheeks. She could feel his warmth under her palm where it lay on his bare chest. 

He gasped, a loud, heavy, coughing wheeze. It was the best sound Emma had ever heard. He bowed forward, his shoulders lifting from the ground as he clutched at his chest, a moment of panic in his eyes before they darted around and settled on her. He relaxed. 

“Swan?” he asked for the second time that day and Emma laughed because it was all she could do not to cry. She cried anyway. She nodded, throwing herself into his arms, holding him tight, her fingers finding their way into his hair as she buried her face in his neck. He sat up, wrapping her tightly in his grasp, his hands rubbing soothingly over her back - as though she were the one that should be comforted. 

“Swan,” he started again, and she pulled back to look at him. He was frowning, a little confused and unsure - he looked a little like Hook, she realised and her heart fluttered. He really was all the versions of himself. And she loved every single one. “Did I die again?” he asked. 

She laughed, a full-bellied, joy-filled sound. She took his face between her hands, kissed him to his surprise but not to his displeasure as he kissed her back eagerly. “Just for a little while,” she assured him when they broke apart. He smiled, still looking a little confused. She would explain it later. Right now she just wanted to enjoy this moment, be with him, appreciate the fact that she was holding him in her arms again, that he was breathing, smiling, alive and him

“The King?” he asked hesitantly, eyes looking around the room for any threat. “Gold?”

She shook her head. “We defeated them,” she told him. “With this,” she held up his hook and his eyes widened in surprise and maybe a little disbelief. Emma took his brace in her hand, clicked the hook back into place, back where it belonged. His eyes widened again. “And Belle, and Tink… Ariel?” He looked unsure about the last name.

“They’re okay,” she assured him. Pointing at where Belle had returned to the fairy’s side - the fairy who was slowly starting to stir. “Tink’s a little worse for wear, but she’ll be okay. I’m pretty sure Ariel never even came to Storybrooke. She’s probably safe and sound on Hangman’s Island, completely unaware.” 

He nodded again but then his eyes widened, panic and worry clear in them. “Henry?” He demanded. She knew his heart was racing - she could almost feel it in her own. It made her chest swell, as it always did, to know how much he cared for her son. He started stammering. “I - I remember he got out of the hospital… but then -”

“He’s safe,” she said, cutting him off, wanting to ease his fears. “Ruby took him over the town line.” 

Only then did he finally, truly relax, his shoulders releasing the tension that she felt had been there for months. He looked at her then, really looked at her , and Emma nearly cried at the emotion that was so clear behind his eyes. He was back, he was really back and he was her Killian and he was real. His hand came to her cheek, thumb caressing her face before he kissed her. His lips moved over hers slowly, carefully, with a longing that screamed of lost time, of reunion - but most of all, of love. 

He paused, not moving away from her but hesitating against her. His hand left her cheek, pressed to his chest and Emma pulled back, saw the confusion and the awe on his face. He looked at her in question, hand over the compass that lay over his heart - her heart - their heart. She gave him a little shrug. What else did he expect her to do? Just accept a world without him?

“I knew you’d do it, Emma,” he said softly. “All of it.” She smiled a little, cried a bit more, too emotional to have normal reactions to the things he said. She let her forehead fall against his. “I never doubted you for a second.”

Emma laughed. “You died ,” she reminded him. 

He smirked a little and looked at her with a raised brow. “Death cannot stop true love,” he quoted and she rolled her eyes. But he was waiting, proud of himself and insistent. 

“All it can do is delay it for a while,” she finished begrudgingly, silently cursing Henry for ever showing him that movie, for telling him it was her favorite. 

“That’s right,” he said before kissing her once again. 

They stood, making their way over to Belle and Tink who were thrilled beyond belief that he’d survived. Tink cried but she blamed it on her exhausted state. Killian smirked but he let her have it. 

Emma couldn’t stop touching him. She’d helped him up despite his insistence that he was fine, she’d held his hand as they walked over to their friends, curled herself against his side as they sat together now on the hard ground. She couldn’t. Now that she had him back she was never letting him go. She knew she would have to eventually, but it would be a long damn while and a lot of protests before she did. 

The strangest thing happened then. Her phone rang. Perhaps that wasn’t strange given all that had happened to them these past few months. In any other life it would have been normal. But nobody had called her since the King attacked. Nobody had been left to call. 

With disbelief and shaky hands Emma pulled her phone from her jacket pocket. It was wet, glitching but somehow it had survived their plunge into the ocean. She had ten missed calls, all from an unknown number that was calling her again. As though in a daze, she answered. 

Emma ?” the voice on the other line cried desperately. She couldn’t believe it. 

“Mom?” she asked, her voice breaking, a sob leaving her. 

“Oh Emma!” Snow sighed. “David she’s here, I have her,” she heard her say. “Where are you?” she demanded. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she insisted through a watery laugh.

“What about Henry? And Hook? And Ruby?”

“They’re safe. They’re all safe,” she assured her. “Mom are you… is the curse broken?” her voice broke. “Are you... you again?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, I’m me. So is your father. Everyone is back.” Emma sobbed. They’d done it. Whether it was the kiss or destroying the cauldron, they’d broken the curse. Storybrooke was safe. The people she loved were safe. She had her family back. She heard a shuffling and suddenly David was on the line.

“Emma? Are you okay? Are you safe? Where are you? Where are Henry and Ruby? Is Hook with you? Is he alright?” Emma laughed as her Father asked her the exact same questions she’d just answered for her mother.

“Everything’s okay, Dad. I'll explain it all when we're together." Her heart lurched. They would be together. There was no doubt anymore. "Where should we meet you?” Arrangements were made and then Snow was back on the phone. 

“Emma I’m so sorry,” she said and Emma didn’t understand. “The things I did. I -”

“Mom, no,” she stopped her. “You were cursed. It wasn’t you,” she sighed then, feeling terrible. “ I’m sorry ,” she sniffled. “The things I did to you. I should have believed in you, I -”

“Emma, you were protecting yourself and your son. I’d have done the same thing.” 

She sniffled again. Emma knew that they would have more to talk about, that they would have to work through what had happened - that everyone in town would. A curse like this wasn’t something people got over easily. There would be memories and guilt and resentment… 

None of that mattered now. Now, she had Killian by her side, and her parents voices in her ear. She would find Henry, find a way to make him forgive her and then she would have everything she needed - everything that mattered. And maybe, she thought, her hand drifting to her stomach, the possibility of something new that mattered. She saw Killian’s eyes cast sideways at her movement, saw the smile that pulled at the corner of his lips. He knew. He always knew. 

Her life had been nothing but darkness and pain for too long. She’d been beat down and broken - hopeless and lost. But they’d won. She and Killian had won. They’d won by believing in each other, by trusting each other, regardless of time or place or curses. They’d won by never giving up on each other. No matter how close she’d come, he hadn’t let her. Love had won. 

Killian raised her hand to his lips, placed a kiss on her knuckles and smiled knowingly. They’d found each other. True love had conquered even the cruelest of monsters and they’d found their way back to one another. For the first time in a long time, Emma felt hope - hope without doubt and without fear. Regardless of what came next, she knew that they would finally have the happy ending they’d always wanted. This was only the beginning. 

Chapter 13: Epilogue

Notes:

Here it is. It’s finally totally done. This is the first MC fic that I’ve completed and it took me a really long time but I wanted to say thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged and commented and flailed over this story. It might be cheesy to say but I could not have done it without all the support. You taking the time to tell me that you enjoyed this story kept me writing even when I didn’t want to.

So, after nearly 3 years (yeesh) here is the end of Stone Hearts.

Chapter Text

“He’s going to forgive you, Swan,” Killian said, reaching for her hand where it was clutching the steering wheel, knuckles white.

“You don’t know that,” she said. “I sent him away. I'm his parent and I left him. You know how that feels.”

“Aye, I do. And so do you,” he answered, his thumb brushing back and forth over the back of her hand. “But you forgave your parents because they sent you away to protect you, to keep you safe - just as you did.” 

“But what if he doesn’t?” she asked, finally turning to look at him briefly before looking back at the road. They were nearly at the town line. After defeating the King, Emma, Killian, Belle and Tink had all found their way to Granny’s where all of the formerly cursed folk seemed to have ended up. 

There was confusion at first, chaos, anger and resentment over what cursed people had done to the uncursed. And there was regret, guilt and remorse over the actions that the cursed people’s bodies had taken without their consent. Storybrooke had been in a state of panicked relief that, while it would take a while for the wounds to truly disappear, her parents had been able to calm it slightly with another of their excellent hero speeches - for the time being.

Once that had settled, there was the matter of finding everyone, making sure each townsperson was accounted for and - Emma hated to think it even now - alive . The census was still in progress. People had been found all over - the mines, the forest - may with no sense of where they were when they woke up, or how to return home. They were still finding people now, two days later.

That was why Emma had waited until now to go get Henry. At least that was what she was telling herself. Her first thought after finding her parents and her friends and seeing that they were safe was that she needed to get him. But one look around and the state of the town had her believing this was not a good place for him to return to - not like this. 

She wanted to wait until the waters had calmed before bringing him home. The town would be forever changed but she didn’t want Henry to fall prey to the madness and the threats and the fear that had surrounded them for the first thirty-six hours after the curse broke. It wasn’t safe. 

But now she couldn’t wait any longer, didn’t want to wait any longer. She missed him. It had only been four days but not having him with her, not being in contact, not knowing if he was safe. She hated it. She wanted her son back. But she was so so afraid. 

The way he had looked at her when she tricked him into crossing the barrier - the anger and the hurt and the betrayal had felt like - well it felt like having her heart ripped out of her chest. What if he hated her? What if he never forgave her for this? Henry had always wanted to be the hero, had always wanted to do right, and she’d denied him that. 

“Emma, I can feel your heart racing,” Killian said, giving her hand a little squeeze. That was a strange side effect to the heart split, one she was still getting used to. It wasn’t unpleasant, per say, but it was new and unlike anything she’d ever experienced. They couldn’t feel everything the other felt, that would have been a whole other story. But, whenever one felt something acute, something overwhelming and intense, the other had a small sense of it, an echo in their own chest. 

They hadn’t had much experience with it yet, seeing as both had been living in a state of shared, high alertness for days now. But when Killian first saw one of the men he had gravely wounded, a deep welt still in the man’s shoulder, she had felt her heart flutter in her chest, like a feeling that something was wrong, an intuition. She hadn’t seen the man until she turned to find Killian, frozen in place as he stared at him, tense and breathing quickly. 

She took a deep breath. Tried to calm her pounding heart. 

“He will forgive you. I know a boy’s love for his mother. And I know Henry’s love for you. He may be angry,” he said and at least he was being honest. “But he’ll forgive you. In time.” 

She nodded, a little appeased by his assurance. He smiled at her softly and brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing a kiss against them. They were nearly at the line. They’d managed to text Ruby and had learned that she and Henry had been holed up at a motel for the last two days. Both of them were safe. They had arranged to meet them here at five, the King’s spell on the town line having disappeared along with his curse. 

Regina was in the car behind them. Snow and David following closely too. At first she’d worried about overwhelming him but she knew that Henry would want to see them all, that he would need to be assured that they were safe. And maybe a small part of her hoped that if he was wrapped up in the happiness of the reunion he wouldn’t remember to be as angry with her.

“Are you ready?” Killian asked as she put the bug in park. She wasn’t. She definitely wasn’t but she needed to see him and she needed to hold him in her arms and make sure he was really alright. 

She could see him, standing right at the edge with Ruby, looking eagerly at the cars that were approaching. He looked a little less tired, a little less hungry than he had the last time she’d seen him. 

Emma nodded. She was ready.

She’d hardly made it out of the car before she was bowled over by the force of a fourteen year old crashing into her. She took only a minute to be surprised, to be caught off guard before she wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. 

“I knew you’d do it,” she heard him say from where his face was buried somewhere in her shoulder. Emma let out as small sob as she held him even closer, even tighter, as though that were possible. When she was pretty sure that she’d managed to squeeze absolutely every last bit of air from his lungs, she pulled back, took his face in her hands and bent down a little so they were at eye-level. She tried not to think about the fact that they wouldn’t be at eye level much longer at the rate he was growing. 

“I thought you’d hate me,” she admitted. Henry gave her an eyebrow raise that was so reminiscent of Killian it was almost eerie. 

“I don’t hate you. You’re my mom. I was really really mad at you.” Emma swallowed but let him continue. “But I was able to calm down after a bit and Ruby made me understand why you did it. It was like when I was born. You wanted to keep me safe.” Emma nodded, tears starting to blur her vision. “But mom, you can’t keep protecting me forever. Eventually you have to let me start fighting the battles with you.”

“No more battles -” she tried but he shook his head. 

“This is Storybrooke, Mom. There’s always a chance of something happening. We can’t make the mistake of pretending that’s not the truth. Not again.” 

Emma brushed some of his hair back, looked at him and really saw him - saw how much their latest tragedy had changed him, aged him, but also made him stronger. Even now he spoke to her with confidence way beyond his years. He was growing up. She had to accept it. 

“When did you get so wise?” she asked. 

“I’ve always been wise,” he scoffed and Emma laughed. “So will you let me help next time?”

“How about when you’re thirty?” Emma suggested with a small curl to her lip. 

Mom. ” 

“Fine. Twenty-eight. That’s the first time I fought a monster. Sounds fair.”

“Mom!”

Emma smiled at him. “Why don’t we deal with that when it happens,” she suggested, a peace offering. “For now, I’m just so happy you’re alright and you’re safe. I don’t want to think about the next time I could nearly lose you. Is that okay?”

She could tell by his expression that he wasn’t going to give this up, that they’d have this discussion again. But for now, he nodded and hugged her again.

“From what I saw of that slingshot, the boy does pretty well for himself against monsters already,” she heard Killian say behind her. Henry’s head instantly shot up, looking over her shoulder.

“Killian!” he cried before detangling himself from her and rushing at the man with as much force as he’d rushed her if Killian’s grunt at the impact was any indication. “You’re okay!” 

Emma wasn’t sure if the swell in her chest was because of her or Killian. It was probably both, but she watched as Killian put his hand on the back of Henry’s head and wrapped his hooked arm around him, a small awed smile on his face, like he still couldn’t quite believe that Henry cared for him as much as he did for Henry. She knew how much it affected him this time, she quite literally felt it tug at her heartstrings. 

“Aye, I’m alright,” he promised. 

“I never got to say thank you for saving me,” Henry said, pulling back. “In the mines.” 

Killian took hold of the side of his face, met his gaze. “Always, Henry,” he told her son. “I’d lay down my life for you.” Emma knew it was true, and she knew Henry did too. Her son clapped Killian on the shoulder in a very grown up sort of way and she saw Killian smile, she felt her own smile pulling at her lips. 

“Henry?”

“Mom!” he shouted, rushing past Killian to Regina who was getting out of her car. She received an equally enthusiastic tackle. 

Emma turned then to find Ruby. She closed the distance between them in a few strides, wrapping her arms around her friend’s neck and pulling her close. “ Thank you ,” she said as Ruby’s hands found her back. “ Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have let him go if I didn’t know that you would keep him safe. Thank you for protecting him.” 

“Of course,” Ruby said, pulling back to look at her. “We’re family. We’re all family now.” She turned then to Killian who had joined them. “Glad to have you back, Captain,” she said with one of her cheeky smiles. “That pretty face isn’t nearly as fun without the swagger to go along with it."

Killian laughed. “I missed you too, Ruby. Thank you for everything. For helping Emma, for taking care of Henry…” 

“We should be thanking you guys for breaking the curse,” she said, looking between the two of them. 

“Yeah,” Henry piped up from beside David's truck. “How did you guys break the curse anyway?” 

Emma and Killian looked at each other, both of them going a little red as they smiled at one another. Killian scratched behind his ear. 

“True love’s kiss,” Emma told them. 

“But how?” David asked, with a surprised frown. “We tried that with Snow and I. The curse was too strong. Their memories were buried too deep to let them remember their feelings.” 

“Yeah and you hated Killian when he was cursed,” Henry added. “No offence,” he added for Killian’s sake. 

“None taken. But, it would seem that Emma cannot resist my charms regardless of my altered persona. Cursed or not, I am still startlingly handsome.” He had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face and Emma raised a brow at him. 

“Yeah, keep going,” she said. “See how far those charms get you.” 

Killian laughed. “And I, even in my cursed state, fell in love with her. It would seem it takes more than a lack of memories, feelings, and a heart encased in stone to sway the hold you have on me, Love.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, placed a kiss to her temple. Okay, he was nearly forgiven.

“Oh, you have to tell us that story,” Ruby said, looking way too intrigued while Mary Margaret put both her hands to her heart and sighed a little 'oh'

“Yeah! And I want to hear how you defeated the King!” Henry insisted. 

“Perhaps,” Regina interjected. “We should do this somewhere other than the middle of the road.” 

"You're right,” Emma said, slipping her arm around Killian’s waist, smiling at her son. “Let’s go home.” 

 

***

“So he just turned into dust ?” Henry demanded, half standing in his seat at the table. They’d all made their way back to her and Killian’s house where Mary Margaret and David had whipped up a meal that would have impressed even Granny with the few resources that were left in the pantry. Emma wondered how long it would be before the stores were open again and they could get real food. 

“Yup,” Emma said before gesturing at him with her fork. “Eat your dinner.” 

Henry did as he was told, sitting down and shoveling a forkful into his mouth. “And Belle put my grandpa in Pandora’s box?” he asked around said mouthful. 

“Yeah. She was pretty great,” Emma said. “So was Tink.”She could feel Killian’s hand tighten on her knee at the mention of Gold and she wondered how much he remembered from being under the Dark One’s control. 

“Where are they now?” Ruby asked, her concern for her friend evident.

“On the Jolly Roger,” Killian answered for her. “Belle had made herself quite at home before the King arrived. She, uh,” he scratched behind his ear. “She didn’t want to return to her home with the Dark One, so I offered my ship again. Tink is with her - to ensure she’s not alone and that the child isn’t born on the Jolly.” Emma smirked at the way he cringed at the idea. 

“I should to go see her,” Ruby said. “I thought we’d lost her in the first wave.” Ruby stood setting down her napkin and thanking them for the meal. “I’m going to head to the docks,” she told them. Emma would have offered that she stay but she knew that Ruby was anxious to see Belle, to make sure she was alright in the same way that Emma had been anxious to see her and Henry. 

“I suppose I should get going too,” Regina noted when everyone had said their goodbyes to Ruby. She hesitated. “Henry, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” her face held a sadness that Emma saw reflected in her son’s and it drove her to say what she said next. 

“You should stay.” Several pairs of surprised eyes turned to her then. 

What? She wanted to say. She and Regina weren’t enemies anymore - hell they were even friends at this point, even if their last interaction before the curse had been tense. But she supposed their surprise was right - they were friends, but they weren’t the kind of friends who had sleepovers. But Emma didn’t want Henry to be forced to choose between his mothers - not tonight when he’d only just gotten them back. 

She saw her parents looking unsure as well so she added, “You should all stay. None of us should have to be apart tonight. There’s plenty of room.” She felt Killian take her hand under the table, brush his thumb over her knuckles again and she knew that he understood that she didn’t want to be separated from her son or her parents either. 

“I think that’s a great idea,” Snow said and Emma heard the shaky tearfulness of her voice. The plans were made, bedrooms decided on, and after, Henry practically begged that they all sit and watch a movie with Emma’s signature popcorn with milk duds.

“Aye,” Killian had said when Henry suggested it, his face cringing at the thought of the snack even more than Regina’s had and making Emma laugh. “I can’t think of anything more wonderfully normal.” 

It was normal, almost boring really. They watched The Princess Bride and laughed at all the right parts and Killian squeezed her hand at all the right bits, and it felt so wonderfully, perfectly normal. She’d missed normal. She’d missed boring - maybe not boring but rather quiet . And she’d missed having it with her family, with the people she loved. She felt Killian’s hand tighten in hers again and realised that a tear had slid down her cheek. 

“You alright, Love?” he whispered.

She nodded. “Just happy.” 

Killian smiled at her, dropped her hand to cup her cheek and kissed her deeply. 

“Ew,” she heard the sound of a disgusted fourteen-year-old. “And on that note,” he said. “I’m going to bed.” Emma pulled back, laughing, everyone else joining in - even Henry eventually. 

The movie had just wrapped up. It wasn’t that late but everyone was so tired all the time now, every day was so heavy and so emotional - and would probably be for a while to come. So nobody protested, everyone slowly milling out of the living room slowly and heading off in their respective directions. 

Emma hugged her mom and dad one more time and she was pretty sure that they were both trying to squeeze the air out of her lungs the same way that she had with Henry. She let them, hugged them back just as tight. She’d missed them. 

“We’ll be right down the hall if you need us,” David said and Emma bit back her smile. She wasn’t a little girl and sometimes her dad forgot that but it was kind of sweet really. Speaking of which, Emma needed to go say goodnight to Henry. She peeked her head into his room just as Regina was finishing saying goodnight. She kissed his forehead and found herself repeating the same words her father had. 

Finally, she made her way to her bedroom where Killian was already sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her. 

“Quite the full house we have tonight,” he said with a small, tired smile. 

She returned it. “Isn’t it great?” 

He nodded and Emma began getting ready for bed, stripping off her shirt and dreaming of her comfy PJs. She’d been wearing the same shirt and jeans for nearly two days. They hadn’t had a chance to go home and change, hadn’t had a moment’s rest since the King was defeated. There had been too much to do, too much chaos to wrangle. Last night she and Killian had spent the night at Granny’s, still helping and taking turns sleeping in the vinyl booths when they could. She was still sore now. 

She felt the tug at her heart, the one she’d only just discovered, hadn’t had a chance to get used to yet. Her head snapped up, worried that something was wrong, something that had sent Killian’s heart racing. She whirled around to find him unharmed, undistressed, but watching her, his eyes roving over her bare skin, eyes slightly hooded, cheeks slightly flushed.

Oh.  

He stood slowly, crossed the short distance between them and traced his fingers from the top of her shoulder down to her elbow where the shirt was still hooked. Emma shivered, as he pulled it free. It had been so long since she’d felt his hand on her - his hand, not Hooks but Killian’s, slow and purposeful and intent as it slid to her waist, following the curve around her back and down to the waist of her jeans. Her skin was on fire, goosebumps everywhere. He stepped closer, invading her space in the best way until she could feel his breath on her face and the heat from his body.

“I missed you,” he whispered, the words spoken against her lips. Emma couldn’t really explain what happened next. Maybe it was the fact of having him so close after so long, of knowing he’d missed her just as much as she’d missed him, or all the stress of the last few days, all the lost and the reunions and the heartbreak and the love. She leaned in, moving past his lips, burrowing her face in his neck and wrapping her arms around his back, holding as tightly to her as she could. 

She felt his surprise for a moment, his concerned ‘ Swan?’ spoken into her ear. She was sure he could feel the wetness of her tears against the crook of his shoulder. His hand that had been tracing patterns on her lower back paused. 

“Just a minute,” she said, squeezing her arms tighter, nuzzling deeper and breathing him in. “Just a minute.” 

She felt him relax, his hand on her back sliding up to her shoulder, his thumb brushing the nape of her neck as he wrapped his hooked arm around her waist and pulled her in closer, his face turning into her hair. She just needed to hold him. Just for a minute. After all this time. 

Of course she wanted him, needed him, missed him. But she needed this more, needed this first. And so she held onto him and he let her for as long as she needed, craning his neck occasionally to press his lips to her temple, to her cheek, wherever he could reach and every kiss was another reminder. He’s here . Every soothing word and promise he breathed into her ear made her believe it more, trust that it was real and that she wouldn’t wake up from some amazing dream. He was here. She’d found him. He’d found her

His lips found her neck and she knew it was meant to be sweet, another soft reassurance, a comfort, but her body reacted immediately. Muscle memory kicking in and reminding her that she had Killian here , with her, finally, to hold and to touch and to kiss as she pleased. She pressed her lips to the spot where his neck met his shoulder, where her face was already, and began trailing them up the column of his throat to below his ear. 

She felt his muscles tense and his breathing hitch, and he turned his face to hers when she reached his jaw, capturing her mouth with his in a desperate, open mouthed kiss, his tongue delving deep, his hand sliding to the back of her neck to pull her closer, to open her up under him while his hooked arm pulled her closer, fusing them together. 

He groaned into her mouth and Emma felt it like a shock to her core. Maybe it would have been nice for their reunion to be slow, for them to take their time finding each other again. And maybe there would be time for that later. But right now, she needed him and she could feel how much he needed her. She rolled her hips against him and he gasped into her mouth before claiming it again with lips and teeth and tongue. 

She reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head so that she could look at him, run her hands over the warm skin and the soft hair beneath it. He pulled back reluctantly to allow her to lift the shirt off, only to focus his attention on her neck once he was free. His lips trailed fire, licking and biting and sucking his way to her throat, down her chest. 

I missed you ,” he whispered between kisses. “ Gods, I missed you .” 

She reached behind herself frantically to discard her bra, throwing it somewhere on the floor just before his hand found one breast, teasing it with the pad of his thumb over it’s peak as he took the other into his mouth, hot and wet and God , she’d missed him too. 

“Killian,” she begged, trying her best to keep her voice down, to be conscious of the guests that could overhear, but it was difficult as he flicked his tongue over her nipple while he pulled and rolled the other. She was on fire, already so close to the edge and she just needed him now, needed him to stop teasing and fuck her. Fuck her so that they could erase the past few months, fuck her to prove that he was here and solid and hot and hers. There would be time to make love later. Right now she needed him hard and she needed him desperate.

“Killian,” she insisted again when he didn’t let up, this time reaching for his belt and pulling him with her, backing up until her knees hit the bed and she fell back against it. He was on her in a second, arm wrapping around her back so that he could lift her, toss her further up towards the middle. She saw it in his eyes, the desperation and the need that was reflected in her own. 

She reached for her own belt, undoing it and the fly of her jeans and starting to slide them down her legs, hooking her underwear with them. Killian followed her lead, reaching for his pants and hastily shedding them, his breathing ragged as he alternated between watching her undress and undressing himself. 

Finally he kicked his jeans off, reaching out to help her slide her own over her feet. He threw them out of the way, looking at her with hooded eyes, kneeling at the end of the bed between her legs as he caught one ankle in his hand. He placed it on his shoulder gently before pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her ankle, his lips trailing slowly down her calf, his eyes not leaving hers. 

Fuck. Fuck! She wanted him now, wanted to drag him up to her by his hair and grab hold of his cock and slide him inside of her. But it felt so damn good what he was doing to her. He looked so fucking hot looming over her, naked, cock hard and bobbing against his stomach as his teeth nipped at the skin on her inner thigh, just above her knee, his hand sliding slowly down to where she was wet and waiting for him. 

She writhed on the bed, desperate for him to just touch her already. His fingers toyed delicately at the spot where her leg met her hip, at the delicate skin there, so close to where she wanted them and she let out a frustrated cry. She was two seconds away from using her foot on his ankle to kick him off and do the job herself when he dove in, hand and hook wrapping around her thighs and spreading her open as his lips latched onto her clit. 

Jesus fucking christ ! She nearly came right then and there as he took the bud into his mouth and sucked, slow, deep pulls that made her see stars and grind her hips against his face. He didn’t let up, sucking harder and harder and faster until she was racing towards the edge of that cliff so quickly she didn’t think there was any way she could stop. 

It wasn’t until he pushed two fingers inside of her that she came to her senses. She grabbed at his hair, pulling him back and trying to wiggle away from him before he could drive her over the edge. He looked up from between her thighs, met her eyes, his pupils blown and his hair falling over his forehead into them, cheeks flushed, lips damp and confusion maring his brow. 

“Inside,” she panted, her words as incoherent as her thoughts. “I want you inside me,” she said, watching as his eyes darkened. “I want to come around you. Together.” 

He practically growled as he crawled his way back up her body, steadying himself on his elbow before taking himself in hand and thrusting into her tight heat with no preamble. Emma cried out, back arching off the mattress at the intrusion. Yes . That was what she wanted. That was what she needed. 

His hand found her thigh, angling her as he pushed into her relentlessly, hard and fast and punishing as his lips found her neck again, his grunts and pants echoing in her ear. She bit her lip against the litany of cries and moans and curses and sobs that were trying to escape her. The whole bed shook under the force of his thrusts and Emma dug her nails into his back, desperate for something to grab on to. He’s here. He’s real and solid under your hands and inside of you. Flesh and blood and human and yours. 

“I never,” he gasped into her ear. “ Fuck. I never want to forget you again,” he groaned and she knew that he needed this the same way she did. She felt like he was trying to imprint her under his skin so that they could never be separated again. He cried out as her nails dragged down his back, her hips canting up to meet his. “ Yes,” he practically moaned against her skin. “Mark, me, Swan. Don’t let me forget.” 

She was close, so, so close but she needed him there with her, needed him to follow her over the edge. She held herself off with as much strength as she could, sliding her hands down his back to grab at his ass, to pull him closer, deeper, her hips matching his every thrust. 

“Please, Kilian,” she begged him, knowing she couldn’t hold out much longer. Her legs were shaking, the first pinpricks licking at her spine. He groaned, sliding his mouth over hers, his tongue desperately seeking her own, tangling together as he kept up his brutal pace. 

She could taste herself on him, could feel his groan reverberating through her chest and her core, heard his his mumbled ‘ I love you ’ against her lips and then she was there, her whole body tensing, wrapping herself around him, nails and heels and teeth digging into his flesh as she shook with the force of her climax. She whimpered, mouth open and brow screwing up, overwhelmed by the feeling, overpowered by it. She felt him finish with her, the heat of his release spilling inside her spurring on her own. 

They were still for a moment as Emma’s muscles slowly started to relax, until she could loosen the death grip she had on him. He wasn’t fairing much better, his whole body trembling over hers, his arm just barely keeping his full weight off of her. 

Fuck ,” she breathed out when she finally had control of her body again. He huffed out a laugh but it was weak, exhausted. He raised his head from her breast, hand cupping her face as he kissed her again, slowly, deeply, breathlessly. 

“I missed you.” She was the one to say it this time as he rested his forehead against hers, noses pressed to cheeks, lips barely a breath apart. 

“I gathered that,” he said, a smirk in his voice and if she’d had more energy she would have rolled her eyes, maybe smacked him for his cheek. But she didn’t. 

He rolled them over so that he lay on his back and curled her into his chest, her fingers drawing patterns through the hair beneath her hand. They found the ink there, the tattoo over his heart that marked their commitment and she leaned over to press her lips to it, then pulled back to trace it carefully. 

“I can feel you thinking,” he said after a moment. “You honestly shouldn’t be able to think at all after that. A man might take offence,” he teased and Emma smiled against his chest. God she’d missed him. His voice and his laugh and his teasing and all of the life in him that made him the man she loved. “What is it?” he asked, softer this time.

“I guess I’m just a bit bummed. With everything that happened… we’re probably going to have to delay the wedding. I don’t think the people of Storybrooke could handle that right now, not after everything that happened. A big, fancy party might look bad.” 

He hummed. “I don’t relish the idea of not being married to you for a second longer if I’m honest. But I understand what you mean.” 

“Maybe we should elope,” she said, head popping up to look at him. He smiled fondly, fingers tracing along her spine. She could tell he thought she was joking. “I’m serious,” she told him and he cocked his head to look at her. “Why don’t we just do it? Get married. Right now.”

“What, tonight?” he said in disbelief, brows shooting up to his hairline. 

“Why not? The only people I want there are in this house and on your ship. I don’t need a big wedding. I just want to be married to you. And I don’t want to wait. I want to start being with you forever right now.” 

He smiled at her again, a bright thing that lit up his whole face. She was serious. She wanted this. Right now. They’d fallen in love so many times now, had overcome so many odds, found each other again and again. She loved him, completely and totally and she didn’t want to wait another day to tell the whole world. And she didn’t have to. Her whole world was under this roof. Him, Henry, her parents. Why should they wait?

“I dare say I like the idea of being allowed to call you my wife tonight,” he said. She was taking that as a yes. She sat up, nearly laughing at his slightly put-out expression. “Where are you going?” he demanded. 

“Get dressed,” she told him. “Head down to the ship and wake Belle and Tink. Ruby’s probably there too. I’ll wake the others and meet you there in an hour,” she explained, throwing clothes on as he watched her from the bed, sliding his jeans over his legs. 

“Can fairies perform wedding ceremonies?” she asked. “Is that a thing? They feel all mystical and stuff and like they should be allowed to. Can you ask Tink? Oh god this will be hard to sell to my mom. Maybe she’ll think it’s romantic though -” She was fully dressed now, hurrying to the door, still rambling when he caught her elbow with his hook. “What?”

He pulled her back to him and she followed skeptically but not unwillingly. “We’re getting married tonight,” he told her and she felt the weight of his words, but not in a bad way. They felt like a wave washing over her, warming her, enveloping her. They were getting married tonight. “Let’s take a moment to enjoy that, shall we?” he teased. 

She bit her lip, realising she’d gone off the rails there for a moment. She watched the amused, affectionate smile cross his face and felt her own pulling at her lips, blissfully, perfectly happy. He took her face in hand, pulled her in and she rose on her tiptoes to meet his lips. His kiss was soft, gentle and excited, his mouth turning up at the corners against hers. 

“Go,” he said when they pulled apart. “I’ll meet you aboard in an hour. Do you -” he started, hesitated and Emma was fully expecting him to scratch his ear. “Do you mind if I wake Henry? I’d like to ask him to be my best man.” 

She smiled at him again. Kissed him again. “I think he’d love that,” she said and the small hint of relief on his face warmed her heart. “I’ll go wake my parents… Maybe ask Henry to wake Regina when you’re done - so she doesn’t curse us.” 

He sighed, eyes rolling skyward in exasperation. “Too soon, Love. Too soon.”

She giggled, running off to get ready. 

Her parents were surprisingly easy to win over, understanding that sometimes you just couldn’t wait for love - Snow hinted not so subtly that they could have a big party later, when everything had calmed down. 

David immediately demanded to know if Killian owned a suit - something Emma was pretty sure he didn’t - and then insisted on rushing home to grab one for him to borrow. ‘ Nobody is marrying my daughter in a leather jacket’ he’d muttered as he rushed off. Emma and Snow both bit back their laughter. 

“We need to find you a dress!” Snow cried. “And something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue,” she continued, counting them off on her fingers.

“Mom, really, it’s not that kind of thing. We’ll be fine.” 

“Emma,” she said, taking her daughter’s shoulders. “Please let me do this. As your mother. I… need to.” 

Emma nodded, agreeing but reminding her that she only had an hour. Snow was quick, finding a pair of blue heels buried in the back of Emma’s closet - one’s Snow had bought her and that Emma had never worn… that had been a slightly awkward few minutes as Snow remarked that they looked brand new. 

“Here,” her mom said, slipping her ring off her finger and handing it over. “This is borrowed and old.” Emma stared at the green gem in front of her.

“Mom, I can’t take your ring,” she insisted. 

“You’re not. You’re borrowing it,” she smiled. “This was your grandmother’s. True love follows this ring wherever it goes, Emma. She’d want you to have it, so would your father, and so do I.” Snow put the ring in her palm, closing her fingers over it and Emma knew there was no point in protesting. She slipped it onto her right hand. 

“Alright. Now we just need something new… and a dress!” She looked around the house a little frantically, casting a glance at her watch. 

“How about two birds with one stone,” Regina said, coming down the stairs, dressed, but looking extremely groggy. She headed straight for the coffee machine and poured herself a massive cup. Henry had already left for the Jolly with Killian, thrilled with his new role as best man. “It’s a pretty simple spell,” Regina said, taking a long sip. “I just need another dress that belongs to you and then the spell will make it new - however you want it.” 

“I know the perfect one!” Snow cried running up to Emma’s room. 

“Thanks,” Emma said. Sometimes this newfound friendship between her and Regina still surprised her, still felt unsteady. And, as far as she knew, Regina still hated her for getting Killian back when Robin was gone forever. This felt like a gesture - a peace offering and a step in the right direction. 

“Just make sure that pirate doesn’t teach my son how to steal boats,” she quipped and Emma smiled, wondering if she should tell her that Henry had already discovered a knack for stealing cars. 

Snow came down the stairs then, dress in hand, and Emma smiled, her heart warming when she recognized the pink piece she’d worn on her first date with Killian. “It’s perfect, Mom,” she said and Snow beamed. 

Regina set down her mug and walked over to the dress, took it and laid it out on the table. “Okay,” she said. “Just put your hand on it and picture what you want - it doesn’t have to be specific, just an idea of the general style.” Emma wanted to comment on the fact that magic could apparently serve as a personal stylist but she didn’t. 

She did as she was told, thinking of how she wanted to look when she married Killian. Regina waved her hand and the dress transformed from pink pattern to white lace and chiffon. Emma looked down at it. It was… perfect. 

“It’s beautiful, Emma,” Snow said wistfully. 

“It is,” Emma said. “Thank you,” she said to Regina. “Thank you both.” Snow wrapped Emma in her arms and Regina walked away, acting more annoyed by the display than she probably was. 

“I’m so happy for you,” he mom whispered and Emma had to fight back tears. She never dreamed she’d have her mother at her wedding. Or her father, or a son, or even a man she loved enough to spend the rest of her life with. How much her life had changed in the few years since she’d given a ten year old a ride home. How lucky she was that she’d let him climb into her front seat. She’d thought she was bringing him home - but he’d been the one bringing her home.

Ah , she thought, pulling away and wiping at her eyes. She needed to stop thinking like that or she was going to walk down the aisle with mascara streaked down her cheeks. 

“We ready to go?” Regina asked once Emma was dressed and had agreed to let her mom touch up her makeup and hair. ‘ Okay but quickly!’ she’d said. Emma nodded but when Regina moved to whisk them away, she stopped her. 

“Let me,” Emma said with a smile. “I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” 

They appeared on the docks near the Jolly Roger. Belle, her father, and Ruby already waiting for her next to the gangplank. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, you look beautiful,” David said and Emma thought for a moment he might cry. “Do I get to walk you down the aisle?” he asked a little hesitantly. 

“Of course. You both do,” she said to her parents. 

“I’m gonna go find Henry,” Regina said, walking off in disgust.

“Belle and I have dubbed ourselves your bridesmaids,” Ruby told her. “We figure it’s only fair since we’ve both saved your life,” she smirked. “Tink would have too but she’s performing the ceremony.”

“Sounds fair,” Emma agreed. “Just make sure she actually makes it down the aisle,” Emma said, gesturing at Belle. 

“I’m not an invalid,” Belle huffed, sitting with her hand on her stomach. Had it grown? Could it do that in two days? It didn’t look like it had much room left to spare. Emma brought her hand to her own stomach for a moment but quickly snapped it back to her side when she remembered her parents were with her. She did not want to have another shotgun wedding conversation. 

“Here,” Belle said, handing her a little bouquet of flowers. “Tink picked them to brighten up the place. I figured you should have them.”

Tinkerbelle picked them?” Emma asked, with a disbelieving eyebrow raise. 

Belle shrugged. “She’s a softie at heart once you get to know her.”

“You ready?” Ruby asked and Emma took a moment, breathed in, breathed out. She was getting married. This was happening. She was marrying Killian Jones on the deck of the Jolly Roger. She was marrying her true love in front of her family and her friends. All she could think about right now was him standing there, out of sight, waiting for her, waiting to promise her the rest of his life. 

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m ready.” 

She looped each of her arms through one of her parents and let Ruby help a waddling Belle around to the bow of the ship ahead of her. She took another deep breath and nodded to her parents who guided her after them, both whispering how proud they were, how happy they were. 

When they rounded the side of the helm Emma saw Killian, Henry and Tink waiting for her at the prow. When Henry saw her he dashed off to somewhere she couldn’t see and she frowned, wondering where he’d gone, before she heard music swelling around her. She recognized it from the first note. It was her song. The song. The one from the playlist. The one they'd danced to in the kitchen. 

She saw Killian’s face when he looked up, when he spotted her and if there weren’t already tears in her eyes there sure as hell were now. He looked perfect. In a black suit and shirt with a few buttons undone. He was smiling, a little nervous, a little excited but so absolutely, completely in love that she could feel it radiating off of him even from this far away. She felt the tug at her heart when he first saw her, when his mouth dropped open. 

She reached him and it was a moment before she could touch him as her father shook his hand, her mother kissed him on the cheek. He received both with flaming cheeks and a smile. When they went to sit after each pressing a kiss to her cheek, Killian reached for her hand. 

“You’re late,” he teased. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

She smirked at him. “Wild horses, babe. Wild horses.” 

“I know when you’re quoting something,” he reminded her with amusement. 

“Are you nearly done?” Tink asked, rolling her eyes. “I thought you two wanted to get married tonight. Or is that not why I was woken by a pirate in the middle of the night?” 

“Nearly,” Killian said before raising Emma’s hand to his lips, catching her eye. “You are breathtaking, Emma,” he told her and the way he said it she couldn’t think of a single way to tease him. So she smiled, her cheeks flushing. 

Tink gave a small speech, one that was surprisingly moving despite her cynical exterior. Emma was reminded then of how long she’d known Killian as she spoke of how when she’d met him he hadn’t cared for anything but revenge. She said that she’d never seen anyone go after something so relentlessly, so recklessly… until he met Emma and he fought for her love and fought to keep it with more strength and more commitment and determination than she’d known him capable of. 

She said how when she first met Emma she’d never met someone so closed off, so afraid of love, but that she’d also never seen someone open herself up to it so willingly so fearlessly once she did. 

She said, a little begrudgingly, that it was rare for two people to find their other halves, to find someone they wanted to be with enough to want it every day, to fight for it and work for it every day. But she’d seen it in them. And they could trust her on that. She was a fairy. True love was her job. 

“Do you have rings?” Tink asked before proceeding and Killian’s face dropped. Emma reached out, put a hand over his heart, over their heart, over his tattoo.

“No,” she shrugged. “But we literally share a heart so I think we’re good on the symbolism.” 

Killian spoke his vows first. 

“Emma, I have lost you and found you more times than I can count. More times than anyone should ever have to. I know that you’ve faced abandonment in your life, and you’ve faced loss. But I promise that I will never, never stop fighting for you, for us. I’ll never stop finding my way back to you, no matter what the world throws at us. I have loved you since you held a knife to my throat and called me out as a liar, and having you choose to love me back, despite everything, is the greatest achievement of my long life, and the greatest honour. I promise to always try and live up to your love, and to love you, with my whole heart, forever.”

Fucking hell, Emma wanted to say as she dropped his hook to wipe at the tears in her eyes. But she knew that was not appropriate for a wedding. Could she just kiss him now? Was that allowed? Or did she have to wait for Tink to give them permission? She took a steadying breath, refusing to not make it through her own vows because of stupid tears. 

“Killian, I’m not much for words. You know that,” she said and he smiled knowingly, his eyebrow ticking up. “But if this life, this crazy life with magic and curses that I’ve been living since I met you has taught me anything, it’s that I will always, always love you. We’ve fallen in love three times now. Three times you’ve been able to make me believe in you, trust you, when you know how hard that is for me. No matter what version of you I’ve met, whatever version of me I was, I’ve loved you. And if that tells me anything, it’s that I’ll love you always - forever. No matter what darkness or light we face in the future, it doesn’t matter because I know that we’ll face it together. Love is strength and with you I’m stronger because I know I don’t have to always be strong. With you I’m better because I know I don’t always have to do everything alone. And with you I’m - I’ve never been happier.” 

Tink sighed, defeated. “Oh god, just kiss her. I know you want to.” 

Killian laughed, slid his hand to Emma’s cheek and pressed his lips to hers. It was shorter than he wanted, she could tell, but they still had a ceremony to complete. “Not bad, Swan,” he quipped. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.” 

Emma rolled her eyes. “Just shut up and finish marrying me,” she said. 

“As you wish,” he promised.